My Guardian Vampire

The voice sounded like it was directly in front of me. My head shot up—and there was no one around. Peering over to the counter area, my waitress was there, talking to someone in the kitchen. Had I hallucinated it? Was my… Was my cancer getting worse?

The thought made me grimace. ‘Fuck you, cells. Why couldn’t you have died out like you were supposed to?’

The girl walked into the kitchen briefly before appearing once more, this time with food. She quickly walked over to my table, and placed the food down, the smell alone causing my stomach to rumble.

“Thank you, Ms...”

“Khajee. You’re welcome.” She nodded and walked off. I stared at the plate in front of me, steam curling out from it tantalizingly. I forced myself a delay in the pleasure, closing my eyes and taking a long breath in, the spice making my nose tingle in wonderful recognition. I opened my eyes, and took a bite. Amazing, just as I remembered.

“An expression enough to make me miss food again.”

Startled, I looked up. This time, a body was indeed in front of me—but my brain clung to the hallucination idea.

“Vincent?" I exclaimed, though the food I was in the middle of swallowing made it sound more like "Mmfnn?" followed by coughing. Once bite was embarrassingly down, I stared for a moment more, and the image in front of me merely grinned, a smile so unique that I knew my mind couldn’t have created it on its own. My heart strained, feeling cluttered—fear, confusion, anger. “Vincent?!” I had the urge to scream, to punch him, to pick up the knife and brandish it. He merely placed his hands down on the table, grin falling slightly, his eyes growing less amused and more challenging.

“Alexandra,” he said. The slowly articulated syllables in that odd accent made the skin on the back of my neck crawl, down over my shoulders and arms. “We’re in a restaurant. I am not Bert. I wouldn’t do anything as barbaric as attack a pregnant woman—but I might eliminate a cook and a waitress, should your raised voice get them involved.” I raised my brow and gingerly slid my fingers over my knife. Sure, it was a butterknife, but maybe I could stab his hand to the table-

“Ow!” I yelped, placing my finger to my lips and quickly sucking on it. Looking down, the knife was gone, and there was a small graze on my fingertip. Vincent lifted the knife in his hand, looking unimpressed.

“Whatever you were planning, I wouldn’t attempt it. It wouldn’t work—and I could stop you before you moved any part of your anatomy, be it lips to curse me or wrist to harm. Now-”

“A guest? Order?” Khajee asked, walking over. Vincent raised his hand, turning to look at her directly and shaking his head.

“No. We are all quite settled, thank you Miss,” he said, smiling charmingly back at her. Khajee blushed, stopping her movements towards us. Vincent's gaze then shifted back to me. “Aren’t we, Ali?”

“…Yes, we are,” I agreed, feeling stuck, a coldsweat breaking out over my skin as images of possible horrible futures for Khajee flashed in my head. “­­­­Thank you." She nodded and, flashing a bright smile at Vincent, hurried off.

'Khajee, reassess your taste in men,' I thought, watching her leave, my eyes reluctant to go back to the reality sitting across from me. '...Says the girl whose last two partners were bloodthirsty hunters of the night.'

"Assuming you are ready to listen without violent protest," Vincent began, his voice forcing my eyes to return, "I am ready to reach out and help you. Undoubtedly, you find me in a faulted disposition—and for good reason. Nevertheless, I have at least been 'honest,' let us say, in my trespasses against you-"

"Honest?! You told Gerard to step outside and then you fucking kidnapped him-"

I didn't see movement, but my sentence was stopped short as I felt something hard and cold against my neck, almost poking it. Looking down, he had the butter knife against my skin. Once I stopped moving, he spoke, lowering it.

"That was not a threat for death, Mrs. Cryptcarde, but the only warning I will present about the necessity of your lowered voice, lest you incite our waitress's curiosity. To answer your indignation: yes, admittedly, I lured your beloved out under false pretenses. However, that deception alone was a favor in of itself; by it, I negated hurting others of your party in our escape, including young Michael." He then paused for a moment, his expression darkening some. "Though I can't say I'd think he'd much stop me."

"Okay," I said, taking in a deep breath in attempt to calm myself. "First: you're delusional if you believe you were in any way helpful to me. Second: Mike would never have just let Gerard get kidnapped. He and Gerard are friends. Mike and I are friends. He's not that kind of guy. Third: Mike isn't a young vampire; surely you'd be aware of that. I'd appreciate you not be so condescending to him on top of bashing his faithfulness to his friends. Fourth: why do you half-speak like you're from Ye Olde England? I have no idea how old you are, but you've had to had spent enough percentage of your life in this century to evolve your speech patterns-"

"Worry not about me—additionally, don't presume to know anything about me, Mrs. Cryptcarde," he said, with a hint of nastiness. I think the speech thing struck a nerve. "By that note, I came here to warn you of your assumptions. As I've heard—as I've seen—Gerard once categorized you in his music as... Oh, how did it go? 'Oh, you look so tired, but tonight you presume too much.' Did he not?"
The indignation at him knowing those words started an instant flame within me, one I could only barely quiet down. I knew he was doing something terrible to Gerard, something torturous to fuck with his mind. Before I could even risk opening my mouth, he continued.

"It is for this reason that I have come to petition your caution against things you believe to be certainties and absolutes. I fear there is much more acting against you than previously thought to be true. The first and key conspirator against your wishes is your own Michael."

"That's bullshit," I said, looking at him unimpressed. "Mike... Mike cares too much to ever betray me like that." I then steadied my eyes on him, attempting to display my fearless resolve. "I know this is an attempt to throw me off, Vincent. There's obviously motive in your coming here. Just tell me what you want."

"I want you to trust me," he said. I merely gave a withering look as a response, so he continued. "I assure you—my capturing Gerard is a just a multifaceted leverage stratagem, and not as a specific act against you. Moreover, I can promise you he will be returned to you at some point, thoroughly alive. Whether you have realized it or not, you are already at war, Alexandra. Gerard is the first prisoner—but will survive it as well. You have my guarantee."

"Then... Why not just give him back? I would actually trust you then, rather than just faking it now."

"And yet, I would have no assurance of your speaking to me afterward, nor your cooperation. And as I said... There are more players in this game than just you and I. I have to keep them in check, too, for the moment. However, as the Queen piece, you are the one most versatile and valuable to have on a side." He then slid out of the seat and stood. "Because of that, I shall impart with two things. One: a letter," he said, slipping his hand into his jacket's inner pocket. He extracted out an envelope and placed it on the table. "Read it as you wish, and comply to it when you know it's right to. Second is a piece of information I will gift to you: Mike knows where Gerard is. In fact, I imagine he's visiting the building right now. I imagine he'll be fully aware I'm not there and that he could rescue Gerard. And I'm going to imagine—I would even bet my life—he won't come back with Gerard."

"How...? No. You know what? No. I'm not playing this game. I trust Mike."

"You may do as you please. However, if your curiosity does grip you... I would ask him about Battery City, and be careful to watch his expression." I looked away from him, unable to meet his stare. Instead, I sighed and placed my head against my hand, taking a moment to sort through everything in my brain.

"I trust my friends," I asserted.

"I'm glad." I heard the words, but... Vincent's voice had changed. I looked up.

"What?" I asked. Mike was now there. I wondered if Vincent was able to do what Gerard's brother could: changing to look like someone else. Looking around, there was no more Vincent.

"Sorry if I startled you," he said, chuckling. "Everything's been taken care of. That guy is feeling much better now, and hopefully will continue to be okay." I stared at him for a moment, wondering if he really had just come in or not. I suppose I had heard the door in the background din of the restaurant, but... How could they have not seen each other? Was Vincent hiding somewhere? There certainly didn't seem to be a point to faking to be Mike, unless he wanted to steal me away too.

"You okay? You've barely eaten anything." He gestured at the food pointedly, looking at me with concern. Staring back at him, into those eyes... Well, Gerard's brother's eyes were different when he was looking like Gerard. Mike's looked the same as always: clear and true. I smiled as warmly as I could at him.

"Yeah. I think I'll get it to go. I think I just want to go back home and eat." Seeing Mike there Khajee came over.

"Food was okay?" she asked, and eyed Mike—and likely the lack of Vincent—with some surprise. I nodded, quickly speaking before she could comment on it.

"Yes, it's delicious, but I'm a slow eater unfortunately, and we need to go. Could I have a box and the check?" Khajee nodded and quickly moved off, retrieving both. Once returned, she thanked us for coming. I could hardly thank her in return before she scurried off again, anxiousness seeming to be heightened by Mike. I quickly paid and dumped the food into the small carton before sliding out and standing

"What's this?" Mike asked, picking up the envelope on the table.

"Oh, that's... Well, it was a letter I was working on, to give to Gerard when we get him back. Writing out my thoughts is helping keep me sane. Just mushy stuff."

"Oh," he responded, his voice monotone and dry. I felt ill lying to Mike, and I wasn't exactly sure why I didn't tell him about Vincent's visit, as I should have.

Maybe... Maybe I was the one to not be trusted.