* * *
I still couldn't believe I was in France. I'd always wanted to visit the exotic country, but never in my wildest fantasies did I ever picture myself in a French cave, cowering in the dark like a possum. A few miles to the north lay Limoges, Orléans, and Paris, the famed City of Lights: luxury hotels with hot baths, soft beds, and clean sheets.
But the only Parisian runways I spotted were the airport kind. No supermodels or high fashions in sight. After our plane landed, we ducked into a waiting taxi and traveled through the night on a series of abandoned highways until we reached our destination, the small village of Lascaux. The driver dropped us off at a spot where tourists trekked four miles through rolling fields to get to the famous caves.
I trudged along the worn path, the scent of chives and wild garlic wafting on the cool air. Finally, we reached a wind-swept clearing. Jakob consulted a map he'd stolen from a Stuttgart library and pointed us in the direction of the biggest cave.
He insisted we had to be here—this exact spot—when dawn broke for the Spring Equinox. Tight-lipped as always, he had yet to tell me what exactly would happen then.
The main public opening to the cave had been sealed for the past couple of years, but Jakob led me to another entrance, not on any tourist map. We broke in, crawled around in the dark and found the cave empty. Jakob went out to gather some firewood before dawn. We would have to wait practically a whole day until the Equinox. It wasn't so bad. I packed enough fresh bread and cheese to tide me over for a few days. Jakob had me. And we had each other. I slept, dreamt we made love, woke up, and made love. I ate.
The day flew by and soon the cloudy sky outside the cave darkened and Jakob awoke.
A while later, I peeked at my watch; old hospital habits die hard. I could make out the time if I angled the surface so the faint light from the dying fire reached it. A bit past seven.
If everything went right, this was where I would be rid of my leukemia. And it couldn't come too soon, either. Whenever I inhaled, my breath wheezed and I heard the Death Rattle in my lungs. The little strength I still had slowly ebbed from my body as I lay on the cold cavern floor and shivered.
Jakob disappeared into the nearby woods and soon returned, his face flushed with fresh blood.
"Now what?" I asked.
"Now we wait. Patience, Abigail," he said before taking me in his arms and kissing me. I tasted traces of some animal blood on his lips and tried not to gag.
Yet when he pulled away, he left me wanting more. I hugged him harder. "Kiss me," I said, wanting him to run his tongue along my throat the way he liked to do. The pulse under my skin excited him. Whenever he said things like that, I melted.
"Abigail, we can't. Not yet. We'll have all the time in the world to make love after the Equinox.
"But I want you now!"
"No," he said firmly.
"Why not?" I whined.
"Save it for the Equinox."
"What do you mean? Do you even know what we're doing here?"
"I know most of it. The rest I'll have to play by ear. Like I told you at the start, I've never turned anyone before."
"Well, I hope you do it right." I envisioned spending eternity as a mutant, neither alive nor dead. Unable to live, unable to die.
I lay down and snuggled inside my sleeping bag, zipping up the side to retain as much of my body heat as possible. Jakob tended to the fire, and then lay down on top of his sleeping bag.
"Warm enough?" he asked.
I ignored him. I knew we weren't in the Ritz Hotel Paris, but couldn't he even take me in his arms and hold me?
"Relax, Abigail." He rested in Corpse Pose, inscrutable as always, unmoved by my growing misery.
"No, you relax." I compounded my childishness by rolling over and turning my back to him.
No matter how hard I wanted to, though, I couldn't stay angry. Any woman whose heart still beat would understand why I had run away with Jakob, and why I pinned my future on the success of his mission.
Another gust of wind ruffled the sleeping bags and nipped at my nose. I wondered how much colder the night might get. My wet boots and socks were still drying by the fire, and I hoped my pantyhosed feet could stay warm. I'd layered a T-shirt under a thick wool sweater, and I had on a windbreaker yet I shivered when the wind howled.
I scrunched down deeper in the sleeping bag, wishing I'd bought an extra pair of wool socks in Germany. But my pack had already been bursting at the seams. It had been warmer there, and I thought at the time that the good weather would follow us to France.
It didn't.
My impressions of France? It was a cold, damp and ugly country. I wondered if pneumonia would kill me before the leukemia did. Resigned to spending the rest of the night in complete discomfort, I twisted so I could face the ceiling. The fire illuminated the painted surfaces. They were absolutely fascinating.
I examined one image; an animal with two large tusks and lots of gray fur. The poor thing lay on its side, wounded and surrounded by eight stick figures holding long spears. Divots marred the stone near the beast.
To get his attention, I freed an elbow from the sleeping bag and nudged Jakob. "Why would anyone try to destroy this picture?" Maybe vandalism was the reason the caves had been closed to the public, I wondered. There'd been a piece of yellow tape, twisting in the wind and rain, spanning the cave's lesser-known entrance. Apparently, a strip of plastic was all it took to keep the law-abiding French from trespassing.
Jakob propped himself up on an elbow and smiled, as if recalling a pleasant memory. "These images were drawn to help in the hunt," he explained. "The Kethules thought that a depiction of a successful hunt, infused with magical chants, would bind the gods to a favorable outcome."
"What's with the holes, then?" I asked.
He stood up and put his fingers in the holes. "While the shaman created the scene, the rest of the tribe performed a hunting ritual, driving themselves into a frenzy with chants and dancing. When the shaman finished the picture, the ceremony reached its climax, and they threw spears and knives at the image, in effect killing the beast with magic."
Huh. Stupid cavemen. "Why are you looking at me that way?" The stronger he became, the more I felt a mental pull, an attraction to Jakob. Sometimes, I swear I felt him inside my head, but he never admitted that he could read my mind.
He came over and we shared a lingering kiss involving tongues, panting, groping hands, and too many layers of clothes. He stepped away and I added frustration to my list of complaints.
"So what happened after that? Did they go out to hunt?" I asked when he tucked me back inside my sleeping bag.
"Yes, they went out to hunt, but that came later, after they pooled their energies for the hunt," he explained.
So now Jakob was a expert on caveman hunting rituals. He mentioned the Kethules and that rang a bell. Even a vampire couldn't have been around way back then, could he? Seventeen thousand years ago? No! The guy looked to be about thirty-five.
I decided to test him. "So what did the chant sound like?"
"It would only sound like random noises to you."
"C'mon, try me. You know I like lots of different music. It can't be worse than rap," I joked.
"Alright." He stood up and brushed the dirt off his pants. Then he cleared his throat and began to sing weird words, most of which I couldn't understand. He swayed on his feet, moving his arms as if he were throwing a spear. He repeated words like huks, racks, kest, in an ever-faster rhythm.
Jakob was right, none of it made any sense. The accompanying melody was creepy, though. The longer he chanted, the more animated his arms and legs became, the louder his voice rose. My mind became unfocused, and I had a desperate desire to rip my clothes off and join in his dance. I could taste raw meat, and the urge to kill something overwhelmed me. Images of large, wooly beasts filled my vision. When Jakob shook me awake, I realized I'd been spinning around, dancing, I guess, because I was panting for breath and my feet were dirty and sor
e from stomping around the fire.
"Um . . . . What was that?" I asked, rearranging my clothes.
"A powerful incantation. I'm glad to see that it still works. We might need it later," Jakob added, settling down once again on his sleeping bag.
I dug out a bottle of water from my backpack and drank deeply. Still catching my breath, I wandered over and inspected one of the sepia horses drawn on a flat stone above my head. If I stretched up on tiptoes, I could barely touch it with my fingertips. The flames from our fire flickered so the animal looked like it was galloping. Running away.
I sneezed, and a—what would you call it?—a coven of bats stirred to life in an adjoining cave. They'd been jumpy all day, ever since we'd crashed their place. I suspected they were as tired of us as I was of them.
Jakob didn't seem to mind them, though.
You wouldn't believe the lecture I got on bats when I asked what was making that horrible racket the first time they all freaked and started squeaking and flapping their leathery wings. Did you know that bats have remained virtually unchanged for the past fifty million years? And also, that bats are the only mammals capable of sustained flight?
I went from overheating like a furnace in July to shivering and rummaging for more clothes. Jakob wasn't cold. The weather had no effect on him. I'd seen him soaked to the bone in torrential downpours in Christchurch and also in Madrid. He'd only blinked away the rain. A sudden blizzard in the mountains of northern Afghanistan didn't faze him, either. The weather got so bad that six people died during the two weeks we were stranded there, their frozen bodies discovered in snowdrifts. We quietly left before learning if they'd caught the 'animal' that had slashed their throats.
When I asked him if he'd killed those people, he said, "I'll never lie to you, Abigail." So, was he implying that even though he wasn't responsible for the deaths of the Popsicle People, he knew who—or what—was? I didn't ask. He has a way of answering a question that leaves me feeling a bit unsettled.
"I'm cold," I volunteered, returning to my sleeping bag cocoon.
His lips moved, and I considered the possibility that he might be praying, even though he'd never struck me as the religious type. In all the cities we'd visited—places like Vienna, Rome, and Barcelona—he never once accompanied me into a church or cathedral. At first, I didn't know if he couldn't because of, you know, his condition. But I didn't force the issue. I didn't want my vamp boyfriend to suddenly burst into flames upon entering St. Peter's Basilica. Awkward!
Another time he'd explained about sacred sites. His inability to enter a church had to do with the whole dead/not dead thing being an affront to God. Who would've thought the undead had rules to obey?
Shivering alone in my sleeping bag and wanting, craving, my man's body heat to warm me up, a sharp rock still digging in my back and sending pain up my spine, with literally tons of stone above my head just waiting for me to close my eyes so they could fall and crush me to death in my sleep . . . in the dark, so far from home, I admitted I might have made a mistake running away with Jakob. I missed my job. I missed my burgundy uniform and my duties, the day-to-day routine of filling vials with people's blood. I missed comforting nervous patients and placating impossible doctors. I even missed the paperwork.
I burst into tears as I wondered about my life choices.
The tears only made my face colder. I snuffled and tried to generate some heat by rubbing my hands over my arms. I would've liked for Jakob to do that, but I didn't ask him. I couldn't bear one more of his cold-hearted rejections at this point.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at my travel companion, taut and muscled, his chest nicely filling out his black shirt.
I couldn't help but wonder what would happen to us. After.
"Jakob?"
"Yes, Abigail?"
I still got shivers whenever he said my name. He couldn't say it in an unsexy way even if he tried.
"What's going to happen at the Equinox?"
I wormed my way closer. He played with my hair, and I wanted more.
"I don't know," he admitted.
"You promise that you'll look after me and you won't let me die?" When it really came down to it, how trustworthy were vampires? And just how was he going to heal me, anyway? The details were as vague as ever.
"Of course not, Abigail. Don't worry, we'll be together for ever," he assured me. He stood and picked up a smoldering piece of charcoal from the fire. Then he dug around the side of the cave and unearthed a reddish stone.
"What are you doing?"
Instead of answering, he walked to a blank spot between images on the stone ceiling and he began to draw, first with the black charcoal, and then with the red stone. I heard a mumbled version of the chant he'd sung earlier.
The small drawing fit in stylistically with the other pictures. He drew two figures side by side, kind of the way we laid down earlier. The drawn heads overlapped: a black oval sketched over sepia.
"This icon shows a turning." He spoke carefully. "That one is you," he said, pointing to the smaller, red stick figure.
"Really?" I suppose it kind of resembled me, even though he'd definitely exaggerated the big round boobs by several sizes. Wishful thinking, Bucko.
"And the black stick guy?"
"That would be me," he said. And as soon as he said the words, reality somehow shifted and the drawing took on a deeper meaning.
This was the first time he'd mentioned my turning in months. When he began feeding, I understood that my 'miraculous cure' would most likely end up being the electric chair if the cops ever tracked us down. Now that the Equinox was imminent, I was getting a bit scared. "This turning, you can't just say a few magical words and bite my neck?"
"No."
I waited, but he didn't elaborate. I swear, sometimes talking to Jakob was like pulling teeth. "So, then, what are you gonna do to me?"
"Every good tale has an origin story. Do you want to hear one?" he asked, his voice changing from a dreamy tone to one of business-like formality.
His words made my heart beat faster, and all I could do was nod.
"Once upon a time, God created everything, including all the opposites. He divided the world into being and nothingness, good and evil, water and land. Male and female. And life and death."
I strained to hear his soft voice through the gusting breeze.
"God also split the world into light and dark. And then He created two groups of beings. One group ruled in the light of day, and He gave the other dominion over the darkness. I won't bore you with the day rulers. You can read any history book to learn what they did and what has become of them. Instead, I'll tell you about the rulers of the night. Much less is known about them."
"Why is that?" I asked, unnerved by Jakob's growing agitation.
"Unlike the rulers of the day, whose main concerns were politics, building communities and creating commerce, the rulers of the night were more . . . well, you would think they acted more like hunters than politicians."
"So how did the hunters rule, then? Without politics, what kept people from killing each other?"
"Simple. Even despots rule through fear. If you know what a person is most afraid of, then you can control all their actions."
He must've taken my horror for skepticism, because he continued. "For example, you can threaten to torture them or a member of their family. Public executions also work well to keep large groups of people from revolting." He thought for a moment. "With the rulers of the night, you only broke the law once. They meted out justice swiftly and without mercy." His face glowed with perspiration.
Was this hitting too close to home? "Is this how you came to be the last member of your tribe?" I asked.
He nodded, ran a hand through his hair. "Attrition. While the sun rested, the hunters kept the moon company, and they were sustained by it."
"Like bats coming out at night," I said, thinking I had a handle on what he was saying.
"In a way. And so the light and the
night dwellers were separated, each living their own lives. Neither group interfered with the other, as God dictated at the time of the Great Beginning. And this arrangement went on for eons, until the rulers of the day became greedy and waged war on the night dwellers."
"How did that happen?" This story was turning into my very own horror show. I had goose bumps all over, even though I remained wrapped up in my sleeping bag.
"In 1807, the world turned into one long, uninterrupted day. London became the first city to light its dark streets with gas, ending the natural divisions between sun and moon." Jakob slammed a hand onto the cold stone, not flinching at the impact.
"Don't," I whispered, still afraid the slightest noise would make the whole cave collapse. "What happened to the rulers of the dark, then? Were they wiped off the face of the earth by their arch-enemy, light?"
"No, we were not." Jakob growled into the shadowy corners. The bats took flight again and Jakob raised his voice to be heard over the noise. "Rulers of the night believed they'd been cheated by God. The new light drove them far away from their ancestral homelands and scattered them to the distant corners of the world, forcing them to inhabit remote areas where un-natural lighting did not exist. From dark caves such as these, they watched the rulers of the day extend their dominion over all of their stolen territories."
"And?" I asked. Don't get me wrong, I'm not stupid. I connected the dots between the rulers of night and my sunlight-avoiding vampire boyfriend entertaining me with a tale of family folklore.
"Well, as you can imagine, Abigail, it led to an imbalance in the world, not that God minded. But every so often, thanks to these ancient sites, obscure tomes, and the magic that still exists between day and night, we're able to turn a new member to the darkness."
Oh yeah . . . the professor was in the house! He'd just listed all the subjects we'd been researching since I left my old life. But as I considered his words . . . the darkness, my heart thumped hard in my chest. Did I want to be part of this darkness? I didn't like the sound of that at all.
He returned to me, done for now with his storytelling. He sat down and helped me out of my bag. I shivered when the cold air hit my warm skin.
We sat beside each other on the cave floor. Jakob hugged me. His face was damp, his five o'clock shadow darker than I'd ever seen it. He drew a tiny pattern on my arms with his fingertips, giving rise to a new crop of goose bumps.
"Adaptation and evolution, Abigail," he whispered in my ear. "Over time, and countless generations, some creatures developed feeding habits during the night and day. Leeches and mosquitoes, for example. Still others, due to evolution, mutation, and biological impossibilities, learned to survive in the chasm between the living and the dead."
Others, such as vampires? I wondered.
"Turnings add to the immortal night hunters' ranks, sweetheart. That's how we'll beat them in the end."
So many questions, so little answers; none that my Catechism of the Catholic Church addressed. "When is the turning going to happen?" I asked, my squeaky voice betraying a growing fear.
"Very soon now. The process has already begun. Can you feel it? The sun is about to rise, and events have been set into motion. I've drawn the turning, according to the instructions, and I recited the spell."
He kissed me hard, his lips mashing against mine until I opened my mouth to breathe and felt those sharp fangs once again.
"Is it time?" I asked after pulling away. My heart raced. Jakob hadn't prepared me at all for this. He hadn't told me anything. "Tell me what to do, Jakob." I didn't know what to expect and mixed with the growing fear I also felt an overwhelming attraction for him. He could have been a thousand years old for all I cared. He was tall, dark, handsome and immortal. And he was all mine.
"Don't worry. I'm not sure about all that's going to happen, but I'll be with you the whole time," he reassured once more me before disappearing into the pre-dawn darkness.