My grief over my lost father faded slowly. Yet two years after his death and the disappearance of Yaksha, near my twentieth birthday, I met Rama, the son of a wandering merchant. My love for Rama was instantaneous. I saw him and knew I was supposed to be with him, and by the blessings of Lord Vishnu, he felt the same way. We were married under the full moon beside the river. The first night I slept with my husband I dreamed of Amba. She was as she had been when we had sung late at night together. Yet her words to me were dark. She told me to beware the blood of the dead, never to touch it. I woke up weeping and was only able to sleep by holding my husband tightly.
Soon I was with child, and before the first year of my marriage was over, we had a daughter—Lalita, she who plays. Then my joy was complete and my grief over my father faded. Yet I was to have that joy for only a year.
One moonless night I was awakened late by a sound. Beside me slept my husband, and on my other side our daughter. I do not know why the sound woke me; it was not loud. But it was peculiar, the sound of nails scraping over a blade. I got up and went outside my house and stood in the dark and looked around.
He came from behind me, as he often used to when we were friends. But I knew he was there before he spoke. I sensed his proximity—his inhuman being.
“Yaksha,” I whispered.
“Sita.” His voice was very soft.
I whirled around and started to shout, but he was on me before I could make a sound. For the first time I felt Yaksha’s real strength, a thing he had kept hidden while he lived in our village. His hands, with their long nails, were like the paws of a tiger around my neck. A long sword banged against his knee. He choked off my air and leaned over and whispered in my ear. He had grown taller since I last saw him.
“You betrayed me, my love,” he said. “If I let you speak, will you scream? If you scream you will die. Understood?”
I nodded and he loosened his grip, although he continued to keep me pinned. I had to cough before I could speak. “You betrayed me,” I said bitterly. “You killed my father and those other men.”
“You do not know that,” he said.
“If you didn’t kill them, then where are they?”
“They are with me, a few of them, in a special way.”
“What are you talking about? You lie—they are dead, my father’s dead.”
“Your father is dead, that is true, but only because he did not want to join me.” He shook me roughly. “Do you wish to join me?”
It was so dark, I could see nothing of his face except in outline. But I did believe he was smiling at me. “No,” I said.
“You do not know what I am offering you.”
“You are evil.”
He slapped me, hard. The blow almost took off my head. I tasted my own blood. “You do not know what I am,” he said, angry, but proud as well.
“But I do. I was there that night. Didn’t the others tell you before you killed them? I saw it all. It was I who named you—Yaksha—cursed son of a yakshini!”
“Keep your voice down.”
“I will do nothing you say!”
He gripped me tight again, and it was hard to breathe. “Then you will die, lovely Sita. After first watching your husband and child die. Yes, I know they are asleep in this house. I have watched you from afar for a while now.”
“What do you want?” I gasped, bitter.
He let me go. His tone was light and jovial, which was cruel. “I have come to offer you two choices. You can come with me, be my wife, become like me. Or you and your family can die tonight. It is that simple.”
There was something strange in his voice besides his cruelty. It was as if he were excited over an unexpected discovery. “What do you mean, become like you? I can never be like you. You are different from anybody else.”
“My difference is my greatness. I am the first of my kind, but I can make others like me. I can make you like me if you will consent to our blood mixing.”
I didn’t know what he was offering, but it frightened me, that his blood, even a little, should get inside mine. “What would your blood do to me?” I asked.
He stood tall. “You see how strong I am. I cannot be easily killed. I see things you cannot see, I hear what you cannot hear.” He leaned close, his breath cold on my cheek. “Most of all I dream things you never imagined. You can be part of that dream, Sita. Or you can begin to rot tonight, in the ground, beside your husband and child.”
I did not doubt his words. His uniqueness had been obvious to me from the start. That he could transfer his qualities into another did not surprise me.
“If your blood entered into me, would I also become cruel like you?” I asked.
My question amused him. “I believe in time you would become worse than I.” He leaned closer still, and I felt his teeth touch my earlobe. He took a tiny bite and sucked at the blood that flowed, and the act revolted me because of its effect on me. I liked it. I loved it even more than I loved the passion my husband gave to me in the middle of the night. I felt the true essence of Yaksha’s power then, the depth of it, the space beyond the black space in the sky where the yakshinis came from. Just with that tiny bite I felt as if every drop of my blood turned from red to black. I felt invincible.
Still, I hated him, more than ever.
I took a step away.
“I watched you grow up,” I said. “You watched me. You know I always speak my mind. How can I be your wife if I hate you so? Why would you want a wife like me?”
He spoke seriously. “I have wanted you for years now.”
I turned my back on him. “If you want me so, it must mean you care about me. And if you care about me, then leave this place. Go away and don’t come back. I am happy with my life.”
I felt his cold hand on my shoulder. “I will not leave you.”
“Then kill me. But leave my husband and child alone.”
His grip on my shoulder tightened. Truly, I realized, he was as strong as ten men, if not more. If I cried out, Rama would be dead in a moment. Pain radiated from my shoulder into the rest of my body, and I was forced to stoop.
“No,” he said. “You must come with me. It was destiny that you were there that night. It is your destiny to follow me now, to the edge of night.”
“The edge of night?”
He pulled me up and kissed me hard on the lips. Once more I tasted his blood, mixed with mine. “We will live for eternity,” he swore. “Just say yes. You must say yes.” He paused and glanced at my house. He did not have to say it again; I understood his meaning. I was beaten.
“Yes.”
He hugged me. “Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“You lie, but it doesn’t matter. You will love me. You will love me forever.”
He picked me up and carried me away. Into the dark forest, to a place of calm, of silence, where he opened his veins and mine with his nails, and pressed our arms together, and held them such, for what seemed forever. In that night all time was lost, and all love was tainted. He spoke to me as he changed me, but it was with words I did not understand, the sounds yakshinis must make when they mate in their black hells. He kissed me and stroked my hair.
Eventually, the power of his transfusion overwhelmed my body. My breathing, my heartbeat—they raced faster and faster, until soon they chased each other, until I began to scream, like one dropped into a boiling pot of oil. Yet, this I did not understand, and still do not. The worst of the agony was that I could not get enough of it. That it thrilled me more than the love any mortal could give to me. In that moment Yaksha became my lord, and I cried for him instead of for Vishnu. Even as the race of my breathing and heartbeat collided and stopped. Yes, as I died I forgot my God. I chose the path my father had rejected. Yes, it is the truth, I cursed my own soul by my own choice as I screamed in wicked pleasure and embraced the son of the devil.
FOUR
The expression “the impatience of youth” is silly. The longer I live, the more impatient I bec
ome. True, if nothing much is happening, I can sit perfectly still and be content. Once I stayed in a cave for six months and had only the blood of a family of bats to dine on. But as the centuries have gone by, I want what I want immediately. I enter into relationships swiftly. Therefore, in my mind, I already consider Ray and Seymour friends, although we have just met.
Of course, I often end friendships as quickly.
It is Ray’s knocking at my door that brings me out of my rest. How does a vampire sleep? The answer is simple. Like something dead. True, I often dream when I sleep, but they are usually dreams of blood and pain. Yet the dream I just had, of Amba and Rama and Yaksha, of the beginning, is the one I find the most painful. The pain never lessens as the time goes by. It is with a heavy step that I walk from the bedroom to answer the front door.
Ray has changed out of his school clothes into jeans and a gray sweatshirt. It is ten o’clock. A glance at Ray tells me that he is wondering what he is doing at my house after dark. This girl he has just met. This girl that has such hypnotic eyes. If he wasn’t thinking about sex before, he might be thinking about it soon.
“Am I too late?” he asks.
I smile. “I’m a vampire. I stay up all night.” I step aside and gesture. “Please come in, and please forgive the bare rooms. As I said, a lot of the furniture is still in the garage. The moving people couldn’t get into the house when they came.”
Ray glances around and nods his approval. “You said your parents are away?”
“I did say that, yes.”
“Where are they?”
“Colorado.”
“Where did you live in Colorado?”
“In the mountains,” I say. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Sure. What do you have?”
“Water.”
He laughs. “Sounds perfect. As long as you’ll join me.
“Gladly. I might have a bottle of wine as well. Do you drink?”
“I have a beer every now and then.”
We head for the kitchen. “Wine is much better, red wine. Do you eat meat?”
“I’m not a vegetarian, if that’s what you mean. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering,” I say. He is so darling, it is hard to resist nibbling on him.
We have a glass of wine together, standing in the kitchen. We drink to world peace. Ray is anxious to get to work, he says. He is just anxious. Alone with a mortal, my aura of difference is greater. Ray knows he is with a unique female, and he is intrigued, and confused. I ask how Pat is. May as well confront his confusion.
“Fine,” he says.
“Did you tell her you were coming to visit me?”
He lowers his head. He feels a twinge of guilt, but no more. “I told her I was tired and wanted to go to bed.”
“You can sleep here if you want. Once you bring in the beds.”
My boldness startles him. “My father would wonder where I was.”
“I have a phone. You can call him.” I add, “What does your father do?”
“He’s a private detective.”
“Sounds glamorous. Do you want to call him?”
Ray catches my eye. I catch his in return. He doesn’t flinch as his father did under my scrutiny. Ray is strong inside.
“Let’s see how it goes and how late it gets,” Ray says carefully.
He sets to work. Soon he is huffing and puffing. I help him, but only a little. Nevertheless, he comments on my strength. I tell him how I befriended Seymour and he is interested. Apparently Seymour is a friend of his as well.
“He’s probably the smartest guy in the school,” Rays says, lugging in a couple of dining room chairs. “He’s only sixteen years old and he’ll be graduating in June.”
“He told me he likes to write,” I say.
“He’s an incredible writer. He let Pat read a couple of his short stories, and she gave them to me. They were real dark, but beautiful. One was about what goes on in the space between moments of time. It was called ‘The Second Hand.’ He had this character who suddenly begins to live between the moments, and finds that there is more going on there than in normal time.”
“Sounds interesting. What made the story dark?”
“The guy was in the last hour of his life. But it took him a year to live it.”
“Did the guy know it was his last hour?”
Ray hesitates. He must know Seymour is not well. “I don’t know, Lara.”
He has not used my name before. “Call me Sita,” I say, surprising myself.
He raises an eyebrow, “A nickname?”
“Sort of. My father used to call me that.”
Ray is alert to my change of tone, for I have allowed sadness to enter my voice. Or maybe it is the sound of longing, which is different from sorrow. No one I have cared about has used my real name in thousands of years. I think how nice it will be to have Ray say it.
“How long will your family be in Colorado?” Ray asks.
“I lied. My father’s not there. He’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I was thinking about him before you came.” I sigh. “He died a long time ago.”
“How did he die?”
“He was murdered.”
Ray makes a face. “That must have been terrible for you. I know if anything ever happened to my father, I would be devastated. My mother left us when I was five.”
I swallow thickly. By the strength of my reaction, I realize how involved I have allowed myself to become with the boy. All because he has Rama’s eyes? There is more to it than that. He also has Rama’s voice. No, not his accent surely—the average person would have said, had they heard them together, that they sounded nothing alike. But to me, with my vampire ears, the subtle aspects of their voices are almost identical. The silence between their syllables. It was Rama’s deep silence that initially attracted me to him.
“You must be very close” is all I can say. But I know I will have to bring up the father again soon. I want in that office tonight. I just hope I mopped up every drop of blood. I have no wish to be with Ray when he learns the truth.
If he ever does.
I let him finish bringing in the furniture, which takes him a couple of hours, although it took me less than twenty minutes to put it in the garage. It is after midnight. I offer him another glass of wine—a large glass—and he drinks it down quick. He is thirsty, as I am thirsty. I want his blood, I want his body. Blood drinking and sex are not that separate in my mind. Yet I am no black widow. I do not mate and kill. But the urges, the lusts—they sometimes come together. But I don’t want to hurt this young man, I don’t want any harm to befall him. Yet just by being with me his chances of dying are much greater. I have only to think of my history, and of the person who stalks me now. I watch as Ray sets down his empty glass.
“I should get home,” he says.
“You can’t drive.”
“Why not?”
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk.”
I smile. “I gave you enough alcohol to make you drunk. Face it, boy, you’re trapped here for a while. But if you want to sober up quick, then take a hot tub with me. You can sweat the alcohol out of your system.”
“I didn’t bring my suit.”
“I don’t own a suit,” I say.
He is interested—very—but doubtful. “I don’t know.”
I step over and rest my palms on his sweaty chest. His muscles are well developed. It would be fun to wrestle with him, I think, especially since I know who would win. I look up into his eyes; he is almost a head taller than I. He looks down at me, and he feels as if he is falling into my eyes, into bottomless wells of blue, twin skies behind which the eternal black of space hides. The realm of the yakshinis. He senses my darkness in this moment. I sense other things about him and feel a chill. So much like Rama, this boy. He haunts me. Could it be true? Those words of Krishna’s that Radha had told me about love?
“Time cannot destroy it.
I am that love—time cannot touch me. Time but changes the form. Somewhere in some time it will return. When you least expect it, the face of a loved one reappears. Look beyond the face and—”
Odd, but I cannot remember the last part of it. I of the perfect memory.
“I will not tell Pat,” I say. “She will never know.”
He draws in a breath. “I don’t like lying to her.”
“People always lie to one another. It’s the way of the world. Accept it. It doesn’t mean you have to hurt with your lies.” I take his hands; they tremble slightly, but his eyes remained fastened on mine. I kiss his fingers and rub them on my cheek. “What happens with me will not hurt her.”
He smiles faintly. “Is that a lie to save me hurt?”
“Maybe.”
“Who are you?”
“Sita.”
“Who is Sita?”
“I told you already, but you weren’t listening. It doesn’t matter. Come, we’ll sit in the water together and I’ll rub your tired muscles. You’ll love it. I have strong hands.”
Not long after, we are naked in the Jacuzzi together. I have had many lovers, of course, both male and female—thousands actually—but the allure of the flesh has yet to fade in me. I am excited as Ray sits with his bare back to me, my knees lightly hugging his rib cage, my hands kneading deep into the tissue along his spine. It has been a long time since I have massaged anybody and I enjoy it. The water is very hot. Steam swirls around us and Ray’s skin reddens. But he says he likes it this way, so hot he feels he’s being boiled alive. I, of course, don’t mind boiling water. I lean over and bite him gently on the shoulder.
“Careful,” he says. He does not want me to leave any marks for Pat to find.
“It will be gone in the morning.” I suck a few drops of blood from his wound. Such a pleasant way to spend a night. The blood flows like an elixir down my throat, making me want more. But I resist the urge. I pinch the tip of my tongue with my teeth and a drop of blood oozes onto the small bite. It vanishes instantly. I return to my massage. “Ray?” I say.
He moans with pleasure. “Yes.”