Timothy

The human ability to adapt to change is truly remarkable. For, by Saturday morning I was absolutely accustomed to finding Plume wielding a huge wooden spoon over a kettle of porridge. Nothing weird about a vampire cooking.

"Morning," I greeted him as I entered the kitchen.

"Did you sleep well, uncle?" Plume asked. He didn't take his eyes off the kettle, but reached to open a cupboard for me. A glass came flying to my outstretched hand.

"Thanks," I said as I opened the faucet to get some fresh water. "And yes. I think I did. But I saw funny dreams, about an elven queen, in a very odd forest."

I gulped down the water. Plume had already poured tea into two cups. I took them to the table. Plume joined me presently with two small bowls of steaming porridge. At my small dismayed gesture, he sighed. And nudged the fruit tray to my direction.

"I'm not linked to anyone." I muttered as I reached for a banana. "And this is my house."

"It was your house. And I think the banana beats the jam as a choice for a sweet treat at breakfast. Especially considering nothing is aiding your body to keep itself healthy. No vampiric help the linked enjoy."

We looked at each other over the steaming plates. In the silence I heard the kitchen clock behind my back ticking on, one second at a time.

"You sound like a vampire," I told him. "I'm not your pet."

"You are my beloved uncle, a way deal more important than a mere pet. And I am a vampire." He looked thoughtful and balanced on the hindlegs of the chair. "And the weird thing is, you sound like a vampire often enough. I kind of tend to forget you aren't. You even feel like one."

I felt my hackle rising.

"Whatever do you mean by that?"

And I would never know. The doorbell made me jump while Plume's balance actually crashed and the man thudded to the tiled kitchen floor.

We were both then frozen on the spot.

"They are coming in," Plume announced after a few heartbeats. 

He was on his feet in a flash my human perception failed to follow.

I dashed after him, just to see Plume greeting my mother in the hall. She was flushed from the windy weather, her colored red hair matching the tone. And her eyes were on Plume, whose red eyes weren't covered by anything and whose pale smooth skin drew in the little light there was to be found in the dim hall. We hadn't expected anyone.

"What the hell are you?!" my mother exclaimed just as I reached them. She made the catholic sign of the cross.

"I could ask you exactly the same." I heard in Plume's voice thickly layered the smooth vampiric persuasion. The air around us felt almost sirupy with the manipulation intent he emanated. My own mental faculties were slowing down.

"Mother," I managed through the haze.

The cloud cleared almost instantly, shattered by my voice. Plume turned his head sharply away from my mother to cover his eyes and her gaze snapped to me. We were all more or less of height. Plume the shortest without his high heels.

"Oh. Little one." Her eyes focused. She smiled.

"I'll get my glasses," Plume said smoothly and took to the stairs.

"Who is that?" My mother asked me, frowning at Plume's turned back.

"A friend," I said. "Why are you here?"

"But what is he doing here this time in the morning?" She continued.

"He slept here. Why are you here?" I insisted.

 I gained a small moment of satisfaction seeing the small muscles twist at the corner of her mouth as she was wildly making her conclusions of a sleepover between two young men. Let her think of that. I wasn't going to be the one to tell her our relationship was less than platonic, if she felt like imagining.

Plume came down the stairs. Fully and smartly dressed, and dark eyed, with not a hair astray in his jet black head. He was really a sight. I guessed he picked up some of what I was thinking just then as he winked in my direction. I smiled despite myself. The flirtatious gesture was just perfect.

It was so easy to fall in love with a vampire.

The thought sobered me enough to hear my mother's explanation for the visit:

"I am sorry I haven't told you before. But I have a potential buyer for this house. She seems very interested in this place and called today. She said she had just arrived in the country and wished to see the place in the evening. I thought I would come to warn you now, in the morning, so we could tidy up together."

I nodded. "I know. Mimosa told."

"Oh. Good." 

She didn't sound happy. I wondered why. Did she want me to be shocked? I frowned.

"You could have called me," I continued thinking aloud. "I could have cleaned up. Not that it's so bad in here." 

What did she want, coming here? The drive from Dale was three hours. She must have left around seven in the morning. If she hadn't made a single stop.

"Can I look around?" She asked.

I verbally allowed it, wondering if I had forgotten a pair of boxers on the floor of my room, or something. It suddenly felt like a blessing that I didn't have a girlfriend.

As my mother made her way upstairs, Plume came to stand with me in the hall. He didn't say anything, just put a hand on my shoulder consolingly. I let him. It did feel comforting. A fellow vampire's support.

"I don't know what game she is playing," I confessed. I breathed the words silently.

"What does she take?" Plume whispered in my ear.

It took me a few seconds to connect the dots.

"My sister and mother are in Faith," I explained. "It seems to protect them from anything supernatural, as far as I can tell."

"Why aren't you?" was the question coming off his lips next.

"I don't know."

"Let's finish the breakfast then."

We went back to the kitchen as my mother went through the house. Eventually she found her way back downstairs and us finishing two perfectly respectable cups of excellent white tea with just a hint of lemon. Whatever she was trying to catch me at seemed to have eluded her. I wondered what it was.

She sat with us somewhat awkwardly. A silence issued.

"Do you want tea?" I asked.

"That would be lovely."

I could feel Plume's gaze at the nape of my neck. But I put some water in a kettle to boil and came back to the table.

"I thought of visiting my sister, now that I am in the capital. Would you like to come with me?" She asked.

I shook my head. "I just saw her last week. I don't think Chime misses me yet."

"You could come with us to the Church."

I felt awkward. She was insisting. And I felt an alarm ringing inside my skull. An argument was coming I couldn't win and thus predicted my Saturday was turning out horrendously wrong.

"I'm rather tired. It has been a long week," I started.

"Why would Timothy go to your temple?"

We both turned to Plume. He was looking directly at my mother. His tone was conversational and his expression openly curious. I felt her afront at the question already before she said:

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean what I just said. But let me clarify: Why would Timothy go to church with you? It must be a dull day for him, sitting there listening to people rant about a god he doesn't believe in. I don't think there is any novelty included in the experience. And no sense of belonging. So, why would he be interested?"

My mother didn't take her eyes off the vampire a she said:

"But of course Timothy belongs. He has been christianized. He has taken communion. Of course he belongs. And there are his mother and aunt."

But she didn't ask me. Her eyes never left Plume.

I could have, in theory, said it wasn't true. That I didn't want to go. But my lips were sealed. I couldn't bring myself to speak and go against her fantasy of a good christian son. All power seemed to seep out of me. I was nailed to my place by a long history of lost fights.

But Plume wasn't done yet. He changes tactics smoothly. "Well, how very unfortunate then, that he has promised the day to me. And I don't fancy wasting it bringing offerings to a foreign god."

"We are not taking offerings. Christ has willingly given his life to save us. Nothing we can offer can come even close to that."

Plume yawned.

I watched the slight insults cumulating, and felt terrified to my core by the play.

At the end of it, my mother rose. 

"Well. If your old mother isn't good enough company for you today, what can I do? Have a fun day." She turned her back and left the kitchen.

As I made to rise to go after her and smooth things out, I saw a flash. I tried to dodge. But the object wasn't aimed at my body, instead a sharp kitchen knife dug deep into the chair, pinning me by the loose T-shirt I was wearing. I froze. I could feel the cold metal beneath the shirt.

I lifted my gaze to Plume, who had an extremely warning look on his pale face. His left hand was still in the throwing position.

"If you rise now," he said in a very low voice, "I guarantee you'll regret it."

He closed his hand in a fist. And lifted his upper lip just enough for me to see the sharp fang tip. There, on the tip, a golden substance gathered light. I left the knife where it was.

The back of my mouth felt suddenly very dry. I could, of course, also spend my day in a very bad coma and have the worst mornign ever tommorow. Not every vampire had the venom, but those who did, had plenty.

"Goodbye!" My mother shouted from the door. "I will come back in the evening. Maybe you find the buyer to be a more interesting person than me."

The door was flung shut after her.

I was granted one long exhale.

Then Plume was on me. He tore the knife out in a movement I hardly followed and in the next second I found myself back against a wall in the living room and his fist keeping a hold of my shirt front.

"Tell me this instant, what that was!" He shouted to my face. The fangs were now clearly visible due to the fact that I had a clear view to his mouth that was almost pressed to mine. "Why did you freeze like that! Who is that woman to say at all where you should be, or what gods hold! She clearly isn't interested in knowing you! So why!?"

"I don't know," I said. 

I was shaken. I could feel the hardness of his grip. 

"Why? She is my mother."

Plume's hand shook. "No one should have a control like that over a vampire. Where is your balance?"

A droplet of the poison dropped on his shirt where it evaporated in an apparently harmless puff of mist.

"I am sorry, Plume. I just can't. Not with her. We fight all the time. Or then I can just be silent. It's so much easier." I closed my eyes. "Please. Plume, I can't."

His grip loosened.

I felt the shift in his intentions. And ducked. The slap landed on my cheek anyway. It rang against my ear. Through the momentarily haze, I saw the golden liquid. And Plume biting into his own hand. The poison sank in a gush harmlessly into his own veins.

I sank onto the floor. Plume let out a howl of pain. He held the bleeding hand.

I felt breathless and weak. And it wasn't because of Plume. Part of it was. But most was because of what he had said was true. I found myself often hating my mother. And that I never seemed to have in me what she wanted to find in her son. And I hated myself often enough for still wanting instinctively to please her.

"I understand it now. You aren't studying for yourself." 

Plume was standing over me. He was still holding a hand that was dripping redness to a small pool on the wooden floor. 

"This fleeting human life of yours that you stole back by some dark art, it isn't even yours. You haven't found a great insight to living. You are just afraid of breaking her heart. Even as she breaks yours every day."

Plume sank onto the floor with me, carefully avoiding the puddle he had made.

"And she owns your home. She wanted to see you beg her not to sell it. That is the game she is playing."

"You are being harsh..." I started silently.

"I am not. And if you truly were a vampire and not of her species, you would see it quite as clearly. She doesn't want to sell it for this buyer. She just wants you to ask her not to. To establish anew her power hanging over your head."

He drew in a breath to continue speaking. 

"Quite as she wanted an excuse to go snooping around and find anything she could hang over your head to belittle you. A lost pair of boxers, a filthy sink. Something to point out you weren't perfectly capable of taking care of the house so she would need to clean it for you."

"You are venting," I told the vampire. 

"I know." He sighed the words out. "But you can't say the idea is far-fetched."

My silence confirmed his suspicions. What he had just described was plausible to me. It was plausible to the human in me. And to the vampire in me that was now disgusted at my own powerlessness. Mo would be disappointed in me. Everyone should.

I felt tears in the corners of my eyes. I had thought that if I just pretended enough, I could make the human life as it was mine. If I just didn't go near vampires, and didn't look at the magic, I could feel happy, remembering the alternative.

And the sad truth was, I still didn't want the alternative. I wasn't confident enough to be a dark god deciding who died so I could still live. Or over whose will I would insert my own. I just wasn't ready for that either. Even as I had seen it. And I couldn't judge the vampires, not after I had seen through red eyes myself.

I was trapped.

A tear dropped onto my shoulder.

Plume moved closer. His hand had stopped bleeding. I rested my head onto his shoulder. It felt good. And it wasn't human. No Atlantean male of 24 could have rested his head on the shoulder of an acquaintance known for a few days. But a vampire of the same tribe was bound to take care of the suffering uncle. So I rested my head on Plume's slender shoulder and cried, human tears in the vampire's embrace.

There we were two brothers. And I felt many times closer to him than to any human being on the planet.

After I had quieted down and was sitting in silence, Plume asked:

"Would you want some tea? Real tea? Eating out? I could do with some fresh air. And, mmm... Some blood wouldn't go amiss either. There is a place that sells for the two of us. "

"You pay," I said hoarsely.

"I invite," he confirmed.

We looked at the small pool on the floor.

"And I clean," he added.

Valentina

I hadn't felt hugely enthusiastic when Clover had called to ask if I wanted to go for a cup of coffee. And it wasn't because Clover wouldn't be good company. Just of late it felt like I saw her all the time.

It almost felt like she was trying to communicate something to me. And I just didn't get it. I was almost 100 percent certain Clover was as straight as they came. Even Lavender gave out more gay vibes for my radar to pick up and she was in a steady relationship with a man. Clover was not queer. She just wasn't.

I was almost certain.

Yet, now, as we walked through light rain to The Fair Marquise, and she trodded on silently, green hair blowing, I felt somehow insecure. As if I were on some foreing terrain.

I opened the glass door to let her into the tea room. She gave me a funny glance as she went.

Marquise, the owner's dog, was napping just inside. I stepped over it, but Clover crouched down to pet the huge animal. I had never seen a golden retriever that big. Where had Hellebore gotten it?

There was a counter at the far end, but it was mostly used for take away infusions. Hellebore never took orders. He brought what he brought to the table, and people accepted whatever was offered. Somehow he was good at guessing. Or maybe he just stocked quality.

I looked for a free table. Hellebore had a somewhat haphazard style of indoor design installed into the place: Every table and chair was different from all others. There wasn't a piece of furniture that looked like its neighbor. The same went for tableware. All glasses, every cup, and even cutlery were mismatched.

And so were the customers. The place was packed, with young and old. All twelve tables taken.

But I spotted a familiar face seated at a round table. Timothy was talking to someone whose back was to me. There were three free chairs on the table. Timothy and the other were using one for jackets.

I tried to wave Timothy's attention, but he seemed deep in conversation. He wore a slight frown. And as I watched, he ran a nervous hand over his head. I went closer.

It was clear they had just come. There were no cups on the table, and Timothy was blowing warm air to red fingers.

"I did tell you to take gloves," the other was saying. His voice was melodic, very smooth and effortless.

"And I told you I lost mine. I don't own a second pair," Timothy answered.

"I find it hard to believe, uncle."

The appellation struck me. Uncle? I didn't hear Timothy's weary answer as I mulled over the word. I had known Timothy had a sister. I had met Mimosa. And she wasn't old enough to be this grown man's mother.

The mystery was shoved to the back of my mind, as Timothy suddenly raised his gaze. I met his colorless eyes.

"Oh! Valentina!" Timothy started lifting the jackets.

The other man turned. He had something familiar about him, though at the same time I could have happily sworn I had never seen him in my life. He had nice, delicate features and a pale complexion. Very dark eyes. I noticed the little circles around the irises. For some reason, I had paid more attention to contacts for a while. I saw them everywhere.

"Can we sit here?" I asked. I directed the question to the raven haired young man.

"Of course," he said. "Timothy has talked so much about you, Valentina, I feel like you are already family. Lovely to see the face to go with all the stories."

"Really?" I asked, a bit taken aback by the statement. I looked at Timothy. But he simply shrugged, confirming what the other had said.

I sat.

"I am called Plume," the other presented himself. We shook hands. His fingers felt delicate and cool in my sturdy grip. My palms were slightly sweated too. But I didn't feel awkward because of it. Something in his dark gaze made me feel at ease. I smiled at him. He answered the smile. Such a kind face.

"I see you didn't find an empty table." 

Clover seated herself in one of the empty chairs opposite mine. She chose the armchair with flowers over a simple ladder backed chair.

"If you don't approve of the company, you can freely wait until a table opens," Plume offered. It was obvious he and Clover were already acquainted. And there was no love lost between the two. I was a bit surprised by the discovery. I had thought Clover was friends with everyone she knew, or at least not openly hostile.

Timothy opened his mouth, but a hand was laid onto his shoulder. Timothy closed his mouth. And looked up to a man with a blindfold over his gaze. Hellebore's brown long hair fell to cover his smile and showy pearl earrings as he leaned forward to place a huge silver tray between us.

"Now that you are all here," he said. "Take a cup. But choose wisely. I guarantee you'll regret it if you take the wrong cup."

Together we leaned in to stare at the tray. There were four steaming cups. Two held clear transparent liquid. And two had something vividly violet in them.

"He-hellebore," Timothy breathed. He seemed shocked, staring at the two violet cups.

"Some trust," the owner said. He clapped Timothy's shoulder. And left us.

A silence fell.

"What is the meaning of this?" Clover asked. She too stared at the bluish cups.

Even Plume seemed surprised.

"What's it?" I asked.

Three faces were lifted to me. Timothy's mouth hung slightly ajar. His face told I had just asked a hard question to answer. Clover looked thoughtful. Plume lifted one hand to indicate he wasn't going to get involved and took hold of one of the violet cups. 

Clover's eyes followed as the man took the cup to his lips and sipped at the content.

He then slid the other, much smaller, lilac cup toward Timothy. Timothy reached to take it. But he didn't guide it to his lips as Plume had done. Instead, he held the cup between his hands and carefully swirled the content. It seemed to have small, lighter, almost silvery flakes mixed into the vividly violet liquid. Like stars in space.

At last Clover snorted and broke the silence. "I have dragged her through half the witch town this week. It doesn't really matter what we say to her. So. If you ask me, that thing in the cup is blueberry juice."

She crossed her arms, but not before she had drawn one of the clear liquids to herself.

"Enjoy, Timothy," she added.

Timothy looked at her clearly affronted. Whatever was in the mug, I doubted it tasted too good.

I took the cup that was left. It was actually a rather sympathetic mug with a yellow duck pattern. I smelled it, for the liquid was still too hot to take a sip. It smelled of tea. With some bergamot, if I wasn't badly mistaken.

Timothy was still staring into his cup.

He looked thoughtful.

"You can't seriously be thinking about drinking it," Clover said to him after a while.

"No," Timothy confirmed, "I think it's too hot." He smiled uncertainly to Clover who didn't seem too impressed by the answer.

"So, Valentina," Timothy turned to me. "How has your week been since Tuesday?"

I told him I had seen Professor Scale Tongue about my master's thesis. And that I had seen Clover around a lot.

"And how have your days been? With Clover?" He asked.

I looked into his gray eyes. How had my days with Clover been?

They had been nice. Hadn't they?

What did he expect me to tell him? There wasn't anything remarkable about the days. Not that I could remember.

I frowned.

Timothy took his cup into his hands as he leaned back in his chair in the silence.

"What did you guys do?" he asked again.

Timothy lifted the cup, to enjoy a sip of the starry liquid. It left a violet trail to his lips. Maybe it really was some weird juice. The man licked his upper lip.

"I don't think we did that much, sorry to disappoint you," I said, taking a sip of the sweet tea in my mug.

Timothy's intention seemed to soften. Some tension trailed out of him.

"Mmm. Nothing then." 

He sighed and took another sip.

Suddenly he froze. He stared into the cup he was holding.

"Good lord." He gave out a small, shocked laugh.

I became aware of the odd atmosphere hanging around our table. Both Clover and Plume had been intently staring at Timothy sipping at his juice, and the two of us just became aware of the attention. Timothy's mouth was hanging slightly open.

He placed the cup down with extreme care. And then lifted a hand to his mouth, as if he had just said something extremely rude. I had never seen my friend fight for composure as he did just then.

"Good lord," he repeated, seemingly unable to tear his gaze off the liquid in front of him.

Suddenly an idea occurred to me. It was far fetched, but also the only thing I could think of:

"Is it some kind of narcotic?"

Timothy's gaze snapped to mine. A lopsided smile found its way to her mouth.

"You could definitely say so. At least partly, it kind of is."

"Timothy."

We all turned to Clover. The green haired girl seemed openly disgusted. 

"You just drank half a cup of witches' blood, because you were too concentrated on pestering Valentina. I can tell you, a normal person notices if they accidentally take a sip of blood instead of tea. You owe me the best explanation in the world for this."

Timothy seemed to have found his cool. He took in a breath and looked steadily at his friend as he answered the absurd accusation as if there was some logic in it.

And maybe there was. If the stuff in the cup was some kind of drug, it might have been called witch's blood. What did I know of drugs?

"That is very fair." Timothy said serenely. "And I will explain. Right away. If you feel like hearing me out. Because," he lifted the cup, "it is quite obvious now that I have drank blood before. Apparently enough to not even notice." He looked to Plume as he said: "It didn't taste so weird either, mind you. Hellebore was right. I should have trusted him."

For a moment the other man looked simply shocked. A smile played at his lips. And then he burst into a catchy laughter.

"Didn't taste weird?" He barked.

He sobered up and looked at Timothy. "But that costs tons! And I said I'd pay! Come on. Let's at least trade cups. Give it here."

Plume extended a hand toward Timothy.

Timothy however had by then become playful. He had a twinkle in his eye as he held the cup just out of reach for Plume's delicate fingertips.

"Why? What good is it to you? As said, it is a narcotic, mostly. Even if you do drink both cups, you can stave off the thirst just for a few days. Even if there is some normal human blood mixed in. And it's still warm. It has been a cold day. I am sure a cup of blood can't turn my stomach that badly, now can it?"

Timothy whirled the liquid as if it were wine and took a long gulp. Plume gave out an exasperated exhale.

"You are impossible. It goes to waste. And will turn your fragile human stomach." Plume closed his fingers to a fist and leaned back. "Let me then explain to your mother dear what you did in the bathroom all her evening visit."

Timothy froze. He put the mug onto the table. There was maybe a third left of the violet substance.

"You are right. But, if it were just my mother coming, it would be the perfect plan."

He slid the cup surprisingly smoothly to Plume's reach. It came to rest just shy of the table's edge, not a drop spilled.

Then he turned to Clover who seemed to have witnessed something disgusting. Maybe Timothy drinking from a toilet bowl.

Timothy looked to be at peace as he said: "I was the vampire."

I wondered what he meant by that.

Clover

"I was the vampire," he said.

Timothy looked serious. He had on his face a mask of calm, his poker face that was very vampiric in itself.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked. The real vampire of the table took a sip from the mug that had been Timothy's.

"He means just that, with no hidden meaning." 

We all looked up at the blind owner of the tea house. Hellebore had returned to serve our table. He refilled my cup and Valentina's mug and conjured up a third cup, a delicate teacup with roses that he gave Timothy.

"A bit over a year ago, in the midst of the awakining spring," he continued. "A vampire came to my door, into my kitchen really, and asked if I could make him human. And I promised I could attach his soul to a newly made human body, but that if he survived the process, he would never be the same. I couldn't make his mind a human mind."

He directed his covered gaze to Timothy. "And if you could spare a moment when you leave, I would like to discuss a debt Plume cannot pay for you."

"So..." Plume spoke up.

"Yes, son," Hellebore addressed it. "Ask away."

Plume looked taken aback to be addressed as a son. It cleared its throat.

"So, what you are saying is that Timothy is a vampire hosted in a human body? What might you mean by that?"

"I don't know if there are words for it," Hellebore said. He lifted a hand to massage a fuzz. "But I think you feel it quite as I do. His aura doesn't behave like a human's should."

A silence followed this statement. I wasn't quite sure of what to make of what he had just said. I spared a glance for Timothy who looked up at the alchemist.

"So, you are saying... I am doomed to crave the night for all my life?"

"You," Hellebore said smiling "Are doomed to do absolutely nothing. If you have cravings, you have cravings. If you see spirits, you see spirits. You are not quite human and not quite a vampire either. I think that gives you just the place to find out what you want to be. Find something new that suits your path." He patted the younger man on the shoulder again.

"I have never heard of vampires that were cured," I said slowly, wondering if there were people I had crossed paths with that had been vampires.

"Mmm..." Hellebore smiled. "Yes. Well. I am an alchemist. I still hold a certain fascination with experimenting. Timothy is the first subject that has lived for a full year. Of those I have experimented with. And I haven't heard of others. Ever."

I was sure Hellebore winked under the black blindfold.

"As I said, a vampire's soul in a human body. It doesn't really fit. I have improved the process, but... Yes. Well. Not many subjects wander in to volunteer either. It's been full hundred years since the last, before Timothy showed up. I think the Queen has become tight-lipped about my abilities."

He turned his face to me. "I know you have a hard time understanding this, but to both our surprise, most atlantean vampires are in harmony with what they are. The vampire's soul is forged by humans, not by vampires. They are willing to change. And Mo only allows those be changed whose souls she knows are compatible with the vampire's being. Those that are not never survive the transformation and die with their mortal bodies."

Then he turned to Valentina who had been sitting quietly.

"Still here, Valentina? The conversation must be giving you quite the headache."

Valentina stared at the man. She looked like she was concentrating hard on his words.

"I... I'm so sorry Hellebore, I must have spaced out. What did you say?"

Hellebore smiled very patiently. I sighed. My own patience was running short with Valentina. I wasn't at all sure she could be made to remember simply by bringing the magic to her. And it was irritating at best to watch her fall to a dream walking absentmindedness over and over again. I knew I was destroying her thesis. She had no way of keeping her head together.

"Mm," Hellebore said. "I said you are the most courageous person I know. But change is the hardest thing to face in life. I wouldn't blame you for being a bit conservative."

Valentina's brow was furrowed. "You are a bit weird."

"I am eight hundred," Hellebore countered. "I can hardly be called eccentric if we take that into consideration."

Valentina gave the alchemist a polite smile. Hellebore answered the smile dashingly.

He left us then with our drinks.

Plume broke the silence first: "Ermm... Uncle?"

Timothy lifted his face to the vampire. "Yes?"

"If you... If you really want this cup, you can have it back." It looked awkward.

To my relief, Timothy shook his head. "I don't think Hellebore referred to a craving for blood. I really don't care for that cup."

Then he continued with words that made my hackle rise: "I am not saying it wasn't savory. But the tea probably really is better for my stomach. And the difference isn't insurmountable"

"So... You..." I started. I swallowed. "Did you kill someone?"

I looked as Timothy's poker face shattered for a moment. However, his calm came back in a split second.

He lifted his gaze past us through the window.

"You did." I answered my own question. I felt a moment of vertigo.

Plume took one more sip of the bloody cup.

"I cannot say I did not," Timothy said. "I can even recall you the details rather vividly. But the world is very different through red eyes compared to gray. And... to be alive isn't black and white either. I might have given the last nudge over to the death's end of the scale, but neither of them were exactly alive either when I came in contact with them. It's something only a vampire can see clearly. For me now, it's like remembering a dream, or a movie. Everything doesn't match  my current experience of the world."

He suddenly turned to talk directly to me.

"You must have noticed. My eyes. In two years time there is not a single living cell left in a vampire's body. There is left just the vampire, whatever that is. I needed a new body. Mine was gone. So Hellebore made me a body. They had, of course, my vampiric form as a guideline, but I needed to decide on the color of the eyes. I said gray. And he made them gray, the witch that helped Hellebore model the body out of mud, he made them gray. Colorless. And I used to need glasses. I see them every time I glance at a mirror. It's quite maddening, you know. I know I don't belong in this body. Every breath I take to fuel it is stolen. The air just keeps this vessel moving. But this vessel isn't mine by right of birth."

He held my gaze as he continued: "I don't know who the witch was, but I could see his aura as he worked the magic to bind my soul back to earth and to this body. He could command a soulless body to breathe and a heart to beat. And he was calm like the Queen when he did it."

I had been about to ask more of the witch, but was suddenly distracted by the mention of the vampire queen:

"Plume calls you uncle," I started. "Does it refer to your... to some kind of vampiric relation?"

Timothy nodded. "Definitely. Blizzard created him. And Blizzard himself was created by Mo, the one we refer to as queen. As far as I know she is the first vampire in Atlantis."

He sighed, and looked into the ceiling. "And for two years... For two years I was Mo's too."

He didn't say anything else, just stared at the ceiling in his thoughts. The tea in front of him forgotten.

When he continued talking, he did so slowly, carefully: "I don't know how this plays out. Now. Looking things from here... I don't really want to be human either, to be quite frank."

"I don't blame you," Plume said on the other side of the table. "If you were mine, I would just..."

Timothy then took interest in his cup and lifted the teacup. He took a long sip. I couldn't help but remember the last cup he had drank. There seemed to be no difference to him.

"What's wrong with being human?"

All three of us looked at Valentina. She had her elbows on the table. She repeated the question. And for once her gaze was clear and she seemed to be fully aware of her question and its implications.

Timothy opened his mouth to answer, but the vampire found its tongue first:

"Nothing. There is nothing wrong in being just a human, if your soul is happy with the everyday. If there are enough smiles and meaning. Then there is nothing wrong. But if you want more, if you want for the bottom of your heart to be a god and see more, if you want to see the souls with your bare eyes and hear the city's silent rhythmic praying, then you'll keep searching until you either cross paths with something supernatural, find strong enough drugs to mess your head up or die on divinity's doorsteps never finding a key inside."

Timothy looked mildly surprised at the passion in his nephew's voice, but also nodded his understanding.

I shook my head.

"I don't get it though. Why to pact with the devil in search of the divine? There are so many other paths than the bloody vampires. How about a nice group of merfolk for example?"

"We live a hundred kilometers up from the coast," Plume hissed.

I was taken aback by the sudden hostility. I felt my heart skip a beat. Timothy's face was back to blank. So I answered the beast.

"Just no. I still would never take to your kind. What kind of a soul offers a blood sacrifice willingly? Certainly not one worth respecting."

Plume had stopped breathing. A blank mask had come over its features too. Suddenly it and Timothy looked very much alike. Both stared at me blankly.

Plume drew in a slow breath.

"I hope," it started. "I wish for your blood to turn red."

I felt my heart sink. It had found quite the thing to curse me for. And I could see in the small crooked smile on its lips that the vampire knew it had struck under the belt. However, it continued, slowly, clearly:

"It would make you understand how it feels, when nothing around you is inexplicable or holy. There is only the sophisticated game of human life. You'd be surprised at how unfair that game is and how absolutely you can be trapped. How powerless you can feel."

A wicked smile was now spreading over its human mask. The vampire's voice was coldly hateful when it said:

"I would love to break your legs. No magical help, nor any knowledge of such, just the knowledge that all you had planned just went. You just became a weight to all your family, and you just have to smile through it, because even your tears bring them a bit more down. Or a cancer that comes back. Though it doesn't need to be that dramatic at all. It can be a study path you just can't complete because you weren't clever enough, or rich enough, or your sick mother suddenly needed a caretaker. The dice rolls. And you just lost. I would love to make you just lose, witch."

I could see the hate in its eyes. I felt frozen by the sudden vehemence as I realized the vampire actually hated me quite as much as I hated it, and for the exact same reason: for existing.

I tore my eyes off, to search Timothy's face. But found only a perfect, emotionless mask. Timothy had even had the time to arrange back his characteristic polite smile.

At my insistent stare, the mask cracked to something that resembled an apologetic smile as he said:

"It wasn't the witches that found me."

"And why did you need finding exactly?! What so dramatic had you experienced that becoming a monster sounded like the option to go for?!" I asked, raising my brows.

Timothy gave out a laugh. It was a hurt sound.

"Nothing," he said. "Nothing I present for you of my life can make you see the reason. My secret rests with the Court and belongs to the Queen. In the City where I lived, there weren't enough smiles and acceptance to give me a sense of security and then there were aspects I cannot change in my own nature, though I drowned trying to change them. But there were red eyed gods. A little blood seemed like no sacrifice at all. I didn't care for my will. I am not sure I still do. Or rather, it doesn't seem to be mine anyway. It maybe never was."

I stared in horror. Plume and Timothy rose both in a coordinated movement.

"I would do it again," Timothy said. "All of it."

They turned to go.

I rose too.

I grabbed Timothy's arm and found the gray unnatural eyes inches from my face. He had also quickly grabbed my hand with his own free one.

"But would you have become a witch? If it doesn't matter what supernatural it would have been."

He had a funny look on his face when he answered: "But I can't become a witch. Quite as I can't become a Christian. But I had the makings of a vampire."

Timothy used his hand to twist free. The movement wasn't brutal, but it was effortless. He leaned to pick his jacket from the free chair.

"I need to take some air, Clover. Let's talk again when we have both cooled down. Okay?"

My mouth hung slightly open. Only now, at his words, I truly realized the mask he was holding hid the same deep anger, or even hatred, Plume displayed openly. I had nothing to say and let them go.

Valentina answered thoughtfully to their goodbyes. When the men had gone she said to me:

"I should probably go home. I think I dozed off during the conversation."