Immortal pleasures, p.11
Immortal Pleasures, page 11
“Why do you walk around with your body and shoulders balled so tightly? We are dancing and there is no one around. Everyone believes you are dead! Rejoice in your death from death! This is your second chance. Open your palms and receive your new life. Second chances are gifts to be explored and celebrated.”
Her body of a crone became that of a maiden in that moment. Her hair and eyes blazed with sunlight despite it being night. She still retained all that made her vibrant, beautiful, and worthy. We bonfire danced and laughed until she had to stop to catch her breath and drink water just as the sun began to rise above us. As she sank into a deep slumber, I would take out the two skulls and think about the life I had lived until that point. What were all those experiences preparing me for, or was this just another cruel turn of fate?
I weaved with Chantico until I had to leave the hut to find more palms and reeds. In those quiet days I created countless items for Chantico and other women in the nearby village to trade or sell. The swift dance of my fingers brought parts of my broken human soul back together, but with these came new aspects of myself, the instincts of a blood drinker. The motion allowed my mind to focus inward, listening to the vampire inside and getting used to the body of a vampire, her needs. I could just be with Chantico. No judgment or pretense. For the first time in my adult life, I could breathe without anyone looking over my shoulder. It felt as if a sun lived within me, its radiating heat warming from the inside. For the first time I possessed love for the present moment, for my new life.
Sometimes at night when Chantico was asleep, I would return to the hacienda. Patli helped me look in on my daughter. I would sing songs or watch her sleep. My hope for her was for her to know all the languages I knew to help her navigate this New World and possibly find her way back to herself if she was ever lost or in need. She was not conceived out of love, far from it, but she did not have to suffer the way I did. Everything she would need to survive she possessed within her, like me. I hoped she would never have to be as malleable as the edge of a lit candle.
Before dawn I would retreat into the forest. I cried all the way on my walk back to the hut despite the freedom I felt during the day. Two worlds. Two parts of me with one having to hide half the time. Sometimes when I could hear the soft, heavy breathing from Chantico upon my return, I would take the skulls into my hands. I cradled the smooth cold quartz and stared into its vacant sockets. What did it see from the other side? I twisted it around and tried to look through the other side.
Then I took the other one into my hands. This skull was once covered with muscle and housed a brain with thoughts. Now it was an ornament. Where was its previous inhabitant? In that moment I understood why the origin of the skulls didn’t matter. Not really. It was simply how the skulls reflected the world in the moment I regarded them.
We pass through life like a ray of light through clear quartz. We are only temporary. And we walk around like an embellished skull, hiding the many things we hold inside.
* * *
Colin joins me on the outdoor deck of the ferry. “Sorry about that. My publisher loves my new work. This could be the one, the book that changes everything. You will have to keep feeding me your stories, inspiring me with your body. Come with me if there is a book tour.”
He’s still a beautiful creature. His charm is undeniable, and I’m happy for his stroke of good fortune. However, following him on his book tour is not exactly what I had in mind for myself. The breeze on the outer deck of the ferry is colder.
In my eagerness to find what I was searching for, did I rush to hold tight to what is only a damn good replica? Through my work I encounter forged artifacts all the time. My acute senses make it easy for me to spot them. That instinct is what made me millions. But I found that examining the heart and emotions for their authenticity is a whole other matter.
Clouds are breaking, and I can feel the sun hit me directly in the middle of my forehead. Tonalli. I send out a call to the clouds, the penetrating power of the sun, for me to find real love, a true counterpart, and not a replica. After all, I am a hunter in my heart. I want to know it as soon as I see it. I want it to hit me like the hottest and longest day of summer. I want a clear sign I can understand, because otherwise love is an easy place to slip into self-doubt. And are there not enough places to curl up and wither away in this world?
John Hawkins sat at a café beneath St. Paul’s Cathedral, waiting for his phone to ring before George arrived. He looked around to see who could be watching before taking out his monogrammed silver flask filled with blood and pouring it into a teacup filled with what was now called “builder’s tea.” With a small spoon he swirled the milk and blood into a mixture he could stomach.
He looked at his watch again. Ten minutes late. “This is getting tiresome. I have a life,” he mumbled. He looked around again, taking in how much the city and British Empire had changed since he was born. But it still felt like home and gave him a comfort not found anywhere else.
He had met George here. Since meeting George, all he wanted was to enjoy the fruits of his labor instead of running around for more. To take the time to enjoy the world and life properly. He wandered through London sometimes in awe of the changes to the narrow cobbled back streets. Graffiti on overflowing bins, bursts of laughter from groups of youths spilling out of bars, Primark workers standing outside having a smoke break. For hours he would walk around his city, simply observing its human inhabitants.
It was the city in which he’d built his business. After Hernán turned him, John promised Hernán new connections in England. They could create fresh opportunities built on blood and treasure. He barely remembered the events of the weeks before becoming immortal. His dysentery had taken him to the border between delusion and reality. At first he thought it was all a dream, or perhaps just punishment for his sins, when he saw a man with fangs draining him of his blood. But then he awoke in his own filth with a strength he remembered from his youth. He sat upright. The man with fangs sat in a chair, staring at him. “How is this possible?” asked John.
“My name is Hernán Cortés. And I need men to build new empires. And for that, we must drink blood for eternal life. A small price to pay.”
John looked at his body, which felt full of vigor. “I am your loyal brother for restoring my health. What did you do to me?”
Hernán stood to leave. “Get up, because you look and smell awful. Soon you will need to be fed. Until then I will explain what I know. There is still much to find out about this existence that defies Christ.”
As humans in the sixteenth century, both had been giants in commanding fleets and leading trade. John Hawkins and Hernán Cortés. Now they had to reinvent themselves as other people, with the world thinking them both dead. Today, they traded rare artifacts to private collectors but didn’t care how they were procured. There were also the diamonds—again they had no conscience about the details of how they were obtained. And more recently they had built a business on unique biological products from vampires. Both men made a fortune in these worlds.
But there still remained those who were getting in their way.
His phone vibrated on the table, rattling his teacup. He scrambled to answer it.
“What is taking you so long?” he said without masking his agitation as he spoke to Hernán.
Hernán matched his irritation. “Malinalli is on her way. She got distracted by a warm body. Some guy. Are you ready? I want her dead.”
“I know. I want her dead too. George and I have travel plans soon. You’ve never taken so much time to stalk a potential victim. But I suppose with your history with her…”
“I will be there soon. She won’t stand a chance.”
John hung up the phone before jerking his head to the left. A group of pigeons took flight as people left the cathedral. The bells rang out in loud gongs. As he began to rise, a hand pushed him down again. He could smell day-old blood. He looked up to see the face of the man who had been keeping tabs on him and tracking him for such a long time. It was Alexander J, the bounty hunter who was known for picking missions that would let him right the wrongs in history. His black eyes were framed by shaggy black hair, and he wore a long khaki-colored duster coat over dark brown cargo trousers and a matching T-shirt. His combat boots were muddy—fashion was not something Alexander cared about. Alexander’s lips curled into a smug smile.
“Hello, John Hawkins. We are finally meeting. Not like you to hang around one place for long. And who do you want dead now?”
Originally from Judea with Aramaic his mother tongue, Alexander still had a bit of an accent. It was also well known that he spoke Arabic, French, and Hebrew fluently. John’s face twisted into a sneer. If Malinalli hadn’t taken her sweet time, Hernán would be here and she would be dead.
And Alexander wouldn’t have found him.
“What do you want? I have a business to run. Since I can’t sail the way I used to, I am usually running to catch a flight.”
“I’m here to shut you down. This isn’t the sixteenth century, and you have been responsible for thousands upon thousands of deaths. And that is what you did in your human life as a trader. You created the English slave trade triangle. Your time is up. No more dealing in bodies.”
“And what are you going to do? You won’t kill me. I know that for sure. You have a code. How much were you paid to catch me?”
Alexander stared at him, expressionless. “I won’t be the one to kill you, but I will question you, and then you will be entombed until those who paid your bounty collect on it. And for the record, I took this job for free. The human and vampire world is safer without you in it.”
“I’m not telling you anything, and you’re not entombing me. You may be older than me, but I don’t hold back on blood drinking like you. I’ll kill you, then I’ll drain you.”
Alexander leaned toward John. “You will follow me. You will answer for your crimes. And you will answer all my questions truthfully. I know and my client knows you have a business partner who wants to keep their name under wraps and hands clean. Hope you like the concoction that’s about to run through your veins. It’s one of your own you use on your victims. I found it in the last lab of yours I burned down.”
A voice called out from the distance. “John! Sorry I’m late.”
Both John and Alexander looked at the human man who couldn’t have been more than thirty. He dressed smartly in fitted jeans, a collared shirt, and Chelsea boots. An expensive watch dominated his left wrist. John flashed Alexander a sly, wicked smile. “Perhaps another day.”
George looked at Alexander in curiosity as he placed a hand on John’s shoulder. John touched it with care. “George, an old friend saw me here and stopped to say hello. Meet Alexander.”
George gave him a quick smile. “Nice to meet you, but we are running late. Maybe the restaurant can accommodate another seat?”
Alexander rose from his chair. “Thank you, but I have other lunch plans.”
John stood and matched Alexander’s stare. “Another day.”
He left hand in hand with George.
“Fuck,” Alexander muttered under his breath as he walked to his double-parked car with the fake police badge in the front window, allowing him to park wherever he wanted. He would head to Max’s clock shop for blood and to map out another plan. Vampire bounty hunting work wasn’t easy.
And he couldn’t stop thinking about who this woman was that John wanted dead.
* * *
Max’s clock shop rarely had any patrons, and it kept the lights low to discourage humans from wandering in. The shop was an old front for a safe haven that supplied vampires in the know with fresh, packaged blood sourced from willing donors. Struggling NHS doctors who needed cash sold extra blood supply to pump money into flailing community clinics. The shop had been founded in the eighties by Max and had kept going since. Max Powell, a vicar of seventy, sat next to Alexander and handed him a pouch of blood and an iPad.
Alexander took long gulps. “You know, I prefer drinking cold blood instead of from an actual human lover. They always get in the way.”
“John Hawkins has spent a lot of money keeping his trail clean thanks to his human lover, George Morland,” said Max as he picked up an antique watch to take apart.
“Shame, because George seemed like a nice enough guy. Wonder how much he knows. He didn’t seem to know who I was.” Alexander scrolled through files on Max’s tablet. “Send out an email to those who might be interested in giving us more info on George. We need to find out about the woman John is looking for and that business partner of his.”
“So much for entombing him. But you must find this mystery woman,” Max said with a large grin.
“On the hunt tonight for a female vampire from out of town? Great.”
“It’s good you are getting out to mingle with the opposite sex.”
Alexander raised his eyebrows. “This isn’t a date.”
“Who knows, she might be nice. I will keep digging, then finish with this little beauty I found at a market stall.”
“I don’t know. Anyway, I will see you later. Need to sit and meditate on it and see what comes to me. I didn’t spend enough time with John to get a full read; might get sparks of information. If she is old enough, I will hear and feel her presence.”
We arrive in London with clouds and rain to greet us, but all I feel is Colin next to me with his arm around my waist or searching for my hand. His comments on the ferry are bothering me less, even if they remain superglued to the back of my mind. Despite those worries, I’ve decided that I’m ready for another adventure with this man to pass the time until I am due to meet with Horatio. The skulls are as good as mine.
The first line of business is to find our Airbnb. I have a hotel booked, one of the best in London, but I want to share a proper, homelike space with Colin, like his home in Dublin. Might as well try on living with Colin for size to shoo away my misgivings until I am sure. I was still desperate to cling to the notion of a sacred union written in the stars, preferably one that felt romance novel–worthy. Despite my lingering doubts, I go along with the flat I booked on the ferry instead of the hotel room.
We are staying in the middle of Notting Hill. It’s the perfect location to reach most places easily on the tube. There is a constant bustle of residents and tourists among the multicolored, brightly painted terraced homes. Restaurants serving every cuisine imaginable line the narrow streets. Cheap trinkets are sold on the sidewalk, including the umbrellas that are indispensable in rainy London. A large marketplace with food, clothing, and all sorts of crafts is the center of activity on Portobello Road.
Blood, sweat, and the aroma of food fill my imagination as we move from the street to the small shops. The collective energy from all the bodies gives it a wonderful buzz. Sparks of information about these people fill my mind. The images of their lives are like a kaleidoscope. The neighborhood is a melting pot of people speaking different languages but enjoying many of the same delights. When I walk among this crowd, I feel grateful for the many experiences of this extended life. And it is mine to experience if I so choose.
What a dream it would be to share my long life with someone. But wouldn’t I prefer to share it with someone I would not have to watch die? Where does that leave Colin?
I settle into the flat while he goes out for groceries. The man must eat, and for me to feed from him, he has to keep his strength up. The Airbnb is a tidy flat furnished with simple IKEA furniture. It’s comfortable without being inviting. And the rain is now hammering against the windows. Colin will return soaked. As I search for towels, I notice his backpack is unzipped next to the bed. The title page of a manuscript is visible. Part of me wants to read it, but I don’t want to betray his trust. He hasn’t told me anything about this story. We’d spent hours talking about his books, even the ones that were works in progress or hadn’t seen the light of day. Why would he keep this from me unless he didn’t want me to know what it was really about?
I want to read it because it’s called Demon in a Dress. I don’t know how I feel about this, seeing the title. Is he trying to reimagine my existence? I’m not a demon. There is writing in pencil. She is only out for blood. Can she be changed? Have to change the name. The hero makes her human again. No more demon at the end.
I snap the bag shut because everything inside of me drops with the suddenness of a tropical rainstorm. I’ll ask him later about the book. But if he really sees me as nothing more than a demon in a dress, then I should give him what he might be expecting. And if he thinks I can be anything but an immortal creature, he has to think again. Our plan is to go out after he’s had dinner here. It will avoid the awkward situation of him ordering food while I stare down a glass of water. The only Bloody Marys I can enjoy are the ones I mix myself.
He returns from the supermarket dripping wet and with two large bags filled with food. “I hope you like this kind of weather because this is pretty normal. Get used to it.”
This remark pulls me deeper behind my protective walls. Silence is all I have to offer him right now. I am helping him unpack everything when my phone buzzes. More emails that need attention. Reading that note on the manuscript has soured my desire to walk hand in hand in the rain with him.
“Do you mind if I stay in for a while? I have work to do. You can go explore if you like,” I say to him.
“No way. I can hang back. You know, I’ll bake some bread. It will give you enough time to do what you need to do.”
Sarcastically I say, “Irish soda bread?”
