Sybrina Page 13

  Even with all my vampiric powers, I could not stop the tragedy, Myself, weakened mildly by the sun, scooped up her broken body and fled to the rear of her family home. Her death was almost immediate. Sarah’s breath left along with her soul. I laid her on the sun-warmed ground, tore open my wrist, and let my immortal blood pass between her blue lips. Death came too quickly, taking her away from this life.

  Vadim’s love lost to a freak accident. Had I been faster or paying more attention to our surroundings, turned over in my mind like a spinning wheel. I was too late. Sarah was gone and it was too late to change her. Vadim’s chance at a mate to pass the long years with was lost in a speck of time. The opportunity to go through the monotony of too much time with another half of yourself, a person you did not know was missing until revealed. The two of them, Vadim and Sarah, not changing or growing but together all the same. She was his awakening to the blandness. I grasp this more acutely now than in the past one hundred years.

  Chapter 15

  Sybrina:

  I have never stolen anything in my entire life. It is not just because I was raised in an affluent family. Many silly games were played by my peers at the local shops. The spoiled aristocratic children would see how many gum balls they could take unnoticed from the merchants. I would never want such a deed to weigh down my conscience. But here I find myself creeping into the captain’s quarters with a vial of drinking water. My senses are so heightened and my blood pounding that I can hear every creak in the floor as I move and every small scrape of the ship. The bottle sits like a beacon, glowing as if it knows it is my target. I tiptoe like the thief that I am over to it. I pick up the beautifully sculpted flask and unscrew the stopper. I pour the holy water into the clean vial I pull out from my waist band. I fasten the cover on it and pour the drinking water into the flask. I reset the stopper and the guilt of my action weighs on me. Asking the captain for it would be the proper way to handle such a deed but anonymity and secrecy of my actions is the only way to secure my plan without the interference of well-meaning men.

  Back in the kitchen, I use the embers from Cook’s fire from the previous evening. I grab the bellows handle and fill the firebox with air, stoking them to life. I find myself staring at the tiny dancing flames and reflecting on how the embers did not die but lay dormant until rekindled by the force of air. I take tinder from the log box on the hearth and throw it on the fire, heating it up. The flames grow, swaying and spitting, readily gaining more heat by the second. I pull the bellows again, feeding the wiry tendrils like a baby starved for its mother’s milk.

  On the stove’s burner, I place a cast iron pan, heating up the metal. I give a quick look around me for skulking vampires and see no one. Elijah and Mouse are nowhere to be seen. I reach into the box of musket balls, taking a handful, and drop the bullets into the hot pan. I swish them around and around with a wooden spoon, melting them like chocolate. I yank the bellows down again, dousing the fire with more air.

  Back at the log box, I take a nice dry one and place it on my now raging pyre. I stir the melted metal some more then walk away for a moment to acquire the mold I took from a container in the ship’s stores—a knife mold. I had hidden it behind a cabinet by the doorway, foreshadowing my own intentions. Using a thick rag to protect my hands from the heat of the pan handle, I pour the liquid metal into the knife mold. While allowing it to cool some, I take a bowl large enough to fit the small knife and fill it with the stolen holy water. I reach above me for Cook’s metal tongs and release the new knife from its shell and hastily submerge it. Steam rises, touching my cheeks and burning my eyes; I have to look away. A deep hope resonates that this combination will be enough to subdue or kill Vadim. Through my research and what I have learned from Elijah, this has to work. Without experiments or tests, I am working on hypotheses and guesses. I remove the knife from its bath and place it on the table then clean up all of the remnants of my underhanded task. Then I hone the blade on Cook’s sharpening stone. Over and over I run the blade across the stone, changing its composition to a fine point until it’s sharp, making it ready for my gruesome plot.

  *****

  Visiting the passengers below seemed like a way to clear my mind. The trap is set, and the only unknown variable is when to spring it. Maybe in some bizarre way I wanted to see them as a way of saying goodbye. Revenge is on the forefront of my mind, fueling my bravery which is but a shoe string. My reason knows it is wrong, but knowledge is suffocated by my grief contorting my want and need to save those I care about and end this nightmare. If Elijah truly knew my plan, he would chastise me and never allow it.

  I find Helen drawing little fanciful pictures of animals on the wooden floor. The boredom of day in and day out in a dank room in the bowels of a sailing ship must be even more tedious for a child, especially a spirited one who wishes to be out in the fresh air and playing in the grass. At her age, I preferred reading every chance that presented itself. I had devoured every book in my father’s personal library by the age of fifteen.

  “It’s Sybrina!” Helen calls out, happy to see me. Her shining face reminds me of the reason I came down here. To see a child with happiness on her face, when a massacre took place above her head only a day or two ago, gives me hope. The tragedy she has witnessed will forever be branded on her. It may not present itself today or this year but at some point Helen will remember and come to face all that has transpired here. She runs to me, enshrouding me in a hug. I embrace her back, kissing the top of her head as if I were her older sister gone away to school, and back for a visit. It felt like home.

  “How goes it above?” Mr. Overton asks me, clearly worried.

  “Quiet,” I say, which is not a lie.

  “How is the young man… Mouse?” he inquires.

  “On the mend. He is doing quite well.” I am happy to deliver some good news. Mouse is doing very well, the want of moving forward and learning to read an indication that he will do well joining the ranks of the vampires. I fear the malady of the mind that Elijah spoke of but in this moment he is a credit to his race. I am so proud of him.

  I look over at my pillar and leaning against it napping is Michael. Mr. Overton walks to him and taps his foot with his own. Michael rouses, startled out of his sleep. He sees me as he scans around and smiles.

  “Sorry. I did not expect Mr. Overton to wake you,” I apologize.

  “No,” he says, wiping the sleep from his eyes with his undamaged arm. “I wanted to see you.” I kneel down and gently move the sling from his arm.

  “Let me see how this injury is faring.” I check the bone and its connection to his shoulder. It is healing but it will take a long time before he will be able to use it again. “It is doing well, but remember to keep it immobile so it heals properly.”

  “How is Mouse?” he asks.

  “Well. He is going to be fine.” I smile, replacing the sling on Michael’s arm.

  “Fine?” he questions. “You must be a remarkable doctor!” he exclaims. He casts a telling gaze at Mr. Overton and shifts his eyes back to me. I cannot look at him to face the lie. Mouse was not healed by me but by an unknown force of nature

  “I am not anything,” I remark cynically. And I am not—not a daughter, a sister, or even a student anymore. I am nothing. The melancholy thoughts bring me back to why I am visiting and this talk is only fortifying my resolution to stop a villain.

  “Come play a game of hopscotch with me!” Helen calls to me. “Please.” Her request gives me an out in regards to answering any more of Michael’s questions and I cannot say no.

  “Go back to sleep,” I order Michael good-naturedly. “My work is never done,” I say, winking. I get up from my squatting position and join Helen by another hand-drawn hopscotch grid. This one is different than the other one that washed away in the storm. It is decorated with flowers and leaves. “What a beautiful job you have done. This is very fancy.” Helen beams at my compliment.

  “But another storm will wash it away. It will be los
t,” she says sadly, her head drooping in defeat.

  “No. You have it right here,” I tell her as I point to her temple. “And so do I. I will always remember Helen’s pretty hopscotch. Shall we play?”

  “You go first,” she instructs me. It is amazing how diverting children can be. I forgot all about the wickedness that has been on the bow of the ship or the hours I spent in the galley wrestling with science. The only reminder came from my waistband as I jumped and the blade would shift, causing me to recall everything. I drop my penny on the number five when the hatch above is thrown open with brute force.

  “Whore in a lad’s clothes!” is shouted down through the opening. “Whore in a lad’s clothes!” trails down in a macabre sing-song voice over and over. My body freezes and my stomach lurches. The Revenant is back! Vadim!

  A torch of kerosene-soaked cloth is dropped down into the hull and it lights up like the wick of a candle, quick and powerful in a loud burst. Fire overcomes the ship, trapping us all below. Balls of yellow and gold flash, wickedly consuming everything in its path. Billows of deadly smoke fill our tomb, attempting to put us in death’s sleep before its brother’s flames ravish us.

  Mass hysteria! There is nowhere to run to and nowhere to hide. The ladder for topside, which I can see through the flames and smoke, is nothing but charred twigs. I hear the shouts of Helen calling for help; she was just beside me but has disappeared in the smoke. There is no one here that is not in the same condition, choking.

  The oxygen is depleted and my nose fights with my coughs to try to get in some clean air when there is none to be had. I stagger as the flames come closer to me. A hand grabs and pulls me toward the back of the burning cavity. It is Michael, futile in attempting to cover his mouth with the cloths suspending his broken arm. It seems an unfair end when I have endured so much to be drowned by smoke and eaten by flames.

  Over the cacophony of screams, yells, and the fire’s own thunder, I hear a thud from the direction of the trap door. I squint as best I can though the black smoke. Nothing. I step forward to get a better look and the smoke singes my eyes, causing them to tear and close. I force the door open to see black, red, and orange in a jumbled blur, unable to focus.

  In a lucky break, I see Mouse’s form, lithe and swift. It is hard to say what he is doing, but after minutes tick by at a snail’s pace, a shower of cold saltwater douses the blaze. The thick smoke churns in anger, my breath seizes on a final inhalation, and my body goes numb.

  My vision is clouded when I wake and realize I am being carried. My head is heavy due to lack of oxygen and smoke damage. Deep coughs rack my lungs as my body tries desperately to regulate my breathing. Black soot covers Mouse’s face as I look up at him from my place cradled in his arms. He seems so much older to me—not at all the boy I met days ago—my savior to swoop down and save me and the others from being reduced to ashes. Distantly, I hear deep sounds of a fight, not of two ordinary men, but the thrashing of immortals.

  “Mouse.” My hoarse voice is barely audible. “Mouse.” He looks down at me, definitely a man now. I reach into the band of my trousers as we move swiftly across the deck away from the wafting smoke. I pull the knife out to show him. “Use this,” I squeak out before I cough again violently. Our eyes lock as he tries to understand me, comprehension dawning too late. My eyes go wide as I discern the being behind him, the Revenant. Mouse! I yell to him in my head because I am unable to speak. The old man grabs Mouse from behind, yanking him back, and I crash to the ground. The minuscule bits of air my body can take in whoosh out of me as I fight to stay conscious. A hand comes around me to stand me up and I panic. Michael! Michael is with me, and he leads me farther away from the fray.

  Elijah:

  Cries from deep within the ship alert me when I am walloped hard from behind, and I stumble forward. Vadim! There is no warning or grand entrance as in the past. I spin, readying myself, perplexed at this change in our strange dance. His fist swings out, and I duck just in time but the fissure he creates from the power of his punch runs down the wall of the ship. Smoke billows from between the cracks of the boards that make up the deck, and I hear the screams more acutely. I am whacked again when my concentration goes to Sybrina. Sybrina! Where is she?

  “What a cowardly act from a Cossack!” I seethe, calling him out on his lack of battle code, squaring off with Vadim. His eyes flash and I know I have cut him at his vanity.

  “Your little lady has been very busy,” he barks, sending another blow my way. “You should keep a shorter leash on her.” My temper flares at his insult, and I regain myself knowing that his strategy is the same as mine.

  “You cannot have her!” I roar, lunging at him and sending us both to the floor hard.

  “Your little witch is burning!” he spits back at me, triumphant, as we roll around trying to gain purchase. Face to face, he starts, “She has been busy forging a knife... What an odd occupation for a lady.”

  I grab Vadim by his shoulders and throw him violently against the mast with a crunch. He recovers quickly, sending a kick to my ribs in the exact same place he injured me before. Death’s sleep will come for me again but not before I do the same to him.

  “She wants to kill us! Your lust makes you stupid!” he thunders. Enraged, I reach for his neck to snap it like I have done twice, but he blocks me, knowing my intent. We exchange blow after blow in a preternatural requiem. This has to be the end. These morbid encounters continue to bring death and sorrow and it is my doing.

  “You have been my biggest mistake. I should have left you on the battlefield, broken in half!” I send an uppercut straight into his jaw with the heel of my hand, sending Vadim flying backward, landing against the trunk of the main mast. I stomp toward him, when suddenly, flying through the air and landing with a thud is Mouse, a small crude knife in his fist. In a swift lunge Mouse stabs the knife through a fallen Vadim’s heart. I am stunned that the small archaic tool can pierce the impenetrable skin of a vampire. Vadim’s body contorts and shrivels, bucking and thrashing, in a peculiar scene taken from vampire lore. Mouse and I watch in bewilderment as Vadim’s body becomes a pile of ash.

  “The Revenant?” I ask Mouse.

  He holds the knife up for me to see it better. “I used this,” he says. Mouse points to the ashes that are beginning to blow away in the smoke-filled wind. Mouse and I know that this is a game changer. Sybrina created a weapon to destroy my kind. I did not want this but it was needed. Vadim received exactly what he feared, even those long years ago on the battlefield… death. I have a new confidant in this life—Mouse. The new destroyed the old by the science of another. I glance up and running toward me is Sybrina. I swallow her in my arms, elated that she is unharmed. My Sybrina!

  Epilogue

  Sybrina:

  No more funerals or deaths. Everyone came out of the blaze and attack unscathed. The only injuries were mendable except the ones on our memories. I file out of the charred hull with the other passengers carrying mixed feelings. It’s the kind of confusion that accompanies any time you have spent with experiences that have happened rapidly and succinctly, elevating your sense of acuity. Revenge that sat bubbling in the bottom of my heart has lifted. Maybe it wasn’t revenge, but justice I sought.

  Bright sunlight hits my face and it’s liberating, not in the sense of happiness per se, but of closing a chapter in life. I’m not the same person I was when I left school—in a despair- and sorrow-induced haze mourning the loss of my family. The ache is still burning in my chest, and it will never go away; but as I look up and the sun coats me with warmth, I see them. New to my life, but no less dear: Elijah and Mouse.

  They are waiting for me as I have come full circle, using the sea as a catalyst and guide. Mouse is smiling at me and slung over his forearm is a basket, and inside are mewing kittens. I cannot hide my own smile to see this man, who is so much changed, not skirting his duty or loyalty to his fur-clad charges, honorable. I look down at his feet and there sits the mother, Jolly, licking her p
aw in tedium waiting for me.

  The rays of the sun capture the dark strands of Elijah’s hair, giving them a bluish quality. I understand now how one may attribute his pallor to ailment. I see it in Mouse too. Knowing better than anyone else that standing before me are not men but vampires.

  A plank is raised as a bridge from the little world on water to the land. Captain Stokes stands proudly by, watching and supervising the disembarking passengers. Mr. Tinker winks at me and gives Mouse a hearty handshake. A hand cups my shoulder; it’s Michael.

  “Good-bye, Miss Sybrina,” he utters.

  “Fare thee well, Michael.” I smile but catch a glimpse of a frown marring the radiant face of Elijah. I snicker at his unwarranted jealousy; with such passion comes other strong emotions. I cannot imagine my life without him now, I want him always.

  Elijah takes my small bag from me then rests my hand in the crook of his arm. Together we walk across the threshold to England. Mouse and his family of kittens follow behind and I realize my journey and studies don’t end here but rather begin on a new path, one not sullied with revenge.

  Thank you for reading!

  Dear Reader,

  Sybrina and Elijah’s story was born at a very interesting place, Disney World. While on vacation and tidying up Mobster’s Vendetta, book 3 in the Mobster’s Series, Sybrina popped into my head. I envision her as savvy, strong-willed, and smart—a contemporary for the era. Elijah encompasses the contemplative immortal, struggling to let go of his past and find his way in a world he cannot leave. The culminating question the book poses is without change and the stages of life, would existence be bland and not worth living?

  I hope that you enjoyed Sybrina. Paranormal romance is my favorite genre for my own personal reading and being able to pen one of my own is near and dear to my heart. I did a great deal of research on vampiric lore and other novels written about vampires in the nineteenth century. I came across superstitions I had never even heard of, like the eating of grave dirt and burying the dead upside down to keep a corpse from coming back to life. The research fueled my imagination and page by page the story made me ask myself more questions.