"What are you?"
The woman twirled the knife around playfully, and Cybeli wanted to reach out and knock the blade out of her hand. Her hands wouldn't cooperate, given the heavy silver chains wrapped around them, trapping her with this woman, this huntress.
"What are you?" the woman repeated. Cybeli refused to meet her eyes, instead staring down at her bare feet pressed against the cold grey floor.
The woman grabbed her chin and jerked her head upward with such force that Cybeli thought her neck was going to snap off. The woman stared at Cybeli, cruel eyes full of malice locking with her own.
"Answer me," the woman said. "What are you?"
"I..." Cybeli started. She couldn't think of what to say.
She settled on, "My name is Cybeli. I'm-I'm a vampire."
The woman rolled her eyes. "I know that, idiot. You weren't exactly subtle."
Cybeli wasn't sure if she should take offense to that.
"I've been hunting your kind for more than a decade," the woman said. "I've identified no less than fifty different kinds of vampires. But I can't figure you out."
The woman let go of Cybeli's chin and walked over to a table where an antique chest sat.
"My grandfather's," she explained. "The Articaro family has been hunting vampires for generations."
Cybeli stared at the chest as it slid open, grimacing at the numerous weapons and poisons contained within. Almost all were made of silver, like the chains burning her wrists.
"Most of my family was content to kill vampires, but not me," the woman said. "I wanted to know how they worked. The blood thing was the first clue."
A worn and tarnished gold plaque was fixed to the chest, spelling to word Articaro. Above it was another plaque, obviously newer, with the name Carrie.
Defeated by a woman named Carrie. If Cybeli survived this, she would have to make sure no record of the incident survived. She'd never live it down otherwise.
"Most of the mythology around you tells of creatures who drain lifeforce," Carrie said, "in one form or another. Blood is the most obvious, but after than it reaches into the abstract. I've found vampires who feed on youth, power, status, joy, trust. You don't fit into any of those categories, or any others. So what are you?"
Cybeli swallowed hard. She wouldn't survive this if she told Carrie, but she wasn't a good liar. Her only hope was to keep quiet.
Carrie watched her squeeze her lips shut, then nodded. "I was hoping it wouldn't be that easy. There's still so much I don't know about your kind. Specifically, how they experience pain."
She pulled a knife out of the chest and Cybeli closed her eyes, trying not to anticipate the inevitable-
A line of blood appeared on her arm, burning, searing pain accompanying it. Cybeli took a shuddering breath and refused to open her eyes, not wanted to see Carrie standing over her, studying her like a insect collector watches a bug.
"What are you?" Carrie asked, and Cybeli realized that the earlier cut had just been a warning. Much worse would happen if she didn't respond.
"What. Are. You?" Carrie asked again, serious and stern. "Tell me or things get a lot worse for you."
"And why do you want to know?" Cybeli asked, figuring that defiance was the only way she could have any power. "You'll kill me regardless of my answer."
"I will," Carrie agreed. "But you seem to be forgetting that-" She picked up the knife and jabbed it into Cybeli's thigh with every word- "I. Found. Your. Family. And if you want them to die quickly, instead of slow, and painful, deaths, I suggest you tell me exactly what kind of sick, twisted, monster you are."
Cybeli's breath hitched. Her family was going to die. Her family was going to die and she couldn't stop it.
"Of course, I might be willing to let the child live," Carrie said. "It's not her fault she was turned so early."
It's not any of our faults, Cybeli wanted to say. But if Annika would live, if she would be able to live just a bit longer if she gave herself up, then this was worth it.
Who would really sacrifice their enemy for knowledge? a voice in her head whispered. What kind of person-How do we know she's telling the truth?
But Cybeli got the feeling that knowledge was all this woman wanted. And for Annika-She'd take the risk of giving her too much of it.
"I-" Cybeli said, trying to force the words out of her mouth. Carrie leaned closer.
"Yes?" she asked.
"I'm a Cariat," Cybeli said. Carrie smiled. Cybeli's mouth was dry, her tongue fighting against her. Don't say it out loud. Don't say it or you'll regret it.
She needed to keep Annika safe and alive. She needed her alive or her life was a waste.
So she did the only thing she could and told the huntress those four damning words.
"We feed on misery."
Silence Fell
It was freezing dark
On a pitch cold night.
Bitter sounds echoed,
Leaving a shrill taste in my mouth,
As my skin prickled.
A paltry figure up ahead
Looked my way for a skinny moment
Before disappearing
Into the abrasive night.
My shadowy gasp,
Tangible in the dark,
Sounded like an invisible scream
As it echoed in my ears.
And silence fell
Shattering the peace.
Horns
When the boy on my
cruise from New Orleans
asked, Where are your horns?
I was completely floored.
Where are my horns, I thought,
clasping my hand over
the Star of David necklace
around my neck.
I went back to my room,
made a cup of tea, and
said goodnight to Grandma.
Gute Nacht, my grandmother
said to me, before tucking
me into bed.
Grandma, I said, has anyone
ever asked you if you had horns?
Oh yes, said Grandma,
back in Austria anyone wearing
a star was called a beast. But you
know what?
I looked cautiously
at my grandma
and raised my eyebrows.
The ones with the thickest horns
are the ones that are most
likely to survive.
I glanced up at my
grandmother,
a 92-year old Holocaust
survivor, and suddenly my
eyes became heavy
and closed.
That night I dreamt about
winning. About standing on
a first place podium
holding a golden trophy,
with passion in my eyes.
Still
She stood, frozen in the centre of the room. Frozen too were the bodies around her; their mouths carved brutally upwards into horrifying facsimiles of smiles. Unlike her, they would never move again.
The gap between beats of her heart felt like millenia, as every detail wormed its way into her mind and made a home there.
What have I done?
The only sound in the grotesque silence was the steady
drip
drip
drip
as red tore away from lifeless fingertips.
From the empty space behind came a press at her shoulder, and warmth on her neck.
“It’s your turn.”
Blue Red
You walked into school,
Your red hair a fire,
But to my own surprise,
That’s not what I first saw.
No, I saw that dress.
The long blue one.
It was the color of the sky.
And then I noticed the gleam in your eye.
I knew.
What did I know?
I’ve since forgotten.
It’s sunk into my brain.
But whatever it was I know
That I’ll remember it someday.
When it matters.