mama_kestrel: (Default)
So last week on FacePlant, someone posted a thing about how someone needed to write vampire stories that weren't full of angst and agony, or emo, or sparkles, or horror, or any of that. Suggestions included a person with body-image issues who was just as glad, because hey, no reflection meant no problems with mirrors triggering anything, or a someone whose reaction to the new diet was "eh, I tried Paleo, this isn't that much weirder", or a girl delighted because she's never been able to go anywhere alone after dark, and now she can walk her friends home and know they'll be safe with her. That last one turned out to be a plot kitten with sharp little claws that climbed straight up to my shoulder and perched there, licking my ear and demanding attention. This story was the result.

RECLAMATION PROJECT

I sat up, stretching, and looked at the clock. Five p.m., according to the digital readout. I’d done it again; gone to bed close to dawn, and woken just before sunset. It was a total reversal of my lifelong habit of getting up with the sun and going to bed by 9:00 p.m. Astronomy had fascinated me but I’d had to satisfy myself with reading every book and study I could get my hands on; my body just wouldn’t cooperate with the necessary observatory schedule. I wandered out into the great room, following the smell of dinner.

“May? You okay? You’re pale, you’re sleeping all day, and I don’t know what you’re eating except that it isn’t with us.” Angela’s concern was clear, and our other housemates looked up and nodded in agreement.

“I really haven’t felt right since I got back from the con” I told Angela truthfully, “and its getting worse. I mean, a con always messes with your sleep schedule, but this is ridiculous. It’s like sunrise and sunset are reversed. I can’t go to sleep until the sky starts to lighten, but then I’d better be in my bed, because once the sun’s all the way up? Hah! I am out. I don’t think a cannon at close range could wake me. I know I slept through the thunderstorm the other day. Trees down all over, everyone talking about it, and I didn’t hear a thing. And I’m not eating because the thought of food turns my stomach. Water’s okay, or ginger tea or beef broth, but that’s about it.” I didn’t tell her I’d been craving the blood that drained out of the meat. She got queasy at the thought of steak tartare. Straight blood would be a bridge too far.

“That sounds like you really are sick. How about going to the doc?”

“Yeah, the doc’s only open until 5:00, and I am not taking a collection of symptoms that sounds like I’m turning into a vampire into the neighborhood doc-in-a-box, y’know? That sounds to me like a recipe for getting locked up in the loony bin!”

Angela laughed, as I’d known she would. “It does, doesn’t it? Do you have the night vision, speed, strength and hypnotic gaze to go with it?” she asked mischievously.

“Hmm, not that I’ve noticed so far. That guy who was dressed up as Angel at the Masquerade Dance did leave a pair of fang marks on my neck when we danced, though, so anything’s possible. It’s only been what – four days?”

“In our legends, it takes a full fortnight to become a true vampire, once one is bitten” Josephina interposed seriously. “The daylight sleeping comes first, then the person chokes on their food. After that will come a craving for blood.” I didn’t know who Josephina’s people were; she’d never been willing to say. She looked Romani, but insisted she was not, and beyond that we’d respected her privacy. Now a chill ran down my spine.

“And what after that?” I asked lightly. “Is there any way to return to normal humanity?”

She shook her head. “No. There is no cure; there are only choices.” I was smiling; she was not.

Brewing a pot of ginger tea gave me time to think away from their concern and anxiety. I mean, I did want to know what was happening, but it wasn’t going to be the end of the world whatever it was. Finally, pot and mugs in hand, I went back.

“Josephina? Do you have a few minutes?”

She smiled faintly. “Of course. Your room or mine?”
I shrugged with the hand that held the still-empty mugs. “Whichever you’re more comfortable with. I don’t really care.”

“My room, then. If I need my books or anything, I won’t have to leave to get them.”

I just nodded and followed along. Books? There were books about this sort of thing?

I’d noticed before that walking through Josephina’s doorway felt a bit like pushing through an intangible kind of bubble, and that once inside, it was far more quiet than anyplace else I’d ever known. Her room was as impossible to categorize as she was. Indian throws were hung as curtains. Her quilt had started life as a collection of silk saris, now sewn together and quilted to what looked like a heavy silk sheet. Skirts, hung up so that they fanned out in semi-circles, ornamented the walls, interspersed with tiny round mirrors scattered seemingly at random that scattered the light. It was beautiful, but somehow also purposeful.

“Where should I put this down?” I asked, as she cleared fabric off a chair. “And would you like some? It’s plain ginger, and I brought along an extra mug.”

“Just put it on the desk, and yes, that would be lovely. Hang on a minute; I have a pot of honey in the cabinet here.” I hadn’t even realized there was a cabinet under her little altar, but as she shifted the cloth cover aside I caught a glimpse of carved dark wood. In a minute she turned around with a lovely little ceramic honey pot in hand, complete with stirring stick. “Put a lot in yours; you need the glucose” she instructed. I raised my eyebrows, but did as she’d said.

She waved me to the just-cleared chair, settling cross-legged on her bed. “Now” she said firmly “begin at the beginning, and tell me everything.”

“Starting where? I mean, it was a media con, there was a lot going on.”

She looked at me, then touched a single fingertip to one of the tiny, pinprick scabs on my throat. “You said you got those at the Masquerade Dance?” I nodded. “Okay. Everything starting from the Masquerade. I’ve got some guesses as to what’s going on, but right now that’s all they are – guesses. If I’m right, a doctor isn’t going to be able to help you, but I can at least advise you. If I’m wrong” she shrugged “we’ll have spent an evening telling stories.” Her grin was gamine.

I grinned back. “Stories are always good. Okay. The Masquerade theme was Media Monsters, and goddess only knows why, but everyone and their cousin seemed to have decided that this was the Year of the Vampire.” I rolled my eyes. “I mean, Godzilla is still a perfectly good monster, and so are Frankenstein, King Kong, the Creature from the Black Lagoon, but noooo. Everyone was doing vampires! There were some amazingly cheesy Super-Sparkly Twilight types on stage, but the trio that absolutely stole the show was a group that came as Angel, Spike and Buffy. I mean, they had it down cold. You couldn’t even spot the prosthetics on the guys from inches away, and Buffy’s moves? Yeah, she could have given real ninjas speed tips. They did a routine from one of the early shows where they threw things at her when her back was turned, and she caught them. Must have rehearsed for weeks to be that good without Hollywood camera magic. It was incredible.”

Josephina nodded thoughtfully. “Or the magic was real, and so were they. How better to hide than in plain sight?”

“Huh? Hide what?”

“Never mind, go on.”

“So anyway, they won, of course. There was this dance after, and I went up to the Angel guy – don’t remember his real name – to compliment the performance, and he asked me to dance. Hey, he could move, all grace and kind of sinuous elegance; of course I took him up! So we were chatting, and the next song up was a slow dance. And he bent like he was gonna kiss me, but instead he slid in by my neck and nipped me. Just like a pin-prick. And I was like ‘Hey, back off, that’s carrying the in-character thing too far!’ and I shoved him away hard and shouted for Security. Just for a second, it was like shoving a wall, like he was a thousand times stronger than a guy built like that ought to be, but then he stumbled back, and Security and the Buffy girl came running over. And she was like ‘Oh my God, I am so sorry, this was not supposed to happen, he promised he’d behave, I am so, so sorry! Are you all right?’ She reached out, quick, almost as fast as she’d been on stage, touched my neck lightly, and looked at her fingers. ‘No. No, you are not all right. Oh that jerk, I will have his ass on a plate when Security is done with him!’ One of the Security guys was still there with her and me, but she’d really taken charge. She dove into her pocket, pulled out a little bottle of sanitizer, I think, and a tissue, and squirted some on the tissue. ‘Hold still, this is going to sting. He really did get you good. I am so sorry.’ She was right, it stung like hell, but I still managed to tell her it wasn’t her fault; he was responsible for himself. ‘He is, but still my responsibility.’ she told me, and her smile was just so sad. ‘Look, I’m going to give you my phone number. If anything weird happens in the next few weeks, anything at all, I want you to call me. You don’t have to write it down. You’ll remember.’ She was staring really hard at me, really intense. It was almost as creepy as he’d been.”

“And do you remember?”

I thought for a second. “Yeah.” I told her, surprised at myself. “I don’t have the area code – I don’t think she said it, even. But the number’s 867-5309.”

Josephina just nodded. “Got your phone?”

“In my pocket, why?”

“Call her. Now.”

“But what’s the area code?”

“For her, you won’t need it. Trust me.” She was almost as intense as the Buffy-girl had been.

“Girlfriend, you’re scaring me here.” Skeptical, I dialed as instructed, expecting a squeal followed by ‘your call cannot be completed as dialed’, but it rang once before the Buffy-girl answered.

“Um, hi. You probably don’t remember me, but your friend tried to bite me last weekend?”

Josephina muttered something along the lines of “oh, for...” and took the phone out of my hand. “Hi, Jenny? Josie. Yeah, the usual coincidence in our line of work, which is to say none. That girl your friend managed to prick just happens to be one of my housemates, May Hennessy.” A pause. “No, I know he didn’t have time to get so much as a sip, but evidently the contagion took anyway. She made it home okay, but by the next day she couldn’t keep her eyes open if the sun was up, and now she can’t eat solid food. We’re having ginger tea with honey right now; I made sure hers is about half honey. She hasn’t mentioned craving blood, but that might just be because another of our housemates is really, really squeamish.”

Blushing wildly, I nodded agreement.

“Yeah, she’s nodding. So I think it’s pretty much a given. She’s going to be a full vamp in another ten days or so. Do you still have contact with that doctor that will certify fatal sun allergy as a disability? She’s a student, and really bright; she’s not going to want to lose that. We’re going to have to come up with a reason for it, too – we’re on break right now, but classes take up again in a week, and she didn’t have a problem before.”

Urk. I hadn’t thought of any of that. This sounded like they had it down to a system, though!

“Okay, right, we’ll have to take it in stages. Some kind of contact dermatitis acquired on vacation for which she’s undergoing treatment now, that allows her to do the work but precludes attending class or going outdoors in daylight, and then in a month or so a permanent disability as a result.” She listened awhile. “I’ll leave it up to you and your pet doctor what would have that result. Make it something suitably exotic, though.” She laughed. “I’ll look forward to seeing just how creative you can be. Now, next thing. Supply of blood. She hasn’t had any yet, so we might be able to keep it to animal, which would simplify everyone’s life. I’ll check to see if there’s a slaughterhouse near here when we get off the phone – oh, you’ve got your computer up already? You’re a doll. Okay, good. I can contact them in the morning. I haven’t done this part before; will I need to pick it up daily, or can I collect a week’s supply at a time, or what? Should I get a freezer and put it in my room? Locked, of course, locked! Okay, I think we’ve got my end as organized as we can for the next few days. Now, anything I can do to help with your end of it?” She listened; I couldn’t hear individual words, but I could certainly hear increasingly shrill frustration coming from the headset. “Yeah, I know. They’re immortal; we’re not. All they have to do, really, is wait us out. They don’t want to piss us off enough to stake them or shove them outside on a sunny day, but other than that we don’t have much to hold over them.” She shrugged. “Well, we’ll try to see if we can keep our girl here from ending up that way by keeping her away from human blood. I need to explain this before she pops from the questions piling up behind her teeth. Can you see if that biochemist that got turned during WWII has made any progress on finding a treatment for vampirism as if it were a chronic disease, like diabetes? I thought she might really be onto something there. Thanks, Jenny. Later!” She gave me back my phone as I stared at her.

“That...has got to be the weirdest half-conversation I have ever heard” I told her slowly. And then “Josie?”

She grinned. “Yeah. As in ‘Josie and the Pussycats’, which is why I go by Josephina. See, what most people don’t know is that vampires – and slayers, and witches, and technomages, and all the rest of it? Is real. Rare, but real. What happened is that Jenny – the Buffy-girl – and a couple of her vampire buddies decided to hit the con, and one of them got a little too cutsie. You couldn’t spot the prosthetics because the fangs were real. He didn’t feed from you at all – your reaction was perfect, by the way – but there was enough saliva on his teeth to transmit the contagion. That’s current theory, that vampirism is as much a transmissible disease as a magical or spiritual condition. So, there are rules to keep it from becoming a spiritual condition, and to keep you from falling to Evil.”

“Okay, Josie, slow down. You’re making my head spin here.” I meant that kind of literally, and took a gulp of my by now room-temperature tea.

“Sorry. I do get worked up.” She sat up straight, drawing a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “All right. In some semblance of order: Vampires are real, and one tried to bite you. He didn’t quite manage, but did break skin, and there was enough saliva involved to turn you. Jenny wasn’t sure there would be; that’s why she just let you go at the time. But it doesn’t take much, apparently, and here you are. We’re still just starting to analyze this scientifically, like in the last decade or so. So your digestion is shifting from normal human to requiring blood for survival. But we looked at vampire bats, which are the only mammals that are blood-obligate carnivores, and while they require mammalian blood, it isn’t species specific. Turns out, same is mostly true for human vampires. If they don’t taste human blood, they don’t seem to develop that compulsion. That’s the one that leads to predatory behavior, murder, and the fall into Evil. Following so far?” I nodded mutely.

“So what I’ll be arranging is a steady source of beef blood, to be kept on hand for you. It doesn’t have to be from a living animal, but it does have to be raw, so blood sausage won’t fulfill the nutritional requirement. I’ll get a small chest freezer and keep it in here. Both my room and the freezer will be locked, and you and I will have the keys.”

“Why not my room?” I asked with more than a little aggravation.

“Because I want to be sure I know if stocks are getting low, until you have a good handle on self-care. Just like a new diabetic, okay?”

“Okay, that makes sense.” And it did; I just didn’t like being treated like a child.

“You’ll have some any time you’re going out in public, at least at first, just until you know what “hungry” feels like with this new metabolism. Still okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Now, the rest of it. Some of the legends are true, others not so much. You might or might not have a predator form; not all vampires do. We’ll hope not.” My eyebrows went up at that; I agreed wholeheartedly.

“You won’t lose your reflection in the mirror. That was based on the idea that a mirror reflected one’s soul, and that a vampire had lost theirs. The reflection is physical, and unless you fall to Evil, you’ll keep your soul.”

“So souls are real.” I’d been raised by militant God-fearing atheists.

She smiled faintly. “Yes, souls are real. Guard yours carefully.”

“You can neither float nor fly nor turn into a bat.” A snort seemed all the response required.

“You will be preternaturally strong and fast. You will, after all, be at least a potential predator. If you feel a compulsion to hunt, I recommend strongly you find some woods and hunt deer. That will take care of anything you need without risk to your soul.” Again, it made sense. “You’ll also heal from just about anything that doesn’t kill you. Slicing off your head will kill you; slicing off your arm won’t. In fact, it might not even work, unless the swordsman is really fast, because the cut at the top will heal before he’s done slicing through the bone. It will hurt like hell, though.”

“Yeah, not planning on fighting any swordsmen any time soon either.”

She grinned. “Wise girl. You really will burst into flame instantly if you go out in the sun; we don’t know why. Likewise, a stake through your heart will make you disappear in a puff of dust. And I think that’s about it for Vampire 101. Can you think of anything else right now?”

“One thing. Is it only drinking human blood that will make me fall to Evil, or killing in general, or what? Because if I’m super-strong and I push some guy too hard, I don’t want to risk my soul for that!”

“Ah. Good point. Okay, best guess is that what will cause problems is if you kill a human being by drinking their blood, because that’s effectively cannibalism. I doubt killing in self defense, or defense of another person, would be deemed problematic. Goddess knows I’ve killed enough that way, and Evil hasn’t tried for me.” She was so matter of fact about it that it took me aback.

“Um...yeah.” was all I could think of. “We should probably go back out before the rest of the girls send a search party, though.”

She laughed. “Right. And I could use some more tea after all of that!”

Angela, Holly and Karyn were still sitting around the remains of dinner when we came out; apparently they’d been too worried to scatter to their usual evening activities. I didn’t know what to tell them, but Josephina left it up to me while she trotted off to the kitchen to put the kettle on. I’ve always been pretty blunt, so I just dove in.

“So...Josephina knows what’s going on, and it looks like she nailed it. Seems vampires are real, and one tried to bite me last Saturday night. Didn’t quite succeed, but broke skin and it was enough to turn me. That’s what these are.” I gestured to the two pairs of pin-prick scabs on my throat. “Another week or so, and I’ll be all the way there.”

Silence reigned for about thirty seconds, followed by pandemonium as they all started asking questions at once.

“Are you gonna turn all sparkly, like Edward?”

“Are you going to be a monster?”

“You’re not going to go all emo and angsty, are you?”

“Slow down, slow down! I can only talk so fast.” I laughed. “Let’s see if I can get this straight. I turned to Angela. “Let’s see. Sparkly? God and Goddess forbid! Deity of your choice. Actually, same answer for emo and angsty. Me? Really? Anti-Goth-Girl? Black is so not my color!” I struck a pose. “I shall be the Vampire in Hello Kitty Pink!” We were laughing as Josephina came in with more ginger tea and the household honeypot. “And we’re working on making the answer to monster 'no way in hell', right Josephina? My diet will be a little weird, but I’ll eat in my room so no one gets grossed out, and come sit with everyone for dinner anyway. I’ll take my turn at cooking, too, if it’s okay if dinner doesn’t get started until the sun is down. Or else I can do prep while it’s dark, and someone else can cook. But don’t expect to see me between dawn and dusk. For one thing, I’ll be asleep, and for another, I will have an instantaneously fatal sun allergy. Like, SPF one million probably wouldn’t be enough if I missed a square micrometer of skin.” Josephina nodded agreement.

Tea was poured and honey added; mine was generously sweetened again. It really was making me feel better.

Then it really hit me what all it was going to mean.

“Hey. Hey! You know what? Remember how we were talking about how Campus Security would escort girls home from the library or class after dark if they lived in the dorms, but there wasn’t anything for girls off campus? I can do that, or I’ll be able to once the change is complete. And some of the Muslim girls, who can’t walk with a man they aren’t related to? It would solve their problem too. We’ve talked and marched and planned and written letters and tried to change the culture that makes women responsible if men commit rape, but at least here we really can take back the night! Oh wow. WOW!”

They were looking at each other, back at me. Even Josephina was wide-eyed.

“And you know what else? Now I can change my major to Astronomy, because I’ll be up all night anyway. I can stay up to use the observatory. I bet they’ll let me set up an online course of study since I can’t go out during the day. Setting up meetings with my professors might get a little dicey, even by Skype, because of the daylight sleeping thing, but I bet we can come up with work-arounds for that, if we try.”

“Hey, Josephina!” She jumped, startled. “Can I call Jenny back, tell her thank you? I mean, yeah, this is going to have it’s challenges, but so does everything. But the stuff I can do with it? Is going to be so damn cool!”

Avatar

Nov. 20th, 2017 10:51 pm
mama_kestrel: (Default)
Woo-hoo! Yet another story. Don't ask me where they're coming from; I've no clue. They're certainly nothing like anything I've written before. I'm also not looking gift equines in the mouth.

PAY ATTENTION: Some discussion of multiple miscarriage/ infertility. Happy ending, though.

********************

"In this time outside Time, in this place...."

"Prrrt?"

The priestess glanced down and stumbled over her invocation. "Sophronia? What are you doing here? I left you with Andrea in San Francisco!"

"Prouw!" responded Sophronia proudly, winding about Lady Lunara's ankles with her tail and ears held at full vertical, announcing to all and sundry what a wonderful cat she was. I had to agree with her, at that. It was no small feat to track her human from San Francisco to a state park outside of Louisville, Kentucky.

Read more... )
mama_kestrel: (Default)
Another story. Creativity seems to be clawing back to the surface. Confidence will take awhile longer, I suspect.

********************

I knew what I had seen. I also knew it wasn’t possible. It looked like a fairly ordinary black cat, the sort that my left hand neighbor insisted was bad luck, to which my right hand neighbor invariably snorted and responded “only to mice.” Beautiful and graceful, she stood there, balanced on the ridgepole of the house with her nose sniffing at the rowan tree growing by the front door and her tail waving idly in the leaves of the hawthorn at the back. And that meant she was at least forty feet long. No, the thing was impossible. I was dreaming; it was the only explanation.

I’d gone back into the house then, thinking that if this were dream I’d return to the bed I probably had never really left, then wake myself up in truth, make myself tea and breakfast and see what might be outside to have triggered so strange a dream. It was still dark, and moonlight could play all sorts of tricks. But grandmother always said the farm was at the edge of faerie whispered in the back of my mind. She said the fae retreated as the town grew too close for their comfort. I pushed the thought aside, along with the flash of grief that always came with the thought of my grandmother, and crawled back under the quilts.

An hour or so later I heard the neighbors start to stir. A dog barked, then another. A horse complained about being harnessed. And then someone shouted my name.

“Rory! Rory, lad, be you all right? On your roof, there be... Rory, lad!” Old Evan was all but stammering, he was so upset, him as nothing could stir up. I was up and out the door as fast as I could move. So much for my plans for tea and breakfast.

“Evan, what is it?”

He pointed a shaking finger up at the top of my cottage. And there she was, still on the ridgepole, though no longer standing. She lay stretched at her ease now, as relaxed as only a cat can be, chin resting on neatly crossed front paws, calm amber eyes blinking at the gathering crowd.

I couldn’t tell myself I was dreaming, not now with the whole village staring and pointing and whispering. Impossible or not, there was a giant cat lying on top of my roof. I had the sort of sudden thought one gets at such moments that I hoped she understood that we were not prey, for that we were of the same size to her as mice were to ordinary cats! I glanced up as I thought it, and I swear she winked at me.

On a whim I winked back, then bowed to her. “Be welcome to my humble home, Lady” I said, just as if she were a visiting human noble. “I would invite you in, but I fear my doorway won’t accommodate you. Still, you are welcome to my roof for so long as you wish, and whenever you wish, and to anything else it might be in my poor power to provide.” I heard murmuring rise behind me, a soft sibilance becoming rapidly louder.

“What is he doing”.

“Same as his grandmother. Making sure he doesn’t offend the Good People. Taking it a little far, maybe.”

Shhhh. They don’t like to be talked about. Let him handle it; it’s his roof she’s on.”

But all of that was background. My entire attention was on the Lady on my roof. Arianrhod drifted into my mind; perhaps that was her name? She gave me the slow blink that is a cat’s kiss, whiskers forward in a smile, sat up, and began to purr loud enough to echo off the hills. Then she stepped down, as if roof to ground were a single stair-step, strolling over to me, shrinking to normal cat-size as she came until she could rub about my legs like any other house cat.

I knew better. We all did. She has never shown herself in her great form again, but we know she has it should she feel the need of it. Meanwhile, she is an honored and respected member of the village who happens to live with me, of her own choosing. Since she has come, no raiders have found us, nor any other sort of ill luck. And whenever a traveling priest tries to preach that the faerie are gone from this land, or that they were just a story to entertain children, we just smile.

Relic

Nov. 15th, 2017 07:03 pm
mama_kestrel: (Default)
Another worth posting, perhaps. This is a stand-alone vignette.

********************

How old was she?”

“No one knows, really. Best guess now is that she was born sometime in the first half of the twentieth century, but you know what records are like from that period.”

“But…but…that would make her…”

“Over four hundred years old, I know. We knew the home she lived in was a twentieth century original, retrofitted to meet modern standards more than once. That was documented when it was declared a historic monument. We just assumed it had been passed down in the family through the centuries, though. It appears now that the reason is was never transferred is because she never died. We had building and modification permit records, first in the names of Siobhan and Todd Reilly and then later in her name solely. We have death records for Todd some sixty years after the house was built, and birth and marriage records for four children that she had kept in a cedar chest in the house. A…family member…sent us vid-copies, and let us see, but not handle, the originals. They’re authentic, all twentieth century. The oldest child was born in 1962, the youngest a decade later.”

“A family member? How many generations down? Did anyone inherit her longevity?” A head-shake. “I don’t even know what questions to ask!”

“Trust me, I understand.” The archaeology professor gave a wry smile. “She let me visit her in her home any time I wanted, told me stories so vivid that she brought those periods to life for me, showed me how artifacts I brought her were used so that I couldn’t imagine any other interpretation for them after she was done.” He shook his head. “I wish I’d realized how she came by her knowledge while I still could have asked her questions.”

“But the family member? Where is…he? She?”

“She. Her name is Rose. She lived with Siobhan. She’s still in the home; she inherited it, airtight. Not taking callers, though. I doubt she will, either.”

“Rose is a family member? How was she related? Must be a…how-many-times-great-grandchild, or niece, or some such?”

“No blood kin at all. She’s a daughter-in-law, widow of the eldest son. She and Siobhan loved each other as if they were blood-kin, though.”

“Why…but…. she must be near as old, then!”

“About twenty five years younger, yes. We found birth records, once we knew to look, and no, before you ask, there weren’t any death records for her either. I’ve spoken to her on some of my visits. She looks to be about forty-five or fifty. Very personable, and absolutely brilliant. She was the one who helped me with ancient languages at need; spoke at least ten of them fluently. Now I’m thinking she must have learned them when they were still living and vibrant.” A wistful smile crossed his face. “Just once, I heard her sing. I was downstairs with Siobhan, and she was upstairs. She has the voice of an angel. She said she sang Siobhan through the crossing to the Summerland, which I gather is how she refers to death. I can’t think of a gentler way to go, than listening to that voice.”

At that, his graduate student finally looked as though she'd found at least one familiar fact to serve as some sort of anchor. “I know Rose. I thought she was a live-in companion, though, the kind a lot of elderly people have. I wonder what she’ll do now?” she mused. “I mean…no one really knew their secrets, because no one looks for the absence of a death record. But with Siobhan’s death, they’ll look now, and Rose’ll have every crackpot and their cousin after her.”

The professor nodded soberly. “I know. I suspect she’s prepared for just this eventuality. Just because they lived for centuries doesn’t mean they expected to be immortal. In fact, I doubt we’ll see her again. We might get a letter or some other such communication. It won’t be electronic; too easy to trace. It will be handwritten in ink on real paper, probably in Old Cursive. Do you read that?”

Eileen, the graduate student, laughed. “Oh, yes. That was one of the first things Mrs. Reilly and Rose taught me. She said I couldn’t properly understand North American or European history without it. She was right, of course. When she said she’d learned in school, though, I assumed she meant grad school. I suppose she must have been a child. Misdirection with the truth."

So did the professor. “That was Siobhan, all right."

Eileen looked up at the closed front door wistfully. "You know my college sent me over here as part of my service requirement, don't you? An elderly woman and her companion, living alone, without all the usual automated delivery and other modern conveniences. They had a student to do their grocery shopping and laundry and indoor cleaning every semester, though once I came they didn't get a new one assigned again until I started my dissertation. They're the reason I changed my major to a double in history and archaeology, you know? I was enchanted by them. I kept asking to go back, even though I'd long since finished the requirement. Goddess, but I'm going to miss them.”

"So will I" he agreed. "All right then, I would imagine Rose will send whatever she's arranged addressed to you. It might be a letter, or maybe she’ll just send you a key to the house. If she does that, it will almost certainly come without a note or any other indication of what it is or where it came from. Just a small, ancient style metal key about the size of the first two joints of your forefinger, meant for a mechanical lock, It will get us in through one of the doors, and inside she’ll have left an account of everything she wants us to know.”

“But where will she be?”

“I don’t know. Rose isn’t nearly as trusting as Siobhan. Among other things, she was a barrister when she was young. But she’ll have money stashed in a number of places, a variety of safe-houses, and probably a collection of pre-arranged identities at each of them. She’s not a mobster, but she’ll stay under the radar like one to avoid being exploited.” He sighed, looking up at the windows. “I’ll miss them" he murmured again. "Both of them. There was something about them you don’t see in most people, a sort of quietness maybe. I wish her well.”

Eileen nodded soberly. Standing on the sidewalk, they both turned to look at the ordinary, non-descript mid-twentieth century two story house standing incongruously in the middle of a block of densely packed apartment blocks. There wasn’t much room for single-family homes anywhere anymore, but this one still stood, remnant of another time, surrounded by lilac hedges, with an herb garden and a deck in the back yard. As they stood, a clear lovely voice floated through an open upstairs window, singing in Old North American.

“Hello darkness my old friend, I've come to talk with you again….”

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