Dawn Till Dust

Part 1: Spirit Guides

Chapter One: The Empress

I look up, hoping that my glare has enough venom to drive the interloper away. It does not. Of course it doesn’t. The tears perched on my eyelids, ready to spill out, dilute the poison I am feeling, and he just comes over and sits next to me.

I don’t want him that close to me. I don’t even want him here. I came here to be alone, hoping that the loud music and dim lights would help me pull off my invisibility trick. I shouldn’t have expected that much of an all ages club.

He looks about seventeen, with brown hair falling over his eyes and clothing that, refreshingly, isn’t screaming ‘hipper-than-thou’. He seems nice enough. Not boring. Maybe even a little unique. But I really don’t want a complete stranger sitting next to me. Not when I’ve been crying.

But he isn’t leaving, so I resign myself to company. I can be a loner with people around just as easily as I can when actually alone. “Welcome to the pity party.” I mutter, focusing my gaze back on my sneakers.

They’re black. Nearly everything about my wardrobe is. I’ve learned to like the stereotype, and the color looks good on me. Plus, it’s not like a Goth chick doesn’t fit in just fine here.

“Do I get a funny hat?” He asks, and I shake my head.

“All out of funny hats.” I tell him, and he shakes is head in mock sorrow. His cheerfulness is getting to me, and I gladly latch onto the excuse to forget.

“Maybe a nametag, then?” He asks. He’s smiling, now.

“If I just tell you my name, will you stop whining?” I ask. I’m feeling a little exasperated now.

“Gladly.” He says, holding out his hand, though I have no idea how he expects me to shake it, crammed as we are into my little hiding hole meant for one. “I’ll even give you mine. I’m Evan Gwenned.”

“Marienne Dark Empress.” I say, grouchily. He laughs. He thinks I’m joking. I’m not. My father’s name was Steve Empress, and my mother, drugged, exhausted and happy that her ordeal was over, had named me Sharon. Which was, of course, a perfectly reasonable name that she and Steve had decided on months before. But the nurse, stupid woman that she was, had to ask, “And are you going to give her a middle name?” My mother looked at her like she was crazy, and then asked the nurse what color my hair was. The nurse took one look at my jet black mass of hair and proclaimed, “Dark.” And my mother nodded, smiled at the assembly in the room, and said, “Dark, then.” You can be sure that the kids on the playground loved that. It doesn’t bother me, though. Later, after the change, I was renamed Marienne, which is pronounced “Mah-reey-en-eh.” “Nice to meet you, Gwen.” I tell him. It’s a game of mine. Find a nickname for each person I meet that is as embarrassing as my name is. It puts us on even ground.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Empress Marienne.” He tells me, raising one eyebrow. I feel a need to tell him the truth, that it’s just my name. But I remind myself that I don’t really care about this stranger. I don’t care if he gets deceived. All I did was tell him the truth. He was the one who chose to leap to utterly ridiculous conclusions.

“Yeah.” I mutter, not even sure what I mean by that. I wipe a tear off and glance at my fingers, noting the telltale black marks. My mascara is running. I should get some waterproof. Not that I care what I look like, or anything.

“So why were you crying, Your Majesty?” He asks me. This is getting ridiculous.

“Empress is my last name. Dark is my middle name.” I clarify, not looking up. I toy with a purple and black strand of hair, which is naturally absurdly straight.

“Ah.” He says. “So no more ‘Your Majesty’ then?” I shake my head ever so slightly.

“Suit yourself.”

There is a moment of silence, a temporary lull in the conversation.

“You never answered my question.” He says, and I look up, finally tearing my gaze away from my ever-fascinating shoes. I stare at him for a few moments, making sure that he realizes that he is being given the silent treatment.

So he asks again. “Why were you crying?” I look back down. I’m bored of my shoes, so this time I focus on the inch of sock peeping out from below my jeans. Socks never get boring.

“I wasn’t crying.” I tell him, which is a flat out lie, and he knows it. The real purpose of the statement is to get him off my back, and it works. He barely knows me. He doesn’t have a right to challenge me or call me a liar.

“Uh-huh.” He nods, unconvinced. There’s no live band here, not even a DJ, just recorded music playing through a lone pair of almost decent speakers. I’m not impressed with this place. In fact, if it weren’t for Gwen, I would be gone by now.

“You want to go get some coffee?” He asks me. I assume he means right now. Coffee will probably keep me up all night, but his daring impresses me, asking Miss Prickly out, so I shrug, almost imperceptibly.

“As long as we leave right now.” I get up and step out of my dark corner into the barely better lit main area. I head for the door, desperate to get away from all the sheer happiness on the dance floor. I don’t think I can stand it right now.

As we step out the doorway and onto the street, I’m even more aware of the fact that my mascara has run, and I’m glad for once of one of the things I got from my mother, probably the only thing she ever gave me: strong eyeballs. Even now, I’m sure that my eyes aren’t red.

“So, Gwen, why aren’t you at home in bed?” I ask him. Now that we are outside the kids’ club, I notice that he is tall, at least compared to me. His eyes turn out to be pale gray.

“Gwen, huh?” He laughs. I’m not surprised that he takes the nickname well. Most people are stronger of mind than you would think.

“Yeah.” I reply. “Short for Gwenned.” He chuckles again.

“I see. You are one weird girl.” I nod. This isn’t news to me.

When we reach the coffee shop he’s been leading me too, I realize that he may have picked the only shop in the city that I have never been too. It’s tucked in the back of a huge bookstore, and the smells wafting out of the door make me realize that I haven’t eaten in a long time.

The place is packed. Almost every seat is taken, but Gwen weaves his way to the front of the crowd expertly, grabbing my hand without asking and pulling me behind. Somehow I find that we are at the very front of the sizable line, and no one seems to have noticed. Gwen flashes me a smile, and I raise my eyebrows.

“I didn’t realize so many people drank coffee in the middle of the night.” I say, and he shrugs.

“You’ll find that life is full of surprises, I’m sure.” I find the way he worded that sentence interesting, though maybe it was the look in his eyes that sets the alarm bells ringing. I begin to doubt that Gwen is just some normal teenage boy. That’s all right, though. I’m not a normal teenage girl, after all.

We’ve reached the front of the line, and a woman in a red apron is asking me what I want. I realize that I haven’t even glanced at the menu, and the people in line after me are looking just about ready to stampede. I order a chai tea, and follow Gwen to a small table under the vast, winding staircase leading to the upper levels of the bookstore.

“Welcome to Chara’s Books and Stuff.” Gwen tells me, and I realize that I know that name. Chara’s is actually rather famous for having all sorts of obscure books. I’ve been meaning to go here sometime and pick up a few things for research on my condition.

The crowd is mostly students, which makes sense. I realize that it’s finals week. I should be studying, but I haven’t been to school in months. I’ve pretty much given up on any kind of future I might have.

“So, do you come here a lot?” I ask Gwen, when I realize that the silence might be getting unpleasant for him.

“Sure.” He nods, as if agreeing to something, though I’m not quite sure what. I take a sip of my chai, enjoying the warmth. It’s not any kind of sustenance, but it makes me feel a little less hungry. I’ve become a warmth addict lately.

I sit back in my chair, leaning it back a bit and bite back a smile. It’s been a while since I’ve felt warm. I’ve been trying to cut back on the chai. It makes me jittery.

“It’s good, right?” Gwen asks, and I realize that I’ve forgotten about him. I sit back up and stare down again, this time at my knees. My ever-fascinating socks are hidden under the tiny round table.

“Sure.” I say, and he laughs. He sips his soda, and looks back up at my chai and me.

“Caffeine? This late?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.

“You were the one who suggested coffee.” I tell him, and he nods.

“I guess I did. But do you do everything people suggest to you?” He asks, and I take a moment to think up an appropriate comeback.

“No. You’re just special.” Is the best I can think of. It’s late, and right now I’m pretty focused on being warm.

That’s such a joke. He isn’t special. He’s just another… human. And yet… I don’t feel the usual hunger when I look at this strange boy. I turn away to focus on a girl a few feet away, part of the winding line that has come right by our secluded corner. She’s wearing a backpack, and a long sleeved shirt as protection from the weather, which has been hinting at cool for the last few weeks. Her hair is a blond pixie cut. My gaze focuses on her neck, and the hunger bubbles up again.

I turn back to Gwen and take another sip of chai. I’m still starving. Nothing has changed. Either something is wrong with me, or something is wrong with him.

He’s ignoring me, and singing along to the softly playing background music. It’s David Bowie, but I don’t really know the song. I watch him for a moment, and consider tapping him on the shoulder, then ditch the idea in favor of another sip of chai.

It doesn’t help. I shouldn’t have let myself dwell on that girl, because now I can’t get my mind off the subject of food. I glance at Gwen again. Well, if I need food, I might as well eat him. I’ve already gotten his attention. It shouldn’t be too hard to lure him into a dark alley somewhere, and I know the lay of the land around here pretty well.

I spend a few moments talking myself into it. It’s been a few months since I’ve eaten, and even if I won’t die, not eating will do terrible things to me. First it will screw with my head, then my bones will start to break, and my eyesight will go, and then, one by one… Not worth it.

“Gwen.” I say, almost so soft he won’t hear. But he does, he stops singing and smiles widely at me. I feel a little apprehensive about all this. I mean, of all humans, did I have to choose the only one that doesn’t look appetizing? But I quell my fears.

“Are you all right, Majesty?” He asks me, real concern in his voice. I feel another stab of apprehension. I really don’t want to kill him. Usually, I have bloodlust to help me deal with my conscience, but this time…

“I… just need some air.” I tell him, and he nods, standing up and helping me to my feet, true gentlemen style. As we thread our way back through the crowd, I notice that our table has already been taken. I turn back, trying to avoid the thickest part of the crowd, each one of them looking infinitely more edible than the boy before me.

We leave the bookstore, and I breath in the fresh air, and start to walk, this time taking the lead.

“We going anywhere in particular?” he asks as I lead him down another street, never heading in the same direction for more than a block.

“No.” I answer. “Just walking. I reach a hand up to my mouth and touch one of my fangs. There are few streetlights on this block, and I know that he can’t see me. At least, not such little details as the fact that I’m not human.

“Interesting neighborhood to be ‘walking’ in.” He comments, and I don’t respond. I wonder to myself what he’s thinking right now. Maybe he’s already trying to bolt; convinced I’m an axe murderer. But I look over at him in a momentary glow from the windows of a house, and oddly enough, he’s still wearing that smile, that strange mixture of honesty and arrogance.

I check for cars and other people before making another turn, this time into a dark alley, favorite of murderers the world over. I’ve killed in dark alleys before, but not this one yet.

I’m a little surprised to see that there is already a body here. It’s not vampires kill, though, just a dead man. It smells like he overdosed on something. Probably heroine. This could throw everything off, I think. If Gwen spots the body, then he’ll probably freak, and wonder why I’m ignoring it. Just when I think all is lost, though, I watch in awe as Gwen just steps over the body, not looking that disturbed by the idea that someone died in this alley. He smiles at me, though it seems more as if he’s smiling over my shoulder.

I just stand there for a moment. This part is always awkward. In the vampire movies, the victim is always pinned against a wall, but I’m never sure if this is strictly necessary. It doesn’t seem to be, so I move in for the kill.

I walk up to him, and put my hand on his shoulder. It seems strangely cool. Perhaps it’s the edge of chill in the air. He isn’t wearing long sleeves, unlike most of the population. I’m not either, but black leather gloves running up my arms all the way to my shoulders work well enough to hold in my chai induced body heat.

I sigh. I mean, of all the people in the world, couldn’t I have picked one who was actually warm and appetizing? I remind myself that when Tanda picked someone warm and appetizing to eat, that person turned out to be a Hunter. I’m not sure that Gwen isn’t a Hunter, but I decided that if he was a Hunter I would be dead by now. Anyway, Hunters are less likely to pick up their intended victim at a club. They’re more about rushing in to save the day.

He looks up at the hand, and smiles at me. I feel a stab of pity for the guy. I should be feeling pity for myself, pity that my instincts haven’t kicked in yet. I lean in close, and bite deep into… Nothingness. The guy isn’t even there.

“So you are a vampire.” He says. “I was beginning to doubt you would ever get around to that.

“You aren’t very appetizing.” I tell him.

“That’s because I’m a ghost.” He tells me, and I nod. “I don’t have any blood of my own to offer, so I brought this.” He takes off his backpack and sits down, his back against a concrete wall, taking a plastic bag full of blood out.

“That’s… blood, isn’t it?” I ask him. I think I’m drooling. I try my best to stop.

He shrugs casually. “Robbed a blood bank earlier today. Thought I might need it. I guess I was right.” I reach over and pluck the bag out of his hand, making a tiny incision in the top with one black-painted claw, and take a sip. My toes tingle as my body regains the ability to produce it’s own body heat.

“So why were you crying?” He asks me. He seems to have forgotten that I told him I wasn’t crying. I sigh.

“I don’t owe you a thing.” I tell him, and he shakes his head.

“You owe me a bag of blood and a cup of Chai tea.” He says, and I nod reluctantly and begin my story.

“My sire died tonight. He was killed by a Hunter…” I pause and realize that since Gwen is a ghost, he’s likely to know the name. “He was killed by Aspen Strawdale.” I hear a sharp intake of breath from Gwen’s direction, and wonder why he’s still breathing, if he’s dead. Well, he’s still walking even though he’s dead, he can still talk and think and drink soda, so I guess that the rules are a bit different for ghosts then for the dead or even vampires. I store the information away, glad to get more information on the undead side of things. I’ve only been a vampire for a year; I’m still pretty ignorant about the world I’ve come to inhabit.

“Aspen, huh…” He says. “He supposed to be a real big shot among those folks.” He falls silent. Even the dead don’t usually know what to say about death. I change the subject.

“So, how did you die, Gwen?” I ask him, and he sits there for a moment.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He says, and I sigh.

“Fair enough.” I drain the last of the blood in the bag, and can feel the color coming back into my cheeks.

“So, how did your parents react to your becoming a vampire?” He asks me, when the silence has gone on long enough. Our subjects are getting as dark as my favorite color.

“I really don’t think they’ve noticed.” I say, sincerely. “My parents are hardly ever home nowadays, and when they are… well our house is so huge that I only see them at dinner.

“So you haven’t eaten them yet?” He asks. Now this is getting a little bit morbid, even for me.

“No. They’re family. I would rather eat complete strangers.”

“Like me.” He asks, and I feel a twinge of guilt, but I see that he’s smiling.

“Yeah, like you.” I say, letting out a tired little laugh. We sit in silence for a while longer, listening to the sounds of the street outside. At some point, I fall asleep.

…

Author’s note:

Hey all, and welcome to my first multichapter story here on fictionpress! I think that this is going to turn out pretty fun. I intend to divide up the whole thing into three parts, and this is the first third, Spirit Guides. The reason for the title will be clear soon. The title of the series is just a stupid pun I thought up the other day, for lack of a better title: At dawn, a vampire will turn into dust if they get caught out in the sun, and the story is all about vampires… I think up something better,