“Sex and the Cemetery”

Life is short. This is a lesson that I've learned over a dozen lifetimes. Humans are such fragile creatures, forming a bond with one can only lead to heartbreak. Sooner or later, their mortal bodies will fail and you will be left, once again, alone.

But it is this same frailty that draws us to humans. Cut a vampire, and they will not bleed. It takes a lot to damage us, and even more to hurt our feelings. That is why I fell for Nathaniel – his beating heart was broken, and I wanted, fool as I am, to help fix it.

I wish I could go back to that day in Cypress Cemetery and avert my own gaze, to stop our eyes meeting and this whole mess from beginning. Although, I think we all know deep down that's a lie... I wouldn't change a single thing that has passed between us.

S.

7.

Love In Vein

His eyes open and all he sees is white light. He squints, and his vision begins to adjust – the white is less harsh now, more of a cream... He tries to look around, but he can't, there is a huge pain in his neck. A shadow comes to stand over him, a shadow shaped like a woman. He can't tell much more than that, his eyes hurt and she is just a blur. The mystery woman says his name, and her voice sounds familiar.

“Nathaniel.”

I love you, Nathaniel.

The woman comes into focus and he knows who she is. He remembers watching as if from a great height as she told him she loved him, then took him in her arms and –

“Shh, shh...” Sabine touches his arm as he tenses up. “It's alright, you're safe.”

“Am...” His throat is dry, and everything comes out as a rasp; “Am I...”

“You're in the hospital,” Sabine tells him, then adds, just to assure him; “you're alive, Nathaniel.”

Relief floods through him and he knows now that he never truly wanted to be a vampire. Sabine passes him a glass of water and he gulps it down clumsily. A small, faint cross-shaped scar is visible at the base of her throat, like a necklace suspended from an invisible chain.

“You'll be feeling weak for a couple of days,” she continues, “and your wound might take a while to heal. You lost so much blood that you almost didn't make it... You were technically dead when I brought you here.”

It begins to make sense. She didn't Turn him, she just stopped his heart so that Alexander would no longer have a hold on him. He looks at the tube in his arm and wonders how many blood transfusions it took to bring him back.

“Thank you,” he says, grabbing her cold hand, warming it with his own. “Thank you.”

“Do you remember anything about what happened?” Sabine asks. “Anything about the ritual, and your brother...”

“I remember it all.” He nods, suppressing a grimace. “It was like... like when I was younger, having a twin around again. Watching someone else who looked like me do things with my body and say things with my voice. I couldn't speak, I couldn't stop him. But I remember everything. But...” He squeezes her hand. “But I don't remember what you said, just before you bit me.”

Sabine arches one eyebrow.

“You don't?”

“No.” A sly smile spreads across his wan face. “I think you need to tell me again.”

She grins, without showing a single fang. What a pro, he thinks.

“I love you, Nathaniel.”

“I love you, Sabine.”

The vampire leans in for a kiss much less deadly than their last one.

***

When Quinn steps off the bus, Jonas is stood waiting. He looks a lot healthier than when they parted, a bitter reminder that he is better off far away from Quinn.

“How did you know I was coming back?” He asks.

“I got a phone call from someone - a woman. She told me that you were on your way home, and if I didn't come to meet you then she would hurt me.” Jonas shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “She was joking, surely?”

“One never knows with her,” Quinn says, not sure if he should thank Sabine or not. When he'd called her to say he was coming home, it had been simply to let her know – he would have contacted Jonas in his own time. Except he knows, probably just the same as Sabine knows, that it would have been later, not sooner. Four hundred years have given that woman a sliver of wisdom; or maybe all women have it.

“So...” Jonas looks down, then up. Then down again.

“How've you been?” Quinn tries to sound casual and fails miserably. “You look well.”

“Really? I've not been sleeping too great lately.”

“Oh?” Fuck, Quinn thinks. Were there any lasting effects from their time together?

“Yeah,” Jonas goes on, “at first I thought it might be some more of your voodoo, then I realised... it was my conscience.”

“Your conscience...?”

“That's right. I feel awful about the way we left things. I wanted to get in touch, but you'd vanished.”

“That was the point,” Quinn says, a little colder now. Knowing that Jonas feels guilty makes him feel a lot more entitled to act wronged.

“Listen,” Jonas comes forward and takes Quinn's bag, “why don't we go and get a coffee?”

Quinn agrees, and so they walk together, neither saying a word, then they find a café and sit in silence over bitter brew for nearly twenty minutes. Finally, Jonas speaks.

“I tried to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Loving you. It didn't stick, though. I'd fill my head with thoughts like 'he's a monster', but then I'd end up getting into arguments with myself. Because...” He looks away, then back at him, right in the eyes, and Quinn feels like he's seeing him, all of him, maybe for the first time. “Because you're my monster, Quinn.”

“I was sucking the life out of you, don't forget. Breath by breath.”

“I'd gladly give it to you, every day for the rest of our lives. Life sucks without you anyway.”

“That's quite a line.”

“Not a line. Just the truth; it's supposed to set you free, isn't it? You were honest with me and I hurt you.”

“I understand, though, I really do. It must have come as quite a shock.”

“You should have been able to tell me anything. I’ve spent the last couple of weeks going crazy, reliving the things I said to you.”

Humans. So weak, so ruled by their emotions. Quinn suddenly feels proud to be one. Or at least half the way there.

“It's time for you to shut up now,” Quinn says, leaning in across the table to kiss him. Jonas happily complies. As soon as their lips touch, Quinn knows that he could go anywhere in the world and never be happy without this. This is what I've always needed, this is what makes me whole. Somewhere in the attic of his mind, a demon looks on in disgust.

When they get back to the house, Jareth greets Quinn with a disdainful glance as if to say “look what the cat dragged in”, and then saunters away. Quinn and Jonas stumble, intertwined as they are, towards the bedroom, and close the door behind them. They do not leave that room for quite some time.

***

The sun goes down. Nathaniel and Sabine are walking through Cypress Cemetery together, months after their first encounter. It feels like a lifetime ago, and Sabine supposes in a way it is. They've both started a new life, free from the weight and sorrow of the past. As they walk, hand in hand, Nathaniel tells Sabine about Raven. About how he had stared death in the face and realised he wanted to live.

There is a connection between them now – nothing so profound as if she had Turned him, but she did drink his blood; she sucked him nearly dry, and now it feels like he lives on as much in her as he does in himself.

Hand in hand they make their way towards Armand's in the Dead Quarter. There, they are met by Quinn and Jonas, Jackie and Laura, and of course Sunday. While the happy couples laugh and drink their evening away, the shaman turns away from the group, feeling ever so slightly sick of humans and love, and the combined effect they tend to have on otherwise entirely rational devils. His spirits lift however, when from across the room, he catches the eye of a spry young thing. She's younger than him by a few hundred years, but by the look of her, he bets she could teach him a trick or two.

He's seen her here quite a lot before; if he had to hazard a guess, he'd say she was a witch, maybe a voodoo queen. Sunday can't remember her name, but seems to recall that it is vaguely French-sounding. Adele, or Elodie, maybe. Oh well, he thinks. Finding out her name will be half the fun.

He walks over and gives her his best smile – after a couple of centuries, practice makes perfect. She smiles right back, and he asks if he can get her a drink. She considers the question for a moment before politely declining.

“I don't need a drink right now, thanks,” she draws his gaze to the near-full glass in her hand.

“Maybe a dance, then?” He snaps his fingers and wiggles his shoulders. “I bet you've got some great moves.”

The young woman laughs.

“You're right, I do. But not right now, thanks.”

Sunday nods in assent. He could utter a few words, invoke some wanton god or another, and this girl would fall into his arms. But where would be the joy in that?

“Well, my dear,” he faux bows, “have a pleasant evening.” He turns to go, then grins inwardly as she stops him.

“You're not giving up already, are you?” She asks. “Try again, won't you – I might just say yes.”

“Is that so?”

“You never know, anything is possible...” She raises her glass and he does the same. “After all – the night is young!”

***

So there we have it – life or something like it in Bellevue, in all its sinful splendour. I have plenty more stories to tell, but I'll be damned if I haven't got other things to do these days.

My heart might not beat, but it loves. I have half a soul at best, but I also have someone willing to share his own with me. And I no longer think about sitting outside, waiting to greet the sunrise. Which I take as proof that sometimes the dead really can come back to life.

S.

Author's Note: So, there we are. The End. I hope it wasn't too awful or contrived for you. I was going to give it a much unhappier ending, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it.