Page 12 of Nosfer-Meet You

Juliette

DRAG ME TO HELL

A VILLAGE OUTSIDE OF LYON, FRANCE, 1793

Distant wails outside send my blood pulsing in my veins. Go, go, go. Faster. Grab your things and get out of the house. Get to your parents and get on the horses. I hear my father screaming to our neighbors to run, but everything is a blur. So much is happening all at once, and there is so, so much smoke that it’s hard to see or keep a clear head.

Please, if you save nothing else from my pitiful existence, save my paintings. They’re the only good I put out into the world, I implore the stars as I race toward the stables. Where are my parents? I stop in the middle of the road. My neighbors are fleeing for their lives. They, too, are running with their precious belongings. The baker’s wife runs out of the house in her night shift, clutching a tea kettle to her chest. I raise an eyebrow but say nothing as they rush past me. They don’t even spare me a second glance.

“Papa?” I call out. The smoke billows nearby. It’s getting thicker, and the air stings my lungs with each inhale I take. Blood rushes in my ears as I whirl around trying to find my way through the streets. “P-Papa!” I cry again.

He does not answer me. I’m about to head into the smoke in search of my parents when someone snatches my wrist and yanks me hard. I let out a sharp shriek as the ground rises to meet me. No, no! This can’t be happening, I think. Only moments ago, I was alone up in my bedroom, wishing for death to claim me, but now that it’s here, I want to take every horrible, heart-aching thought back. How stupid I was, wishing for death! I tempted the gods, and now they’ve answered me in kind.

“Child, stay low to the ground!” Someone, or something, croaks. I slip away from the man’s grasp and turn around to see my own father on the ground, scrambling toward me. Blood trickles from his temple. “Stay low and follow me. Stay below the smoke, Juliette.”

My eyes burn, but I dare not rub them, as I fear I may wipe away my vision along with the tears. “Maman? Where is she?” I murmur as I crawl along the road on my belly. Even as my very life is in danger, all I can think of is my mother’s safety. The same woman who dragged me across the floorboards earlier that morning. Where is she?

More people scream as they flee. I can’t see anything. Only a few ankles and feet. Some horse hooves. Fire. So much fire everywhere. I’m not even sure where it’s coming from. Perhaps we are in Hell already and the Devil himself is having a laugh.

“She’s fine, little doll. Just keep going,” Papa begs, his throat hoarser than usual. The smoke and the fire must be taking their toll on him. Even though my father has always been strong from working with the horses, he looks so feeble in this moment. Nature humbles us all in the end.

When I inhale deeply, the scorching of my throat threatens to override my senses. Oh, gods. We’re going to die here, but I’m not ready. I know that now. Merde, I know that now.

Chapter 7

Scotty

STRUCK A NERVE

We take our dinner down to the sewers and feast like royalty until our stomachs are full to bursting and we can’t drink another drop. I rub my stomach as I stare up at the ceiling thoughtfully. Juliette puts on an old record on her “phonograph” as she calls it. When I tried telling her it was a record player, she just looked at me like I’d suggested we go for a stroll into the sunlight.

Fine. Phonograph it is. Whatever makes her happy.

“What is your power, then?” she asks over the crackling tones of Pauline Viardot, who I hadn’t even heard of until Juliette told me. Not my usual kind of music, but it’s nice. Makes me feel like I’m sitting in a little café somewhere, sipping an espresso. Hah. Didn’t even do that shit when I was alive. “You have not shown me.”

Normally, vamps don’t ask each other this question. It’s considered poor form. It’s basically asking someone point blank how old they are. But Juliette isn’t asking to be rude, or to exploit my weaknesses. She’s just curious, I guess.

I wipe my hands on my jeans and look anywhere but her face, unable to make eye contact. “I, uh, don’t have any,” I mutter.

Silence. Juli says nothing and everything all at once.

“Yeah, I’m your garden variety loser without a degree or any training who was working at the gas station before being turned forty-one years ago, so…”

Juliette crosses her legs and leans forward. “How old are you?”

Okay, so we’re straight up asking now. Damn, she’s blunt.

“Oh, who’s counting these days?” I rub the back of my neck. “Did it get hot in here? I think we should check to make sure the sewer doesn’t have a buildup of gas or something. Could be dangerous. You know, fire and⁠—”

Her eyes narrow to slits. “Scotty. Stop deflecting. How old are you?”

I wince. “Sixty … five? Give or take?”

A baby, as far as vampires go. Most vamps are feral for their first few decades until they’re either staked and meet their true death or learn how to get their bloodlust under control. Without a sire to guide me, it was a miracle that I made it to vampire adulthood. I know how lucky I am, and I owe it all to my found family who took me in when they did.

One of the corners of Juliette’s mouth curves upward.

“You’re a child,” she says, but her tone isn’t patronizing. More just … stating a fact. “I see. I’m sorry this happened to you,” she says, then grabs one of the drained bodies, drags it over to the water, and tosses it in. She repeats the process with the other two bodies, though tin-can man doesn’t float like the others, obviously. Good. I don’t want to look at him anymore, anyway.