Page 14 of We Were Eternal Once

“I cannot,” I say softly. You know this. Every night I try and fail, every night you must subdue our victims so I can feed. Every night I’m reminded that I am unworthy and a failure.

“He is a child,” you repeat, and I don’t miss the accusation in your tone. Easy prey. A simple task. What vampire would I be if I can’t silence a silly, starving child?

He swipes at us with the knife, too far from us to feel even the breeze of the movement. Stupid child, he’ll die for a god that doesn’t know his name. For a temple that will fill his bed with another starving orphan to do its bidding. For a hope for acceptance after he’s no longer living.

A cruel fate that was almost mine.

He meets my eyes at long last and I catch him there. This part I’ve learned, to transfix them with my stare. His hand steadies, his pupils dilate, his entire form rigid. His pulse slows as we stare at each other, as I sink into his mind.

Drop the knife.

“Drop the knife.”

It clatters to the ground, his hand suspended before him. I smile and my hold snaps, his mouth opening to scream. No. No! I am so stupid, so quick to celebrate this trivial win. He is a child, and I cannot hold him and smile at the same time.

“Silence,” I command. His jaw clamps closed, his cheeks vibrating with the strain of it. I don’t celebrate again, I dig deeper. I run my fingers through his mind, his memories. They’re blurry—you say that one day I’ll be able to see them. To know things the humans try to hide from me.

One day.

For now I must be content to tell a starved, shaking child to forget he saw me. I wait for the power to fill my veins, to feel the pull of my own words just as yours pulled me with that man on the cart. Instead, I feel empty.

“When you came to the altar this evening, it was already robbed. You saw no one.”

“I saw no one.”

“You will wait four hours until you alert the temple to the theft.”

“I will wait.”

“You never saw us.”

“I saw no one.”

When I turn to you, you’re beaming. “Psiche mou, you’re a natural study,” you say, your finger running along my cheek.

“It took me so long,” I lament. “And he’s just a child.”

“Nothing good comes easy. What is your hurry? We have all the time in the world.”

Do we? At first I did not feel that way. When we left Kirra it was with haste, and the next few towns were a blur under the moon. It’s only been these last few days that we’ve slowed, that our pace is one of leisure.

We leave the temple with the valuable offerings in our bags. This will buy us another undisturbed day in an inn, another bit of coin stored away for wherever we’re going.

Rome.

Now that we’ve moved through towns, I hear more of it. They speak of Rome with anger, of joining a king that wishes to destroy the Romans that infect Greece with their false gods.

Sometimes we sit in taverns and pretend to drink their wine just to listen to the news of the world. They speak of towns and lands I’ve no knowledge of, but you nod along in understanding.

We spend three days at a town along the water, your red gaze locked on the horizon.

“Why do we linger here?” I ask. While we’ve slowed our pace, it is not like you to be stagnant. To linger is to let them remember your face, recall your name, decide you’re someone to commit to memory. Anonymity is the secret to a long life.

“I’ve heard these words before,” you say softly. We’d just left a tavern and follow a drunk man by several paces through the night. There’s no need to lower our voices or hide ourselves, he is painfully unaware of us. These victims are the easiest to overtake, their minds open and pliable to me. In the morning they wake thinking they’re just hung over, none the wiser.

“What words?”

“The discontent. It means war is near,” you say.