Page 26 of We Were Eternal Once

“We cannot go in winter,” you say.

“Oh?” I ask.

“The water is treacherous,” you say. Your thumb brushes the edge of my lip.

The human takes his last shuddering breath before he dies. You pull away and I think I’ve lost my moment, that I squandered my one chance to go to the library. To bring it up again so soon would be too obvious, I’d need to wait years.

You take the mug of his blood and sip, closing your eyes and inhaling in pleasure. You hand the mug to me, my lips pressed to the same spot yours did.

“Spring, on a passenger ship,” you say.

“Hmm?” I ask.

“To go to Alexandria. No hiding in boxes, no skulking below deck. We will have our own room and will be left alone. We’ll book a room with no windows, it will be cheaper anyway.” Your finger taps along the arm of your chair, thinking.

Tap tap tap.

“It used to take weeks, perhaps it is less now. I don’t like to drink stale blood, but it might be necessary.”

Tap tap tap.

“It is time we moved on. The neighbor made a comment about how my skin doesn’t sag yesterday.”

Tap tap tap.

My stomach churns. The thrill of going to Alexandria mixes with the horror of being on a boat again. Your finger stops its tapping, your gaze snapping to me.

“Do you wish to see Alexandria? Truly?”

Yes yes yes, a thousand times yes.

“Is it worth getting on a boat?” I ask, my voice disappearing into the night.

“I will never let anything happen to you, pische mou,” you say. I believe you. Through it all, you’ve protected me. You’re the one that pulled me from that box, swam me across the sea, dragged my body to our cottage. You nursed me to health after the sun burned me blind and feral with pain.

I thought I was always safe with you.

(“You are.”)

“Then yes, I wish to see Alexandria,” I say.

Whatever you see in my face settles you. Your smile is fond as it looks over my face. “I promised you the world. Alexandria holds the knowledge of the world.”

“You’ve given me the world,” I object.

“No, I have not. I have given you but a grain of rice, but a sip of blood. There is so much more to see, to know, to touch. I want to give it all to you. I want you to know the decadence our kind deserves.”

I want that because you want that. I did not know what it meant. I did not know the world extended so far to the east, west, north, and south. I did not know that cultures existed across an ocean too broad for us to fathom.

But that wasn’t the knowledge I craved. I wanted something more personal, something that I hoped would be found amongst the leading scholars of the world.

“To Alexandria,” I say, taking a swig of the blood and offering it to you. You swallow readily, a small trail of blood trickling down the side of your mouth. I lean forward to lick it off, my tongue tracing the edges of your lips.

We fall into our grave, the dead human’s blood running through us like fire. I bite your thigh in triumph and drink from you greedily. You pin me down, your hips settling over my face so I can worship you all over again.

To Alexandria, and the answers you won’t give me.

The Gap