Immortal Gifts: Immortal Vampires, #1

The Thing About…

Abraham

December 16, 2018

The thing about Destiny is that she’s a bleeding heart.

Oh, you thought I meant destiny, as in fate? No, Destiny is my wife. Blame her mothers for your confusion. Hippies. Well. What do you call a couple of turn-of-the-century lesbian Wiccans, if not hippies? Perhaps I’m not up on the latest terminology, but in my experience, everything old becomes new again.

As I was saying, Destiny is a bleeding heart. She’s a veterinarian, and she’s forever bringing home sickly kittens for me to bottle-feed. Me, because I don’t sleep. Sometimes I nap in a coffin in the basement, but really, as long as I stay out of the sun, I’m fine.

It’s what Destiny calls my little problem. She’s as sympathetic about it as she is about elder cats in kidney failure, or orphan kittens, or dogs with cancer or broken legs. We’ve had dogs, cats, birds, rabbits, rats, and an iguana, but it’s usually cats. I don’t drink any of them; they’re pets, and Destiny is a vegetarian.

Not that rats and iguanas are tasty. Especially iguanas. Do not recommend. Well, I hear there’s one species on Saint Barthélemy, but… no. No, right now I subsist on donations from my wife—who gets regular iron testing on the excuse of vegetarianism—expired blood bank stock, and what I can scrounge up on the internet. I’ve drunk more than my share of rats in my time; they used to be plentiful, like fast food on every corner. They still are in New York. Honestly, the pet ones are so cute that I have some regret about how many I’ve drunk. The aggressively overabundant ones in the city, not so much.

So, Destiny is a bleeding heart, and every adorable fluffy-wuffy animal that dies destroys her.

I can relate, because eternity is boring without company, and yet company is not, for the most part, immortal. Cats are delightful, but their lives are the blink of an eye. I’ve loved many women, and even a few men, but it always ends the same way: old age, failing health, and death—with a few notable exceptions.

You might think that my kind doesn’t know death. No, death and I are old friends, old enemies, the familiarity that breeds contempt. Death comes for everyone I love. Destiny says that the cycle of life and death is holy. Perhaps, but it’s also cruel. We value things for the effort we put into them, and paradoxically value both youth and experience. If you don’t believe me, look at every job listing. So while you’re becoming your best and wisest self, your body is slowly and inevitably betraying you to make room for the next generation. Yours is. Not mine. You might think that death becomes easier to cope with over time, but no. It’s worse.

I’ve learned the hard way that I don’t want the ones who clamor for immortality. No, no, the ones with sympathy for my little problem are more likely to be good and kind companions, and yet, all too soon, they’re gone. I thought that perhaps things that are ephemeral are the things that are the most precious, but it’s hard to be philosophical when I think about losing Destiny.

So I’ve offered, twice. She doesn’t think it suits her vegetarian ideals. Too much being raised with An it harm none do what thou wilt, the Wiccan creed.

What can I do? I love her. And so I continue our relationship as it is, knowing that it will devastate me in the end. I honestly don’t know how I’ll cope.

Destiny

December 16, 2018

The thing about Abraham is that he has a little problem, and he thinks his little problem is a solution.

Well. That and he’s beautiful. Like, girl-pretty. I don’t think he knows. I took one look into those huge dark eyes, and it was like I’d known him forever.

Do you believe in reincarnation? I do. But I digress.

The cycle of death and life sucks balls, but it’s also natural. Holy, even. The old have to die to make room for the new, no matter how much that hurts. Every foster kitten that I cry over adopting out is space for a new kitten. Abraham is adorable bottle-feeding kittens, by the way. Don’t tell him I said so. But without death, there can be no room for new births.

Speaking of death and birth, I suppose, he wants to know if I want to be a vampire. I don’t. It’s not like I faint at the sight of blood or anything. I believe blood should stay in the body if possible, and that I should do my best to do no harm.

And there’s Abraham, and the thought that he’s guaranteed to outlive me is a selfish relief, to be honest.

I’ve asked Abraham how old he is. He says he doesn’t remember. He plays violin like a god, though. Like someone who’s practiced for a very long time.

A very long time.

Till Death Do Us Part

Abraham

Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey

December 28, 2018

We were watching television together in our pajamas, curled up under a blanket on my red Victorian horsehair sofa. Destiny was wearing a satin bathrobe and was sitting with her head on my shoulder, smelling like soap and lavender shampoo, warm and soft. Ivan sat on my lap, purring. Victoria sat pressed up against my thigh, with her sleek black fur and bright gold eyes. Our cat Inanna was sleeping on her back in the leather chair. Our home could get drafty in the winter, but it wasn’t frigid. Well. Perhaps I was the wrong person to ask.

Destiny channel-surfed, looking for something interesting on the television. She settled on the news. They announced that independent presidential candidate and Internet Personality Thomas Hopkins had been deplatformed, and fortunately, they explained what that meant. Apparently, his web provider had decided that he was too offensive and refused to host his site any longer. There was some discourse about free speech and what content it covered.

They showed a blurred, censored version of his website—although I could still make out a swastika and a Confederate battle flag—with a voiceover of him. Free speech must include discussion that I consider abhorrent, much like it must cover my speech. Otherwise, the term is meaningless. There was something familiar about his voice, but I couldn’t place it…

…until they showed his photo. A serene olive-skinned face; high, dark eyebrows; and a balding pate, with a fringe of frizzy black hair. I knew him as Thomas—just Thomas; no one had told me a last name. I was reasonably certain due to the circumstances of the introduction that his surname wasn’t Hopkins. I froze, staring at the screen like the proverbial deer in the headlights modern Americans describe.

Ivan, agitated, jumped off my lap and left the room. I heartily agreed and resisted the urge to get up and pack my belongings. My hands were shaking, I realized, and I shoved them under the blanket to hide them. Victoria glanced up at me, looking worried.

If you elect me president, Thomas said on the television, I’ll get rid of freedom of religion and the clause about ‘cruel and unusual punishment.’ Torture is good! Torture works! And if it saves innocent lives, it’s completely justified. It’s been almost two decades since the brave soldiers at Abu Ghraib were prosecuted, but I haven’t forgotten them! God bless Guantánamo!

Yes, Thomas would say that. I noted he wore what resembled red Inquisitor robes, which would surprise someone who’d never met him. Not me, though. I’d heard that he was an actual Inquisitor during the Spanish Inquisition, which might explain his pro-torture stance. Bastard.

The announcer pointed out that Thomas’s prior day job was prison warden, and I was so horrified that I missed most of the rest of the feature. I registered they were discussing whether his forums incited violence; and whether freedom of speech covered hate speech.

It’s only a temporary setback, he said. I’ve already found another web host and am simply waiting for something called ‘DNS’ to repoint. He smiled, beatific. The internet has been such a blessing to my ministry.

His ministry. Appalling.

I didn’t like being in the same country as him. To be honest, I didn’t enjoy being on the same planet. Thomas wasn’t the reason I’d moved to America, but I’d previously moved to London because of him. Perhaps it was time to return. I asked Destiny, What would you think of moving to London?

Destiny pulled away and turned to stare at me. What? That’s random!

No, it wasn’t. It was fight or flight. Seriously.

Her brow furrowed. I’d need to get a vet license in England. We’d have to take health certificates for the pets. We’d be too far from my mothers. She gazed down at Inanna, who was now sitting at her feet, washing her paw. No? I like my nice, normal life the way it is.

Those things weren’t an issue. I had Dave for my trust fund—reliable Dave, who asked no questions—and I had an excellent source for fake identities. I’d never tried to find a connection for falsified vet credentials, but I supposed I hadn’t had a need for them. Things were harder to falsify nowadays, and getting more difficult all the time, but we could manage and bring her mothers with us if necessary. It wasn’t like Destiny needed to work at all, married to me, but she’d said she wanted a career.

I sighed. I guess that goes for Germany, too. Although, on second thought, the current climate in Europe made me reconsider. Canada?

Destiny turned to face me, expression and voice concerned. What’s gotten into you?

Honestly? Changing my name and moving was my standard response to legal problems or Thomas issues. Usually not as far as London, but… suffice it to say that I had a love/hate relationship with changing my name and moving. Sometimes metamorphosis was a refreshing change, and others it was an incredible nuisance. Preparation made all the difference.

I was not prepared. We had a wedding vow renewal scheduled in a couple of days!

Ludwig

Rosenheim, Bavaria

September 10, 1762

After Mass, I picked up the Bible and carried it into Father Thomas’s office.

Father Thomas had a serene face and a deep speaking voice. He was balding, his hair forming a dark fringe around the sides of his head, and he had strong features and warm-toned skin that spoke of a southern climate. His sermon today had filled people with passion, although I suddenly realized I couldn’t summarize it. So embarrassing! Clearly, I needed to be more attentive.

His prior sermons—the ones I could remember—scared me, but I suppose they should have frightened me: host desecration, deals with the devil to sicken entire cities… I had hoped I would enter a safe cloister and be alone with my lovely books, untouched by that sort of ugliness. Surely God was the creator of all that was beautiful, after all. Our church reflected that: all graceful, serene white and gold arches, bright and soaring, and the ceiling painted to depict heaven.

Your piety is so beautiful and pure, Ludwig, Father Thomas said, as I set the Bible back on a shelf in his office, a place of honor. It was two hundred years old and was an object of art, each letter typeset by hand with the utmost care for beauty, with exquisite drawings in the margins and headers, beautifully bound. No one ever had to tell me to approach it with proper reverence, like they did with some of the younger boys who would come to serve immediately after engaging in giggly jests with one another.

Father Thomas continued, And your family’s donation was much appreciated. We need that money to protect the church from Jewish machinations. I’ve posted a guard on our well, of course, to keep them from giving us all the plague, so their donation will help make us all safer.

I’d never actually met a Jew, so I didn’t know how to respond to this.

Do you think you would have trouble with a vow of poverty, coming from a noble house as you do?

I considered this. I love beautiful things… but I suppose I needn’t own them. To be honest, I was more dismayed at the idea of shaving my head in a tonsure, as I was vain about my blond hair, but I believed this to be a character flaw. Besides, my brother, Friedrich, would get the barony. I’d briefly wanted to be a musician, but my family had made it plain that they wouldn’t stand for such nonsense. I needed to do something with my life, after all, and the Church was the usual lot for second sons.

Father Thomas smiled at me, warm and indulgent, and patted my shoulder with a massive, fatherly hand. And chastity?

That, I said, surprising myself with the passion in my voice, is not an issue. The very idea repulsed me. It was all too intimate! Invasive. I found some people more aesthetically pleasing than others, but this never translated into wanting to touch them in an improper way.

Father Thomas raised an eyebrow at me, but all he said was, Very good. He walked out of the room, towards the confessionals, and left me in his office, staring out over the pews.

I realized later that he hadn’t asked me about obedience.

Destiny

Eatontown, New Jersey

December 31, 2018

I hadn’t slept that well the night before the vow renewal. Nightmares. I’d spent the night at my moms’, so maybe it was the unfamiliar bed? They’d gotten rid of the one I'd slept in when I left for college, and replaced it with one that I’d never gotten used to.

I didn’t know where it came from, but I’d always been afraid of fire. Do most people know where their phobias come from? I didn’t remember any traumatic experiences, but even when I was a little girl, I’d sometimes dream that the house was on fire and I needed to get our pets out. Maybe the fear of fire was from stories of witches burned at the stake, because we were all Wiccans. Maybe it was a metaphor for one’s safest place—one’s home—not being safe after all. Who knows?

I’d had that dream again the night before. I was in a burning house trying to escape with my cat Inanna—who was currently at home. But in the dream, I was holding Inanna in my arms and looking for an exit that wasn’t blocked by fire, and when I woke up, I was still too afraid to go back to sleep. When that happened at home, I’d get Abraham to tell me a story about his past. I don’t think he was offended that I sometimes fell asleep during them.

We always had pets when I was little. Mama Morgan was a dog person, and Mommy Bridget was a cat person. We had big mellow tomcats and less patient lady cats who would let me dress them up in doll clothes, and small dogs and medium-sized dogs I would put party hats on and have tea parties with. I’ve always loved animals; I had mice, rats, hamsters, birds, rabbits… That’s probably why I became a vet, and is definitely why I don’t eat animals.

So I was tired, and my mothers took me to a spa, where I fell asleep during the massage. I couldn’t believe that I’d agreed to a midnight New Year’s Eve vow renewal. Of course, I’d been well-rested at the time.

I mean. I wanted one, too. We’d gotten one of those generic justice of the peace things, and we both wanted something more… spiritual.

After the spa, there was the cosmetologist whom we’d hired to do my hair and makeup for the vow renewal. We set up in the living room, with the lavender sofa and the Indian pillows and all the Wiccan-themed posters and crystals, and my moms’ wedding broom. I fell asleep again while she was working on me, and when I woke up, I was delighted that I looked like a fairy princess and not a drooling, shambling zombie. Wanting to be beautiful on your wedding day is patriarchal and buying into the idea that a woman’s worth is in her looks—but I still wanted to be beautiful at my vow renewal. That’s societal pressures for you. I wore my red hair down to please my husband, but the cosmetologist curled it and put flowers in it.

I’d inherited my red hair, green eyes, upturned Celtic nose, and Scots/Irish pale skin color from my mother Morgan, who was my biological mother. I sometimes regretted that they hadn’t chosen a donor who looked more like Bridget—chestnut-brown skin, thick curling hair, broad nose, full lips. Bridget had almost carried me, as there had been drama with Morgan’s family—they disowned her. Morgan had left her parents’ Catholic Church for Bridget’s Wicca, and they’d raised me in the more queer-inclusive faith. Bridget’s parents also reacted poorly, although there was now a somewhat chilly détentes. They still weren’t happy that Bridget was gay, but they made a big show out of not mentioning it.

I was proud to be a product of their love story. I’d always known there was someone out there for me as well—speaking of societal tropes, but whatever. I still knew. Abraham wasn’t what I expected, but…

It was his eyes. Okay, no, we were a good match in that he loved classical music and cats as much as I did, and we both had kind of a philosophical bent? You know, common interests, similar goals—we both wanted kids and a quiet, normal life—all that. Sexually compatible. But… there was something about him. When I gazed into his eyes, it felt like we’d been friends all my life.

Okay, he also wanted me to turn into a vampire. I… no? I supposed I might change my mind over time, but it seemed unlikely. But he was willing to take no for an answer, so…

Honey? Bridget said, interrupting my reverie. Do you need a cup of tea?

"She needs coffee," Morgan said. It was an old joke and an old play argument.

I need caffeine in some form, I admitted. I’m not picky which.

Did you have the dream again? Bridget asked.

I nodded, and Morgan left the room. There was clattering, and the sound and smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen made me smile.

Bridget bit her lip, but all she did was take my hand and squeeze it.

I’d always suspected I had died by fire in a previous life. I thought Bridget suspected, too, but she’d never said so. She often looked like she wasn’t saying something when we discussed it—biting her lip, pressing her lips together…

Morgan came back with the coffee, lots of cream and sugar—the way I liked it. I took a sip of the sweet, creamy, bitter goodness. The cosmetologist winced and pulled out the lipstick again.

Abraham

Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey

December 31, 2018

We stood side by side in our living room: Destiny in a long, sleek, strapless white dress, holding a bouquet of white roses and calla lilies, and me in a black silk tuxedo, my shoulder-length brown hair pulled back. She had a little crown of white roses in her beautiful long red hair and wore understated makeup. She also wore flat-heeled shoes because she was two inches taller than me. I didn’t mind—I liked tall women—but she also said it was more comfortable. Perhaps this was elaborate for a vow renewal, but we both craved something more meaningful than our first ceremony.

We lived in an old Victorian farmhouse, with wooden floors and a beautifully carved mantel, and our living room was in tones of red and gray, with warm wood, brown and black and white. The room had decorative columns on either side of the curving staircase, with lovely scrolling spandrels between them. There was wood paneling, with a bit of gray wallpaper across the top. I had a faux-antique ceiling light, made to resemble a candle chandelier with crystals that probably weren’t crystal. An antique Persian carpet and a grand piano made in 1911 tied the room together.

I’d pushed our red Victorian horsehair sofa back against the wall to make room for the party. A table in the corner held a television, neither huge nor tiny, showing the New Year’s Eve ball-drop countdown; the guests had been told that the ceremony would happen right after the start of the new year. The rest of the room had an antique wooden bar; a long wooden table with a white tablecloth and vases of roses at each end; a table with a wedding cake that I couldn’t eat, of course. It smelled divine, however—sweet and creamy. I also had some wooden chairs with red velvet cushions and some brown leather armchairs. We could have used more seating, to be honest. We rarely had a lot of company over.

We had set one corner of the room up as a photo area, with a backdrop depicting a snow scene and an immense quantity of flowers, with lights and a professional photographer. Destiny and I had already posed at length, but the photographer was planning on taking both still photos and video of the ceremony. At the moment, guests were posing, complete with silly faces and gestures.

Outside, it was all snow and distant ocean. I could pretend the world was dressed in white for the occasion. If we went upstairs, there were city lights across the water, but the party was downstairs.

I’d hired a bartender, and we had an open bar… but it was still a small party. Mostly Destiny’s family, friends, coworkers… and my two guests: my lawyer and my accountant, Dave. To be honest, I was a bit of a recluse, or perhaps a crazy cat man. I’ve always been shy, and ever since… well. Let’s say that I didn’t like to attract a lot of attention. There was someone I didn’t want to find me.

The guests were all wearing formal clothes. Dave appeared awkward, as he was much more comfortable with numbers than with people. He once told me he could see whole narratives, battles for power, etc., in numbers. I didn’t ask him what he saw in mine; I was curious, but asking would raise more questions than I wanted to answer. He’d driven in from New York City, which struck me as a brave thing to do on New Year’s Eve. Dave was about my height and had curly black hair, a tan skin similar to my own, thick glasses, and a hearing aid. He wore an expensive-looking suit that fit him poorly, as if he minded the time shopping more than the cost of the clothing.

Louis! Dave called across the room, and my attorney turned around. He was very blond, very handsome, and very flashy, and I’d known him for about a hundred and eighty years. His suit probably cost as much as some people’s cars, and fit like it was tailored for him… which I suspect it was.

Ludwig—Louis—wandered over, a wineglass in his hand. Is Abraham keeping you busy?

Dave laughed. He’s very laid-back. Just looks to see that the numbers are going the right way from time to time.

Ludwig raised an eyebrow at me. I shrugged in response and went searching for my cats.

My darling black cat Victoria was hiding somewhere, as cats do, but friendly Ivan was trotting around the room with his tail in the air seeking pets, as cats usually don’t. But Ivan had been a bottle baby with an eye infection and had seen so many vets that he was unfazed by people and considered them his devoted subjects and instant best friends. I’d considered making him the ring bearer but decided he was just as likely to make the rings hockey pucks as to bring them to us on cue. He was a cream tabby, very handsome. I’d dressed him in a little black bow tie for the occasion, and Victoria in a pink collar encrusted with rhinestones. Ivan twined around my ankles and gazed up at me with adoring bronze eyes, and I scooped him up and kissed him on his furry golden head. Destiny’s tortoiseshell cat, Inanna, had immediately bolted into the kitchen cabinets and hissed at me when I checked on her, so I decided she could spend the party in her Fortress of Solitude if she chose, and declined to dress her in party finery. After all, Inanna had a reputation for attacking landlords and repair people. I’d rather she not launch herself at our guests.

Victoria had been my primary source of emotional support when a previous relationship ended and my ex started referring to me online as that Goth psycho who thinks he’s a vampire—no name, of course, but our mutual friends knew who she meant. Cats have always been my truest companions in times of isolation.

Lucy—Destiny’s vet tech—walked over. She was wearing a violet gown that complemented her deep brown skin, and wore her hair in a series of braids. Where’s my favorite lady? She meant Victoria.

I appreciated her asking. Hiding. This is a lot of guests for her. Ivan fidgeted in my arms, so I put him down.

Lucy pouted and scooped up Ivan, who purred graciously at her. Such a good boy! You should tell your sister to come out and see me. I’d hate to drive all this way and miss her. Ivan shifted his weight and tried to escape, so Lucy put him down. Congratulations, by the way. I was delighted when you left your number for Destiny.

My cheeks warmed slightly, but I smiled. Thank you.

The ball dropped on the television, and we all stood around and chanted the countdown. Ten… Nine… Eight… Seven… Six… Five… Four… Three… Two… One… Happy New Year! I leaned over and kissed Destiny, probably getting a light coating of lip gloss.

And then a couple of Destiny’s coworkers—Alicia and Eric—started singing Wagner’s Lohengrin wedding march—off-key, with the lyrics Dun dun dun dun!—but that wasn’t the reason I winced. I held up both my hands and said, Please. No Wagner, I beg of you. I tried to keep my tone light, but Wagner was a noted antisemite who wrote offensive essays about the Jews, and his work—if Alicia and Eric even realized it was his work—had no place in my home, let alone at my vow renewal. Fuck Wagner!

Alicia and Eric blinked at me and swayed drunkenly, mouths slightly slack, but Destiny’s mother Bridget smiled at me and said, I wouldn’t want Wagner if I were you, either. No Wagner, please, everyone! No Wagner! I appreciated her understanding and support.

Destiny’s mother Morgan leaned over and murmured something to Bridget, and Bridget answered quietly, I’ll explain later, gesturing in a way that was probably meant to tell Morgan to drop it.

Bridget wore a long, flowing, hand-painted purple silk dress with elaborate glass beads sewn onto it, and a pretty beaded headdress. Morgan wore a tuxedo with her short red hair. Bridget was a cellist and I’m a violinist, so I felt a certain string player affinity for her.

As a preamble to the ceremony, I placed a hand-painted document on a table in front of Destiny’s mothers. It was written in Aramaic with the letters forming a tree. Will everyone please sign the ketubah?

It’s pretty, Morgan said. What is it?

Um… My cheeks were warm. I promise to provide your daughter with food, clothing, and, um, conjugal relations…

Destiny’s drunk coworkers hooted. Dave said, Hey, it’s a mitzvah! If you don’t know, a mitzvah is a commandment or good deed, and yes, it’s also a euphemism for Sabbath marital relations.

…and if we divorce, she gets a portion of my assets.

There was an awkward pause. Dave winced in my general direction. Louis, on the other hand, appeared unruffled.

All right, so I’ve heard a ketubah described as the least romantic document imaginable—basically a prenuptial agreement, and intended to protect the woman rather than the man. I wanted one. They’re usually beautiful, and I wanted to promise my wife those things. There wouldn’t be much in this ceremony that was Jewish, and… I wanted one.

People gathered around signing it. Dave gave me a sidelong glance over the rims of his glasses before signing it. Well. He was my accountant, and also Jewish, so he understood what he was signing.