Vampire Dancing (19 page)

Amara's mother descended three wooden steps and hastened to the blanketed figure's aid. Together, she and her daughter helped the woman into the cabin.

Malkin followed at the rear, closing the door behind himself and leaving the protesting dog outside.

“Malkin,” Mother said, “the door to the bedrooms.”

Malkin hurried ahead and opened a door leading into a short narrow hallway.

“She can use my room,” Amara said.

They led the woman into the second room on the left and helped her onto the bed, Amara lifting her legs and her mother resting her head on the pillow.

“Close the curtains,” Mother said to Malkin.

Malkin negotiated his way past the bottom of the bed and began pulling on the curtains.

Amara's mother peeled back the blanket to reveal a relatively youthful dark-haired woman. She was wearing a blouse - not dissimilar to Amara's - tucked into a figure-hugging scarlet bodice. Below the waist, she was clad in tight black pants and tan knee-high boots.

“She is very weak,” Amara said.

Mother handed Amara the blanket - “She needs rest” - then started to remove the woman's boots.

Malkin stood by the window, watching.

“Malkin,” Amara said. “Stop staring.”

“I was not,” Malkin insisted.

"
You were
."

“Enough of that, you two.” Mother placed the boots by the side of the bed. “Let her rest now.” She ushered her children out of the room and closed the door behind herself.

The three of them went back into the main room. Outside, Patches continued to bark incessantly.

“Malkin,” Mother said, “take care of the dog. He is making my head hurt.”

“Patches!” Malkin called towards the door. “Quiet!"

“Not like that,” Mother chided. “
Outside
.”

Malkin sighed and headed for the door. Patches ceased barking not long after he made his exit.

Amara's mother walked to the far end of the room and pulled a chair out from under the heavy wooden dinner table. Its feet scraped loudly against the floorboards. She sat down and invited her daughter to do the same.

Amara dropped the blanket by the side of the door and took a seat. “Is something wrong?”

Rubbing her forehead, her mother asked, “Where did you find her?”

“Malkin came across her in the forest.”

Her mother looked to the window. “Do you know why was she covered in a blanket?”

“Strong sunlight brings her out in a rash, she said.” Amara fidgeted with her hands. “Was I right to bring her here? She obviously needed help.”

Her mother continued to look beyond the window. She seemed lost to a daydream. Or perhaps it was something else. “The forest is a dangerous place.”

“I know,” Amara replied.

“Often, things are not what they seem.”

Amara pondered her mother's words for a moment. “In what way?”

Her mother faced her. She reached across the table and squeezed one of her daughter's hands. “You are a good woman, very beautiful and kind, always striving to do what is right. You will make a man extremely happy one day.”

“What day?” Amara scoffed. “I am almost twenty-nine years old.”

“Ah, you are still a child,” her mother said. Then she asked, “You are still intending to meet this man tomorrow evening?”

“Yes,” Amara replied, “but he will probably turn out to have three eyes and a tail.”

“You will see,” her mother said. “The right man for you is out there somewhere.”

“Somewhere ...
I need him now
.”

Showing mild signs of amusement at her daughter's comment, the older woman rose from the table. “Come, help me with the stew. Your father must not come home to an empty plate.”

Amara got up. “Shall I set an extra plate for our guest?”

“Of course,” her mother said. “I expect she shall be starved by the time she wakes.”

*

The sun slipped below the horizon, relinquishing its dominance over the land to a lucent full moon surrounded by a peppering of prickling stars. Nightfall had arrived once more, replacing radiance and clarity with shadows and brooding secrets.

Perched high in a tree on the edge of the forest clearing, a keen-eyed owl caught sight of an unusually large man stepping out from the treeline. The man held an oil lamp, and had a small sack draped over one shoulder. His footsteps were lumbering, and took him in the direction of a log cabin nestled in the center of the area. The owl watched until the man reached the door of the cabin, then quietly spread its wings and took to flight.

*

Father had returned, bringing with him the late evening chill.

Malkin, sitting on a large rug before a blazing stone hearth, turned to see him enter the room. His face lit up. He was always happy to see his father.

Mother rose from her chair by the fire. “Welcome home, Andred. You were gone some time. You must be hungry.”

Andred hung his oil lamp on a large nail to the left of the door. He noticed they had a guest.

The woman at the table locked eyes with the broad shouldered man. Standing up, she said, “I am Launa.”

Andred looked at the woman. She appeared to be ages with his daughter, and shared a similar physique. She had the palest gray eyes he had ever seen.

He put his sack down by the other side of the door.

“Your family has been very kind to me,” Launa went on. She acknowledged the older woman, who was standing
before a sturdy wooden worktop and ladling stew onto a plate.

Andred hung his
coat on a hook beside the lamp, then opened another button on his shirt. The cabin interior was significantly warmer than outside, and he didn’t want to perspire. He grunted and scratched his chin. The lower half of his face was buried behind a thick, graying beard. He noticed Launa briefly catch sight of the weapon he had strapped to his thigh. He removed the fourteen inch blade from its leather sheath and set it down on the table, then pulled out a chair and sat himself down.

Launa lowered herself.

“Where is the dog?” Andred said to Amara.

Feeling guilt over the animal's absence, Amara averted her father's gaze and stared into her plate of dwindling stew. A lock of hair swung in front of her face. She scooped it back behind an ear.

Mother appeared at the table. She placed a plate of steaming stew before her husband.

Launa felt uneasy. She looked to Amara, wondering if she would answer her father.

In the end, it was Malkin, still seated before the hearth, who offered a reply. “Patches is outside.”

Andred turned an ear, to better hear his son. “Outside, you say?”

“He ran away,” Malkin said. “Kept barking at Launa.”

Andred looked to Launa. He caught her gaze upon him. She quickly averted her attention.

Mother reappeared at the table. This time she brought a plate of bread. She looked at her husband. “For your stew.”

Andred grunted. He looked to Launa's plate. Her stew looked largely untouched. “You are not eating?”

"Uh- no ... I am really not hungry. I do not know where my appetite has went.” She laid down her spoon at the side of the plate and offered a smile.

The smile looked forced, but she had such wonderfully bright teeth.

Andred considered Launa's reply, then said to her, “So what is your story? I am assuming my family aided you in some way.”

Before Launa could respond, the mother, from the comfort of her chair, said, “She has an aversion to daylight.”

“I have an aversion to strong sunlight only,” Launa clarified. “I am perfectly fine by regular day.”

“She was huddled in a blanket,” Amara said. “I dared not leave her.”

“You quite possibly saved my life,” Launa said. “You and your family. I am very grateful.”

Andred caught sight of Launa looking again at the blade he had set down upon the table. He emptied a spoonful of stew into his mouth and began to chew with strong jaws. After swallowing, he said to his wife, “Kaline, have you prepared a sleeping arrangement for our guest?”

Kaline was about to reply when Launa spoke. “Oh, I shall not be staying the night. I have already burdened you and your family enough.”

“Nonsense,” Andred grunted. “What kind of woman traverses the night? And what kind of man allows it?”

Launa shifted uneasily in her chair. “If you insist.”

“I do,” Andred said, then emptied another spoonful of stew into his mouth.

“I hope you do not think me rude,” Amara said to Launa, “but you dress rather strangely for a woman.”

Launa replied, “Would you believe me if I told you Father always wanted a boy?”

“A boy?” Amara said.

“Yes. I feel quite uneasy in a skirt or - Heaven forbid - a dress.”

“You believe in Heaven?” Andred said.

Launa looked at Andred. “Well, yes ... of course.”

“And what about Hell and its Demons, and vermin come nightfall that feed upon the living?”

Launa touched the side of her plate with the spoon. “I...”

“What kind of question is that, Father?” Amara chided.

Andred looked at his daughter. “An important one.”

“I believe if there is a Heaven, then there must also be a Hell,” Launa said. “And if there are these Demons, then there must also be Angels and a God.”

Andred looked at Launa. She held his stare.

“I am sure there is even a Devil,” she concluded.

Kaline appeared at the dinner table and started to remove plates. “Speaking of boys,” she said to Launa. “Do you have a special one in your life?” She exchanged a brief glance with Amara, who looked less than pleased the subject had been brought up.

“I do,” Launa said.

Kaline waited patiently for Andred to scoop up the remains of his plate. “And what would be his name?”

“His name is Pavaine.”

“And you love him?”

“Very much.”

Kaline noticed Launa unconsciously touch her belly. “You are bearing a child.”

Launa seemed surprised by Kaline's observation. “I ... believe so.”

“Then I recommend you lose the tight-fitting garments one day soon.”

“Uh, yes. It is early days yet.”

Andred handed his empty plate to Kaline then rose from the table. He took his blade in hand. All the while, he watched Launa.

Crossing the room, Kaline said, “You should not have had that at the dinner table.” She placed the soiled plates on the wooden worktop, then removed a large pot that was half filled with water from the top of a heated cast iron stove.

Andred turned away from the table. “You always tell me this.”

“And yet still you persist,” Kaline returned.

Andred grunted and walked towards the front of the room. He ruffled Malkin's hair then sat in the rocking chair left of the crackling hearth. He placed the blade on the floor.

Malkin looked at the weapon. He adored its lethality. “Will Patches be safe out there?”

Andred closed his eyes and rocked gently back and forth. “I am sure he is nearby.”

“I shall have a look outside,” Amara said.

She got up and opened the door, nudging the sack her father had put down.

A bitter chill slipped in through the gap, causing the flames within the hearth to twitch and the shadows upon the walls to sway.

Kaline carefully placed the soiled plates into the large pot of warm water. Approaching her, Launa said, “Please, allow me to help.”

“You are our guest,” Kaline replied. “Besides, I have a perfectly capable daughter who could be volunteering.”

Pretending not to hear what her mother had said, Amara closed the door and sat back down.

“Did you see Patches?” Malkin asked.

“I think something was moving out there near the trees,” Amara replied. “It could have been him.”

Malkin sighed.

Launa rejoined Amara at the table.

“Was your father disappointed when he found out he had a girl?” Amara asked.

“In the beginning,” Launa replied.
She looked at the table. It was full of wear and tear. She thought of Amara and Malkin, growing up at this table with loving parents, imagined all the fun conversations they must have had. What she wouldn't have given to have such a life. “...but he came to appreciate me in time. When I was more ... developed.”

Amara caught herself staring at Launa. The meaning of the woman's words was obvious. Not knowing what to say, she looked away.

Scrubbing plates, Kaline looked across from the worktop. “You are from the Northern region?”

“Yes,” Launa replied. “And I can tell you it is much colder there than it is here.”

“I can tell by your accent,” Kaline said. “It is a little more harsh than our own.”