an discussion

“With... That is, ” she answered, her voice louder than his. “All of it. This unnatural condition of ours. Existing in a world of monsters who prey on the living. Bang one of those monsters. How do you tolerate it! ”

Beckett didn’t speak for several minutes. “Because I have to, I suppose. I exist and I wish to cany on existing, so I must accept my condition. "

“But the hunger, the anger, all the rage that boils up... There are moments when I can imagine sundering the living flesh of everyone I’ve ever loved. Moments when I long for that release. Aren’t you afraid you will give in to that! ”

“I don’t fear it in the way you mean. Lady Blake. I know I will indulge those urges sooner or later. I have before and I will again. It's inevitable. ”

“But... " she stammered. “Then it’s all hopeless. We’re but monsters and devils, then. Undead and damned. ”

Beckett advanced through the darkness, his boots making a single whisper-like scuff on the pine floorboards. He put his hand on his companion’s arm. “I don’t believe in hopelessness, Emma. There are monstrous urges within us both, to be sure. To survive, we feed on the living, and sooner or later, the hunger drives us to kill. The anger will boil over, but it will also recede. To survive, we must bear that price. ”

She did not seem to note his use of her Christian name. When she spoke again, her voice was a whisper. “Why not just give in, then? If we can’t resist then why not surrender? '

“Because we can resist. We can offset the evils forced upon us, delay diem, curb them, and put our existence to some purpose. ” “What purpose? "

Beckett shifted his weight and sat at Emma’s feet. “I’ve spent more than a lifetime trying to answer that question. " He allowed himself a mirthless chuckle. “I suppose that the search itself is my purpose. Piecing together the puzzle of our origins, of why the undead exist at all, keeps the beast within me at bay. ”

“But surely not all of us seek those answers. ”

“You might be surprised just how many of the undead are interested in their origins. Still, you're right. I suppose most others find different matters to occupy themselves—the pursuit of power and influence, the destruction of an ancient enemy, the mysteries of the truly dead. I’ve seen them all and more. All never-ending passions that keep the soul-killing hunger at bay. ”

“Like Sisyphus and his stone, my daughter would say. ” Emma's voice was soft, far away.

“Perhaps, but I don’t choose to look at it as so hopeless. If the struggle were easy, there’s be very little point, after all. ”

“I wish I could believe you, Mr. Beckett. You may find joy in the enigma of our condition, but it seems to me to be but a bleak end to a bleak life. Hope“has not, in my experience, stood the test of reality. "

“I know the last few months have been difficult, " he began, before she cut him off.

“Months? This has been going since the night I was bom. Before it, even. ”

Beckett tried to settle himself into a sitting position, but a familiar tingle was building in his spine. He’d felt this same shiver when he opened the lost tomb of the vampire Nahum ben Enosh in the Sinai Desert: the heady mixture of excitement and dread that presaged any great discovery.

“You’ve had a connection to the undead for quite some time, ” he said. “Halim Bey knew about your relationship with Lady Merritt. "

‘That's a very diplomatic way to put it, ” she said. ‘Twenty years ago, I was her... ” She stopped for a moment and Beckett felt her shiver beside him. The words, when they finally came, were full of bitterness. “1 was hers, I suppose. Her plaything, her slave. I lapped up her blood under the pretense of it being the finest claret, or some exotic opiate. I loved her as I'd never loved another. She was my world. ”

“And she threw you away. ” Beckett had seen this “melodrama repeated countless times in his unlife. Kindred with a passing fancy for a breathing man or woman destroying lives and then tossing them aside for die next plaything. Socialites like Lady Merritt were especially infamous for it.

“Yes, ” Lady Blake said, her voice small, stripped of the rage of a moment ago. “1 blamed another for it, but yes, Ophelia tired of me.

"I suppose I always knew that —" Her voice broke off in a slight sob. Though two decades old, these memories evidently resided close to the surface.

Too close for Beckett's liking. “What do you think of Lady Merritt, Lady Blake? ”

She stiffened slightly. “What? I don’t—"

“Please,” he said, facing her and laying a hand on each shoulder. “Indulge me. All that history being said, how do you feel about this woman? "
“I hate her! She took... She told me James was dead! She was everything... ” Further sobs, each growing stronger, made her stutter and pause. The coppery scent of her bloody tears filled the air. “1 love... I loved her... Why did... "

The question went unasked as the sobs overwhelmed Emma Blake. Without thinking about it, Beckett pulled her to him anti she came willingly, curling into his chest as if it might shelter her from the monstrosity of her existence. In a faint, tear-soaked whisper, she said, “I miss her. God help me, I still miss milady. ”

Beckett bit back the rage that was welling up in him, the urge to simply rip asunder those who had used and abused this woman. “It’s the blood, Emma, " he said. “Her blood is still within you, twisting your heart. ” Was there ever a more potent example of the temptation of undeath? The blood of a vampire could enslave and enrapture another—living or undead—to the point where even decades of neglect couldn’t fully erase the thrall’s twisted love. It seemed to Beckett tailor-made to leave discarded thralls and lovers as the detritus of unlife.