“I couldn’t let you wear a cape. Those aren’t in style any longer either.”
Sacrilege! What is wrong with these modern humans?
Neli reaches into her large leather bag and hands me an odd-looking black hat with a long brim only in front.
I study it from different angles and stare at a strange orange symbol. An incantation of sorts? I toss it back to her. “Is this witchcraft?”
She puts it on her head. “It’s an S and an F together for the San Francisco Giants.”
I take it from her and put it on since she was not instantly burned by its magic. “I thought giants were a myth. Do the people wear their symbol to ward them off? Are the giants fond of the mall?”
“It’s a baseball team. A game of sport the locals enjoy.” She hands me a pair of black glasses. “Put these on too. It’ll help with the light.”
“And do they fight to the death in this baseball?” Perhaps I will join in this game. Nothing better than a fresh kill.
“No. Can you please put on the shades?”
How clever. Shade for the eyes. I slide them on. “But how will the shopkeepers admire my striking black eyes? How am I to hypnotize them into giving me the best price?”
She blows out a breath, muttering, “Patience.”
Another overly long breath from Neli. I simply cannot have a sick servant waiting on me hand and foot. She will be much too slow. “If you insist on not calling the leecher—”
“I’m not sick!”
“Then you must need more fresh air. I insist you take a long walk outdoors on your annual day off.” When I was first gifted Neli, I was not the generous master you see today. There was no such thing as a day off. If a slave wished to eat, they worked. If they wished to live, they obeyed. Of course, Neli was an obstinate, disrespectful, wild beast of a girl when her family gave her to me. They were tenants on my land, farming various grains and squashes. One year, there was a drought and they could not pay their rent, so they offered Cornelia.
“Do you mean to tell me,” I said to her mother, “that is not a large rat?” She was covered from head to toe in mud. I could not even tell she had red hair underneath it all.
“Her name is Cornelia.” Her mother pushed her through the back door of my castle. “She is a good girl. Hard worker.”
Who were we kidding? The locals knew what I was. This child could not have been more than ten summers, and she was not being offered up as a servant.
“I am sorry,” I had told her mother. I pushed the dirty runt back outside, using the tip of my finger to avoid getting grime on myself. “I do not require additional labor.” I dropped my voice. “She is too young.” In other words, I did not drink children. Even evil vampires must have limits.
“Well,” her mother pushed her back inside and said, “I have nothing else to pay you with—no other children, no cattle, no money—so take it or leave it.”
My patience grew thin. I was in the middle of my painting lesson. “The answer is no. I will not accept her as payment. You have one day to return with gold, or you must vacate your land.”
I reached for the runt, but this time she ducked, stepped to the side, and kicked me in the shin. “Ugly bastard!”
I looked down at her and raised my hand, intent on giving her a smack on top of her mud-caked head as a warning, but then our eyes met. She did not shrink away from me. She did not show fear. Just…defiance and fire. With a delicious evil streak. Mmm…
“Well, I suppose I could let her work in the kitchen.” She would not be a child forever and could make for a nice snack in a decade or so. “Off you go, now. Find Alina in the kitchen. Tell her she is to bathe you, feed you, and find you a clean dress.”
Cornelia stuck out her tongue and ran off.
When I turned to her mother to bid farewell, I will never forget the joyous gleam in her eyes.
Oh, I see. Offer the unruly child to the local vampire. In that moment, I realized why I, too, had been offered to my master as a boy. I was the runt. I was the wild, disobedient, unwanted child.
They sent me to my death. At the time I received Neli, I had been a vampire for centuries, yet I had never realized this. I believed I’d been offered as a servant, and never considered I was intended to be a meal. My master, the Great Kylgorii Gillmoreanu, took pity on me. He did not believe in eating children, a rule I learned from him. Later, once I reached my early twenties, he would find me invaluable and turn me.