Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Which might be one reason why I’m feeling unsettled. It started a couple of weeks ago, just this buzzy undercurrent that seems to be flowing through the murky canals of this fair city. I can’t quite put my finger on it, it’s just a feeling that there’s a change in the air, and that something is coming or is already here, hiding in the shadows. And considering I’m what’s hiding in the shadows, that makes it rather disconcerting.
I rub my hands over my head, hoping to eradicate the feeling of tension, but it’s there. The fresh blood from that girl should have put a spring in my step, dissolved my headache, but it hasn’t. I turn off the water and step out of the shower. I dry off and dress quickly in black jeans and a black dress shirt. I push my dark hair back, a scruffy five o’clock shadow on my face, then take a hard look at myself. I should look the same as I always have, ever since that terrible day when I changed at thirty-five. Even my hair is the same as it was. And yet, even though I don’t have any grays, or any new lines, there’s age in my eyes. I look into my eyes and I see the eyes of an old man who has done too much and seen too much and who, deep down, just needs some fucking rest, a deep and uneventful sleep, but can’t stand to admit it to himself. A man who is also a monster, and that monster is losing its edge.
I stare at myself, wondering what it must feel like to be human and see the rest of your face change over the years. Or is the change so gradual that it feels a lot like this? Is their face always familiar to them no matter who they become or how many years have passed? Do they look at old photos and think of the past them as another person entirely? I try not to have many photographs of myself around, but I wonder if film had existed in the 1700s if I’d see myself as someone else.
I inhale deeply and shake out my shoulders. No point brooding over this when I’ve got a job to do.
I have class with the organists next. Aside from my history of music class, I’m teaching only two practical classes this semester. One is piano, which is jam-packed full of students, as always. And the other is the organ. Last year we didn’t have any organists for either semester, so the fact that there are four this year is like a surprise.
The biggest surprise is one of the organists herself.
I’m not usually one to be all that taken with humans. I have learned in the past that they only bring you tragedy and heartache. They’re only good for fucking and feeding, if I wanted some sort of companionship or relationship I would look to a vampire. But the truth is, in all these years, neither companionship nor a relationship have appealed to me. It’s too much complication in an already complicated life.
But while all that stands, there is something about the organist in my class that has me looking twice. She’s not the most beautiful woman in the world by conventional beauty standards. She has a strong chin and nose, eyes on the smaller side. But there’s something about her that stirs something inside me. A hunger, of course, it’s hard to look at an attractive woman and not want to taste their blood. Same goes for wanting to fuck them. But there was something else about her that had me on my toes. I felt like I knew her from somewhere before, or had at least seen her. With her ancient features, pale skin, scattering of freckles, and long red hair, I feel like she could have been anyone I’ve crossed paths with and yet I can’t bring up anyone specific. It’s just a feeling in my gut that she’s someone I need to keep an eye on, for better or worse.
Just then the air fills with the scent of jasmine and my hackles raise.
“Valtu,” Saara says as she steps into the bathroom. “I thought I smelled you.”
Her reflection comes behind me in the mirror. Saara is a vampire, all long limbs, honey-colored hair, built like a Russian supermodel turned influencer. She and her brother Aleksi have a stronghold over the vampires of Venice. Actually, it goes beyond just vampires at this point. They have influence over all the lawmakers, businessmen and socialites as well. They have lived here for a long time, though they moved elsewhere for a while and recently came back. Regardless, this fabled city is in the palm of their hands.
But they aren’t in the palm of mine.