The tears I thought I'd finished shedding began to fall. I dropped to my knees, knotted fingers in the carpet of grass, wishing that things had gone differently. That I hadn't made the regrettable decision to leave the house, to walk the quad. I sobbed there on my knees, the frustration, the regret, nearly overwhelming.
There was laughter across the lawn. I knuckled away tears, lifted my head. Two students, a couple, walked hand in hand down the sidewalk, before disappearing between buildings. Then the night was quiet again, most of the windows dark, no breeze to stir the trees that dotted the quad.
I closed my eyes. Inhaled. Exhaled. Opened my eyes again. But for the cloak of grief, it was a beautiful night. One of an eternity of nights I'd have the opportunity to see. But in order to see those nights, I'd have to figure out a way to deal with loss, to mourn lives that would end, even as mine continued. A way to deal with my obligations to Cadogan.
A way to deal with Ethan.
I'd have to figure out how to support Mallory, how to keep my relationship with my grandfather in spite of our positions. I'd have to figure out how to tell the good guys from the bad guys in the strange, new world I'd been dropped into.
More important, I'd have to figure out whether I was one of the good guys. Whether Ethan was one of the bad guys.
I realized the means to that end. It had to be a choice. I'd been made a vampire without my consent - attacked and violated, of course, without my consent. The only way I'd be able to move on, to build a new life, to take ownership of my new life, would be to make that conscious decision for myself, for better or worse. To live, or not to live, as an acknowledged vampire.
I could make that choice. Here and now, I could take ownership, take back my life again.
"Vampire it is," I whispered. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get me off my knees in the middle of the night, in the middle of the quad.
And this time, I rose on my own terms.
My direction decided, I resituated the empty satchel diagonally across my chest and headed for Walker. The building was dark, locked. I pulled out my key, unlocked the door, and made my way up the stairs.
Each graduate student had a mailbox. I used mine like a scrap-book, kept in it the detritus of my time at Chicago. A ticket stub from a midnight screening of Rocky Horror I'd watched with fellow TAs and lecturers. A ticket stub from a basketball game we played against NYU, where I did my undergraduate work.
I opened my satchel and loaded papers, memorabilia, mementos into the bag. Tangible memories. Evidence of my humanity.
But also in my box was something new - a pink envelope, sealed but unsigned. I unhitched my bag, placed it on the floor at my feet, and slipped my thumb under the seal.
Inside was a scalloped pink card, glittery letters congratulating a girl for her sixth birthday. I grinned, opened it, and found inside, beside an equally glittery unicorn, the signatures of a good chunk of the grad students in the department, most with smartalecky well wishes for my new, fanged life.
I didn't realize until I saw the card that I'd needed it. I needed the connection between my old life and my new one. I needed them to know why I'd disappeared, why I'd stopped showing up to class. It was closure of a kind. It didn't excuse the fact that I hadn't called my friends in the department, hadn't called my mentor or my committee chair. God only knew when I'd have the strength to do that.
But it was something.
For today, it was enough.
So I grabbed my bag, left the key in my mailbox, and walked away.
I returned to the brownstone to find, as promised, a glass of now-cold blood on the kitchen counter. The house was quiet, Mallory still asleep. I was alone, and glad that she wasn't there to witness what I was about to do.
I stared down at the thin orange-red liquid in its glass, and felt the hunger rise again - signaled by the humming of my blood. My pulse quickened, and I didn't need a mirror to know that my eyes had silvered. Still, it was blood. My mind rejected it, even while my body craved it.
Craving won.
I wrapped a hand around the glass, fingers shaking, and raised it, knowing this was truly the end of my life as a human, and the beginning of my life as a vampire. There'd be no more justifications, no more rationalizations.
I lifted the glass to my lips.
I drank.
It took mere seconds for me to empty the glass, and it still wasn't enough. I drained two more bags that I pulled straight from the refrigerator - bags I hadn't bothered to heat or prepare. I drank the liquid - more than I'd ever put into my body at one time - in minutes, finally stopping when I felt my own blood slow again. Three bags of blood, and I'd ingested them like I'd been starved for food and water, denied sustenance for weeks.
When the hunger was sated, I caught sight of the discarded bags on the floor. I was appalled at the act, at the substance, at the fact that I'd actually drunk - willingly drunk - blood. But I clamped a hand over my mouth, willing myself not to bring it up again, knowing that if I did, I'd just have to drink more. I slid to the floor, my back against the side of the island, and clutched my knees to my chest, forcing myself to breathe. Forcing my brain to catch up with my body - to accept what it needed.
To accept what I was.
Vampire.
Cadogan Initiate.
That was where Mallory found me - sitting on the kitchen floor, empty medical bags at my feet - minutes before the sun began to rise. She was prepped for work - black suit, heels, chunky jewelry, sassy handbag, blue hair a frame around her face.
Her smile faded. She crouched in front of me. "Merit? Are you okay?"
"I just drank three bags of blood."
Dropping her purse at my feet, Mallory picked up an empty plastic bag with the tips of two fingers. "So I see that. How do you feel?"
I giggled. "Fine, I think."
"Did you just giggle?"
I giggled again. "Nope."
Her eyes widened. "Are you drunk?"
"On blood? No." I swatted the idea with a hand. "It's mother's milk to me."
Mallory picked up the other bag, then walked them both to the trash can and tossed them in. "Uh-huh."
"And how are you? Feeling witchy?"
She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a soda, then popped the tab. "I'm adjusting. I guess I can say the same for you?"
I frowned, considering, then began counting off the events on my fingers. "Well, I found out my grandfather's been lying for four years about his job. I met a sorcerer, met a shape-shifter of indeterminate origin, got propositioned by said shifter, found out I was almost the victim of a serial killer, almost got hit by these magical electric blast things, made out with Ethan, rejected Ethan, was threatened by Ethan." I shrugged. "Pretty average day."