What does one do with one’s days when trapped on an island most people would kill to visit? Not much.

I took the V they gave me, doses and doses of it. I feel like a cancer patient undergoing an experimental treatment. Only... it’s self-induced. I’ve zoned out to avoid the guilt – I’m awesome at feeling guilt. One of my finer talents.

Stan and his whore/witch/scientist Amanda have been holed up here to work on Super V – for what end, I have no clue. But all their holing up leaves a third wheel. So, here’s what I do.

Wake up. Go for a run (ridiculously fast). Eat breakfast – spiked with V. Catch lunch in Vaitape with some tourists who never left and thus, I guess are locals if not natives. Spike my afternoon drink with V. Go for a swim and ignore the fact that I probably have fish blood in my system thanks to Stan’s experiments. Go down to the resorts on the south end of the island and pretend like I’m a perfectly normal rich girl. End the night in someone else’s hotel room. Or alone in mine.

No way in hell I’d bring anyone back here. Vampires and witches and drug addicts.... oh my.

Now I hear Mrs. Bellefleur’s arrived in all her wine-induced glory. At least there should be amusement if she calls Amanda a whore to her face. More fun than a barrel of monkeys. Or a vial of V.

Last night’s nightmare wasn’t about Alejandro – though perhaps those are more dreams than nightmares anyway, lately. This time, I was back in the house I’d shared with Nando. It was empty, and that was a relief. I had a sour stomach from worrying that he or his blonde would come in. There was no furniture, nothing on the walls, no evidence that the house had ever been lived in, except the sound of a baby crying from somewhere. Wailing and sobbing might be better words. It filled the house and rang in my ears. I ran through the house, like one does in dreams, searching every room and not finding anything.

The small baby was in a room I didn’t even remember being there. The room was a hellish combination of pinks and blues. The colors burnt my eyes, so it was no wonder that the child was distraught. I picked it up, painfully aware that I knew next to nothing about nurturing. Still, endless dream hours spent comforting the crying infant eventually calmed it. I pulled back and looked at him. I expected it to be asleep. Instead, yellow eyes reflected my shock as the baby’s form began to grow and twist. It started crying again, only this time I recognized it as the howl it was, and the fangs of a wolf bore down on me...

The were-baby had me pinned before I woke up. I didn’t want to think about were-babies. I felt awful for making Bree sad, and was thrilled for Liz. Both would make excellent mothers. My baby-phobia wasn’t their fault. Maybe it wasn’t phobia. Maybe it’s... anxiety. I’m sure Freud would have a field day with me. But having nightmares about children that my ex-husband is rumored to be having with his were-something fiancée is too weird.

I should stop listening to Amanda. Or maybe... maybe I should find out more.

She walked through the library’s revolving doors. Cool, calm, and obviously knowing what she was doing. It only took half a second to realize she wasn’t here for books. My stomach did awful little flips when I saw her, and I muttered to my boss about taking my break. She must have seen my discomfort, because she didn’t argue.

I approached her. “Amanda.”

She smiled, and like always I had a hard time telling if it was authentic or not. It all depended what she had up her sleeve. I felt like the mouse. Hers was a Cheshire cat grin. “Hello, Aislynn. I saw that you’ve gone back to Grey. Good move, since I don’t doubt the name Garcia will be getting around.”

I turned and walked into one of the small study rooms, locking it behind us when she joined me. “I was always known as Grey here. It’s not a big thing.” In reality, a big lump was forming in my throat. “What do you want?”

“I actually came to commiserate. Isn’t it awful that he actually gave her the same engagement ring he gave you?”

Now I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. It really wasn’t any of my business. I’d left it in the house – I should have pawned it. I blinked against sudden, unexpected tears. I hated her. I wasn’t sure which her I was thinking of. It was just a cold steel ball of hate filling my stomach.

She leaned forward, her smile fading. An actress that belonged in Hollywood. “You didn’t know. Oh you poor dear. He hasn’t told anyone? I just happened to see her the other day and...” She stopped again, considering me. “You still love him.”

That little steel ball began to burn. “That,” I snapped, “is none of your business, nor any of his.”

She leaned back in her chair. “My god, you do. After all the shit he’s pulled. That’s terrible.” She paused again, thinking. “It’s hard to lose him, isn’t it? Awfully so.” She sighed. “I know we haven’t always been on the best terms, but believe me in this, that I know how it feels.”

I looked down as she patted my hand. The words came out quickly. “Thanks for telling me.”

She smiled again, and it seemed less theatric. “I didn’t imagine I’d be telling you. Surely Stan already knows... Are you still living at the Ranch? That could just be awkward, I’d imagine.”

Well of course it was awkward, but it was the family I had. The family that ditzy blonde arm candy would inherit along with... I shook my head. “I have other places I could go.” Had Stan known and not told me? Of course he knew; he knew everything. Trying to protect me? Trying to keep me around? What the hell was he thinking?

She nodded slowly. “Good. I know they’ll all be thrilled. The vampire king loves weddings, doesn’t he?” I don’t think he’d ever forgiven me for eloping. She leaned closer again. “I heard that it might be a, um, shotgun wedding, if you understand?”

My fingernails dug into the padded part of the chair.  A baby.  Next she would tell me that...

“How long is a were pregnancy, do you think?”

I stood up, abruptly. She stood too. “I’m sorry, that was too far. I’m  not good at expressing sympathy. It’s not my line of work.” She touched my hand, handing me a slip of paper. “If you need something, let me know. The person at this number will be able to get a hold of me.”

She looked sympathetically at me, then walked out the door. I sat back down for a long moment, watching her leave, then making my hands not shake. I’d been told a long time ago that nothing but love makes a person occupy more of your thoughts than divorce. My mind was racing with scenarios, possibilities... I remembered the full moon when he thought he would turn....

God, had she bit him? Did they spend the full moon indulging in their animal instincts? I paled and grabbed the door handle. I had to busy my mind. Get back to work. I could think afterward. The steel ball in my stomach was melting into a myriad of other things – jealousy, anger, and loneliness. The third panged painfully for a moment.

I opened the door and walked back up to the desk, putting a smile on my face as well as I could. A young man dropped his materials on the desk to be checked out. 1984 would have made me laugh twenty minutes ago. And Le Divorce still brought a cold smile to my face as I tucked Amanda’s contact number into my pocket for later.

I poured myself yet another coffee for the evening and went back to work. I sat on the hotel bed in Memphis last night, papers spread around me as I tried to assign a timeline to the stories I was hearing. I'd gotten a few remembrances in Chicago, only to discover that Stan had made a fair number of enemies. I suppose being around as long as he has, it's unavoidable. I began to poke around a bit more about a month ago after finding someone to help me translate some old books I'd found - possible stories about Stan and other vampires. When I heard that a vampire currently living in Chicago had known Stan, I set up a meeting.

I'd agreed to meet Alejandro - that was the name I was given, though I doubt it was real - near the Cloud Gate just after sunset. I was wandering around the giant metal bean, watching the distorted reflection of the sky at sunset in its chrome exterior. People were leaving as the shadows settled in. Millennium Park after dark is hardly a tourist attraction. A well meaning young woman even stopped on her way past to make sure I knew. I nodded and smiled, saying I was only waiting a few minutes longer to meet someone. I appreciated the worried glance she cast back over her shoulder, hoping I wouldn't need it. 

It was pitch black by the time Alejandro showed up. He immediately insisted we take a cab to a nearby wine bar. He wasn't a mainstreamer, he said, but felt more comfortable when people thought he was drinking red wine. It reminded me of Stan's special wine for MeeMaw. Centuries of hiding doesn't go away overnight, I suppose. He selected what he said was the best wine in the house and bought a bottle, along with a glass of TrueBlood. He winced when he drank it, as though the synthetic taste caused him physical pain. 

"So," he tried to hold my gaze, but I read the label on the wine. "I am told you wish for stories about Stanislaus Davidowitz. Those I have. But what would I receive in return?" I felt the cold chill of being inspected like a piece of meat.

"Gratification. You two were not on friendly terms, from what I understand." I sipped the wine nervously, and perhaps a bit too deeply. 

"Gratification?" he scoffed. "That is a meager reward for risking the wrath of a king, even one so impotent as that usurper."

I paused to think. The others had wanted to tell their stories to someone with fresh ears, like old relatives who will recount every story of their youth to someone willing to listen. No one had demanded payment. I figured that I could find someone else to tell me almost the same stories. I mean, how many variations on the same love/hate story can be told? "Well, if you don't really want to tell me, I won't pry. Thank you for your time." I stood up, draining the glass of wine by habit before leaving the bar. He grabbed my wrist.

"That is not what I intended." He waved me back into the chair, releasing my arm, which I was pretty sure would be bruised. Accident of vampire strength. I looked at him and really wanted a shot of V at that moment. "I will tell you, and then we can discuss this matter. It is not genteel to discuss payment in such terms. I apologize."

I nodded my acquiescence as he poured me another glass of wine. God, I really wanted that V. I pretended that it was. Probably like he was pretending the TrueBlood was closer to my veins. I stopped that thought. It wasn't a good way to begin the discussion.

"How'd you meet His Majesty?" I hated calling him that. I'm pretty sure I cursed him out recently. Seems wrong to then call him His Majesty. But it's about keeping up appearances sometimes. 

"That is relatively unimportant. He was known to me, and I to him. When we did run across another, he had the audacity to..." He broke into a string of words that were possibly Spanish, possibly something  else entirely. I glanced over the bar, waiting for him to calm. "He drained a human that belonged to me. He claims it was unintentional and in the heat of passion. But that wretch would not know the heat of passion. I was a threat to him. He attempted to put me in my place. He killed Amelinda. He should have hand his fangs ripped out, at the least. Though I would have done much more to him." He scowled.

"She was beautiful. A worthy attendant to a vampire such as myself. I may have turned her before she aged overmuch; she had the makings for it." He looked up at me and met my gaze. I felt the familiar tug at my consciousness that indicated he was trying to glamour me. I shoved back, a weak gesture that would have meant nothing if he truly wanted in my mind, but it surprised him enough for me to look away. 

"You are not what you seem either, are you, Miss Grey?" He leaned toward me and took a deep breath. "No..." He sat back, smiling to himself. "Why all the interest in Stanislaus, hm? You are not one of his... consorts, are you? Has he betrayed you, beautiful one? Blackmail is not the way to affect a vampire, if so." He refilled my wine glass. "There are better ways." He brushed hair out of my face, and I could feel the blood under the skin of his wrist. There was no pulse, no warmth, but the magic was there. I was sorely tempted at that moment. I forced the wine glass to my lips again. 

I know better than to have three glasses of wine when in the company of a strange vampire. Any vampire, really.  “I am hardly his consort,” I spat.

“Such venom,” he chuckled, nodding to the bartender and escorting me out to the curb. “Well, if you will not tell me, then perhaps I will not tell you. Unless we can work out other arrangements.” The bricks hurt against my back, but only in that dulled sense of having too much to drink. Alejandro leaned over me again. “You do smell intoxicating. Perhaps you will make atonement for Amelinda.”

It hurt when he dug his fangs roughly into my wrist. Enough to pull me closer to control of my own body. I pulled a small silver knife from my purse. It had been part of a set given to my mother for her wedding. She didn’t even know it was gone. It made a long, burning line on his arm before he realized what I was doing. It startled him even more when he realized I was taking his blood. Perhaps it was a bad move on my part. All I knew was that I could use the strength.

He laughed and backed away. “Perhaps you are like Amelinda.” He glanced at his seared arm, and the grotesque scene of me licking his blood from my lips. “A silver knife... I should kill you. But perhaps I will enjoy it more, knowing that I can sense you from afar. Always knowing where you are. Does the thought frighten you, Miss Grey?”

I backed out of the alley. “You wouldn’t be the first, sadly.”

He laughed louder. “Very well, a fangbanger it is. Scurry away now, curl up around Stanislaus’s boots. Perhaps he will smell me on you.” He turned and left without another word. Vampires have an annoying tendency of doing that.  

I had just royally fucked up. It was probably time to leave Chicago.

It’s time for me to go home. My mother needs more care than my dad can give right now, and it makes sense that I go home. The whole world is topsy turvey right now, and being home with people that love me is about the best I can do. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me while I’ve been here. Maybe some time I’ll come back and visit?

All the best, 

Aislynn

So. That’s it. Nando and I sat across the table from one another, discussing like reasonable folk how best to divide things up. It was uncontested, and pretty amicable. We’re selling the house – that’s the biggest thing, I guess. I can’t live there, I know I can’t. And I’ll admit that when I walked into the office, I didn’t mind if he did. But when I saw the blonde that dropped him off, I wanted to set fire to the place before letting her spend the night there.

Maybe I’m more jealous than I thought, though I have no right to be. I suppose I’ll tell Paul about this. I wouldn’t take Paul back to that house. That’s just asking for me to have a breakdown.

So I really am moving in with Liz Wade. It’s been the tacit agreement, but now, well, the only other place I have to go is the office. And while there’s a bed and shower there, I just need somewhere else to be. The only downside is that it’s on the Ranch. Not that I don’t like the Ranch, I do. But I really am... afloat. I mean, the Nest is Nando’s family.

Maybe it’s all temporary. Maybe I’ll move back north for awhile. Maybe I’ll stay here and become a workaholic at a library. Maybe I’ll wake up and the whole thing will just be one screwed up dream. I like that last option the best.

I woke up in the only dark room of the house. The darkness was a concession to my self-consciousness; Yosef liked to keep his house well lit. He missed the sun. He told me that once, when he said he could smell it on me. It was a creepy moment that I chose to overlook. Next to me, Yosef was lost in his own memories – downtime, I guess. The thin line of blood that ran down my neck stained the pillowcase, but the wound was gone. A similar crimson smearing on his skin indicated the reason for the miraculous healing.

I wanted more.

I’d been waking up in that room more and more frequently, walking a thin line between lover, fangbanger, and V addict. In my own mind, I liked to think it leaned more toward lover, but in retrospect, I think it came to a finer point. I loved him, and deluded myself into think he loved me. I write it off as an error of youth.

Some things are harder to write off. The blood. There was a lot of it. The taste of his was indescribable. And of course the effects of drinking blood from such an old vampire on the regular basis... I’d never felt better. I got to the point where I was taking blood from a vial. Never his – he said that blood as old as his had to be carefully controlled or it could drive me mad, or worse. He never did define worse.

The blood in the vial was from his second, Lukas. After he... after we had a falling out, I left Belgium, never looked at V again. For three years I was clean, and thought it wasn't that hard to beat. After all, it's just one little letter - V.  Then Stan gave me his blood.

There’s a thin line between being vampire and being human. You don’t even have to be turned to need blood.