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The vampire burned with a heat that had nothing to do with the fire crackling at her back or the temperature of her flesh, and everything to do with the interlopers in her home. The room was a furnace, and she could see sweat trickling down the faces’ of the humans and hear the snow outside sizzling as it hit the single glazed windows, but the demigod standing at the hearth was unaffected. Cold or rain or scorching sun; it was all the same after 171 years of walking the earth. The anger, on the other hand - the near constant thrumming rage at the injustice of it all – that was something she had never completely mastered, and she could feel it rearing its head in her chest at the unwanted intrusion.
“I don’t owe you a thing.” She spoke with ice in her tone, a manicured eyebrow raised and a leather clad toe tapping in annoyance. On the floor at her feet, a small, broken body whimpered.
“Please.“ A second voice begged, and inside her undead heart quickly tempered sympathy flared at the desperation in that feminine tone. “Kate, please.”
“Sheriff, you’ve forgotten whose house you’re kneeling in.” the vampire folded her arms. “Haven’t you heard that I’m a monster? Do you really trust the big bad beast to keep her safe?”
The red head hesitated despite the obvious urgency. It was just for a second, but it was enough; offence flared in her belly and Kate narrowed her eyes ready to issue the final rejection. A figure stepped from the darkened hallway into the glow of the old-fashioned lamplight, gaze firm and unyielding, and Kate held her tongue.
“Look, if we take her back to town tonight with the fight that’s raging down there, she’ll probably die.” The speaker was pretty – beautiful – in a rocky spined sort of way; her pale skin and blue eyes had probably driven men and women around the globe half-wild with want, but Kate could see that beneath the surface there was a barely contained anger that vibrated along the length of that long, tempting swan neck and hinted at sorrow and danger, and oh so much loveliness. The annoyance that had prickled the mystic’s innards dampened and quieted, replaced with a spiteful kind of interest that had coloured their interactions since the day Kate’s clan rolled into Purgatory in a cloud of pink smoke and chaos. Without breaking eye contact, Kate pulled back her full lips and allowed her fangs to protrude, her pink tongue licking a warning unsubtly over the enamel. The white woman rolled her eyes. “Oh, put those away. You and I both know that if you hurt my family, I’ll mount your Eurotrash head on my toilet wall.”
“…Nicole.” The voice was weak, wavering in the hot, dry air like a heatwave shimmering over July tarmac.
The woman in the Sheriff’s uniform pulled a bloodstained hand into her own red-slicked ones, pressing desperate kisses to the knuckles. “Wave, baby, it’s going to be ok. Shhh, it’s all going to be fine. Wynonna and I will take care of the last few Revenants, and you’ll be back on your feet before you know it.”
“It hurts.” The younger woman sighed, sounding neither upset nor surprised; shock, the vampire supposed. She watched the scene with distaste. The stink of blood in the air was making her mouth water and her empathy wear thin, but a glance at the injured human’s face was enough to put the lid on the hunger. The girl looked more youthful than her years should have allowed, the laughter lines at her eyes and the dazed shock in those kind brown pools bringing back a long-forgotten memory of another room and another dying mortal, of tears that felt like finality and hopelessness. Kate swallowed, her mouth tasting sour.
Wordlessly, she dragged her gaze from the couple whispering together on the floor to where the old warrior stood in a fighting stance, fists loose and ready. Their eyes met with an inaudible clashing, a conversation blaring that only the two of them could hear. Finally, Kate blinked, and her opponent allowed herself a smirk. “Very well, Wynonna Earp. I’ll protect your sister…for a price.”
Nicole looked up sharply. “What’s the price?”
Kate laughed mirthlessly. “Finally, a sensible one, asking the pertinent questions. Let’s just say it will be exorbitant, but open to negotiation.”
“How about not shooting you in the face first chance I get?” Wynonna asked, her hand lingering over the ever-present gun at her hip. In the distance, the sound of an explosion boomed across the snowy prairie.
The immortal tilted her head with a cocky half smile. “How about we discuss it if you return. Sorry, of course I mean when you return. It sounds like things are getting out of hand down there.”
There was a tense moment, broken only by the sound of the flames and the wood that lined the walls stretching under the warmth. Waverly whimpered gently.
“Wynonna.” The Sheriff hissed, Waverly’s hand still clamped tightly in her grasp. Whether she was begging the Earp Heir to agree or to decline was hard to say. Wynonna exhaled shakily, bouncing on the balls of her feet. From down in the valley towards town came the echo of gunfire and a long drawn out scream.
“Fine.” The demon hunter snapped, rubbing her forehead. “If you tend to her tonight while we go and sort this shitshow out, we can discuss the payback in the morning.”
Kate smiled. “That wasn’t so hard was it?”
“Fu-“ Wynonna began.
“’Nonna?” Waverly murmured. “’Nonna, you can’t go alone. You need my…you need my…help…”
“Don’t you worry, baby girl.” Wynonna stepped forwards, brow creased and hands twining together. The heir brushed a damp cheek with the back of her wrist, and Kate resisted the urge to look away from a scene she no longer felt she had a right to. “Me and your old lady are going to go to town, literally and figuratively, and then we’ll come right back here and take you home. Isn’t that so, Haught-stuff?”
“Absolutely.” Nicole said, voice heavy with unshed tears. “I love you so much, Waverly Earp. I’ll always come back to you, and I’ll bring your damn-fool sister with me. I promise.”
“No matter what?” Waverly scratched out, fighting for each word.
“Come hell or high water.” Nicole answered, pressing her forehead to her beau’s for a second before reluctantly pulling away. At her waist, a walkie talkie crackled into life, a desperate sounding male voice demanding assistance.
“We should go.” Wynonna placed a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. In Nicole’s arms, Waverly’s eyes closed and she visibly relaxed, fatigue and trauma taking over. “She’ll be safe, but we need to get back down there and sort this mess out.”
“Ok.” Nicole slowly extracted herself from the embrace, tucking a pillow from the couch under Waverly’s head and rising to her feet. “Ok.” She repeated, more to convince herself than anything.
“Remember, Vampirella, if she dies, I become your problem.” Wynonna spat with a pointed finger as she pushed the Sheriff from the front door and into the dark, frozen night.
Kate allowed herself a sigh, looking at the bleeding woman now unconscious on the parquet. In the early days after her change, as the humanity inside of her turned into something altogether more ancient and demanding, it would have been nearly impossible to ignore the draw of the liquid thrumming through Waverly Earp’s veins and currently soaking into the beige down of the cushion beneath her. But Kate Horony-Cummings was old, older than she had ever believed she had a right to be, and with age came wisdom. The vampire chuckled quietly to herself. Wisdom and time; what silly, human fancies they became when the years lay both ahead and behind, as boundless and uncountable as grains of sand on the seabed.
Waverly groaned in her fitful rest, turning so that her head sloughed off the pillow at an awkward angle and a deep gash above her collar bone came into view. Kate huffed, kicking off her heels, and scooped the girl up as though she weighed less than a feather. In Waverly’s chest, the heart beat hard and fast, desperate for life, like a baby bird fallen from the nest, cooing for its mother and straining for every second of life. Kate licked her fangs, enjoying the feeling of the pliant body in her arms. Then, carefully, she deposited Waverly onto the larger of the couches, and went to fetch the first aid kit.
Returning with a bowl of warm water and a small green box, she pulled a pouf closer and took a seat, leaning in with nimble fingers to unzip the girl’s puffer coat, and peel back her ruined blouse. There was a thin, shallow cut oozing along the side of her abdomen, bits of dirt clinging to the raw red wound, and a slice in her shoulder, near her neck, which pulsed a splash of blood even as Kate looked on. As gruesome as it appeared, she’d seen far worse in her time and knew that while they’d leave some impressive scars, there’d be no life-altering consequences from this battle for the youngest Earp; not physically at least. Cleaning the wound, careful not to disturb the sleeping patient, Kate allowed her mind to drift. She remembered the number of times she had tended to her husband throughout their short marriage, before she left and he vanished: the bar fights and the defending of other women’s honour; a string of broken noses and split lips. Easy days, when it felt like love really would be enough to see them through, and harder nights when she wondered if Doc Holliday lived only to torment her eager heart. Reaching into the kit for the disinfectant, Kate allowed a little of the familiar coarse pain to leak into the space between her lungs at the memories of the years when they’d been separated; the frantic months of searching, and the low down decades of grief.
At the first touch of the wet cloth, Waverly winced in pain but didn’t rouse from her slumber, and for that Kate was grateful. Threading the hook needle and dipping it into the alcohol, she could hear in her mind’s ear a small voice asking “But is it going to hurt, Katie? Is it going to scar?”. Setting to work, she could almost smell the cloves and posies soaked in water that Esmée had painted herself with, the cheap perfume that all the working girls used back then and which did nothing to cover up the earthy scent of their delicate, breakable bodies underneath.
Esmée. There was a name Kate hadn’t thought of in a century or more; the girl had been young and slight, no more than 18, and Otto had treated her as something between a pet and a prize pig, waiting for Christmas and the blade. When he lashed out or played too hard, the girl would come running to Kate for comfort, never for a second fearing her teeth or the heat of her temper. Esmée had treated her as more human than most people had when she’d actually been one, and they’d been as close as sisters. When Uncle Otto had finally finished the child off, the pain had been nearly unbearable. Something about Waverly Earp reminded her of that long Parisian summer with Esmée, of the hopeful innocence that had hidden a lifetime of betrayal. With a final wipe over, Kate sat back and reviewed her work critically. The rows were neat and even, the skin around them clean and white. A job well done, she sneered, packing away the needle and thread as she similarly put away her memories, not to be taken out unless they were really needed.
When Waverly opened her eyes, disoriented and shaky from the blood loss, Kate was sat with crossed legs on the stiff-backed green armchair closest to the fire, her stocking-clad foot bobbing along to the scratchy, old-timey blues music drifting from the phonograph in the corner, reading a battered paperback whose spine was flayed nearly in two from overuse.
“Nicole? Wynonna?” Waverly whispered uncertainly, looking around the unfamiliar room and clutching the cosy woollen throw that had been draped over her as she slept. The space was large and lavishly decorated, with dark wood panelling on the walls and top end furniture that had the worn look of expensive items carefully used for generations. The air smelt comfortingly of burning wood and paraffin, making the dim light feel thick and heavy and luxurious, and she was wearing a cotton night dress that was not her own, the material seemingly fresh from the dryer and a stranger’s washing powder.
“She’s not here, girl. There’s no one here but you and I.” Kate sniffed, folding the corner of her page and pointedly setting the book down. Waverly looked panicked, moving to get up but Kate held up a warning hand. “Don’t; I don’t think your legs will hold you and I don’t want you to tear your stitches.”
“Stitches?” Waverly asked, furrowing her brow. Kate leaned forwards, the fire catching her brown irises and making them flame orange.
“You’ve been in the wars.” She said without preamble. “Wars that are still being fought down there. Your sister brought you here because its quiet and off the beaten track, and hopefully the creatures who cut you up won’t be able to find you and finish the job.”
Gingerly, Waverly felt her shoulder under the thin linen, close to her neck; she could feel the regular bumps of each even stitch and hissed at the pain that exploded under her fingertips. “You did a good job.” She said with surprise in her voice. “Very neat.”
Kate waved a hand dismissively. “In my day, a woman didn’t live long in this country before knowing how to bathe and sew a wound. The old Americas weren’t a place for people who fainted at the first sight of blood.”
“Good to know.” Waverly said, inching up the shift and inspecting the other line that ran along her ribs. “You weren’t tempted to…?”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Oh of course, the big bad monster could barely restrain herself.” She intoned sarcastically. “Don’t flatter yourself, Waverly Earp. You’d barely make a mouthful anyway.”
They sat in awkward silence for a while, the vampire staring morosely into the fire and her guest playing with the hem of the blanket as she searched for something to say, a way to apologise for a slip that she didn’t quite understand, until the small human suddenly groaned, clamping a pale hand to her forehead.
“Dizzy?” Kate asked, not unkindly. Waverly nodded, wobbling a little in her seat. “You need food and water. I’ll make you something.”
“You don’t have to-“
“I don’t want a dead body leaking onto my sofa.” Kate said firmly, striding from the room. Feeling exhausted, Waverly allowed herself to collapse back into a prone position, her head swimming as the warmth of the fire washed over her. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the words drifting from the record player to ease the sudden nausea roiling in her stomach. Something about the pines, the man sang…sleeping in the pines…
“Here. Eat. Drink.” The clinking of a tray on the arm of the settee startled Waverly from her half-doze. Blinking in the light, she looked at the meal that had been placed in front of her: tomato soup and thick, fresh bread slathered in butter, with a cup of sweet black tea and a pint of water. Her guts recoiled at the smell, but she knew that was the blood-loss speaking. Sighing theatrically, Kate bent down and tapped the edge of the bowl with a long fingernail. “Eat, before you have a turn. I won’t tell you again.”
As Waverly ate in small bites punctuated by regular sips of water, Kate moved to the fireplace, leaning her arm on the marble and watching lazily. When the bowl was empty and the bread gone, Waverly wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and moved to lift the tray to the floor. Kate tutted, and snatched it from her grasp, depositing it on the side table that ran the full length of one wall.
“That was nice, thank you.” Waverly said politely.
“It came out of a can.” Kate responded bluntly. “Feel better?”
“A little, yes.” The young woman agreed, and Kate saw a reassuring bloom of health beginning in her cheeks. “Is this your house?”
Kate bit her lip as though considering the question. “For now.” She said simply. “The owners don’t currently need it.”
“Did you..?” Waverly asked with a frown, drawing a finger across her throat. Kate threw her hands into the air.
“I’ve nursed you and fed you, and you still can’t see me as anything but a ghoul, can you?” The vampire snapped. “You meat bags, you’re all the same. I don’t know why I bother.”
“I’m sorry.” Waverly said quickly, looking abashed. “You’ve been very kind to me, and I didn’t think.”
“Do your kind ever.” Kate grumbled but looked mollified, turning to stare into the mirror above the mantle; nothingness peered back.
“Thank you by the way.” The younger woman continued. “For looking after me.”
“Its fine.” Kate shrugged nonchalantly, facing her ward once more. “I never could resist sweetness.”
“Well, nevertheless. I didn’t expect you to be so…” Waverly wrinkled her nose, searching for an end to her sentence.
Kate raised her chin in defiance. “Weak? Soft?”
Waverly shook her head and gave a lopsided smile. “Tender.”
“Tender?” Kate repeated as though the word was foreign, rolling it across her palette curiously.
“Mmm hmm.” Waverly agreed with a yawn, stretching slightly, and grimacing as her stiches pulled. “What time is it?”
Kate glanced at the carriage clock ticking idly on a bookcase. “A little after 3. They should be back in a few hours. Stop moving so much before you make even more of a mess of my upholstery.”
“That’s good.” Waverly looked around the lounge, the dark corners and unfamiliar furniture twisting and morphing in the dying light of the fire into unnatural shapes. “What shall we do to pass the time? Do you want to read me some of your book? I’d love to hear it.”
Kate pulled a face. “No.” She said shortly, reaching to throw a log into the hearth, sending white-hot sparks curling away into the chimney. Straightening, she pressed her tongue into the roof of her mouth, eyeing the human with a calculating expression. “Do you play cards?”