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She’d missed a month of bleeding.
Over a month. A month and a half.
She’d been feeling weaker, a bit more fatigued in the past few weeks and her breasts had started to feel more swollen, tender.
What is wrong with me?
She hadn’t yet been to a doctor as she hadn’t had time away from Luca neither did she want to worry him and she’d been working for Ruthven not to mention the symptoms were mild but now –
Her menstruation cycle…
She hadn’t bled since before –
Since before –
No.
There was no way.
No.
She couldn’t.
It was impossible.
Is it impossible?
A week later, outside on the Paris streets, a beautiful bright sunny day with laughing, happy humans, Jeanne stood, under a dead street lamp, numb, cold, shaking in disbelief.
Her secret rendezvous to human Paris to see a human doctor had pronounced the worst kind of news –
She felt sick and the thought filled her with dread.
Pregnant?!
She had to get rid of it. She had to find a way. She was a bourreau – she could not look after Luca, be Ruthven’s with – a baby.
A baby.
Her baby.
Her own child.
Something that was actually hers.
Someone who would love her for her.
No.
She couldn’t think like that. How would she raise it? The child of an assassin? More than that – a Dhampir. Her child would not be treated well in the vampire world, they would have to hide in the human world, they would struggle as everyone struggled in life –
She would have to find a way, someone who could sort this – poison perhaps? She would need to enquire, there had to be someone –
Dante.
Dante was a Dhampir.
Merde.
But.
He knew people. He knew the kind of people she didn’t to get this sort of thing done in the human world. Was there a way?
To meet Dante without Vanitas?
To meet Dante to get the information she would require…?
To get rid of the child before anyone finds out…?
Dante agreed to meet her on a dark night, in a dark alley, in Paris.
For a price.
‘You weren’t followed by anyone?’ she checked.
Dante narrowed his eyes. ‘If you’re referring to that quack, I didn’t tell a soul, miss, just like you requested.’
She felt relieved.
‘I’m enquiring about – a friend-’
She hesitated. Dante waited.
‘A friend who’s with child. I need someone who can… get rid of it.’
Dante’s expression did not change externally but she felt something internal shift in him.
‘A vampire?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Then why do you ask for it in the human world?’
‘Because it – needs to be done in secret.’
‘And this, friend of yours… she – she doesn’t want the baby?’
The words rattled through Jeanne’s heart. Did she truly, truly, not want this?
‘No,’ Jeanne tensed her fist, ‘she doesn’t. Just… find me someone who can do it. I’ll pay you well.’
‘You’ll pay me on her behalf?’
‘She’s a good friend of mine.’
‘I see.’
Did he believe her? It didn’t matter, so long as –
‘Just don’t tell Va-’
Ka-ting.
Jeanne’s blood turned to ice as the wind ruffled her hair.
She knew that sound, knew it well now.
That clink, that movement, so sensitive to her vampire ears –
She turned her head to the mouth of the alley, to the shadows.
‘Jeanne.’
Merde!
‘V-V-Vanitas?!’ Dante choked, as Vanitas stepped forth from the shadows. ‘What are you -?’
‘I saw you holding a letter with the Oriflamme wax seal. I knew you were up to something. But I didn’t think-’
Vanitas faltered, the life in his eyes went dead as he looked to Jeanne.
‘Can you leave us?’
Vanitas wasn’t even looking at Dante; his eyes were glued to Jeanne, an unreadable expression on his face. By the mercy of the moon they had light, all three of them cast in a ghostly glow.
‘S-s-sure. Miss -’ Dante nodded to Jeanne, who missed it, as both her and Vanitas were only looking at each other.
The father of my child.
Jeanne flinched from the thought.
Vanitas seemed to notice the flicker in her expression even as Dante crossed the line between them and exited the alley.
Silence.
A vampire.
A blue night.
The moon.
She suddenly felt nauseous.
‘Why did you want to meet Dante?’ Vanitas asked.
He hadn’t heard? Exactly when did he arrive?
She was sweating. She was cold and she was sweating and she felt sick and also very tired.
Should she lie? But if he had heard –
‘I was enquiring a favour for a friend.’
‘What friend?’
‘Another vampire.’
‘Who?’
‘That’s none of your concern.’
‘Are you sure,’ Vanitas whispered, watching her carefully, ‘that it’s none of my concern?’
Her heart skipped a beat.
Did he know?
Should she tell the truth?
No. Not if she didn’t have to –
Jeanne dropped her gaze. ‘You don’t know her.’ Jeanne felt bile rise – she reached a hand out to steady herself by the wall.
‘Jeanne?’
She hated the care in his voice. But she managed to steady herself.
‘Who is it?’ Vanitas asked.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘What favour? What did you feel like you required from Dante that you could not ask me for -’
‘It isn’t about,’ Jeanne took a big gulp of air to try and swallow down her nausea, ‘that – I knew that – Dante would know – the right person -’
‘What person?’
‘An – abortionist -’
The word sat, in the air between them as Jeanne clutched the wall now with both her hands and leaned her forehead against the cold, stone wall.
‘Jeanne, are you al-?’
LURCH –
Vomit splattered on the ground, yellow, putrid, orange bits as Jeanne threw up, clutching the wall, sweating.
When she was done her chest heaved, her heavy breathing the only sound in the alley.
She turned, moving away from the stench of sick and leaning her back against the wall as she wiped her mouth on her sleeve.
A final, clear, spoken silence filled the air.
When she finally looked up, she knew she was done for.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
His voice was quiet, cutting, his eyes like knives.
There was no way now. No way at all.
‘I didn’t – think -’
‘No you didn’t think!’ he snapped. ‘Were you not going to say anything?!’
‘It’s not up to you. It’s my body -’
‘It’s my baby!’
Silence.
Strange.
Curling, quiet questions.
The words in themselves they sounded so odd and yet so… right…
No.
No. They wouldn’t fool themselves.
‘It’s not your baby,’ Jeanne hissed.
‘Why? Did you produce it on your own?’
‘I don’t have a choice!’
‘You,’ Vanitas took a step forward. In the moonlight, still, he was still so beautiful. His voice softened. ‘You always have a choice, Jeanne.’
Automatically, Jeanne clutched her stomach.
‘It’s OK for you,’ she whispered, ‘you’re not a woman. You don’t have to carry this, raise it, take responsibility, or live with the consequences -’
‘Jeanne -’
‘A Dhampir, Vanitas! Someone who will have a hard life, the uncertainty -’
‘Life is always uncertain. It’s always hard. Does that mean then, that no one should be born?’
‘But to raise a child alone -’
‘You won’t be alone.’
Petals. White. On blue. Gently, floating, softly, calming.
‘What?’ she breathed.
Vanitas closed his eyes.
He had heard the whole conversation. He had followed Dante because when he had seen the wax seal, he had assumed it was from Ruthven. Never, in his wildest dreams, had he thought Jeanne had sent the letter. And then, as she had been talking it had not taken Vanitas very long to realise exactly who she was talking about…
A strange cold, warm, nuzzling feeling had bloomed within him.
A contradiction.
As things always seemed to be with him.
He had felt it before he could articulate it, before he could understand what the feelings meant, some feelings that shouldn’t even have been there, that didn’t make any sense: pride, anticipation, fear, dread, excitement, joy, sadness. Did any of this even make any sense?
Something in him had screamed a loud resounding NO. But underneath that, at his core, the layers melted into a mellow mesmerising YESSSS.
A part of him.
A part of him that had nothing to do with the Vampire of the Blue Moon.
A part of him that would survive, that would live on.
A part of him, him, the human, before he became Vanitas.
A legacy. A hope. A chance.
A future.
Was it not also a silent protest to all that had happened to him?
And something, independent of all of that that was finally his.
Vanitas had made up his mind before he’d even realised.
‘I’m here, Jeanne.’ Vanitas said looking straight into her eyes.
She stared at him. No joke, no jest. He was dead serious.
‘I’ll help you.’ He took a step forward, his eyes on her hands clutching her stomach. ‘After all, it’s half mine, right?’
She couldn’t believe her ears. A spark flickered in her heart.
‘And she… she won’t struggle,’ Vanitas said.
‘She?!’
‘It’s obviously a girl.’
‘How do you know that?!’
‘Because she’ll grow up to be the most beautiful girl in the world after her mother and father.’
Rattle.
These words, this conversation, Vanitas staring at her life that, the nausea, the tiredness, all of it, so strange, so bizarre – so unpleasant yet pleasant at the same time, disturbing but comforting, one big messy crazy contradiction.
After her mother and father.
Mother.
A mother.
Family.
She wouldn’t just be a bourreau – she’d be part of someone’s family. Her own.
Vanitas moved closer.
Jeanne felt her heart skip a beat.
‘She’ll be a model or an actress,’ Vanitas approached and gently placed a hand over hers on her stomach. ‘We’ll call her Jeavani.’
Jeanne wanted to scowl, she wanted to snap with some snarky remark but strangely found that she couldn’t. Azure eyes met hers.
‘Do you… honestly think we can do this?’
Vanitas raised an eyebrow. ‘You think we can’t.’
‘I don’t know. Do you honestly think… you’re ready for this??’
Vanitas considered her words. They stared at each other.
He’d be the father.
The father.
How odd. The terrifying responsibility but also the intoxicating notion of having someone made from him. A real member of his own family. Someone of his blood. Someone who would automatically love him. It was terrible. It was wonderful.
And what better woman, what stronger, fragile, caring person to have for a mother, than Jeanne?
‘I can get rid of it,’ Jeanne whispered, ‘we can get rid of it. And we’ll never speak of it again.’
‘And yet, it will always be there, with us still.’
‘Our lives won’t be our own anymore, Vanitas.’
He smiled bitterly. ‘It doesn’t seem like our lives were ever our own to begin with.’
‘So then?’
‘So…’ Vanitas entwined his fingers with one of Jeanne’s hands against her stomach. ‘We do this.’
Her eyes searched his. She took in a shaky breath. Dare she hope? Dare she believe? Dare she dream?
‘All I know is – I – can’t cope, on my own.’ She said.
‘You’re not on your own.’
One good thing, Vanitas couldn’t help but think, as he cupped one half of Jeanne’s gorgeous face in his gloved hand, his other hand entwined against her stomach, Jeanne with her back against the wall, was that they now could have sex as much as they wanted because she was already pregnant.
He smirked devilishly, his gaze so intense it made Jeanne blush. He leaned his head lower and kissed her, felt her lips quiver. He loved seeing this more vulnerable side to her, seeing her truly as herself.
The scent of sick filled his nostrils but Vanitas hardly registered that: Jeanne kissed him back stronger, her fingers clenching onto his against her stomach, her body naturally pushing, melting into him. Vanitas smiled with his eyes closed as they continued kissing – he pressed against her, her back trapped against the wall.
Jeanne let go and instead wrapped her arms around his neck.
Vanitas felt her gratitude and relief in every kiss, felt her keen attraction to him ready to burst out in either blood-sucking or sex –
Her hands stroked him, her hips pushed into his. Vanitas had absolutely no complaints as to where this was going –
But Jeanne pulled away from the kissing in a gasp of breath, sucking in air. Before she went any further (again) she wanted to, needed to hear it from him, one last time –
‘We keep the baby?’ she asked, hope, disbelief, fear and wonder in her eyes.
Beautiful.
Vanitas smiled his classic smile –
‘We keep the baby.’