Blood, Milk & Chocolate - Part 1 (The Grimm Diaries Book 3) (11 page)

22

I could
tell you all about when Angel insisted that he'd meet my father and tell him
how he felt about me. I could tell you about how it all went wrong. My father,
although supportive and considering Angel a great asset against the war on the
Sorrows, succumbed to my mother's and Austria's noblemen's objections, and to
the world that didn't approve of our love.

I could
tell you the details of Night Von Sorrow swearing to kill every Karnstein,
including his own son, if Angel and I were to stay together. Night had begun
killing many European allies of the Karnsteins already, just to make his point.

I could
tell you about the Styrians themselves, shocked that I could only fall in love
with our enemy, raging a war across Europe as well.

But I
don't see the point in reciting those details. All you need to know is that our
love was damned, doomed, and destructive to others.

Angel and
I escaped both my family and his to a small cottage in Italy. We rode for days
and nights, disguised as beggars, apple traders, and entertainers. Everyone was
looking for us—especially for Angel. His pictures were drawn by the most
talented artists and hung on every wall in most towns. A recurring description
of Angel was of a man with long hair, black as night, a hard-edged face, white
as snow, and lips red as blood from the people it was rumored he'd feasted
upon. Angel only fed on animals, which he hated, but he had no other choice at
the time.

Wherever
we escaped, people talked about the half-vampire who'd stood up to his vampire
king. They called him Black Death, or sometimes Dracul, which just meant
"dragon" in Romanian. Whatever Angel did to become human, mankind
wasn't going to accept him. Nor were vampires going to accept him.

Then we
started hearing news—rumors, or what people later started calling fairy
tales—about a man walking the dense snow between Transylvania and Styria,
killing other people. They said he wore black, and was usually surrounded by
black crows. They said he stained the white of snow with the red blood of his
enemies. People called him the Red Dragon, the Black Snow, and so many other
names that revolved around the three colors that later haunted and cursed my
life: red, white, and black.

Angel and
I continued our escape, all the way through Europe, because we had no place to go.

But Angel
sensed my weakness, my inexperience with hiding and enduring such horrendous
traveling, and advised me to travel to a safe place while he fought our
pursuers—later, I learned he had desired my blood too much and feared he
could not hold himself back while we were alone.

Angel drew
me a map and ordered me to follow it. He told me he'd meet me seven days later
on Murano Island near Italy, the one were glass and mirrors were made. I argued
that I couldn't be near mirrors, and Angel blamed my parents for making me
think so. He believed nothing would happen to me if I stared in a mirror, but I
had lived with the fear for too many years and it had been carved too deeply.

"Also,
I won't leave you," I argued, as I could hear the horses of our hunters approaching.
"I can't."

"Go."
Angel whipped the air to scare my horse away. "I will see you in Murano.
Don't fear the mirrors. Ask for Amalie Hassenpflug, my godmother. Tell her I
sent you."

I was
speechless as my horse took off to my destination. So that was why he had used
her last name when he was disguised as an apple trader?

"Carmilla!"
Angel, sweaty, exhausted, and ready to kill, summoned me one last time.

"Yes?"
I craned my neck as I rode away.

"When
you see Amalie, tell her…" He swallowed, pulling out his sword, ready for
the enemy's attack.

"Yes?"
I asked. He wasn't going to leave my like this, not telling me his last words.
"Tell her what?"

"Tell
her you're the love of my life, my purgatory, and after," Angel said,
followed by a scream as he began his war.

Night Von
Sorrow sent black crows, black panthers, and the darkest vampires after Angel,
intending to punish him with death for treason. No one had the heart or guts to
oppose Night Von Sorrow, so Angel was alone, diverting his pursuers so I could
reach Murano safely. He was determined to keep his promise.

Angel
was hunted by everyone, not just his father's army
. Humans,
who outnumbered vampires in this time of history, hunted Angel as well. So he
was on his own, trying not to kill the humans and escape them at the same time,
and also killing every dark creature his father sent after him.

And I rode
away to Murano.

Luckily, I
never fought anyone. All I did was keep to myself and hide in a cave or treetop
all day then continue traveling at night, although I had the feeling I was
being tailed by the same man in black who'd killed the soldiers at my castle in
Styria. But it might have been an illusion.

At the
shores of Italy, I had to book a ferryman to cross the waters to the island of
Murano. Penniless and exhausted, I didn't have a clue how to achieve that. It
occurred to me to tell one of the ferrymen that I was of a noble descent, that
I was the main reason for the Blood Apple he was biting. But that would have
only led to my capture, as I glimpsed a few of my father's soldiers around the
shore—I didn't know how to identify a vampire then, so if they were
around, I didn't notice them.

Watching
the sun sinking low, I considered sneaking into one of the boats, disguised as
one of the many veiled Italian women crossing over. It had been Angel's idea to
wear a veil since we escaped so I'd go on unrecognized. But I couldn't do it.
Not because of my cowardice or inexperience, but because of my fear of water.

I wasn't
going to try and see my reflection in the waters anyway. My family, in spite of
our differences, still meant a lot to me. It was also too dark at the shore
after the sun had died in the nighttime waters. But the shaky and small boat
didn't offer much safety, and my unreasonable fear of the unknown—the
water—knew no salvation.

I ended up
standing helpless at the shores, watching everyone merrily crossing over to
Murano as if they were taking their boats over the River Styx, but crossing
over to heaven.

"I
could help you for a price," I heard someone say.

When I
turned around, I saw a thin and scruffy man in a purple suit. He looked more
clownish than elegant, although the French nobleman's outfit suggested he was
wealthy.

"How
much can you pay to cross over to the bay?" His hands hung in the air
theatrically, as if he were a ringmaster trying to entice me into a circus.

"I
don't have any money." I didn't fear him. He was neither a Karnstein nor a
Sorrow. Frankly, he didn't look like he belonged here.

"Who
said the price is always money?" He smirked.

I pulled
my veil tighter around me and took a step back.

"No."
He flashed his hands again. "You misunderstood me, my friend."

"How
can you help me, then?" I was desperate.

"I
have a boat." He pointed at one at the shore. "And I only take one
passenger with me. For a price, like I said."

"If
you say I misunderstood you, then what price would you have me pay?"

"Nah."
He waved his hand. "Nothing really special." He cocked his head. "I'm
a nice guy—well, not everyone thinks that, but that's how I think of
myself. I help people, actually." He glanced at the sky momentarily, and
then his cheeks twitched. "Let me rephrase that: I help desperate people."

"What
would you have me pay?" I insisted, thinking to get away from him.

"Your
soul." He smiled. He wanted it to be a sincere smile, but it came out
really awkward. Not weird, but as if he wasn't really good at what he did. "Would
you mind selling me your soul?" He seemed desperate now. I almost laughed.

"Are
you who I think you are?" I squinted in the dark.

"I
have a lot of silly names," he said. "But I'm only trying to help."

"Help?"
I chuckled. "You do dress silly, I must say. You're nothing like I
pictured you."

"Really?"
He was disappointed. "I was told this was the latest fashion in Europe."

"I'm
really disappointed in you," I said. "I mean
,
you're so feared all over the world. How did you manage to make people fear you
like that?"

"I
paid a few people, generously, at the beginning of time," he said. "You
seed an idea in people's heads for centuries, and you got yourself a place in
history. Could you please not tell anyone?"

I didn't
know what to say or feel. In my darkest moment, I got my release, laugh, and
joy from a reluctant devil. How ironic was that?

"I
could not tell anyone." I smirked. "For a price."

"Huh,"
he sighed. "That was good. Care to work for me?" he joked. "All
right. All right." He waved his hands again and summoned the ferryman on
his boat. "Skeliman! Would you please cross this woman over to Murano?"

"For
free?" Skeliman sounded like an old, grumpy man. I couldn't see his face,
as he was hiding behind the shades of night.

"It's
a favor," the devil said. "Please?"

"Skeliman
the Ferryman does no favors."

"All
right." The devil walked funnily toward him, annoyed by the muddy ground
on his new boots. "I will pay you myself.
A golden egg.
How about that?"

Skeliman
agreed under one condition: that I didn't try to see his face. I said yes, as
long as I sat in the middle of the boat so I was the farthest I could be from the
water.

As I got
to the boat, I turned to ask the devil a question I couldn't resist. "So
selling one's soul to the devil is just a lie?"

"Of
course not," Skeliman answered on behalf of the fashionably dressed devil.
"A lot of people sell their souls to the devil. You should have sold your
soul to him now, if you don't mind me saying. Better than selling it to…"

"Sell
it to whom?" I asked.

"You
don't want to know," the devil interrupted.

"There
is someone else people sell their souls to?" I was curious.

The devil
nodded silently, his hands behind his back. He seemed worried.

"You
don't want to talk about H—" The Skeliman meant that mysterious
someone, but choked on the last word. Was he going to tell me his name? "Only
the sorrowful and unlucky have to sell their soul to Him. Let's call him 'Him'
for now. I worry if I say his real name, actually."

"Why?
Who is
Him
?" I asked.

"Darling."
The devil approached and slightly pushed me into the boat. "It's better
not to talk about Him. If you're ever miserable enough to sell your soul to
him, then God help you." He stopped to consider what he'd just said with a
grin on his face. "You see all those miserable people in the world around
you? Most of them have sold their souls to Him." He gazed up at the skies.
I thought it was hilarious. "Now have a safe trip to Murano." He
waved farewell to me as Skeliman rowed away. "The land of mirrors."
He spread his hands and nodded at me. "It was nice doing business with
you." He shrugged. "I guess."

My heart
sank as I gazed at the darkened horizons. I didn't know what was worse: the
dark or the shiny mirrors awaiting me in Murano.

23

Murano
Island was a flare of colorful two-story buildings. It had to be one of the
most enchanted places on earth. The ground was painted with all kinds of
colors, specifically orange and green, and so were the buildings. In some
neighborhoods the island looked like a flaming eruption, balanced beautifully
with the sky's eternal blue.

It turned
out that Murano was where glass was invented. In fact, the art of glassblowing
had been a centuries-long secret, only concealed behind the hands of Murano's
talented artists, all before those artists were wrongfully exiled from the
island due to the catastrophes they had caused with the fire they used for
their art. Glass only came from fire and sand.

Everywhere
in Murano people blew glass into vases, artifacts, cups, and all kinds of
souvenirs. It startled me how the beauty of transparent silver glass was born
from the pits of the deepest and hottest fires, something I hadn't known or
seen in Styria. It seemed like a beautiful paradox, how the world could give
birth to good from evil and the other way around.

Sadly, my
fascination was short-lived.

Everywhere
I went mirrors shimmered in the sun, reflecting upon me. I wanted to shrink
into myself and disappear. In the beginning, I thought I could just avoid the
few places where they made those new and shiny silver mirrors, which hadn't
been anywhere else in the word then, but I was wrong. There was no place to
hide from the mirrors, and I couldn't take it.

I fought
my way to Amalie Hassenpflug's house, hiding behind my veil, and realizing that
I had begun to
fear
mirrors. It wasn't just a precaution or submission
to what I had been raised to get used to. What started as a taboo had turned
into
fear.
It seemed like the possibility of ever
looking in a mirror was done for me.

I knocked
on Amalie's door, and told her what Angel told me to say—that I was the
love of his life, purgatory, and after.

Amalie was
welcoming and very helpful. She explained to me how she was a vampire slave,
half turned only to serve the vampires in Lohr as a blood vessel to feed on
whenever they wanted to drink—she still suffered from the aftereffects,
but didn't want to share them.

Amalie had
been forced by Night Von Sorrow to pretend she was Angel's mother when his
father had sneaked him among humans in Lohr to study them and locate the
Karnsteins. Angel loved her dearly, for she understood his love for humans and
his wish to emerge from the depths of hell to become a good man. I spent all
day listening to her, but then it was time for her to face me with the dark
truth about my love for Angel.

"Can
I ask you how much you love Angel?" she said. "I don't want some
poetic answer filled with descriptions and metaphors. I want a realization,
deep down in your heart"—she pointed at hers—"that it is
an inevitable truth, that you love Angel Von Sorrow."

"You
mean like 'until death do us apart'?" I asked, already blushing, because
the buzzing in my heart had never been logical or explainable.

"Not
even death," she said. "It can't tear you apart."

I said
nothing, only stared at her.

"You
know he might be immortal, don't you?"

"He
had talked about it, but he isn't sure," I said. "Because he is still
a half-vampire. Only vampires are immortal. If he could ever find a cure to
become all human, he certainly won't be immortal anymore."

"You're
right, Angel might not be immortal yet,"
Amalie
said. "The thing that he doesn't know yet is that True Love, if that is
possible, grants his kind immortality, even if he is still a half-vampire."

I was
supposed to shriek, but no sound came from my chest. Maybe I'd taken the impact
of the information inside me. The idea of the one I loved living forever left
me undone. I didn't know whether it was good or bad. After all, I wasn't an
immortal, and didn't know if I wanted him to spend his eternal life without me.
I was curious about one thing, though. "True Love?" I cocked my head.
"How do we know
it's
True Love, Amalie? What does
True Love even mean?"

Amalie
sipped her tea and shook her shoulders. "Who knows what True Love really
is? They call it Adage in our world of Sorrow. A simple word of infinite
unconditional love, not just for a love interest but for a child or a god."

"Adage."
I couldn't stop myself from repeating the world whenever I heard or thought
about it. "Then why are you asking me about my love for Angel? I don't
suppose it's the immortality issue by itself."

"Of
course not," she said. "The situation both of you are in is like
this: you're hunted by two families, whether good or bad, it doesn't matter,
because evil is only a point of view." She held my hands. "If you
both insist on being together, there is no place on earth you can escape to.
If not from the Karnsteins, then never from Night Von Sorrow.
Wherever you go, he will eventually find both of you."

"Are
you suggesting I leave Angel?"

"No,"
she said. "Hold back your young and impulsive heart for a moment. Give
reason a try, and listen to me."

I nodded,
feeling the warmth and kindness of her hands.

"If
you both are up to what it takes when it comes to love, there is one escape
from Night Von Sorrow," she explained. "It's not quite in our realm."

"I
don't understand."

Amalie
sighed, and I worried. "The only place to escape the vampire king is in 'other
worlds'—some like to call it 'Fairyworld,' but I don't know why. They are
partially intertwined with ours but separate. Magical worlds, unlike anything
we have ever seen, beyond a vampire's sight and reach."

"I
don't mind at all, as long as I am with Angel," I said, not quite
comprehending. But as long as a solution was available, I was into it.

"Good."
She pulled back her hands and took a deep breath. "I'm only offering you
this because you can't live in Murano, the only place where vampires are afraid
to venture. Because of the glasswork we produce, they have to stay away, as
fully turned vampires will burn if exposed to their reflection in mirrors long
enough. Murano should have been a great escape for you, but considering your
curse, you can't live here either. Also, we don't know where Angel stands with
mirrors now. Some days he can't stare at them, and some he can, so it makes us
wonder what his situation will be in the future."

"Not
being able to stare at mirrors, it's as if I'm a vampire myself," I
murmured, wondering why I shared such a trait with them. Why had the nameless
witch ever done this to me?

Amalie
looked at me and said nothing. The notion of me sharing a serious trait with
vampires bothered her a little. But she knew, like me, that I wasn't a vampire.
Or did she?

"Come
with me." She took my hand again and stood up.

"Where
to?" I asked.

"I
want you to meet a girl who can help you and Angel escape to another realm where
you can create your own kingdom and hopefully live happily ever after."

"Happily
ever after," I murmured. I liked the sound of it. No fairy tales had been
told then, so it was an expression I had never heard before. "Who is this
girl?"

"A
very special one." Amalie sighed again. "She is about fourteen, and a
bit different to all of us. In fact, you would never think she is special when
you see her. I think the Creator of All Creators wanted her like that. We know
very little of her. It's rumored that she is immortal, in her own way, as she
can always rise up from the ashes again if she dies, but don't ever ask her or
confront her about it." Amalie stopped and raised a finger.

"Who
is she?" I was curious now about the girl.

"A
glassblower, one of the best of those who have mastered what we call the Art,"
Amalie said. "Her name is Cinder."