- 10 -

  Kintsukuroi

  Fenrir had left a candle burning through the night. Dangerous, but generous.

  When his eyes opened, he was confronted by nothing but complete darkness. For a moment, Matthew forgot his problems and whereabouts. He opened the door of his bed gingerly and let the sun's rays stream in through the opening. They were oddly sparse and disjointed. As he swung the door open more fully, not much more light snuck in.

  He poked his head out into the rge room; odd shadows littered the floor. He zoned in on the boards over the tiny rectangur windows just below the ceiling and noticed the sun trying its hardest to break through at awkward angles.

  Even though he hadn’t eaten in a while, Matthew didn’t feel particurly hungry. Grief will do that to you. Still, he knew that sooner or ter he would be, and he wanted to get ahead of it.

  He scanned the room for other occupied boxes. Regardless, he was alone. Alone in the home of the richest man in the city, and not a morsel of food to be had in the entire pce. Conscious that his host would now be asleep, he crept out into the celr. He walked up the stairs, recognising the hall from the night before, finally able to make out the portraits that adorned it. Beautiful furniture and ornaments decorated each side. Every so often was a pnt pot, absent of dirt and filled with wooden representations of pretty flowers.

  Some were the ones his mother loved.

  He paused as the exit became his focus. Out there was the pce that he had lost Tom. Out there was the pce where he had lost his parents. He crumpled to the ground and sat cross-legged, staring, imagining the prospect of what he might lose next.

  Minutes passed. Gazing more into space than at the exit.

  The door was tched and chained, but the rge beams rested against the wall. Ambrose must have anticipated that he might have needed to leave before the sun went down.

  Still, he struggled to open the door. It took him longer than he would have liked to figure out how to unlock it. Once he succeeded, Matthew used the opportunity to catch his breath. Eventually, he opened the door and listened to it scrape against the ground. The ancient hinges, used to straining under the weight of the massive barrier, seldom used of te. Gripping one of the supports used to hold the beam, had it been in pce, he strained to lift the door up and off the ground as he pulled it towards himself. Even with maximum exertion, he could only open the door a tiny sliver, but it was enough to fit his tiny frame through.

  Barely getting through the tiny gap, the brightness of the sun greeted him, almost blinding him as it did. He raised his arms in front of his eyes and took a few moments to let his vision adjust. When it did, he noticed the commotion from the door had not gone unnoticed.

  Several guardsmen were staring at the door, their expressions not far removed from terror. None of them had ever seen the door open before, and certainly none of them had expected it to happen during the day. The security presence was intense. A stark contrast to the night before. He realised that Fenrir's chances of dying were much higher during the day, when people were more likely to attempt to get to him. He would be an easy target if anyone could.

  One of the guards nearest the door nudged his buddy. "I thought it was the other one that was into kids."

  They both ughed, which drew the attention of their captain.

  "Back to it!" he shouted over. It was loud enough for everyone to hear, and everything resumed as though he wasn’t even there.

  He walked through the gardens towards the road. Guards walked past in pairs, ignoring him. The whole experience was surreal. Workers were cleaning the fountains; others were digging at flowerbeds, real ones this time. He felt oddly at home.

  Beyond the gate, caravans still flowed in an endless procession. He reasoned that was his best chance of getting something to eat. He patted his pockets and still had the coins Tom had given him. He took them from his pocket, holding them in the palm of his hand, and chose the shiniest one, putting it in his sock. He didn’t think Tom would miss the rest and quietly scolded himself for thinking something so cruel. On getting to the road, the background noise was almost welcoming to him. What used to be a cause for worry now felt like a thicket he could disappear into.

  There was an overabundance of pces to eat. Matthew spotted an attractive stall with lots of food and little queue. Using the money to buy himself something to eat, he quickly disposed of it as if he hadn’t eaten in a year. Eating it too quickly, he failed to register how horrible it tasted. He spat the small remaining bites to the ground and gave the vendor a disapproving look. The vendor shot one right back, shrugging his shoulders in a way that implied “no refunds”.

  With the “food” digested, he wondered what to do next. Deep down, a voice was telling Matthew to leave the city there and then and to never look back. He thought about doing it, but where would he go? His vilge was destroyed, and his parents were dead. Everything from his old life was gone, and he had to come to terms with it, even if he didn’t want to.

  He could go back to his vilge. Maybe Tom’s parents were still alive. They would need a son now.

  Why was he thinking such things? What was happening to him? Guilt filled him from head to toe.

  He lumbered pensively back towards the night gates. In the daylight, Matthew finally saw the strip for how it really was – filthy and disgusting. He passed the alley where Tom had died – and his life was changed. With his mind on everything but where he was, he got knocked off his feet by a heavily tattooed stranger, the first person he’d seen in the vampire district by day that wasn't a guard.

  "What are you doing here, kid?"

  He pointed over his shoulder to the alley, stuttering, unable to speak.

  "Whatever. Can’t stop."

  The stranger took off up the alley where Tom had died. No one had id flowers or mementos. No one had even roped off the area where the attack had taken pce. It was just the same dingy alley it always had been.

  Matthew spotted guards setting up at the night gates. Knowing he wouldn’t be safe in the streets alone, Matthew trod back to Fenrir’s vil and was waved through by the captain. He slipped back inside the door and into the hallway as the sun went down. Being unable to see, Matthew stumbled and fumbled until he walked into something. As it broke on the ground, he saw that the fragments made up a bowl. Knowing how Fenrir lived, he guessed that it was expensive.

  Ambrose suddenly appeared out of nowhere, startling Matthew. The man was looking worse for wear, as true dark was still some minutes away.

  One by one, he lit candles and secured the door. Ambrose rummaged noisily through a cupboard, producing a small oil ntern. He blew the cobwebs from it before handing it to Matthew.

  "I had an accident," Matthew said, leading Ambrose to the bowl.

  "What sort of accident?" Ambrose asked.

  "It was dark; I couldn’t see where I was going, and I hit something. I think it was a bowl or something."

  Ambrose surprised Matthew with a smile. "Fantastic! Fenrir will be thrilled."

  "Huh?"

  "It’s a hobby of his." Ambrose picked up the broken pieces of the bowl. "Is this all of it?"

  "I think so."

  "Good. I’ll melt down some gold."

  Ambrose disappeared into a room that was set up like a kitchen. What use Fenrir had for cooking appliances was anyone's guess. Ambrose carefully pced the gold inside a rge furnace and started the fire. The fire started slowly enough that Ambrose felt no discomfort from the fmes. The setup was simir to that of the bcksmiths he had seen in the vilge.

  The memory that lingered longest with him was the immense heat that came from the furnace. Ambrose followed a metal pipe that ran along the wall to the other side of the room. What Matthew had first mistaken for another wall was in fact a metal sheet that Ambrose proceeded to take cover behind to shield himself from the heat. On the other end of the pipe was a leather bellows, which he started to pump gently. It got so hot so quickly that Matthew had to rush behind the metal sheet alongside Ambrose.

  He watched Ambrose get into a steady rhythm of pumping the massive bellows to get the fire hot enough to melt the gold.

  "Normally I’d have to wait for it all to cool down, but here, go ahead and grab it… Carefully!" Ambrose gave Matthew a stern look.

  He handed Matthew a rge pair of metal tongs, which he used to open the furnace door and delicately lift the graphite crucible in which the molten gold had pooled. Ambrose grabbed a metal-frame holder for the crucible from the countertop and went through to Fenrir’s office, where he set it on Fenrir’s desk. Matthew followed and carefully pced the crucible in position. Fenrir came out of the doorway looking like he had just woken up from the best sleep anyone had ever had.

  "I smell molten gold," said Fenrir. "What have you broken now, Ambrose?"

  "It wasn’t me," Ambrose said, pointing to Matthew. He took his position on a seat to the side of the fire.

  "I swear you do these things on purpose to give me something to do." Fenrir sat down at his desk and went into one of his many drawers. He brought out what looked like two wooden discs sitting atop each other and pced a fine paintbrush down beside them. He took the somewhat intact base of the bowl and set it on top of the wooden disc. He peered through his gsses and took a rge broken piece, which he slid perfectly into pce. With his other hand, he dipped the brush in the gold and gently coated both edges before setting them back together. Visibly pleased with such a good start, he sat back and looked at his quick progress. He then put a finger on the wooden disc and spun it around to see the other side of the bowl.

  Without so much as looking up from his work, he spoke to Matthew.

  "It’s like the city," Fenrir said. "Broken. Put back together. You can try to put it back exactly the way it was before, but you always lose some part of it. Those parts are gone forever, but the whole keeps the memory of it. These cracks are its history. The very story of it. A story that you are now part of, for better or worse. It’s very possible that we, as people, are broken on our journeys, whether through our own agency or the impact of another's actions. We can be dashed to a hundred pieces.

  Some stay in that broken form, baring to the world their terrible circumstances and bidding others take pity on them. Whereas others put themselves back together again and again, each time cracking and losing some part of what they once were."

  He stopped for a moment and looked up.

  "At some point, you will be made more of cracks than what you started with. But we choose what we put ourselves back together with. Fear, courage; love, hate; shame, pride. Whatever you choose to use, remember that it is a choice. You will carry that with you always. That is what you will become. I may not know what love is anymore, but I did once. It feels to me now like an echo in a hallway, only that I forgot the shout. I am incapable of feeling it ever again, but the cracks I covered with it will never leave me.

  What beauty can be found in a broken thing."

  Ambrose was now reading, unperturbed by the moving words Fenrir was speaking. He must have heard some variation of it a hundred times before now. Clearly now in the mood to hear his own voice, Fenrir called over to Matthew again.

  "Pull up a seat, d, and I will tell you my story," Fenrir said.

  And so he began, all the while carrying on painting and repairing.

  ***

  It felt as though no time had passed at all. The next time Sara opened her eyes, Terrant was making his way out.

  "It’ll take a while, but you’ll eventually get used to waking up before true dark."

  She had heard the term "true dark" spoken regarding vampires, but the words would take on a whole new meaning for her from now on. Rather than being the time she would have to be wary of those who come alive in the night, it would now be her time to get up and make something of her day.

  "What should I do?" She shouted down to Terrant, who had now made it to the ground.

  Terrant shrugged his shoulders.

  "Look for a job. Be careful who you ask. If you want to check if someone is a vampire, fsh them a ‘V’ like this."

  Terrant made the motion of scratching his shoulder with his index and middle fingers. Letting them linger as a solid V for a few seconds at the end. "It lets them know to check your eyes."

  "Where do I start? Should I go to Fenrir?"

  "No. They won’t give you a job on the caravans. The human guards still have their urges; it causes…discontent…among the group," he said, realising that even though she was no longer human, the curse of her beauty had remained.

  "I'd like to avoid men as much as possible; are there taverns that cater exclusively to..." she paused before adding, "...us?"

  She was beginning to embrace the change.

  Terrant finally offered her a ray of hope when he said, "There are."

  "I’ll try there then," she said almost in a huff, angry with how unhelpful Terrant was being.

  He turned and walked out toward the staircase. She thought that he must have somewhere to be.

  Sara sat against the cold wall of the nook and brought her knees to her chest. She banged her head against the wall as she looked up at the curved ceiling and wondered about what to do next. She had somewhere she could return to at the end of the night at least.

  She gave Terrant enough time to ascend the stairs and make his way to wherever he was going before making the climb herself. She realised how ungrateful she had been to him only after she reached the street. He hadn’t had to help her at all. She had been so angry at men all her life and had treated Terrant with the same prejudice. He hadn’t deserved that. The sensation that went along with her realisation was odd; the feeling she knew as guilt wasn’t present.

  Being only one day into her new life, she had vivid memories of the feeling she was trying to grasp and knew she should feel, but the only feeling she could muster was so slight that it barely even registered. There was an odd dissociation between her thoughts and feelings, and although she was slightly unnerved by the experience, she could already tell that it offered her some form of protection from the negative emotions she had let run her previous life. She stepped out into this new life, deciding that this was her new strength. She neglected to give any thought as to how this might affect her emotions at the other end of the spectrum.

  She walked out onto the street and looked down towards the strip. Although she had resolved to find employment in a strictly vampire-only establishment, she looked down the road and considered briefly visiting. Fantasising that she might stumble upon her killer. The sight of her would probably be enough to give him a heart attack.

  Knowing he considered himself above such entertainment, she knew it was only wishful thinking. Much more likely, however, was that she would attract the type of attention she would normally recoil from. She wanted to avenge a thousand insults and trespasses that people, not just men, had visited upon her throughout her years. Was simply not caring the answer to all of life’s problems? At any rate, she now had more time than she knew what to do with. Those times would come. As she walked off into the darkness, she smiled gleefully to herself.

  Were it not for the washed-out colours, she could have thought it was daytime. Every so often she would pass someone wearing their finery; the colours were bright to her eyes, so they could only have been the most dazzlingly bright of colours. The price for such garments was exorbitant. The family she had worked for owned only a few small pieces that had been dyed, and those were treated as preciously as some of the heirlooms that had been handed down from generation to generation. These vampires were wearing full outfits to go about their nightly business; they wanted other vampires to know they were rich and powerful. It was clear these clothes were not designed to impress humans; the colours would look rather garish. She looked down at her own clothes and noticed how grey and drab they were to her new eyes. She instantly realised how badly she stood out.

  Walking for a long while, going over in her head what she would say to prospective employers, she was again made aware of the new dynamic between her thoughts and feelings. She knew the feeling she should have in the pit of her stomach, but she felt almost nothing of the normal anxiety that normally dogged her. Without the feeling holding her back, she simply thought that if she didn’t succeed the first time, she would succeed the next time. Right then and there, she adopted that as her new mantra for life.

  It didn’t take long to come across a tavern with groups of men and the odd woman dotted around outside. They were all wearing the bright clothing she had seen previously and were impeccably well turned out. If these were humans, at least one of them would be smoking, if for no other reason than that smoking was another signifier of wealth. She wondered why these individuals were not partaking, still ignorant of the fact that she was now a lot more sensitive to smell. She didn't realise it, but the fact that she hadn't picked up any scent meant she hadn't been within a reasonable distance of a human on her way there.

  Looking up at the sign, an unlit torch rested in an alcove carved into the building. It was an odd enough sight that it caught her attention. Why would a vampire need a torch to light its sign? As she stared at the torch, confused, she found her eyes focusing themselves on the bricks, which neatly formed the indent in the wall. She could very clearly make out a "V" carved into the brickwork behind the fme. For a second, she thought she had imagined it; she closed her eyes tightly and shook her head as though to reset her senses, but sure enough, when she reopened her eyes, they recentred and refocused on the letter behind the torch.

  How many other signs and symbols existed in this new world she found herself in? She felt for a moment as though she was now a member of an elite club. Finally on the inside, rather than always on the outside. For the first time in her life, she knew a secret that the vast majority of the popution did not.

  The feeling that her new life was a punishment was starting to fade. As she approached the doors, she tried to peek in the windows, but there was nothing to be seen; the pce was dull and lifeless. As she pushed open the door, she almost fell down the massive flight of stairs, not anticipating having to descend into the celr bar. As she got halfway down the stairs, the ambience of the room she was approaching reached her ears. She braced herself for the wave of nervousness to kick in, but again – nothing came. She almost slipped as she swung open the door.

  No one stopped. No one stared. She was almost offended. Did these people not know a lone woman had entered the bar? She looked around and saw people having polite discussions and pying games—the normal bar scene minus the rowdiness. Her eyes settled on the first woman she saw, arm wrestling with a man twice her size. The woman put up a brave fight before being bested; everyone around the table cheered before another woman sat down and beat the man in a matter of seconds. Thinking she was getting a grasp of her surroundings, she expected another man to take the loser's pce, but instead another woman joined the table, and the two proceeded to have a protracted contest. This wasn’t the usual novelty, as it might have appeared; there was no great shock that a woman had beaten a man in a feat of strength; this was the purest form of camaraderie. She had quickly learned, through the strangest of examples, that men and women were equals in this new world.

  "What can I get you?" the barman asked.

  "A job, if you don’t mind." She actually winked as she said it.

  "Any experience?" enquired the bartender, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the bar.

  She thought for a moment about how she had no experience whatsoever working in a bar or serving vampires.

  "No, but I’ll do what you need, when you need it." There was no wink this time; instead, there was an assertive nod.

  The barman stood and whipped the hand towel from his shoulder. Throwing it into her hands, he asked her an important question.

  "What do we call you?"

  She hadn’t considered this question until now. Terrant had already told her she would have to pick a new name, but she hadn’t given it any serious thought. Now that she was forced to address it, it took her all of two seconds to reply.