Ofelia (The Book of Davoth 1) Page 8

  Ofelia reached up and yanked the plastic bib off, then leapt onto the floor, steadying herself with a hand on the armrest of the dentist’s chair.

  As she stormed out of the office, she heard Molly apologizing to the dentist. ‘I knew she was nervous about dentists, but I didn’t expect... Look, I’m really sorry.’

  As Ofelia grabbed the door handle to leave the waiting room, she felt a firm hand on her shoulder. ‘And just where do you think you’re going young lady? I need to book your next six-month check-up and I think you should go and apologize to Dr. Cotton and thank her.’

  Ofelia was still a bit groggy, but she could see Molly’s point. At face value the dentist had taken away her ability to feed. However, there were other ways of drinking blood. She’d never been comfortable with the idea of feeding off people against their wishes, anyway. Perhaps she did owe the dentist an apology. She scuttled back to the room and made eye contact with Dr. Cotton while trying to look remorseful. ‘Sorry. Thank you.’

  The dentist smiled back. ‘It’s okay.’

  And it was done. Molly led her back to the car. Her mouth still felt numb. She experimentally rubbed her now smooth and rounded canines with her thumb. She had to find a way to feed. She had a few days, then the cravings would be upon her. If she couldn’t feed, then she’d face madness and death.

  As she pondered this, Molly pulled out of the car park and pointed her old Citroen towards Harper House. ‘Oh, Ofelia. I forgot to mention. I do have some good news. A local philanthropist read about your story in the paper. He’s offered to pay for a decent funeral for your brother who was killed in the crash. Also I had a letter from a Dr. Sterling. She reckons she might have a cure for your infection. She asked me to make you an appointment next week.’

  Ofelia sighed. ‘When is the funeral?’

  ‘Friday, after school. It’s at the Crematorium in town.’

  The rest of the car journey went uninterrupted. By the time they rolled up at Harper House, the numbness had already worn off - perhaps because of her altered vampire physiology. The support worker, Tom, had made oven chips, fried egg and beans and dinner was ready when they arrived.

  During dinner Stoney, Lucy and Kerry kept looking at Ofelia and wondering why she looked so miserable. When they’d finished, Stoney and Kerry set about cleaning the kitchen. Lucy followed Ofelia out into the hallway and stopped her as she started to climb the stairs. ‘Hey Ofelia, you okay?’

  She forced a smile. ‘Long day. I’ve been to school for the first time in centuries and been to dentist for first time ever. I just want to sleep.’

  Lucy smiled, ‘Well if you want someone to talk to...’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Chapter 10 - A Funeral

  The rest of the week got easier. Imelda and her gang kept their distance and Ofelia actually began to look forward to school. Ollie was a quiet, sensitive boy. He was interested in science, maths and reading. He even took her to the school chess club on Thursday lunchtime and gave her a surprisingly good game. Ofelia won of course. She’d been playing chess off and on for over two hundred years, so it was to be expected, but he played well. She’d intended to play the French Defence, but when Ollie had started building the Stonewall opening, she’d switched to a more aggressive strategy, setting up multiple forks, skewers, discovered attacks and barrages, focusing on the King’s side of the board. Afterwards, the maths teacher, a Mr. Sharp, who ran the club and had watched the game, told her he was impressed. He even offered her a place on the school chess team - she told him she’d think about it.

  On Friday, Ofelia and Ollie bought sandwiches and crisps from the refectory and sat on the same bench as they had on the day they’d met. While they sat, unpacking and eating their lunch, Ollie turned to Ofelia. ‘Are you alright? You’ve seemed quiet all week.’

  She sighed, then turned and made eye contact with him. ‘No. I’m not alright. I went to the dentist on Tuesday night. It’s been bothering me ever since.’

  Ollie went a bit flush now. ‘Well, um, that might be a good thing? I er, didn’t want to tell you but I heard some of Imelda’s sidekicks referring to you as “Monster Teeth” behind your back that first afternoon. They do look a lot better now.’

  ‘Well, I liked my, as you call them, “Monster Teeth” and they performed a function. Now...’

  He gently rested a palm on her shoulder. ‘What is eating you up? Perhaps I can help?’

  It was a kind and sincere offer. She liked him and felt somewhat protective over him now. He’d certainly shown her the most kindness and friendship since she’d started at the school. At that moment, she longed, longed to have someone to talk to. Explaining her frustrations and talking about the barrage of catastrophes that’d hit her since she’d come to England... It might make her feel better, but who would believe her? ‘Hah! As if you’d believe me!’

  ‘Why don’t you try me?’

  Ofelia gazed at him, then leaned closer. ‘Okay, do you believe in ghosts?’

  He shrugged at this. ‘Dunno. Never seen one. My aunty reckoned she’d stayed in a haunted house in Bodmin once. I’m open minded though, if I saw one... Well, I’d have to check it wasn’t a trick. But if it seemed real, I’d have to accept ghosts are probably real.’

  ‘How about the werewolf?’

  Ollie smirked at this. ‘People who can turn into wolves during the full moon? Bit more sceptical about that. I guess if I met one I’d re-evaluate. Until I saw evidence though...’

  She leaned closer now. ‘How about vampires?’

  There was something in her voice now that sent a tingle down his spine. He shrugged again. ‘Never met one, if I had evidence they were real though... Look, where is all this going?’

  ‘Ofelia slumped back on the bench and bit into her sandwich. ‘Oh, it’s useless. You never believe me.’

  He could tell she was troubled. ‘Look, let’s play a game. I’ll make up a story, as ridiculous as I can. You have to guess if it’s true or not. Then you tell a story and I have to guess if it’s real or not. Here’s mine. I’m not actually human. I’m really an alien from another dimension, sent here to study humans.’

  Ofelia chuckled at this. ‘Lie. Okay, here’s mine. I’m a vampire. I was born on the twenty-first of December fourteen forty. I became a vampire in January of fourteen fifty-two. I personally hunted down and killed the rest of the European vampires. I came to England to cast a spell to make me stop being vampire. But now I lose the instructions for ritual. The dentist drill and fill my fangs, so I can’t feed. I will probably go mad and die at some point during the next two weeks. ’

  Ollie stared at her pensively. She felt his eyes tracking her head to foot. It took him a long time to answer. ‘Okay. How come you can wander about in the sunlight?’

  ‘Factor fifty sunscreen and dark glasses. Next.’

  ‘Erm, do you like garlic?’

  Ofelia smirked at this. ‘Yes, I do. Garlic is folktale. It does nothing.’

  ‘Alright, crucifixes?’

  ‘I can take it or leave it. When I was still human - everybody Christian and terrified of going to hell. Now, nobody really believes anything anymore. When you live for nearly six hundred years and see what I see, you realise true science is reliable, testable. However vampirism works, it’s nothing to do with devils and gods and good versus evil.’

  There was a long pause now while Ollie digested what she’d said. Eventually he continued. ‘Tell me this then, how did you become a vampire and how d’you stay hidden for six centuries?’

  Ofelia stared into the distance now, a haunted expression on her face. ‘I never want to be vampire. Some people were desperate to receive what they call “The Gift”. I had it forced on me.’

  ‘So how do you make someone a vampire? Can you make other people into vampires?’

  ‘No, I cannot. I don’t know how. I tried the popular culture method of feeding my blood to human or rubbing my blood into human wound. They never became vampire, they just get ill or fal
l asleep.’

  ‘Right, well, how did they make you a vampire?’

  ‘They drink my blood, then they force me to drink blood. Whose blood - I don’t know. It was a crystal decanter. I don’t know if I recommend becoming vampire. It hurts, worse than anything you can imagine. You die, then come back to life as vampire.’

  ‘Hang on, you said you wanted to stop being a vampire. Why?’

  ‘Being vampire isn’t so bad. I have to feed and avoid the sun. I never get ill or age. But being stuck as a kid for almost six hundred years is not good. Nobody take you seriously. You can’t have job, you can’t have normal life. I’ve done all I wanted to do as vampire. Now I just want to grow up and have normal life. Back in Dealul Negru, we have old Land Rover. I’ve been driving it around the village, the fields and the forest for decades. I am good driver, but I can never get car to drive anywhere because people think I’m too young to drive.’

  Ollie sat contemplating her now. Then he took her hand in his. ‘You said you were cold-blooded. The first thing you said to me when we met was that you don’t bite. Neither of those were true were they?’

  ‘No. But I won’t feed on you. I won’t drink your blood.’

  ‘Does it hurt?’ Asked Ollie.

  ‘Being fed on? No. It didn’t hurt me, anyway. There’s something in the fangs, which mess with your head so you feel sleepy and forgetful. Afterward you have less blood, so you feel tired. It probably take you few weeks to remake your blood. If you were fed on too often, you might become anaemic, maybe die.’

  Ollie sighed at this. ‘I believe you. If you need to, I don’t mind you drinking a bit of my blood.’

  Ofelia smiled at this and gripped his hand. ‘Thank you Ollie. I hope I don’t need to, but I appreciate the offer. You can’t tell anyone about me though. The hospital already have some of my blood. I worry if they find out what I am, I get captured and locked up in some secret lab somewhere and get experimented on or something.’

  Ollie chuckled at this. ‘Yeah, I suppose that could happen. I won’t tell. Hah! Even if I did - who’d believe me? What are you doing over the weekend by the way?’

  Ofelia shrugged. ‘I have funeral to go to this afternoon.’

  ‘That guy who was killed in the crash? I read about it in the paper. Who was he? I take it he wasn’t really your brother?’

  ‘No. His family have sheltered me for generations. They help me hide. I help them how I can. Now Stefan is gone I think their line ends. He was only son and he had no children.’

  Ollie frowned. ‘Bummer. Are you okay about it?’

  She scowled at him. ‘No. He was my friend, I watched him grow up. It’s happened though, no use crying about it. It won’t change anything.’

  Ollie now pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and began tapping on the screen. ‘Tell you what - give us your mobile number. If you want, we could meet up on Saturday or something?’

  Ofelia pulled out her recently purchased mobile phone and they exchanged numbers. She was a little apprehensive about this, but it occurred to her that now Ollie knew the truth he might be someone who could help her.

  Once they’d done she leaned closer, opened her mouth slightly and pointed to her top row of teeth. ‘Watch.’

  Slowly, as she concentrated and thought about the taste of blood, her canines emerged from her gums. They elongated until they protruded by nearly a centimetre beyond the rest of her teeth. Ollie stared at them for a moment, looking nonplussed. ‘You didn’t need to show me. I believed you.’

  She smiled. ‘I know. I just want you to you know I trust you, and I’m not trying to make fool of you.’

  The bell rang, and they scuttled off to classes. Ofelia spent the afternoon expecting more shenanigans from Imelda and her sidekicks. However, nothing more sinister than a few snide sniggers from the back of the class occurred. When the bell rang for the end of the last lesson, she hurried to the car park where Stoney was waiting for her.

  ‘Hey Offers. Good day?’

  She shrugged. ‘I’ve had worse. Not looking forward to what’s next though.’

  He averted his gaze at this. ‘Yeah. That funeral. Sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay. At least he get funeral. I wonder if they try to contact his family back in Romania?’

  ‘Would they have been able to?’ Stoney asked.

  ‘I doubt it. The Arbores have always tried to stay under the radar. They were good at it. I think it’s much harder here. If they did try to find Stefan’s relatives, well they probably don’t succeed. I don’t know, he was my half-brother - I never met his side of the family.’

  At that, Molly’s rust bucket trundled into the car park, with Luce and Kerry already sitting in the back. Stoney and Ofelia piled in and the car set off. When they got back to Harper House, Rita’s Audi was parked on the car park. Sure enough, Rita was waiting at the home, sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee, in front of a stack of papers. Stoney, Lucy and Kerry headed straight to the living room. Ofelia was about to follow, but Rita called her back. ‘Ofelia, it’s time to go now. Do you want to drop your bag off first?’

  Ofelia agreed and headed for the stairs, wondering what Rita and Molly would discuss in her absence. When she got back, Rita had packed her papers away and the conversation had ended. Ofelia followed Rita out to the car and climbed into the back seat. She’d thought about changing, but people tended to wear smart clothes to a funeral and her uniform was actually the smartest outfit she now owned. If she’d been back in Romania, she’d have had access to a wardrobe of clothes some of which went back centuries. She’d have chosen the long, modest, black velvet dress she particularly liked. As it happened, the bulk of her clothes were in dry storage in an attic in Dealul Negru, so the uniform was her best option. Rita sat in the driver’s seat and looked over her shoulder. ‘Okay? You ready for this?’

  Ofelia nodded. ‘I’m fine. Let’s go.’

  Rita smiled, put the car into gear and pulled out of the car park. They drove through the quiet back streets of Chipping Brasford and joined the busy main road out of town. For a spell they were sitting in stop-start traffic, then they turned onto an A road which passed by a sprawling graveyard. There were a handful of cars next to the Crematorium. It seemed the funeral of an unknown Romanian tourist didn’t attract a crowd. One car stood out as unusual. It was an ancient Mercedes 600L - a behemoth of a car. She recognized it because Leonid Brezhnev a former Soviet leader had owned one. She understood the car held a reputation for being popular with dictators and despots. What would the likes of Idi Amin be doing in Chipping Brasford?

  Rita got out first and opened the door for her. The actual building itself was eerily quiet. Though the muffled murmuring of the preceding group could just be heard beyond the great wooden doors. Rita led the way up to the doors where a man in a sombre, black suit waited. She felt surreal. Something felt off, or wrong. Why would someone fork out for a funeral for a stranger, just off the back of a newspaper report? It made little sense. Eventually the agonizing wait was over and the doors opened. Just as the previous party could be seen exiting at the far end, Ofelia realised that a British Crematorium felt a bit like a funeral conveyor belt. Rush in, sing a hymn, grieve, rush out, NEXT! It was sad, but perhaps understandable. It was at least better than the days of paupers, plague victims or political dissidents being thrown into mass graves without so much as a name or marker. As they entered, the vicar approached. ‘Ah, you must be Ofelia. So sorry for your loss, was he a man of faith?’

  Ofelia shook her head. ‘No. He was atheist. But thank you anyway. I’m glad he’s getting a service.’

  ‘Oh, don’t thank me. Thank your... Ah, here is now.’

  Ofelia looked behind her, following the vicar’s gaze. The man standing behind was tall and tanned. He looked to be in his forties. He was wearing a smart black suit, with a black shirt and black tie. The look was completed with a pair of black leather driving gloves. When he caught Ofelia’s eye he smiled and extended his hand. ‘You m
ust be Ofelia.’

  She reached out and took his gloved hand, ‘Thank you for your kindness. I really appreciate this.’

  They released their grip, and the man continued. ‘I was really moved by your story. My name is Victor Drake. I have Romanian ancestors, so when I heard about what happened; I had to offer my help. You think you’re alone. But you’re not.’

  There was something in that last phrase. The Vicar walked to the front now and began his service. Ofelia, Rita and Victor took their seats. The vicar didn’t have much to go on, so the service was vague and non-specific, but he spoke kind words. Ofelia struggled to concentrate though. She was going over everything Victor has said, again and again, in her head. What did he mean when he said she wasn’t alone? Had he half-winked at her as he’d said it? It had to be a reference to being Romanian. He couldn’t know the truth.

  Ofelia ended up so lost in her thoughts that Rita had to nudge her to stand for the hymn. They sang in muted tones while the vicar’s booming voice echoed around the room, singing ‘Abide with me’, then it was over. They filed out past the coffin, Ofelia pausing for a moment to rest her hand on the simple wicker-basket and uttering, ‘goodbye Stefan’, under her breath. They thanked the vicar and Victor and Rita both deposited a pound coin in the general donations box by the exit.

  Out the back door of the Crematorium, Victor pointed towards the main road. ‘I know my countrymen. There’s a pub just down the main road, called the Farmers’ Arms. We should honour him with a drink.’

  Rita pulled the sleeve back on her jacket and looked at her watch. After pausing for a moment, she nodded. ‘Alright, but it’ll have to be just the one.’

  At this Victor gestured towards the classic Mercedes. ‘You like classic cars? You can have a ride in mine.’

  Ofelia stared at the monstrous car, then shifted her gaze back to Victor. ‘No thanks, I go with Rita.’

  Victor smiled warmly. ‘That’s fine. I’ll see you at the pub.’