BEATRICE

Beatrice wasn’t sure how long she talked about the outside world, answering whatever question Riaghaire had on pretty much everything. Technology was a sticking point in a lot of ways; it had advanced by leaps and bounds over the years. How was she suppose to explain a smartphone to someone who’d witnessed the invention of electricity — or so she assumed — and thought indoor plumbing was a luxury few could afford?

By her guess, the vampire had been imprisoned sometime during World War II. He knew of the war itself but didn’t know how or when it had ended. Doing the math, that meant he’d been there for more than eighty years — the equivalent of a human lifetime. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how being locked away for that long had affected Riaghaire; if it’d been her, she’d have long since lost her mind or, worse, taken her own life.

And yet here he was, seemingly sane and able to hold a conversation with her like it was just another day. He asked relevant questions, had sudden insights, and found it amusing when Beatrice had a difficult time explaining the finer details of something even she didn’t fully understand.

After what felt like hours, food was brought down. It was the same man who’d brought the rat but this time he held a ham and cheese sandwich wrapped in paper towel and a bottle of water. Not exactly fine dining, but she wasn’t about to complain. All she’d had to eat — if it could be called that — was a cup of coffee she hadn’t been able to finish before getting grabbed.

Riaghaire allowed her to eat in silence but the moment she finished he went back to asking more questions. At some point, Beatrice must have dozed off because she found herself startling awake, feeling disorientated until she recalled the events of the day.

With a groan, she pushed herself into a sitting position, having curled up on the floor at some point, and stretched her arms over her head. The chilly air was beginning to seep into her bones to the point she was surprised she’d been able to sleep at all.

“Were you aware you speak whilst you sleep?” Riaghaire’s rough voice helped clear the last of the sleep from the corners of her mind.

“So I’ve been told,” she yawned. “I’ve also punched my alarm clock while sleeping. It wasn’t even going off; just sucker punched it in the middle of the night. Explaining why I was late to work that day was fun.”

Rubbing her arms did little to spread warmth, so Beatrice gave up on it. She’d resigned herself to being frozen for the rest of her life only to hear the sound of the basement door opening. Again, heavy footsteps followed, then the creak of the gate at the bottom of the stairs.

This time, it was the driver who stood in front of her cell, glaring down at Beatrice as though everything wrong in the world was somehow her fault. He was a decent looking guy. Sandy brown hair and dark brown eyes. A square jaw and somewhat wide nose gave him a bit of a rugged look — not something she tended to go for, but some people liked that kind of look.

“Good morning, Tweedledee,” she greeted him, her fake smile as bright as she could manage. Beatrice had gotten tired of calling him ‘the driver’ and decided each of the men responsible for her current imprisonment needed appropriate names. Tweedledee and Tweedledum were the driver and passenger; she’d yet to think of ones for the one that shifted or the food delivery guy. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” They’d soon realize she was full of cheery sarcasm and snide remarks when backed into a corner; along with a tendency to lash out — like using a seatbelt to choke someone or trying to crash their vehicle… or kicking someone in the balls and face.

Tweedledee ignored Beatrice’s question as he unlocked her cell and motioned for her to get out. Not one to question a chance at freedom, she attempted to stand, only to fall over when her legs wouldn’t respond as they normally should.

A snort came from the man, who didn’t move from where he stood just outside her cell. He simply watched as she gathered her numb limbs under her again.

She glared up at the freakishly large wolf-man-person and snapped, “You try moving like normal when you can barely feel your legs, asshole.” Poking the bear — or, in this case, the wolf — was a stupid choice but one she couldn’t stop herself from doing. She was feeling rather cranky and that meant thinking about the consequences of her actions wasn’t something she’d be doing for a while.

An odd look passed over Tweedledee’s face. After a couple seconds, he took a step into her cell and grabbed her arm. His grip was like iron as he lifted Beatrice to her feet and held her up while she got her legs under control.

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