The Haviscourt Sisters

I stood on the road from Whitby up into the moors, and with my newly-keen eyesight took stock of Haviscourt Manor, the shabby edifice that rose above me. Usually, I did not bother to look up at it. I had lived in that house my entire life and was intimately familiar with its each and every detail. But now the moonlight was as bright to me as the sun I would never see again, and I looked upon the house with a fresh purpose.

The house had the feel of a grand old man, stooped and slumped under the weight of years. A fond visitor might have said it had character, but I had no fondness for the bitter drafts that blew through the whole manor each winter. Signs of neglect were everywhere; from the cracked, shedding roof tiles, to the broken windows of rooms we no longer used, to the cobwebs that hung like decorations from every surface. It would have taken a small fortune to restore Haviscourt Manor to its former glory, and a small fortune was far, far more than we were blessed with.

Now, though, I was beyond such things. This would be my last night at the manor. Then, freedom.

I was beyond the night's chill too, but as I approached the manor house I still drew my cloak tight around me. It was a habit, I supposed. This strange state of un-life would take some getting used to, and I had heard a lifetime's warnings that one could easily freeze to death up on these moors. This year, 1897, was proving kinder than many before, but now that the seasons had well and truly turned, inclement weather was a daily concern.

There! Light at one of the downstairs windows caught my sharp eyes. It was the very thing I had been waiting for. The dim candlelight signaled that my sister had come down for her supper. That, in turn, meant that the groundskeeper had retired for the night. Cordelia and I could be alone, exactly as I desired.

I did not mean to delay, but I found myself lingering a little. Watching. Cordelia was my elder sister, and in the parlance of writers and poets, she was a formidable woman. She was tall, imposing, and had a personality to match, and despite the poverty into which our old family had sunk, she carried herself like a noble lady, nose in the air, never letting people see her unless she was dressed impeccably. This resplendent pride had won her no small amount of local admirers, though she cared not a whit for their admiration.

I, however, knew her differently. I knew the smile she never graced others with, when her mouth curled into a thin expression of contempt. I knew the glint of pleasure in her blue eyes that men must have longed for, when she beheld me in all my smallness and weakness. I knew the perfect silkiness of her raven hair, because she insisted that I brush and style it for her each morning, in the neat, high bun others saw. And I knew the way her high, arching cheekbones pulled tight and stern when I did something she disapproved of, which was always, and how sharp her wit and tongue could be when she chose to express her disdain.

She was my keeper and tormentor, and I her servant. It had been so ever since we were young, since the death of our sickly mother and the departure of our father.

But no longer.

Putting my hand over my chest to check my pulse, I scolded myself for my hesitance. Savoring the anticipation was all well and good, but it could easily be mistaken for cowardice. A moment later, I realized my foolishness: my heart no longer beat, and could not decide the matter. I still felt as though it ought to have been pounding. Was I not yet ready? Should I choose another night?

No, no! Before leaving Whitby, I'd had my mind made up. I could not be a coward. There was nothing left to do but gather my resolve and set about my task.

My old, iron key turned in the lock of the front door with a loud click that my sister was sure to have heard, so I wasted no time pushing open the creaking slab of oak and stepping across the threshold. It did not even take a single second for the dim hallway to be filled with the sound of Cordelia's scorn:

"Laura?" she called. "Is that you? Have you finally seen fit to come home and stop living like a stray?"

Oh, how deeply I despise the spell that her mere voice cast on me! It made me feel like a child again: small, timid, afraid. I had lived in Cordelia's shadow for so long, I almost forgot my purpose there and then. A moment later, the humiliation of it all made my blood boil.

I stepped into the parlor. My sister was standing there, waiting for me, with an expression of utmost severity fixed on her face.

"And where have you been?" she rounded on me. "Bringing our house into disrepute, I shouldn't wonder. I sent you into town two days ago to post a simple letter. Are you incapable of even that, Laura?

Yes, she was beautiful. Very beautiful, even in the throes of outrage. It was impossible for me not to think so. I had grown up wishing my figure would fill out the way hers had, and that my hair would darken to a less mousy shade in imitation of her. To me, she seemed a worthy subject for busts and portraits, and I often wished that she would simply allow me to bask in her approval.

But she never did, and I was lost for words in the face of her scorn. "I..." I began - the worst of beginnings.

"Did you even spare a thought for your dear sister, while you were out busying yourself with goodness-knows-what?" Cordelia continued, as if I had not even opened my mouth. "I practically raised you, you know." I did, she reminded me of it ceaselessly. "I have a mother's care. And yet you abandon me here, alone."

Still, I was speechless. I had rehearsed our encounter in my head over and over again, but I had forgotten my script. "I..."

"Is that all you can say?" she sneered. "Speak up, girl! You are educated better than that, I should hope."

I choked down hard on the bitter embarrassment that rose like bile inside me. "You shouldn't speak to me that way anymore," I said quietly, with venom.

Crack.

The sound of her slap across my cheek was like a thunderclap. It didn't hurt, precisely - I was beyond pain - but it stung. I was wounded by her audacity. Didn't she know? I was changed. She couldn't treat me this way.

"Don't make me do that again," she said crossly. "Now, out with it! Where were you?"

I looked up at her - yes, up, she dwarfed me - and for the first time, she seemed a touch disconcerted. It was the unnatural crimson of my eyes. Seeing her falter gave me back my speech.

"I posted your letter in Whitby," I told her, "and was preparing to return as the sun set. But then I came across a man-"

Cordelia interrupted me with an ugly sound. "A man! Of course! I should have known. What becomes of the Haviscourts? Chasing after rogues and drunkards out of wedlock is beneath even you."

"I did not...!" I was aghast and had to fight for my composure. "I have not slept with any man, as well you know! You never allow me near unmarried men, nor will you let me marry!"

We were both of us unmarried. Breeding and pedigree were preoccupations of Cordelia. She insisted that, as the heir to the Haviscourts, an old and reputable family, she deserved better than the local merchants and magistrates that sometimes came to court her. Of course, the kind of match that she imagined herself fit for would never be; we were little more than beggars living off the last crumbs of a spent fortune and had nothing to offer. No matter what, the Haviscourt name was at an end, and Cordelia seemed content to die a spinster rather than marry a man she considered beneath her. She imposed on me the same haughty standards.

"Just as well," she retorted frostily. "I dislike men, and so would you, if you knew better. I dread to think what a ride one might take you on."

I whined a little in protest before I could stop and remind myself that this was not the issue at hand. "In any case," I hissed through gritted teeth. "I came across a man, a strange foreigner with an accent I did not know. Only, he was not just a man. His eyes burned a fierce crimson and rooted me on the spot, and when he opened his mouth I saw that he had fangs as long as a demon's."

Cordelia rolled her eyes, disbelieving, but I went on:

"Once I met his gaze I could not move a muscle, and he swept down on me like a hideous bat, baring his fangs to my neck. I had scarcely a moment to brace myself for the pain but, oh, sister, when he pierced my skin, I felt only rapture!" Now she looked at me like I was vermin, but I was too caught up in the telling to care. "He started to drink my life's blood, but just when I thought that I was to meet my end that night, he slit open his wrist, brought it to my lips, and bade me drink. In my weakness and my thirst, I couldn't refuse."

My sister scoffed again. "What is this old wives' tale?"

"It's true," I insisted. "And now, I... I think I have become like him."

"Lies. Lies and foolishness."

Her words burned. How could she be so adamant? So unmoved? Even now, she was like a fortress of certainty, making me feel soft and meek by comparison. Didn't she know she was supposed to be afraid? I would have to prove it to her. Reaching up, I tucked a couple of my fingers into the collar of my dress and tugged it down. Cordelia gasped faintly when she saw the twin puncture wounds on my neck, exactly as I had described. We both knew there was no natural creature within a hundred miles that could have made them.

"I see," Cordelia said stiffly. "Well, plainly you were wounded. Some drunkard sailor with a pocket knife, I shouldn't wonder. But really, you must drop all of this hysterical nonsense about drinking blood if you expect me to accept your apology."

My apology.

I took a step towards Cordelia and hissed at her in a low, feral voice I had never heard come out of my throat before. "Look at me, Cordelia."

"What-" The offended little squawk died on her lips. Stiffly, as if compelled, she looked at me. My sister looked into my eyes, and those pools of dusky red froze her. She paused before she could speak again. "W-what are..."

That little pause made me giddy and light-headed with confidence. I took a step towards her, keen to press my advantage, and kept my eyes fixed firmly on hers. Imposing my will on her was all-important. Even though I could not fathom how such a thing was possible, I could sense that power within me. She was as a deer before a wolf. I was a predator, and she my prey.

And how I thirsted for her!

Ever since that fateful night, I had been aware of a new hunger within me, every bit as strange and potent as the unholy power I now brought to bear. I had yet to try and sate it. The temptation had been overwhelming, but so far I had resisted. I had to come home to Cordelia. She had to be my first. No-one else. It had to be truly special - and I could sense it would be. Now that I was close to her, I could feel every single pulsating, tantalizing beat of her heart, and I could almost see her veins beneath her skin, bursting with crimson nectar, glowing like electric filaments as they called out to me.

I was going to drink my sister. I was going to make her mine.

"Look," I repeated, as I took another step forwards, placing myself inches from her. "Do you see, Cordelia? Do you understand what is going to happen?"

My words came out a touch more petulant than I intended, but I needed her to see me for what I had become. I opened my mouth to show her, and she quivered with fear as her eyes were drawn to the pair of wicked fangs in my mouth, so razor-sharp they were begging to pierce skin. Her fear was like a drug to me. I longed for more.

"Y-you're... you're a demon!" she breathed.

I laughed. My sister was of a superstitious nature. "Am I, Cordelia?" I taunted. "Aren't I just your sweet, meek, obedient little sister?"

She tried to back away, but could only manage the tiniest step. "You're... you've always been a wicked thing!"

Again, I laughed. "Is that right?"

She nodded fearfully. Even terrified, she could spit venom at me. "Y-you've never listened to me!" she hissed. "You always resented me! E-even though all I ever wanted was to bring you up p-properly. To keep you from shame and iniquity."

"No!" I insisted. Her words had pricked me under my skin. I couldn't allow her to think this way. My hands balled into fists at my sides. "No, no, no! That isn't right! You... you have never given me anything. No love. No care. You work me like a slave and scorn me like a criminal. It's been that way ever since I was a child!"

I wanted so very, very badly for her to back down. To apologize. To beg. I wanted to taste her fear in her blood. But even now, at the moment of my apotheosis, she was hell-bent on denying me any satisfaction. It was so like her - her and her damnable pride!

"S-should I have spoiled you instead?" she retorted, and seemed to draw herself up to an even greater height. "Ruined the last daughter of the Haviscourts, by sparing you the rod? I think not!"

"Shut up!" I growled.

The inhuman violence that filled my voice froze her tongue. It was satisfying to see her tremble and fall silent before me, but not as satisfying as it should have been. I couldn't let Cordelia ruin this for me! If I couldn't break her will with fear, I would do so with my new powers of mesmerism.

"Oh, sister," I said softly. "You may be brave, but you are so afraid. I can tell. I can hear the sound of your heart beating. Can't you? I'm sure you can at least feel it pounding in your ears."

Her eyes unfocused ever so slightly as her attention turned inward, to the desperate rhythm that sustained her. She couldn't help it.

"Why don't you calm down for me?" I whispered. "See if you can slow that rhythm. There's no need to be scared, Cordelia. I'm your sister. I'll take good care of you."

I didn't bother to keep the honeyed malice out of my voice. It didn't matter; she couldn't resist her. My eyes were two abyssal pools, drawing her in and compelling her to obey. Tension drained out of her muscles and she sagged visibly.

"There you go," I cooed. "That's better, dear sister. Take some nice, deep breaths. Fill your lungs with air. Soothe that pounding heart of yours."

Against her will, Cordelia did as I bade. The gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed in and out grew steadily more pronounced. Her breathing slowed, and with it her heart, compelling her to relax despite her full knowledge that she was in mortal peril. I could see it; I could sense it in how her heart pumped.

"That's right, keep looking." I raised my hand and started moving it back and forth in front of her face in gentle, waving motions. She couldn't follow it; couldn't pull her eyes away from mine. Instead, the blurred shadow of my fingers as they passed through the corner of her vision lulled her into a helpless trance. I wasn't sure how I knew to do this. I simply had an instinct for it now. "Keep watching. Keep relaxing. You're going to give yourself to me, Cordelia. Just the way I have always wanted."

A low moan escaped her lips as she struggled to rouse herself. I smirked. Was that truly the most horrifying thing to her?

"Yes," I insisted. This was it. The feeling I wanted. Power. "Shush now. Nice and relaxed. Falling into my eyes. Isn't it so very easy to fall into my eyes?"

A fresh wave of placed weariness washed over my sister. I watched her sag and sway, fighting with whatever was left of her mind to not nod in agreement. Seeing her like this was utterly intoxicating. It made my lifeless body grow hot. My tyrant had become little more than a doll. I could satisfy myself playing with her psyche for hours and hours. I was starting to wonder what other humiliations I could inflict on her. What other methods I could use to make her body mine. For now, though, my thirst would not wait any longer.

"Cordelia," I said, "expose your neck."

She shivered and hesitated, trying and failing to fight my command. She knew what it meant, and her hands shook as she raised them to her collar and slowly, haltingly, unbuttoned her dress at the neck. With a pair of buttons unfastened, she could use two fingers to tug the material out of the way, allowing me to see her bare, pale skin. Now I shivered, not in fear, but in rapturous anticipation. Seeing her like this - vulnerable, offering herself to me - was unspeakably exciting. Obedient to the letter of my instruction, she pulled aside even the silver chain of the necklace she was wearing, and I stared hungrily at the bulging vein I could see running underneath her skin. It was almost as if it was singing to me.

"You look delicious," I whispered to her. "Finally, you'll be able to actually give me something, Cordelia. Just as an older sister should. Don't worry. It won't hurt. Quite the opposite."

She trembled as I lowered my lips to her neck, ready to kiss her. It was plain she was desperate to scream, but my mesmerism kept her silent, and even if it hadn't there was nobody around to hear her. Cordelia was utterly helpless. I moved as slowly as I could bear, savoring the anticipation, watching the fear in her eyes as I gradually bared my fangs against her neck, pulling her dress further out of the way so that I could-

Hiss.

My hand met something cold and then burned white-hot. Pain and terror, worse than any I had ever felt, surged through me. Something was burning, sizzling; my skin, my flesh. I recoiled violently, clutching at my wounded hand. Cordelia recoiled too, blinking in confusion as her senses returned to her. As I stared across the room at her in mute shock, I realized what had happened.

Hanging beneath the open collar of her dress, I could see it; her necklace was a silver crucifix.

The mere sight of it made me uneasy. Clearly whatever I had become was anathema to the divine, and at my touch, the symbol of the cross had grown hot to repel me. I could see the faint burn it had left on Cordelia's skin, shocking her out of trance. She still looked frightened, but I could tell that she was quickly reaching the same conclusions I was.

No! I couldn't let my victory slip away. I surged back to my feet and towards her, ready to pounce on my sister, to-

"Stop!"

My sister's wrathful voice rang out clear and strong through the parlor of our manor as she held up the crucifix, brandishing it against me like a weapon. It forced me to a halt. A strangled sound emerged from my mouth as I realized I could not advance on her in the presence of that symbol.

It was over. I had believed I was invincible, but now she had a weapon against me. I had lost.

Even as I tried to blink them back, petulant tears started to well up in my crimson eyes. This was supposed to be my revenge. My ascendance. Cordelia had ruined it. Just as she always ruined everything for me.

"What are you doing?" Cordelia said to me, scowling. "Are you truly crying? A creature like you?"

"Silence!" I growled, but my voice cracked as I spoke, and my words lacked the grand power of compulsion they'd carried just moments ago.

"No, you be silent," she retorted. "It's time for you to listen to your elder sister. Long past time, in fact. If you were a more obedient girl, you might have kept yourself out of this trouble. Now look at you!"

I hissed and spat at her spitefully, but she responded by taking a step forwards and pushing that hateful crucifix further toward me. I recoiled and lapsed into silence, suddenly and overwhelmingly conscious of just how small I was, both physically and spiritually.

"Clearly, I was right to be hard on you," Cordelia continued. "Apparently this kind of thing is what you do with yourself when given even a half-measure of power and freedom. Perhaps I do owe you an apology after all! I should have been sterner still."

"S-shut up!" My lip trembled as I spoke, and Cordelia laughed at me. She laughed at me! How could she laugh, after what I had shown her? It wasn't right! It wasn't fair! Why couldn't I make her shut up?