nothing playful in her expression. I set her on her feet. I think we embraced again and again almost foolishly. I couldn’t keep myself from it.
But other mortals were moving in the flat, the doctor and the nurses thinking that they should come in.
I saw her look to the door. She was hearing them too. But why wasn’t I hearing her?
She broke away from me, eyes darting from one object to another. She snatched up the candles again and brought them to the mirror where she looked at her face.
I understood what was happening to her. She needed time to see and to measure with her new vision. But we had to get out of the flat.
I could hear Nicki’s voice through the wall, urging the doctor to knock on the door.
How was I to get her out of here, get rid of them?
“No, not that way,” she said when she saw me look at the door.
She was looking at the bed, the objects on the table. She went to the bed and took her jewels from under the pillow. She examined them and put them back into the worn velvet purse. Then she fastened the purse to her skirt so that it was lost in the folds of cloth.
There was an air of importance to these little gestures. I knew even though her mind was giving me nothing that this was all she wanted from this room. She was taking leave of things, the clothes she’d brought with her, her ancient silver brush and comb, and the tattered books that lay on the table by the bed.
There was knocking at the door.
“Why not this way?” she asked, and turning to the window, she threw open the glass. The breeze gusted into the gold draperies and lifted her hair off the back of her neck, and when she turned I shivered at the sight of her, her hair tangling around her face, and her eyes wide and filled with myriad fragments of color and an almost tragic light. She was afraid of nothing.
I took hold of her and for a moment wouldn’t let her go. I nestled my face into her hair, and all I could think again was that we were together and nothing was ever going to separate us now. I didn’t understand her silence, why I couldn’t hear her, but I knew it wasn’t her doing, and perhaps I believed it would pass. She was with me. That was the world. Death was my commander and I gave him a thousand victims, but I’d snatched her right out of his hand. I said it aloud. I said other desperate and nonsensical things. We were the same terrible and deadly beings, the two of us, we were wandering in the Savage Garden and I tried to make it real for her with images, the meaning of the Savage Garden, but it didn’t matter if she didn’t understand.
“The Savage Garden,” she repeated the words reverently, her lips making a soft smile.
It was pounding in my head. I felt her kissing me and making some little whisper as if in accompaniment to her thoughts.
She said, “But help me, now, I want to see you do it, now, and we have forever to hold to each other. Come.”
Thirst. I should have been burning. I positively required the blood, and she wanted the taste, I knew she did. Because I remembered that I had wanted it that very first night. It struck me then that the pain of her physical death . . . the fluids leaving her . . . might be lessened if she could first drink.
The knocking came again. The door wasn’t locked.
I stepped up on the sill of the window and reached for her, and immediately she was in my arms. She weighed nothing, but I could feel her power, the tenacity of her grip. Yet when she saw the alley below, the top of the wall and the quai beyond, she seemed for a moment to doubt.
“Put your arms around my neck,” I said, “and hold tight.”
I climbed up the stones, carrying her with her feet dangling, her face turned upwards to me, until we had reached the slippery slates of the roof.
Then I took her hand and pulled her after me, running faster and faster, over the gutters and the chimney pots, leaping across the narrow alleys until we had reached the other side of the island. I’d been ready any moment for her to cry