As the day became night, Melinda and Faith were sitting at their favourite picnic table, eating something unidentifiable that Melinda’s mum, Babs, had made, just for them. Melinda picked a bit of steak from her teeth, whilst tasting strawberries; the mixture bubbling up hot in her throat.
“Sorry, this one is especially bad.”
“Yeah, it really is. What did she call it again?”
“’Steakberry Delight’.”
“There’s nothing ‘delightful’ about this.” Faith gagged. “I think I’m gonna fucking puke.” She placed her Steakberry Delight down with finality, closed her eyes and turned her face towards the sun.
“Are you working Friday?” Melinda asked, her mouth dry and half-full of the meaty-fruity mixture as she hurried to cram it all in before she could really taste it – a trick she’d learned from her dad.
“Am I ever not working Friday?”
“True.” Melinda mumbled, wondering what that crunchy sensation was that she was now experiencing.
“Wanna swing by Funhole during my shift? I can sneak you into the 9pm screening of that new movie: ‘Zombietown 2, Pleasantview’.”
“New? Didn’t that movie come out, like, ten years ago?”
“Did it? Huh,” Faith leaned back on the bench and disappeared right through it. “I guess time doesn’t mean much when you’re…”
Gone.
Melinda lifted her head out of the half-painted pot it had fallen into, wiping a smear of acrylic from her temple as she regained her senses and surroundings.
Oh, poo. Not again.
Faith’s brash voice still played in her ears; the memory of her friend dwindling as the words faded out. Groggily, she pushed the desk away and stumbled to her feet.
Her head throbbing, her heart aching. It was going to be another long day.
In the potion room of the flower shop’s apartment, Wyatt and April were once again beside the huge cauldron, peering into the steaming pot at their latest concoction. The air was thick with the heady mixture of a carefully selected herbs and flowers, steaming over an open fire. April still had no idea how such a small pile of logs could constantly burn and heat such a large pot. She presumed that, like most things in the apartment that she didn’t understand – such as the door that always led to a different room, or the fact that they were underground yet most rooms had natural daylight – that it was magic.
Wyatt set down the spoon that he hadn’t been holding with a flourish that made April’s heart sing. It had been such a long time since he had been comfortable using his magic. April was so very pleased that he could do it again!
“Done and done,” he declared with his lopsided grin, signifying that the base potion was finally ready.
April clapped her hands together and turned to the wall where an open recipe book was mounted. The presenting page was a mess of scribbles and sketches, evidence of all the failed attempts they’d made at creating the one potion they really needed to get right: the cure for vampirism.
They knew they needed three ingredients to make this potion: a plasma fruit, which was growing in abundance in Lilith’s old crypt. A death flower, which they only had one of, but they’d carefully reduced to a preserved powder that Wyatt was confident would still work, and the blood of a living relative of the vampire. April had Wyatt, her dad, to donate his. Her dad! That still made April chuckle. Wyatt didn’t look old enough to be anyone’s dad. She had to remind herself that he was actually in his seventies and it was his magic that kept him looking so young.
She pinched her cheek and wondered how old she looked now, whether, once cured, her magic would keep her looking young, too.
April had learned from a young age that looking youthful was very important.
Her Mother had been obsessed with maintaining an unwrinkled face against the will of nature, spending thousands on treatments, procedures and lotions that claimed to reverse the creases and the sagging that she so feared.
She was lauded by the adoring public for her looks as much as her acting prowess and philanthropy.
It had all seemed like something mandatory, staying young, but April was starting to understand that what she learned while growing up – most of what her Mother had told her -was a load of rubbish. Since leaving her glamourous Del Sol Valley life behind her, April had finally encountered old people with natural faces and thought they actually looked quite nice.
Soft and full of stories.
“Apes!” Wyatt called, breaking her from her daydream and making her realise that he’d probably been calling her a few times.
“Hello!” April called back from across the cauldron. “Sorry, I was away with the fairies again.”
“Yeah,” Wyatt agreed, a flash of something crossed his face before he smiled again. “What shall we try this time: fruit, blood, then flower?”
April looked at the book on the wall. “We’ve tried that one. The only one we’ve got left is flower, fruit, then blood last.”
“Flower first it is.” Wyatt took a small pot from the shelf, unscrewed the lid and added a small pinch of the contents to the pot. The potion, simmered a little more vigorously, then began to shimmer darkly, as if he’d added a load of black glitter.
“Awesome,” Wyatt purred. “Now add the plasma fruit.”
April stuck her melon baller tool into the flesh of the juicy fruit, scooping out a perfect round that she dropped into the pot. After the initial ‘plop’ the potion began to sing!
She gazed up in wonder as the nonsensical words filled her ears.
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?” Wyatt asked, looking around. “Can you smell something with your keen vampire nose?” He sniffed his armpit which, April had to admit, she could smell.
“No,” April whispered. “The potion, silly, it’s singing!”
“Singing?” Wyatt tilted his head down and listened to the pot for a few seconds before standing back up, looking confused. “It’s not singing to me, Apes. What’s it saying?”
“I can’t hear any words.” April swayed, letting the smooth siren melody drag her along for a bit. “It’s soft. It’s like ‘la la la laaa, la la, la la’.”
Wyatt laughed. “I don’t know if that’s a good sign or not, but we’ll write it in the book. ‘Flower then fruit equals singing that only vampires can hear’.”
“Maybe this is it!” April squealed. “Maybe this is the right combination!”
“Maybe,” Wyatt whispered, picking up a small scalpel from the shelf and placing the tip of his index finger against it. “Only one way to find out.”
He pressed the blade into his scarred skin with a hiss, reopening the small wound he’d made from performing this action a few times. As the blood began to trickle from the slit, he dipped his finger into the cauldron and swirled it around.
April stared at his finger, dripping with the liquid that currently sustained her with a mixture of thirst and wonder. As the song began to fade out and the black glitter shifted she held a breath she didn’t need to take and watched the pot intently.
The water began to clear and then, sadly, the bubbles began to die down.
It had failed, again.
“Damn it,” Wyatt snarled, removing his finger from the pot.
“I really thought we had it that time,” April said softly, her voice breaking around her dry tears. “Oh, Wy, we’ve tried every combination now – what do we do?”
“We keep trying,” Wyatt said softly, placing his hand on her shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “We try each combination again with a slightly different quantity, we try stirring the other way. There are loads of things we can try.”
“It’s going to take forever,” April pouted, looking at the flat, sad liquid. “Why does it keep failing?”
“Spirit potions are notoriously tricky and don’t like bodily fluids, is my guess.” Wyatt shrugged and began to empty the pot. He looked at his bleeding finger. “Maybe we need just a drop of blood instead.” April must have been staring at his finger because he hastily brought it to his lips, suckling the wound as he continued in a mumble. “I hope we don’t need a bucketful.”
April nodded sadly and looked at the rapidly draining pot. She had been disappointed each time, not only because the potion had failed, but because the failure had been such a non-event. No explosions, no bubbling over, no curdling or colour-changing. None of things that had happened the previous times she’d made a crappy potion. It just stopped bubbling, went flat, like all the life had gone from it.
April would admit to getting a bit impatient to make a potion that didn’t just wilt the second they put the final ingredient in, but Wyatt simply declared it dead, emptied the pot and set up to try again.
April wished it could be as easy to move on after a death.
So, it seemed that in that moment that she could only remember the arguments. But April really missed her friend. She missed the arguments and the playful teasing. She missed the gaming and the sneaking out. She missed her humour and her temper. April missed Faith so much. Life wasn’t the same since she’d left and now it’d never be the same. Even if they were cured, they wouldn’t be a trio anymore.
April watched the pot drain with that heavy feeling in her tummy that usually preceded tears. She noticed Wyatt watching her with that weird look again, but he didn’t say anything.
After comforting her for three months, maybe there was nothing left to say.
“It’ll be fine,” Lilith assured him for the dozenth time in as many minutes as she re-dressed.
Broof wasn’t so sure. He’d showered, put on his favourite waistcoat, the one that made him look approachable and slightly apologetic, and ironed his trousers twice. He’d tidied his hair, placing his forehead curl just perfectly. But he felt like he was going for a job interview – no, worse – he felt like he was going to stand trial. Again.
Except this time, his supposed crime wasn’t ‘murder of his former boss’ but ‘being a rubbish grandfather’.
He had found out that Melinda was his granddaughter three months prior. Back then, Faith had been found dead, and Melinda had slipped into a depression and it had just never seemed like the right time to tell her. But now Wyatt and April were making headway on a cure, he couldn’t wait any longer. He had to confess to Melinda and hope that she forgave him.
“You’re overthinking things,” Lilith muttered, finally pulling on her boots. Broof tried not to judge that she hadn’t showered after their afternoon delight and was heading out as is, but he had to admit that it did give him pause.
“I thought we agreed no mind reading,” he said as he readjusted his outfit.
“I’m not reading your mind; I’m reading your body language. You’ve been twiddling yourself for the past ten minutes. You’re overthinking things. It. Will. Be. Fine.”
“What if she hates me for it?”
“She won’t.” Lilith joined Broof at the mirror and looped her arms around him. Her body was cold pressed against his back, her reflection absent behind his own. He shivered in her embrace and turned to face her.
He opened his mouth to worry some more but Lilith placed her finger on his lips, her voice taking on that stern edge that still scared him a little bit.
“Stop it,” she hissed. “Trust me. Everything will be fine.”
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Almost Eternal 