Promises to Keep

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WHEN SHE FIRST woke, Brina thought the stench and noise that greeted her were an extension of her nightmares. The stink of smoke and scalded flesh accompanied wails of pain and fear that echoed through Midnight’s stone halls.

She had spent the last three days with little rest and less sustenance as she had struggled to put the final touches on a series of paintings illustrating the afterlife. Though her cohorts had always insisted that vampires couldn’t have nightmares, couldn’t have dreams at all, for a century and a half she had dreamt almost every time she had closed her eyes. The diurnal terrors inspired by the Mayan Xibalba had been particularly gruesome.

Another reason she didn’t sleep often.

Awake now, she stumbled out of bed. Her body was heavy and her skin raw, a result of too many hours under midday sunlight. Her kind was normally compelled to sleep when the sun was high, but Brina needed the light for her art.

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