The Kingfisher - The Ice Prince

WARNING: NSFW - HAS A BUTT

The Ice Prince

       Regen and Anselm worked alone in the graveyard, their shovels sliced through rocky soil. It was hard work, but Anselm felt no sweat break through his skin, his muscles didn’t cramp and lungs stayed deflated and useless in his cold chest. He stamped the shovel deeper into the earth with the heel of a glossy shoe. How many dead bodies lay beneath them, tucked away in their rightful places? Not shambling about feigning life. Not digging their own graves.
Night birds chirped, a susurrus of wings and a lone cry.
       Ki-deer! Ki-deer!
       Regen looked up, “Damn, they found us.”
A dark shape flickered through the air, a shape that would never be seen by normal human eyes. A bird swooped low and transformed.

The Ice Prince

     Anselm stared in bug-eyed silence.
       “Well done,” Regen said flatly, “Dallmann’s crew tried to get me at my home, now I’m stuck with you here.”
       The woman furrowed her brow. “You wound me, O’Meara child.”
Regen went back to digging. “What brings you here, Ausmiller?”
       “We must all see him, must know him.” Ausmiller’s voice was husky and slow. She looked Anselm up and down. “It is selfish to keep him to yourselves.”
       “Why are you so keen?” Regen asked, “You’ll just drag him back to Wolz like a good little retriever. I am actually trying to help him—”
       “Herr Eichel,” the woman turned from Regen, “I indeed serve Wolz and she wishes to see you.”
    “He’s in no shape for it,” Regen stepped between them, “Very stressed out.”
    “Eichel,” Ausmiller crinkled her forehead, “Is that true?”
     Anselm searched for the words, “I don’t know… Um—”
     “Yes, terribly stressed out,” Regen said, “Tomorrow at the soonest.”
Ausmiller smiled and held a hand out to Anselm. He took it, and after a moment of of deliberation, kissed it.
       “How appropriate,” Regen rolled her eyes, “I’m sure Wolz would love it. She remembers how nobility worked once upon a time, knows who gets kissed by whom and where.”
       Ausmiller kept her eye contact with Anselm, “It is but a pleasantry.
I enjoyed it, dear.”
       A shadowy form darted through the headstones and materialized into a skinny guy with squishy pierced lips. He bowed. Anselm gaped a moment before he nodded.
       “Clovis,” the newcomer said, “Pleased to meet you. You’re a new progenitor. That’s really—”
       “—Great,” Regen said, “Really great. Excuse us, we have digging to do.”
       “Clovis dear,” Ausmiller gestured broadly, “Help them with this task.”
       “Yes, madam.”
       Regen muttered, “Gott im Himmel, you weirdos.”
She handed the shovel to Clovis and let the men get to work.

The Ice Prince

       Clovis looked up with a gentle expression, “We may be the same age. I was turned just four years ago.”
       “Ah, yes. Is that your… What do you would call someone’s…”
       “Mistress, master, I don’t know. She turned me. She was turned hundreds of years ago by Wolz.”
Anselm widened his eyes momentarily and blinked it away.
       “Hundreds. That’s still hard for me to get used to.”
       “It’s only numbers,” Clovis said, “I can’t imagine what it’s like to be that old.”
       “For the best, perhaps. Are there many young vampires?”
       “Depends on how you define ‘young.’ If you mean under a century, yes.”
They dug in silence. The older vampires may have been listening, but there was no way to know with their expressionless corpse faces. Anselm considered his words before speaking.
       “Were you there last night?”
       “…Yes. My first time at something like that.”
       “Did you see?”
       Clovis kept his attention on his work. “Ausmiller wanted me there as a lesson — get used to what it means to serve Wolz. But she took mercy and allowed me to stay away from the dying. I was there for the screams, the smell of the fire.”
       Ah good, Anselm thought, you didn’t see me. But of course, many people did. He looked down. “Sorry. At least it’s a rare occasion.”
       “Every couple decades, I heard.”
       “Decades? I thought… Wow.”
       “This one was larger than normal.”
       “Oh. That’s good.”
       “Good? Ah. Yes…”
Regen got to her feet. “We really ought to get going.”
       Ausmiller straightened up, “Are you certain—”
       “Certain! We will see you tomorrow.”
Clovis looked up with glossy eyes, and Regen shoved a bin of dirt at Anselm. “Let’s go.”

       Several minutes into the silent car ride, Anselm realized the animals were not in the back seat. They hadn’t bothered him for an hour or more. Would they continue popping in and out of existence forever? Begging him to kill, to drink blood… What a nightmare.
The buildings they passed turned from brick residential to gravel lots to shabby housing projects as they neared his neighborhood. He leaned on the window frame and watched his ghostly reflection slide over the landscape. The face in that reflection was a corpse. A reflection of a reflection.
       “What do you think of me?” he asked without turning.
Regen looked over, searched his face with narrowed eyes. Searching for intent, motive. He didn’t look back, gazing out the window with a melancholy expression.
       She took her time answering.
       “You’re very human, but with a more grim and real experience than most living people. People might have put me in that category once, but I enjoyed being alive too much.”
       “How do you mean, ‘human?’ ”
       “You have the range of emotions human have. Emotions that come from knowing human suffering.”
       “You don’t have the same?”
       “Not anymore. Maybe an abstract notion. Don’t need them.”
       “I wonder if I will ever feel that way…"

       He considered it, rolled it over in his mind.
       “It would be sexist of me to assume you would be the maternal one of the group, but thank you for being kind to me.”
       “And thank you for noticing the sexism. And it would be wrong. There is no maternal one in our group. Being responsible is different. I don’t like a mess and that makes me willing enough to clean it up. That includes messes that used to be humans.”
       Anselm watched the streetlamps draw streaks through his mirror twin.
       “I’ll try not to be messy.”
       Regen drove on, brow furrowed. “Are you normally interested in sex?”
       “Do you mean we can’t— Wait, no, of course we can, but… I don’t know.”
       “Not exactly a hound dog. Got it. Are you gay?”
       “I thought so for many years. I guess, mostly still. I had a girlfriend once, other than that just… Why?”
       “How much do you like tits?”

       Anselm bugged his eyes and sat up straight in his seat.
       “What? Why do you— I don’t know. I didn’t think about— A little?
We were heroin addicts so uh… But I didn't really think about it?”
       “Hm. Alright then, we’ll get along.”
       “Are we… vampires, I mean… Are we meant to be uninhibited about these things?”
       “Sadly, yes. Good to not be surprised, but bad when someone evil owns their desires fully.”
       “Oh, your prog— Ah, I’m sorry.”
       “It’s okay now. I’m free and he is hurt. It makes me happy.”
He didn’t inquire any further.

       They came to the former industrial district, with its dingy old factories and warehouses converted into poorly constructed apartments. Regen helped unload the trash bins of soil onto the sidewalk.
       “Do you mind if I help you with these?” she asked, “Take them into your apartment?”
       “That’s fine,” Anselm said.
She smirked about an unspoken joke and they rolled the bins across the empty street.
       “I rarely get to see how those of modest means live,” she said,
“The economy has worsened so much since I was young. And, I majored in anthropology, you know.”
       “The study of people,” Anselm restrained the disdain from his voice, “Fascinating.”
       A trip to the zoo, how thrilling for her.
The lobby of the Grunwald apartments had checked tiles that were probably lovely sixty years ago, now cracked and dusty. Anselm pulled back a rusty gate and they shoved the bins into the rickety elevator. It bobbed and rocked as it rattled its way up, Regen stood eerily still next to Anselm. He jingled his keys self-consciously. Did he look like that? A mannequin propped into a human pose?
       They emerged into the hall and onto the stained green carpeting. The outdated wallpaper peeled at the corners, the air smelled of weed and bleach. Must be working on the mold growth, how nice.
       “Oooh, it’s so bad,” Regen said.
       Anselm said nothing and pushed a bin along. She should have seen his old studio. Behind his flimsy door was a dim room with one large window. His bed a few feet from the sofa, a pile of unfolded laundry stacked on the desk. But it was his home and relief washed over him just walking over the threshold. Oversized illustrations sat on wire easels, but he no longer hung them for display. This place was his own, not a showroom for prospective patrons. Regen had an amused expression as she stepped inside, self-satisfied about something that he had no desire to speculate about.

       “Incredible,” she examined a drawing, “Thirty years ago everyone was into this style.”
       “Oh? I guess my patrons were probably that age.” Strange to imagine this young woman was as old as his parents.
       “Personally,” she said, “I was into fabrics, incorporating northern Aegenian designs into textiles.
I didn’t get very far.”
       “I think they closed that major,” Anselm dropped his keys on a ratty velvet chair, “Book arts and illustration are on the chopping block. When they’re gone, you can blame Von Hechten. Guess he’ll be without some competition.”
       She shook her head, “Let’s not talk about him.”
       Anselm said, “Let’s never talk about him again.”
She frowned and went back to arranging the bins.
A finch in a wicker cage squeaked— his birds hadn’t been fed since the night before. He hurried to measure out a cup of seed.
       “This is all quite charming,” Regen said, “Interesting how someone with tender art and care for tender animals would be deviant enough to become a progenitor.”
Anselm poured the seed into their tray. At least the birds didn’t care that he was dead as long as he fed them.
       “You think I’m a deviant?”
       “A poor word choice, I suppose. Progenitors have certain commonalities, most seem to have aberrant minds. I meant no offense.”
       Anselm leaned against the cage, the birds flitted around inside, perhaps outraged by their mistreatment. What would have happened to them if he’d been burnt up in the fire?

       Regen drummed on the lid of a bin to get his attention and gestured to the bed. “You have a choice, when you’re asleep you’re even more dead than you are now. Comfort is not an issue. Still it might be nice to lie down and wake up in comfort. So, dirt in the bed or somewhere else?”
       “Not much more room unless it’s in the bathtub. The bed’s fine.”
       “Where will you take lovers?”
       “Hm, I don’t do that often. I could clean it up if I needed to.”
       “When you do, you prefer the bed?”
       “I guess so, not a lot of other furniture. There’s always the sofa.”
       “Before we render your bed unusable, perhaps we should fuck.”
Anselm laughed. “Yes, inaugurate my undeath. Look, it’s still unmade from when I was alive.”
       “I suppose we don’t need it to be in order.” She pulled down her shorts and underwear in one move.
Anselm backed into a wire easel and sent it rocking and clanging.
       “OH! Oh— sorry, I thought you were joking.”
She stopped with her shorts down partway and looked over her shoulder.
       “Too gay for this?”
       “Um, heh, no. Are you— uh, are you sure? It’s not strange?”
       “It’s strange, but maybe it will take our minds off the moment.”
She lowered the shorts another inch inquisitively. Anselm chuckled with a turned head and leaned on the easel.
       “Um, heh, maybe. I um, it’s different for us? Vampires.”
       “It is. Think of this as educational.”
She finished undressing, save for her striped stockings and jacket. She pulled her arms inside of the sweatshirt and left the sleeves as limp cloth noodles. Anselm watched the strange move curiously. Inside the jacket, she crossed her arms over her chest.
       “Alright,” she said, “Come here. Tie the sleeves in front.”
       "Um, okay?" He complied and knotted the sleeves over the lumpy shape of her crossed arms.
She looked at him gravely. “Can you see my breasts at all?”
       “No. Not really.” Her torso now had the appearance of a fat caterpillar.
       “Good,” she said, “Help me onto the bed and undress.”
He blinked several times and laughed, but her expression was as serious as ever.
       He said, “You don’t have to do this just to educate me.”
       “It will take my mind off things as well. Now, put me on the bed.”
What was he doing? He put a hand on her back and one under her naked thigh and lifted her. It was nothing, her body fell into his arms like a sack of flour, lighter than the bag of dirt he’d lifted earlier. They were dead, their organs atrophied and their blood drained. He placed her on the mattress, stepped back and gazed at the wall.
       She stared. “I said undress.”
Was this a cultural thing? Would he be some kind of sexual taskmaster in the future? He twisted around to pull up the hem of his shirt.
       “You don’t need to take the shirt off.”
       “Uh, no, it looks funny with just a shirt. —Um, for men, I mean.”
She smirked and bounced her feet on the edge of the bed. A human-sized pixie, simultaneously too modest and not modest enough. She watched him undress until he sat beside her and crossed his legs.
       “Good, good,” she said, “Now, we could do this like robots but it may be more fun to make it work mentally too.” She scooted closer. “What do you want to do?”
       He gave her a sideways glance. He hadn’t been with a girl in a long time, would he even remember what to do?
       “Maybe, I like hugging but you have no arms. I could put an arm around you?”
       “That sounds good. Hug me.”
He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. She kissed his forehead. He closed his eyes and rubbed her back.
       “Can you tell me something?” he asked, “About yourself. It doesn’t have to be dramatic.”
       “What do you think of psychedelic grunge?” she asked, and kissed him lightly,
“I think it’s kinda cool.” She kissed him again. Her lips, like the rest of her, were cold and soft.
       “Oh yeah, I’m into industrial lately but guitars are— uh—”
       “Pinwheel Six are my favorite— *smek* but their best song about fucking is— *smek* about incest. Oh well.”
       “Haha, we should go to an industrial show. Lots of songs about fucking— *smek* but you can’t hear the words.”
What was this? Why? She bent forward at the waist with a more serious kiss. She could hardly move, trapped in her self-bondage.
He leaned back and gave her a sensitive look, “I want you to be comfortable.”
       She groaned. “I know what I’m doing. I don’t normally like to fuck much, call this a weird whim.”
       He tried to engage her eyes, but there was nothing he could read behind them. Why did he expect otherwise? Maybe she was right. Maybe they could both use something to take their minds off the recent events.
       “Now—” she said, “Just like so... Lower... okay, there.”

The Ice Prince

***

She pulled on her shorts, her arms back in their sleeves.
       “Not bad, Anselm. Thank you.”
       “Yeah, um, likewise…”
He straightened his blankets and smelled his own, formerly human scent. The smell of a dead man.
       “So,” Regen said, “Let’s set down a layer of dirt.”
       Anselm glanced over at the bins, “I forgot. So weird, I still can’t…”
       “Can’t what?”
       “Can’t believe this is real. Someone murdered me and now I’m a monster who sleeps in dirt.”
       She winced. “The sooner you stop thinking of it as ‘murdered’ and instead ‘turned into a vampire,’ the better off you’ll be.”
He picked up a half-empty can of nutritional milk left abandoned on a side table. Smelled weird, inedible. He put it back and continued to wander.
She appraised him for a moment.
       “What were you seeing before, back in my apartment?”
       He rubbed his lips together, and looked down, “I don’t know.”
       “You have to know.”
       “…Animals.”
       “Your animals? A little deer?”
       He nodded.
       “Oh,” she smiled faintly and sat on the sofa. “That’s common for progenitors. They’ll go away before long.”
       “I see.”
He hated to wish they’d go, but maybe he’d cursed himself with a foolish wish. They’d never leave him.
She patted the cushion next to her, “Guess you’ll need some practice in using this sofa.”
       “Using— oh, for— ah, heh. Are we less bound by physical restraints?”
       “We’ll get hungry if we do it for long enough.”
       “Ah, heh,” he rifled through a stack of cassettes. “I think you might like this early Faulniss Schweine, it’s a bit psychedelic. And it’s mostly about fucking.”
       “I remember when that came out. Sure…”

       After they were done and cleaned up, they relaxed on the sofa. There in his own apartment, it was easy to forget they weren’t two humans. They talked about music and art, and at one point he offered her some popcorn out of reflex. She declined and changed the subject.
       He began to get a sense of her. A flower child with the misfortune of being a vampire’s type. She dodged personal subjects. Not Von Hechten. Not Anselm’s death. Not how she murdered someone for no reason. Sometimes gave him a dark look, a suspicious glance, but he couldn’t figure out why.
He never could understand people. Sex came up again, and he had to ask.
       “Those vampires that came to your house… are things quite casual between our kind? Without biological needs, I’m surprised we would be so…”
       “It’s something to do.”
       “Hm. Being with a human now… Must be like fucking a fire demon.”
       “Ha. The most annoying thing is thinking about all the different ways they could tell you are dead.”
       “Do they ever notice?”
       “Not that’s ever happened to me.”
       “Heh. I guess I never noticed.”
She gave him a knowing look. “People don’t notice the supernatural. You’d be surprised how thick their skulls can be.”
He considered it and went to his desk. He dug around for a moment and returned with a scrap of paper.
       “I kept this for almost ten years. Carried it in my duffelbag even after I’d sold everything else. I didn’t know what it meant, but it felt important somehow.”
       “What is it?” She unfolded it carefully— an ancient receipt.
       “I found it at Von Hechten’s. I wonder how many humans have done that, held on to some scrap. Something that could have…”
       “Not many humans turn into progenitors.”
       “Seems obvious now but kind of too silly, isn’t it?”
       “And that’s how we stay secret. We’re too silly.”

The sun touched the horizon and Anselm’s bed was prepared. He sat on the edge. “Thank you for staying with me.”
       “Hm, yeah I figured someone should stay in case something weird happened.”
He took off his robe and pulled his feet up. She averted her eyes. A little late for modesty, madame. He settled into the dirt. How many worms were crawling around his naked flesh?
       “Um,” he said, “You’re probably going to leave now…”
       “Yeah. As much as I hate daysick driving.”
       “Is it safe?”
       “We won’t die, but it doesn’t feel good. Lucky that you didn’t seem the outdoorsy type.”
He laid his hands on his chest, just like she’d arranged the night before.
       “I can bore you to sleep,” she said, “It’s a special talent.”
       “Doubt it, but it would be nice to have you here. We can dream, right?”
       “I don’t know how, but we can.”
       “I wonder if you will dream of me…” He glanced over with a slight smile. “I dreamed about you last night.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I’m not getting into that dirt with you.”
He laughed and settled back. “It wasn’t a sexy dream. Anyway, can you really bore me? Seems hard to believe.”
       “Oh yes. Listen closely and don’t say a word…” She took a seat on the sofa and spoke in a calming voice. “In the day we are dead, but we dream, and we heal. Returning to who we were at the time of our deaths. For progenitors, it only works if you sleep in the earth of the country where you died, so you’ll have to take soil with you if you travel far…”
       A beetle scrabbled around in the dirt and he smushed it with his thumb. She continued explaining in exhaustive, redundant detail. He drifted off in time as sunlight licked the edges of the curtains.

***

       The creatures sat with him in the empty cabin, a weak fire crackled in the fireplace.
       Rehkitz said, “Vengeance will be yours, by the rules. Everyone must abide the rules.”
       Rotkehlchen said, “Let them know! Tell them!”
       “I will,” Anselm said, “I’ll tell them the rules.”
The cabin shuddered as if a giant pummeled it with its boulder-sized fists. Anselm fell to his side and the deer skittered around on its skinny legs. Rotkehlchen’s beak moved but he could hardly make out the words.
       “You should stay asleep!” But it was too late.

The Ice Prince