Uttuku

The Books of Darkness

by Robert N. Stephenson

Chapter 40

I closed the front door. I wouldn’t be coming back. Steven was gone, crossed over, and Samantha was doing life. Sarina explained what Samantha had become in her time with Steven: a vampire of the truest kind. She sucked away his strength, his money and his will to live.

I purchased a copy of Ellen Datlow’s A Whisper of Blood. It helped me understand the type of person Samantha was and how lucky I had been not to get trapped in her web. Sarina wouldn’t read the book, said she already knew enough about the subject to last too many lifetimes. I felt saddened that I wouldn’t be able to contribute to Ellen’s next book, any collection for that matter. Even to me, Diana Arlyn had died.

In my hand was an invitation to a special dinner to be held in my honour with guest speaker, Sean Williams. I was accepted back into the literary world, though I doubted Sean would have known about the outcast status. I also had a letter from Amanda Debbs inviting me to apply for a new grant she was sure I would get. How quickly the tide can turn.

The house, now on the market, was the last of my old life. I didn’t want to sell it. I had enjoyed koalas in my garden, the scents of the flowers and the laugh of kookaburras, even the warble of the magpies every morning. Staying wasn’t an option. Sarina and I would spend a few months in the apartment before packing up and moving on, going somewhere, to a place where I was a little less known.

I arranged for Auction it TODAY to sell off all my contents and give the money to the Peter McNamarra Foundation. Giving back to the writing industry that gave me the life I had previously enjoyed. I was now to step away from writing to a degree. Diana Arlyn was no more.

I walked to the front of my car, also to go up for sale, a laptop sat on the bonnet. I had an email to send to Auction it TODAY, telling them where the key was and giving them the all clear to start their job.

My mobile rang. “Hi, Marie,” I said, answering. Her name on the call register.

“The guys at Altair just called,” she said. She sounded excited. “You on the net?”

“Checking email, why?” The laptop was to be left in the car for sale as well. Sarina had used Sean’s information to help create a new writing life for me; the agents were polite and agreed that no one should know who I am. In time even that connection would be severed.

“Go to www, dot, the author, dot, biz,” she said. “It’s all been set up.”

I typed in the URL and the site came up. Simple design, uncluttered, not like me at all. I read through most of the text and thought it wasn’t too bad. My identity would be protected and no one would ever know I was still writing. I called Marie back.

“Brilliant,” I said.

“I’m glad you like it, Diana. It was the least we could do.”

Life might have taken a new direction, a longer direction, and I was happy the one true passion I’d enjoyed as a human could remain with me as a Uttuke. Oh the stories I could write.

I called a taxi, ran a complete system-kill disk through the computer then locked it in the car and walked away.

Bela still watched from the shadows, but he hasn’t made contact since getting his book back. He will always be with Sarina and me; he wanted the horse, he was a Ta’ibah, his way wouldn’t change. We couldn’t really be sure he’d never contact us again. For now he remained a shadow in the corner of the eyes, a peripheral entity.

Sarina thought he watched out of love. Roses still arrived once a month, and Sarina continued to put them on the desk in the yellow room. We shared the room often, a private getaway within a private getaway. It became our island. Sometimes we went out wearing matching yellow dresses, a concession Sarina made for me. “The new black,” she’d say, laughing.

The Dark One stopped stepping into our world once he discovered I’d been converted. We knew he’d be back some day. The horse would always be something he wanted to hold against us. Just so long as he didn’t know its real power, we would be safe.

Today I was having lunch with Marie. The website for The Author was starting to bring in business, and the agents Sean suggested had contacted her with job offers. As I waited for the taxi, I dropped the invitation and application in the rubbish bin. Sean would understand. I owed the others nothing, but I did owe Steven a thank-you.

Proceed to Chapter 41...

This link goes to the book website.