The Vanishing by Karla Nikole
Eighteen
Chaos. It’s the first word that springs to mind the moment Cellina steps off the train that drops her into the concrete maze of Osaka station the following week. It’s Friday evening. She navigates the thick current of people, feeling as if she’s inside one of those intricate underground ant farms.
Following the signs toward Sakurabashi Gate, she weaves her way through, keeping with the intense flow of the crowd. From her peripheral vision, she observes the shiny allure of clean-looking, brightly lit convenience stores and souvenir shops filled with pretty objects: handmade bags patterned with vibrant Japanese textiles and colorful bento boxes neatly stacked under artificial cherry blossom trees.
Stepping out of the revolving doors, Cellina sucks in a breath. The air is balmy and hazy and smells of a city—exhaust fumes, cement high-rises, rubber and paved roads. Neon signs in both kanji she can’t read and English she can flash atop tall buildings. First impression: Osaka feels gritty. Busier and rougher around the edges than Kyoto and Okayama. The latter two cities are more like a charming, gentle aunt who bakes cookies while Osaka is a rowdy uncle who drinks too much.
Cellina stops, trying to discern Giovanni through the urban haze with her innate senses. A second later he’s there, his fingertips gentle as he touches her waist.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi.” She smiles, happy to see a familiar face amidst the overwhelming foreignness of her surroundings. His suit looks black… or is it very dark blue? His shirt underneath reminds her of sangria and his tie is soft and satiny in a darker shade of the same color.
Cellina snickers. They match.It wasn’t intentional, of course, but she’s wearing her breezy navy blue jersey dress with fluttery sleeves and a plunge neckline. The train ride from Okayama is two hours, and she knew this particular dress would travel well and keep her comfortable in the summer humidity. Her strappy burnt-orange heels offer nothing as far as comfort, but they look amazing with the dress. She’ll deal with the consequences of prioritizing fashion over the general health and well-being of her feet later.
“The car is this way.” He nods his head to the right, stepping in the same direction. He flips his hand open in a casual gesture. Without thinking, she slides her palm into his, clasping his fingers as he guides her. The gentle contact makes something like electricity shimmer up her arm and to her chest. Her heart pulses and skips.
When they’re in the back seat of a black town car, she takes a deep breath. The space is a cool shelter compared with the frenetic heat and tenacity of the city outside.
“You look wonderful,” Giovanni says, focusing on her before looking down at his smartphone. The blue-white glow of the device illuminates his sculpted features in the dusky evening light.
“Thanks, you too.” And he smells wonderful. Clean, gingery and perfectly male. His purebred aura radiates from him, subtle but filling the vehicle. In a meager effort to distract herself, Cellina looks out the window, watching the bright lights, tall buildings and throngs of people zip by.
“This is nice.” He slips his phone into the inside pocket of his jacket and focuses on her.
“What is?”
“Going to an aristocracy event together… sitting here.” He grins. “You not ignoring me.”
Cellina raises her eyebrow, haughty. “I was under the impression that we were ignoring each other.”
“Nope. I never ignored you. Not once.”
“You’re playing innocent now?” Cellina asks. “Like you didn’t tell me to go away and that you didn’t want to look at me ever again.”
“I regretted saying that the minute you walked away.”
Cellina frowns. “How was I supposed to know that? Why didn’t you say something?”
Giovanni shrugs. “Because you were ignoring me—stone cold. Like I didn’t even exist if we were in the same room together.”
“That’s my superpower. I was just doing what my realm leader told me to do.”
“Your superpower sucks.” Giovanni smirks, adjusting his back against the seat. “Is that what we are now, Lina? Realm leader and dutiful subject? You’re coming with me tonight as part of some aristocratic obligation?”
“No. I’m here because… I wanted to support you, and Haruka and Nino. Because I want the two of us to be friends like we used to be.”
Giovanni scoffs in the dim light. “There’s that word again.”
“What then, Giovanni? What do you want us to be?”
He turns his head to meet her gaze. The intensity behind his hazel-green irises makes Cellina inhale and sit up straighter. Her body temperature rises as the silence stretches on. His eyes flicker down, taking her in before he faces forward again. “What I want and what I can have are two very different things.”
“My lord, my lady, we’re here,” the driver announces.
She blows out a breath as Giovanni exits the car. What the hell does that mean? He’s a purebred vampire—realm leader over one of the most prosperous and dense communities of vampires in Europe. In general, he can have and do whatever he pleases, and no one can understand why Giovanni still hasn’t bonded after all this time. There are some rumors and speculations, but nobody knows the reason.
Wanting any moment of escape she could manage, Cellina had undone her shoes upon getting into the vehicle. She bends down, rushing to secure the ribbon on her left foot as Giovanni opens the car door.
“One second, please,” she says, finishing up the left foot and shifting her long legs out the door so she has more room to do the right shoe. Before she can bend down, Giovanni crouches in front of her, taking hold of her foot in his large hand and examining the shoe. Cellina shakes her head in protest. “I’ll do it—”
“It’s fine.” Giovanni focuses, fitting her heel into the suede shoe and tying the laces at her ankle. “Your neckline is low. I don’t want our driver getting a view he doesn’t deserve.”
When Cellina looks up, the driver is absolutely staring at her chest. Not speaking Italian, he doesn’t understand Giovanni’s declaration. But when his gaze meets Cellina’s, he smiles, awkward, before turning and walking away. Cellina breathes a laugh. “Are you protecting my virtue now?”
“I’m shielding your exquisite body from wayward onlookers,” he says, securing the bow.
“My knight in shining armor.” Cellina smirks. “Why are you wearing a tie? You hate ties.” He would complain about them when they were young—when his parents had formal parties and made him wear them. The maidservant who helped dress him always tied it too tight. Stifling him. As soon as they were in the garden and away from the adults, Cellina would untie it for him, roll it up and stuff it in a hedge, her adolescent theory being the less ties he owned, the less likely he’d be made to wear one.
He stands, then holds his hand out to her. “This isn’t my aristocracy, so I should follow formal protocols. I’m happy you remember something about me.”
“Oh please.” Cellina rolls her eyes, smiling as she steps into him and pinches the soft, smooth material between her fingers. “You said they made you feel, quote, ‘Like a damn dog on a leash.’ At least you picked a pretty leash tonight. This color is wonderful.”
When he doesn’t answer, she looks up. His vivid eyes are unreadable as he stares down at her. He huffs out a warm, gingery breath and pulls his mouth into a little grin. “Thanks.”
Cellina steps back and brushes the flowy fabric of her dress, the heat of her nature bubbling at her spine. Cool it with the close encounters, Lina.
This is how it always was with him. Whenever they were close, her nature would flip and writhe around within her, pulling her toward his solidity and warmth. His roguish, playful nature and rebellious spirit. His honesty and sincere consideration of the vampires around him. Even now, he’s managing his little brother’s realm—didn’t hesitate one moment to rearrange his already insane schedule to be here for both Haruka and Nino when they needed him.
Giovanni is always like this: outward focused. Adhering to his parent’s wishes, supporting Nino through his abuse, calming her through her silly fits of rage over her brother. He is the rock upon which everyone leans and stands. Dependable.
Maybe to a fault.
She doesn’t know anything about his private life anymore, but she hopes he enjoys himself of his own accord. Somewhere between the appointments, social gatherings, business deals, responsibilities and crises. He should have fun and escape, at least sometimes. Like they used to when they were kids.
* * *
No one partiesquite like a four-hundred-year-old female vampire in Japan. There’d been heartfelt speeches and raucous laughter, high-end liquor and fresh seafood. At one point, she’d been gathered up in other vampires’ arms, then lifted, crowd-surfing style, and tossed into the air.
Reaching four hundred is an impressive feat in their culture, and the elder female had been spry and sharp with no outward signs of her biology breaking down and turning into dust. Absolutely worthy of a rock star–style celebration.
Cellina appreciates the cultural experience—even being showered with compliments and flirtatious remarks from vampires twice her age. Throughout, Giovanni had been the perfect purebred. He had one glass of wine the whole night. He smiled and laughed on cue, offered serious business insight to those who wanted it and showed concern and empathy where appropriate.
He is diplomacy at its finest. A well-oiled machine of civility and grace.
The moment they climb back into the town car to drop Cellina at the station, Giovanni pulls at his tie, then sits back against the seat and closes his eyes, breathing. She smiles. The diplomacy robot is recharging.
“Hey,” she says after giving him a long moment of silence.
“Yes?” he answers, eyes still closed.
“Have you ever had okonomiyaki, Osaka style? I hear it’s the best.”
He turns his head. “Are you hungry? We just ate all that damn food.”
She shrugs. “I didn’t eat much because of all the chitchat. And we’re here. We should try it.” She leans forward, deciding to put her growing Japanese-language skills to good use. “Sumimasen, oishii okonomiyaki no resutoran wa doko desu ka? Osusume no mise wa?”
“I know a place,” the driver says. “Best spot for okonomiyaki and takoyaki in all of Osaka. It’s in Namba. We’re not too far. They have good beer too.”
Cellina grins at Giovanni. He looks at his watch. “You might miss the last train?”
“It’s okay,” she says. “You have a room. I can sleep on the couch or get another room.”
“You are not sleeping on a couch.” He frowns. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” She narrows her eyes. “Let’s go have late-night fried things and beer. I want to enjoy Osaka.”
And they do. The driver takes them to a small, locally owned shop in the bustling Namba area. The street is hectic, crowded, with buildings donning neon signs that glow in sharp colors against the black sky. Up a narrow flight of stairs and into a warm, hazy room, they’re greeted by a busy human chef and two waitstaff who mildly balk at their vampiric natures. They fry the Japanese-style savory “pancakes” at the large griddle on their private table, the heat, smoke and smells swirling all around them. Giovanni ditches his jacket, loosens his shirt collar, and they drink cold beer. He laughs a lot—they both do, reminiscing more about their younger days and filling in the gaps of their long separation.
When the griddle has been turned off and wayward bits of cold noodle, fish flakes and squid remain on their plates, Cellina sits back, relaxed. “How do you have fun and unwind these days? Just out of curiosity.”
He frowns as he looks at her, his eyes glossy from the lamp hanging over their table. “What is this word? Fun?”
“Stop it.”
“Tonight aside, I haven’t had ‘fun’ since the early 1900s—”
“Ah… was it when you went on your famous sexcapade?”
They pause. Giovanni frowns. “Is that what you call it?”
“Mmhm.” Cellina nods, grinning. “Your great sexploration. Your youthful foray into sexdom.”
“No.” Giovanni picks up his beer and brings it to his lips. “It wasn’t then.”
“We just… shut each other out.” Cellina sighs, staring at the messy griddle. “I wanted to talk things through with you—maybe come up with a plan together? But I had no idea you’d react that way. I was so angry and disappointed, even if you’d tried to talk to me, I probably wouldn’t have listened.”
Giovanni places his beer on the table and takes a deep breath. “Nineteen fifteen was the worst year of my life—and every day… every year after has been the same. Numb.”
“Nineteen fifteen…” Cellina considers. “I turned sixteen that year. That was also the year your mother starved in the war and Domenico got sick… I started feeding Nino. The sexcapade—”
“And I lost you,” Giovanni adds. “The only vampire in my life that has ever cared about mywell-being. I did that shit to get your attention—in my idiotic eighteen-year-old head I was trying to make you jealous. My father ended up screaming at me about that and saying the vilest shit he’s ever said to me. It feels like everything went to hell that year and never recovered.”
It worked. Little did he know, he’d been successful. His actions back then had made her jealous and very angry, fueling her superpower to maximum strength. She shakes her head. “Giovanni, I’m not the only person who cares about you. Vampires in our aristocracy and across Europe adore you. Your father cares for sure. Nino, too.”
He sneers. “I’m a civil servant to all of them—someone who handles their fucking problems.”
Cellina disagrees, but she won’t argue with him about a touchy subject like this. “Well… you and I are talking now, at least? I just wish we could have talked about what happened sooner.”
“I’m glad we’re talking about it, period.” Giovanni looks down into his empty glass and twists it against the table with his fingers. “I didn’t think we ever would.”
Cellina nods as she stretches her arms up, yawning. The driver had been right. The food was delicious.
“Are you tired?” Giovanni asks.
“Are you?” Cellina smiles. “Don’t worry about me. You’re the one with a flight to catch in a few hours. Should we go back to the hotel so you can get some sleep?”
He considers for a moment, still twisting his beer. He meets her gaze. “No. If you’re up for it, let’s walk around—maybe find something sweet? They have something called taiyaki. It’s a hot pancake shaped like a fish and stuffed with custard or red bean… sometimes other things. You might like it. We could split one?”
“Hell yeah I’ll like it—we’ll see about this splitting business.” Another stuffed-pancake situation? Cellina’s mouth is already watering. Tonight feels like a challenge: how much delicious food can she stuff into her body. “I might need to buy a new wardrobe by the end of this trip.” She smiles in jest. “It’ll be worth it though.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “You’ll always be you—someone I can drop the ‘purebred leader’ bullshit around. You’ve never subscribed to it and have always treated me like a normal, feeling person and not just someone who could do something for you. You live by your own rules and it’s mesmerizing to me. I admire that in you, and I wish I could…”
Giovanni pauses, staring down at his empty beer glass. Blood rushes to Cellina’s cheeks and she takes a breath, willing her nature inside to stop flipping around before her eyes alight and embarrass her in the middle of this restaurant.
He shakes his head, smiling when he meets her eyes. “Will you walk with me? Let’s stay out all night… just one night. I’ll sleep on the plane.”
She looks up at him, controlling her bubbling insides. Uncomfortable shoes and oppressive body images be damned.
“Yes. I’m in.”
