100 Yellow Doors

july 1st, 1922, 9:34 p.m.

"Sure."

"Right. Well, tensions were high back then, between the Mexicans and the Texans. The Mexican army was gathering people to battle at the Alamo. Rosario loved Julien so much, she made sure his twin brother was selected instead of him."

Iman kicked at the cobblestone underneath her feet, trying to ignore the pounding in her chest. Jacinto. How she had searched for that name, pored over it, trying to decipher its meaning—and for it only to be used, eventually, as a pawn for the sake of Julien's life? Julien would hate that. Julien would hate that, if he ever knew.

"Jacinto died," said Iman. "Didn't he?"

Sera took in a long breath, blowing out smoke into the air. "He got sick and died before he was deployed. The army had no choice but to take Julien then."

"So Rosario..." Iman shuddered, split between wanting to know and wanting to preserve this blissful ignorance. Even without Fritz and Sera's input, she was beginning to put together the pieces, this wonderful mess finally coming together, like a grim collage in an abandoned studio. "Followed him to the battle, or something?"

"Seraphine, any more of that cigarette left? Yes? Splendid," said Fritz, reaching across Iman to take the pipe from Sera. "Yes, Iman. She was there when he got hit by cannon fire, and she was there to turn him afterwards, because she couldn't bear the thought of him dying like that. That is how he became a vampire."

"Then why doesn't he remember?" Iman demanded. She stopped walking, pivoting on her feet, wanting to look both the vampires in the eye at once. She could not shake this...this strangeness, seeing the two of them stand side by side when she knew them to hate each other in the present. There was still so much she didn't know. Too much. "Why doesn't he remember anything? You're telling me so much and yet you're not telling me anything. You need to tell me why Rosario was looking for him, what she's even going to do—"

"It's better that he doesn't remember," snapped Sera. "Rosario's the oldest vampire to exist, and she has unimaginable power as a result. She took away Julien's memories. When he woke and discovered he wasn't dead, that he was a vampire, he was distraught. He tried to return to his parents and they forced him out, claiming he was the devil now. He wanted to die, but Rosario wouldn't let him do that. So she made him forget."
So she made him forget.

The backs of Iman's eyes began to burn.

"Even so," added Fritz, worrying at his fingers, "she couldn't let him go, you know? She wasn't strong enough. She's tasked us with looking after him ever since. Sera's not supposed to meet him face-to-face for another twenty years, though. Right?"

"Give or take."

"Wait," Iman sputtered. "Not supposed to—"

Sera shrugged. "Think of it like we're taking shifts."

No. Iman did not want to think of it like they were taking shifts; she didn't want to think about it at all. All of Julien's relationships, orchestrated. All his friends, all his loves. No wonder Iman and Julien had connected with such a violent, irreversible strength—they were the one relationship that was never planned.

Everything Iman had ever thought about Fritz or Sera crumbled, and she crumbled with it.

"That doesn't explain..." Iman began, sinking to the ground, not caring about the cobblestone gritting, cold, against her bare knees. "That doesn't explain why you two are both so afraid of her. Why did she—what is she going to do to Julien?"

Somewhere down the street, a door swung open, peals of laughter flowing out into the night. Even at such a joyous sound, Iman's heart was unmoved. She was too far away, her head under the surface, lungs filling with water. What was it like to breathe? She could no longer remember.

Fritz knelt in front of her, his face as smooth and white as porcelain. "If she is truly looking for him," he said, chewing his lip, "then it means her guilt has finally gotten the best of her."

Out of the corner of her eye, Iman noticed Sera deliberately look away.

"Her...guilt?" Iman repeated, breathless. "Meaning what, exactly?"

"She is going to give him what he wanted all those years ago," said Fritz. "She's going to give him the gift of death."

Iman swallowed.

Julien couldn't die. Not when she'd fought so hard to keep him beside her, not when he worked so hard to find his reason for living, not when she'd just seen him hours ago, hand in hers, walking her down the rose-strewn aisle. Julien, who was the only constant in her life, a buoy that perhaps bobbed or swayed on the waves, but never once capsized.

He couldn't die. If he did, she would sink.

"Tell me where to find Rosario," she said, and when Fritz and Sera both scoffed at her, eyebrows risen, she rephrased. "I don't have a lot of time left before I leave again, alright? You two clearly know her. So tell me where she would take him, or so help me God—"

"Fine," snapped Sera. Iman looked up in awe. "I think I have an idea."