Right to Silence

by Lily Luchesi

  “My religion forbids suicide,” Danny replied.

  Bart took a long drag. “You think she’s going to go all Norman Daniels on you?”

  “Don’t you mean Norman Bates?” Danny asked, confused.

  “No, Norman Daniels. Rose Madder? Angelica’s favorite book?” Danny shrugged and Bart scoffed. “You’re fucking a vampire and currently talking to a werewolf, yet you’re spooked by Stephen King?”

  Danny smirked. “I don’t think she will, but I guess no one can deny it’s possible.”

  Bart nodded. “Yep. Especially considering her father was a murderer even when he was human, and her original descendant— Livia —killer her own husband. But Angelica isn’t like them, not really. She’s got something no other vamp has ever had.”

  “And what’s that?” Danny asked.

  Bart rolled his yellowish eyes. “You, ya bonehead.” He went to give Danny a thump on the back, but Danny moved away like lightning.

  “Sorry, no offense, but I can’t handle a single vision tonight. Best if you don’t touch.” He thought if his head got any more information this night, he’d explode.

  Bart leaned over the railing again, flicking his ashes into the wind. Danny noticed he wasn’t wearing a coat, and remembered that werewolves stored up body heat. It would take subzero temps for him to even need a windbreaker. Standing next to him felt like standing next to an old boiler.

  “You know, you scared the Hell out of me when we met,” Danny admitted. “Still kinda do.”

  Bart laughed, and Danny shivered again at the slight howl that ended the mirth. “That is a very high compliment. I— hey, do you smell that?”

  Danny didn’t smell a thing except for the usual airplane fumes, car exhaust, and Bart’s cigarette. However, he felt something. Something malevolent. “Call them all up here. Now.”

  Bart used an app that Brighton had installed on everyone in the PID’s phones to send an immediate alert to Angelica’s phone with their location. “It’s gotta be demons. I smell sulfur.”

  “We just left Hell,” Danny said, feeling incredibly stupid for believing for one second that Leander would really leave Angelica and her loved ones alone.

  In moments, Angelica, Mark, and Helena came to the rooftop, weapons ready.

  “What is it and where is it? Oh.” It looked as if she smelled it as well.

  “One hour was all the time he gave you?” Danny commented.

  She stepped up on the other side of Danny, looking out into the night. “Perhaps it has nothing to do with us. It could have been a possession. It’s not unlikely.”

  “I have to agree,” Mark said. “If it was him or his minions, why wouldn’t they have done something by now?”

  Danny felt his body relax, but he still felt the presence, just not as strongly. If it was a possession, they’d be sending an agent to look into it, but it would not be so bad. He had after all fought off over a hundred possessed humans a year ago at Wrigley Field. One was nothing for any of the PID’s agents.

  “Sorry to have raised the alarm like that,” Bart said, and he did feel like an idiot, his thoughts were rolling off and into Danny’s mind like a satellite signal.

  “We’re fighting against Hell. Any activity like that should be enough to raise the alarm. You acted rightly,” Angelica said, holstering her gun.

  Bart went to light another cigarette when all of a sudden his eyes bulged in his head and a high, wheezing sound came from his throat. The red pack of legal poison fell to the floor as Bart doubled over, gasping and keening, his breath gone.

  Danny had taken every life-saving health course imaginable, but this time he didn’t think CPR would be of much help.

  “Get a Coven member! Now!” Angelica cried and Mark ran back inside. Danny felt a myriad of emotions hit him at once: Bart’s utter panic, Mark’s urgency, and Helena’s worry. He was dizzy and needed to get away before they all made him pass out from sensory overload. Not for the first time, he was glad he couldn’t read vampires’ emotions. Add in Angelica to that mix, he might have blacked out.

  He backed away as Helena bent over Bart, trying human methods of saving him. As she tried opening his airwaves, he choked even worse, and Angelica pulled her away with one hand on the collar of her coat, like she was a naughty child instead of a grown woman.

  “You’re making it worse,” she scolded. “You can't use mortal remedies on Hell’s attacks.”

  Bart was trying to transform, his fangs elongating and his body morphing just a bit, and that made it worse than Helena’s fussing had. Bone popped and his flesh was distorted. Gnashing fangs broke the skin on his bottom lip and blood began to froth at his mouth as if he were rabid. His hands had barely turned to paws, and the claws dug into his own throat, leaving eight bloody furrows where the skin was peeled away. He fell forward on his hands and knees, face turning purple with strain and loss of oxygen. Blood lightly splattered on the ground beneath him.

  His eyes were bulging, blood leaking from the sockets and staining his olive skin. His swollen tongue protruded from his mouth, and Danny had a half-hysterical thought of how German Shepherds look when they want to lick their owners.

  The three of them stood by, unable to do anything as Bart went into convulsions, blood spraying everywhere from his mouth. Helena was holding her hands over her mouth, trying to contain screams of horror so no one would overhear on the street below.

  Footsteps. Mark returned with a woman wearing a ruby red dress.

  “Hi, Angie. Sorry my arrival isn’t such a surprise anymore,” she said, bending down over Bart and digging into his jeans pockets. Opposite his cigarettes was a round piece of brown fabric, tied with twine.

  The woman held it aloft and said, “Ilosgi!” The small bundle began to burn, and in a moment it was a pile of ash. Unfortunately, she had arrived too late.

  Major Bart Michaels was dead.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Angelica Cross, who on Earth did you piss off?”

  Angelica sighed, holding her hand over her eyes as she tried to keep the tears at bay. Harriet Galbraith was the leader of the Grand Coven in Great Britain. Angelica had known her since she was in her early twenties. They’d fought together in a magical war in Scotland in the late eighteen-hundreds.

  “Not Earth. Hell. And why are you here?” Angelica asked.

  “Evans called me. Said things were bad and you could use as many allies as possible. So here I am. I didn’t expect to arrive in time to see your guard tear his own throat open.” Harriet shuddered.

  “That was a hex bag, right?” Angelica asked. Harriet nodded. “How the Hell did they get it on him so quickly? How did no one see?”

  “With my experience, demons can transport objects similar to poltergeists and telekinetics. If someone in Hell wanted one of your close employees dead, that would be quite simple for them.” Harriet leaned forward, pushing her cat-eye glasses up her nose. “Want to tell me what’s happening?”

  “Have Mark fill you in,” Angelica said, feeling listless and helpless. “And then go home.”

  “Home? I’m here for as long as you need me, Angie.”

  How sweet. More people who care. Maybe I can watch you all die, one by one, Angelica thought. “Mark was an idiot for calling you here.”

  “Not to toot my own horn, love, but when it comes to dark magic, none of your Coven members here can hold a candle to me.”

  Angelica sighed. Harriet was right. Now that Fiona was dead, Harriet was the strongest witch in the world, someone who had faced dark magic and defeated it time and time again to keep their corner of the paranormal community thriving and safe. If anyone could help keep everyone safe from Leander’s dark powers, it was her.

  “I’m going to go and talk to Mark and then whip up some hex bags of my own. Can I use your stores?” Harriet asked.

  Angelica waved a hand. “Knock yourself out.” She reclined on the sofa in the sitting room, her hand over her eyes. She had seen many brutal deaths, and even caus
ed a few, but never had she watched someone tear their own skin off trying to breathe. Never had she watched someone she knew die slowly and painfully, aware of every second as their life left their body.

  Squeezing her eyes shut harder, she felt tears roll down her face. Her mother, Quentin, Jonathan Price, Director Dominic, Brighton, Bart. How many more deaths would she have to endure before all of this was over?

  Intellectually, she knew she was strong enough to get through this, but emotionally and physically she felt utterly drained. Shattered. The only thing keeping her going at this very moment was one thought: revenge. She’d had more than enough taken from her. She’d gotten back at Vincent, Miranda Valdez, and Fiona. Now it was Leander’s turn to pay the piper. No one threatened her, hurt those she cared for, and lived.

  She sat up straight, wiping the watery blood from her face and hoping her eyeliner was still in place. She was a little vain, but no one wanted to go around looking like something the bat dragged in. Especially not if she wanted to maintain her face as the leader of this company, and the leader of the vampires as well.

  Danny walked in the room just as she was standing up.

  “How are you?” he asked, his voice tentative.

  “I’ll live. Can’t say the same for Leander for much longer,” she replied.

  Danny took her cold hand in his, and she took comfort in his warmth. “I don’t know who this Harriet lady is, but I like her. She’s already made some freaky concoction that made Helena calm down, and she’s now in an empty office chopping up...well, I’m not sure I want to know.”

  Angelica found strength to smile. “She’s something else, all right. We fought together in Scotland, defeating one of the worst dark wizards you ever met. She was thrust into the leader position because the former Grand Coven leader— her mentor and lover —lost his life in the war. and seems to be doing great. I trust her with my life, almost as much as I trust you.

  “Mark was right to call her, even though I am thoroughly pissed he didn’t run it by me first. We need to fight the dark with the whitest magic we can get short of finding an angel.”

  She saw Danny’s face turn worrisome. “We’re not going to infiltrate Heaven, are we? Because I’ll be honest, that kind of scares me.”

  “No, silly. I wouldn’t know how to get there and even if I did, no angel would help the Empress of the fucking vampires,” Angelica replied.

  Danny moved closer and she felt his heartbeat as much as she heard it. She had offended or scared him with something she had said. He put his hands on her waist and she leaned into him, forgetting that he had been scared for whatever reason.

  She held him as well, her face buried in his neck. Hands gripped her tightly and she realized that Danny was in mourning as well. For longer than she. For even more people.

  “He’s not going to get away with this, Danny. I promise,” she whispered. Some part of her brain, a part that she thought didn’t exist, added, Just promise to believe in me. I believed in myself and my abilities for too long, and I’m all out of faith. Please don't take yours away because if you do, I’ll have absolutely nothing.

  It was that part that scared Angelica, the part that now counted on Danny being there. She knew she did not need him: she’d do what had to be done regardless of his presence or lack thereof. However, she had enough humanity left to recognize that she had been alone far too long. Danny being there made her feel a sense of not just normalcy, but invincibility. With him behind her, she felt like she could do anything. Like a leader facing trials, his support buoyed her up for the fight ahead.

  And she just felt so tired. She’d had a lot of blood just two hours ago, and had drank from Danny after she had woken up. She was cold, trembly, and weak. Logically, she knew she was in shock and depression could be setting in. However, it just didn’t seem like the type of weakened she would be if it were that simple. She’d been slightly off her game since fighting Fiona, and it had gotten worse since she had been tortured in Hell.

  The self-preservation warning bells rang in her head: SOMETHING IS WRONG.

  ***

  Angelica was thankful that full vampires do not dream. Their sleep is like being dead, full rejuvenation for the Undead bodies. Had she still been a vamplet, she was certain that visions of Bart’s death would have haunted her nightmares.

  She came downstairs and saw that Danny was still at home, waiting for her.

  “Good afternoon,” she said.

  “Good morning,” he replied, smirking. “Harriet was over. Dropped these off.” He gestured to the small bundles that looked identical on the outside as the one that had killed Bart.

  Angelica opened the note her friend had left. They were hex bags, and would hopefully prevent any of them from being harmed by demons. Angelica’s was made differently, because she could not have religious artifacts (like the silver crosses and holy water) in hers.

  “Helena wants to know if you’re doing a funeral,” Danny said, showing her a text message.

  “Bart signed in his contract he wanted to be cremated in our incinerator,” Angelica replied, a lump growing in her throat as she thought of his body being slowly devoured by the hungry flames. “Text Mark to go ahead with it. I don't need to be there to authorize it.” She put some blood in the microwave. “You can go on ahead into the office. I’m going to meet with the priests who are in on the PID and get some extra blessings around the neighborhood. It can’t hurt.”

  Danny looked at the microwave. “You’re not drinking from me?”

  She shook her head. “Not for a while. You need your strength.” It’s not going to help me, she thought, worry twisting in her gut. I fear nothing will, and if I try, I might kill you. She was beginning to wonder if there was some disease that vampires could catch, because it had to be serious if blood didn’t make her feel better.

  He kissed her goodbye and she heard his Caddie pull out of their driveway. Finishing her blood she got her jacket and went outside, looking at her now nearly neglected Lamborghini in the driveway. She’d taken care of it, car mechanics were very simple for her, but she’d not driven it at all in two years.

  As a vamplet she had loved her car. This wasn’t her first classy sports car and wouldn’t be her last. Since turning, she was not so inclined to drive anymore, but she was still feeling very unwell and thought a drive with loud music might make her spirits rise. It always used to.

  She slid behind the leather steering wheel and flipped the radio on, tuning it to one of her many MP3 playlists. Corey Taylor and David Draiman never failed to perk her up. Turning the volume up, disregarding the law in Chicago that says you need to keep your music’s volume to a minimum in residential areas, she pulled out of the driveway with a loud screech of the tires. She learned back in the nineteen-eighties to never mock the power that blasting your favorite music, singing along, and driving fast had on the psyche.

  Her windows were rolled down, and the cold air whipped past, making her feel the most human she had in years as she sang along. For the few minutes it took her to get to her first church, she had forgotten about her “inner darkness” and all the shit that lay ahead of her.

  It took her an hour to talk to the necessary priests, and all of them promised to not only bless their local parishes, but also pray for her.

  “You’re going to pray for a vampire?” she asked one of them, an old man she had been associated with for years.

  “Ms. Cross, you believe in God, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Yes, Father, of course. Not quite sure what He thinks of me, though,” she said honestly.

  “You’re saving His people, doing His work. The least all of us can do is pray for you and your success,” the priest had replied.

  Angelica left his church feeling lighter and happier. She was not Catholic, and her father had been a very lapsed Christian, but she understood the peace one got from being around true servants of God, like this priest was. However, she was of the mind that God helped those who helped thems
elves, and she did not think prayers would help if she did not step up to her challenges as well.

  She got into her car and the second she went to turn on the radio she jumped, immediately wanting to run right back out: Leander was in the passenger seat. She tried her door and it would not open. The car would not drive.

  “Get the Hell out of here,” she hissed. “You’re fucking lucky I can’t kill you right now.”

  Leander just smiled. “Hex bags. You got Harriet, AKA the Savior of the Covens, to come and help you, I see. I could never recruit her either, no wonder you’re associated with her.”

  “So that’s what you meant by you wouldn’t hurt anyone and I’d come to you myself? You killed my friend!” she cried.

  He held up a hand. “I said ‘threaten’, not ‘kill’ or ‘hurt’. Semantics, Your Highness.” He winked. “Before you go on berating me, I did not do it to persuade you. I did it to prove a point...which did not get proven.”

  “A point? You killed a man to prove a point? What could you possibly want to prove that badly that it took murder?” she asked, her hands gripping the steering wheel so hard it was cracking. That will need replacing if I survive.

  He nodded. “You look so surprised. As if you haven’t killed people yourself.”

  “Not innocent people! ...Okay, fine, I’ll bite: what point were you trying to prove?”

  “That you wouldn’t care if someone close to you died. I was wrong, and I freely admit that.”

  Angelica could not remember the last time she had been so angry. Not even Fiona had brought out the rage that was building in her chest at that moment. “You killed Bart and expected me to not give a damn?” How had this monster once been human? She wanted to shoot him, dispel his demonic essence forever, but she knew he’d just disappear and she’d wind up putting a hole in her car.

  “You’re not going cold quickly, and it made no sense. Finally, when I saw you just now, I realized why. You’re dying.” He said it conversationally, as if he meant, “Your hair looks nice today” or “is that a new shirt?”