“I should be dead. I should be dead.”
Ariadne understood why she wasn’t—at least not entirely. Elisabeta had introduced venom into her system, and because she had been a mortal mage at the time the fire had claimed her life, she had returned to consciousness as one of the Changed, an outcast from both Magekind and the higher vampiric society of the Born. Her parents, on the other hand, had been entirely destroyed. Each of them had transitioned years earlier into what the mages referred to as ‘immortality’—they had been killed once and reborn stronger in the magic of their own race without the detrimental effects of aging. Mages were given one chance at rebirth, over the course of their existences. Unfortunately, for Ariadne, hers had been of the wrong kind.
“I don’t believe my eyes.”
Ariadne whipped around, the damp Sheffield Street surrounding her spinning as she moved too quickly for her still-healing body to handle. She couldn’t accurately describe the weakness that pervaded her muscles and slowed her thoughts. She’d never felt anything like it before, but when she considered it along with the insistent, perpetual searing at the back of her throat, she believed she understood well enough what was happening.
She needed blood, and she hated herself for even considering taking it.
The man who had spoken was extremely well-dressed, and he watched her with a calm confidence she’d only ever seen before in the leaders of mage bloodlines. Ariadne hadn’t attempted to access her magic since she’d awoken, fearful as she was that it had deserted her, but she processed now that at least a portion of it remained, as she was able to sense the vampiric blood within this man the instant her gaze landed on him. Born blood, nonetheless.
“I know a Johanssen when I see one,” he said, taking a step toward her. “Your family’s rather famous, among my kind.”
Despite every ounce of instinct screaming at her to either attack this man or flee, Ariadne held her ground, watching him. What more, she thought, can anyone do to me, now?
“I can also tell that you’re no longer one of them. Are you?”
She let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and then she shook her head. “No, I’m not.”
“One of us, then. How curious. I’ve always wondered what they would do to one of their own, if she were to make the transition. It seems the answer is abandonment.”
Had her blood been flowing, Ariadne knew she would’ve blushed. She said nothing.
“Do you have somewhere to stay?”
Ariadne shook her head.
The man sighed, closing the remaining distance between them and resting a hand on her shoulder. Unlike the last person who’d done this to her, his touch was gentle.
“Why don’t you stay with my family in Wiltshire until you can get something sorted out? I doubt you’ve ever been properly told what you’ll have to do, to survive now.”
“Why would you help me?” Ariadne asked. “I thought the Born hated the Changed.”
“You’re not the typical Changed,” said the man. “You’re something much more special. My name’s Apollo, by the way. Apollo Bellamy.”
“Ariadne.”
“Hello.” The word felt so hollow when she owed these people so much. Were it not for Apollo, she had no idea where she would’ve been—probably out on the streets, still, with no idea where to go or how to even begin this new life that had been thrust upon her.
“Lara, this is Ariadne,” said Apollo, reaching for the hand of the small girl he held.
“Just… just Aria, please,” said the young woman who had so recently joined the Changed. Her full name had been borne more than a few times throughout her family’s history, and now that the members of her immediate family were either dead or had deserted her, she had no desire to remain tied to them any longer.
Apollo nodded, and Aria glanced to Seraphina to find her smiling her approval.
“Very well, then. Aria. Supper will be ready, soon,” said Apollo, “and then afterward, I’ll take you on a hunt, if you’re feeling well enough. You’ll need to regain your strength.”
Aria nodded. “Thank you. I can’t begin to describe how much I appreciate your kindness.” She’d never imagined herself applying that word to vampires, and even as she acknowledged this, she chastised herself. She needed to stop thinking of their kind with such distance and disdain and accept the fact that, now and for the rest of her existence, she would remain among them.
She thought, though, with a glance at Lara and then at Julian, that perhaps living among these people wasn’t nearly as horrifying of a prospect as she’d feared.
THE END.
Mandi Jourdan studies English/Creative Writing at Southern Illinois University at Carbondale. She is translating the Harry Potter books into a series of plays in the style of Shakespeare, one of which was performed in Fall 2016, while another will be staged in Spring 2017. Her prose has appeared in four anthologies by Sinister Saints Press, Coming Around Again by the Central Arkansas Speculative Fiction Writers Group, Quickfic, Beyond Science Fiction Digital Magazine, 9Tales from Elsewhere, Theme of Absence, the 2015 and 2016 editions of Grassroots Literary Magazine, and the Kaskaskia College Scroll. She has stories forthcoming in Digital Science Fiction, and the 2017 edition of Grassroots Literary Magazine. She can be found on Amazon and on Twitter (@MandiJourdan).
TEEN ANGELS by Tim McDaniel
School had let out early that day for parent-teacher conferences, and so the sun was still bright and high as the kids walked home, there in the suburb of Heaven called Sweetbreath Hills.
"A whole afternoon to while away -- it sure is swell!" said Giliel. He walked closer to Hathi and furtively brushed her hand with his. He ached to hold it, but was afraid he would frighten her away. He did steal a glance at her, though.
Hathi seemed preoccupied. "I think I should get started on my homework early, Gil." She shaded her eyes against the glare of the sunlight bouncing off the clouds beneath their feet, not meeting his eyes.
"Well, sure, Hathi. I'll help! It'll be fun doing our homework together. We'll show those other kids how to get A's! Remember last month, in History, with our diorama on the Creation of the sun and moon?"
Hathi smiled, but her eyes seemed distant. "Yeah, that was fun, Gil. But I think I should get some work done by myself, just this one time."
Gil stopped, and Hathi stopped, too. "Gosh, Hathi! Is something wrong?"
Before she could answer there was a roar like a chainsaw, and around the corner swept a gang of the local motorcycle hoodlums, all in black leather, tires squealing as they pulled to a stop at the red light a block away.
Gil pulled Hathi behind him on the sidewalk.
"The Rebels!" breathed Hathi in alarm. "What are they doing here?"
"They'll catch it for sure, if the teachers see them," said Gil. "I don't think a one of them has been in class all this week."
The light turned green. The Rebels revved their engines and came towards them. They pulled to a stop in front of the pair.
"Hey, toots," their leader said to Hathi. He was slouched over his handlebars, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, his hair dark and slicked back.
"We don't want any trouble, Badiel," said Gil.
"You should try it sometime!" Badiel snickered. He looked back to Hathi. "Whatcha say, toots? Care for a ride?"
Hathi shrunk back against Gil, and with a laugh, the bikers roared off.
"What losers," said Gil.
"Yeah," Hathi said. She watched the Rebels zoom off, her tongue tickling her lower lip. Suddenly she turned back to Gil. "You trying out for the football team this year, Gil?"
Gil ducked his head. "Nah. I tried out last year, you know. I guess I'm just not big enough."
"Oh."
"Hi, Hathi? Hi. You know, the All-Souls Dance is coming up next week, and I thought it would be swell if you and I could go together. I bet you got a new dress picked out already, huh?"
"Oh, Gil, I don't know..." The voice on the phone was dist
ant and hesitant. Gil lowered his voice so his Mom, in the kitchen, wouldn't overhear.
"Hathi? Is something wrong?"
"Well, it's kind of awkward, Gil. But you see, when you didn't ask me to the dance earlier, I kind of agreed to go with someone else. I'm just awfully sorry."
"Because I didn't ask you earlier? But Hathi, you're my girl!"
"I'm so sorry, Gil. I really am."
"Who's the other guy?" Gil could hardly speak past the piece of stone in his throat.
"Dori."
"Oh." Figured. The captain of the football team, a cleft in his chin, and a year ahead of Hathi and Gil.
"Gil, I have to go. I'll see you around school, OK?"
"Yeah, OK."
He hung up the phone, an unfamiliar emotion burning in his gut, reaching up from inside to grab his throat.
His mom came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.
"I thought I heard voices in here," she said brightly, then noticed the look on Gil's face. "Are you OK, honey?" She frowned, and Gil focused on her lipstick, an unnatural red.
Gil didn't answer. He clenched his fists and shut his mouth tightly against the pressure that threatened to erupt from inside him, and fled to his bedroom.
The sight of Hathi with Dori, walking hand in hand, was an agony, but Gil couldn't stop hanging around after school until they came out. He told himself he was hoping she would come out alone, so he could offer to carry her books, but he knew that wasn't the real reason he tortured himself. What that real reason was, though, he couldn't say.
It certainly didn't make him breathe any easier, or release the grip in his stomach.
One day after school Gil leaned against a tree, watching the school doors, waiting to see Dori escort Hathi to the bleachers so she could watch him at football practice. Gil hardly heard the roar of the motorcycles until Badiel brought his bike onto the grass and pulled up next to him.
"Enjoying the view?"
Gil cast a disdainful eye upon the Rebel leader. "Take a hike, Badiel."
"Hey, daddy-o, I know what you're going through! I've noticed that your sweet little cupcake has traded up."
Gil, his face suddenly red, swung to face him. "Cut that out -- you don't talk about her that way!" He clenched his fists.
Smiling, Badiel leaned back on his bike seat, crossing his arms. "Well! Maybe there is some thunder in your cloud after all, huh? Take it easy there, kiddo. I'm not spilling any state secrets."
Gil turned back to face the school, just in time to see Hathi and Dori come out, holding hands. Her face was turned up to look at the taller angel. Gil clenched his teeth, and his vision became blurry.
Badiel almost whispered, "You want to show her? Show them all?"
Gil watched the happy couple standing on the stairs of the school, talking. Hathi was leaning forward as if she had trouble hearing; Dori leaned on the railing, smug. Gil blinked his eyes clear. "Oh, what are you talking about, Badiel?"
"I mean showing her what you're made of. Making her sit up and take notice. I know how you can do that."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Join us!"
"Oh, get out of here! Join you at the Boys' Home?"
Badiel laughed. "Nah. You got a home -- a soft place to sleep. The Home, now, that's just for us bad boys. The Old Man's charity. You don't have to worry about that part of it.
"You can ride with us, though, if you want."
"Ride with you?"
"Yeah. We even got a bike for you -- Hasel left his bike with us when his dad put him into the military academy. It's yours." Badiel gestured, and one of his gang roared up on a low-slung bike, black and red. The rider swung himself off, gave Gil a contemptuous glare, and folded his arms.
Just then, Hathi turned her head. She put a hand up to shade her eyes against the afternoon glare, and she was looking right at Gil.
Gil averted his gaze and walked over to the bike as if admiring it.
"I'll try it, I guess." He swung himself on. The bike felt good -- the seat long and comfortable, the handlebar grips filling his hand with power.
He adjusted the mirror, and snuck a glance towards Hathi. Yes, she was watching him now, and so was Dori. Gil quickly looked away.
"What now?" He spoke without looking at Badiel.
In reply, Badiel kicked his machine into loud life. The gang followed his example, and the street behind Gil became engorged with the sputtering thunder. Gil attempted to kick-start his own bike. His foot slipped, and he scraped his leg on the starter. But he tried again, and this time his bike came to life beneath him, vibrating his teeth with suppressed potency. Gil breathed again, after a while.
"Let's go," said Badiel. The gang followed him as if tied to him with strings. Gil, after a shaky start, got his bike facing the right direction, and let it pull him after them. He was glad there were several bikes between him and the school steps; Hathi would not have seen his bumbling beginning. He looked back, but couldn't see her.
Then he was on the street, the wind in his buzzcut, a smile beginning to form on his face.
The Rebels roared past the malt shop, sniggering at the kids inside. They headed out to the highway for a while, just to enjoy the speed, the wind whistling through their wing feathers. Then they stopped at a little dingy roadside bar, red neon and a door that hung crooked on its hinges.
Gil eyed the place uneasily. The others swing themselves off their bikes and headed for the entrance.
"Come on, sport!" said Badiel. "You'll like this place."
"Ah, I don't know, Badiel. I should probably get home. I have homework."
"Come on, Gil. Live a little." Badiel leaned on Gil's bike and spoke softly. "There's girls here, you know. And they're not nice girls, either. They'll help you forget your little creampuff."
Gil blushed, then was angry at himself for blushing. He kicked started his bike. "I gotta go. My folks will be worried."
Badiel slapped Gil's gas tank. "Suit yourself, daddy-oh. Next time." He walked toward the bar, hitching up his leather pants.
Gil watched for a moment, then roared off.
He turned the engine off a block from his house, and walked his bike over behind old Mr. Theo's place; he was old and blind, scarred by the War. He'd never notice. Gil parked the bike behind a toolshed.
The front door banged shut behind Gil when he came home, and his mom called, "That you, honey?"
"Yeah, mom."
"It was getting a little late. What were you doing after school?" She came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishrag.
"Oh, some guys got up a game of touch football."
"Ah. I thought maybe you were walking that pretty Hathiel home again."
"Nah."
"She's sure a nice girl."
Why wouldn't she stop talking about her? "Yeah. I better get started on my homework, mom." Gil started for the stairs.
"OK. Dinner will be about fifteen minutes. Meatloaf! I know you love meatloaf."
The next morning Gil leaned against a tree across the street from school. It wasn't rebellion -- it was embarrassment. Hathi and Dori had certainly spread the word about what he had done; what could he say? It was bad enough even to talk to the bikers -- he had actually ridden off with them! His friends would be gossiping. The principal would want to see him in his office. Of course, his parents would be told by the end of the day.
And most of all, Gil worried about what would happen when he next met Hathi in a hallway. He might confess all to her, go down on his knees and plead for her to save him from his own bad impulses.
He couldn't face the possibility that she would refuse him again.
He was lost.
With a spluttering roar, Badiel and his gang swept around the corner and came up behind him.
"Where's your bike, Gil?"
Gil didn't look at him. "Left it at home."
"Better go get it, then. We got places to go."
"Nah. I don't think so."
"You going back to sch
ool, then?" Badiel was grinning; Gil saw him out of the corner of his eye. "Think they'll just let you walk right back in, after riding with us?"
Girl turned to face Badiel. "They should. I didn't do anything! Just rode a bike. I didn't skip school or do anything wrong."
Badiel leaned back on his bike seat and crossed his arms. He looked over his shoulder. "Tarnish, take the troops out around the block a few times. I'll catch you later."
One of the bikers nodded, and with a sputtering cough, the gang was off down the street.
"'Troops,'" Gil scoffed. "Like they were in the War or something."
"Nah. We all missed that chance, didn't we?" Badiel took a pack of cigarettes out of a pocket and shook one loose. "Their dads were. In the War, I mean. 'Way back when." He stuck the cigarette into his mouth and brought a lighter out of another pocket. He lit the cigarette, inhaled, and blew smoke just over Gil's head. He held out the pack. "Want one? They love these, down on Earth."
"I heard. No, thanks."
"Suit yourself. Yeah, their dads were in the War, most of them."
"So what? My dad was, too."
"He see combat?"
Gil looked down. "No. He had a clerical position."
"A paper-pusher. Yeah, OK. What side did your pops fight on?"
Gil looked Badiel in the eye. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Badiel chuckled. "My dad, the dads of a lot of the gang, they were in the War. Yeah. Only they were on the losing side."
"You mean they followed -- him?"
Badiel nodded.
"And now they're..." Gil pointed down.
Badiel nodded again.
"Whoa." Gil looked at the school. He looked back at Badiel. Gil wasn't old enough to have known any of the Cast Down. And here was the son of one of them. Badiel was untouched -- he had not been in the Rebellion. But still, darkness was wreathed about him, an unseen, powerful threat, a low rumble like an idling bike engine.
Badiel revved his bike.
"The girls..."
9 Tales From Elsewhere 12 Page 7
