“The reflection of her eyes isn’t what I expected,” Charles began.
“It’s not?” Tamara interjected with a frown.
“But it doesn't matter,” he continued. “You see,” the wizard began to pace while he spoke, though he made sure to keep me in sight wherever he moved. “Sanguinarians are the only type of vampire today to have fangs. Theirs are around an inch long, hollow, and almost completely retractable.”
“Hollow?” I blurted out.
He nodded. “Like a snake’s, and for many of the same reasons. They use them to drain blood into their blood-storing organs, but they also use them to inject venom that calms their prey, keeps the blood from coagulating while they drink, and seals the wound after they’re done—with a side affect of addiction to boot.”
Tamara wrapped her arms around herself, as if abruptly cold.
Charles continued, “You can even pull a Sanguinarian’s fangs out with a quick jerk, though they typically grow back soon enough.”
I blinked my dry eyes. Did…did he just try to pull out one of my teeth? He’s a quick jerk.
“So you mean…” Tamara’s demeanor had shifted gears from downcast to excited. “Hers are different?”
Charles sighed. “In ancient lore, a name for the Strigoi was ‘Old Iron-Tooth.’ Diagrams depicted them with four fangs in two sets, hard as metal and deeply, firmly rooted, made for tearing the flesh of prey. And very definitely not hollow.” His expression grew almost unreadable, though his body language hinted at unease. “Like hers.”
“I knew it!” Without warning, Tamara threw her arms around me. It didn’t bother me nearly as much as Charles’ sudden contact had. “The Strigoi managed to survive! They’re not extinct after all!” She let go of me just as abruptly, the smile she flashed me turning to contemplation. “So, this means that—”
“That you two are about to get the hell off of my property?” The wizard queried hopefully.
The Moroi blinked at him in shock. “What? You can’t be serious. You don’t just spontaneously become Strigoi, you know. Someone has to bite you. Don't you get it?” Her face lit up. “There are more. In town. Turning people, maybe. How can you not want to know more? Don’t you want to know how they survived, where they’ve been, why they hid?”
“Nope.” Charles blinked cinnamon eyes as hard as stone. “I know there have to be more. That’s precisely why I want nothing to do with it. It has nothing to do with me.” Then he sighed and ran a hand through his short brown hair, seeming more tired than anything. “Look, Tamara, a creature like you, with some degree of humanity, is one thing. But why I should help a monster like that,” he gestured at me, “become a better monster is frankly beyond me. I’m done with being mixed up in stuff like that.”
I opened my mouth to protest, worked my stiffened jaw, but what do you say to something like that?
“Charles—” Tamara began.
“From everything I’ve read, things like her, like the Sanguinarians, they don’t just turn, they die.” He talked over her forcibly. “And when they die, their humanity dies with them. Maybe it takes longer for some than others, I don’t know. But eventually, it happens, and after that, there’s nothing left of the person they once were. They lose their soul and become a monster, driven by urges, power, and hunger.” He said it passionately, at first directing the speech toward Tamara, but at the end, his cynical red-brown eyes were staring into my own.
I couldn’t keep matching that gaze for long, and after a moment, my eyes dropped to the dirt. Is he right? It’s only a matter of time?
“No way.” Tamara’s firm response could have been a direct response to my thoughts. “The Strigoi were gone a century or two before you were born. You can’t judge people based on that.”
“Look, kid,” Charles huffed out a breath as he ran a hand through already mussed brown hair, “Ashley, was it?”
I nodded.
“You don’t seem a bad sort. Not yet, anyway.” He frowned as his expression softened. “So I don’t like being the bearer of bad news. But things are what they are, and I’m not going to sugar coat it either. Nothing I know indicates that this will turn out well for you.”
Charles shook his head. “Those breaths you’re taking? It’s pointless air, only useful for talking. Eventually, your body will catch on and drop the habit. Someday, you’ll even forget what it was like. Eating will go the same way.” His expression was sober. “Sunlight kills. Fire kills. You’re weakened in running water, as it interrupts the inherent magic of self-animation. Same with staking, though anything solid through the heart will do the same. Blessed ground or anointed items can cause aversion, agony, and burns. You sleep like death itself during the daylight hours.” He glanced at his home over a shoulder. “You’re particularly vulnerable to a good threshold or warding; like Moroi and Fae, you can’t cross them unless invited.”
I winced, remembering the rising wave of terror I’d felt as dawn had approached. If I’d been out just a little longer or been just a little slower… For that matter, the knife I’d been stabbed with made more sense now too, just not the how, who, or why. Also, what if I’d been in the shower when our apartment had been invaded?
“Most notably, however,” Charles continued, “is the fact that you consume blood to survive. If you haven’t already, sooner or later, the hunger will get to you, and you’ll have to feed. On humans. You need blood, you kill people to survive, and you turn the ones you kill. Like an epidemic.” He cleared his throat. “That’s what being a Strigoi is like. You’re just not human any more.”
Tamara and I just stared at one another. There was little I could say in the face of Charles’ tirade of information.
“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth,” the magician said quietly. “But there’s no point in me sticking my neck out to save you. It’s too late for that. What’s already dead can’t be saved.” He glanced toward the house for barely a second before shrugging. “There’s also the fact that I just don’t want to get involved,” he admitted. “Getting tangled up in supernatural political bullshit isn’t good for my health.”
Silence reigned. A chill wind blew across the standoff in the wizard’s crappy little backyard, tugging absently at our clothes. I tried to get a handle on all of the existential despair Charles’ speech had riled in me, but the facts of the matter were pretty rough. “Guys,” I began with hoarse difficulty, “I didn’t come here to make trouble.” I managed to meet Charles’ stare again. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done so far. If you don’t want to get involved, I can respect that.” I turned to Tamara. “We should go.”
But the beautiful, alabaster vampire didn’t budge, instead locking stares with Charles. “You know, they say the Moroi are the most human of the vampires,” her voice was subdued but compelling. “Maybe of all supernaturals. We may not age, we may become stronger, faster, tougher than any human could, but we’re still born, we still grow up, we still share this same world. We still feel, bleed, care, and die, just like you do. Even the old Romanian and Slavic lore says we’re still mortal.” Her face was downcast. “Despite all that, they once said the same of us, that we’re doomed to be monsters parading around in a human shell. Many still do, whenever it suits them.” Her sapphire eyes flashed, suddenly blazing and fierce. “And I’m not buying it.”
“I don’t know if I can get involved anymore, Tamara.” The wizard said it softly, the words almost lost to the breeze, leaning on his staff as if it were now supporting him. “I just don’t. It never turns out well.”
“Charles,” Tamara said quietly, firmly, but not harshly, “last I checked, you’re the only full representative of the Grand Magisterium in what, a hundred miles? Even if you don’t want to trust my judgment of her character,” she gave the wizard a frown, “and even if you want to hide your head in the sand, you’re still involved, no matter what. You think if something’s going on, that whoever’s involved is going to just play nice and pretend you don’t exist?”
&n
bsp; I watched them watch each other, an outside observer in something I didn’t fully comprehend. Charles wore his sturdiest frown yet, almost a scowl, but in the end, it was the magician who finally relented. “Fine.” He huffed the word out, his gruff voice heavy with resignation, taking a step toward the table and settling into one of the aged patio chairs with a grunt. “Let’s sit down and figure out what’s going on, at least.”
9
Fortune favors the dead
“It’ll be okay, Charles.” Tamara settled herself across from him. A gentle pat on my arm directed the same sentiment toward me.
The wizard just blinked at her. “Why would you say that? That’s just asking for trouble.”
“He’s right, you know,” I interjected, reclaiming my chair and dropping heavily into it. “Murphy’s Law.”
The Moroi shook her head. “Please don’t. He doesn’t need any help being paranoid.”
“Hmph.” Charles grunted, staring up thoughtfully. “So the Strigoi are back, after so many years. Or, rather, they never left at all.” He looked at Tamara. “You know, if I were them, I’d be angry. At everyone. Especially at the Sanguinarians. I’d want revenge. And more.”
“Is that what you think they want here in town?” I asked. “Vengeance or something?”
“Well, Birmingham is a major seat of Sanguinarian power,” Tamara remarked. “But why turn just you? Why single you out?” She turned to Charles. “And why now? Does anyone else know the Strigoi are here or even still exist, and what happens if they find out?”
“They may just be passing through, keeping concealed. Laying low.” He made a distasteful face. “Which would mean everyone that does know is a liability.”
“Well, those things that attacked me back at our apartment certainly seemed a lot like me.” I frowned, thinking it over.
Charles’ eyebrows shot up again. “Say what? If you think you were attacked by other Strigoi, it suggests a few interesting considerations, like—”
“Charles!” A stranger’s voice rang out from the house, the back door now open wide. The person framed by the dark, open doorway looked like a young man, a teen with short, messy red hair, skinny and normal in his faded Metallica t-shirt and ragged black jeans. He seemed familiar, but I didn’t recognize his face. “Bookbinder’s is on the phone! They need to talk to you about…” He glanced the two of us non-humans over warily. “About the thing! From earlier!”
The wizard twisted awkwardly, trying to keep me in his peripheral vision while eyeballing the young man. “I told you to stay inside! Where it’s safe.”
Tamara sighed and rolled her eyes.
“But they said it’s important!” As if for proof, the kid held up an old-fashioned landline phone, complete with stretched-out, curly cord.
“Goddammit.” Charles grumbled as he rose, picking up his staff and giving us both a flat look. “I trust you’ll still be here when I get back.” I almost expected him to walk backwards into the house, to keep us in view, but he didn’t. He just kept glancing over his shoulder to ensure we hadn’t moved.
I tried to use the moment of silence to relax a little, and when that failed, I looked over at Tamara. “So. He’s fun.”
The Moroi mixed an amused smile with a long-suffering sigh. “Charles? He’s not so bad… Sometimes, anyway. I’m sorry he was so rude to you. I knew he might not like this, but I didn’t know who else I could trust to talk to.”
“Well, if you trust him, that’s good enough for me. No worries.” I managed a thin, tired smile. “Who’s the kid?”
“That’s Corey. Charles’ apprentice.” Tamara propped her leather platforms back on top of the dusty glass table and folded her arms behind her head. “I don’t know the details, but Charles took him in off of the streets a while back and started training him in magic.”
I mulled that over. “Good to know he’s not a total asshole, then.”
Tamara shrugged noncommittally.
We waited Charles out until he returned, pausing at the door to argue with the younger man. “Fine, then. I told you to stay safely inside, but if you’re not going to listen to my good sense, then you can at least be useful. Bring us something to drink.” He only made it a couple of steps away from the door before he turned back toward the house and raised his voice. “And make mine whiskey. I’m going to need it.” Tromping over, he looked at us with a sigh. As he moved to sit, the tall magician gestured at us, or at least towards Tamara, in his first show of hospitality. “Either of you want anything?”
“No thanks,” I replied. “I’ll pass. The last thing I had didn’t do much for me.” Charles eyed me, and I only belatedly wondered if he thought I meant a person.
“Sure,” Tamara replied easily. “I’ll have a Ramos Gin Fizz, on the rocks with a slice of orange on the side.” The wizard replied with an unamused, flat stare. “Kidding, geeze. Whatever’s fine.”
Charles gestured dismissively toward his apprentice, who scurried back inside in a hurry. The wizard didn’t seem keen on talking immediately, turning his attention instead to a small notebook he’d brought back from the house. So we waited out a couple more minutes of quiet as a group until Corey returned, bearing a tray of hastily-made sandwiches, along with a couple of soda cans and a tall bottle of Jack Daniels.
The kid might have been sixteen or seventeen. Maybe. But if so, it was a stretch, because he didn’t look it. His wild red hair matched the copious freckles scattered across fair skin, and his frame was still in the process of filling out his adult-sized Master of Puppets shirt. He still seemed familiar, and it was starting to bother me, like a mental itch I couldn’t scratch.
“Charles, what’s that smell?” The boy crinkled his nose in disgust. “It’s like something died out here.” He looked up at me, met my eyes with his green ones.
That’s when I realized where I’d seen him before.
He gasped. Sandwiches, cokes, and bottle all tumbled into the dirt.
All the events of the last day or so abruptly came crashing back in on me, undeniable, barely even manageable. Flashes of Cam-Kong’s savagery and the murky images of the blood-chilling creatures from the other night and this morning haunted me, leaving me reeling, clutching the table, fighting the urge to try to flee the fleeting images.
She held me by the throat. My eyesight was growing so dim I could barely make out a pale face, dead blue eyes, and blond hair. A petite girl shrouded in shadow, with thick fangs and a twisted smile that implied unnatural hunger, an expression that seemed so wrong on her young face. She whispered something inaudible as she leaned in, and the pain surged as I uselessly struggled against fate.
“Hey!” A young male voice rang out, pitched high with alarm. I could barely move, life running dry, but she shifted enough for my head to loll to the side, allowing me catch a glance at a skinny kid in dark clothes and flame colored hair.“Get away from her!”
Her face twisted as she snarled, her visage contorting just in time to catch a rippling bolt of fire, lancing from the boy’s hands like a living serpent of flame. I was dropped to the ground, discarded for the second time that night, as the fire latched hungrily onto her. The shrieking was loud at first, so very loud, but quickly got quieter, further away. Someone leaned in over me, mouth moving silently, but all I could make out was red hair and green eyes, because apparently it gets really hard to notice details when you’re dying.
“Ashley? Are you okay?” Tamara’s worried voice greeted me as I ripped myself free from the sudden recollection.
“Yeah, never better,” I rasped. I could feel where my fingernails had dug angry trails into the metal arms of Charles’ worn patio chair. Tamara frowned, obviously unconvinced, her pale hand a light touch of concern on my arm.
By the time I shook off the flashback, Charles was already at the boy’s side, staff between him and us. “What’s wrong?” He rescued the bottle of Jack from the dirt. “I told you I wouldn’t let either of them hurt you.”
“It’s not that.” Core
y’s back was turned as he crouched, picking up fallen food and drinks, his voice shaking under a cracked layer of false bravado. “It’s nothing.”
“The hell it is,” Charles grumbled. His voice grew quieter, more considerate. “She was the one you ran into, wasn’t she?” He put a comforting hand on his apprentice’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Just tell me.”
“What is he talking about?” Tamara’s hand tightened on my arm.
“You,” I hesitated, my voice hoarse and hard to manage. “You tried to save me.”
“You were dying,” the red haired boy said finally, rising and turning to face me, clutching the silver tray defensively. I flinched, even though I’d known a statement like that was coming. “The day before yesterday. After midnight.” Tamara put a comforting hand on my shoulder.
The teen opened his mouth hesitantly to go on, but it was Charles that spoke, returning to the patio table and pulling out a chair for the younger man, then ushering him into it. “Corey saw the Strigoi that was turning you.” The older magician’s eyes were unreadable. “Said he heard a noise, like a gasp, down an alley. Investigated, saw someone struggling. He tried to save them, and things went south quick.”
“Wow…” I breathed out slowly, habitually, uselessly. “Thanks. For what you tried to do, I mean.”
Corey didn’t look up, instead fiddling with an old lighter in his lap. After a moment, he simply nodded.
“What the fuck, Charles,” Tamara exclaimed, making me start. “If you knew that, why didn’t you say something earlier? Did you know what was going on here the whole time?”
The magician shook his head irritably. “Because I only now put it all together, alright? I’d thought he stumbled across a Sanguinarian feeding, and was lucky to be alive.” The edge of his irritation faded as he ran his hand through his hair, fetching the final unoccupied chair for himself and thumping into it heavily. “You know,” he met Tamara’s sapphire eyes, “If you don’t trust me a little here, we’re not going to make it very far.”
Dead Girl's Ashes (Dying Ashes Book 1) Page 8
