Brand New Night

by Nathan Spain

  Fear rose within Bodrock, wrestling with anger for control of his mind. There had to be a reason the vampire hadn’t killed him yet. He forced himself to think, to examine all the possibilities. None of them were good.

  “You won’t get away with this, bloodsucker,” he said, shoving his doubt behind a defiant tone. “Do you think the mayor will just drop the matter and let you keep coming back to prey on the city? I told him where I was going. If I don’t return, he’ll send people to exterminate you.”

  Draven leapt lightly onto the altar, standing upon it so that he was face to face with Bodrock. “I thought that was what he sent you for. If the mayor is smart, he’ll realize that sending more men to kill me would be signing their death warrants. In any event, it would not be a rescue mission. You took your shot. You lost.”

  Bodrock swallowed his apprehension long enough to ask, “Then why am I still here?”

  “An excellent question,” Draven admitted. “I was asking myself the same thing while you were unconscious. There’s the obvious reason, of course – your blood.” He leaned closer, furrowing his brow, and his eyes darted to Bodrock’s neck. “Blood is sweetest when it’s freshly pumped by a beating heart. The fresher your blood, the more invigorating it feels coursing through my veins.”

  Bodrock twisted his face in revulsion, but he held his tongue.

  Draven tilted his head to one side and fixed Bodrock with a probing stare. “Do you find it repellent? The concept of a being like me who feeds on blood? But don’t you humans feed on the meat of other animals? Meat, blood…is it so very different? Both of us are predator races, dependent on other living beings to survive.”

  Great, Bodrock thought. A philosophical bloodsucker.

  “That’s not why you bats disgust me,” he said. “It’s because you’re vicious, sadistic parasites. You treat people like disposable cattle.”

  Draven raised an eyebrow in a skeptical arch. “And for your part, you generalize. Believe it or not, there are those of us who shun needless killing. Not every vampire values human life as little as you claim.”

  “Oh, my mistake,” Bodrock sneered. “Let me go and I’ll spread the word, tell all the families of everyone a vampire has ever killed that it’s okay, because not all of you are murderers.”

  Draven glanced away. “I’ll admit that as a race, we have blood on our hands. More blood, perhaps, than we can ever make amends for. But I’m coming around to the idea that we should at least try.”

  “If you’re going to try and convince me you monsters are just misunderstood, then don’t waste your breath.”

  The vampire regarded him with a calm, collected gaze that Bodrock found somehow more unnerving than any look of hatred or malice. He was fully prepared to fight to the death against his enemies, but debating one was an arena he felt much less at home in.

  Draven jumped down from the altar and sat on one of the pews. He threw an arm over the back of the bench and examined Bodrock. “We’re in a vicious cycle, you and I. One that stretches back hundreds of years. We vampires need what you have, and the only way we know of to get it is by force. And in return, you hate us and hunt us.”

  “Can you blame us?” Bodrock snarled.

  Draven shook his head, his expression sober. “In truth? No, I can’t. You’re only protecting yourselves and your people. But despite being monsters in your eyes, we’re ultimately reflections of humanity. We feel the same emotions you do and indulge in the same bad habits. Perhaps we should focus more on what we have in common.”

  Bodrock wasn’t sure what this oddly introspective creature was getting at, and he didn’t care to find out. “Are you going to kill me, or just continue torturing me with your musings until I’m begging for death? What kind of damn vampire are you? I’ve never met one who talks so much.”

  “Doubtless you’ve never stopped to have a conversation with one before,” Draven said with a thin smile. “I apologize for making a captive audience of you, but it’s been a while since I’ve had someone to express my thoughts to. I’m at a crossroads, you see, and I’m attempting to talk myself into a decision.”

  The words lingered in the air for a moment. Bodrock hesitated before asking, “A decision about what?”

  Draven gave Bodrock a long, penetrating look, until the hunter couldn’t stand to meet those unsettling eyes any longer.

  “Tell me,” Draven asked, “what led you to your current profession? I know the Sons of Helsing recruit among those who have had previous encounters with vampires. They approach such people offering answers, explanations, and most importantly, an enemy. They weaponize fear, turning it into anger to fuel their cause. You seem very angry, hunter.”

  It was hardly an extraordinary deduction; Bodrock was certain the vampire could see it on his face as he spat, “I have good reason to hate you and your foul kind, vampire. Very good reason.”

  The names floated at the tip of his tongue, but he refused to speak them. Their memory was for him to keep, not for this monster.

  “I don’t doubt it,” Draven sighed. “I have good reason to hate our kind, too. Members of your brotherhood once hurt someone close to me, decades ago. It’s all part of that vicious cycle I was talking about. You don’t need to tell me your whole sad story. We all have one. Lately, everyone’s story has been one of loss.”

  Bodrock wasn’t listening. He was busy trying to think of a way to get out of this with his body intact and his blood still in it, but he had trouble picturing a version of the situation that ended well. The cut on his face still throbbed, matching the tense rhythm of his breath. He knew the vampire could sense how nervous he was, but he put on a brave face anyway and said, “What’s your point, monster? I’m getting sick of the sound of your voice.”

  “The point is, someone recently advised me that I need to make a change, and I’m beginning to agree. You’ve reminded me of things that happened long ago. I’ve lived for over two centuries, and I’m growing weary, hunter, of seeing the same stories play out over and over again. The world has changed, but I have not. It’s time, I think, to rectify that. Time for something new.”

  Draven stood up from the pew and strode over to the pile of Bodrock’s possessions. He picked up the gasoline can and, with a sense of decisive purpose, splashed its contents across the wooden walls and floor of the church.

  Bodrock’s eyes widened in horror. The monster’s gone mad.

  He struggled against his bonds with renewed vigor, his heart pounding out a panicked beat. “What are you doing? Have you lost your damn mind?”

  Draven looked up from his task. “On the contrary. I feel an exhilarating clarity for the first time in years. I should thank you for helping me come to this realization.”

  “What realization?” Bodrock shouted. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to make some changes in my life. I intend to leave as soon as the sun goes down, and I’ve found that when one leaves a place, it’s best to leave it for good, with no possibility of return. Do you have any matches?” He fished around in his pocket and pulled out the hunter’s crimson lighter. “Ah, never mind. I forgot I already confiscated this from you.”

  “Wait,” Bodrock yelled, a note of terror creeping into his voice. “You can’t just leave me here to burn!”

  Draven looked at him with distaste. “I think you know that I absolutely could. After all, mere hours ago we were fighting to the death. I wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you then. But there’s a point to be made for practicing what you preach, and I seem to have lost my appetite for violence.”

  Bodrock’s eyes narrowed as he tried to process what the vampire was saying. “Does…does that mean you’re letting me go?”

  “Before you start celebrating your luck, you should know I haven’t lost all my usual appetites.” Draven’s mouth twitched, and he eyed the hunter’s neck hungrily. “I have a long journey ahead of me, and who knows when the next meal will be. Don’t worry, I’ll leave you enough for your body to stay alive
.”

  He set down the gasoline can on a pew and sprang forward, leaping off the top of the altar and easily bridging the gap between himself and the cross on the wall. Wrapping one arm around the cross behind Bodrock, he jerked the hunter’s head to the side with the other, holding him in place as he plunged his teeth into Bodrock’s neck.

  Bodrock’s heart hammered so fast he thought it would burst. Panic blinded him; he perceived nothing but the pain in his neck and the fear screaming in his brain. He thrashed wildly and to no avail, until the strength faded from his limbs and he succumbed to the dark of unconsciousness.

  ----

  Bodrock stirred, waking in a disoriented haze for a second time. He lifted his head. This time, the first thing that greeted his senses was heat, and light – a bright, roaring light in the darkness, filling his vision. He shielded his face with his hand, realizing as he did so that he was no longer bound.

  He was outside. Before him, the old church was ablaze, a massive conflagration that sent up dark, billowing clouds of smoke into the night sky, blotting out the stars.

  He rose unsteadily to his feet, weak from blood loss, massaging the skin on his wrists that had been rubbed raw by the friction of the ropes. For a while he just stood there, staring into the flames. Even from a safe distance, the waves of heat sent out from the blaze made large drops of sweat roll down his skin.

  He watched the fire burn, and felt exhausted, furious, and alive.

  The vampire was nowhere to be seen.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ariadne strode through the halls of Crater Lake Lodge. Perhaps sensing that she was at loose ends while her father was away, Lady Selene had tasked her with giving the lodge a final inspection and making note of anything that needed to be altered. The Winebloods had been working for days to restore the place to its former glory. All the dust and cobwebs had been cleared away, the rooms made ready for guests. The people winging their way to the lodge were, on the whole, of a distinguished character. A certain show of hospitality was expected.

  The lodge was a long, four-storied building overlooking the lake, with a sturdy base of gray stone on the ground floor, brown brick walls on the upper floors, and fir-green wooden shingles on the roof. It had accommodated tourists for over a hundred years, but the Devastation left little incentive to travel out to rural areas where the safety net of society could no longer reach. The park became just another rarely-visited patch of land, the lodge was abandoned, and so it had remained.

  At least until recently.

  The location had been carefully selected by the Winebloods, with both practical and aesthetic qualities taken into consideration. It certainly wasn’t lacking in the latter. The building was rich with a rustic elegance; wooden beams crisscrossed the ceilings, and among pillars fashioned like tree trunks, carpets and furniture were tastefully arranged upon the smooth, reflective hardwood floors. Although the lodge lacked power, and the purple drapes across the many windows were kept firmly shut against the sun, hundreds of candles and oil lamps had been provided. Roaring fires were lit in the fireplaces that protruded from the stone walls, casting the halls with a warm orange glow.

  Ariadne loved it. It felt warmer and cozier than Wineblood Manor ever had. Soon enough the place would be filled with delegations from the other three clans, but right now she was enjoying the relative emptiness of its halls, drinking in the stillness and hoping it would help still her nervous thoughts.

  So much was about to happen, and so little of it possible to predict. Life had taught Ariadne time and time again how to roll with its punches, but she had yet to find a way to see the blows coming.

  Her wandering had taken her to the back of the building. On a whim, she opened the door and stepped out onto the narrow back patio. She needed some fresh night air in her lungs.

  She stared out at the vast, deep body of water. In the sunlight it would be dazzlingly blue, but right now the reflection of the moon left a glowing circle on the lake’s dark surface. In all her past thirty years – nearly sixty if she counted her earlier life as a human – she had never visited this place. She was struck by how beautiful it was. Calm and quiet and alive.

  The beauty was deceptive, however. Nature may have been thriving, but it was fertilized by death. Mass graves stood outside every town.

  It broke Ariadne’s heart to think of all the lives claimed by the Devastation. She only hoped that in the coming years she would see the world’s resurgence instead of its continued decline. But as her father had been emphatically explaining to anyone who would listen, waiting to see how things developed, while perhaps a natural impulse for such a long-lived and under the radar community as vampires, may prove a fatal mistake. They would have to take a more proactive approach to the future. Hence this meeting of minds that was about to take place.

  She realized, of course, that she was lucky to even be there. After all, space and resources were limited, and it would not be possible for every vampire to attend. Each clan leader would personally select the members of their delegations. The fact that her father lived at Wineblood Manor as a favored advisor to Lady Selene had secured him and Ariadne a seat at the table.

  So now here they were, early arrivals assisting with the final preparations, mere days away from the beginning of the summit. Soon more and more people from all four corners of the country would fill up the lodge. It would be the biggest gathering of vampire-kind in over a hundred years.

  Theirs was not a unified race; old tensions lingered, and sparks were likely to fly. It was anyone’s guess how putting them all in one room together might go. Of course, it was worthwhile to make the attempt, but while her father remained fixed on optimism, she couldn’t shake her apprehension.

  Ariadne sighed and stretched, enjoying the rare moment of peace, but also keeping a vigilant eye on the sky, awaiting Damian’s return. She needed to know if he had succeeded in his mission. Her life as a vampire had begun with Draven, and now, at the dawn of what would hopefully be a new chapter for their entire race, it seemed fitting that he might make his return.

  If she was being honest with herself, however, she had no idea how she would react if Draven did show up. It had been decades since they last spoke, and they had not parted on the happiest of terms.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a dark shape flitting across the sky. At first it was too distant for her to be sure who was approaching, but then she recognized him – the pale gray fur, the torn ear. Even in his bat form, she’d know her father anywhere.

  The bat alighted on the patio beside her and transformed into Damian’s familiar figure. He had his traveling cloak wrapped about him, and his smile crinkled the skin around his eyes when he spotted her.

  She stepped forward and pulled him into a hug, already feeling calmer for his presence. Damian could always keep her grounded without even trying. Although she still visited him occasionally, she had traveled widely on her own the last few decades. The excuse to spend time with her father had been as much a motivating factor in her desire to attend the summit as any thin chance at seeing Draven again.

  “Ariadne,” Damian said warmly, pulling back from her embrace. “It’s good to see you. Were you waiting for me?”

  “I had a feeling you would be returning soon.”

  Damian smiled. “You always did have good intuition.”

  “So, what happened?” Ariadne said, trying not to let her voice betray her eagerness for the answer. “Did you find him?”

  Damian put his hands on the patio railing and leaned his weight on it, staring out at the still waters of the vast lake. “I did, but the jury’s out on whether or not he’ll be joining us. I gave him my best pitch. I even told him you would be there.”

  Ariadne held her breath. “How did he react?”

  “He very noticeably didn’t.”

  “Yes,” she said with a frustrated sigh, “that sounds like him.”

  “You remember how Draven is,” Damian reminded her. “He can be inscrutab
le at times, but when he makes a choice, he follows through on it. You and I are proof of that.”

  “Yeah, and he could barely look at me afterward! Sometimes I think he was grateful for the court’s punishment, just so he had an excuse to run away from the consequences of his actions.”

  “You may have him pegged there. I mentioned what happened. How grateful I am to him for turning me. He said he wasn’t sure if he made the right choice.”

  Ariadne’s shoulders drooped. Her desire to see Draven again waned with every word. “That’s ridiculous. You don’t regret becoming a vampire, and neither do I. Why should he regret it if we don’t?”

  Damian shrugged. “A valid question. I’m a bit worried about him, to be honest. He’s been isolated for so long, and it seems he’s become cynical in his old age. I can only hope that I shook some of the dust off him – perhaps enough to inspire him to come out and join us. But frankly, I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.”

  When she thought about it, Ariadne wasn’t exactly sure what she’d been hoping for in the first place. It had only been recently, when Selene raised the possibility of a pardon, that she’d had to contend with the idea of a reunion with Draven. Would he still love her like he once had? Did he still care about her at all, thirty years after the fact? Did she still want him to?

  She leaned against the stone wall of the patio beside her father, looking up at the stars. “If he does come,” she sighed, “he and I will have a lot we need to talk about.”

  Damian put a gentle arm around her shoulders. “I hope you’ll get the chance to. But come, Ariadne, dawn will soon be here, and I’ve flown a long way. I need to report to Lady Selene, and then I need a good day’s rest. We’ll learn soon enough whether or not Draven will be joining us.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Draven flew south through the night, feeling possessed by some devilish restlessness, an impulsive urge that spurred him onward with a mix of nervousness and excitement. All things were now possible, and that heady feeling of uncertainty was the wind beneath his wings.