by Nathan Spain
Yet the path he’d chosen was taking him backward; as much as it was a new beginning, it was also an undeniable return. A return to a society that had cast him out, to reminders of past decisions that still weighed on him. To people whose lives he had intended to remove himself from. Good-natured Damian, young and forever old, and sweet Ariadne, Draven’s greatest passion, and perhaps his greatest mistake.
He shook himself out of the reverie of memories that threatened to overtake him. He would face them later. For now, there was the journey to focus on.
Many miles still stood between him and his destination. It would be impossible to cover such a distance in a single night; pretty soon he would have to stop, to find someplace to rest and wait out the coming day.
He flew lower as he approached a small town. The streets and buildings were silent and desolate. He picked a neighborhood at random, cautiously swooped down, and transformed in the empty street.
The house in front of him looked abandoned, as so many homes now were – empty and dust-covered, like a discarded dollhouse fallen into disrepair. Draven stood in the shadows, his senses alert for evidence of humanity, but nothing presented itself.
The front door hung loose on its hinges. Draven quietly stepped over the threshold and examined his surroundings. The house had clearly been looted; furniture and possessions were upended and strewn about the floor, but judging from the layers of dust, it had been quite some time since anyone last disturbed this place. It had probably been cleared out long ago, shortly after the Devastation.
Photos still hung on the wall. Draven moved over to examine them. The frozen faces of happy children and their parents smiled up at him, locked in picturesque moments of long-lost prosperity. He wondered if any of the people pictured were still alive. Statistically speaking, he knew it was extremely unlikely, and if they were still alive and existing somewhere, it wasn’t here. All that remained here were the ghostly fragments they had left behind.
He averted his gaze, feeling uncomfortable. It wasn’t the thought of dead humans that perturbed him; even before death had swept across the world, he’d been no stranger to it. What disturbed him about this place, about the remnants of forgotten lives sitting neglected in their dusty stasis, was the feeling that he was somehow intruding. He ought to be used to that feeling by now – after all, it had been a long time since he’d been anything but an intruder in human society. Whether in abandoned homes and churches or dimly-lit city bars, he was forever borrowing space, walking through a world that did not belong to him.
Even now, he still didn’t belong in this place. This place belonged to no one. But for the moment, he would have to borrow it.
Draven breathed a silent request for forgiveness to any watching ghosts.
He stripped off his shirt, gingerly checking the wound where Bodrock’s machete had pierced his chest. An angry red line marked the spot, but the broken skin had already reformed.
Tired and frustrated, he drew the curtains across the windows and lay down on the couch, throwing up a huge cloud of dust in the process. He held his breath until it settled again.
Draven rolled over onto his side, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to gradually still his mind and drift off into an uneasy slumber.
Outside, the first fingers of dawn crept over the horizon. Inside, amidst the dust and discarded memories, Draven’s unconscious mind combed through memories of its own, weaving tapestries of dreams from the threads of a long, long life…
----
He dreamt he was sitting in a café in Seattle. Sunlight shone brightly through the windows, warm on his cold skin; warm but not painful. He didn’t question why his skin didn’t burn at the sun’s touch – it was the logic of dreams.
Ariadne sat across from him, looking at him with a smile on her face and laughter in her eyes. The sunlight turned her long blond hair to a glowing gold. The skin of her face was soft and pink, warm blood flowing in her veins. Draven couldn’t stop admiring her; not in the way that one admires a delicious-looking meal before devouring it, but in the way one admires a forest or a river. There was no thought in his mind of possessing her or taking from her – it was not her blood that drew him to her. He was content simply to share space with her at this table and look deeply into her eyes, as if hoping some of the life in them would rub off on him. She was bright and beautiful and so painfully alive.
She didn’t know that he was dead.
She didn’t know what he was. She didn’t even know his name. He couldn’t tell her.
He told her everything he could.
Later, in time, she would learn the rest, and after that there would be no going back to those earlier, more innocent hours.
The dream shifted and changed. The café grew dark, until Ariadne had vanished from sight along with his surroundings. The darkness was all-consuming and impenetrable. He walked aimlessly through it, searching for something he couldn’t name.
A circle of light lay ahead, illuminating an object. It was too far away to tell what it was, and then suddenly he was right in front of it.
It was a bed. In it lay Damian, frail and cancer-ridden.
“Are you going to let him die?”
He turned at the sound of the voice. Ariadne stood behind him. She, too, was illuminated by a spotlight in the inky black void.
“Are you going to let me die?” she said.
Blood dripped from her mouth. A dark red stain spread across her shirt. Behind her, Draven could see other figures lying in other pools of light – and pools of blood. Men torn limb from limb, blood spattered across the skull-and-stakes insignias on their jackets.
The bed was empty now. Damian stood beside his injured daughter, no longer sick, no longer frail, but pale and bloodied.
“You would die as yourself, at least,” Draven told her.
“I don’t want to die as myself,” she said. Her blood was leaving her body. The light was leaving her eyes. “I want to live, like you and Dad.”
He moved closer, brushing her hair away from her neck, putting as much tenderness into the gesture as he could. He sank his head down toward her, and then he sank his teeth into her.
Her gasp was the sound of a life ending. And for a moment, it did.
But only for a moment.
----
Draven woke with a jolt. It took him a second to remember where and when he was. The abandoned house was quiet and still, nighttime shadows resting softly on its forgotten corners.
His mind was still half in the dream. Memories swirled behind his eyes: Ariadne, sucking blood from an open vein in his wrist even as he drew blood from her neck. Ariadne, shuddering and gasping as the transformation took hold. Ariadne, her skin grown pale, the blue of her eyes faded; living, but no longer full of life.
He sat up, blinking away both sleep and memories, forcing himself back into the present moment. He didn’t feel like he’d slept through the whole day, but no light came through the curtains.
Draven stood. There was nothing for him here but dust and echoes. It was time to move on.
He quickly dressed, then opened the door and passed into the warm air of the early night. Along the street stood other houses, dark and lifeless, each one its own little grave, haunted by memories.
Checking one more time to make sure there were no hidden pairs of eyes on him, he transformed and soared upward into the sky, orienting himself by the last faint trace of light from the setting sun.
Slowly, minute by minute, he drew closer to the subject of his memories and dreams.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ariadne shoved her way to the front of the gathering crowd in the lodge’s main hall, eager to get her first glimpse of the incoming delegation. She caught her father’s eye across the room and they exchanged a look of excitement.
The Nightcloaks were arriving.
Ariadne had never ventured out of Wineblood territory since her turning, but she knew of the other clans by reputation. The Wineblood’s neighbors, the Nightcloak cla
n, ruled the Midwestern states, led by the notoriously ruthless Lord Thanatos. The south was controlled by the Blackwing clan, with whom the Winebloods had historically had a strained relationship, exacerbated by the recent passing of the throne to wild-card Lord Brone. It was perhaps no coincidence that the clan the Winebloods enjoyed the friendliest relations with was also the one furthest from them geographically: the Stormfangs of the Northeast, led by the young and strong-willed Lady Rosanna.
Ariadne peered out the front doors, looking up at the sky, where a swarm of dark shapes blotted out the stars. Dozens of bats sped down toward the front entrance of the lodge. Just as it seemed they would strike the ground, they twisted and changed shape mid-flight, reforming in the figures of men and women.
The new arrivals stood in silence, tall and grave. In accordance with their name, the Nightcloaks were wrapped in inky-black cloaks that extended down almost to their feet. The effect made them look like formless pillars of solidified shadow. When they moved, it was as if a piece of the very night air itself had detached from its surroundings and taken on a life of its own.
At the forefront of their assembly stood a tall, gaunt man. Though she’d never seen him before, Ariadne knew immediately who he was; his appearance was as intimidating as the swirl of rumors that surrounded him. His thin dark hair was slicked back along his skull, his features skeletal and stern. He wore a crimson brooch at his neck in the form of a droplet of blood, a disarming splash of color on an otherwise monochromatic figure. His cloak was a tamed black hole; it seemed to trap the light and swallow it.
Thanatos, Lord of the Nightcloaks, strode regally through the front doors of the lodge to receive his welcome.
Ariadne watched as Lady Selene stepped forward to greet him, the sharp line of her jaw raised, her bearing noble. A mature woman with hair pale as moonlight, Selene wore a necklace of crimson stones and a velvet gown of a deep, rich red.
“Greetings, Lord Thanatos,” she proclaimed. “Clan Wineblood welcomes you.”
Thanatos bowed stiffly at the waist, his hands clasped behind his back. “Lady Selene,” he purred as he straightened. “You look as lovely as ever.”
Selene gave him a polite smile. “I’m pleased that you accepted my invitation. It is my hope that this summit will mark the beginning of a new era for the relations between our clans.”
He smiled back at her in turn, and an involuntary shiver slid down Ariadne’s spine. His bony face looked like a skull when he smiled, all taut skin and sunken eyes.
“Whatever the outcome,” he said, “it will be an honor to play my part in this historic occasion.”
“You and your delegation must be tired after traveling such a long way,” Lady Selene suggested. “My men” – with a sweep of an arm she indicated a pair of vampires waiting at the foot of the staircase beside the reception desk – “will show you upstairs to your quarters, should you wish to rest. Alternatively, light refreshments are available in the dining hall – although, being that you are the first to arrive, I must beg your patience, as the first full banquet will not be served until all the clans are gathered.”
“Of course. Your hospitality is much appreciated.” Thanatos glanced around the rustic interior of the hall, taking in the surroundings. “What a charming place you’ve found for the occasion. Very quaint. I’m sure we will enjoy our stay here.” He bowed again to Lady Selene, and signaled to the assembled Nightcloaks to follow as he strode up the stairs.
Selene watched them exit, standing stiff and straight. As soon as the final Nightcloak was out of sight, her posture loosened and her expression soured. “Very quaint,” she muttered under her breath. “Arrogant bastard.” She turned to face the assembled Winebloods. “All right, everyone, no need to stand around any longer. Someone please go and check in with the kitchen. Make sure everything’s in order should our guests desire refreshments. Damian, kindly keep a watch for the Blackwing delegation. We still have Lord Brone and Lady Rosanna to prepare for.”
Damian gave her a quick bow in acknowledgement. Before he left, he caught Ariadne’s eye and mouthed, “Sorry, talk later.”
The rest of the crowd dispersed, but Ariadne remained where she was, unsure what to do next. She watched Lady Selene out of the corner of her eye.
Suddenly, Selene turned around and looked at her. “Ariadne.”
“Yes, my Lady?” Ariadne said, snapping to attention. She swallowed her irrational anxiety as Selene approached; talking to Lady Selene always made her feel like her three decades of vampiric life was a mere drop in the bucket. She wasn’t sure she would ever possess such confident, capable authority, no matter how much longer she lived. In truth, Ariadne found Selene a little intimidating. Or perhaps impressive was more the right word. She did not fear her, but it was difficult not to be awed by her.
“I’ve been so busy with the preparations that I haven’t had the chance to properly welcome you yet,” Selene said. “It’s good to have you back among us again. It’s been quite some time since we last saw you at the Manor.”
Ariadne gave her a small, polite bow. “I’m thankful to be here. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this. And besides, the summit has become very important to my father.”
“Indeed,” Selene said, her mouth curving upward in fondness. “He’s advocated for this summit tirelessly, every step of the way.” She paused for a moment before carefully adding, “I hear he even managed to locate Draven.”
Ariadne tried to keep herself from reacting to the name, but she couldn’t stop her frown or hide the sudden evasiveness of her eyes; she wasn’t skilled at concealing her emotions from anyone, let alone someone as perceptive as Selene. “He did,” she said in an even tone, “but your guess is as good as mine what will come of it. I think Draven’s nervous about showing his face here. Or more likely he’s just too stubborn and proud.”
A thin smile played across Selene’s lips. “Stubbornness always was a weakness of Draven’s.”
“Tell me about it, my Lady,” Ariadne muttered.
Selene’s smile faded, and her eyes grew kind. “Indeed, you would know, wouldn’t you? Much could have been avoided had he relented to your wishes sooner.”
Ariadne hesitated for a moment. She’d thought long and hard over the decades about Draven’s reasoning for his initial refusal to turn her. Finally she admitted, “He told me once that he – he didn’t want to change me. That he thought I was perfect the way I was.”
Selene scoffed. “More likely he was afraid to elevate you to the level of an equal. I find that men usually prefer the balance of power in their relationships to be weighted in their favor.”
“It – it wasn’t like that, my Lady,” Ariadne stammered. “He just –”
Selene cut her off. “You’re right. I shouldn’t make presumptions about another’s personal affairs. Draven is a good man at heart, and he probably thought he had your best interests in mind. Though of course, he did bring you into our fold eventually.”
Had blood been flowing in her cheeks, Ariadne would have blushed. An embarrassed resentment welled up inside her. The days when her link with Draven had been a natural one, and not the heavy chain of controversy, seemed increasingly distant.
Selene was watching her, and Ariadne realized, with an internal grimace, that her conflicted emotions probably showed on her face again. But Selene seemed to have misread Ariadne’s expression, for she said, “I hope you don’t still resent me for separating the two of you. You know it was the lightest sentence I could give him. He knew full well that revealing his true nature to humans was against our laws, let alone turning them without the approval of the court. And then to inadvertently draw vampire hunters to you and your father’s doorstep…that was a grave mistake, one that could have endangered every vampire in the region. My hands were tied. I could not let such a violation go unpunished, not even for a member of my own court.”
Ariadne looked deferentially down at her feet. She had heard all the justifications before. “I understand, my
Lady.”
“Don’t mistake me,” Selene added. “It may have been unapproved, but I don’t believe the gift he gave you and your father was undeserved. Quite the contrary. You have both been a credit to our clan.”
Ariadne bowed, partly to hide her face. She was thankful once again to be incapable of blushing. “Thank you, my Lady.”
“That will be all for now. Oh, and if Draven does show up, tell him I would like to have a word with him as soon as possible.”
“Of course, my Lady.”
If he does, Ariadne thought as she turned to go, you won’t be the only one.
----
A hundred feet above the lodge, Damian flew in slow, deliberate circles, senses alert for any sign of approaching bats. The night was calm, yet he felt oddly anxious. Something hung in the air – a growing sense of potential, laced with frightening unpredictability.
It’s really happening, he thought. Winebloods and Nightcloaks under the same roof, and Blackwings and Stormfangs soon to join them. This will either be a gigantic mistake or the best thing we could have done. Damn it, I would feel less nervous if only –
His thoughts broke off, his attention caught by the fluttering movement of a shape on the southern horizon. He flew closer, transfixed. Is that…could it be?
Yes – he would recognize that bat anywhere, no matter how long it had been. After all, it was the first bat he had ever flown alongside. Damian had never forgotten that first flight, not in all his years since.
He sped forward to make himself known, and the two bats spun around each other in greeting. They swooped down to the front steps of the lodge, shifting with a twirl into human form and coming together in a firm embrace.
“Draven,” Damian exclaimed in delight as he pulled away. “What a happy surprise. I must confess, I wasn’t sure you would join us. What made you decide to come?”
