Brand New Night

by Nathan Spain

  “Listen,” she said. “There’s always a chance of loss. We’ll never have absolute certainty about our futures. But if you let yourself dwell on all the worst possible outcomes, you’ll only drive yourself mad. You haven’t lost me yet, Draven. I’m right here.”

  He met her gaze, his lips parted slightly, the anxiety in his eyes replaced by a probing intensity. She felt uncomfortable under that stare, but it was a thrilling sort of discomfort, and not entirely unwelcome.

  She saw hesitation in his eyes, a calculation that solidified into a decision so suddenly she almost didn’t notice the change.

  He cupped her cheek in his hand, leaned his head in close, and removed hesitation from the equation.

  It wasn’t a firm, passionate kiss. It wasn’t insistent, forceful, greedy. It was a question, and her own hesitation melted away at the gentleness of its asking.

  She gave him an answer.

  Their mouths moved together, their hands grasping at hair, shoulders, whatever they could get a purchase on, and Ariadne found that she was hungrier than she had known. She felt tingly, alight with desire, and she leaned into him, moving faster, clinging to his lips as if they were life-sustaining, as though the kiss could put blood in her veins.

  But then Draven pulled back and turned his head away, and she came abruptly back to earth, cut off from the sensation of his touch.

  “I’m sorry…” he muttered, sounding pained.

  “What is it?” Ariadne hopped off the table and faced him, forcing him to look at her. “What’s wrong? I thought you wanted this.”

  His shoulders sagged, and he reached out a hand and gently brushed her lips with the tip of his thumb. “Oh, Ari…I do want this. So much. But it’s too soon. This isn’t the right time to start something new. Not now, not when things are so dangerous.”

  It was endearing, really, this vulnerability, despite her frustration at the brevity of their intimacy. She reached out a hand of her own, running it through his dark hair. “And what about after?”

  “If we get through this…well, I just want to get through this, and then I’ll be able to think about the future.”

  Ariadne nodded. “Okay. That’s okay. Fair enough.”

  He looked up at her with apologetic eyes. “I don’t want there to be distance between us anymore, but I just…I can’t be too close right now. I can’t bear to give myself anything more to lose.”

  “It’s all right,” she reassured him. “I understand. Whatever you need.”

  He squeezed her hand. “As long as I’ve got you, I’ve got everything I need. I’ve got hope for a future worth fighting for.”

  Ariadne stared at him for a moment, and then burst into laughter.

  Draven’s mouth opened in a look of surprised indignation, which only made her laugh even harder. “What’s so funny?”

  “It’s just –” she said, trying to control herself long enough to get the words out. “Holy shit, Draven.”

  “What? Did I say something wrong?”

  “No, no,” she gasped as her laughter subsided. “You’re just so cheesy.”

  “I thought I was being romantic…” Draven grumbled.

  “You always did get those two things mixed up,” Ariadne said, grinning at him.

  Before he could say anything further, the door opened, and Rosanna stuck her head in. “There you two are!”

  “You were looking for us?” Draven asked.

  “Yeah. Look outside. It’s almost dark, and you know what that means.”

  Draven turned to Ariadne, his expression suddenly serious. “Come on, Ari. Time to find out what the future holds.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Night came to Sanctuary, bringing with it a spike in Mayor Allen’s anxiety. As the sun sank beneath the horizon, a crowd had gathered in front of City Hall to hear the mayor’s pronouncement. Now, at the edge of the moment of truth, Allen paced nervously back and forth in the building’s lobby, attempting to stave off thoughts of everything that could go wrong.

  The plan was sound, he reminded himself, and he would not be alone. But nonetheless, what he was about to do felt like a danger nothing in his life, neither politics nor plague, had prepared him for.

  He gathered his resolve and stepped outside. Holding up a hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the portable flood lamps set up to illuminate the entrance, he strode to the top of the stairs. A sea of curious faces stared up at him, expectant and unsuspecting, filling the plaza and street below.

  Murmurs and whispers moved through the mass of citizens. The mayor held up a hand for silence, and a hush fell upon the crowd.

  “People of Seattle,” Allen began, but his voice cracked. He cleared his throat loudly and tried again. “People of Seattle. My good citizens. I wish that I spoke to you tonight under better circumstances, but I bring troubling news.” Whispers reverberated through the crowd, and Allen raised his voice to be heard. “It has come to my attention that our city may soon be under attack.”

  The whispers surged into a cacophony of frightened voices. “Is it the gangs again?” someone called out. “The raiders?”

  Allen held up his arms to signal for silence, until the crowd settled down to let him continue. “They call themselves the Nightcloaks, and the Blackwings. Two groups, united against us. But the threat we face from these people is unlike any other we’ve faced in the past. Our foes are not like us. They have…certain abilities.”

  The tone of the crowd’s muttering turned from frightened to confused.

  The mayor continued, “We know of the upcoming attack because a third group, known as the Winebloods, have come to warn us and offer their services in our defense. They mean to help us repel the invaders, with whom they share the same race but not the same tribe or goals.”

  This statement only seemed to further the citizens’ confusion. Allen took a deep breath, looking out at their uncomprehending faces.

  He raised his voice and continued, “The reason you’ve never heard of these groups is because they have lived in secrecy, in the shadows. But they have been here for a long time, since long before the Devastation. They are people, like you and me, but not entirely the same. As I said, they have abilities that we do not – they can take the form of bats and fly through the skies. They drink blood to survive and only come out at night. We know them by the name of ‘vampire.’”

  A momentary silence gripped the crowd. Then, slowly at first, the hush became nervous laughter.

  Allen had anticipated this. Of course they would not believe him at first. They thought he was making some kind of joke. He eyed the dark skies above, sweat beading on his brow. They would get their proof soon enough.

  He raised his voice and renewed his appeals, trying to sound calmer than he felt. “I know how difficult this is to believe, but it’s true. I would not lie to you.”

  His words were directed at the people, but his eyes darted around at random, searching for any sudden movement. His stomach felt twisted in knots. He wanted to run back inside, but he forced himself to stand his ground.

  “You must believe me,” he shouted. “We are all in danger. We must defend ourselves and our neighbors. We have to arm ourselves and prepare to fight!”

  A dark shape flew downward from the sky. Just before it hit the ground, it twisted and changed. The crowd gasped as, before their eyes, the shape turned into a man – a man who sprinted toward the mayor, with long, sharp knives in his hands.

  Panic filled Allen’s brain. He flung himself to the ground as the figure lunged at him. Screams rang out from the onlookers.

  With a whoosh of air and a sudden, heavy thud, a pointed metal shaft buried itself in the assassin’s chest. The vampire staggered backward in stunned shock as Bodrock stepped forward from the shadows of the building’s entrance. He was already loading another bolt in his crossbow.

  Allen scrambled to his feet and ran to his protector’s side.

  The humans screamed as, just as suddenly, several figures among the
m changed form, and fluttering bats soared up from the crowd. Like the man who attacked the mayor, they assumed human form at the top of the steps, where they, too, produced hidden weapons from their clothes. The light of the flood lamps glinted off steel blades.

  But their weapons weren’t pointed at the mayor, but at his attacker. Allen watched from Bodrock’s side as the Winebloods encircled the assassin.

  “Drop your weapons,” shouted Callidora.

  The man glanced around at the foes on all sides, then dropped his knives. They clattered against the pavement, startlingly loud in the tense silence. With a grunt of pain, he pulled loose the stake from his chest and dropped it. Slowly, he raised his hands into the air.

  The circle of Winebloods closed in on him, but before they could react, the assassin leapt, changed shape, and took off, escaping into the night.

  Bodrock raised his crossbow so fast the motion was barely perceptible, but his aim was uncanny. The bolt sped upward in pursuit of the fleeing bat and struck with such force that the stake passed clean through its target.

  For a moment, the bat seemed to hang in the air, its wings outstretched, a dark silhouette of death against the reddish hues of the sunset. And then it fell, spiraling back down to earth.

  The onlookers scrambled back, away from the spot where, a second later, it came to rest.

  But when the figure hit the ground, it was not a bat anymore, but a man, lying there with limbs splayed. His eyes were blank and vacant in death, and his mouth hung open, exposing long and pointed fangs.

  Screams of bewildered terror ran through the gathered crowd, but before they could descend into panicked chaos, Callidora strode forward to the top of the steps. At her side were Draven and Rosanna.

  “Men and women of the human race,” she announced in a clear, commanding voice that cut through the noise of the crowd. “I am Lady Callidora of Clan Wineblood.”

  “And I am Lady Rosanna of Clan Stormfang,” Rosanna proclaimed. She indicated the body of the fallen vampire. “That man was a Nightcloak assassin. He aimed to murder your mayor, and though we flushed him out and put a stop to his scheme, the danger is far from over. An army of men and women like him is on its way. They come to slaughter and enslave you.”

  A rush of panic once again threatened to rip through the crowd, but Callidora called out, “Do not fear. You will not be alone in this fight.” More of the gathered Winebloods took their places by her side, as did Bodrock and Mayor Allen. “We are here to defend you and fight alongside you. But fight we must, all of us together, if we are to have any hope of victory. Our foes could arrive at any time – though when they do, they will come under cover of darkness. Those who can fight, arm yourselves with whatever weapons you can wield. Those who cannot, or who have vulnerable loved ones to defend, return to your homes at once and barricade yourselves inside until dawn. Together, we can survive this night and live to see more nights to come. Now go! Spread the word, and make ready for war!”

  As the crowd scattered and ran off, Callidora and Draven turned to Mayor Allen. “Mr. Mayor,” Callidora said. “You’re unharmed, are you not?”

  The mayor felt more than a little unsteady on his feet, and his hands trembled, but mainly he was just grateful to still be feeling anything at all. “I’m a bit shaken, but no, I’m not hurt. Thank you.”

  Gravely, Draven told him, “You’ll see more things that will shake you before the night is over, I’m afraid. I suggest you stay in your office tonight. We can spare a couple men to act as bodyguards. We recognize you’re not a fighter, nor a commander of armies, but if your city survives the night then it will need you in the morning.”

  “Very well. I’ll admit, I don’t like leaving our fates in the hands of outsiders, but you haven’t failed us yet. And besides, it seems I don’t have much choice.”

  Draven gave him an appreciative nod and turned to Bodrock. With a certain begrudging admiration, he said, “That was some shot.”

  The hunter’s mouth stretched into a nasty grin. “Not the first bat I’ve shot down.”

  “Won’t be the last, either,” Rosanna cut in, eyeing Bodrock with a look of distaste. “I trust you’ll be able to distinguish between friend and foe in the heat of battle?”

  Bodrock snorted roughly. “Don’t worry, I’m no backstabber. But if it makes you feel safer, you’re welcome to stay out of my way.”

  “It’s good you stopped that assassin from escaping,” Callidora told him. “Thanatos thinks he’ll be arriving to find the city vulnerable, thrown into chaos with its leadership cut down. Instead, he’ll find it prepared for a fight. The only thing left to do is take our positions and wait for the signal. I’ll gather our forces and we’ll meet at the agreed-upon location.”

  Draven and Rosanna bowed in acknowledgement.

  Callidora turned to Rosanna and said, “Come, my Lady. Though your kin are not here to aid us, I want you at my side to help lead my army into battle.”

  As Rosanna nodded, Draven spoke up. “With your permission, I’d like to join Damian and Ariadne in keeping watch.”

  “Permission granted. Go to them, and may luck be with you, my friend.”

  “With us all, Callidora,” Draven said as he turned away. “With us all.”

  ----

  Even on a warm summer night, the air was colder six hundred feet above ground where Damian and Ariadne sat at the top of the Space Needle. Draven landed next to them on the roof of the disc-shaped observation deck. It was a somewhat precarious perch, with the wind whipping against them, but they had no fear of heights, and on a clear night such as this one, you could see for miles.

  It was a beautiful view, all things considered, even these days when the city no longer lit up after dark with a million tiny pinpricks of light like the stars in the night sky. Tonight, Sanctuary was shrouded in shadows. The only stars were above them, and there was a gathering tumult in the streets below – hurrying figures, and the smell of fear.

  “Nothing yet?” Draven asked as he sat down beside Damian and Ariadne, although the question was unnecessary. If either had spotted anything, he would have known.

  Damian shook his head. “All clear so far. How did it go down there?”

  “About as well as it could have. The humans are mobilizing, as you can see. I think we got our point across. We missed a chance to take a prisoner, though. Our assassin tried to get away, had to be shot down.”

  “I think we’re past the point of taking prisoners anyway,” Ariadne said practically.

  “Sure, but it would have been nice to find out when Thanatos and Brone are expected to arrive, so we don’t have to sit up here all night.”

  “It’s not so bad up here. Can’t beat the view.”

  “Yeah,” Draven admitted, looking out at the skyline. “I’ll say this for mankind, they’ve always had good cities.”

  “Let’s hope this one lasts the night,” Damian remarked.

  “Oh, can we try not to focus on the impending doom?” Ariadne reproached. “If this is the calm before the storm, let’s just sit here and enjoy it while it lasts.”

  Damian sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I can’t help but worry.”

  “We’re all worried, Dad. But whatever’s coming is going to come, worry or no, and we’ll meet it when it does. Until then, I just want to drink in this last peaceful moment.”

  Damian looked at her with a fond smile. “When did you get to be so wise?”

  Ariadne reached over and affectionately rubbed her father’s back. “Sometime around when I started listening to your advice.”

  “Oh, and when exactly was that?” Damian teased. “I can’t recall.”

  Ariadne laughed lightly. “Just take the compliment, Dad.”

  Draven leaned back against the sloped surface of the Needle and listened to them banter, the traces of a contented smile hovering around the edges of his mouth. His awareness of the ‘impending doom,’ as Ariadne had put it, was the only thing keeping that smile from fully material
izing.

  He glanced at her, and she caught his eye. The smile she gave him was warm, the expression coming more readily to her face than it did to his, but there was a hint of sadness in it as well, a trace of sympathetic longing.

  Draven understood how she felt; he would gladly have stayed in this moment forever if he could have. Right then their lives held no violence, no war, no loss. There was no future fraught with uncertainty looming over them, and any resentments of the past had been set aside by the needs of the present. There was only him and his lover and his friend, all three of them finally together and of a kind, enjoying an easy unity that their separate paths had long denied them.

  It felt like what could have been. For a moment, it felt like family.

  But that was the tragedy of moments: They never last.

  Damian was the first to see it. Ariadne was saying something to him, but she cut off mid-sentence when he stiffened and stood, silent and alert, looking to the horizon.

  “What is it?” Draven asked, but he knew it could only be one thing. He followed Damian’s gaze and strained his own eyes, peering deep into the far-away night. Yes, he saw it now.

  Ariadne shifted closer to him and took his hand, squeezing it tightly. There was a knot of dread in his stomach, and a flock of dark shapes in the sky.

  On black wings, like a cloak that covered the night, war had come to Sanctuary.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “They’re coming,” Draven said, pointing at the horizon.

  Damian said nothing in reply, but quickly drew forth an object from his cloak. It looked like a pistol but was small and orange. Had Draven not known what it was, he might almost have mistaken it for a toy.

  Then Damian raised his arm high, pointed the gun straight up, and shot a flare into the night.