by Jesse Teller
“He is reassuring the people this is not beyond their power to endure,” Drelis said through the fetish. “That is good. It will help.”
“They are going to need more than a few well-placed words. They need to let in the church and let Cor-lyn-ber protect this place,” Dissonance said.
“No church has resided in this city but The Pale in its entire existence. They will not allow even the god of the sea to have a haven here. That is not going to change just ’cause it should,” Smear said.
“Quiet. I need to listen,” Rayph said.
“I have seen the face of our enemy, and it is horrible. This town is plagued by vampires,” Dreark said.
The crowd went silent.
The lord’s mouth opened, then closed, turning up in a slight smile. The crowd around Rayph laughed and jeered. Snide comments were made about the sincerity of the new head of guard, and Dreark’s face purpled as the people laughed at him. Rayph looked up at the stands of seats that had been built for the merchants, and he saw a disturbing thing. Every major face seemed blanketed in fear. Rayph knew it was not the fear of vampires that brought them so close to the point of running. These men would never have believed vampires, had they not seen them and been engulfed by them. No, this was not fear of vampires. This was fear of justice. Rayph swung his eyes back to Yoah, the current Poison King. The city’s nobleman laughed, with real mirth dancing in his eyes. Rayph looked to the chair beside the lord, seeing no Lady Hemlock present.
“Smear, I see no Poison Queen. Where is the noble lady of the city?”
“Not sure, boss.”
“Look into it.”
“Got it.”
“Drelis, what can you tell me about what is going on with you?” Rayph asked. “What do your peers think of this proclamation? I see none of them about, but I know they are watching.”
“They are watching, Rayph, and they know who I am. I vowed to keep nothing from a sister coven years ago. Our mistress said to me when the speech began that she needed to meet with you.”
“Set it up. I will be there.”
While the city laughed, Dreark turned to his men standing the stage beside him. Rayph touched his fetish and made eye contact with him. “Don’t lose your temper. We knew they would laugh at us. Stay with me and keep your head.”
Dreark stared Rayph in the face, and Rayph knew the man wanted to crush something. This may have been the first time anyone had ever laughed at Dreark.
“I’m doing it now,” Dreark said. In the hilarity, none could hear his words save the Manhunters.
“No, there is more coming. We have to address it. Let it ride. I’ll give you the sign when it is time.” Rayph looked at the massive chair sitting the stage with a thick tarp over it, and he gritted his teeth.
Yoah stepped forward, placed a hand on Dreark’s shoulder, and attempted to push him aside. Dreark stood his ground and turned with a growl. The lord waved the crowd quiet and shook his head.
“I did not know our new head of guard had such an imagination or strange sense of humor.” He patted Dreark on the back and Dreark looked like he wanted to devour the man’s heart. He turned his eyes to Rayph, who held up a hand holding the big man back. “As we all know, vampires are a creature of myth, a beast from the far-out mists of a mother’s mind told to children to haunt their dreams and keep them close in the deep hours of the dark. In these myths, vampire plagues break out in some dank swamp on some backward continent, but never here, never in Perilisc. The magic here is strong, and they say our blood is too thick for the vampire to even drink. Our blood would be far too pure for the beast to sustain himself on us. Those creatures, as everyone knows, would need impure mongrel blood to survive.” He turned to Dreark, too stupid to know he was near to being pummeled, and he shook his head.
“Here it comes, Dreark. Keep your cool,” Rayph said.
“Now it seems our overzealous head of guard has wasted our time, and I want to assure you I will not take this lightly.”
“Rayph,” Dreark growled.
“Are the town guard in place?”
“They are,” the big man said through clenched teeth.
“Then do it now,” Rayph said.
Dreark turned away from the lord, who looked furious at the move. Dreark grabbed the tarp over the throne and ripped it away to reveal a silently screaming female vampire. Before the sun’s rays hit her straight on, Dreark ripped free the Ironwood dagger in her heart, and Rayph dispelled the silence he had forced on her. Her screams lifted into the air like the furious screeching of a thousand eagles. The crowd turned to look at her and drew back in horror.
The sun lit beautifully on her face. Rayph saw her ruddy complexion and pale eyes before the sun grabbed her in its unforgiving hands, and she burst into flames. Her scream warbled in the air like a mirage of heat coming off her body. Rayph found the sight of it beautiful.
“Well, we have Tristan’s attention now,” Drelis said.
The lord fell back, aghast, gripping the stage in terror and crawling back.
Dreark stepped up before her, staring into her face and into Tristan’s eyes that Rayph knew magically watched through hers. “We are coming for you, you devil. We will find you, and we will show you to the light of day.” Dreark smiled and nodded. “Believe that.”
The crowd screamed in horrified excitement and surged to get away. Dreark placed his fingers in his mouth and loosed a piercing whistle. The streets beyond flooded with guards. They rushed in from everywhere, shoving people back and holding them in the courtyard. They kept them contained as the fire raged and the woman screamed.
Dreark came back to the quickly growing fire and whistled again, drawing the attention of every citizen within the courtyard. When the screams of the vampiress went dry, Dreark held his hands over the people and looked down at them with pity in his face.
“I will open the gates for any seeking to rid themselves of this place, but at night, I will slam this city shut. No one will exit by land or by sea. Everyone who seeks to flee will be searched good and well to ensure they do not smuggle a vampire out of this city. All ships will be searched, and if a vampire is found on board, that ship will be impounded and its crew imprisoned. And I want to say one other thing for all of you thinking to run. We are not alone.”
“Dreark, what are you doing?” Rayph said.
“They need to hear this, Rayph. These people are terrified,” he continued. “In your midst is a powerful group of men and women who will not rest until this city is cleansed.”
Rayph cursed and shook his head. “Dammit, Dreark! Do you know what you have done?”
“I do,” Dreark said.
He looked back out to the crowd and spoke through clenched teeth. “They are fighting for you. Do not lose all hope. Your city will be delivered.”
“Did everybody hear that?” Rayph snapped. “Did everyone hear what he just did?”
“He will be coming now,” Dissonance said.
Rayph turned and headed out. “You’re damn right he will. Now he knows we are here, and he will come to root us out.”
“Sorry, Rayph, but they had to know they weren’t alone,” Dreark said. The whole of the stage was on fire now, and Dreark was helping the lord away.
“Now he will come with his crew and hunt us down. Everyone get ready for Toc-a-roc Rattlesnake Dancer. The king’s bounty hunter and his crew will be here as soon as they hear about what Dreark just said.” Rayph cursed and got lost in the crowd. He needed to get away. He needed to think.
Fangs and Terror
She summoned items of power for men and women of the city, sold bottles bearing liquids of all colors. She was given gold and jewels for services of all sorts, but of all the services Jetula performed, none was in higher demand than sex. Every act of debauchery and lust played out before him. She sucked, licked, and bit every inch of every man who dropped his gold into her great golden vase.
Jetula was an instrument of sex, a source of abject lust and wantonness.
When she had a client in her grasp, she teased out of him the most primal and base desires that crouched within. The shameful needs no man would ever admit to played out before Aaron. He watched it all, waiting for his moment. She watched him while she was taken over and again. She stared, eyes dripping hate, as her lovers sexed her. She gazed at Aaron while she rode and snarled at him as she was tasted. And when her lovers left them, she sauntered over to him and glared down.
“No man can watch me perform and not desire me. I know your need for me is great. I know, as you watch them slide into me, you ache to be pounding my taut body,” she purred. “I will make you beg for my body and then—”
Aaron spat on her leg and laughed.
She punched him as hard as her fist would allow, and she pulled back, massaging it.
“You disgust me,” he said. “You let them fill all your holes, and you let them use you while you take their money, and you think this entices me? You think whoring yourself out to anyone with a gold piece makes me want to sex you? You are pathetic. You are filth, the worst kind of whore. You actually think this empowers you, that you are in some way better for it. But in your mind, you know, when you are washing their charge from your matted fur, you know the truth. You are not worth it, not worth the money they spend on you, and not worth the time they spend abusing your body.”
She stormed to the bar and grabbed a jug of wine. She tossed it at him, but he caught it. He unstoppered the top, drank from it, and spit the wine in her bathtub. He threw the jug back at her. She ducked, and it shattered against the wall.
“Why am I here?” he said. “Your hate of me is mythic. I have obviously incurred it somehow. I have been thinking about it for weeks now, but I can’t figure out how I managed to earn the hate of a worthless whore.”
She roared at him and gripped the riding crop she used to whip her clients. She lashed him mercilessly, and he curled up and let her strike. He laughed at her as she whipped him. She threw the lash away and curled her hand into a claw. As she stood over him, he looked at her feet. She had a good stance, but it was hasty. She would swipe and her angle would tip her balance. He grinned at her.
“You’re gonna slash me open with your dick hand?” he asked. “Can you wash it first?”
She screamed in rage, and he laughed at her.
She called for her guards. She stalked away, pointing at him and snarling. They rushed across the room and beat him. They stomped on him and battered him with their batons. They cursed and grunted with the force of their attacks. Aaron weathered it all. When they grew tired, he sneered up at them, and they pulled back quickly. They had learned he was more dangerous when he was wounded than any other beast they had ever known.
When they stomped out of the room, he leaned against the tub and wiped a bloody lock of hair behind his ear.
“Maw,” Aaron said. “You were fond of Maw.”
She jumped to her feet and flew across the room at him. Her wrath brought a chill to his spine. He might have gone too far.
She slashed with her clawed hand. He turned away and gripped his face, feeling flaps of skin where his chin and forehead had been. She pounded on him with her fists, and he took it all quietly.
It was Maw. Aaron now understood how much Jetula hated him. He was just then realizing this might actually be his death. When she slashed at him with her dagger and cut his flank wide open, he held tight check on his pain. When she stumbled back, bloody and sobbing, he ripped his pants off and bound them around his side.
As she snarled and wept, Aaron wondered how he was going to get out of this alive.
“Stitch him up,” she spat at a serving man in the room. “Don’t let him die yet. I have such plans.”
It was two days later, and she was on her couch, reclined. She had propped her leg on the back of the couch while the other foot rested on the floor. On his knees between her legs, a man knelt, licking and devouring her. She tapped her claws on his head as he moaned, and she stared at Aaron.
Aaron felt boots on the floor outside the room, and he turned. The door flew open from one great kick. Jetula jumped to her feet. Her client spun on his knees, crying out in disdain.
Four men walked into the room. One was dressed well. He was washed and groomed. He carried no weapon but was as dangerous as death itself. The other three were insane.
At first glance, they seemed little different from the average man. They were pale and their eyes were too wide. Their restless hands flexed and jumped at their sides. They wore their clothes ragged. The fine linens soiled by dirt and blood but ignored. Their collars were yellowed and black. Their pants ragged at the hem.
They were holding back panic poorly. They were desperate for something, dying to have it. They would kill, torture, and maim for it. They would throw a child in front of a raging lion for it. They would burn down the world to get it, would slaughter any innocent and ravage any purity to have it.
The desperation even paled Aaron’s greatest desires, and Aaron knew fear as if for the first time. These were not demons. These were not killers and thugs. These were everyday people. They were common men, the working class. They had normal lives recently. They were sane not too long ago, but an addiction had driven them mad.
The groomed man slowly closed the door. He turned back to the room and smiled, deadly and calculating. He was a man of the mind, a man who possessed a singular intelligence.
“Jetula, the Speckled Lady, long have I wanted to meet you,” he said.
“This whore is mine for another two hours,” the man on his knees said. “Get out of here now, or I will bring the full wrath of my house upon you!” The naked man fought to get to his feet, but before he did, the groomed man waved a hand out toward him.
The three insane beasts opened their mouths and a shriek of titanic magnitude erupted from them. It was a sound impossible for a living man to make, a sound only a monster could utter. The three men fought desperately to undress, their mouths opening and closing, their lips warping like a baby suckling a teat.
“What are they doing?” Jetula stepped back, putting distance between the three monsters and herself.
“Why tear and stain the clothing?” the man said. “Linens are not cheap.”
Jetula stepped farther back as the man on his knees stared in frantic horror at the men disrobing. When every last stitch of clothing was removed, they leapt or crawled forward.
One flew with both hands and feet out before him. The other two scuttled forward on all fours. The kneeling client cried out and fought to shuffle away, but they were on him far too fast.
The first of the monsters to reach the man opened his jaws wider than any mouth had ever been opened, and with savagery only Aaron could understand, bit down on the man’s thigh. The second grabbed the client’s arm, biting into his bicep. The last wrapped desperate fingers around the man’s head, and with a look of pure lust, bit down into the man’s neck.
Aaron drew back as the three men fed on the blood of the other. Aaron stared. He fought to understand what he was looking at. What manner of man would do such a thing with such verve? Aaron had killed with his teeth before, but even in that most raging moment, he had still been sane. This was beyond anything Aaron had ever known. This horror he could not understand. He fought back his panic, looking around for a weapon.
In his absolute terror, he began to understand. Aaron stared, gripped in mind-numbing fear, at the one thing that could tear him from his king. Aaron stared at vampires. He fought against the whine. He fought against the sobbing.
“Do you know me, raksa?” The groomed man grinned at Jetula and held his hands out. “Have you heard of us?”
Jetula pried her eyes away from the beasts feeding on her client, and she nodded. “I know who you are,” she said. “I know what you are.”
The man chuckled and brushed his brown hair back. He smiled a dangerous smile and waved her on. “Please continue,” he said, “I wish to hear your ignorance.”
“You are a vampire
lord.”
He curled his fist tight and shook his head. He seemed to barely hold in check a great and terrible anger. “Wrong,” he snapped. “I am no vampire. I am Tristan. They call me Tristan the Sour. Have you heard of me now?”
Jetula crawled to her hands and knees and lowered her head to the ground. “I know of you now,” she murmured. “I thought you a...”
“A myth?”
“Yes, master, I thought you a myth. Never did I imagine that...”
He pulled in close and smiled down at her. “That the nightmare was real?” he purred.
She could only nod.
“We have a problem, whore.” He spoke carefully and quietly. His eyes scanned the room, passing over Aaron as if he were naught but shadow and air. “You are a creature of great power and sharp mind. You have many contacts within my city, and you possess the most elite inn Hemlock boasts of. I wish to have a room here for my love, and I would hate to have to kill you to get it.”
She laid her forehead on the ground and muttered. “Anything you require, you can have. I will hand my possessions over to you, Tristan the Sour. I planned on traveling north, going to find an old lover and staying with him. I can hand over all of it to you and—”
Tristan leaned over, and with one coppery tanned hand, gripped her chin and lifted it from the ground. “Why would I let a magnificent specimen like you flee for your life, when I could so easily reach out and snatch you away from the world?”
She glanced at his crotch, then looked up at him with pleading eyes. “I could let you take me. Let me give you my mouth. You could debase me and take from my flesh anything you desire. I only ask that you set me free after you have me.” She looked up with frantic, hopeful eyes. Tristan stared at her with hate. With a blinding speed the likes of which Aaron had only seen once before, Tristan backhanded Jetula across the face.
