by Thomas, Ian
“You don’t have to do this ya know,” McLachlan said. “You can walk away now. I, certainly, want you to. So would Mom and Dad. Much safer.”
Dylan paused in the doorway and looked back at McLachlan, the shadow haunting his features again. “Truth be told, Julie’s gonna come for me no matter what. At least this way, I’m going after her.”
“I’m just gonna say ‘see ya’,” McLachlan said. “I get there’s no talking you out of this, so I’m not gonna. But I want you to stay in touch.”
“Try and stop me,” Dylan said with a half-smile. “I’m almost thirty. I gonna need help being adult. Even from you.”
McLachlan slapped his brother on the back as he walked out of the loft.
Once the door was shut behind him, McLachlan felt exhausted suddenly. More of a mental weariness than a physical one. And not just because Dylan’s mind moved at a million miles a second. Rather the weariness came from a significant chapter of his life closing. The Cult was in disarray, Dylan and he were brothers once again, Julie was no longer in a position of power, and his uncle was on the run. Whether the Cult was even still interested in him seemed unlikely. But thinking like that was dangerous. Looking at Boyd’s notebook on the table he was reminded of their threat.
A cleric inside the Cult, Boyd had hoped to feed McLachlan information to take down the organization. An act that had gotten him killed.
Settling himself at his desk he opened to the first page and began to study his enemy.
Five minutes later McLachlan shut the notebook with an unceremonious, “fuck this shit.” The Cult had stolen enough of his life. Despite what Dylan said about his focus a couple of hours off weren’t going to hurt. Besides, his brother was tailing the Cult now.
McLachlan paused a moment, his hand resting on the cover of the dead man’s notebook. Was he being disrespectful to walk away in that moment, he worried. Boyd’s funeral was the next day and here he was procrastinating. A man – no, correction, two good men – had died over this book. More lives had been cut short amid the Ordeal that threatened to claim his soul and he was walking away.
But he couldn’t face it right then. He needed air, space, the night, the city. And his friends. Rebecca.
Having been away from Manhattan for a week he’d felt disconnected from his life. Admittedly the Taylors, his adoptive family, were his world. They existed in a bubble to him. Untouched and safe. They were his home, but not his life. His life was bloody, crowded, and changing. Possibly for the better. Possibly not. But sitting cooped up in his converted library apartment wasn’t going to answer that for him.
Wrapped in a thick coat, McLachlan headed into the night.
Firstly, he’d drop in on Matteo, then head up to WNYU. While away he’d heard little from Matteo. With everyone else he’d been in constant contact. Supportive and ever-present given their shared nightmare. All that is except Matteo. Not an unusual occurrence. The Pack Lord preferred face-to-face interaction instead of Facebook, and while he could text or answer a phone, McLachlan hadn’t wanted to push him. Regardless of Ben’s betrayal, it had been the Cult – his affiliation with the Cult – that had seen Matteo tortured so brutally.
Once on the street McLachlan felt his connection to the city return. Even at the late hour, there was still enough activity to feel the energy New York was famous for. While he preferred rooftops as a means of traversing the city, getting from St Thomas’ to Matteo’s place in TriBeCa was not an easy option.
Besides, the journey was only a few blocks.
Lost in his thoughts, McLachlan almost didn’t see the woman on the street corner staring in wonder at the new World Trade Center tower. It was almost three, and while Manhattan had become incredibly gentrified of late, there were still plenty good reasons lurking nearby for a woman – or anyone really –not to be out on their own.
“A shiny net of stars.” Her voice trilled into the night, its lightness out of place.
“That it is,” he said with a smile.
Taking her eyes off the tower, she looked at him. Black hair, dark brown eyes, her expression open and arresting.
“Ungh,” he grunted, staggering. Clutching at his face, he felt a familiar pain as his brow distorted and teeth grew to fangs. Hunger flared in his stomach, burning through his veins and cramping his muscles.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
McLachlan looked up startled.
“Demon! Demon!” she cried, recoiling from him.
“Perfect,” he groaned.
“Sabine!” a man called out. “Sabine!” McLachlan heard pounding feet and glanced to his right as a large man jogged toward them. The man had long black hair pulled into a topknot, pale skin, and light brown eyes. Gone was the regal garb of velvet and brocade, in its place the vampire regent wore jeans, boots, and a thick pea-coat.
“Gr-Gracchus?” McLachlan struggled against the ravenous hunger. Even for vampire blood.
“McLachlan?” Came the man’s reply as he enveloped the woman into his big arms.
As suddenly as the change hit McLachlan, it faded. The hunger, features, and fangs gone. Was it his imagination, he wondered, having never been hit with such an acute attack since the Pack War. Had his stain worsened since The Ordeal?
“Y-yeah,” was all he could manage, the aftermath of the vampire influence almost as unsettling as when it struck. “What’re you…sorry, just need to get my bearings.”
“Easy.” Gracchus settled McLachlan against the wall of the building, his companion hiding behind him. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
Taking a few deep breaths, he felt his head clear.
“Wh-what’re you doing? What’s going on?”
“This,” Gracchus said, trying to draw the woman out from behind him. “Is Sabine.”
“No. Demon!”
With pain no longer clouding his head, McLachlan remembered the name’s significance. She was Gracchus’ consort. Beautifully unmarked by time, rumor had it she was older than Gracchus; and since he lived during the Roman Empire that placed her at well over two thousand years old.
“No, no demon.” Gracchus was still trying to draw her out. “See human. Warm.” Peeking out from where her head was buried in his coat she looked at McLachlan. A second look showed he was indeed no longer disfigured.
“Human?” McLachlan expected her next to call him food, bare her fangs, and go for his neck. Won’t be the first time, wouldn’t be the last. Bracing himself for attack, he was surprised by what happened next. Cold hands mapped his face. First touching his brow where it had deformed, then his cheeks, chin, and lips. “Warm. Warm smell. Amber. Home.” A woman grown, yet her expression of wonder and interest was child-like.
“Thanks.” McLachlan was unsure what to say. “I bathe.”
To which Gracchus laughed. “I have missed you my friend.”
“I’m missing something here, aren’t I?”
“Sabine has awoken. Rather, she’s still waking. From the somnus.” Realization dawned on McLachlan. While he’d known Gracchus about ten years, he’d never met the vampire’s companion. Sometime in the early 90s she’d gone into the ancient slumber. “Apologies for the slight.”
Slight? Oh, being called ‘demon’. He’d been called worse, McLachlan thought, mindful enough not to voice his thoughts. Not that it hadn’t stung. Especially so soon after The Ordeal.
“Are the constellations in a net?” Sabine asked, standing back to back with Gracchus. Inclining her head, she seemed captivated by the tall building. What with the city’s light pollution, McLachlan knew she couldn’t see actual stars. “Will they put them back? The ships need them you know.”
“I’ll make sure they do, my love.” He wasn’t a vampire in that moment, just a man in love, reunited and happy. “Where’re you headed?”
“Uh, Matteo’s. Wanted to see how he was.”
“Us too,” Gracchus replied.
“He’s our friend.” Sabine smiled. McLachlan found it hard to believe she was a vamp
ire. “Do you know him too?”
“Yeah,” McLachlan replied, unsure how to cope with the still-waking vampire. The likelihood of him insulting or upsetting her was high. As in guaranteed.
“I hope he’s alright. Do you know what happened? Are you like him? A wolf?” She studied him closely, her mind struggling with clouded memories. “Are you…Ben?”
And the insults just keep on coming. Suppressing all of his knee-jerk responses – and almost injuring himself in the process – McLachlan gave her a gentle smile.
“No, milady.” He wasn’t sure where that came from but he had enough sense to grasp her station as Gracchus’ consort. “You had me correct at the first, I have a demon stain.”
The word seemed to wound her. Tenderly, she put a hand on his arm. Expecting to feel his stain ignite with vampiric hunger, he was surprised at how nothing happened. In that moment they were just three people. Had her twenty years off the grid created a toxicity only he would be susceptible to? Awesome, this just kept getting better.
What McLachlan didn’t understand was how suddenly the vampire’s influence had ended.
Then he saw it.
Such deep and fulfilling love. Nothing existed in the world for Gracchus save her. The same was true for Sabine. Anyone else would have scoffed at the idea of vampires in love. But that was reductive. They’d been people once after all. Lived, loved, longed for companionship. Needing blood to survive did not preclude vampires from emotion. But given how that kind of thirst and lack of portion control always ended with a trail of dead and drained bodies, vilification was easier.
Speaking of which…
“Hey…so I need to talk to you,” McLachlan said.
Barely taking his eyes off Sabine, Gracchus laughed, “are we not talking now?”
“Official type stuff. Remember that body? Behind the coffee shop?”
His questions were met with a stony silence.
Suddenly McLachlan felt insignificant. Here were two people whose lives spanned human civilization in the Common Era and he wanted to talk about one dead body. In truth the ramifications of which could be devastating for the accords, but the matter was paltry to them.
“In time good sir,” Gracchus said. “In time.”
Such a reply would infuriate the wolves and the wiccans alike. Historically considered parasitic and plebeian by the other supernatural communities, vampires met such derision with a self-importance that bordered on arrogance. They were still powerful beings, prolific in number, and well-organized. Even if they were slow to act. For creatures renowned to be quick of foot and reflex with impulse control issues, their bureaucracy bordered on stagnant.
He couldn’t fault these two however. The gentle manner with which they handled each other – the lightness of touch, softness of word, and fondness of eye – made him feel in violation of their space.
Gracefully, McLachlan bid them a good night and turned back the way he came, thoughts of Matteo and Rebecca largely forgotten. He’d see them soon enough at the airport that he could be forgiven for not making the effort. Well, maybe by them, but he’d bear the burden.
With nothing conclusive to link the body at the coffee shop to vampires, Gracchus would wait. There hadn’t been another attack and he trusted the vampire regent to call on him ‘in time’.
III
The vessel.
An outsider who should have stayed that way, Henry thought. Torn between following the pathetic vampire couple or the young man, he almost smiled.
Not one for self-doubt, Henry had been worried…no, that was wrong. Concerned? Interested? Yes, interested as to what state he would find the supernatural communities. Had the accords held? The question had eaten at him as he healed, studied, and plotted.
He hoped so.
Genuinely, he did.
He’d have no fun tearing it all down if their true warring natures had already broken the peace. Where was the mayhem in that? No, the longer they held, the more resentment, bitterness, and anger he had to work with. The finest tools of his trade.
What the vessel saw as peace he saw as a powder keg. Ready for a fuse. The witches in retreat, the vampire regent distracted, the Pack Lord isolated and betrayed.
Would that it were more of a challenge really.
Patience was not one of Henry’s strongest virtues. Actually who was he kidding, he mused. The word ‘virtue’ and his bloody history were as antonymous as they came. But days had stretched into weeks since he’d left that body for them. Were they so comfortable in their accords that one body was easily explained away, he fumed. An unknown fool discarded on their doorstep. How many would it take for them to wake up and see the approaching threat? Perhaps the victim needed connection. The thought caught his fancy and smile broke across his face. Five years of being a student, he’d forgotten how to be a killer. Time to reclaim his legacy.
IV
Mouth was asleep before the town car pulled away from the curb. Rebecca envied him that.
Despite feeling every minute of the graveyard shift she had the worst case of busy brain. Sleeping would have been a great relief. Having Mouth to talk to, even better.
Seeing Jason waiting on the sidewalk, she leaned forward to the driver, “right there.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the driver replied curtly. Not that Rebecca was experienced with town cars, limousines or drivers, but she had to wonder if the man behind the wheel was actually a driver by trade. Ever since Ben’s betrayal and the assault on Matteo there had been a heightened tension among the wolves. Was this an actual chauffeur or one of the War Wolves she had heard so much about. Not that she was going to ask.
“Are we there?” Mouth yawned as the car came to a stop. The driver got out and opened the door for Jason then took his satchel from him.
“Coffee?” Jason passed a tray of coffees to a delighted Rebecca.
“Life saver.”
“So how much is today going to suck?” Jason asked, once they were on the road again and navigating early morning traffic toward JFK. Rebecca rested her head on his shoulder and laughed in agreement.
“How’s your Battleship Potemkin response?” Mouth asked, more awake. “Get much done last night?”
“Few hundred words of pure, A-grade garbage,” Jason admitted, “but it was quiet enough to watch the film again. So that’s a plus.”
“Oh my god,” Rebecca exclaimed. “Did you work the coffee shop last night? Are you insane?”
“Says the woman who just worked midnight to dawn.”
“Ask him ‘why’.” Mouth settled back into the seat again and adjusted his sunglasses.
“Why?” Rebecca looked from Mouth to Jason. She hated falling for the prompt like Pavlov’s dog, but this was Jason and he warranted concern.
Jason paused before replying, fidgeting with the zip on the side of his boot. “The Mitch-uation. Just trying to avoid it is all.”
Ever since starting at the coffee shop, Jason had suffered a crush on Mitch. A good-looking jock type who worked with him. Hence, the suffering as Jason’s pining was considerably unrequited.
“How come?”
“He’s hot and…I don’t know. After John, I guess maybe I thought I’d be over Mitch. But, well, let’s just say I’m very much not.”
Rebecca stole a glance at Mouth and even from behind his sunglasses she knew he was listening intently. Both Rowan and McLachlan had said the world would seem different to them following The Ordeal. While clearly an understatement, Rebecca had taken their words as the warning it was intended. McLachlan had cautioned her it wouldn’t be the obvious things to look out for. Subtle changes in behavior were more worrying. Not that Jason working the night shift at the Daily Grind was a subtle way of climbing back into the closet.
“Plus it must be a good chance to catch up on class work,” Mouth said protectively.
“Sophomore year may kill me.”
Soon enough the driver had navigated them to the departures curb at JFK. Rebecca fished money out of he
r bag and tried passing it to the driver as he held the door open. His flinty gaze and refusal to take the money was confirmation enough that he was one of the War Wolves. Taking a deep breath, she caught his arm as he shut the car door and started to leave. He turned back, his face hard, eyes hooded and unreadable.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Just my job, ma’am.”
“Not for this. For…” But the words were lost to the memory of the golden wolf eyes greeting her through the doorway during the possession ritual. If it hadn’t been for the War Wolves the Cult would likely have killed them all with Mammon hosted in McLachlan’s body.
“Like I said.” His tone softer this time. “Just doing my job.”
Which was what exactly, she wanted to ask. Much of her academic success had been fueled by the same curiosity she felt in that moment. Rebecca had never been the front-of-the-class, hand-in-the-air-first, teacher’s-pet type of student. She had just been curious to know everything. Thankfully, since The Ordeal, McLachlan had been very forthcoming with information and her appetite for knowledge had been somewhat sated. But this was something he hadn’t covered in detail. And here was one of them, in the flesh, with all of his knowledge and experience.
“There you are!” A welcome voice called behind her. The driver took the opportunity to escape around the car as strong arms enveloped her. “I missed you.”
“How?!” Mouth demanded. “You talk to each other constantly.”
“Single, huh?” McLachlan knew the answer full well but couldn’t resist. Mouth seethed as Jason laughed, the sound almost unfamiliar in the past week.
“When did you get here?” She leaned up and kissed him, feeling it better to avoid the situation. She got to do this now. Kiss him. And regardless of the cults, wolves, vampires, and semi-apocalyptic goings-on the world felt right when she kissed him.
