by Tanith Frost
I have no idea which is the real Daniel. Is the hardass thing an act? A form of self-preservation in a world that can be cruel if we show any hint of weakness? Or maybe this is the act. A kind face to make them trust him in spite of his relative youth, just to make things go more smoothly.
I tuck my feet under me on the seat and rest my head against the window. If that’s the case, how do I trust our relationship, whatever it is now? Maybe his confession that he needs me, his understanding tone when we’re working through my issues, all of it is just another mask to get me to do what he wants.
He needs me to buck up, get over my problems, and get with the program. He knows yelling doesn’t work. He’s stuck with an inexperienced vampire with too much empathy in her cold, still heart, so maybe he plays to that.
But that feels wrong, too, after the sincere pain I felt in him at the idea of losing me.
I’m not going to ask in front of everyone, but I am going to ask. Soon. And I’m going to get over my issues, but only for myself. Because I want it. Not because I’ve been manipulated. He may think I’m weak and want to protect me. All I want is to be able to stand on my own.
We’re well into familiar territory on the Avalon Peninsula, driving through land that’s covered in hills and thick spruce forest, when the van jerks slightly. I sit up. “What was that?”
Daniel frowns at the dashboard. “I’m not sure. Hang on.”
We’re still moving fine, but he doesn’t look happy as he pulls off the highway.
Nor do the rest of us when smoke begins snaking out from under the hood.
“Fuck,” Daniel mutters, and steers us down a dark side road before he brings the vehicle to a stop. “Everybody out.” He sounds reluctant to give the order, but we’re all eager to comply. We’ve had enough fires for one night, thank you very much.
We stand in a tight group as Daniel cautiously pops the hood and lets out a string of curses in a voice low enough that I suspect we’re not supposed to hear.
“Good news, then?” Trent asks, and I want to pat him on the back and congratulate him for what almost passes for humour.
“I’ve had better,” Daniel calls out, but keeps poking around under the hood. “Back up a bit.”
Lucille leads the group farther down the road, away from the highway. Secrecy is in our nature, and none of us are instinctively going to roam toward humans who might offer help.
I walk back toward the van. “Need a hand?”
He looks up. “No. She’s not getting out of here without a tow truck.”
A year ago I’d have asked what we were going to do. Now, I just start thinking. “Was there a map in there?”
“Just the GPS. There’s nothing that would show us where to find shelter, anyway.”
I glance up at the sky. We need to haul ass and get somewhere. The stars were out in full force tonight, and it’s going to be a bright day when the sun rises.
“The road has to lead somewhere,” I tell him, and scuff the pavement with my boot. It’s not in the worst shape I’ve seen. Potholed, but even after construction season, that’s not unexpected around here. At least it’s paved. “Better start walking.”
Daniel smiles, though I can’t say he looks entirely happy. It would be weird if he did under the circumstances, but it’s surprisingly warm.
I offer one back. “Guess we should grab your girlfriend’s suitcase.”
He laughs under his breath. “When you were rounding them up, did you feel like a stewardess trying to get people off the plane without their carry-on luggage?”
“A bit, yeah. But I think they’re called flight attendants.”
“Right.”
We strip the van as well as we can, taking the information from the glove compartment, though it likely shows no connection to Maelstrom or anyone associated with us. I stuff the medical kit into Genevieve’s suitcase, and Daniel brings a few blankets that were stowed in the back. He finds a screwdriver and removes the license plate for good measure. I tell myself I’m not enjoying these moments alone together.
“You’re really good with them,” I say as we start back toward the group.
“You seem surprised.”
“I am, a little. No offence, Daniel, but you don’t seem to like anything that comes between you and your work for the clan. You hated training me and Trixie, and you weren’t afraid to let us know it. You volunteered to take me out to the sanctuary, but didn’t go out of your way to be civil to the werewolves. Not your job, right?”
He slows his pace and looks up at the treetops silhouetted against the sky. “This is entirely different.”
“Because you’re on vacation?”
“And what a vacation it’s turning out to be.” He’s speaking in a bare whisper now, but I catch the sarcasm. He inclines his chin toward the others. “The elders aren’t wrong about them being useless to the clan, but Viktor is wrong about their deeper value. They are vampires, and they deserve my respect until they prove themselves unworthy of it.” He looks down at me and raises one eyebrow. “It may have escaped you at the time, but my trainees received the same courtesy.”
“Your respect for us seemed to involve a lot more trash talk and ass-kickings.”
“Well, you needed it. And you could take it. These vampires are different.”
I breathe in, long and deep. The air is cold and sharp. “And what do you think I need now?”
His brow furrows, just for a second. “To reach your potential? I don’t know. I suspect it’s not what you want. Certainly not what you deserve. But I’ll help you figure it out, if you’d like.”
I thought he’d take the question as an opportunity for flirtation. As it turns out, I’m glad he didn’t.
This is better, and the hint of uncertainty in his voice as he risks offering me a glimpse beneath his armour makes me almost certain he’s sincere.
“I would like that.”
Hannabelle has seated herself on a fallen tree, and Trent, Genevieve, and Lucille are speaking to each other, huddled in a tight cluster at the edge of the road.
Daniel pulls his phone from his pocket. “I should let Miranda know we’ve been delayed.”
My chest tightens as I scan the road and the woods, becoming painful as I stop and listen. I reach for Daniel’s phone and flip it closed before he can finish dialling. Miranda will have to wait.
I try to keep my voice calm.
“Where’s Edwin?”
Chapter Eleven
Fucking Edwin.
We can’t call him too loudly. There’s no way to tell who else might be around. We just keep saying his name, hoping he might hear.
“Why would he have taken off?” I ask Hannabelle, who’s walking beside me, scanning the depths of the forest. Lucille and Trent are doing the same on the other side of the road. Genevieve and Daniel have stayed behind to scour the woods closer to where he disappeared.
Hannabelle sighs. “I don’t know. I’d swear he was there with us not more than a minute before you came back. He’s fast, though.”
“Edwin,” Lucille coos softly. “Come out, dear.”
“Edwin,” Trent echoes, his voice revealing far more irritation than Lucille’s. “You sick, sorry, son of a syphilitic whore. Answer us, or I’ll see you strung up by your twisted guts and left for the sunrise to claim you.”
I keep watching the road as we walk, balancing thought and perception as well as I can. “So, what do you most want to do, now that you’re out of that house?” I ask Hannabelle.
She turns to me, eyebrows raised, then resumes her search of the trees. “I suppose the most important thing is getting to shelter before sunrise. And staying out of sight.”
Lucille sighs. “You’re so practical, dear. I think I’d like to go trick-or-treating, myself. We have the best costumes.”
I stop in my tracks. “It’s not Halloween.”
“Devil’s night,” Daniel says behind us, startling me.
I need to talk to him about sneaking up o
n people.
Genevieve glides past him and joins Trent and Lucille.
“Isn’t that what they call it now?” Daniel asks. “The night before?”
“I think so,” I say. “I doubt Edwin’s keeping track of the date, though, even if it means anything to him.”
“No,” Hannabelle says. “But it may mean there are humans out in spite of the hour.”
I grit my teeth. She’s right. And though I’m not really afraid that Edwin’s gone hunting—not after two meals tonight, enough for even the most gluttonous vampire—he could have other plans.
I hope he didn’t kill tonight. If he did, his second supper means Edwin’s senses are likely operating at a level we can’t hope to match.
I motion for everyone to be silent, then to pick up our pace. We can’t afford to waste any more time.
If there are people out and about on this cold October night, they’re not camping in the woods. They’re gathered wherever this road leads.
It’s almost eerie how silent we are. Our boots and shoes make faint sounds as we race over the road. We’re not ghosts, after all. But there’s not a breath among us, even as we run into a shallow valley and up the next hill. No one stumbles or hesitates in the dissipating darkness.
Nights are getting longer. Not long enough.
An iron gate stands ajar at the end of the road, opening onto a cemetery. Thick forest presses up against the fences, but the land inside, while overgrown and apparently neglected, offers a clearer view. Paths meander between gravestones, crypts, and twisted, nearly bare trees that reach toward a sky of quickly fading stars.
Voices rise from beyond a low hill, laughing. They sound young and very drunk.
Daniel and I exchange a glance.
“You find shelter for the rest of them,” I tell him. “I’ll check it out.”
“I’ll come with you,” Trent says, but Daniel places a hand on his arm.
“We have orders,” he says. “We’ve already lost one of you.”
“I’ll be fine,” I add. “If Edwin’s causing trouble, I can handle it. But we don’t want a crowd.”
I’m actually not completely sure I can handle him if he’s as strong as I suspect he is, but Daniel’s right. And the old ones will be more comfortable if they stick together. They’re the closest thing I’ve seen to a family among vampires.
Genevieve bumps Trent with her shoulder. “Come, dear. It will be like old times. Pretend those people have torches and pitchforks. You and Lucille can find a cozy hiding spot we can all share.”
“Never had to share in the old days,” Trent mutters.
Lucille closes her eyes and smiles softly. “I think there’s a safe place. Toward the sunrise. A white building, maybe? It’s quiet. Dark.”
Trent’s gaze sharpens like he’s seeing something the rest of us aren’t. “Good enough.” He leads them away from the laughter beyond the hill, guiding Lucille’s footsteps when she strays from the path. Daniel glances back over his shoulder at me, and I wave him off.
I’ve got this.
Sure I do.
I hurry down an asphalt path that weaves between ghostly marble grave markers, toward the voices. They’re coming from an older part of the cemetery that’s dotted with worn-smooth gravestones, some of them broken, and big trees with thick trunks and twisting branches.
There. A group of teenagers is hanging out among the trees, joking and having a good time, littering the ground around their highly illegal bonfire with beer bottles. They’ve got a makeshift bar set up on a big, flat gravestone. My chest tightens, but I fight off the panic that wants to fill me.
This is not a time warp, and no one is going to shoot me. Not this time.
I crouch behind a tall monument topped with a pair of angels and watch the group for a minute, but there’s no sign of Edwin.
I don’t especially want to be right about where he went, but with the sky getting lighter, I’m realizing how much I can’t afford to be wrong, either.
“Children!” His voice rings out, but I can’t see him. “Splendid evening. Are you enjoying your night?”
I grit my teeth as he appears from behind another stone. The kids turn to him, poking each other and giggling at the weird guy in his old tux.
A rope swings from his left hand. Casually, like an accessory. Where the hell did he find that?
Without another word he climbs the massive oak tree just within the edges of the firelight. Visible, but shadowed. His movements are quick enough to be eerie, but he’s not showing off.
The giggling stops as he makes his way out onto a thick branch, testing its strength with every nimble step, then ties the end of the rope onto it and sits down. He measures the length of the rope against his arms and works at the other end, smiling down at his hands.
“Buddy, what are you on?” one of the guys asks. Joking, but he sounds worried.
“I’m high on life,” Edwin answers, and slips the noose around his neck, tightening it at the back. “I adore Halloween.”
He flashes them a devilish grin, then pushes himself off the branch. I don’t know whether the kids catch it, but he gives them a little wave as he drops. The rope jerks as he reaches the end, and Edwin swings like a pendulum from the branch.
A girl screams, and one of the younger guys presses his hands over his mouth and nose as horrified tears leak from his eyes. I’m not judging either of them. This isn’t what they came here for tonight.
Goddamn fucking Edwin.
He doesn’t move. I wait for him to expose the trick so he can seek shelter from the rising sun, but he could be any regular corpse for all I can tell.
If he’s broken his neck, he may be in there, aware and filled with regret, but unable to move until his body heals—which it certainly won’t have time to, now.
I’m half tempted to leave him, but he’s my responsibility, and it’s my fault he got away. Besides, he might still be able to scream when the sun hits him. I can’t even imagine how that would turn out for us.
I jog toward the group, composing my face into something I think should look concerned yet exasperated.
“Uncle George,” I call. “You’re scaring them.”
Scaring me, too, but I won’t tell him that.
Edwin doesn’t move.
The kids turn slowly to me. Well, most of them. Of the eight in the group, two are still staring at the swinging body.
“Sorry, guys,” I tell them, and offer an apologetic smile that’s tight enough not to expose even a hint my fangs. “Anybody got a knife?”
The biggest guy, a hulking bull moose of a kid with long hair and acne, pulls a flip-open serrated blade from his pocket. I take it from him and look Edwin over. Still not moving. I centre myself and reach deep into my void power, opening my perceptions. There. I feel him, which means he’s at least done me the courtesy of not ending his existence with an internal decapitation.
I take a deep breath, just for show, then climb the gnarled tree trunk and inch out onto the branch far less confidently than Edwin did. I sit above him and lean down, balancing carefully as I grip the rope in one hand.
“Thinks he’s so. Fucking. Funny,” I grumble, punctuating the words with slices at the taut rope.
Edwin falls to the ground in a heap. I swing down and resist the urge to kick him.
“Get up, Uncle George.”
Edwin pushes himself to his feet and rubs the back of his neck. Relief floods me, but we’re not out of the woods yet.
He looks a little dazed, and I don’t think it’s for show.
“Apologize,” I order.
“Apologies, children,” he rasps. The dark circles forming under his eyes give him a menacing look. “But you really shouldn’t be having parties in graveyards. The dead deserve better.”
I give him a shove to get him walking. “And you never know what kind of psychos you might meet,” I agree, and toss the kid’s knife back to him.
They’re all gaping at us.
I sigh
. “I really am sorry,” I tell them again. “He’s a magician of sorts. Thinks he’s fucking brilliant, but his stunts are in poor taste.”
Edwin bows low from the waist. One of the girls claps uncertainly.
“How did you—” another girl begins, looking up at the scrap of rope hanging from the tree.
“A great magician never tells his secrets,” Edwin tells her, and winks.
He fucking winks.
I’m seething with rage as I take him by the arm and half-guide, half-drag him back in the direction the others went in. I want to scold him, slap him, maybe tighten the noose that’s still dangling around his neck and yank him to safety. The options seem limitless, each one more gory and appealing than the last.
“What the hell were you thinking?” I speak through clenched teeth, baring my fangs at him. “What if you’d actually snapped your neck and not been able to move? Even if you hadn’t, what was the plan? Swing there until sunrise?”
I wonder whether Trent would have been pleased that he didn’t have to follow through on that threat himself.
Edwin cocks an eyebrow at me and removes the noose. I grab it from his hand before he can toss it aside. We don’t need more evidence lying around if those kids tattle. I doubt they will, at least not right away—after all, none of them will want to get in trouble for their little party.
But still.
“I’ve done it a thousand times,” he says, and loosens his tie. He doesn’t sound like he’s exaggerating. “I’ve spent a century testing this body’s limits and defining new ones. Death’s no fun if you can’t play with it a little, and things do get boring after a while. Danger and pain are at least exciting.”
“The scar on your arm,” I say. “Was that you… playing?”
He smiles. “It was someone playing. We all need hobbies.”
“And yours is what? Scaring the shit out of living teenagers?” I’m not buying his bullshit anymore. He’s not as crazy as he wants us to think, and there has to be more to this than a bit of fun.
He glances back over his shoulder, and his easygoing expression turns hard. “Did you see them? Did you see the fire they built on a grave without considering how death watches over their shoulders with every breath they take?” He bares his teeth, and for a second I worry he’s going to change his mind, run back, and murder them all. “By disrespecting death, they disrespect the life they take for granted. And they all do it. Not one living human understands the power in them. I let most of them be. But how can we, understanding the power of life and the mystery of death, stand by and allow such reckless disregard?”
