by J. S. Malcom
Beatrice tilts her head. “An interesting question. Do you believe in gods?”
I consider for a moment. “I always figured they were myth.”
Beatrice raises an eyebrow. “And witches?”
Funny she should ask, because it parallels my thought from last night. “I didn’t before, but I do now.”
“Exactly,” Beatrice says. “Of course you do, because you’re one yourself. Before that, presumably, you also assumed witches to be myth. Now, you know witches can bend physics, literally command the natural elements around them.”
“Not like her,” I say.
Beatrice shrugs. “Don’t underestimate yourself. You’re still learning. But to answer your question, yes. High demons were once considered to be gods. This realm we live in has traded hands a few times, its history much different than that perceived by our non-magical counterparts. Not that their science is wrong with regard to the physical plane. However, we both know that’s just the tip of the iceberg. All these dimensions wrapped around themselves can be quite the conundrum. Regardless, right now we need to focus on the realm we’re trying to protect. Which brings us to the risk you took last night. Was it worth it?
The strange thing is, I don’t hesitate. “Definitely. We know what’s going on now.”
Since the cat is out of the bag, I tell Beatrice about what happened last night, how we returned to Byrd Park because of the werewolves, about discovering the portal and entering the temple to witness the Shared Feast, as well as what we heard Mason say to those gathered there. Which brings me to the question that keeps nagging at me.
“Mason and those other vampires,” I say, “why would they want to do that? If Nepheras and her kind take back the realm, the vampires would serve them. Or did I miss something?”
Beatrice settles back in her chair, letting out a weary sigh. “No, you understand correctly. This has been an ongoing debate for a long time within the vampire community. There’s always been a faction believing that they’ve reached the end of their evolutionary development. That the rise of humankind, especially with the protection of witches, has driven them into the shadows for good. Some vampires feel it’s only a matter of time until they’re wiped out entirely.”
Now, it starts to make sense. “So, they feel it’s worth the gamble. Basically, take their chances.”
“Essentially,” Beatrice says. “It would mean not only an unlimited food source, but nearly infinite opportunities to increase their population. As it is now, if vampires became too noticeable, humans would go to war against them. There was a time when the humans might have lost, but now that seems highly unlikely. Regardless, it’s considered a heretical point of view by most vampires. Obviously, there’d be no going back from such a shift.”
“Yeah, no kidding. Although I guess whoever’s at the top might stand to gain quite a bit. In fact, that vampire might become something like a general in the demon army.”
“Which brings us to our friend, Mason. Now you’ve seen him, you’ve heard him, and you understand his motivation. But that really doesn’t get us any closer to mitigating the threat. The fact is, he can inspire his followers all he wants but it wouldn't make any difference. Not without the element allowing the threat to exist in the first place.”
The same goes for Nepheras and Vintain, if I’m not just crazy and he’s somehow involved. The existence of that same threat allowed Sarah Wellingsford to cast suspicion upon my sister. “We need to find that veil witch,” I say.
Beatrice nods, keeping her eyes on mine. “Yes, we do. I’m assuming he wasn’t involved last night or you would have told me.”
“Still no sign of him.”
So far, we don’t even have a name, never mind an understanding of why he’s doing what he’s doing. Maybe if we just had a clue about who he is, we might be able to understand his motivation. Then, suddenly, something occurs to me. Who do I know that can pluck a name out of thin air, as well as access the thoughts and feelings of someone she’s never met?
Beatrice frowns, watching me. “What is it?”
Still, I hesitate. I told myself I’d never involve Julia again, that my doing so before nearly got her killed. Maybe worse than killed.
Beatrice perches forward. “Cassie, this is too important. The stakes are just too high. For all of us, witches and humans alike. If the demons carry out their plan, it would be nothing short of an apocalypse.”
I know she’s right. There’s just no denying it. So I tell her the move I think we should take next, even as I hate myself for doing so.
CHAPTER 18
It’s a little after ten when we arrive at the house where Nora used to live, four of us riding in Beatrice’s car. Well, at least a car she chose to use tonight. For all I know, the car might belong to the Shadow Order. Or, Beatrice has expensive taste, given that it’s a brand new Lexus. But I see now why she suggested we take it, since my car would have stood out like a sore thumb in a neighborhood like this. It never occurred to me that Nora might have lived in a house like the one we’re about to enter. I got the impression she’d been comfortable, but not this comfortable.
As if reading my thoughts, Nora turns to me from where she sits beside Beatrice up front. “It’s not really as big as it looks.”
Yeah, right. The house may not exactly qualify as a mansion, but it’s pretty damned big. It looks to be old too, but old in the sense that it was constructed long ago by someone with exquisite taste and plenty of money. In other words, it’s a historic home sitting on a large lot that, even at night, I can tell has been kept meticulously groomed.
Julia gazes out from where she sits beside me. “Who owns it? And why are the lights on? I thought…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, since obviously she was about to remark on everyone else who lived there being dead. After a moment, she says, “I’m sorry. I’m just curious.”
“It’s okay,” Nora says. “It was owned by Thomas, one of my friends. For the last ten years or so, but we weren’t going to be able to stay much longer. ”
By which she means that vampires can’t stay in the same place for very long. Even if they only come and go at night, someone is bound to notice that they don’t age. Clearly, Thomas had money, but that’s often the case for beings who are essentially immortal. Even a reasonably substantial inheritance can be turned into a fortune, given enough time and wise investing.
Beatrice kills the engine. “After the arch vampire sent a team to investigate, one of our Shadow Order members agreed to keep up appearances. He’s made sure to leave some lights on. He also arranged for cars to come and go at night, since that’s usually the case.”
It surprises me that she’s this open with Julia, but I guess she figures if Julia is willing to take the risk, then she deserves honest answers. Julia’s my friend, after all, and embarking on this experiment required that I tell Beatrice about who Julia is to me.
Julia speaks softly, her voice distant. “Is his name Ellis?”
Beatrice tilts her head; she seems surprised at the question. “Yes, Ellis.”
“He’s one of the Vamanec P’yrin, isn’t he?”
Beatrice glances at me. I shake my head to indicate that I didn’t tell Julia about him.
“Yes, he is,” Beatrice says.
“It bothers him, what happened here,” Julia says. “He feels both sad and concerned. Has he been in this car before?”
Beatrice’s eyebrows quirk, I suspect involuntarily. “The night before last.”
Julia nods, then turns her attention back to the house. After a moment, she says, “We should go in now.”
Part of me wants to turn back, to remove Julia from the situation before she gets in any deeper. I understand the stakes. I’d be a fool not to. Still, part of me wants only to protect my friend. We're here, though, aren't we? Which means that it's already too late to change our course of action.
We enter the house through the back, coming into the kitchen. The room is large and spotless, but strangely dated
. Except for the refrigerator, all of the appliances look to be decades old. But I guess it makes sense that this room would appear to be rarely used. Until recently, this was a house shared by vampires. They had no need for a kitchen, although it occurs to me why the refrigerator looks new. Stephanie mentioned the possibility of Nora’s group having access to a steady supply of blood. Was the refrigerator used to store blood bags? The feeling I get is yes, but I don’t really want to know.
As we pass through the room, Nora barely looks around, her manner confirming what I suspected before. This room, the heart of most homes, means little here and must hold few memories.
We pass through a dining room, where notebooks and sketchpads clutter a table alongside brushes and tubes of paint. Several easels are set along one wall, each holding a painting in progress. One depicts a river, sunlight glimmering on the water, another a mountain range at sunrise, hues of gold and rose fanning out across the sky. I glance around but see no photos in this studio, and I imagine that these scenes came from someone’s memory. Cherished glimpses of light from a distant time and another life.
We walk up the hall past a sitting room which holds floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, each full to capacity. Many of the books look old, thick leather bound volumes sitting incongruously beside the glossy spines of modern novels. A large desk holds two laptops, one left open. The space of a writer, I think, or at least someone who loved to read.
We pass another room, the family room, and it’s all I can do but stop and stare. Not because it’s unusual, but just the opposite. There are sofas and chairs, as well as a television mounted to the wall, but it’s the photos that makes my breath hitch in my throat. They’re everywhere, spread across the mantel and hung on the wall. Five people, three men and two women, all of them forever young. The photos show smiling faces at holidays and birthdays, friends with arms thrown across each other’s shoulders at clubs and bars. Those photos, of which I catch only a glimpse, show the history of people who’ve been together for a long time.
We keep walking and I realize that we’re following Julia. At some point, we fell in behind her as if in some unspoken accord. She stops as we enter the foyer, to one side the living room and to the other the staircase. She stands quietly, closing her eyes for a moment, and I can tell from her furrowed brow that she's receiving impressions. Then she walks into the living room, waits for us, and sits on the sofa. Her eyes meet mine and she nods.
“You should come,” she says.
We didn’t discuss it before, but I know she’s right. We simply can’t risk losing anything she experiences to interpretation. I need to know everything. I need to see and feel what she does.
Still, I can't help but feel apprehensive. Despite all the years I existed within Julia's body, she always kept the psychic part of herself private, just as I too guarded certain memories and emotional experiences. It was only recently that I melded my consciousness with hers to join her in a psychic exploration, an experience I found at first nearly overwhelming in its emotional intensity.
Still, I take a seat beside her, as Beatrice watches us curiously. I have to wonder if, despite all the things she's experienced, this might be new for her. I would imagine it's fairly rare for two women to be able to fuse their minds together.
Nora, on the other hand, seems barely aware of us. She stands by the window with her arms wrapped around herself as if she's cold. I doubt that's the case. I suspect it's difficult for her to be here, in this place where just days ago her friends died. Not just her friends, her family, I think, my mind returning to that room full of photos.
I turn to Julia and speak softly. “Okay, let's do this.”
Her eyes meet mine. “Are you sure?”
I force myself not to hesitate. “Yes, I'm sure.”
Julia looks from me to where Beatrice stands watching. Then her eyes go to Nora.
Beatrice picks up on what Julia is hesitant to communicate. “Would it be better if we waited elsewhere?”
“It might be,” Julia says.
“Of course.” Beatrice approaches Nora, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “Nora, dear,” she whispers, “why don't we go talk in the kitchen?”
Without speaking, Nora nods and follows after Beatrice, leaving Julia and me alone. Julia doesn't have to say more; she just closes her eyes and I do the same. I breathe evenly and deeply, invoking the meditative state that will allow me to separate my consciousness from my body. Soon, I sense the glow of Julia's life force beside me, and I imagine myself drifting toward it. In doing so, I return to that place I once thought of as home.
Here I am again.
“Hey there,” Julia whispers.
Her voice feels warm and comforting, a soft blanket of affection wrapping itself around me.
I have a feeling this is going to get dark. Are you sure you want to do this?
“Are you?”
Not really.
“Exactly, but we have to. We both know that.”
Then I guess it's time for you to unleash your powers, mutant.
Julia laughs at this reminder of our shared joke, that her abilities are more like something out of the X-Men than what comes to mind when most people think of the word “psychic.”
“Fasten your seatbelt,” Julia whispers.
What happens next starts out quite a bit like last time, as Julia opens her inner senses to the symphony of the collective consciousness. We’re soon assailed by a barrage of kaleidoscopic images and feelings all mixed together—a massive psychic wave washing over us, one that would easily carry me off if it wasn't for Julia anchoring me. I hang on, inwardly clenching my eyes as I wait for her to draw in her scope.
Soon, the initial onslaught subsides, darkness and silence settling in around us. That doesn’t last long. I jump at a sudden flash of white light and the sight of a man appearing in the foyer of this same room. He looks to be in his twenties, thin and feral with silver hair. He strides toward where another man rises from his chair, a book dropping from his hand. This man is dark and thin, his face a mask of shock. Through Julia, I sense what he felt in this moment—utter disbelief at what he’s seeing, anger surging within him, and the desire to protect those around him. This was Thomas, I think, as the other man thrusts out his hand to release a flash of magic. The vampire stumbles back, engulfed in light, already beginning to transform.
He’s on his knees, bones showing through his skin, by the time another man appears in the doorway. This one looks young, maybe not much more than a teenager. His eyes go wide and he calls out to the others in his very last act, the veil witch spinning at the sound of his voice. This was William, I think, as he too dies at the hands of the veil witch.
Part of me knows that this scene took place in the past, but that doesn’t stop the horror I feel. Just as not having my body doesn’t keep my heart from pounding or my tears from falling.
The veil witch leaves the room, where two vampires have been reduced to piles of bones. He starts climbing the stairs as another man appears at the top, like the others young and handsome. He throws himself at his assailant but never makes contact as another strike of magic drives him back. He smashes against the wall and crumples, his skin sloughing off as he rapidly starts to decompose. Joel, I think. This was Joel.
The veil witch reaches the top of the stairs, where he stops and looks down at his kill. He’s pleased with himself and the power within him, which keeps growing stronger each day. He stares at the tattoo on his arm, shaped like a serpent and glowing like fire. He whirls around at the sound of a woman’s gasp.
She’s pale, this one, with long red hair. She’s wrapped in a robe like someone preparing for sleep. She turns to flee, but doesn’t get far before another magical strike takes her down. This was Emily, I think, as she spills to the ground, her robe pulled up around her bent, white legs.
I can’t take anymore. Please, we have to stop!
From what feels like a million miles away, I hear Julia whisper, “We can’t. We need
to know.”
I don’t think I can.
“You can,” Julia says. “Stay with me.”
She’s right, of course. Some part of me knows that too, even though I’m not sure how much more I can take.
We shift our vision away from the body, now just bones wrapped in cloth. We watch as the veil witch strides toward where she lays. His grin widens once more. He breathes hard, his nostrils flaring with exhilaration. We lock onto his pale blue eyes, traveling closer and closer, until those eyes loom before us like planets. Then we’re inside him.
Images fly backwards at breakneck speed, like a film playing in reverse. First, we see each scene that just played out as we relive the killings. Then we're outside in the moment Nora described, as fiery light shimmers and then grows bright to let two men step through the veil.
We start hurtling backwards again, through a tunnel that flickers and pulses orange, a blur that keeps on going and going while revealing nothing.
I reach out to Julia again. What is it? Something seems wrong.
“I don't know,” she says. “It's like something's blocking us.”
What's blocking us is magic, I'm sure. Someone is keeping us from seeing wherever it is the veil witch went or who he saw there. Which only makes me more determined, every fiber of my being disgusted by those events we witnessed.
Can we move past this part? We’ll figure it out later.
“Okay, I’ll try.”
It only takes a moment, and the tunnel dissolves as images start coming through clear again. We find ourselves in a small apartment. It's spare, the walls blank, the furniture cheap and old. Julia's certainty tells me that this is where he lives. We’re getting close, I can feel it. My excitement and determination rises, spurring me on.
Keep going! We can do this!
The scene suddenly changes once more. We’re in a building now, an institution of some sort. The walls are made of cinderblock painted light green, the doors lining the hall solid steel. We pass though one of those doors to enter a room where the veil witch sits on a bed, across from him a window secured with thick iron mesh.
