by D. J. Bodden
“Most vampires and werewolves are brought into the world by accident, in spite of the Agency’s neat quota system. We’re shunned, go hungry, and get hunted by the humans you’ve chosen to ally yourself with. The Agency doesn’t care. It does whatever it has to in order to keep the governments happy. Human governments, Jonas. That’s what we’re fighting.”
“You can’t fight all of humanity,” Eve said.
“We don’t want to fight all of them. We just want a little more fairness in the system.”
“But it won’t work!” Jonas said, throwing up his arms up in frustration. “I learned all about this. Vampires can only function during half the day, so they can’t hope to participate in sustained combat operations. And if werewolves breed and infect without checks on their growth, they’ll spread like a plague, exhausting the biomass of the planet.”
“Agency and human brainwashing,” the vampire said, waving his hand dismissively. “We can reach a stable society. And now that you’ve brought us the formula for the serum, we can mass produce it instead of having it rationed out by our human masters.”
Jonas felt an icy coldness in the pit of his stomach. So that’s what was in the journal — the formula to make vampires immune to the sun. He’d wondered why they didn’t use it more often; now he knew.
I should have destroyed it, Jonas sent to Eve.
Well, it’s too late for that now. Just agree with him.
What?
Agree with him. He doesn’t have to take us to Fangston.
But before Jonas could say anything else, Kieran spoke up. “What about the juveniles?”
The vampire turned to face him. “What?”
“The young werewolves whose lives you spend so cheaply,” Kieran said, staring at the vampire. “And what about the fact that you have a demon leading you?”
The vampire scowled. “It’s not like we have many choices. Werewolves breed faster, and they can eat just about anything. We save the older ones for breeding and training, send out the younger ones, to die for the cause. It’s a necessary evil. And as for the Director,” he said, shrugging, “Fangston had the resources and the real estate to make this happen. Whatever he’s in league with, is his own business. We find allies where we can.”
Thinking about not having many choices sent a shiver down Jonas’ spine. “That’s what you did to me,” he said.
“Did what?”
“You forced me to find allies where I could. Do you really think I would have surrounded myself with hunters — people who’d rather see me dead, regardless of what I’ve said or done — if I thought I had any choice in the matter?”
Kieran started to speak, but Eve put a hand on his arm.
The vampire looked at Jonas.
I spoke nothing but the truth, Jonas thought. He’d carefully limited the statement, but unless the vampire broke through his barrier, he wouldn’t know the difference.
“We may have misjudged you,” the vampire said, “But that’s not for me to decide. Come… I’m Mordecai, by the way”.
“Nice to meet you, Mordecai,” Jonas said.
Mordecai chuckled.
The older vampire led them back the way they’d come, but taking them through a different door, to a staircase leading upward.
“I thought the Director was that way,” Jonas said, pointing in the direction the vampire had originally been leading them.
“I got turned around. Too many hallways,” Mordecai said.
Jonas’ mouth went dry. If Eve hadn’t told him to play along, his fight with Fangston might have been over before it started. Thanks, he sent to Eve.
Someone’s got to keep you safe, she said.
Two levels up, the rooms were different. There was more room between cots, and privacy curtains. The werewolves were larger and carried weapons, or wore armor; the vampires looked older — in their mid-thirties — and mingled with the werewolves as equals, instead of each species being separated into groups of their own kind. Several of the vampires were followed by servants in livery; men and women of various ages, mostly attractive, with thin, colored scarves or mandarin collars covering their necks. They also wore armbands that bore an insignia, matching a small pin on the collars of the vampires they followed.
“Thralls,” Eve said.
Mordecai nodded. “All volunteers, chosen because of the quality of their blood and the richness of their lives. You could have one too, if the Director found you useful.”
“Is it really that different from drinking it out of a bag?” Jonas said.
Mordecai looked at him, his eyebrows drawn together, “You’ve never… I thought it was just propaganda to keep the masses happy and quiet. You mean Alice Black feeds off…” he wrinkled his mouth in disgust. “Let me show you something,” he said, and led the group to a small room near the living quarters. Four humans sat at a table — two men and two women — talking and sipping wine. They wore thin scarves around their necks, but no armbands. When they saw Mordecai walking toward them, they stood, and one of the men said, “Can we help you, sir?” He sounded hopeful.
Mordecai ignored the man and looked at Jonas. “These are unassigned thralls, used by transient personnel until they are no longer needed, or someone chooses them. You may pick one.”
“What?”
“Feed, boy. Do what comes naturally.”
Jonas looked at the four humans, somewhat shocked. They weren’t afraid. If nothing else, they were eager. “You actually want this, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes sir. And if I may, I had a wonderful experience back in 1972 that—”
“Enough,” Mordecai snapped. “I don’t want you influencing his choice.”
“I’m sorry,” Jonas said, “I’m afraid I might kill them. I can’t control my feeding yet.”
“That’s fine, I’ll pull you back,” Mordecai said, speaking in a friendly manner, as if he was offering Jonas his first sip of wine or sneaking him a beer. But there was a calculating look in his eyes. “Think of it as a rite of passage.”
This is a test, Jonas told Eve, What should I do?
Just get it over with, she said.
Jonas could tell that Eve was unhappy with the whole situation; her face was livid. But he couldn’t risk angering Mordecai by refusing. He looked at the four people, wondering who to choose. His eyes were naturally drawn to the second woman: late-thirties, shoulder-length, straight blonde with a few strands of gray. She had a perfect body and smooth ivory skin. There was a faint suggestion of wrinkles at her eyes, cleverly hidden by makeup – the only price time had exacted from her face, except… he stepped forward and brushed her hair back. She had an ugly, jagged, scar that ran from the corner of her mouth across her cheek.
“An uncommon choice, Jonas,” Mordecai said. “The one who chose her was known for his eccentricity, and even he couldn’t stand the look of her.”
The woman blushed, looking down at the floor. Water welled in her eyes.
“She’s the one I want,” Jonas said, without thinking.
The two men had looked at him with ambition; they thought being a thrall was a step toward being turned, to holding onto their strength forever. And the other woman, the younger one, also wanted what being his thrall would bring — trinkets, the pride of having been chosen. She looked at him longingly, licking her lips, promising thoughts that made him blush. But the woman with the scar just wanted him, period, with a longing that overcame her shame.
Please, he heard her think, so strongly that he didn’t even have to read her. It was irresistible.
She leaned forward, pulling her scarf down, and Jonas sank his teeth into her neck.
He gripped her elbow and the opposite side of her neck, inhaling the light perfume she wore and the smell of lotion. Her pulse pounded on his lips… then the memory came. It wasn’t like with Eve, when they’d shared information and emotions. Then, he’d known it was a memory. But this was something entirely different. It was as if it was happening now, seeing, hearing, smel
ling, tasting, and feeling through his own senses.
She was walking the red carpet at a motion picture premier, wearing a white dress that felt snug against her body. A local designer, a darling boy just out of art school with more talent than most, had made it for her. She’d gotten the dress for the price of a kiss – and a promise she’d never keep – just two weeks before his collection was scheduled to show. She smiled for a camera, pouted for another. Diamonds hung heavily from her neck, sparkling in the flash of the paparazzi.
She moved closer to Jonas, pressing against him. She was going to be famous, the envy of all the women she’d had to step over to get where she was.
“That’s enough,” Mordecai said, pulling him back.
“You’re beautiful,” Jonas whispered into her ear.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Still connected to her, Jonas suddenly felt the glory she’d lost, when a jealous boyfriend had cut her face and ended her dreams. There was no moving on for her. No alternate vocation she could accept. She just wanted to experience that moment as many times as she could, gladly choosing to die, rather than live on as she was. After all, he’d be doing her a favor. She looked him in the eyes, chest still heaving, lips slightly parted…
Jonas! Eve shouted in his head.
He jerked back, looking around at Mordecai and his friends as if waking from a dream.
“Wish my food tasted that good,” muttered Kieran.
“Kieran!” Eve said incredulously.
Mordecai chuckled. “Would you like to try, Eve?”
“Absolutely not,” she said, turning her back to them.
Mordecai smiled and shrugged. He looked at Jonas, and sent… You could have her, if the Director finds you useful. You could even grant her wish — death at the height of her glory. No one else wants her. And, if you’re very useful, we might even let you turn her. She’d be young again, forever.
Jonas looked at the thralls. The woman he’d embraced looked at him shyly, but didn’t turn her eyes away. The others were full of resentment.
“I need to see the Director.”
Mordecai smiled. “Of course. Just remember what we talked about.”
I’m sorry, Jonas told Eve.
That’s okay, you didn’t have a choice… but maybe you could have enjoyed it less, she replied.
He offered her the memory of what happened, but she clamped her walls down.
No! she said. Then, more gently, I’m sorry. I’m… we’ll talk about it later, if we survive this.
Did I do something wrong?
No. I just cared more than I thought I would.
They rounded a corner, and Mordecai almost ran into Bert.
CHAPTER 26
“What are they doing here, Mordecai? You were supposed to take them to interrogation.”
“They have the journal with them. They’re turning it over freely.”
“Then take it from them and have someone dispose of them.” Bert said, turning his yellow eyes on Kieran. There were other werewolves and a small number of vampires in the room. They stopped what they were doing to watch the confrontation.
Mordecai curled his upper lip up in disgust. “They’re recruits, wolf. And you don’t give me orders.”
Bert shoved Mordecai in the chest, pushing him back two steps. He sneered and said, “Recruits? That one wouldn’t turn on our precious father if his life depended on it… and it does.” He grinned at Kieran, baring sharp teeth.
Jonas felt Mordecai preparing to lash out at Bert with his mind. But before he could, the big werewolf snarled and backhanded the vampire into a wall. Mordecai slumped to the floor, clutching his arm. “Don’t you dare use your tricks on me!” Bert said. Then he turned to Jonas and held out his hand. “Give me the journal, kid, or I’ll take it from your ashes.”
Jonas felt someone pull him back by the shoulder. Kieran stepped forward and said, “Have to go through me first, brother.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Bert said, and swung for Kieran’s face.
Kieran caught his wrist and held it. “You can still go home, brother.”
Bert swung his other fist, but Kieran stepped inside the swing, still holding Bert’s wrist, and trapped his brother’s arm against his body.
“Heard you’d finally changed. Stronger now, but still unwilling to embrace the wolf inside,” Bert said, and head-butted him. Kieran ducked into it, then pushed his brother back.
“Father hasn’t expelled you. You can still come home.”
“And what? Watch you take over the pack, a weakling?”
“I’ve refused leadership. You can still take over for our father, in time.”
Bert spit on the ground. “That’s for our father. I have my own pack, now, and it’s—”
“Without his permission?” Kieran asked, his voice calm.
Bert laughed. “Are you simple, boy? Of course, I did it without—”
Kieran darted forward, reaching out as if he was going to touch his brother’s chest with the tips of his fingers. Instead, they sank in up to the knuckles. Then Kieran dropped to a knee, dragging Bert down with him. He wrapped his left arm around his older brother, as if to embrace him, and forced his hand deeper into Bert’s chest. Bert’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.
“I’ll tell our mother that you died according to the old ways, brother,” Kieran said.
Jonas watched as Bert’s body shook. His veins, eyes, even the blood dripping from his mouth turned black, and he went still. Kieran pushed his brother back, and pulled his hand from the dead wolf’s chest. Jonas could see white fur and silver claws on Kieran’s right hand, dripping with black blood.
“That’s a…” Mordecai said, staring in shock. “My God, he was right. I never should have brought you here.” He coughed and groaned, still holding his broken arm.
“Come on,” Jonas said.
“Where?” Eve asked.
“Well, there are only two doors, and we’ve already been through one,” he said, and walked away.
Eve followed, and Kieran quickly fell in beside her, after wiping his hand on Bert’s suit.
“I didn’t know you could do a partial transformation or even change at will,” Jonas said, looking back at Kieran.
“I’ve been practicing.”
“Must have taken a lot of anger to do that,” Jonas guessed.
Kieran shrugged. “We hate most the crime we struggle hardest to resist.”
Jonas looked back at his friend. The werewolf’s face was blank, neither sad nor joyful.
I should spend more time talking to Kieran, he said to Eve.
His brother should have, Eve answered.
They walked through the berthing area unopposed, and the werewolves guarding the far door backed away, keeping their eyes on Kieran.
As they walked into the next room, several vampires with pins on their collars looked up from the map they’d been talking over.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to be in here!” one of them asked.
Jonas ignored him and looked around the room. It was smaller than the rest, filled with desks covered in maps, schematics, and stacks of papers. There were a few clerks on the right hand side, with even taller stacks of paper and flat screen monitors. The clerks didn’t look up, they just kept typing.
This must be the command room, Jonas told Eve.
She didn’t respond, just stared straight ahead with vacant eyes, hands by her side. Kieran was in the same state.
“Your attraction to pain is impressive, child,” Fangston said, walking forward from the back of the room. “Do you have the journal, or should I kill your friends now?”
“I have the journal,” Jonas said, reaching in and pulling it from his coat.
There was no humor in Fangston’s voice, no teasing or sarcasm. The demon was in full control. He walked forward, snatched the journal from Jonas’ hands, and started leafing through it.
“It’s in code. Do you know how to read this?”
“No,” Jonas said. He felt the demon scanning him, like talons scraping the surface of his mind.
“Then you’re of no use to me. I’ll have to rip the key from your mother’s mind, or your father’s if I have to.”
They’re alive, Jonas thought. And neither of them are cooperating with this thing. There was still a chance. He reached out and pulled Fangston into his mind.
CHAPTER 27
Jonas stood on the battlements of the castle that guarded his thoughts, gazing at the horizon. It was choked with smoke – a swirling pattern of orange, red, and black, crisscrossed with lightning. Hot wind howled over the walls, from the direction he knew the demon would come.
“That wasn’t the brightest idea you’ve had, Jonas,” Marcus said, resting his elbows on one of the crenellations.
“Director?”
“What’s left of me,” he answered, smiling sadly. “In retrospect, trying to cage a demon in my head was a mistake.”
Jonas nodded and looked over the wall.
“I see your barrier has made little progress since we last met,” Fangston said. “I would have expected better from one of Viviane’s students.”
“The demon postponed my classes… indefinitely.”
“Ah. Well, I’m sure you did your best,” Fangston said. “But couldn’t you have fixed that, at least?” he said, gesturing toward the ruined tower he’d destroyed during his last visit.
Jonas ignored the jab. “Is it normal for you to be able to see my barrier this clearly? I mean, the same way I see it?”
“No. But I’m very old, Jonas. Even older than your mother, not that it’s saved me from my own pride. Anyway, I’m assuming you have some kind of plan… or were you aiming for the noble, yet futile gesture?”
Jonas sidestepped his questions again. “I’m sorry, sir. I was just remembering the time you incinerated some of my guardians. It gave me a headache.”
“Brain damage. It heals, but you lose the use of that part of your brain for a time. That’s why it’s best to limit the number of cannon fodder you use.”
Jonas smiled. Fangston had almost quoted Edwards.
