Indigo Vamporium

by Poppet[vampire]

  Jowendrhan's eyes glow with his worry and it's eerie to see motes of moisture drift in the beam they emanate. “You can't go in there,” he says, his voice shaking in a juddering staccato.

  “I know. Let's check over there,” I nudge my head to indicate the area beyond the restaurant-curio shop locked up in spooky darkness.

  Time tripping, we speed to the left of the point, tracing the steep edge, all that face us are sheer cliffs of wet dark rock and an ocean frothing like it's been poisoned. Smashing and exploding violently, the roar is deafening.

  It's a paradox of sensations, the thick mist dulls sound, creating noise pockets that are suddenly nerve jangling loud as the wind funnels up toward us before being wiped quiet again in clinging moisture heavy with deadly cold.

  Every crosswind shoves the veil of dirty white cloud in bipolar seizures, zigzagging the view in endless strobes of seeing down there, accompanied with the soundtrack, to instantly blanketing out both sound and vision.

  Treading carefully, I locate a small inlet with a narrow strip of perfectly white sand. I point down, shouting over the gale, “Down there!”

  Jo should be safe waiting for me there, the tide seems to miss it and the vortex agitating the ocean skims beyond it too.

  I take it as a sign that this is the natural portal for our kind to go halo dunking.

  Jowendrhan looks pale, his face waxy with the ghotly sheen of moisture slicking his jaundiced worry. “You sure about this?” he yells.

  I nod, holding both his shoulders, time jumping us to the chilling wet sand below. Wet puddles collect around my feet, trickling icy tendrils into my muscles, warning me of the true temperature of the Atlantic in mid winter.

  I'm just fortunate we live with an inner furnace cooking our bodies into unnaturally hot. If I get into trouble out there I can just space hop back here.

  This should be a piece of cake. At least giant squid are white and I should be able to see one at night.

  I hope.

  Shoulder slapping my brother with more confidence than I feel, I end the camaraderie with a solid pat, “I'll be fine. One day you'll have to do this, luckily you get to watch me do it first. When you do it there'll be no unknowns waiting for you.”

  “There are hundreds of great whites out there. This is their hunting ground. They leap out of the sea to catch their prey here. I don't think it's safe, Seithe. Don't do it.” He looks ready to faint at the thought, glancing at the emetic ocean spewing exorcisms high into the air as waves collide in churning turmoil.

  “Wish me luck,” I smile, ignoring his fears lest they become my own, disappearing from the safety of shore to a good hundred feet out at sea, knowing all I'm looking for is something that looks partially like a mermaid crossed with a human.

  It's official, I'm insane.

  Wading furiously to keep my head above water, adjusting to the ice bath, an unholy swell rises up, smashing into my face, crushing me in an instant and sending me tumbling helplessly into the onslaught of violent upheaval.

  Chapter 13

  Seithe:

  The white ghost thumps me again, harder.

  Up, bearings, it's so deep I can't tell which way's up.

  Keeping my heartbeat infinitely slow, I swim to face the swirling murk, just catching a fleeting glimpse of the fifteen foot predator.

  The question is, can I vanish the second two rows of jagged teeth clamp into me, or will the shock send me spiraling?

  Waving my hands and feet to maintain sublittoral depth, I focus my power just in time to light up two black eyes in a demersal phantom face.

  Inhaling, breathing water in shock at seeing it so close, I can't back pedal fast enough. Ghoulface rams into me, shunting me into a purl plummet.

  Slippery skin rubs across my legs and a feeble spindly arm clamps into my shoulder, pulling me so close I'm in an underwater avalanche heading for the abyss. Black eyes pulsate with pearlescent madness and when it smiles the teeth are piranha sharp.

  Struggling, thrashing frantically, my air supply is used to vanish. Breaching water deeper out at sea, I go into panic mode when I realise I've resurfaced far away from where I need to be.

  Miles adrift from the shore, I splash in renewed fervor, checking around to make sure I'm alone. That thing was lethal looking and not messing around. It held me under too long and was much too strong to battle.

  Suddenly aware that the bow of a boat is not ten yards away from my head and gaining ground fast, I dive instinctively.

  I concentrate on space-hopping to shore, but with my limbs heavy and my pulse weak, I barely manage to break the surface a few feet away.

  Slipping onto my back, inhaling deeply, forcing myself to remain calm and float, I stare up at the hovering mist, feeling as lost as a message in a bottle on violent tides which heave and shuffle like cursed cards.

  Water bashing wooden ribs grows louder and I dare to look behind myself again, my breath freezing when the enormous galleon ship purls the waves toward me, flushing me into the immense suction of its wake.

  Swimming for my life, dragging iced arms through water thicker than mercury, I punish my muscles into obeying, every breath shallow and laborious.

  It's a losing battle, struggling against the pull, caught in a vortex I'm helpless against and too weary to avoid.

  Hopeless, I roll onto my back again, praying to just keep myself afloat and ride it out. The vessel is so close to me now I'm staring up at weathered wood gone gray with age, enormous parchment looking sails flacking as they move, swung about to catch wind, an unnatural gale sweeping over us and saulting the water. The sea foam seiche is galloping white froth from the force of the wind.

  It's chilling, lonely, and I'm beginning to feel desperation seep into my soul. Gasping for air, struggling to keep my head above the violent smashing of water in vengeful swells, I watch the crew as the boat scores past my legs.

  A man hangs off the yardarm, his sightless eyes staring at me through matted hair. It cracks the futile hold on calming zen, and I pant with renewed horror.

  Fevered shouting battles with the hellish wind and it's eerie witnessing grown men so panicked they sound like they're pleading with Neptune for one more hour.

  The bleached and cracked figurehead lurches toward me and I close my eyes, flinching as the forty meter galleon lurches up.

  Splashing and kicking, snatching at insubstantial liquid to drag myself out of harm's way, the deck keels toward me, granting me a full view of its majesty. It's old fashioned, glorious, straight out of a pirate movie.

  Buccaneers slide across the deck, barrels roll and ropes unravel, flaying the fallen and whipping the helpless souls clinging to balustrade and masts.

  Wind haunts the sea with their voices yelling to be heard above the bombing of water into the side, waves cresting over the many masts and the hull creaking agony into the night.

  Twin decks with many open portholes run so close I could touch them, and the smell from within reaches out to wrap moldy stench over my fraught nerves.

  “Hendrik!” bellows high above me, across the foggy fiasco.

  I had no clue pirates still used these waters. I thought it was quiet out here at night, but it's not peaceful at all.

  They can't be pirates. They're some crazed nutters out in the dead of night on the upheaval of water where two seas meet in an endless massacre of might, all while dressed in period costume. Maybe it's for a movie?

  I don't care, I just need to get out of here alive!

  Between me and the manic chaff of foam raging into the wooden hull, a long white arm ending in a claw rises out of the pitch black ocean, and fear assaults me so fast I'm instantly dizzy.

  Flaying wild, smashing and bashing against what is coming for me, I try to scream for the men to help, but their emergency takes precedence, the cacophony from the crew already in a shouting match with the gale force wind and choppy water.

  A riptide rises out of nowhere, in opposition to the flow of the waves, slamming me int
o a tumble, head over ass in water swirling with loud bubbles.

  Submerged again the noise blots to a dull slurry and the ashen monster rams into me, a claw spiked through my arm, dragging me down into the ink dark deep.

  White noise fills my head, destroying coherent thought; lack of oxygen making my head pound.

  Bashing the creature with my foot, my heel slips off soft flesh, and it halts, helixing to face me in such a swift fluid movement I hold my breath even though I'm already holding my breath.

  The sweetest moonface looks at me, widely spaced doe gentle eyes peer at me as if its feelings are hurt.

  What are you? Who are you? Where the hell are you taking me? You're not the freak who attacked me two minutes ago.

  I can't breathe!

  Air!!

  My right leg cramps, my lungs begin a spasm, and an acid burn rides my body in violent ripples.

  It has a human mouth which moves as if it's speaking to me. Instantly an imaginary ghost finger scratches a nail of terror down my neck.

  My heart is bloating, my limbs so heavy and aching, my head is about to explode.

  The pressure forces my vision into strobes of blackout and barely visible sea monster. She..? I have a feeling it's a she, spins back, hauling her catch... me... deeper and deeper, and my chest throbs with every meter of plummeting altitude.

  Fathoms and fathoms seem to slide past in a blur of punishing throb.

  This is it. I'm lost. I lost. I failed again.

  Unable to hold it in, I inhale, coughing, choking, no longer aware of where my limbs are going or what they're doing. Can't see. Can't feel. Just air! Can't breathe!

  I need to tell Jo I won't be coming back. He'll wait out there for decades, he'll come in after me.

  Sucking in more water, it's bitter and gelatinous. My body is screaming, the pain stabbing through every living inch of me.

  Something pushes against me, my hand is wrapped around it, and a hard hot appendage indents my forehead.

  Immediately the lack of oxygen dissipates and I'm aware that I'm breaching through an underwater spiderweb, into a pool of glowing white light.

  Blissful, tranquil milk – so clear it feels like I'm standing on a cliff and staring into the lake of eternity.

  The white creature smiles, her long thick tongue protruding through dolphin lips, and I'm vaguely lucid enough to note she's pulled something over my head, a band of glowing water opals.

  The fluid down here is alive with bioluminescent spirals, swirling around and around in heavenly colors unlike I've ever witnessed.

  Nodding again with a serene smile, she smashes her elbow into my face, shunting me brutally backwards and I'm supernaturally beached onto the inlet where Jowendrhan waits for me.

  Curling up, folding onto my side, I hack uncontrollably, spewing water out of my nostrils and mouth, desperately sucking serrated air into my burning lungs.

  Coughing water, spent, I eventually flop onto my back to stare up at the thickly veiled stark moon.

  There's too much fog, all that's up there is a thick vapor lit softly from within like the net cast onto the sea to catch sleeping children from their beds. It's the shroud of guilt, of sin, of secrets. The hidden domestic abuse behind thick curtains so no one on land or in the sky can witness what the sea is stripping of life this night.

  How close did I just come to death?

  What was that?

  Jo's sudden hold on my shoulder is enough to crack my clavicle. His voice is strained when he whispers, “Seithe!”

  The urgency and uncharacteristic fear pegs me upright instantly, and I'm frantically surveying the breaking waves against the shallow beach of the alcove.

  “What?” I saw hoarsely. My throat is raw and singed.

  I expected to see that monster beaching itself like a whale to get a good grip on me, to toss me out to sea where it would then proceed to knock the stuffing out of me with its powerful tail.

  “In the fog!”

  Skewering the brume with my focus, I can just make out that ship, out to sea, with its lights on.

  The lanterns filter through the mist like demonic fairy lights, hell red and bobbing unsteadily like headbangers at Satan's masquerade ball.

  “So what. It's just a ship,” I gasp, still lightheaded.

  “It wasn't there two seconds ago.”

  “You couldn't see it two seconds ago because visibility is so poor. You can be such a drama queen. It nearly ran me over out there!”

  The ocean is like an iceberg in July and for the first time in memory I am cold. “We need to go home,” I state, precariously forcing myself to stand on fragile strength. My legs quiver unsteadily beneath me, my gut palpitating through my innards, betraying my terror at what I was subjected to down there.

  Jowendrhan stands with me, his touch warm and reassuring, “This place is cursed. There are secrets here no one should investigate.”

  I nod, shutting down the heat of my glare, my breath stagnating when I think again of the disfigured soul which gripped my flesh in meathook hands.

  Closing my eyes, I let Jowendrhan move us back to the house hidden in the forest covering the slope behind Chapman's Peak.

  Ignoring Jo, I walk straight to the bathroom we share, stepping into the shower and turning the water on full blast, needling my chilled soul with hot comfort.

  “So are we going surfing in the morning?” calls to me from the other side of the steam shroud.

  “If you want,” I grumble tiredly, leaning on my arms and staring at the mosaic beneath my feet.

  Blistering water runs a salve down my body, freeing me of the lingering tentacles of the macabre.

  “Seithe...” comes much closer, right outside the steamy glass of the shower.

  “What?” My courage is dissolving with the hot water. Tears are flooding up and running out of my eyes.

  I'm so exhausted I feel liquescent, melting into the falling spray.

  “Your hair is white.”

  What!?

  Chapter 14

  Jowendrhan:

  Seithe bolts out of the shower, halting in front of the mirror which he wipes a clear path through with his wet hand. His nose is bleeding, but he doesn't even seem to be aware of it.

  His irises flare hot chrome when he sees his hair, rubbing the palm of his right hand over it.

  It sticks up in wet piques and he looks like an old man gone silver overnight.

  “Will it change back?” I ask him.

  He shrugs, glowering at his image.

  The two of us share mom's warm honeyed skin, and it just makes the chalky shade of his hair stand out in stark relief.

  “Tell me what happened. Did you see them?” I ask, while he tilts his head back to staunch the bleed, wiping at his nose.

  Staring at his bizarre image again, he mumbles, “I can tell you this much, if you ever want to teach someone the value of their life just hold them underwater until their organs start to spasm. They'll quickly appreciate a simple thing like breathing.”

  “But we only need to breathe every five minutes. How long were you down for?”

  “Too long,” is all he can manage before his voice cracks.

  He looks like he's about to throw up.

  “Jowendrhan, leave us,” orders from the door, and my pulse plummets as I peg to face our uncle.

  Uh oh!

  Nodding, I appirate into my bedroom, sitting nervously on the end of my bed, fearing for the trouble Seithe's about to get into, straining to listen.

  *

  Seithe:

  “You can't deprive yourself of air for that long without suffering consequences,” he says in a flat deep voice, indicating my face.

  “I have white hair because of oxygen deprivation?”

  “Your nose is bleeding,” he says, strolling into the bathroom, waving his hand and shutting the shower off. “Internal hemorrhaging is painful, I'm surprised you're managing to talk and walk right now.”

  My legs become wobbly again and I
stagger to the edge of the bath, sinking onto the lip and supporting my weight, automatically reaching for toilet paper to staunch the blood spewing out of my nose. I'm a little dizzy but wasn't aware I was bleeding this badly.

  He covers the narrow distance, placing a hot hand on my forehead, blasting light into me.

  Dabbing at my nostrils, looking down to avoid the accusation in his eyes, I breathe in hard, trying to regain my equilibrium.

  The blood flow has ceased; the paper barely blots with crimson.

  “What were you thinking going there at midnight on a full moon?”

  His glare jangles my nerves like rusty spurs on saloon stairs.

  Listless, I stare at my feet, wishing he'd just leave me alone. “You gave me a task, I achieved it,” I grumble in a careful monotone.

  “Yes, you did.” Leaning against the doorframe with his gargantuan arms folded, he nudges his head, “White hair is a status symbol. It's a badge of honor worn only by true vampyre elders who have met the ningen and lived to tell the tale. She put the yoke of angelic responsibility on you and that turned your hair into a symbolic halo. You are half angel but now you have the capacity of an Almighty. Wield it with restraint, humble gratitude, and wisdom.”

  “That was a ningen?” I ask, peeking at him.

  “Yes. The name means human in Japanese. They are the first, the ones who still dwell in the oceans.”

  “But they don't have hands. I thought they would.”

  “Their claws are their only defense, and far more practical than hands.”

  He points at my arm, “Heal that wound. You can now.”

  Looking at the gash from her claw, I know we can heal ourselves, even of fatal injury, so him telling me to heal it is moot.

  “No Seithe, you can now heal instantly, much faster than your kin. Put your hand over it and simply manifest healing.”

  Quelling the desire to arch a sarcastic eyebrow, I do as he instructs, amazed when heat blasts into my arm and the mark and muscle are both instantly reconstructed into angelic perfection.

  That's so damn cool.

  Giving me his deathly smile, he says, “Your hair will go back to brown in a fortnight. Let me know when you can fly,” and with that he vanishes from the bathroom, leaving in his stead a new rising dread.