by Nazri Noor
The door flew open. A woman popped out, her beaded braids falling about her face, brown eyes huge and hot with anger, her high cheekbones making her seem sharp and stern.
“Whatever happened to knocking? You bunch of punks. What the hell do you want? Do you know what time it is?”
The four of us were stunned into silence. Out of the open door came the smell of woodsmoke, patchouli, and for some reason, hot chocolate. Gil was right about the throw pillows and the rocking chair, but he hadn’t pointed out all the bundles of twigs. Dozens of them, covering the coffee table, the kitchen counter, the mantle. The woman wore a yellow hooded jacket and what appeared to be a pair of leggings, cropped just above the ankles. She looked about ready for bed. I blinked at her, too surprised to speak, but quickly remembered my manners.
“Sorry, we didn’t think anyone was home. Are you – you’re the witch of these woods, aren’t you?”
She cocked her hip, leaned against the doorframe, then rubbed her fingernails against her hoodie. “Maybe. Who wants to know?”
“Wow,” I said. “You’re not what we were expecting at all.”
She cocked an eyebrow, her gaze flitting up and down my body. “Oh, and why is that? Because I’m Black?”
“What? No. Not even what I was thinking about. You’re really young. Like, really young. I was expecting someone a lot older. Witch, you know.”
I looked to the others. The peaks of Asher’s cheeks were flushed. “I mean, I hate to perpetuate the stereotype, but same. I’m sorry for assuming.”
The witch folded her arms, then scoffed. “Please. Witches come in all shapes and sizes. Ages, too. Just because I’m young doesn’t mean I couldn’t pop your heads off your necks as easily as a bunch of wine corks.” She snapped her fingers at us. Roth flinched with every click, expecting to explode.
“Duly noted,” Gil said. “I guess we thought that someone who considered herself an ancient guardian of the forest would be – you know what, I’ll drop it. Better question. You’re being very forthright about your witch status. I would’ve thought you’d be upholding the veil, same as the rest of us.”
She sniffed, examining her nails, which were painted emerald green. “I know what you are. I won’t say what you are, but I know. But anyway, even if you were a bunch of regular humans, do you think anyone would believe me? I get a flock of dumb kids rolling up here at least once a week. You tell them you’re a witch and everyone just thinks you’re the crazy lady who lives up in the woods.”
“Fine, lady,” I said. “So we’ve confirmed that you’re a witch. What’s up with these killings? They’re happening awfully close to your territory, aren’t they?”
Her eyes narrowed, her beads tinkling as she shook her head. “Don’t ask questions you won’t accept the answers to.”
I stepped forward, my hand on the doorframe. “The fetishes, the bundles of twigs. What are they for? Why are they always at the scene of the crime? Are you the killer?”
“No more questions. Smoke bomb!”
Too late I noticed the glass sphere in her hand, a translucent egg filled with swirling smoke. She smashed it against the ground, thin glass clinking as it shattered and released huge gouts of choking smoke. I covered my mouth, my eyes already stinging. The door to the cabin slammed shut.
“Bramble wall.”
The witch dropped something in the grass, a felt bag. Its strings came undone, spilling seeds onto the ground. The earth surged as a low hedge of thorny brambles sprang out of the dirt. I backpedaled, pushing Asher away as I went, trusting Gil and Roth to defend themselves.
“Smoke form,” the witch cried out.
“What is this, a video game?” I turned to the others. “Am I nuts? Why is she calling out her spells?”
The witch answered by giving me the finger. She crushed an egg in her hands, her entire body horribly collapsing in the same way, splintering into jagged shards. The pieces of her hovered as they disintegrated into cloudy wisps of smoke, then drifted away into the wind.
“What the fuck just happened? Are witches supposed to be that fast?”
From somewhere along the breeze came a distant voice.
“Kiss my ass, I’m a ninja witch.”
I turned to the others. “There is no such thing. What the fuck?”
Gil shoved Roth in the chest. “This is your powerful witch of the woods? I feel like I’ve been pranked.”
Inflamed, Roth shoved back, which was honestly kind of a surprise. Gil’s eyes went wide, too, impressed, and maybe a little offended that he was fighting back.
“It’s not my fault she’s a ninja witch,” Roth said.
“There is no such thing,” I shouted.
Asher, who up until then had been rubbing his chin and staring through the smudged windows, finally spoke up, snapping his fingers.
“Smoke witch. That’s her deal. We got lucky she didn’t do more damage. I bet that fireplace has been going for decades now. It explains the smoke, the brambles, the bundles of twigs. It’s all kindling to her.” He pointed at me. “Better be careful next time we run into her. Pretty sure she’s good with fire magic, too. It’s the halfway point between wood and smoke. You should probably avoid smoking so much, too.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, wondering. “How do you mean? What, is she gonna give me a citation for starting a fire in the woods?”
“Very cute, smart ass. No. You saw what she did back there. Turned herself into gas, literally a cloud of smoke. What’s to stop her from taking control of a puff of your cigarette smoke and using it to choke you out from the inside? Hell, what if she becomes a puff of smoke, enters your respiratory tract, then reverts back to her physical body? Could you imagine the bloody mess of – ”
“Enough,” I said, my skin crawling. “Point taken, cripes. Enough already. I’ll stop smoking cigarettes around people who can kill me.”
“Ninja witches,” Roth corrected helpfully.
I shook my fist in his face. “So help me, electrician, I am going to separate your teeth from your stupid head.”
He chuckled, stumbling away from me, then cried out, his expression suddenly warping into pain. He went down on one knee, clutching at his ankle.
“What – whoa, are you okay?”
Roth hissed as he pulled up his pants leg and pressed both his hands around his ankle. There was a cut near the top of his foot, the wound glistening in the moonlight. Somehow I’d missed the scent of blood, but I could definitely smell it now. Wet, warm. Delicious.
24
“I’m fine,” Roth said. “Just a flesh wound. Not even, maybe a scratch that went too deep. It was probably from the witch’s brambles.”
Asher brushed me out of the way. “Let me take a look.” He gave me a sidelong glance, whispering. “And try not to look at him like you haven’t eaten in days.”
“I wasn’t,” I protested. I was.
Roth extended his leg slightly to give Asher a better view. “It’s fresh, but it’s nothing serious,” Asher said. “And no traces of poison, either, which is good.”
“Yeah, that’s definitely good,” Roth said, nodding. “Those ninja witches can be pretty sneaky.”
Behind him, where Roth couldn’t see, Gil was closing his trembling fingers around empty air, like he was pretending to choke him out.
I thought that Asher was going to send Roth off and be done with it, maybe kiss his boo-boo and declare him fit to walk home. Instead he passed his hand in the air above Roth’s foot, his fingers glowing with a pale wreath of green light. Roth gasped, then sighed as tendrils of necromantic energy reached for the edges of his wound, seamlessly stitching his skin back together. The light faded. See, while necromancers were known for their work with the essence of death, they had some familiarity with the essence of life, too. It made them very decent healers.
Asher stood up and dusted his hands off, beaming proudly. “And that takes care of that.”
Roth looked at each of our faces carefully, studying our
expressions. “Who are you people, exactly?”
Gil cracked his knuckles again, what was slowly becoming a very familiar sound indeed. “We’re the people who know where you live. We’re the people who will happily rip your head off in your sleep if you breathe a word of this night to anyone.”
Roth’s hands flew up. “Okay. Okay. My lips are sealed. I saw a man with very hairy legs. There was no one at the witch hut tonight. I didn’t have my foot cut open by a ninja witch.”
“We’ll find her again,” Asher said. “I have the weirdest feeling. We scared her off before we could get any real answers. Well, Sterling did.”
“Harsh, but probably accurate.”
“Hush. This isn’t the end of it. You don’t just up and leave when you’re the self-appointed guardian of a whole forest. Oh, and when you have an entire cute hut to yourself. Gotta keep that fire going.”
Roth’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked off into the distance. “That reminds me. Did I leave the stove on tonight?”
I pointed vaguely towards the woods. “Go the fuck home.” And take your sweet-smelling blood with you, I added in my head. “Are you sure you’re going to be fine on your own? No risk of getting murdered on the way?”
Asher made an exaggerated titter. “Maybe you should walk him home, Sterling.” He kept on tittering, even after I glared at him.
“I’ll be fine,” Roth said, flexing for show. “Check out these deadly weapons.”
“Goodbye, Roth,” I said, rolling my eyes.
Gil hesitated to say anything, frowning, but finally relented. “Text us when you get home so we know we don’t have to scour the woods for your dead body.”
“I will,” Roth said. “Hey, you guys? This was fun. I don’t know what the hell we just did tonight, but I have a decent feeling that you’re doing all this for the right reasons. Thanks for not killing me and stuff.”
“Least we could do,” I said, shooing him off as he made false starts towards home, waving sappily like he’d just found a new group of friends. And you know what? Maybe he had.
Gil shook his head, sighing when Roth was out of earshot. “Extra large helping of idiot, that one.”
Asher shrugged. “I don’t know. I think he’s more of a goofball, stuck in a lumberjack’s body.”
“Electrician,” I said, as if everyone didn’t already know. “It’s weird. He was all sorts of cocky when I met him, but maybe it was just for show.”
“Or maybe he’s just like you,” Asher said. “Adjusting his approach as the situation calls for it. The cockiness could have been for show, but it’s just as likely that the dopiness is all an act.”
“Interesting theory.” I looked at the gap in the trees where Roth had disappeared off to. “Maybe.”
We waited around for a couple of minutes, making sure we didn’t hear Roth screaming for help before we made our way back to the cabin. A little strange trusting him not to get himself killed out there, but I had the oddest feeling that he was going to be fine. He did have an inordinate familiarity with the supernatural, even if some of it was just picked up through rumor, hearsay, or stupid assumptions.
I kicked up a pile of leaves as we walked the path up to the Everett House, letting Gil unlock the door and waiting for Asher to enter. I scraped my boots off on the doormat, chuckling to myself.
“Hah. Ninja witch.”
“Hmm?” Asher said, turning around. “Did you say something?”
“It’s nothing.”
The boys had a horribly imbalanced late, late dinner of potato chips, soda, and fresh fruit. No one really spoke. We were all talked out for the night. The feeding frenzy felt like Gil and Asher were just going through the motions, trying their best to ingest some fuel before they turned in for the night. I had to push Asher into the bathroom, remind him that brushing his teeth was crucial, no matter how tired he complained he was. Gil didn’t need reminding. Vampires and werewolves, we knew a lot about the importance of dental hygiene.
The boys took their respective places around the living room, each of them spread out along their own couch. The Everett House was cleaner and certainly more livable since we’d moved in and done some sprucing up, but for whatever reason, the three of us had gotten used to passing out in the same big room. It felt like one long sleepover, the endpoint of a road trip to someplace new and dark and exciting. The lights go out and you whisper “Are you asleep yet?” You hope for someone to answer, and someone does, and you giggle and gossip until sleep claims you both.
I realize it’s childish, for someone who is decades and decades and decades old, but as much as I enjoyed being brash and cantankerous, I did like being around people, too. And I suppose it’s like osmosis, in a way. Asher was probably the youngest friend I’d ever made, and his exuberance, his cheerfulness? It was hard not to catch some of it.
The lights did go out, Gil and Asher slipping under their respective covers and snoring within minutes. And that left me alone again, sitting by one of the windows, nursing my last crystal phial of preserved blood.
I took a tentative sip, smiling as I tipped back a few drops, humming with pleasure. This last phial, this blood, it had come from a wealthy man. He must have been in his mid-sixties, a self-made entrepreneur, three children, seven grandchildren. And some things, including a vampire’s kiss, money couldn’t really buy, and so he came to me, bargaining, then begging for the chance to have my fangs pierce his skin.
Things like that didn’t come so easily for him, he explained, his family very traditional in its values. The thought of submitting to a vampire must have been such a thrill for him. It was like paying for a prostitute, maybe, though in reverse. Apart from the bites themselves, we kept our relationship strictly transactional, even when he told me about his various sexual proclivities, the things he had always been so afraid to try. More than once I told him to ask his wife, to perhaps discover that she could be open to new and different things. More than once, he laughed me off bitterly.
There were traces of that in his blood, for sure. I sipped slowly, the thick surge of fluid brusque and dark against my tongue. His blood was the world’s strongest cup of coffee, angry and aggressive, a jolt to the system. My head swam with images of him pounding a table in a boardroom, the gelled and grayed flecks of hair at his temples coming undone as he yelled. And yet, beneath it all, I could still taste the undercurrent, the hints of a man who longed to be treated with tenderness, who loved his wife and his children and their children more than anything.
I looked out the window, stared at the infinite trees, and sighed. My last meal. If I asked real nice – if they knew that they were truly my only recourse – Gil and Asher would gladly give up portions of their blood. No question. But they were my friends, not my thralls. And I had other reasons. I didn’t want to risk becoming too attached. It was bad enough having memories and photographs of everyone I loved, things I could never have back. As a vampire, taste was another precious way for me to remember. I loved how it could bring old stories surfacing up on the back of my tongue. But I hated it, too, because of how much remembrance could hurt.
And could I ever truly control myself? I was mortally injured, the night that Asher offered himself to me. Prior to that I’d joked about getting to sample a bit of his blood, but getting a taste had ruined me. Necromancers were so rare in the arcane world, and one that would let a vampire feed was rarer still. It was part of the appeal of enthrallment, after all, gathering rare and exotic sources of blood, every thrall another beautiful bottle of fine vintage to store on your shelf, to keep in your cellar.
But Asher and Gil, they weren’t bottles to me. They were family. It’s easy to ask why I didn’t simply consider turning them, so that I’d have them at my side forever. Vampirism had its perks, but I didn’t want to pass on the blood curse. Then they would have to watch their own loved ones die as well. And then what? Would they have to turn their beloved, too, a chain of misery? And so the curse would go on, and on, folding more vampires and v
ictims into the flock, spreading the plague. I didn’t exactly hate being a vampire, but I didn’t want to inflict them with the same blood hunger, either, or the same pain of remembering.
I wiped at the back of my mouth, chuckling to myself. As the story goes, they practically had to pry me off of Asher with a crowbar, he was so delicious. His blood was so unique, flowing dark and rich with all the curses and gifts of necromancy, and yet oddly bright and delightful, as sweet as the boy himself, a white summer wine.
Roth, I imagined, would taste strong, heady, a bold red, acrid and thick with tannins, with odd playful traces of vanilla, pepper, spice. Olivia was easy to conjure in my mind. A refreshing nectar, not cloyingly sweet, but warm as a perfect afternoon. Her blood was a teasing reminder of the wonders of the sun, of flowers, of fields of grass.
But I would never take blood for granted. My mind whizzed through the possibilities of what I could have if I enthralled this person or that, but I returned myself to the moment. There was still one last bottle to savor.
I took one last swig of my phial, then replaced the stopper, saving half of it for later. Life certainly gets a little more stressful when you don’t know where your next meal is coming from. It was how I knew that vampires were never truly so different from animals. You had to hunt, and you had to hunt forever, never overfeeding, because where would you be if your best source of food went totally extinct?
Starving. You wonder why I see everyone as food? It all came down to living to see another moonrise. Survival. Whether it was finding the Filigreed Masque or stopping the Silveropolis murders, it would always be about self-preservation at the end of the day. Because when time drags everything mortal through its cruel march, and everyone has turned to dust, where does that leave me?
Right. Alone, sitting in the dark, waiting for the long night to end. I gazed over at my friends, blankets and bodies heaving as they breathed, lived, and slept. I placed the phial by the window sill, another bottle on the shelf. I waited for daybreak.
