by Al K. Line
For me, for Faz, for my children. I am a woman first, a wife, a friend, and I will be a mother. Vampire may be what wishes to dominate but it's going to stay low on the list. I refuse to let it be what defines me.
My attention turned to other things, namely our rather surprising house guest. What was he doing right now? Where was he? What was his plan? For I had no doubt there was a plan. He had done all this to transform himself into something entirely different and unique, to surpass the Elders and have them under his control.
To what end?
My phone vibrated on the table and I glanced at the screen. Dancer.
Peace shattered, I sighed and answered. It wouldn't be good news, it never was.
Freaky Even for Me
I was right, it wasn't good news. Seems the Chemist's stunt had sent elements of the supernatural community into a frenzy, of the eating kind.
Knowing I had to treat this as an enforcer job, and forget about it being something personal, although I couldn't help but feel somewhat responsible what with it having happened in my kitchen, I dressed appropriately. Meaning, lace up leather boots, black leather trousers, and simple white t-shirt even though I knew I should have gone with red to hide the gross stuff sure to happen. A touch of blood-red lipstick, and a lightweight, suitably swishy leather three quarter length jacket to finish the ensemble.
I let Mithnite know what I was up to and then went to do what I was becoming increasingly proficient at. Bashing heads and using the magic I was mastering with surprising speed to get the magical community back on track and stop everything sinking into carnage.
Stepping out into the night, closing the door behind me, I breathed deep. Oh, but it was glorious. The creatures were silenced by my presence, a power amongst them they could never hope to understand. This was my time, when I felt safest and most energized. When my heart sang and my mind vibrated to a dark tune. When my body felt icy and the goosebumps rose, and my system thrummed to the power I held within. The power over life and death, primordial forces of the universe itching and clawing at my skin, screaming their desire to be set free, to run wild, to surge and find release.
My smile was wide, my mind focused, my dark nature controlled even though I ached to strip naked and speed through the night, leaving death and destruction in my wake. But that wasn't going to happen. I chose a side and it was one of order and control, no letting these urges take over. With power comes great responsibility, sometimes more than I think I can handle, certainly more than I wanted or ever asked for. But I have it nonetheless, so at the end of the day it's all on me.
It is for me to decide what I become. With Dancer's backing, and the Council he controls, I am tasked with keeping our world safe. I will ensure that Hidden obey the Law, never let magic become known to the world where it would be a short step then a mighty leap into the jaws of destruction on a global scale.
I strode down the path between the hard, frozen ground, got into the freezing fleet car I now had on permanent loan, and started it up. I turned the heater up full blast to warm my cold heart and my frosty emotions, hoping to spark some life and warmth before I dealt with the Chemist's ghoulish legacy.
It Begins
Dancer had said there were reports of "something" going down at the large cemetery on the edge of the city. He was vague bordering on evasive, which was peculiar as anything involving the dead should have been right up his street, what with him being a necromancer. But he had a lot on his plate, as usual, and until I filled him in on the Chemist and what had happened, he'd only known what had gone on before, not this latest bit of bother.
He'd said that probably explained it, and I was to go deal with whatever was happening. He didn't even go off on one about letting the Chemist get away, mostly because he knew I wouldn't let him blame me. Everyone is responsible for their own actions and who the hell expects someone to do such a nutty thing anyway?
But it was done, things were stirring, things that aught not to stir, and yeah, I guess I felt responsible.
Off to the cemetery I went.
Ghoulish Delights
I pulled up outside the gates to Cathays Cemetery, the third largest in the country at well over a hundred acres. So many bodies, so much death. So much history. The final resting place, usually, for locals, it also housed many who died in battle during the First World War.
From simple gravestones to large monuments, the grounds contained a depressing mixture of markers for the deceased. Only two of the three chapels remained, the other having been demolished after so many years of neglect. Just like the gates and the walls themselves for this historic reminder of the fragility of life, the chapels were listed, protected under several of the many strange and archaic laws concerning old British buildings. Maybe they'll even return to their former understated glory one day. Maybe not.
The gates were open, forced open, an all-too-common situation that must drive the groundskeepers nuts. The triple stone arch entrance was as austere and imposing as I remembered. I often wonder why such architectural devices are used. Surely something a little more upbeat would be better? But anywhere that deals with death seems to go out of its way to put those entering into as dour a mood as possible. Guess it isn't the done thing to cheer people up before they bury a loved one or visit their graveside.
Different cultures approach death differently, but for us Brits it's treated with the usual stoicism. Meaning, it isn't discussed often, and woe-betide anyone who smiles at a funeral or whistles as they meander between the graves.
If only Regulars knew what went on right under their noses. This is why so much of this Hidden life must remain obfuscated; the world would be a very different place indeed if all the secrets the magical populace take for granted became common knowledge.
Anyway, to business. Chest thrust out, shoulders squared, ink as jittery as a troll faced by a legion of dwarves with new chisels, I swept through the gates and promptly gagged.
Unfortunately, I was all too familiar with the smell as you can never forget it once experienced. There's something about the stench of a rotting corpse that is different to all other olfactory assaults, and not in a good way.
It's cloying, gets right to your guts. Sweet and sickly and so thick you can taste it. I guess it's the body reacting badly to a fate we all share. One mishap, one step into traffic, one slip on a train platform, one slice with a knife, one mistake with a pair of gardening shears, a bang to the head, a wonky ladder, and a million other things can send you to your death. Then you too can stink like nothing else in this world, or any other.
Knowing there was only one way to deal with this, I breathed in deep through my nose and mouth and let the fetid, corrupted fumes of rotten dead people permeate my system. It became all there was, no room for other odors, other tastes. With it came a warning of depression if I pondered what it signified. This is all you are, all you'll ever be. Nothing lasts forever, all is impermanence. There is no immortality, just an extending of the inevitable.
One day, no matter how hard I tried, I too would die and be nothing but food for the maggots.
And the ghouls.
Gravestones took on organic form, limbs snatched frantically behind the lichen-covered granite. Lumps in the ground I thought were rocks moved, hunched forms curled in on themselves, clutching their prizes tight, gnawing on flesh so rotten it was almost liquid.
I lost count of the numbers, how many disfigured, timeless, corrupted souls I witnessed doing despicable things, as more of them showed themselves, unable to hide from another Hidden. They were feasting, drawn to the cemetery as they inevitably are, but this was no normal behavior, far from it.
Ghouls seldom appear, only able to pass through from their own realm to ours when their hunger becomes too much to bear and they are close to losing their minds entirely. They force their way in, feast on the flesh of the deceased, then beat a hasty retreat when sated. And they are normally circumspect, hardly ever desecrate burial grounds as they know humans won't s
tand for such acts.
It's why so many people disappear every year, never to be found. All those bodies buried hastily in shallow graves, all the hiding of corpses after crimes are committed, the limbs chopped off, the organs harvested then the remains discarded by criminal gangs worldwide, these are the rich pickings they usually satisfy themselves with.
Now they were feasting like I'd never heard of before, and right out in the open.
Why?
It had to be tied up with the Chemist and what he'd done, what he'd become. Had they found out, and he'd called them here? Or did they somehow believe they no longer had to hide?
Guess I'd ask.
A Simple Question
The Chemist had been an outlier, unlike other ghouls. Most are cautious, timid creatures, aren't big on conversation, certainly don't do stand-up or lab work. And they are ferocious.
Which is all fine and dandy, but I didn't know this. The only ghoul I'd ever met was the Chemist, so I hunted around for one I thought might be open to a chat and tried not to let my anger explode when I saw what she was doing.
A scrawny, misshapen ghoul sat with her knees up high to her sagging chest, breasts like two deflated balloons, sallow and as wrinkly as the rest of her ruined skin. Strands of limp gray hair hung long and brittle, her stretched arms were covered in knobbly protrusions, the joints terribly raw. Her elbows were tucked up beside her legs and were inflamed, lumpy like golf balls covered in skin. Her bones were curved and sinuous, her legs so bandy I wondered how she managed to place her feet flat on the ground.
I coughed politely, pushing down the bile as I took in the remains of a decaying corpse ripped apart on the grass beside the desecrated open grave. She was tearing at an arm held tight in her grasp, licking her lips and rubbing at her mouth between bites. Maggot-infested flesh hung in strips from her green, rotten teeth. She paid me no mind, didn't even know I was there. I coughed louder and her head shot up, her eyes like two pools of blood held in place by the cornea.
She snarled and gripped her prize even tighter. The semi-solid flesh gave way under powerful hands and squeezed between her fingers until it squirted over her scrawny body. I'd made a mistake. This would not go well.
"I just want to talk," I said, but she was already on the move.
Expecting her to lumber about ineffectively, maybe grab for me in a lame, half-assed way, I was shocked by her speed. From her position, she leapt up with such power that she left the ground and was on me, the disgusting stench of her body combined with the rotten meat she was smeared in so overpowering my head swam and I almost blacked out.
"Ugh," I managed, before we toppled over backwards, her legs wrapped tightly around my waist, monkey-like arms throttling me. Like that wasn't making my night bad enough, she clawed at my hair and snapped at my face with her blunt but nonetheless effective teeth.
I hit hard, the wind knocked out of me, and immediately rolled to get her off. But she went with it like a bloody wrestler and I ended up on my back again. She pushed at my eyes with her hands, her bandy arms powerful and ferocious, until she was straddling me. Then the darkness came over me, maybe triggered by the death all around or the insult to my pride, and the vampire within took over before I had the chance to do something sensible like blast her to goo with a touch of magic.
I grabbed her forearms and the pressure on my eyes eased. Lost to myself momentarily, I yanked her arms apart, and if they hadn't been so freakishly long I think I would have pulled them straight off. Instead, we were stuck in a cross position. Not one to submit, she slammed her head down hard as hell onto my nose. It split. Blood spurted. I knew the choice of t-shirt had been a mistake.
Not about to be outdone, I head-butted her back, and smirked as her own nose was made a mess of. Mine was already regenerating, the cartilage repaired, but each time this happened it didn't heal exactly the same, and if I wasn't careful I'd end up looking like a boxer. One that lost. A lot. It kind of annoyed me that I was one step closer to looking like I got hit in the face for a living, which was, admittedly, becoming close to the truth, so I did it again, and this time I put all my incredible strength into it. My neck whipped my head forward at a dangerous velocity and when my forehead connected with her nose I felt something else give way.
She screamed as I released my grip and she sailed backwards to land on the grass. I rolled away, just in case she jumped back at me fast, and suddenly there was no earth beneath me.
I'd only gone and tumbled right into the open grave.
I hit on all fours, ready to go at it again. Not attacked immediately, I stood and glanced up. Maybe ten pairs of eyes peered down at me from above, all red, all less than amused.
It was probably the worst time to be standing in a grave, but then, is there ever a good one?
Moaning
"He calls."
"Where is he?"
"Do you know?"
"Are you food?" Eek!
"A new Elder."
"A new age."
"So hungry." Double eek!
"New father."
"We are but scabs."
"We came."
"We fed."
"Still hungry."
"Scabs."
"Scabs."
"Scabs."
Scores of twisted, slovenly, malformed ghouls mumbled and cried and moaned as they pushed swollen tongues over mouths unused to talking much. Others gaped and could do little but mimic the words like genetically altered fish, pus-filled lips forming disfigured circles. Several seemed content to keep one eye on me and the other on the flesh they slurped and chewed.
Their questions, their calls, their wails, all gave me the answers I needed. Somehow, the Chemist had called them and they'd come. Feasting on the spoils of our dead, he'd given them what they desired and clearly wanted them here for a reason. What?
Did he want to show off his newfound status as the Elder to beat all Elders? Have a tribe in the mortal realm? Could these ghouls even remain here? They weren't like him, seemed little more than mindless creatures who's appetites had corrupted them, tortured them for an eternity in the dark, festering places until all sanity had been ripped from them or faded over time.
What did these pitiful beings have left? A shared history, a communal past. They were the scabs of the timeless ones, grew and somehow survived but were no human beings, just bore a resemblance. As a troll is not a rock, a ghoul is not a human. They weren't meant to stay here, they couldn't.
Could they?
I bent, felt tattoos flare with joy, my cold nature combining in a spasm of euphoria, and then I launched myself out of the grave, coat flapping in a very cool way, although I don't think a single one of them appreciated quite how impressive an exit it was.
I landed behind the group but there were more than I'd expected, drawn to the commotion like zombies offered brains with their favorite fetid sauce. Inevitably, I found myself surrounded as they all turned in my direction. Magic sang and disgust for these creatures almost sent me into a frenzy of destruction, but I held myself in check as I knew this wasn't me, this was the dark side pushing me to act in ways too terrible to cope with.
They deserved respect even if what they did filled me with disgust. They were following their nature, nothing more. Faz had told me once that they were just as grossed-out by what they did as I was when I fed, but they were born to be this way, no choice in the matter. Their utter insanity was the result of what they knew to be a barbarous, inexcusable act, something that went against all that was right and respectful.
Not human, but human enough to bear the knowledge through a shared past and ancestry that they were doing wrong, were the outcasts, shunned by most Hidden and despised by more for the desecration they performed.
Plus, they smelled real bad. As they closed in, the stink became too much and I ran, shoved them aside to get away from the corrupt air that threatened to purge my guts, burn away the smell with vomit.
They let me go, didn't call out for me to return, t
o answer their questions, instead focused once again on their meal. They tore at rancid meat like ravenous beasts, knowing it might be years before such a bounty was presented to them again.
I fished out my phone then dropped it as my slick hand lost its grip. Grossed out, I wiped both of them on the grass then retrieved my phone and called Dancer.
He answered on the first ring, clearly not sleeping, and I filled him in on my midnight caper.
"I'll send a team. Ten minutes and someone will be there to contain them. Unless you feel up to doing it yourself?"
"No, a team is fine. I don't think they're going anywhere, but if the Chemist shows up then I don't know what will happen."
"Let's hope we find out." He hung up.
I stared at my phone. Surely he meant, let's hope we don't find out. I was all for catching the Chemist, but now didn't seem like the best time.
Waiting Sucks
Not wanting to antagonize the ghouls, and knowing they wouldn't stray too far from their food source, I made my way back to the entrance and leaned against cool gray stone underneath the arched gate.
The roads were quiet, anyone with any sense safely in their bed, but I got a few stares from those with business of one sort or another as they drove past. Where were they going at such a time? What kind of lives did they lead?
I couldn't help but smile. Here I was, hanging around outside the cemetery, wondering what others were up to when I was doing something so much stranger than anything they could possibly have in mind.
A woman wobbled down the edge of the road. She wore bright red high heels and a short skirt. My presence had probably made her unconsciously shift into the road where she kept banging into parked cars. That, or she was too pissed to notice.
My heart beat faster and my eyes darkened. My teeth burned my gums as they fattened, the enamel thickening in anticipation of the snick that was like a switch, turning me from Kate into vampire. As she got closer she looked up and stopped. She stared at me, which is unusual—I'm about as memorable to Regulars as a blade of grass in their lawns, but this was different.
