The Guard

by Harri Aburrow-Newman

  Yzzy outright giggled at that,

  “She’s got a point, love. We’re doing ok. I realise this whole situation sucks, of course it does. But we are making headway, slowly but surely.”

  “Hmpf.” I grumbled, unwilling to concede, “too slowly.”

  Yzzy rolled her eyes and shook her head at Lexi,

  “we’re not going to win this one.”

  “As I said,” I stood, putting my again-empty wine glass on the table, “I don’t want to be a downer. I’m going to go out for a bit… fly, clear my head.” I leaned down to Yzzy, laying a kiss on her forehead, and waved at Lexi, “I’ll see you two later.”

  I rocketed almost vertically upwards, as fast as my wings could push me, until I burst out of the clouds, dripping wet, blinking ice crystals off of my eyelashes. I tilted my wings, evening myself out, and flew slowly across the top of the clouds, stirring up curling eddies of vapour with every down beat of my wings. I tilted my head back, looking up into the fathomless night… sprayed with more stars than human eyes could ever comprehend. This was my world, this was my peace. Down there, war raged… up here… nothing. I felt the ever-present tension in my limbs ease gradually. The stress of chasing a ghost was getting to me, and to Ysabel… although she hid it better from everyone else, she couldn’t from me. Like every other feeling, it leaked down our bond, along with the constant awareness of what our bodies were doing. Forcing ourselves to move slowly, yet constantly; humans can’t deal with total stillness, remembering to blink a lot, squashing the urge to hiss or growl in frustration, trying not to respond to the psychic cues that humans throw out all the time, not talking too fast or too quietly, not hitting too hard in training… it was exhausting, and never ending, and although preferable to the horrendous pain of separation, being back together made acting human even harder still. I closed my eyes, feeling for Yzzy. She was still with Lexi, but she sent a flood of warmth down our connection when she felt me. I smiled to myself, opening my eyes again and gliding onwards, heading in the general direction of our flat. No, things weren’t as bad as I told myself sometimes. Ferals were dying, our plan was working, albeit slowly, and Ysabel was with me. We would survive.

  ...

  Patrolling again. The crack of gunfire echoed round my head. I grimaced, trying desperately to dull my hearing so that I could concentrate on the ferals that were scrabbling and bickering their way towards us. I growled under my breath, fighting, as ever, to prevent the shift. I was getting so fucking tired of this… I could feel Ysabel’s frustration washing over me along with my own as she fought just as hard as I did. We were backed up at one end of a blind alley, the sheer weight of numbers had forced us into a last stand. I edged forward, my swords unsheathed and gleaming under the streetlamps, willing the horde closer still, so that I could dive into the fray. I kept Ysabel in the peripheral of my vision, the cool metal of my pistol a strangely comforting weight at my hip. The front rows of men, ducked down so that those behind them could shoot safely, also had blades of various descriptions drawn. With a cacophony of animalistic wails, grotesque mockeries of the true warrior’s war cry, the ferals came inside the safe range of the automatic weapons, and those with blades leapt forward.

  I lost myself in the savage pleasure of the fight, allowing my pupils to expand slightly, capturing every drop of blood or gleaming scale that was launched through the air. I grinned to myself as my blades cleaved flesh from bone and drove through hearts. Blood spattered my face. Human. I backed away fast, until I felt the wall behind me. Clenching my teeth together hard and rubbing my sleeve across my face, trying to get rid of the smell of blood, I took a second to survey the carnage surrounding me. A feral was flung back off of Ysabel’s sword towards me and I sidestepped, swinging my own sword casually and separating its head from its body, kicking it away as it fell at my feet then plunging the other sword into its heart. We actually weren’t doing too badly now; the alley had created a bottleneck, in which the majority of the ferals had been put down before could they reach us by the high tech, armour piercing rounds that the gunners were equipped with. I waded back in, spinning slow circles with my swords, the speed of which were, as ever tempered by the need to appear human. I follow Yzzy with my mind as I fought, tracking her movements as well as my own.

  I was on the other side of the alley to Ysabel when a feral broke through past one of the human swordsmen, ripping a hunk of Kevlar out of his vest as it passed. It barrelled into a gunner, too quickly for him to be able to get the guns barrel up between them. The feral knocked him sideways and tore into his throat with its fangs. As the man died, he continued to pull his guns trigger, loosing a spray of bullets directly towards Yzzy. Sucking in a sharp gasp of air, I let my eyes shift further and launched one sword at the feral, piercing neatly through the minute space between two scales on its back and started forwards, but was too slow and too far away. The bullets hit Ysabel mostly across her upper chest, getting absorbed by her bullet-proof vest, but one opened up a perfect hole in one side her forehead, snapping her head round and throwing her backwards onto the ground. I jerked to a halt, automatically hunching over slightly and stumbling as her pain ripped through me as well, and stared, dumbfounded, my remaining sword hanging limply at my side, the pistol at my hip untouched. Michael roared, seeing what had happened and, brandishing a pistol in one hand and a machete-style blade in the other, ran forwards just as Ysabel stood up, the bullet hole in her forehead rapidly dwindling to a pinprick.

  Michael skidded to halt, an expression of total shock crossing his face, before his eyes hardened and he swung his gun up, aiming at Yzzy. I finally moved, and threw myself towards them, knocking Michael away before he could shoot her too.

  “NO!! Michael, stop! Stop!” he fought against me, an angry yell bursting from his lips, ordering me to move, but I pinned him down, slamming his hands into the ground so he released his weapons and shouted to Ysabel over my shoulder,

  “Finish it Yzzy, now! We’re busted anyway” she gave me a curt nod, her mouth set in a hard line, and shifted. Discarding her sword she whirled into the remaining ferals, few enough now that they shouldn’t pose much threat to her. She dispatched them with her wings and talons into a fog of blood, body parts littering the ground around her. As soon as the last ferals body had hit the ground, I threw my mind out towards Ysabel, calling her back to me. She was there in the blink of an eye, standing with her back to the wall, her wings hanging loose behind her, trailing on the floor. Her flat black eyes were cautious and she kept her lips closed carefully over her fangs. I jumped up off of Michael and spun to face the men, shielding Ysabel from their sight. Everyone with a gun had it trained on us.

  “Move away, Miss Miller.” Nathan’s irritating Texan drawl was as dispassionate as ever, but his face was cold and angry, as was Michael’s.

  “Uh, well, no. How about we act like grownups and talk first, shoot later? This isn’t what it seems, I swear” I lowered my hands slowly to my sword belt, unbuckling it and kicking it away along with the one sword I still had hold of and my pistol, “see, unarmed and everything.”

  “She’s a fucking vampire, Beth! What do you want us to do?” Michael had already given up pointing his gun at us and simply ran his hands through his hair, pacing in a tight, frustrated circle, “and you knew. All this time you’ve been lying to us.”

  I cringed, uncharitably wishing that I had been the one to get shot so that Ysabel would have to do the convincing part. As I thought this, I earned myself a sharp mental prod, yanking me back to the task at hand.

  “She’s not like them… you know her! You have to let us explain… surely you can see that she’s never had any intention of harming you, if she was you’d all be dead by now.” I was getting angry now, and welcomed it, letting it lend some fire to my tongue. “For pity’s sake, look at you all! This woman has saved my life more times than I can count, and I’m pretty sure that all the pulverised ferals around the place prove that she’s just saved some of yours too.” />
  Michael frowned at this, picking up on the details, as usual,

  “What do you mean, ferals?” he asked curiously, ignoring the irritated tut from Nathan, who waded in once more with a stereotypically American, trigger happy response along the lines of just hurrying up and killing her so we get on with the clean up and get home. I concentrated on Michael, sensing him to be opening slightly to the idea of an explanation,

  “There is more than one type of vampire… the ferals, the ones we’ve been fighting, are just as we told you; bloodthirsty, stupid animals. But there is another type, one that has been around since the dawn of mankind. And they have never caused wars or tried to wipe humans out or farm them or anything, I promise.”

  “Alright.” This was Michael, who raised one hand to the men behind me. Somewhat reluctantly, all the British men lowered their guns and flicked on the safety catches.

  “I suppose we owe you a little time to explain. After all, the information that you two brought for us has advanced this war in our favour quicker than we ever could have done on our own.”

  Nathan was harder to convince, but grudgingly yielded to Michael’s home-turf authority.

  “If she’s so damn angelic, why is she still stood there all talons and fangs, huh? I might be willing to humour them and listen, but only under armed guard and only if she loses the teeth.”

  “Fine,” I turned slightly to Yzzy, just a cock of my head as I sent her a questioning thought, wondering myself why she hadn’t shifted back. She lowered a barrier somewhere in her mind slightly and a slash of pain ripped across my gut, making me clutch reflexively at my stomach. As quickly as I had felt it, it was gone, shielded from me again. I spun around to face her and pulled up the ragged mess that was left of her shirt; three deep gashes marred the flesh of her lower stomach, where her combat vest was hanging in tatters. They weren’t healing. I looked at her face, tight with pain, and sent her a barrage of furious thoughts before turning back to the men.

  “Ah, she can’t shift right now. She’s lost too much blood; her wounds aren’t healing as they should.” I cringed slightly as I continued, not sure how the next part would go down, “she needs to feed.”

  Predictably, I heard the safety catches of several guns be flicked off again and raised both hands, palm out,

  “Just chill out! Not from any of you, from me, I just wanted to warn you so you don’t start throwing bullets around again!”

  I held my hands up in front of me and then slowly bent my left arm behind my back. Yzzy grasped it gently and then I felt her fangs break through the skin of my wrist. I swallowed a groan and tried to keep my face impassive when internally I felt like I was going to explode if I didn’t shift. Ysabel sensed me struggling and pulled away after just a couple of mouthfuls, planting a kiss on the spot she had bitten before wrapping it in a strip of her already ruined shirt so that they didn’t see it heal. It was enough, a few seconds later and I heard the rustling whisper of her wings sheathing as she stepped out from behind me.

  “Let’s go then.” She spoke quietly, her accent more pronounced than usual, betraying her nerves.

  We headed back to where the vans had been left, keeping up a quick jog led by the English troops, then Ysabel and myself, then the Americans coming after us with their guns trained unwaveringly on our backs. The drivers were still sat behind the wheels of their vans, looking around nervously. As the group of us ran towards them, they started them up and put them into gear, ready to shoot off the second we were loaded up. Ysabel and I got some curious looks, but obedient to the end, the drivers didn’t comment.

  Chapter 23

  Michael

  The Americans tried to manhandle Beth and Ysabel out of the van, with several of them standing in the background with their guns out and ready to fire. Beth shook them off with a scowl, but Ysabel simply walked out quietly, allowing them to grasp her upper arms and frogmarch her into the building. They were taken into a small, windowless meeting room furnished only with a basic rectangular table and several plastic chairs. Ysabel was pushed down into one of them whilst Beth began to pace along the back wall, keeping a wary guard over her.

  I let Nathan take over, unsure what to think about the situation. He dismissed all but two of the guards, directing them into two corners of the room, opposite Ysabel, then sat down opposite her, directing me to take the chair next to him. He levelled a glare at Beth,

  “Are you going to sit down?” his tone was clipped and dangerous, making the question sound more like a command. She narrowed her eyes at him, slowly moving into the seat with several glances at Ysabel from the corner of her eyes. As she pulled the chair in towards the table, she moved it sideways slightly, angling herself so she was closer to Ysabel and in such a position that she could easily put herself between Ysabel and us.

  “OK. Explain.” Nathan held up a hand as Beth opened her mouth to speak, “not you. Her.” He pointed a finger at Ysabel, raising his eyebrows,

  “and I swear, if you try to bullshit us. They will shoot you.” He said this whilst gesturing over his shoulder at his men with their loaded guns. I sat back in my chair and tried not to roll my eyes at him. Ysabel said nothing and betrayed no expression whatsoever on her face, the knowledge that she was a vampire actually settled my mind slightly, explaining as it did the effect that she could sometimes have on me. An odd feeling niggled at the back of my brain though, like there was something I was missing. Frowning, I tried to ignore it for the moment and concentrate on what Ysabel was saying.

  “There are two types of vampire… well, actually three I suppose, but I’ll explain that in a minute,” a slight wrinkle appeared on her forehead as she thought,

  “The first vampires have been around, as Beth said, for as long as humans have. I don’t think anyone really knows how they first came about, there is no one left who is old enough to tell us and no records have survived that long. Mostly though, these original vampires have always been pacifists. They were, and are, recorders of history, both human and vampire. Philosophers, scientists, artists… even prophets… they’ve had their fingers in more pies than you could possibly imagine.” she spread her hands and shrugged slightly,

  “The point is that they have never truly harmed humans. Without humans, we could not exist, and the true vampires recognise and respect that. Humans are revered in vampire society, even when feeding, the blood comes from willing donors or from humans who the world can most definitely do without; the dregs of your kind, who do more harm than good. That is the first type, which we call high vampires. The second is my kind. At some time in the far past, a mutation occurred during a turn. It produced a vampire more suited to battle, and the high vampires immediately picked up on the potential for creating more of these mutants and harnessing them as bodyguards and protectors. Eventually, through trial and error, the mutation was found to occur on the side of the sire, not the human being turned. Once that had been discovered, the warrior class flourished,” she smiled wryly, “in a controlled manner, at least. They, we, became known simply as ‘the guard’.”

  “So, hang on, what are the differences between the guard and the high vampires?” I asked, leaning forward in my chair. Ysabel nodded once,

  “Fair question. The guard have wings, more fangs – eight instead of four – and our pupils expand to cover the entire white of our eyes. The high vampires’ pupils only expand to a little bigger than their irises. We are also stronger and faster, although that’s not to say that the highs are at all slow or weak. We also adhere to the same rules and ideals regarding humans that the high vampires do.”

  “OK, so you guys are like the vampire army. Gotcha. Carry on…” I flapped a hand casually at her, which made both her and Beth smile slightly. Ysabel became quickly grim again though, preparing to do as I said,

  “The guard’s ranks were added to at the beginning of each new century in a special ceremony. Humans were selected from amongst our allies – it was seen as a great honour to be inducted into the gua
rd, so we were never short of volunteers – and then those were whittled down to ten, one for each decade in the new century, by the guard leader. Unlike in ordinary vampire society, where rank is determined by age, in the guard, rank is determined by skill alone. The guard leader was always the strongest and most psychically able warrior. It was their job to test each human volunteer to see if they are genuine and to determine which had the most desirable traits for a member of the guard – “ Nathan slammed a hand down on the table at this, interrupting Ysabel, his features twisting with annoyance as he lost patience with her long explanation,

  “Is there a point to this story, leech? If there is, get to it.” He growled.

  Beth visibly bristled at his use of the word ‘leech’ and she started forward out of her chair, fury in every line of her body. As she got up though, Ysabel laid a hand on her arm with a slight shake of her head and Beth sat down again slowly, her eyes never leaving Nathan. Ysabel left her hand where it was, resting lightly on Beth’s wrist as she stared coolly at Nathan,

  “Yes, there’s a point. And yes, I’m getting to it.” She glared at him, a slight hiss creeping into her voice at the edge of her words, sending slight shivers through me; a reminder of what manner of creature she really was… I wasn’t sure whether she had just given up trying so hard to appear human, or whether it was because I had been made aware that she wasn’t, but the air of ‘otherness’ around her seemed so obvious now.

  She seemed to mentally shake herself and the tension in the small room eased a little as her lilting French accent filled it again.

  “In 1899, there was a problem. The guard leader had chosen the final ten humans, but at the last minute the high elder, the equivalent of our king, rejected one in favour of another whom the guard leader had dismissed as unsuitable. It was Archer. He was the son of one of our most powerful human allies and the high elder had promised his father that he would join the guard. The guard leader argued, but was ultimately overruled.”