by J. D. Brown
“Viens. Come, to zee boxing ring.”
My brow quirked as she walked past me. If Jesu was like any other male in the world, I could see where the initial attraction stemmed from. Bridget had the physique of a young gymnast. I followed while hovering over the floor, not sure who I was trying to impress since she had her back to me, but hey, she couldn’t fly, so take that.
She sat in the center of the cushioned boxing ring platform and folded her legs Indian-style. Then she patted the space in front of her, signaling for me to do the same.
“We will begin each day with a lesson in meditation. Zee key to survival is prevention. Clearing zee mind allows for better focus. Zee alignment with one’s environment begins with zee alignment of one’s self. When zee mind is at peace, zee body becomes a conductor from which to draw power, as well as banish power.”
I didn’t quite follow what she meant, but I kept my mouth shut and mirrored her movements as she straightened her spine, rested her hands against her thighs, palms up, and pressed her pointer fingers to her thumbs.
“Clearing zee mind can take several minutes for beginners, but with practice you can find inner peace instantly and harvest it even in zee most pressing of circumstances. Try it with me. Breathe in through zee nose and out through zee mouth.”
She proceeded to close her eyes and take exaggerated breaths. I knew I couldn’t breathe like that without giggling, so I just closed my eyes. If I relaxed enough, I would turn into an invisible cloud of smoke, but I didn’t think phasing was the point of this exercise. Clearing my mind of my present thoughts only left space for a whole other stream of wandering notions. Where in heck was Jalmari? Did I remember to apply deodorant this morning? My toes twitched. Then the space between my fingers itched. I held my breath, but the itch wouldn’t stop, so I scratched.
After what felt like an hour, but was probably a minute, I opened my eyes. Bridget sat ramrod straight, her eyelids closed. Her slim nostrils flared as she inhaled. Her bowtie lips parted a moment later to exhale. I noticed she had a strange birthmark on the side of her neck just above the base of her shoulder. No, wait—it wasn’t a birthmark, but a tattoo. Inscribed on her skin in what looked like a jailbait hack-job were the numbers 978177.
Bridget’s eyes snapped open and I gasped. At some point I had leaned very close to get a better look at the tattoo, and now my nose was less than an inch from touching hers.
“Ema, what are you doing?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled and leaned back.
She sighed and then stood and went to the edge of the boxing ring. “Beyond these walls you cannot use your powers. Even zee slightest hint that you are not human will earn you a one-hundred-year exile while zee R.E.D. cleans up your mess, and they do not like cleaning our messes.”
“A hundred years seems a bit harsh.” I stood and tugged on my shirt, smoothing it over my hips. “What kind of mess could possibly deserve—”
Bridget screamed like a banshee and charged straight at me. I froze like a deer caught in headlights and then did the first thing I could think of and phased. Heat rippled over my molecules as she stormed through my essence. When the heat passed, I turned to face her and then solidified.
“Zat is zee kind of mess that will get you in trouble.”
“I wouldn’t do that in public,” I promised.
“You might not mean to, but it’s a reflex. Vampires have a very high self-preservation mechanism. Zat is why meditation and prevention are key. Now let’s try again. Zis time, keep your mind clear and try to perceive my movements. If you fail to dodge me trois times, you will owe me five-hundred laps around zee track, comprendre?”
After the four-hundred-and-ninety-ninth lap around the gymnasium I realized that trois was the French word for three. I wondered what the French translation was for I officially don’t like that bitch.
The running didn’t bother me. In fact, running laps was the first exercise I’d done correctly all night. I’d broke a sweat, and a pleasant ache burned through my calves, but I knew from my time in the underworld that it took a much larger amount of toil to tire out a vampyre. I wasn’t even winded yet.
I didn’t see how mediation or prevention would help me defeat Apollyon. Fundamentals were important, but couldn’t I learn the fundamentals of sword wielding or gun shooting or even Karate? In all honesty, though, I wasn’t mad at Bridget. I was frustrated with myself for not being able to master something as simple as dodging her. If I couldn’t do that, then what chance did I have with Apollyon? No wonder she didn’t start me off with a weapon. She must think I’d poke an eye out.
Bridget stood near the elevator with the duffle bag hanging from her shoulder, text books in tow. I finished the final lap and then came to a halt before her.
“Are we going somewhere?” I asked while bending to rub my calves. Now that I had stopped, my legs suddenly felt gelatinous.
“To zee weight room,” she announced.
The doors chimed and then opened. Bridget gestured with a jerk of her chin for me to follow. The elevator carried us to the floor with the pool room. I prepared myself mentally for the harsh chlorine scent and breathed through my mouth. The weight room was a little ways past the swimming pool room. Once inside, the chemical stench lessened to a tolerable amount.
We began with the bench press. I helped Bridget secure two twenty-five kilogram weights on both ends of the barbell. She spotted me while I lay against the bench and lifted the barbell out of the overhead rack. My biceps strained against the weight as my arms extended. Logically, I should not have been able to lift it at all.
“Remember to breath,” Bridget warned. “Or else you’ll feel it later.”
“So what? Five minutes of rest, and I’ll be good as new. I’m starting to like this vampire body.”
She smirked. “Ten more.”
“If Alpans can’t fly or phase,” I said while lowering and then raising the bar again, “then what powers do you have? You know, besides strength and speed.”
“It’s listed in zee text books.”
“Come on,” I grunted while pumping the metal bar. “I want to know what freaky things you can do.”
“Eight more,” she commanded, but I could hear the sly smile in her voice. “Zee Alpans can shapeshift.”
“Into what?”
“Any animal we want, though some have their favorites. Zee wolf is a favorite of our king, Nikolas der Wölfe, and his father and grandfather before him. It is how zee clan got their house name.”
“So Loup is French for wolf,” I said, piecing the vampyre name thing together in my mind. “Just like Korento is Finnish for dragon.”
“Yes. Seven more.”
I pondered my own shifting abilities. If vampyres were real… then couldn’t werewolves also exist? I thought about what Leena had told me before she died. Vampyres and vampires used to trick humans into believing they were gods and demigods. My history degree brought thoughts of Anubis and Set to the front of my mind. Hollywood might have gotten the details wrong, but if races of vampyres could shift into wolves and other animals, then it was obvious where the folklore started.
“Bridget, the Beast of Gévaudan… was that… was it really a…”
Her snicker confirmed my suspicions. “It took Prince Jalmari a long time to convince zee Alpan Council to stop hunting humans and cooperate with zee R.E.D. King Nikolas was fond of zee sport.”
I winced at Bridget’s use of the word sport. The Alpan king liked to hunt humans for fun. Great.
“Five more, Ema. Pace yourself.”
I focused on pumping the barbell, grateful for the distraction. I never lifted weights before. I never saw the point of exercising since I’d inherited a bean-pole figure. Something about running and lifting weights—the dull ache that once manifested in my calves and now migrated to my biceps—felt right.
Good. It feels good.
“So,” I said while finishing the last of the repetitions. “What’s your favorite animal to shift into?�
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“A house cat.”
The barbell slipped from my grip and hit my sternum, forcing the breath from my lungs in a rude reminder of reality.
Maria
The desert night blew cold sand across the horizon. Each grain pricked my molecules as we flew over aggressive dunes and wild cacti. I followed my husband’s essence as he led us through the Iraqi terrain, bypassing the sleepy towns and quiet neighborhoods. I wasn’t thrilled to be in the Middle East. I kept imagining we’d be spotted by soldiers with heat-sensitive goggles, or get caught in a cross-fire. Naamah had explained to Apollyon as respectfully as possible how urgent it was to finish his business quickly and leave, but I was sure the Master wouldn’t be quick enough. Human warfare didn’t concern him.
Naamah had found an illegal cobra breeder in Israel. It proved quicker to fly there and pick up the snakes on the way. My nimble husband, the navigator, had spent the better half of the plane ride studying maps of the ancient Sumerian city-states and pinpointing their location in modern-day Iraq. After picking up the snakes and a fresh snack for His Majesty, we ditched the airplane at the Jordan boarder and phased the rest of the way.
Naamah swooped down for a landing and I hoped like hell he didn’t solidify on a landmine. The rest of the group followed suit and solidified together. Victor gripped the large chest carrying Apollyon’s supplies. Turpentine trees, Hawthorn, and other shrubbery surrounded us. River water gushed in the west. Quaint towns of brick homes nestled together miles to the east—yet still too close for comfort. The faint synthetic lights of a larger city twinkled not too far off beyond that. The Master pushed past Victor and me, approaching my husband at the front of the group.
“My Lord.” Naamah bowed. “We are about forty kilometers south of Bagdad, where the Tigris and Euripides rivers are closest together.”
Apollyon took in our surroundings. Worry lines tightened his brow. “This will have to be close enough.”
He motioned for Victor to place the chest on the ground. Then he walked several paces, lifting his palm to his side in a gesture for us to stay put. He stopped in a small clearing and then unsheathed a long ceremonial dagger from his belt. The silver handle took the shape of a viper with ruby eyes. Its body wound around the blade, rendering the edges useless in a fight. The tip, however, glimmered razor sharp in the moonlight.
Apollyon bent at the waist and pressed the sharp tip into the clay earth of the river bank. He dragged the instrument slowly through the dirt, carving a pentacle several feet wide. The symbol brought a bitter taste to my mouth as my hands silently came to rest over my abdomen.
He swiped the blade against his pants to clean off the rubble before re-sheathing it. Then he returned to the chest near Victor’s feet and phased his left hand all the way up to the elbow. Victor backed away as Apollyon knelt and dipped his black, smoky, phantom limb into the chest. After a moment, the black smoke recoiled and Apollyon stood. When his arm solidified, one of the deadly cobras was wrapped around his palm, writhing against Apollyon’s grip on its throat.
He returned to the pentacle with the snake. With his free hand, he removed a small item from a pocket in his coat. I craned my neck to see it, but only caught the flicker of copper. He moved his left thumb over the soft flat spot of the snake’s head and then pressed down while squeezing the sides of its mouth, forcing the creature to open its jaws and expose its fangs. Apollyon carefully pressed the copper item to the tip of one fang, coating it in venom. Then he placed the item on the ground in the center of the pentacle and coated it in sand. I saw then that the copper piece was a flat arrowhead.
Leaving the arrowhead in the center of the pentacle, he began to chant in a language older than Sumerian; a language that I was sure only death could decipher. He unsheathed his dagger and forced the tip against the snake’s delicate underside. The reptile hissed and whipped its tail wildly against Apollyon’s arm as the blade punctured the scaly skin. He dragged the blade down, creating a deep incision from its neck to its tail. The reptile stilled and became silent as its blood spilled. He laid the dead snake on its back next to the copper emblem. Then he placed the arrowhead inside the flesh of the snake’s chest and held the wound closed with his fingertips.
He continued to chant. This time, I recognized two of the words in the spell. They were names; Abbaton and Enki. My breath caught as I realized who the Master was raising.
The ground jerked and I stumbled forward, falling against my husband. Naamah’s left leg swung back to keep his balance as his thick hands held tight to my shoulders, steadying us both. The quake only lasted a moment, but the surprise of its strength gleamed in my lover’s black eyes. He slowly turned his head from one side to the other and pressed his index finger to his lips, warning me to hold my tongue. He knew as well as I did who the Master was raising and it was far too late to prevent the damage.
My gaze returned to our horrific Master. He held the dagger to his forearm, his lips moving in chant, his wide stance calm and collected. He pressed the tip of the blade into his flesh and sliced himself. He made a fist and then opened and closed his fingers, pumping the blood as his arm turned over so that it dripped onto the already red-soaked ground. A generous portion ran from the wound before his body healed itself.
He repeated the chant five more times. Each time, the desert earth moaned as though awakening from a long slumber. The reddened center of the pentacle fizzed like acid. Apollyon backed away from the circle as the wet sand swallowed the snake.
I gripped Naamah’s arm as the earth continued to crumble and re-gather over the pentacle; bubbling, rising, packing, and molding until it resembled a ten-foot-tall clay snake. The monster animated and slithered straight toward us. Naamah pushed us out of the monster’s path and Victor ran for cover in the nearby trees, but Apollyon stood his ground.
“Enki, obey your king!”
The giant snake halted and reeled its head back. A shrieking hiss ensued as its elongated body shrank and shifted into that of a large man. The elements turned into flesh, leaving a tall, broad-shouldered vampyre standing before Apollyon. The man was red-eyed, stark-naked, covered in black etchings, and rotting in several places, particularly his left leg and shoulder. Copper-colored dirt coated his thick mass of dark hair and sprinkled across his gruff jawline.
“Enki.” Apollyon grinned and spread his arms wide in welcome. “How do you feel, my friend?”
Enki regarded Victor, Naamah, and me for a moment then blinked several times at Apollyon. His lips parted and I saw that his fangs resembled those of a snake instead of a vampyre. He dipped a finger and thumb into his mouth and pulled out the tiny arrowhead. He marveled at the emblem, turning it this way and that, and his voice came forth as a raspy hiss. “To what honor doeth I serve thee, Lord?”
Apollyon placed his hand on Enki’s good shoulder. “All shall be revealed in time. Right now we travel, for I must first awaken the others.”
He nodded to the rest of us then phased and flew into the night. Victor grabbed the chest and phased it along with his body before whisking into the air. With a heavy sigh, Naamah turned to join them. I touched him before he could whisk away, keeping his molecules solid.
“Darling,” I whispered as he upped his bow. “We have to warn them.”
He scowled. “We can do nothing now except keep up.”
He moved out of reach and phased while lifting into the night. Levitating slowly, I said a silent prayer to what I hoped were stars and not bomber jets, and then I sped ahead as an invisible wisp, catching up with the men.
Chapter 6
I dropped the duffle bag near my feet as the elevator ascended to the seventh floor. My fingers gently probed the bruise between my breast and I winced, letting my hand fall away.
Bridget wanted to take me to a medic to have my chest x-rayed after I’d dropped the barbell on my sternum. I convinced her to let it go with the promise I would drink two glasses of blood when I got back to the suite. Even if the bone broke, it wasn’t li
ke anyone could put a cast around it. She reluctantly agreed with a stern warning to take it easy. My ego took the worst of it.
A cat, really? Her favorite animal form was a cat? Was it a coincidence, or was it a hint at her prior romance with Jesu? It was possible she liked cats before she met him. It was also possible that she liked him because he could turn into one too. Maybe they met that way… two cats in an alley. Maybe they did it kitty-style?
Whoa, Ema, rewind and pause. It’s none of my business, remember? Since when did I get jealous? And since when did I talk to myself so much?
The elevator chimed and then swished open. I lifted the strap of the duffel bag over my shoulder and sucked in a deep breath before stepping out. In the minute it took to cross the hall to room 714, my chest had numbed to a dull ache. I phased into the suite and solidified near the kitchen. Jesu didn’t appear to be in the room, but his spring rain scent lingered with the faint trace of cat fur. Speak of the devil…
I went to my bedroom door and nudged the panel to the left. The cat stench intensified. “Jesu, I know you’re in my room.”
A shadow skittered from the far corner, to the other side of the bed. Then a ball of velvet black fur shot toward my face. I phased on instinct, dropping the duffle bag on the floor as the cat flew through me. My body pulled itself together and I spun around in time to see the pipsqueak animal land on all fours halfway across the hall.
“What the heck?” I tried to keep my tone stern, but a grin tugged at the corners of my lips and all seriousness washed away. “You could have poked my eye out with those claws.”
The cat trotted into the kitchen, behind the counter, out of view. Bones snapped and popped. Moments later, a very naked Jesu rose from the floor. One look at his bare chest drew my eyes like a lead weight to his very flat abdominals and sculpted hips. Thank God the counter hid his manly goods because my decency was obviously waning. My gaze finally floated back to the crooked smile dimpling his left cheek.
