by John Falin
I could tell she was sensing his need for approval and that he really wanted to share what he must have overheard. Both species must trust him as a confidant, or at the very least, an impotent threat for him to have information that we desire. She says, “Riley, you have been an excellent… no, the most efficient talent I have ever seen in my three and a half centuries with the tribe. You have completed missions that privately were said to be impossible for one of your kind, and in some cases ours as well. You are smart, intuitive, strategic, and cunning, and if there is anyone who is not afraid of our kind, it is you. You have known me for years and know that I am loyal, so let us dispense with these games and tell us what you know. In return, I will offer you assignments on the side to stave off that unnatural hunger of yours.”
I can see his wobbly eye bouncing with vibrating speed, attempting to weigh the risk and reward of Percy’s proposal. He shifts the glare to Quilici for confirmation and receives it with a slight nod, then over to me he stops and lingers for a while, contemplating with murderous inner dialogue. Finally, after the moment is geared up to burst, he says, “They have been actively looking for him. The incident last evening in the waer bar was enough to start a ripple that has since grown in depth and speed, which now includes the waers and vampires in a unified effort to capture Adriel. They questioned me concerning your whereabouts and I, of course, explained that I am a neutral party. Yet, in this particular instance, that was not enough and they demanded I confide all information I have collected. Fortunately, I have learned to quiet my impulses and they detected no lying from me. So, in reality, you already owe me quite a debt, but I am willing to let that triviality go because I am finding this absolutely fascinating.”
Quilici interrupts, “What of us?”
“You and Persephone are to be killed on sight for treason. Having you here in my store will give them a scent to track, so I suggest that you make this quick.” He stalls for a second and finds Percy. “I have the coats to your specifications and I must admit that it may be some of my most brilliant work. Give me a moment to retrieve them.”
Like a ghost he disappears into the back room, leaving the mood heavy with anxiety. Quilici is the first to break the spell. “If the waers and vampires have joined forces, the danger has multiplied significantly. We must make haste!”
I withdraw into thought, remembering every detailed experience with Cassius and think of the similarities between my new friend Riley and him, yet I’m certain that Cassius thinks of himself as superior. They are both sociopaths, lacking the ability to empathize with others, which in turn enables a truly objective ability to strategize or plan. What if I had no concern for others, no thought for their futures, and simply thought of them as pieces to achieve my results? If I were unfettered by the chains of conscience, it would be so much more efficient to accomplish whatever mission I desired. In epiphany, I say, “My gut is telling me that this is much more complex than we imagine. Cassius has been planning and manipulating this scheme for a millennia, and I can’t help but wonder how deep this is. He’s ruthless and won’t concern himself with the loss of a waer or vamp as long as his objective is successful.”
Percy thoughtfully responds, “We need to…”
At that moment Riley slides through the curtain with a couple of garment bags in one hand, saying, “Did I interrupt something important?” The room is eerily silent, as no one is willing to intimate to Riley our plans or questions. So he continues with delightful suspicion. “Here are the long coats I’ve created to your, ummm… almost exact specifications, Persephone.” He languidly places them on a hangar to the left and patiently awaits our response.
Percy wastes no time in unzipping the lengthy bag from top to bottom, revealing a long black coat tailored for a woman with the shorter, more feminine length to accentuate her body… women. Although, secretly I steal a few stares and have a quick fantasy. She senses my pleasure and I turn red with embarrassment, which, in turn, gives her pleasure—damn these games. After slipping on the coat, she feels the texture and gives an approving nod to Riley.
She says, “This is absolutely perfect! The material was something I did not expect, but am very pleased to find.”
Riley, grinning as much as a psychopath can, says, “It’s the fabric used in athletic gear to wick away moisture. I thought it would serve dual purposes. Your temperature runs high and the light fabric is breathable and it is also thin enough to yield to your body’s movement during battle.” He notices Percy looking for a slit on the outer back of the coat that would give her access to the sword. “I apologize, Persephone but I did have to make one modification. You wanted a coat that would securely house a sword and make it readily accessible, but you also mentioned that it would need to be stealthy to ensure one could be in public without unwanted attention. So, instead of the hilt sticking out of the coat like a beacon, I decided to go another direction. Inside your coat on the left side, there is a seam that runs from the high waist to the bottom. It is identical to the other side in every way, but this one has an opening that will perfectly wrap around your scabbard with no bulging, no hilt in plain view, and no hindrance.”
Percy, with subdued excitement, unhooks the scabbard from her belt and fills the black coat with its entire length, save the hilt, which is left uncovered to pull in an emergency situation. A glimpse of my fantasy returns. The coat accepts her sword and closes around her, leaving no evidence that a lethal weapon is a second from being unsheathed. She holds back a full smile, letting half of it slip, and says, “You have outdone yourself this time, Riley. It is fashionable and practical. Adriel, you need to try yours on as well.”
I follow the same procedure: unzipping, removing, and trying on the porcelain-white coat to gauge the fit when I notice what a talented sempster Riley is. He’s never seen me, well at least that I am aware of, and yet the sleeves are perfect and the waist is slim with an athletic cut. The coat is similar to a trench coat, resting below my knees, and conforms to my body without revealing too much, still concealing my sword. Like Percy, I unhinge my scabbard from my belt and steal a glance to Riley as he is paying extra attention to the intricate glyphs snaking through the scabbard. It’s a matching set, but the sword alone holds the power and the scabbard is only a storage container that has been crafted with obvious adoration. His eagerness bleeds all over the room and my heightened senses are saturated with his blinding need to see what rests within, so I grant his wish. With a click I unsheathe my sword; a metallic zing echoes as metal rubs metal.
The sword constantly glows now with my stolen energy, waiting to be released in some way still foreign to me. Riley steps closer, but cautiously stops short of getting within touching distance. I realize that he is practicing self-control as his urge to take what he desires is suppressed within his grimaced frown. He clamps his arms to his side and breathes heavy, inhaling the mysterious power that radiates from the sword and me.
He says, “It is indeed strange—the connection that is.”
I say, “What do you mean?”
“I will not live the long life of your kind, but I have seen much in what has been given to me. I know a specialized weapon when I see one.” Percy and I catch each other instantly in a surprised exchange that another would know this instinctually. He goes on, “I see that you already have discussed this.” He perceives Quilici’s concealed astonishment. “Ahhh, and it appears that Quilici has not had the privilege of that conversation. Trust is earned, Quilici, not given. Adriel was wise not to divulge all information; in my experience, leverage and knowledge have more power than armies of soldiers.”
Percy cuts him off to heal a fresh wound. “Quilici, we trust you and I am sorry that we did not share this with you, but time has been our enemy and every moment has been filled with battle or strategy. From this point on, you will know what we know.” She was sincere. I could feel it without having to utilize any special method of detection, as our bond was strengthening. The oppressive guilt mixed with betrayal s
teadied and calmly dissipated, leaving a clean, crisp air of forgiveness in its place as Quilici conceded as a parent forgives his children. “Riley, thank you for your services. I will make the transfer immediately from my usual account and will be in touch with you soon for a mission. Are you open to accepting jobs that would include our kind?”
Riley shudders with satisfaction and says, “That would be a lifelong dream come true. I’ve always wanted to test my skills against your kind.”
Quilici says, “Well, you will have your chance soon enough.”
This was the departure hint as the conversation was wrapping up so I interject, “Riley, thanks for the jacket and the color as well.” I give him a half smile and he accepts. “It was good to meet you and to learn of your kind.”
He responds, “The pleasure was mine, young one, but I do have one more jacket. Percy, what would you like for me to do with your special order?”
Percy must have forgotten about the order and processes her response in a flash. “Overnight it to him.” Then she looks to Quilici and me, saying, “All of us need to carry our weapons at all times, so I had another made… It’s special because it was made for two swords.” She anticipates my question by making an instant read on my curiosity and responds. “Bryn is highly skilled.”
I say, “I thought only one sword for one vamp?”
Riley interrupts, “He was the weapons master and one of rare talent. Percy, I will make sure he receives it by tomorrow’s night. Now, you must go. You are not my only customers.”
Chapter 13
The ride to the graveyard is filled with mission banter as Quilici and Percy discuss the sword and all the possibilities that it creates while I withdraw, resting my head against the window and peering out into the stagnate darkness. I sense Percy understands my yearning for isolation and that my time allotted for conversation was used up several nights earlier. I’ve learned to regulate social interaction through years of overextending myself in the presence of too many people, or even just one would be enough to drain me to the point where I would seek reclusion and recharge for days. I feel the tug of self-preservation pulling me from this place and my temperament growing restless from neglecting “me” time.
As we are turning into the one-way street, Percy touches my cheek with her delicate hand and the angry beat of my heart calms to a more serene cadence. Although this gesture has an actual physical effect on me, it acts as a catalyst, giving me reason to stoke the fires of independence, and I recoil from her without thought. I catch it in motion, but can’t stop the reaction as my body and mind callously ignore my feelings for her. Apologetically, I say, “I’m sorry, Percy. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but if I don’t have time for myself, my needs aren’t being met, and if my needs aren’t being met, then I react by lashing out. I’m not proud of this type of behavior, but it is what it is.”
She doesn’t respond defensively and says, “What we have would be challenging for the most extreme extrovert, Adriel. Of course I understand your occasional requirement for solitude. However, this is not a time that can be accommodating to your needs. Would it be enough for you to have ten minutes to wander free?”
Quilici is a fly on the wall and I think for a moment and say, “You better believe it. I’ll see you in ten.” Three minutes crawl by and we stop at the perimeter of the graveyard with headlights off to conceal our arrival. With urgency I unlock the door and swing it open, leaving the SUV as if something pushes me out. My throat tightens with a mild ache and I swallow hard to suppress my body’s protest to physically leave her as I begin my run toward solitude.
The cool air whips around me, lifting my mood, and I close my eyes to concentrate on its soothing caress. My pace increases and a slow jog transforms into a full sprint with the wind responding from behind and underneath, lifting me from the tender grass to the clean air. This is what I have been craving. This is what I need, just me and nature—no thought and no plans of war to inundate me. I jump to the trees, climbing their mired limbs with childlike delight, needling my way through their scratching and snagging until I find the top. It’s peaceful here as the old oak tree sways back and forth, dancing with the wind, and I join them in complete satisfaction. I decide this is the time to sink deep into a dreamlike state and embrace the uncongested night, at least for a few minutes.
Inhaling aromas that filter through the forest, I taste the fresh grass and minty leaves that tickle my senses and move me into a trance. I find myself deep in the caverns of Virginia alone after my partner, Mark, was maimed from a hard fall of twenty feet onto the rocks below. It had been thirty-seven hours since his injury and the flashlight batteries were completely drained as I crawled through a labyrinth of tunnels, carved from ancient rivers, and jagged rocks in complete darkness. It was frightening as hell and I still can’t shake the sound of Mark’s excruciating cries as he painfully phased in and out of consciousness due to a nasty compound fracture off his femur bone. I knew he had only hours left as his blood merged with the underground water in a concerted effort to escape the cave without him. Mixed feelings of hope, resignation, and detachment fought in an emotional battle for control when finally, after hours of anxiety, I found a shard of light squeezing through a crevice. It was in that moment of victory that I heard the last echo of distant whimpering as the cave took the final drop of blood that gave Mark life.
“Adriel. ADRIEL!”
I answer with equal brevity. “What?” She hushes me for my effort, so I say, “You’re the one yelling my name.” It sounds like a child defending an accusation… Damn.
She whispers, “I haven’t said a word.” We give a nonverbal understanding that the connection is thickening. “We have been looking for you for twenty minutes and I’ve been worried. I can feel you are unharmed, but did you see anyone?”
I feel her nervousness and reply seriously, “No. What’s going on?”
“Come down, Adriel.” I realize that I’m still at the top of the oak tree about forty feet above the tree canopy and begin the descent with urgency. I land with a muted thud and watch Percy as her senses are on high alert. With back turned, she says, “They have been here looking for us.”
I say, “I’m sorry. I just lost track of time. It was unintentional.”
“I know.” She turns to meet my gaze. “They are no longer here, but have left us a message.” I see the slight quiver in her upper lip and feel her raw emotions of anger and sorrow. In my experience, those two make a dangerous pair. “Follow me.”
We walk with intention through the sticky snares of thorny bushes and budding trees as the path to the graveyard is becoming overgrown with the life of spring. I say, “What’s going on, Percy?”
She doesn’t answer with words, but stops and, with her hand, moves some brush aside, shifting her eyes to signal me through. I accept her lead and cautiously sneak through the bushes to find the message. It’s bloody carnage, as severed hands with trails of veins still twitching from unsettled nerves and dim eyes stare vacantly at their dismay. Body parts litter the grass and the remnants of cooling blood with a pungent scent smack my nose. I instinctively start piecing together parts for a body count, assessing the situation, and make an educated guess at five victims when a stifled moan catches my attention. At the tree in the center is a young man bound with coarse rope that has rubbed his wrist and ankles raw from what must have been a feeble attempt at escape. With his head dropped and hands floppy, the only evidence of life is the faint beat of his heart, gasping for blood as a fish gasps for water when caught.
Unlike the lifeless blood splattered throughout the graveyard, his blood is fresh and alive. It sings a licentious melody, luring my demon from his rest, and I feel the pressure growing within me to slit his throat with my sharp nails and lap up what’s left in feral bliss. Percy must have noticed my lust and steps in beside me with a calming presence that is just enough to sedate the demon until my will is strong enough to maintain control. With shut eyes and deep breath, I muste
r the strength to push down the mounting pressure and give her a thankful nod in return.
When my eyes open, I see his matted hair with recently dried blood and dirt from days without bathing from what was most likely a weeklong binger. So many of them end up in this place, not here specifically, but psychologically, where suicide is the only perceived option. Although he’s been brutally tortured, the real pain comes from within. Thoughts of the young girl from my first visit flood my memories, drowning me in an ocean of sadness. I rip my gaze from his appearance and dive into his state of mind, swimming my way back to the surface.
He’s been beaten with professional precision. It was just enough force causing him to delicately walk the line of consciousness without falling off the edge into the abyss. I reach out and touch his skin to somehow share in his pain. He winces because his flayed skin doesn’t heal like ours. His arms are stained chalky red, carelessly painted with slow trickling blood winding down from deep lacerations.
I say, “Those are the marks of vampire claws, not waers.” Percy doesn’t reply, just imperceptibly agrees so I accept the confirmation and continue. “Who did this to you?”
He gives a light sniff, accompanied by a single tear at first. Then his body convulses with sobs with what must be the last remnant of energy and he whispers a pleading scream. “Help… me. Please… help… me… It hurts.” His begging trails off as tears well up in Percy and she reacts by grabbing the thick rope and pulling it apart as a human would break thread. He collapses without a residue of strength remaining. I hold him firmly, close to my body, letting his blood soak into my shirt and tears drench my neck. I feel a rage building, a righteous anger that pushes my tears out with a scream to accompany it. Through red filters I see Franz smirk at the boy’s pain and Hanz laughing robustly in amusement as they enjoy killing the others in front of him just to take pleasure in his emotional writhing. Vocal chords must have been severed first to prevent any screams, resulting in wet gurgles that were absorbed by the trees. This boy must have been frozen in fear from the anticipation of death as he witnessed the gore fest with a front row seat. I mentally drift away from the slaughter back to the caverns in Virginia and hear the horrific cries of a man begging me to save his life, pleading with me to find help, and all I could do was cover my ears and wish it away.
