by Drew Hayes
Her eyes darted up, scanning the surrounding trees yet also looking past them, toward flickering memories I wasn’t privy to. “Putting the wellbeing of others over your own demands strength. Strength of will, strength of character, sometimes actual, physical power. In the case of showing mercy, for example, actual strength plays a large role. To let an opponent walk away when one has the chance to kill them requires you to be sure, absolutely certain, that your power is great enough they won’t strike again. If they do, and you lose people you love in the process, then what you had wasn’t strength at all, it was hubris.”
Deborah turned from the forest to look me dead in the eyes, her vision no longer lost in the past. “That is your problem, Fred. You act as though you have the strength to show such kindness, but you don’t. You’re not powerful enough to protect your human friend while avoiding the murder of a mage, yet you would have done so whether I was there or not. You lack the experience and raw force to stand against other clans, yet you founded one all the same. You are weak, yet you act as if you’re strong. For a time, that has worked in your favor, but it won’t last forever. Sooner or later, you’ll push too hard, make the wrong enemy, lack the support of the right ally, and then, all those actions you thought were kindness will reveal themselves as little more than hubris, and they will drag you and your friends down together.”
“And your advice would be what? Stop acting as though I still have a sense of decency?”
“Not at all.” She broke our gaze, looking down at the wolf. His panting had evened out, and his heartrate had slowed. It could have been wishful thinking, but I hoped the wrap was helping the pain. “I just told you my thoughts on kindness and its relation to strength. I don’t want weaker, worse vampires in our world. No, I want you to understand that sooner or later, you’ll either have to be more ruthless or more powerful. This tenuous balance you have won’t hold forever.”
Her hand ran through the wolf’s fur once more. “A stronger, better-trained vampire could have subjugated this creature without hurting it. A more ruthless one would have killed it outright so it wouldn’t feel pain. This is what happens when you try to walk the path of the powerful without the strength to back it up: you cause needless suffering. Tonight, it was a wolf. Tomorrow, who knows which of your loved ones your kindness will hurt.”
I wanted to argue with her, and with more time and a steady mind, I might have put together a proper counter. In that moment, though, with my stomach growing ever more restless and the injured creature before my eyes standing testament to what she’d said, no worthy rebuttals sprang to mind. Even if I debated her on semantics, what would be the point? Deborah was the second vampire I’d encountered who didn’t outright reject the idea of showing compassion for others, and even Lillian had needed to be brought around to the notion. Her objection wasn’t against me trying to act like a decent person: it was that I was consistently biting off more than I could chew (forgive the expression). I was trying to help my friends, to keep them safe when I could pitch in, but I lacked the power to do so properly.
How many close calls had there been throughout the years? How many situations where we barely scraped by? How many of those might have been different if I hadn’t insisted on staying as human as possible? I could have asked Gideon for more dragon blood; he still claimed the scales between us were not balanced yet. Hell, I could have accepted the vial of blood Sheriff Thorgood offered me in Boarback—even without knowing what was inside, I had smelled the power radiating off the contents of that vial. Yet I never took those paths. I stayed on normal human blood because it kept me more mundane, as close to the human I had been as I could still be. I was scared of being more, of losing myself like so many older vampires seemed to. In the beginning, when I was just an accountant, it was one thing. But I wasn’t just Fred anymore; I was kidding myself to pretend otherwise. I was the head of a parahuman clan, a public acquaintance to the King of the West, fiancé to an esteemed agent of the Agency, friend of one who held a weapon of destiny, and—at this point, it hardly seemed prudent to deny it—enemy to the House of Turva.
Not using my power was a choice I could make in any moment, balanced against the danger of the situation. If I lacked that power to start with, however, then the choice was forever out of my hands. It was time to accept the truth of my new life, to stop running from the very idea of becoming stronger. Power, knowledge, magic . . . those things didn’t make people monsters. It was what they did with those gifts that mattered.
“Will you teach me to hunt?” Carefully, I rested the wolf’s head against the grass, making sure its breathing remained undisturbed. “To hunt properly, I mean. To take only what I need and leave no wounds behind.”
“I am here for guidance. That lesson certainly falls within the bounds of a vampire’s education.” Deborah pointed upward, to the starry sky overhead. “But don’t forget we’re on a clock. Are you sure you have time for that?”
For the first time since my fall, I was feeling completely clear-headed, though how long it would last was anybody’s guess. “I’m sure. We’re too far away from town to make it back by sunrise, which means we’ll likely have to find shelter. I can’t trust myself to stay hidden until my hunger is sated, so the best means of survival I have is to deal with the Hunger first, find a safe place to hide, and then make the trek home after sunset.”
“The more expedient method would be to leave the lesson for another day, kill some animals quickly, and then use our more ample time to find a good hiding spot,” Deborah pointed out.
“Stopping mid-drink requires more self-control. If my primary worry is keeping myself restrained throughout the day, then it makes the most sense to train that self-control as much as possible in the time we have remaining.”
Silence was her only reply for nearly half a minute, followed by a loud, theatrical sigh. “That’s tenuous reasoning at best, but you’re asking me to teach you, so I will. Pay close attention. You won’t have time for me to repeat myself. And find a better place to hide Ernest while we hunt; if another creature out here spies him, he’s as good as eaten.”
It took me a moment to catch on to what she’d said. “I thought you warned me not to name the wolf.”
“Yes, well, vampires all start out as humans. Is it any surprise that some of us continue being hypocrites?”
5.
Hunting was easier the second time around. Part of that came from the fact that I was no longer hanging on to my self-control by the tips of my metaphorical fingers—the Hunger had been sated enough to allow me a measure of clear thought. While that might have slowed me on another night—giving me too much time to think and complicate matters by over-analyzing—on this evening, my focus was clear and driven. Whether the cause was the solitude, the gnawing force in my stomach, or the discussion with Deborah was hard to pin down. Regardless, I was determined not to shy away from the lesson. Deborah was right: someday, I might very well find myself short on blood and long on thirst. If I didn’t know how to keep control of myself in that kind of situation, then I was putting others at risk.
To be fair, I was still a poor hunter. No amount of drive overcomes a lifetime of avoiding violence and a squeamish reflex to the idea of attacking an innocent creature. Thankfully, I wasn’t so bad that vampire powers and Deborah’s guidance couldn’t close the gap. We moved together, racing easily through the shadows until we came upon a large animal—I think it was an elk, but in all honesty, I lack the knowledge to say with any certainty. Together, we circled and pounced, me mimicking Deborah’s movements like a child playing a game of copycat. Only, it was no laughing matter when we struck. The creature that was probably an elk tried to fight, but Deborah had it in an uncompromising grip, holding the beast in place as much for its own safety as ours. When we were done, the wounds were licked, and the potential elk was sent on its way, angry and a little tired, but otherwise unharmed.
We continued like that, with Deborah gradually thrusting more and more of the wo
rk onto me as we hunted. While I never had the fluid precision she demonstrated, I was at least able to keep from injuring any more animals while we fed. Near the end, when I was finally feeling somewhat sated, we came upon a freshly killed deer. Our presence scared off whatever had done the deed, but we could hear its footsteps racing away in the darkness. Neither of us was going to feed from a dead deer, but to my surprise, Deborah tore off a chunk of its flesh—a part unsullied by the killer.
It wasn’t until we returned to the tree where Ernest waited that I understood what she was doing. With practiced speed and surety, Deborah constructed a fire and began to roast the meat. “Wolves normally eat things raw, but given this one’s age and weakened condition, it’s probably better to cook it, just in case. We don’t want Ernest getting ill.”
“Won’t the smell draw more wild animals?” I asked.
“It’s possible. That’s something we’ll just have to deal with, though.” Her eyes wandered back to the dancing flames. “Besides, the fire will keep most at bay. That’s what it does. The spark in the darkness.” More staring ensued, and when she next spoke, her voice sounded miles away. “In the early days, this was all the humans had. Before buildings, before cities, before guns and bows and silver—before countries, even—there was fire. We used to prowl in the darkness, watching for these glowing lights. They were temptation and warning rolled into one. You always knew there were humans around a fire, and yet to approach one was to make yourself as vulnerable as we could be back then.”
I suppressed the urge to make an audible gulp. When Lillian had pointed out that Deborah’s name went back to biblical times, I had been amazed by the idea of someone living that long. But what she spoke about now . . . a time when all humans had was fire . . . that was a whole other measurement of time. Granted, without knowing where she hailed from, it was possible she’d been in a place that was slower on the technological development curve, yet even with that assumption, Deborah had to be incredibly old. Much as I wanted to know more, I’d already been rebuked on the age issue once before. Instead, I decided to try to learn more about vampires in general. It was a subject I’d been eager to broach, and it hardly seemed as though we’d get a better chance than the current situation.
“Just to double-check, we don’t have to worry about any of those animals developing parahuman traits, do we? I’ve been told that we can only turn humans by feeding them our blood after we’ve fed from them—Krystal made sure I was aware I should never do that—but the biting alone doesn’t cause side effects, right?”
“Probably.” Deborah finally jerked her eyes from the flames, scanning our surroundings for potential intruders. “There are old stories, tales of how the first therian was a vampire’s pet who was drunk from constantly until magic seeped into their bones, but it’s bullshit as far as I could ever tell. Still, magic is magic, and if it were entirely predictable, mages wouldn’t be so highly in demand. You can never be totally sure some moose won’t have a lost enchantment in its blood that one of our bites then triggers, but it’s a minimal concern. And yes, the only way to transfer our curse is to drink, then feed a human our blood. It doesn’t work on animals or other parahumans. I’ll save you the heartbreak of trying. Even when you try to turn someone, be prepared for it to fail. Very few humans actually make the transition, and we’ve never found a way to predict who will survive.”
“I don’t think it’s going to be an issue for me. Granted, I don’t exactly hate being a vampire, thanks to the people it’s brought into my life, but it’s still not something I can imagine ever passing on to someone else.”
Deborah sent another lingering, distant stare at me, though this one was cut off by a tired sigh as she turned her attention to the stars. “Long-term thinking, Fred. Do you really not suspect that in a potentially endless life, you’ll never meet a human you want to save? What about your friend Asha? What if that mage had been a little faster? What if he’d avoided her surprise attack? If she was bleeding out on the carpet, death looming in her eyes, would you deny her even the chance to keep going? Sure, she’d probably die from the attempt, but isn’t that better than certain death? Or in fifty years, when she’s old or sick and you’re still exactly the same, do you really believe she, or another human like her, won’t beg you to at least attempt to give them immortality?”
It was tempting to say that I would resist the urge, but then again, why would that be my default? I knew firsthand that, while being a vampire might not be ideal for everyone, it certainly wasn’t a fate worse than death. And if someone I cared about was caught between dying and becoming undead, I very well might be willing to try, assuming it was what they wanted. I hadn’t been given a choice in becoming a vampire, but that didn’t mean one couldn’t have such an option.
“I’ll tell you something, Fred, something that’s not really a secret, but also isn’t especially well-known. My real name isn’t Deborah. Deborah was a child who wound up in my care a few hundred years ago. At first, she was burden. Then, over time, I grew to love her like a daughter. I raised her, cared for her, and when she grew old, I tried to save her. She wasn’t one of the lucky few, however. So I took her name, because that’s what I do with the loved ones I’ve lost. After thousands of years, their faces will fade. You’ll forget their scent, the feel of their embrace, the warmth of their presence. And soon, the names will go, too. Imagine that. Imagine Krystal, the woman you love enough to marry, being such a distant memory that you can no longer recall something as fundamental as her name.”
The idea seemed ludicrous, yet here was someone who had lived long enough to see it come true. That wasn’t a guarantee that my life would unfold the same way Deborah’s had, but it was absolutely reason enough to stay on guard for such issues. Rejecting the wisdom of one who’d seen so much would be pure hubris, indeed.
“That’s why I take their names,” Deborah continued. “You can forget a lot, but when everyone calls you by a name for hundreds of years, it tends to stick, even in memories like ours. Maybe one day, I’ll get so old that even that will stop working. For now, thankfully, the habit does its job. I can keep a small piece of them alive, if only in the catacombs of my memory. Feel free to copy that, if it helps, but most of us have to find our own ways of hanging on.”
With a flash of movement, she removed the stick that Ernest’s dinner was roasting on and plucked the meat free without so much as a wince. Slowly, she approached the injured wolf. She tore off and fed him small pieces of the meat, so patiently and gently that I’d have never imagined she was the same person who’d ripped a giant, clawed monster in half the night before.
Then again, that was the thrust of Deborah’s point in taking me on this trip. She had the option to decide when to be gentle and when to be ruthless; by keeping myself weak, I had only one recourse. And yet, despite the many good points she’d made, part of me couldn’t help wondering if having the option to win through pure violence wouldn’t lead someone to start taking that path even when it wasn’t needed. After all, Deborah had been explicitly clear that she felt I made things needlessly harder by trying to capture Kevin rather than kill him. Gaining control of myself and the Hunger was one thing. Going after power, however, was an entirely different proposition. I didn’t want to be the kind of person who hit first and asked questions later. But I also didn’t want to be an anchor that weighed my friends down, either.
It was a conundrum, without question. Luckily, it’s wasn’t one I had to solve this evening. With my Hunger sated, the next step was to find somewhere to hide during the coming day. Now that I knew how long Deborah had been around, her mindset made more sense. If she was from a time before true civilization, then it was no wonder she would instill the idea of self-reliance. For her, this had been the only life she’d known for an untold number of years. Much as I loved civilization, I’d also read enough history to know that nothing lasted. In another thousand years, I might very well be back in this exact situation, living in the wild, hunting to su
rvive for another day.
“My first instinct was to bury ourselves,” I said, breaking the silence that had fallen between us. “Dig deep in the dirt, get good and shielded from the sun. But that has two problems that I can see: one, we leave Ernest unprotected for the entire day, and two, we’re at the mercy of other wild animals. If something hungry catches our scent and tried to dig us up, we’d be caught in the sunlight. Although the chances are low, I’ll grant you, it’s a needless risk. We should try to find some kind of cave to shelter in for the day. If we fail, then we can return to the burying idea, but this way, we use our remaining time to look for a superior option. Better to make the most of our time and try to find as ideal a shelter as possible.”
“You’re the one making the calls.” The last of the meat vanished from Deborah’s hands, and seconds later, she’d carefully hefted Ernest into her arms. The wolf let out a yawn so cute I suddenly remembered the lineage between his kind and dogs, and then appeared to go limp. Whether it was fear or affection, Ernest had clearly decided to accept that his life was in our hands.
I wished I had faith in his judgment, but there was no time for self-doubt. We’d spent a lot of the night on hunting, and soon, the sun would rise. If Deborah and I didn’t find shelter before that happened, Ernest would be left in the care of little more than two twin piles of ash.
6.
It took a long while (so long, I began to mentally mark spots with soft-looking soil in case we had to go back to the burying plan) before Deborah and I finally stumbled upon a small cave in the side of the mountain. The opening was easily wide enough to slip through, even while carrying Ernest, and it appeared deep. A moment’s examination showed a slight bend in the cavern’s mouth that led farther in, partially obscuring whatever lay inside. That didn’t hinder the scent of the occupant, as we were both keenly able to smell that something was already inside. Even Ernest whined a little as we drew closer.
