by Ash Krafton
"Leave me go," I said. "I'm marked."
The blond laughed, his voice sounding mean and oily. "We ain't looking for a snack. We're just retrieving you. Those nice people you ran from want you to come back."
Oh crap, they're with the vamps! The realization hit me at nearly the exact moment that his compulsion did. It slammed into me, stunning me and sagging me nearly to the ground.
Blondie grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my face up to his. His chin-scrape stubble caught the light like frost. "Now walk," he said. "And stay quiet."
My feet obeyed.
I meekly marched toward my doom.
Blood hummed in my ears as my heart sought to beat somewhere outside my chest. A car passed us and all I could do was roll my eyes at it, listening to the sound of fading hope as it hummed away down the street.
Soon we were out from under the bridge and rounding the curve leading back to the park. I strained my ears to hear any sound at all—from Eirene, from Dorcas, from anything—but the night was silent and expectant, waiting for me to fill it with my screams.
As we strode through the park, I desperately looked for a sign of Eirene. Seeing no dead bodies, I tried to take heart. My feet splashed through dark puddles, so much darker than muddy water. I refused to think of them.
The DV marched me to the darkest of shadows, a thickness of trees near the monument wall. The blond called out: "We brought you the Sophia, as you commanded."
A flash of light, too quick for me to follow. Vamps eyes. I couldn't curse. I couldn't pray. I could barely breathe.
"Thank you," came a smooth voice from the dark. Wait. I knew that voice. Disbelief kept me from making the connection until she stepped out into the glow of the street-lights.
Eirene. Her white fur coat was slashed and bloodied.
"You save me the trouble of chasing her through these filthy streets. Release her." Eirene's eyes flashed icy blue and her face was alight with haughty rage.
"Who are you?" The blond snarled and wrapped his arm around my throat, choking me. I pulled feebly at his arm but the hold was like iron.
"I am your punishment. The Demivampire who align themselves to the vampire are lovers of death. Come, lover, touch me. Welcome my embrace."
I felt the DV compulsion drop as he stiffened and pushed me away. I felt a different horror as I watched the blond kid obediently slide toward her enticingly opened arms. "What are you doing, Eirene?"
"Giving this one what he wants," she answered coyly. Her red mouth and black eyes beckoned seductively to the young man, whose expression was twisted by conflicting emotions. "He courts death with his allegiance to the vampire. I'll give him death. Will you die for me, my handsome one?"
"What?" He sounded so young. "Die? I don't want to die."
"And yet you make contracts with vampires. They are walking death."
"I don't want to die," he insisted.
"I don't care what you want." Her hand flashed, whipping a wide arc toward him, a streak of moonlight on silver and a dark mist that shadowed the air. Suddenly the silent night roared with terrible sound: a cry of pain, a thud as the boy dropped, a wail from the other DV as they watched and waited.
I fled, desperately running and hoping none would catch me this time.
I felt them as they died. There had been no time for me to concentrate on the circle and the barrier and so the Sophia was bared, the explosion of emotion scalding me with its intensity.
I felt them clearly as if I thrust the blade myself. Their cock-sure brutality and their lust to do harm melted into fear and remorse as she condemned them. I felt their pleas for mercy, and the nakedness of their desperation cut me like shards of glass.
How could she destroy them, feeling what I felt?
Despite their anguish, they kept a measure of defiance; the evolution they'd tasted still gripped them. The lure of immortality would not have diminished with a near-death encounter. It wouldn't have changed them. Their souls weren't tainted, they'd been putrefied with twisted desire.
Maybe they couldn't be saved. Maybe Eirene was right.
My tears froze upon my eyelashes, absorbing the chill of the air. The city streaked by as I raced to my car. I shook with terror and cold, trying to steady my hand enough to get the key into the door. The freezing night had left my hands painfully useless, my fingers tight and brittle enough to snap. Adrenaline sizzled through me, but my hands remained numb.
"Damn it!" I hissed when the keys dropped from my senseless fingers. Crouching against the side of the car, I tried to stay out of traffic while feeling for the key ring.
They were grimy and wet with melted snow and I hurriedly wiped them on my leg as I stood up. Just as I did, Eirene and Dorcas appeared on the sidewalk, staring at me over the car.
"Open the doors for us, Sophie."
"I'm not in for this!"
"I said, open the doors. We cannot be seen like this. In the car we will talk."
"Those were people!"
"Open the door!" Her voice sounded desperate. "I don't know if there are others!"
Frantically I popped the doors and we slid inside. I pulled out with a lurch, swerving into the thin traffic and rounding the corner at a reckless speed.
"You are upset," she said.
Upset? A little bit, yeah. "You killed those boys."
"I eliminated the vampire threat."
"The DV, damn it!"
"They were part of the threat," she said calmly.
I couldn't believe what she said. "You're a killer."
"I am not a killer." She wiped at a thick smear of blood on her coat, running her fingers through the ruined fur. I hated to tell her she'd need more than spit on a hanky to get it clean. "Those vampires were killers. Those DV were killers."
"You don't kill. It's not right."
"And what should I have done? Should I have saved them? Should I have shown them the folly of their allegiances? Should I have redeemed them?" She leaned toward me. "They are lost. They chose their life's paths. They had forsaken the lives they had and chosen instead a damnable existence. There is no cure for that! No Sophia can fix that! Such a small symptom of the disease. It was no crime to cut it out, to remove it from tainting the whole. Their deaths are for the greater good."
"Every life is precious," I insisted.
"Even the ones that would hand you over to the vampire for slaughter?"
I didn't answer.
"Sophie." She spoke in a gentler voice, reaching over to lay her hand on my arm. "Sophie, our lives were in danger. If the Sophia dies, then all DV are lost. Can you imagine the value upon your life? Is it not worth protecting? Is that not for the greater good? You must be strong enough to do the right thing, even if it's the hard thing. I must teach you that the hard thing is the right thing. You are too soft, too forgiving. Not everyone can be saved."
She tilted her head up. "Isn't that right, Dorcas?"
"Yes, ma'am. Truly as you say."
"See? Now. I think my appetite has rallied. Such good a brisk walk will do for one's constitution. Will you dine with me?"
I forced a non-disgusted look onto my face. Did she really think I could eat after watching her exterminate those DV or staring at the blood on her coat, her fingers? "No, it's late. I'm not hungry."
"Hmm," Eirene assented. "I understand. Dorcas, arrange for my needs in my quarters upon our arrival."
"Yes, ma'am." Dutiful, like always.
I dropped them at the hotel. Eirene had taken off her coat and carried it, carefully folded on her arm. She couldn't possibly have worn it without attracting attention. I'd been seen with her often enough that a call to the cops would have eventually pointed them in my direction.
I began to shake as I drove away. I didn't remember the ride home. All I could think about was the way she had decided those DV had been too far gone to save.
I prayed urgently for God's help. I never wanted to make that kind of choice. I knew if it were all left up to me, I'd never make the ri
ght one.
I needed a break.
Every part of my life had definitely reached the over-whelming stage. Every measure of achievement or progress was canceled out with something undesirable.
I was closer to Rodrian but now I had a mountain of drama to sort through. I had an office, a much-needed spot of sanctuary, but it came with the aggravating bundle of corporate bull. Toby seemed to be finding his feet and any day I hoped he'd tell me his quest was over; however, the moon was coming close to full and his wolf was becoming apparent. Euphrates hadn't come out of my bedroom in a week. I got to see Marek but he shattered my hope of getting close enough to tell him about Eirene.
And Eirene? Oh, hell. Don't even get me started on that hot mess. I might be good at barriers but if she thought I'd start executing people who didn't fit her standards of worthiness, well, forget it. I'm done.
After work, I grabbed a burger and a caramel frappe and, once home, retreated to my haven: the small library in my quarters.
My computer and desk were in the office so, by default, I spent a lot of time in there. However, sitting at my little desk in that wide open room didn't feel as comfortable as it had back in my apartment by the harbor. Even with it backed up into the corner, I still felt like an interloper, a stone in the middle of the path. At one point I thought about getting a single partition wall to close off the space but I put the sprags to that plan. I couldn't believe I wanted to make a cube at home. The notion alone should have given me hives.
Whereas the office had been barely lived in, Marek's personal library had a comfortable broken-in feeling that suited me like second skin.
The room was furnished with two old, stuffed, and well-worn armchairs, one the color of the Atlantic Ocean on a July afternoon and the other such a wretched color—Burnt Sienna, no doubt the ugliest crayon in the box—that it must have been more comfortable than anything else on the planet if Marek had reason to keep it (turned out it was.) A long slender lamp, hanging its shade from a curved brass neck, peered over the brown chair as it sat closest to the door, across from a wall of knick knacks and books that, truthfully, seemed to cry Dust me! before Read me!
A small rectangular table, high-legged yet stout, had a gray marbled glass top, its edges rounded to follow the clover-leaf-cut corners of the table top itself; it fell away in long geometric lines to its scallop-shelled feet. Very Frank Lloyd Wright. Very nice and, surprisingly, very well-used, like the comfy old chairs.
Everything else in the house seemed new or at least barely used, straight from the catalog; these few pieces were cherished and personal. Funny how a scratched wooden table or a frayed cushion showed personality, added character to an otherwise magazine-perfect decor. These pieces might be the ugly sisters compared to the rest of the house's furnishings, but these were the sisters that were the most fun to hang out with.
Books, real books with worn spines and signs of diligent use lined the shelves. It was a breathtaking collection, spanning ages and cultures on countless subjects in an array of languages: German, Greek, Latin, Hungarian...not like I could do more than admire the pages. I was language-handicapped; my only talents for second languages extended to the Spanish I learned in high school and my penchant for learning for foreign curse words.
Whenever I needed space, I came up here. It was like a little museum in its own right. The only thing that pricked along the edges of comfort was the certain knowledge that, of all the rooms in the house, this one had the most Marek in it.
The books, the statuettes, the tall lamp—I could almost see him sprawled in the blue-green chair near the window, legs straight out and crossed at the ankle, chin resting on chest and book balanced on belt buckle. Almost, but not quite. I always looked away before he could manifest and felt shamed at the thought of coming in here just because of him.
Then again, most days the almost sense nagged at me no matter where I looked. I never felt true comfort. Always that prickling along the edges of my comfort, that worry/ hope that I'd turn a corner and see him again.
I had to work harder at facing my reality. For all that this room had the most Marek, it was still just another empty room.
If only I could escape Marek's scent.
It lingered, tiny traces that never seemed to be in the same place twice. Leather and sandalwood—not an easy scent; too unfamiliar and foreign, an acquired taste. The scent caught the throat like a curry, a dry heat that lingered and flavored everything after it and was uneasily chased away by refreshment. The leather was unlike the leather of the sofas Rodrian favored; it was the leather of old harness and oil coat, empty but for the invisible scent of steel.
Leather and sandalwood. Not a common or modern combination but, then again, Marek's best qualities were neither common nor modern. The scents suited him well.
Rodrian's scent was easier on the palate. Brut cologne and cherries, a smell I breathed in through my mouth because smelling wasn't enough. The scent wanted to be devoured.
It was the scent that had overwhelmed me the day we set the ward on the den. Up until then, I'd never really noticed it. Afterwards, I asked him why he wore Brut, that seven dollar bottle from the drug store, when he certainly could afford anything he wanted.
He asked me, "What does it make you think of?"
I told him the truth: my first boyfriend.
Even a high school kid could shell out the bucks for it. It smelled like summer and wife-beater t-shirts and menthol cigarettes before they were lit, tucked behind an ear beneath a sandy brown curl. It smelled like something I'd always want but knew I could never have again.
But all I said out loud was: my first boyfriend.
He'd given me a long lingering look and said, "That's what they always say."
At least Rodrian's scent didn't crowd me here in Marek's room. I couldn't handle both of them at once.
Scents could be powerful ties to our memories. For once, I'd like one to bring up memories that weren't painful—or conflicting.
I settled into the ugly brown armchair and stared at my phone. This was it. I couldn't stall anymore. I scrolled down the list of contacts until I got to his number and hit call. The phone rang. My heart pounded. Oh, crap. My voice would shake and I'd sound like a dorky teen and the ringing stopped—
Oh, God. This was it—
"Leave a message."
I crumpled. Voice mail.
Another failed attempt. I knew those three words like I knew the sound of my own name. The quick breath and pause right before he spoke. The bass rumbles of his voice, the dark tone he inflicted upon the words because he hates checking voice mail and he's really hoping no one actually leaves a message. If it was important, he'd once said to me, they'd get a hold of him another way.
I didn't have another way.
Or did I?
Rodrian was an everyday part of my life now. Why couldn't I get him to say something to Marek? Better question: why didn't he tell Marek about Eirene himself?
What if he already had?
I hated these questions, these doubts and anxieties and I knew, beyond all doubt, that I wouldn't be stuck here, battered around like a cat toy, if it wasn't for that damned voice mail I knew he'd never check.
Marek, I silently begged while I redialed the call. Just pick up the phone. Both of our lives depend on it.
"Can I hang out with you, Soph?"
Shiloh's voice sounded from the echoey hallway just as Marek's voicemail greeting came on. I dropped the phone onto the table and walked out to the entrance of my suite. Peering out, I saw her leaning against the wall, dressed for bed.
"Are you sure you want to try coming in, Shy? We never tried to get you pass the wards."
She slid toward me, still holding up the wall. One arm hugged her waist. "I don't care if it hurts. I just want to come in."
I didn't like the word hurts, especially when it looked like she was already suffering. I went to her, putting my arm around her shoulder. "We can go to your room. I'll stay with you if you want
to try to sleep."
She shook her head, tousling her hair. "Please? Just take me in there with you. It feels too empty out here."
I took a deep breath and looked back at my door. The wards weren't visible—I didn't even really remember where they began. What would they do to her?
Closing my eyes, I urged my Sophia sight to feel out the ward. I couldn't see anything that way, either. All I could see was my barrier, my self, drawn in and thinned down, unnecessary at the moment.
Then I had an idea.
I pulled Shiloh to me, tighter against my side.
"We're going to try walking in together, Shiloh." I tentatively took a step. "If you get uncomfortable, tell me and we'll abandon ship."
Head against my shoulder, she nodded.
I exhaled loudly. "Here goes."
If the wards recognized me, perhaps there was a way to cloak her somehow, to sneak her inside. I closed my eyes again, pushing my barrier out. It ballooned against Shiloh, flowing around here. Using a mental hand, I tugged what I thought was Shiloh's aura closer to me. My barrier resisted.
Leaning into it, I reached around her on all sides, encompassing her, drawing her into my circle.
My barrier stretched where she pressed against it. Carefully, I thinned that section while putting more behind her.
With a soft pop, she broke through my shield, coming to rest within my safe zone.
Guess that was as good as it would get. I opened my eyes. "Now, we walk."
Step by step, we approached the doors. I felt the wards buzz against me, halting me. They pressed against my barrier but it wasn't discomfort. It was...rather like a tickle.
After a moment, they sighed away, leaving us free to continue. I supposed I'd just gotten frisked by my own wards.
Once inside my parlor, I paused. "Okay so far, Shy?"
"Uh huh."
Slowly I drew my barriers back in to me, noting the thin glow that still clung to her. It sparkled and faded as I watched.
Suddenly, Shiloh's eyes widened and she rubbed her arms, patted her cheeks, looking wildly around.
"What's wrong?" I grasped her shoulders.
