Never Show Fear

by Nicola Claire

  Strong of heart and body and soul and mind.

  I fear not the Dark. I will never fear it again.

  “Where is he?” Hakan says, drawing my attention back to the empty mosque.

  Ekram’s thralls are dead.

  There’s nothing left here but dust and rotting shifter bodies.

  But Ekram was not among those we fought tonight.

  I turn and look through an arched window toward the Mhachkay stronghold. Towards my sister.

  Hakan swears in Turkish, long and harsh and full of emotion; his Sanguis Vitam rises. Alain’s joins it. Then the Kral’s stepping through a portal as if to head toward the castle and his Entwined.

  But nothing happens.

  The wards. Ekram’s wards. They hold every single Mhachkay here, although they almost kill themselves trying.

  “I can’t hear her,” Hakan says, frantic now. “Hayatim!”

  I look at Zahra. The Black Witch is trying to break the enchantment.

  It’s not Black Magic, though. It’s Dark.

  Desperate eyes meet mine. Zahra is worried for her Queen.

  For Ellie.

  I calm my mind. I focus. My eyes hold Zahra’s.

  Together, I say reaching for my Entwined.

  She doesn’t have to think; she takes my hand. I grip her tightly. We are smoke. Power personified.

  How far would I go for my sister?

  To the end, I say, and Zahra makes it happen.

  * * *

  I make the rules. But that doesn’t mean I’ll always get it right.

  Pain lances through me as the Dark ward fights back.

  I hear the minds of the Mhachkay watching. Their awe, their fear, their hope, their desperation that we’ll survive.

  They want to save their Queen, but they don’t want to lose their Witches.

  It’s with a strange sense of belonging that I realise I am included in that number.

  It’s not just Zahra they wish to protect, that they wish to survive. It’s me, too. Zahra was right; the Mhachkay accept what I am, what we are. We are worthy. We are family. We are Mhachkay.

  It settles something deep down inside.

  And suddenly, our Muska expands; rises. Different than before. Smokier and yet more powerful. It swirls around us, faster and faster and faster. It rises high as the Mhachkay, and joins in as their familiars chant in an ancient tongue.

  I understand them.

  They understand me.

  I’m home at long last.

  Light fills my body, sweeps out from me to Zahra. Smoke entwines it and brings it back, washing over Zahra and then returning to me. It feels so very right. Our power magnifies, but I’m completely in control.

  Grounded.

  She grounds me.

  We are one.

  We are free.

  We are home.

  We are right. Perfect.

  Power bursts out of our bodies and lashes itself against the Dark ward that binds us in Ekram’s trap.

  Dark destroys, but Black Magic has no rules. The Dark cracks.

  Because I will it to.

  Such awesome power crashes through all the glass in the windows, flinging the shards wide and sweeping out across the surrounding courtyards like a tsunami. The sounds of Edirne at night reach us as if we’d been caught in a bubble of silence. No longer.

  “Hayatim,” Hakan says, and there’s relief in his tone, laced with an anger that rivals Alain’s, Zahra’s and mine.

  “He is there,” Zahra says.

  “Not for long,” Alain tells her.

  I agree wholeheartedly with my brother.

  Then we’re grasping hands and stepping through Zahra’s portal and appearing in front of Ekram and the last of his thralls. There’s only a couple. His closest men. He sacrificed all the less important ones to trap us.

  But he underestimated the spymaster.

  He underestimated me.

  He underestimated my Entwined.

  The Muska Cadı.

  We step out into the grand hall and, in a split second, see what’s waiting. Ekram has a knife to Ellie’s stomach. Not her throat; it wouldn’t kill her. But to the unborn twins in her belly.

  Hakan roars. The Erbörü hiss. Alain’s anger joins theirs as if it has always belonged at their side. It’s entirely chilling.

  Ekram smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. He digs the blade in.

  I scent blood.

  I do not scent Ellie’s fear. She’s Nosferatin.

  I brush her mind. She’s admonishing Hakan. Telling him, he took his time. It enables the Mhachkay King to gain some semblance of control. His Entwined shows no fear. She teases him.

  All is not lost in his mind.

  But Ekram has no plan to let the twins survive.

  Why would he? They would only grow up to resent him. To hunt him when they realised what he’d done to steal the throne.

  “You are a fool,” Zahra tells him.

  “Come here, whore,” he growls defiantly, “and say that while you kneel before me.”

  I reach out my mind for Zahra.

  When you’re ready, I tell my Entwined. I’m right beside you, I add, releasing my Kara Büyü to her.

  Alain joins our side. The castle shudders. Several people lose their footing. Ekram doesn’t look as smug anymore.

  And then we are smoke. We are one. We are power personified.

  Alain grabs Ellie and carries her away on smoking wings created by Zahra and I. Then I make short work of the thralls, releasing them from the binds Ekram had caged them in.

  And Zahra, beautiful, strong, magnificent Zahra, takes the Betrayer’s head with a sword made of smoke, turning the vampire to dust in a heartbeat.

  Silence reigns, and then the smoke is released. Given back to the aether as it gives the smokey wings we loaned to another.

  We stand together in the centre of the grand hall. Alain’s back at my side, his hand on my shoulder; Ellie left in Hakan’s capable arms — safe and unharmed. Zahra holds my hand on the other side.

  No one says a word for a suspended moment, and then the cheering starts.

  I’m overcome with emotion briefly. I’ve never felt more honoured or loved.

  Ellie extricates herself from a reluctant-to-release-her Hakan and walks towards us.

  She smiles at me. Smiles at Alain and Zahra.

  Then she goes to one knee before us — making all of the other Mhachkay match their Queen — and bows her head.

  When her eyes come up to meet mine, she’s crying.

  “Welcome home, Brother,” she tells me.

  I reach out and hug my twin, hearing something I haven’t heard before now. Something miraculous and precious and so full of power.

  I thought we were unstoppable, but I know now the twins in my sister’s belly are something altogether different.

  My hand lands on her stomach as Hakan approaches. Mhachkay surround us. Alain watches, content to stand witness to our love, while Zahra palms my neck with warm comfort.

  I look at my sister and her Entwined, this is going to blow their minds.

  “They know they’re loved,” I tell them. “They love you both back so very much.”

  Ellie’s hand comes up to her mouth. She didn’t know I could hear thoughts. Perhaps she guessed to some degree. But she didn’t know how much I could hear. That the thoughts are constantly with me.

  It’s not hard to filter them now. Nothing seems hard with Zahra beside me. I’m more balanced now than I’ve ever been.

  I feel full of Light.

  Full of the Black Arts.

  And it feels so very right to me.

  “What else do they say?” Ellie asks me.

  I smile, kiss my sister’s cheek, and whisper in her ear, “They want their mummy and daddy to laugh like they were laughing with each other this morning in bed.”

  Ellie’s cheeks pink. Hakan makes a grunting sound. Whispering around vampires who mind-speak is a waste of time. But I like teasing my twin.
Teasing my King.

  I think I’ll be teasing them a lot more from now on.

  “They’re full of Light, El,” I tell her. “Their thoughts so pure. So pretty.” Goddess given.

  She grips my hand. “Thank you,” she says, but I think the thanks is for more than translating her unborn children’s thoughts.

  She’s thanking me for fighting to survive. For coming back to her. For making it home.

  I nod my head and step back, allowing Hakan to whisk his Entwined away to fulfil their children’s wishes.

  I turn to my Entwined and waggle my eyebrows.

  “Well,” I say as she watches me with a look of amusement in her eyes. Alain scoffs and walks away, already setting his sights on the Mhachkay female I saw him with earlier. “Love is in the air, it seems,” I say, watching my friend start to live his life.

  Alain snorts, but I see into his mind; his heart. He’s happy.

  At long last.

  Zahra laughs out loud. A boisterous and surprising sound that is all my warrior woman’s. She’s even smiling.

  I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight.

  And then we’re both sharing erotic images of us entwined on our bed; limbs tangling; bodies glistening in the low lamplight. And I have a moment to think there is beauty everywhere. That beautiful sights surround me.

  I’ve been Dark.

  I’ve been Black.

  I’ve been made of Light.

  I’m a Falcı of Muska; one half of a powerful coupling.

  I am loved. Blessed by our goddess. Home at long last.

  Let there be Light. For I am at one with it.

  I’m a Durand; there was no question I’d survive. But with Zahra and friends like Alain at my side, I am living.

  Living in Light.

  Home Sweet Home

  Home Sweet Home

  Yves

  A vampire follows me. He is not hungry; which is alarming. But he hunts me, all the same. He wears a black, flowing robe that glides across the cobblestones at his feet. His hair is black; long and tied back in a queue. His eyes catch the glow of the gas lamps and glint in the low light like an iridescent bloom. I wish I could say they’re red; the red of hunger. But they simply glow when he passes too close to a lamp post.

  I am alone, but not unarmed. I carry two silver stakes — my most prized possessions — which I wrap my sweaty palms around inside their pockets. My heart beats too fast, and it takes everything in me to remember what I have been taught and to slow it. I stand still in the shadow of a patisserie’s stoop and breathe in a measured cadence. The vampire stills too, all but invisible in its shadow. It waits; a patient hunter.

  I don’t know what to do. I can’t lead it back to the others. And I don’t know Paris well enough yet to lose it in the narrow streets. I glance up at the rooftop of the jadinerie across the street. Perhaps I can lose it above the city?

  I duck around the stoop and hurry along the shop fronts until I find what I am looking for; a rusted pipe designed to take rainwater into the drainage system. Paris, surprisingly, is far cleaner than our home was. My chest constricts with the memories, but I push them aside quickly.

  I scale the pipe, fearful it will crumble under my weight, but it holds. Pushing up into a crouch on the shingles, I listen for any signs of my pursuer. It is not old, this vampire. Perhaps only one hundred. One-fifty at the most. But it is powerful, already. I sense its Sanguis Vitam. Its blood life force.

  It is a master in every sense of the word.

  I move off when I hear or see nothing. It does not mean the vampire is not there, but sitting frozen like a prey animal is not the wisest course of action. So, I move. The shadows of chimney stacks hide me, but the shingles are loose underfoot. One or two clatter to the cobblestones below, making a racket on the still night air. The moon peeks out from behind a cloud, guiding my way; it is only half full; a blessing.

  I have enough to contend with tonight.

  I reach the end of the row of shops I have crept atop and leap across the gap to the next block. In my peripheral vision, I see a dark streak doing the same on the rooftops adjacent to me. It keeps pace. Neither hurried nor hurrying.

  This is a clever vampire.

  But why does it hunt me?

  The answer is simple. I am alone. I am unjoined. I am Nosferatin.

  Immature Nosferatin are rare. And yet, that is all that is left of our nest now. I am responsible for them. I am the eldest. It is up to me to keep them safe. And yet, I brought them to this city.

  I pick up the pace, uncaring of where I am running to, only wanting to lead the vampire away from our temporary shelter. The roof tiles fly by beneath my feet. Shingle, shingle, shingle, gap, arms pinwheeling, feet bicycling, shingle, shingle, shingle, gap. On and on I run. The vampire keeps pace with me.

  I slide to a stop. Roof tiles clatter to the alleyway beneath me. My breath comes in fast pants; my heart is thundering.

  I have forgotten every single lesson I have been taught. Maman would be so disappointed in me. I strain my ears. The vampire is still. It does not approach. It watches. It waits. Its patience annoys me.

  “Do it already!” I shout.

  He laughs. I recognise the timbre as male. A low chuckle that oozes Sanguis Vitam. It takes a moment for me to realise he is trying to soothe me; placate me. Calm me.

  It makes me even more fearful.

  A vampire who hunts in such a fashion is formidable. Even those vampires who destroyed our nest were not so controlled as this vampire who hunts me in such an unusual way.

  “Who are you?” I demand. Never show fear.

  “Who are you to question the Iunctio in its own city?” he asks.

  A councillor. A young one. But if he is a councillor, then he is powerful for his age. Something I already assessed, but having my assessment of this creature confirmed only makes it more real.

  “I am not here to hunt the Iunctio,” I say.

  This amuses him. For a while, all I hear is his laughter. It bounces off the clouds and ricochets around the streets beneath us. It wraps around my body and holds me still; a vice-like grip that is in contrast to his earlier attempts to soothe me.

  Even vampires as controlled as he cannot resist the allure of capturing their prey so wholly.

  I do nothing. Say nothing. My hands are wrapped around my stakes; I cannot move them, but I tell myself I am ready.

  The vampire quietens. I can almost see his head cock to the side as he studies me. He is still in shadow. A dark shape in a dark part of the city. But he does not attack. His Sanguis Vitam releases me.

  I don’t trust the freedom, but I am not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  I turn to run.

  He says, calmly, “Welcome home, Nosferatin.” But the wind whips the words away before I can be sure of their meaning.

  He does not follow me. For several minutes, I dare not stop my mad dash across the roofs of a sleeping city. It takes longer still for my heart to slow and my breaths to come out evenly. I take my time after that. I don’t go directly back to our makeshift shelter. I walk the rooftops, then the streets, learning our new city.

  This is to be our home now. One chosen for a specific reason; the Iunctio is based here. The Evil Ones will not dare to chase us down in an Iunctio controlled city. But I never thought to wonder why our elders picked Ventimiglia and not Paris for our nest. We are French, not Italian. But they chose a little border town in Italy.

  As far away from Paris as they could get.

  Was it because of the Iunctio?

  Have I made a mistake bringing what is left of our nest here?

  And what did the vampire mean when he said, “Welcome home?”

  * * *

  The others are asleep when I make it back. I do not call where we shelter a home. It’s a hovel — an abandoned metalworker’s shop. The taint of iron still permeates the air — that and rat faeces.

  I check on the youngest. Pierre is only three. He sleeps curled into
Suzette’s side, sucking his thumb, sleeping peacefully. Suzette is also deep asleep when she should be keeping watch. But Suzette is only thirteen. The second eldest of what is left of our nest.

  The rest are curled up on their makeshift beds, trusting Suzette to keep watch and me to keep them safe from evil.

  I stand in the doorway to the back room of the smelter’s shop and think the world is too Dark for me to succeed.

  I brought them here. To Paris. It felt right. It called to me.

  Have I made a mistake?

  I turn and shut the door. I can keep watch. Let them dream freely.

  Dawn brings sunlight and sunshine. The Norms call out to each other in boisterous voices as they go to work. Nosferatu and Nosferatin are sleeping. I have no idea what the shapeshifters do. And the ghouls will not touch us. They long ago realised more could be gained from exchanging information with hunters than to hunt them to extinction.

  It’s a saving grace from a supernatural race of creatures who prefer their meals still alive and kicking.

  I cannot say the same for any other supernatural, so I will keep watch, while the young ones sleep.

  My body aches from the mad flight across the rooftops of Paris. I climb the stairs to the rotten second storey of our building and pick my way across the smoke-ridden beams until I reach a window. There is no glass to shelter me from inclement weather. The sights and smells of this arrondissement are unhindered by any such thing.

  I slide my back down the frame of the window until I am seated, the sill more than wide enough to accommodate me. From here, I can see both ends of our small street. I also have a good view of the rooftops across from us, and should anyone approach our location via the same means, the roof tiles on this side of the alley are in even more disarray than those I dislodged this morning.

  I watch the Norms go about their daily routine. I see no evidence of supernaturals in this part of the city. I believe we are too far from the city centre. It is a good and a bad thing. Perhaps closer to the Iunctio, we would not be so isolated; so easy to pick off without repercussion or reprisal.