Butcher, Baker, Vampire Slayer: A Retelling of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night

by Juliann Whicker

  Butcher,

  Baker, Vampire Slayer

  Juliann Whicker

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Copyright 2016 by Juliann Whicker

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold, or given away. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Thanks so much for reading my book! Please consider leaving a review if you enjoy Butcher, Baker, Vampire Slayer, and also spreading the word by telling your friends about it;-)

  For my living room Shakespeare troupe

  who inspired this story.

  Chapter 1

  Twelfth Night

  The Butcher

  The full moon spread a swathe of pale light beneath my black, buckled boots as I raced down the alley. The wolves were too close so I pushed myself harder, putting distance between myself and the monstrous wolves that snapped at my heels, their fetid breath spurring me on.

  Ten feet behind me, growling and snarling, the pack of freshly turned werewolves chased me. I was almost there. I felt the tug and heard the rip as sharp teeth caught the hem of my long coat. I clenched my jaw as I moved faster, focused on each inhale and exhale, my breath clouding the air as I moved my body in perfect rhythm that would keep me alive for another twenty feet. The alley ended in a wide lot surrounded by the backs of buildings and deep shadows where my Butcher’s boys waited.

  Once the wolves were out of the alley, dozens of boys all dressed in black greeted me with whoops and the ringing of bells while their leather whips sang. The Butcher’s boys danced in black masks like mine, but I could clearly make out a few individuals. Mal, tendrils of red hair escaping from his hood as he leapt awkwardly, cracking his whip, Toby, plump and tripping over his own feet to get back from the snarling lunge of a wolf, and Andy, long-limbed and gawky, but still managing to make a wolf yelp from the bite of his leather.

  The Butcher’s boys surrounded the wolves, bells ringing, jarring sound that made the wolves whine and cringe as the whips sang around them. I noticed a shadow hanging back, bell in his fist, but slouched so not even his chin was visible beneath his hood and mask. I knew that slouch, the stubborn petulance of Sebastian Tancetta, someone who had lost his place among my Butcher’s boys.

  I focused on the wolves. I didn’t need to do anything other than stand at attention while the boys herded them to the center of the empty lot in Bordertown. A seal on the pavement would hold the werewolf, separate the wolf from human so that it could recognize what it was and choose to be a monster or a man. Only men would leave alive, at least men until the next phase of the moon. They’d still be werewolves, but not entirely controlled by the animal within.

  Soon enough, the first wolf passed through the ring and stopped, as if in shock while he examined his paws, the brutal instincts changing to understanding. He looked around at the boys with whips as well as the other wolves before he shook himself and stood, a bare naked man. A Butcher’s boy threw a cloak over him. He gripped it with trembling fingers, a large man who’d been a terrifying wolf. He edged back while another wolf got forced into the circle. This one also chose rational thought over instincts.

  The next one barely glanced at its fur covered body before it pulled its ears flat against its head with its sharp teeth exposed and lunged for the nearest boy. I threw the knife before the monster moved, silver entering its body at the joint beneath its shoulder, piercing the heart.

  I’d been throwing knives since I was two. The screams of the wolf were drowned in the sound of bells, bells, bells only growing louder as the distant churches began to ring the hour. The twelfth hour of the twelfth night, the end of darkness for another year.

  I retrieved my knife once the wolf had gone still, staying in wolf shape, long tongue lolling on the pavement. I gritted my teeth as I put a hand against its shoulder and withdrew my silver knife, wiping it before I rose, glancing at the boys who carried the body away.

  The rest of the ceremony passed like so many others I’d attended. Out of my seventeen years, I’d spent half of them cleansing the night of darkness, a Butcher’s boy until I became a Butcher, and then The Butcher, responsible for all the boys who risked their necks for the light.

  I shook my head slightly as I saw Sebastian in my peripheral vision, waiting for his chance to do something reckless and stupid. Only a few more wolves were held at the end of lashing whips, waiting their turn to go through the seal.

  Surprisingly, Sebastian stayed on the edges with his bell, ringing, ringing, ringing. I would have a headache for a week after Twelfth night. So would he.

  After the last of the wolves disappeared and the boys began to disperse, I cornered Tancetta against the crumbling red brick wall.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He glared up at me, his eyes shadowed, but his mouth taut. He only came up to my chin even though he was only a little bit younger.

  “I have a right to be here.”

  “We’ve been over this. You’re not a Butcher.”

  “Because you’ve decided. Who died and made you king?”

  I gritted my teeth for a moment. I did not need additional stress on this night. I forced myself to take even breaths and not react. “Three years you’ve tested; three years you’ve failed.”

  “This year is different.” His eyes gleamed. “I just need one more chance.”

  “My job is to protect the Butchers and innocent civilians. I can’t allow you to be a risk to my Butchers. You should look into becoming a Baker.”

  He punched me. I saw his fist coming and let it, clenching my jaw for the impact. Pain. He hit surprisingly hard considering his pathetic history. I didn’t expect to taste my own blood as it trailed down my face. He’d given me a nosebleed.

  I grabbed his shirt, dragging him away from the seal, away from the other Butchers, into the shadows and down an alley. I threw him to the ground once we’d gotten far enough from the other boys that they wouldn’t see him fall. This was not for public entertainment.

  “If you try that again, I will not restrain myself. Go home. I don’t care what you do, but you’ll never be a Butcher.”

  “I didn’t ask you to hold back,” he yelled as I stalked away from him.

  I hadn’t been angry for a long time. Anger didn’t help. Focus helped. Discipline and knowledge helped. Emotion always clouded the issue.

  I’d walked eight blocks before I could unclench my fists. He’d asked who had died and made me king. Armand hadn’t technically died, but he was dead to me.

  “Where are you going so fast, Orion Daughtry?” a sultry voice came
out of the shadows followed by the form and figure of Olivia, a Butcher of no small renown. I’d known her for as long as I could remember. Our mothers were friends. As in, they enjoyed hunting Vampires together. Women were better vampire hunters for several reasons.

  “I’ve lost track of your brother. He was supposed to be with Mal.”

  She rolled her eyes when she caught up with me, putting her hand on my arm, an entirely unnecessary contact. It took me a moment to realize that she was flirting. I smiled at her and covered her hand with mine, but my lips felt stiff.

  “No one can stand being with that vole for more than twenty minutes. If his father hadn’t died saving our father’s…”

  “But he did,” I said shortly, cutting her off.

  She pulled her hand away, narrowing her exceptionally symmetrical dark eyes at me. “Your nose is swollen. Who punched you in the face?” She grinned like that was an unexpected gift.

  “No one.”

  “Oh, come on, Orion. One of your Butcher boys actually stood up to you? Who is he? He deserves a medal of honor.”

  “He’s going to get himself killed.” I smiled slightly. “I’m sure you think that’s charming as well. His name is Sebastian Tancetta. You should meet him soon or you’ll be too late.”

  She flipped her long waves of lustrous black curls away from her face, an elaborate motion that distracted too many Butchers before she paused. “Tancetta? I know that name.” Her voice lost the soft lilt and reverted back to the plain and simple black and white Butcher that Sebastian would never be. He lacked decision, hardness that Olivia had in spades.

  “His father was a Butcher of little note.”

  “No. Violetta Tancetta. She must be his sister. She’s the daughter of a Butcher?” Her voice was skeptical. “She’s so soft and delicate, likes pastries and teddy bears. I didn’t know she had a brother.” She looked thoughtful for a moment.

  “Sebastian’s father may be a Butcher, but he is not, nor will he ever be.”

  She raised an eyebrow, but left it at that. We both walked briskly, her pace becoming pragmatic as she switched from her flirtatious female persona to the hunting companion I’d always known. I’d never imagined what Sebastian’s family was like, whether or not he had a sister, but it made me wonder about her. I rarely encountered females at all as a Butcher who spent his non-hunting time at an all-boys school. A soft and delicate one would be a complete mystery. Alien, foreign, as unlike myself as night from day.

  “What’s that?” she hissed before darting ahead.

  I followed a step behind until she paused over the fallen body of a man I knew, a man whose throat had been cut open from one side of his neck to the other, a wide smile unlike the dour expression Armand’s second habitually wore. Someone had killed the pack leader’s second.

  I bent to sniff the wound and smelled silver. What Butcher would track stable werewolves who weren’t a threat to society on twelfth night?

  I frowned up at her. “What did Lance tell you?”

  Her wide eyes only lasted for a moment before she frowned and turned away, jogging into the darkness on silent feet. I followed, once again a step behind, every one of my senses stretched full out. We should be safe. It was all over, but it wasn’t. Not if Armand and Lance were fighting. I wasn’t sure which would win. This wouldn’t be a practical emotionless encounter, but a fight to the death.

  We both knew to head towards the river. The werewolves who weren’t a threat would stay indoors on this night, ignoring the howls and whines of the cubs who had to die. Armand had always come here on twelfth night after he’d executed those who chose violence back when he’d been The Butcher.

  A whine came to us on the wind. We both sprinted towards it, making too much sound on the pavement of the wide docks.

  I saw it first, the limp bedraggled body to the side of the pavement, down in the mud and weeds barely above the water, his clothes badly ripped and torn. It was a man, at least for the moment, and he smelled of fresh blood, human blood.

  “Is it Lance?” she asked as I dropped down into the muddy weeds and slime to the body.

  I picked him up grunting slightly, unable to see his features in the darkness and blood. When I put him on the pavement above me, I still couldn’t see through the blood on his face.

  “That’s not Lance.” Her voice was tight, arms wrapped around herself.

  I focused on the body, analyzing the cuts, the bruising. “No. But Lance fought him. What was he thinking?”

  “Lance fought him? You mean all that blood, that’s Lance’s blood.” Her voice rose to hysterical levels.

  I swallowed down my own fear and panic as my hands shook. I forced myself to touch the body, to probe it for the trace of silver balls embedded in his flesh. I pushed my fingers into his side, pulling out a ball of silver the size of my thumbnail. I let it clink onto the pavement.

  “That’s his bullet,” I said trying to stay calm, to not take my knife and draw it through the werewolf’s throat as he lay there defenseless.

  “Kill him,” she hissed, her hand on my shoulder feeling like a claw.

  I tightened my jaw. “He isn’t a fresh made wolf. That would be an unlawful execution.”

  “He killed Lance! You think that after five years as a werewolf, he even remembers you? He’s a monster. Kill him.”

  “We don’t know that.” The world was spinning around me. Her hate, her anger flowed through me with a suddenly clear connection that made me sick. I jerked away from her and pulled cords from my pocket to tie him.

  As I worked over the knots, I saw a movement in my periphery. I barely moved fast enough, blocking her knife on my forearm before she could slash it through his throat like Lance had done to Armand’s second. My arms trembled while my own blood flowed to the ground as I held her back. She was only half a head shorter than I was, and had the proportions of an athlete as well as superhuman strength of a Butcher.

  “If you love me, you’ll avenge my brother.”

  I tightened my jaw as I struggled before I relaxed suddenly and using her weight and force, slammed my forehead against her temple. She crumpled to the ground.

  I stood there, trembling while I fought off my own rage at the Butcher who’d chosen to become a wolf, someone who had abandoned his family, his heritage, me.

  With the greatest effort, fighting every one of my own instincts, I knelt down and finished binding the werewolf, to bring him to trial while my betrothed from birth lay unconscious in my blood.

  Armand was the one who had died and made me king, or The Butcher. Curse him if I wouldn’t be the Butcher he should have been, the brother he should have been as well.

  Chapter 2

  Eight Months Later

  The Baker

  I stood in the kitchen staring up at my twin brother, frustrated that he’d even ask. “It’s not going to happen,” I said for the sixth time, pushing past him to the white refrigerator. As I opened the door and peered in, hoping for something edible, my skin prickled with goosebumps down my arms.

  “What’s the point of having power if you don’t use it for good?” Sebastian asked.

  I turned and frowned at him over the condiments in my hands. “There’s the possibility that working in some part of the government’s intelligence might be for the greater good, but there’s no way working for you would. No. You’re wasting your time asking me, particularly when you’ve eaten everything in this house.”

  He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. “Food is for eating. It’s not my fault I’m so hungry all the time; I’m a growing boy. Besides, who else would eat all the food when you binge bake?”

  I shook my head at him, staring up at my brother Sebastian who had grown a foot in the last year. Who grew that fast? It wasn’t just height but weight, mass. Hopefully I didn’t shoot up and out like that. I’d have to buy all new clothes. I couldn’t afford that.

  “It’s like the stories mom used to tell us about the magic muffins that would turn people
into superheroes,” I said with a sigh. “Not that I couldn’t still beat you up.”

  He raised a skeptical eyebrow until I hefted the rolling pin, at which point he backed off. “Fine. I just thought you’d make me a hundred or so muffins before I took off.”

  “You think I’m going to encourage you? You’re throwing away all your school for what? So you can go on a luxurious cruise to Alaska gutting fish with your imbecile friend Tony?”

  “You don’t still have a crush on him?” Sebastian’s infectious grin used to make me forget to be angry.

  I’d been eleven, going through a clearly unhealthy phase. It was like my insensitive brother to remind me about the few months I’d followed Tony around like a shadow. “Please. You think I could like someone who thinks that a future in the fish industry is somehow a step in the right direction. It’s your senior year. There’s enough money for your last year’s tuition after the house closes.”

  He shook his head stubbornly, pushing his fists into his pockets. “I can’t do it, Vi. I can’t spend another year watching everyone worship Orion Daughtry.”

  I had to work to keep the irritation out of my voice. “So don’t watch. I know, how about you study your books instead? Crazy idea, but seriously, Sebastian, you’re not nearly as stupid as your grades indicate.”

  I saw him clench his jaw before he forced a smile and leaned forward, ruffling my short hair, casually. “It’s going to be fine. You’ll be in a school before you can go insane from staying with Aunt and Uncle Satabo and doing the smart college thing that smart girls who graduate a year early do. You won’t even miss me. If it makes you feel better, you can pretend that I’m in the prissy boy’s school. I’ll text you.”

  I held very still soaking up the feel of his hand on my head. He was my last family, the only one I had left. How could I be fine while he abandoned me with my relatives who thought my dad had married down? He couldn’t sit and listen to them talk down about my mother any more than I could. But, what could I do?

  “If it’s like when you’re at school, I won’t hear a word from you.” I opened a can of tuna and a can of green beans. Tuna melt without the bread probably wouldn’t kill me, but it would be close.