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

by Juliann Whicker

  “That was interesting,” the coach said after the gym was cleared and I was dragging the mats back into the storage room.

  “I sensed some surprising potential.”

  “Do you think that you’ll need this lot? Things must be pretty bad in that case.”

  I glanced at him and smiled. “Potential is potential. They’ll pass it down to the next generation even if they don’t show obvious signs of being a Butcher now. Strength is strength.”

  He nodded thoughtfully and then clapped his hand on my shoulder, possibly the first time he’d ever touched me. It was odd, but not unpleasant. Connection.

  Landry’s baked goods tasted slightly off. He cooked for all the Butchers in the C.M.’s domain as well as the school. Not specifically for me, like the cream puffs and the bread that had tasted so right. How could I go back to impersonal bagels? With effort, apparently. Great effort.

  That night I sighed and crouched down on the edge of the roof, overlooking a broad alley below with a crumbling church across the street. I’d had reports of lights flashing in the basement. Either it was a squatter who I’d have to evict before he became vampire fodder, or a renegade Butcher like Tancetta’s brother. I saw a shadow dodge through the night, a sleek streak of darkness that made me swallow hard and grit my teeth.

  I’d know that stealth walk anywhere. Olivia. She slipped inside a side door that let out no light before all became still, all became darkness. I settled down to wait. Hours I waited for her. The church bell far away rang the hour. Three a.m. three-fifteen, and finally, she slipped back out, glancing around before she dodged back the way she’d come.

  I waited, as still as death, and desperately hungry for cream puffs. Finally, another figure emerged, bigger, bulky and not as stealthy as Olivia. I waited until he was close then dropped over the side, pausing on a window ledge that broke my fall slightly on my descent down to the street, or rather, the Butcher who broke my fall even better.

  He turned, and the glimpse I got of his face made my stomach twist in protest before I slammed my fist, knocking him unconscious. I slung him over my shoulder and ducked into the house I’d just left, carrying him through the first floor and exiting through a window on the other side. I crossed a bare field and then ducked into another abandoned house, less secure than the one before. I kept moving until I was in a house a block away from Bordertown, where no one would mind screams. Not that I intended to make him scream. Much.

  I bound him tightly with cords not even an irate werewolf could break.

  “Good morning,” I said when his eyes finally flickered open.

  “Orion?” he asked, his voice surprised and remarkably guilty sounding. Ah. Olivia. I could read his intent in his voice. Connection.

  “Give me a good reason not to kill you.”

  “I have nothing to do with her. This is the first time we’ve met intentionally. I ran into her one night, saved her life while she was fighting some zombies and a rabid werewolf. She’s your Butcher. Why are you letting her wander around alone?” His face darkened as he blustered.

  I felt very little at the thought of Olivia kissing someone else. Actually, it had distinct advantages. The greatest being that I didn’t have to feel guilty for wanting to kiss a girl who wasn’t her.

  “Meeting in an old church, that’s very romantic.” My voice was flat, unforgiving.

  He licked his lips and strained on his bonds before he regained some of his customary attitude. It surprised me that it had taken him that long. “She still thinks you’re the perfect Butcher. She’s trying to convince me to turn myself in, to stop fighting against you. She thinks that you’re perfectly just and unemotional. She thinks that you wouldn’t object to the two of us…”

  He swallowed the last part of that.

  I sat back and studied him for signs of truth. Clearly, something had been going on besides talking or his mouth wouldn’t look quite so swollen. On the other hand, if I could get Sebastian with the price of Olivia, who I didn’t have anyway, that would be a worthwhile trade. Except. My parents would not agree.

  I raised my chin. “You have a sister.”

  His eyes widened and slight panic set in that he tried to camouflage. “Don’t try to make her a Butcher. You’ll get her killed. She’s…”

  “Olivia told me about her. Said that she’s soft, very unlike most Butcher’s daughters. I don’t want to make her a Butcher. I want to date her. I give you my consent where Olivia is concerned, and you give me consent regarding your sister.” To see her, to date her? Impossible. I couldn’t woo a Baker who I apparently wanted to kiss. Kissing a Baker would be beyond idiotic. And yet…

  He gritted his teeth as he strained against the bonds, his muscles bunching impressively in his well-developed body. “You’ll crush her? You’d do that, take my sister’s heart and break it to get back at me for taking Olivia from you? She wasn’t yours in the first place. She never loved you. My sister wouldn’t recover from that. She’s completely oblivious to all the darkness in the world. If you want vengeance, take it out on me, not her.”

  I sighed. “Sebastian, Olivia and I have been promised by our parents. She’s always been more of a sister to me than a lover. If you two truly feel towards each other, by all means, proceed. However. If you hurt her, I will do to you far worse than you would do to me were I to hurt your sister.”

  He frowned at me as I leaned forward and undid the bands on his limbs. He flexed his arms tentatively before he edged away from me. “You’re not trying to stop me?”

  I shrugged. “If you want to be a Butcher, by all means, be a Butcher. Thanks for the intervention with the vampire. I was off my game that night. I ask that you focus on the North side instead of Bordertown. There are a lot of tentative alliances that keep peace and which if disturbed end in more bloodshed than I care for, including innocent bystanders, not just werewolves.”

  He scowled at me. “Whatever game you have, it’s not going to work.”

  I laughed. “That’s funny, Sebastian. My game, if you must know, is that I’m tired. Tired of being a Butcher. I’m tired of staking people who still have souls. If you do well as a renegade Butcher, I’ll consider you as my next. Then you can make the rules and see what happens to those you love when you throw caution to the wind.”

  He got a horrified look on his face while his pale green eyes widened. “That’s not funny.”

  I smiled at him. “I think it is. It would be a marvelously enjoyable thing to watch you try to manage all the first years and their innocent expectations, crushing every single one of them and seeing which ones have the fortitude to crawl back, and which ones don’t. You’d have empathy. I’m not sure if that would make you a better Butcher, but it would certainly cause you more pain.”

  I stood up and shifted, checking my pockets. I threw him a roll which he caught and turned over in his hands.

  “You’re feeding me?”

  “Not me, Landry. He feeds everyone. It’s just generic swill that will ease some of the hunger. For a time, anyway.”

  “You’re really getting tired of being the Butcher?” He couldn’t comprehend it.

  “No one’s a Butcher forever. I’ve been killing things for over a decade. I’ve been The Butcher for over five years. I’ve been dealing with you for almost that long. You make it hard to be a Butcher. I think you’d deserve the pain.”

  He shook his dark hair, short, clipped close to his head. “You couldn’t make me the Butcher.”

  I grinned. “You go on thinking that. Maybe I’ll make Anthony the Butcher instead. That would be amusing.”

  He frowned, shaking his head. “Tony would be horrible. He’d lead everyone in a suicidal mission against the North side. He’s okay at fighting, but he has no strategy.”

  I shrugged. “I’m glad we had this little chat. I feel better. Very benevolent, giving my blessing where I have no rights. Olivia will do what she likes with whom she likes. I’ve never thought her heart belonged to me.”

  �
��You really don’t care.”

  I shrugged again.

  “But, she’s beautiful.”

  “We’re both stunning specimens, but that doesn’t mean we have an emotional attachment. However, be careful with her heart lest I remove your own.”

  I ducked out the door, leaving him to stare at me perplexed and somewhat disappointed. It was much more exciting to be illicit lovers than two people who happened to like one another without huge impediments.

  I shook my head and my smile faltered. Her mother would not like Olivia with Sebastian any more than my father would approve of Violetta. And I, I had her even less than I had Olivia. A wave of longing clogged up my throat and made my stomach clench. I needed a cream puff. One taste. I would kill for one.

  Of course, I would kill anyway.

  Chapter 18

  The Baker

  The Friday after the wrestling thing with Orion that I couldn’t stop thinking about, Francis asked me to go play the violin, and I went. That time, Orion leaned on the piano beside me while I played, and after, he took the violin out of my hand and his fingers slid in mine, contact that filled me with energy, life, peace before he gave me a slight smile and backed off. I baked that night and instead of taking the strudel to Armand, the human garbage disposal, I left a bowl overflowing outside of Orion’s door, covered in a towel before I sneaked to my room.

  The next morning, Saturday, he was in the cafeteria for breakfast, but not eating, instead he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the residents. When his eyes met mine, my heart pounded and his mouth lifted in a smile. He wasn’t usually around weekends. I walked over to him, feeling a wordless pull.

  “Walk with me,” he said, turning and leaving the cafeteria, trusting me to follow him, to obey his command.

  I followed him, but when he walked to a courtyard that led to the garage where he kept his car, I stopped. “I’m hungry. Is this going to take long?”

  He turned and walked back to me. He put his hand on my neck and stared at me, his eyes dark, dark chocolate that glistened with something dangerous.

  “Thank you for the strudel,” he said after a long pause just staring at me while my knees went weak in spite of how much stronger I’d already begun to feel from his energy. “I’m going to be gone for the weekend. If you need me, here's my number.” He handed me a slip of paper that I took soundlessly. “What do you do without classes?”

  I stared at him, the paper feeling fragile in my fingers, his palm still against my skin. “I’m going to research colleges and get ahead on my homework. Maybe I’ll watch Kpop music videos. What about you?”

  He smiled slightly, sliding his hand off my neck, the sensation spreading goose bumps over my skin. “Meetings for my father’s business mostly. We’ll have a family dinner on Sunday since my mother will be in town. If you feel the urge to bake something, save some for me. I’ll see you Monday.”

  He stepped away from me and I nodded at him, feeling my heart constrict until I forced myself to turn around and slouch back inside to the cafeteria where I ate as much as I could, trying to focus on something besides Orion, his smile and the intensity of his eyes as he looked at me.

  Days, weeks fell into a comfortable routine. Tuesdays and Thursdays, I’d play violin, and he’d have me sit beside him, soaking up his energy, or stand beside me while I played, then afterwards touch my hand or arm. No one said anything about Orion touching me even if I noticed some Butchers watching me. No one accused me of being gay, either, which I thought was a little bit weird. When I baked at night, I’d take what I baked to his door. I didn’t knock, and he didn’t open his door, but every morning after, he’d find me, and we’d talk about classes, music, art, food, whatever came up, and he’d touch my neck or hand, and I’d let him. I lived for those touches, the only contact I seemed to have with anyone in the school. People treated me cautiously, but not unkindly. Of course not unkindly, not when I was clearly one of the few Orion saw so regularly.

  Of course, he was polite and considerate to anyone who wanted him, and it seemed like he was surrounded more and more often, his face calm while he talked to a worried first year, but he didn’t touch them.

  The Friday of Fall break, I took a cab, changed in the back and emerged at the museum of fine arts as a girly-girl with a pixie cut, pastel green short skirt, and a pink jacket. Pink and green, like bubblegum and peppermint.

  I was so sick and tired of being a boy, of rubbing elbows with boys, of wearing a jacket and a wig and scowling at everyone. I glanced around the enormous building with glorious pillars on all sides, elaborately curlicued. I smiled brightly at one of the guards dressed in black and he was kind of cute, not too old. He smiled back and I felt like a bona fide female.

  I rubbed my lips together, silky and glossy before I stashed my backpack in the cloakroom then went towards the West wing, glad to look around, see a world outside of the school I’d lived and breathed for the past two months. It was incredible to get out but at the same time, lonely. The museum reminded me of my brother, Bas. He’d really liked going to museums.

  I walked through room after room of incredible Chinese vases before I saw a sign for the new exhibit. ‘Myths and Legends’ sounded a little bit interesting. I shrugged and passed the two guards at the door, glancing around at the other museum goers. A woman had a look of disgust and horror as she exited past me.

  I expected some Roman gods, but instead I stopped, staring at the scene of werewolves ripping apart vampires. I stared at the image, golden eyes, sharp teeth and felt my stomach clench in panic. I forced myself to read the poster about the display. It explained that the origins of legends like vampires came from people who were allergic to the sun while the origin of werewolves came from a disease that made hair grow all over your body. I tried to look at the images scientifically, but the paintings and sculptures were more focused on depicting the horrible cruelty of the inhuman creatures, sometimes fought off by cloaked figures holding crosses and holy water.

  I swallowed hard and forced myself to stay and look at it like an impassive observer instead of someone whose parents had been torn apart by a tiger.

  “Do you like them?” Orion’s voice pooled around me like chocolate syrup.

  I closed my eyes and inhaled his spicy scent, forcing myself to stay in my position, leaning against a case holding incredibly ornate pistols with werewolves engraved on the hilt.

  “They’re really beautiful if incredibly disturbing.”

  “Sometimes we need to be disturbed.” His voice was low and deep.

  That was him, disturbing me. I turned around, raising my eyebrows at the tall, lean, dark-haired, brown-eyed beautiful boy who had a knife on his leg, or maybe only in the middle of the night. I opened my mouth to say something before I remembered that I was a girl and that I didn’t know him.

  I licked my lips and swallowed. “Hi. Do we know each other?”

  He shook his head, stepping away from me. He had been quite close. “I’m friends with your brother.”

  I gave him a skeptical once over. “My brother, Sebastian? You?”

  He quirked his mouth to one side. “Sure. Where is he? I saw him leave Calder and followed him here.”

  I opened my mouth then turned back to the pistols, staring at the sharp teeth of the wolf while I crossed my arms and tried to breathe. Orion was following me? Did that mean he knew that I wasn’t… no, of course not, otherwise he would say something.

  “What is it?” he asked, too close, too low.

  “I’m supposed to talk to my brother’s stalker?”

  He laughed like the idea of him having to stalk someone was too ludicrous to take seriously. I glanced up at him from beneath my eyelashes, and maybe it was. He was beautiful, muscular, wearing a long black coat that swept around his calves, black boots and silver buckles climbing his legs over the black jeans.

  I had to say something, something a girl would say. “Do you always wear black?” I walked over to th
e next display, a dark vampire sucking the blood out of some poor girl’s throat. Her eyes looked unfocused, lost but not unlike I’d felt drinking Orion’s chocolate. I swallowed hard.

  “Always. I’m not creative enough to wear color. Do you know where your brother is?”

  What was I supposed to say? My heart raced. I wasn’t sure what I could say to him that wouldn’t tip him off that I was the same guy who made him cream puffs. I’d always gotten flustered around guys. The girls who didn’t giggled all the time, talking about hot guys and how effective this skirt or shoe was for getting guys to notice them. I had to act like a pastel girl so he didn’t suspect. I had to flirt with him like I did it all the time. He was a gorgeous guy talking to me. If I flirted outrageously, maybe he would be as repulsed by girls like that as Sebastian was. If he ran away, I wouldn’t have to try so hard to not look like my brother. I didn’t want him to run away. I wanted to slide my hands up his arms and smell his neck.

  I giggled kind of shrilly as I batted my eyelashes at him. “Who knows? He’s somewhere, right? Probably looking at nudes. I was just standing here and thinking that this museum isn’t very good. Why do you want to find Sebastian?” I shouldn’t have said nudes. It made me think of him, a chocolate statue a la David.

  He blinked at me as he cocked his head to the side. What did those girls talk about? Places to make out in public. That had been the near constant topic of the pastel girl who had a locker next to mine in school last year. This was going to be incredibly awkward, but hopefully it would terrify him and send him running. Of course it would. I was even wearing pastels what with the pink jacket and flirty green skirt and matching cashmere sweater beneath.

  “So, do you come here a lot?” I asked, smiling sweetly and putting a hand on his arm. The touch made me flinch, a shock that left me craving more. I pulled away and clenched my hand, trying to keep it from trembling. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever touched him before, instigating contact.

  He inhaled deeply before he smiled at me. “I try to keep up on the local art scene. This display is fairly gruesome. If you don’t like it, there are other parts of the museum that you might enjoy better.”