by A C Bell
“Could I not have one?”
“I suppose it’s possible. Unlike other dhampirs, who stem from lamia, you come from Vjesci. I don’t actually know what that will change. They made a point of not mingling with humans, so you’re an anomaly.”
I nodded and decided to drop the subject. If he didn’t know anything else, there was no point in pestering him about it. “Can I ask you about being a lamia?”
“Of course.”
“Raiden said that only one kind of werewolf can turn other people. Does the same go for vampires?”
“It’s an iffy subject. As a general rule, anything that is born supernatural cannot turn others to be like them, like the Vjesci or a canisapian. But lamia and cynocephali can because theirs comes from a kind of infection in the blood. However, in extremely rare cases, a male lamia can impregnate a woman, the chances are just around 0.001%. That’s where most dhampirs come from. Cynocephali are infertile due to the mutation and hybridization of their biology.”
I nodded in understanding. “Are any of the stereotypes are true? Clearly you’re not bursting into flames from the sun.” I hid a grin behind my cup and muttered quietly, “Or sparkling.”
“Only a few are true.” He caught my last quip and broke into a smile but continued. “Men came up with the idea of vampires bursting into flames after they die to explain why there are no vampire bodies. Genetically speaking, we’re only minutely different. We develop small glands connected to our fangs to excrete a venom that knocks out our victims and the veins connected to our digestive tracts develop valves to release ingested blood into our cardiovascular systems, but these changes would be difficult to find. If the coroner paid enough attention they’d notice the fangs, but we have fake records with cosmetic dentists as a cover.”
I squinted, confused. “But, you don’t have fangs.”
Slade grinned at my naiveté. “I do, actually. They’re retractable. Otherwise we could end up with a bunch of unintentional lip piercings.”
“Oh. Can I see?”
After a few moments of deliberation, Slade lifted the right side of his upper lip with his thumb. A muscle in his jaw clenched and a spike of bone slid through a tiny hole in his gum, tucked in the crevice between the canine and first premolar.
“Whoa,” I muttered. The tooth retracted like a cat claw and Slade’s confident smirk returned. “Does it hurt?” I asked.
“A little. I imagine it’s not that different from a diabetic who has to prick their finger when they check their insulin level.”
“Good point. How many do you have?”
“Six. Four on top and two on bottom.”
I tucked my hair behind my ear.“And, what about the, um, blood drinking?”
Slade’s expression softened with reassurance. “It’s not as big of a deal as you probably think. Animal blood is not compatible, but there are actually several companies that have been making cloned human blood for several decades. It’s not perfect stuff. It wouldn’t be safe for humans to use in transfusions yet, but it gets us lowly parasites by. You can even have it done intravenously, just like any transfusion. There are lamia these days who've never bitten anyone. And if we were caught in the unfortunate situation of needing to feed on people to survive, we could simply take a little from several people. Not enough to hurt anyone. Our bite releases a venom that numbs the area and makes the victim drowsy. Since vampires have only a fraction of the population humans have, no one will notice if a few people are missing a little bit of blood now and then. They’d just feel a little light headed and might explain away the prick marks as some sort of insect bite.”
“What happens if you don’t get blood?”
“What happens to anything if you take away its food source? We’d starve. It would take longer than it would take you to starve, though. Greater healing ability keeps our blood healthy for longer so that we only have to get blood every few weeks.”
“You said that some still attack people, though?” I tried not to shudder. They may not be inherently evil, but of course there had to be a few rotten peaches on the tree who ruined it for everyone else.
“It happens. But the rate of crime in our world is only a bit higher than the rate of humans and that’s only because there are so few of us. There are always those who think they’re above the rules. That’s what law enforcement is for, though.”
I gaped, though I think I managed to keep my mouth mostly closed. “You have your own law enforcement?”
“It’s called the SAU or ‘Supernatural Affairs Unit’. It isn’t as large or expansive as human law enforcement. The capitol is in Romania and there’s only one headquarters here in the U.S., over in Salem. Maybe thirty agents. They fly agents around if there’s a problem. Don’t give them too much credit, though. You could get more help from a cheerleader in most cases.” It looked as if Slade was working hard not to roll his eyes. “They’re stubborn about what they’ll get involved in anymore. Anyway, back to the stereotypes. Lamia don’t heal at the rate canisi or cynephi do, but we can fully heal nearly any type of injury if it isn’t fatal. The only thing we can’t heal is burns.”
“So, no wooden or silver stakes to the heart?” I asked.
Slade grinned. “I imagine anyone would die if you stabbed them in the heart with a huge spike.”
“What about nut-jobs and conspiracy theorists who try to expose this stuff?”
“There’s a branch of the SAU that handles things like that if they get out of hand. They work closely with a human organization called the ‘Bureau of Intelligence Preservation’ that wants to keep the supernatural world a secret as much as we do. It helps keep things civil and less complicated. Currently there’s a hunter problem brewing, mostly in the UK anymore, that’s giving everyone some trouble. Since media started refocusing on the supernatural, more and more people are paying extra attention to unusual things. Luckily everything legit has been kept out of any form of news distribution.”
I chewed on my lip as I processed all of this. How high in the government were these organizations? They would have to be pretty high to hold that much sway. “So, if there’s an organization that handles stuff like this, why were you all in that forest trying to catch the cynocephalus yourselves?”
Slade frowned. “Peter’s father has been looking into animals that have been going missing. They suspected it was more than a bobcat or a bear. We don’t have any proof that this cynocephalus has done anything wrong, so no one from the SAU will come take a look.”
“So, they won’t even investigate?”
“They say that cases involving cynocephali are tricky. They’ve been the subject of racism and baseless prejudice for so long that the SAU has to be careful not to jump to conclusions too quickly. It’s the same with dhampirs, unfortunately. People don’t trust them, so they’re quicker to accuse them when something goes wrong.”
If I were the one under suspicion of committing a crime just because I’m a dhampir, I know I would throw a fit, so, it made sense that a cynocephalus would feel the same way. Thinking of it that way, I was relieved that this “SAU” took such precautions. But what about times when the dhampir or cynocephalus was doing something wrong? What if the SAU acted too late?
“If there are so few vampires then there must not be accidental infections. How are people turned?”
“It’s not the same for lamia as it is for cynocephali, where saliva can spread the virus. For lamia the victim actually needs to have the lamia’s blood introduced into their own bloodstream, either through drinking or injection.”
As I cringed at the idea of being forced to drink someone else's’ blood, the door to the apartment swung open and startled me. Raiden and surprisingly Peter strolled in.
“Uh oh, is he giving you his “Don’t trust The Man speech?” Raiden taunted.
Slade flipped him off as Raiden moved swiftly past the kitchen.
“Give me a minute, then we can go,” he called as he opened a door to a bedroom.
A
hand touched my good shoulder and I glanced up at Peter behind the couch. He was smiling, but a faint line between his eyebrows told me he was concerned about how I was taking things. I flashed a reassuring smile.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Field trip,” Peter said. He ruffled my hair messily. “Unless you don’t have your permission slip.”
I swatted his hand away. “Cut it out,” I complained.
“It’s called ‘Renenet’s Estate’ or “The Manor”, for lack of a better name,” Slade said. “It’s sort of like a safe house for supernaturals.”
“An estate? How big is it?”
“The property is somewhere between twenty-seven and twenty-eight,” Raiden called from his room.
“Hundred feet?” I asked. The Peter and Slade shook their heads. I gaped. “You mean it’s somewhere between twenty-seven and twenty-eight thousand feet?” They grinned at my wonderment.
Raiden came back out in a faded tee and jacket. “Ready to go?” He asked.
I was on my feet before he finished.
✽✽✽
“The Manor” was more magnanimous than the name suggested. The stone driveway alone was about a mile long and even had a little bridge in the middle over a creek. We passed a large stable and a greenhouse on the way, being tended by a number of people. I turned to Slade in the driver’s seat.
“Are they all supernatural?” I asked.
He nodded. “Able to use minute amounts of nature magic to keep the place alive with less effort.”
Peter leaned around the side of my headrest. “Otherwise, it would take dozens of people and several days to mow this lawn every week. I would not want that job.”
“Not everyone has your detestation for manual labor,” I teased. He rolled his eyes and disappeared behind my seat again.
A large building came into view down the driveway. The exterior of the enormous three-story building was built from stacked stones of various shades of sand and topped with a faded red roof that seemed brighter against all the greenery on the property. The house wrapped around three sides of a pseudo-courtyard at the front, forming a crude “n”. The driveway ended in a circle around an ornate fountain guzzling in the sun. I gazed up at the building’s captivating size as I stepped from the car.
“It makes you wish you were a princess, doesn’t it?” Peter asked at my side.
I punched his arm and he gripped it with a grunt of pain. Slade and Raiden began the ascent to the front door, chuckling. We followed. Slade rang the doorbell, releasing a lovely chiming of bells somewhere inside. We waited for the answer. Who knew how long it could take to get to the front door if the resident was at the far end.
A few minutes later, the door was pulled open by a middle eastern woman. She was probably in her early forties and held an exotic beauty in her olive features. Her dark hair curtained her shoulders in waves and she wore a light grey pant suit. A royal blue satin blouse framed her collar.
“Hello boys,” she said with a warm smile. She noticed me and extended a hand for me to shake. An assortment of silver rings on her fingers made the shake a little bracing. “I’m Renenet. You must be Adeline?”
“Yep. It’s nice to meet you,” I answered.
“Mr. Lewis here called ahead to let me know you were coming.” She gestured to Raiden and then held her arm out invitingly to the door. “Please, come in.” The boys waited for Renenet and I to enter first and we trailed behind her like a class on a field trip through the stunning entry hall and down the right-hand hallway. Dark chocolate hardwood floors and trimmings contrasted nicely with the twenty-five-foot off-white walls.
“This is a safe place for supernaturals,” Renenet began. “Many get tired of hiding who they really are. Those who are able find work around the estate to pay for extended or permanent board and the rest leave when they are ready to get back to their lives. Others simply need a discreet place to stay while they travel for business.”
“So, the people we saw in the field are tenants?” I asked.
“Most of them. I have a few dryads on payroll so there’s always someone tending the greenery with their magic. With it, the grass stays healthy, but grows slowly enough that it only needs to be cut every six months.”
I sent a discreet smirk behind me to Peter, who made a face at me. Smiling, I turned back to Renenet. “Would it be rude to ask, um, what you are?” Passing a window, I spotted an older man pruning shrubs along a walkway at the front of the house.
“Some don’t like the question, but I don’t mind. I’m a sorceress. I use my magic to place wards around the estate to keep away people who don’t know anything about our world. It depends on what they’re doing, but it can do things like make them think they see poison ivy everywhere so that they’ll have to go around the property. It even makes them think they’re getting the rash from it if they get too close.”
“Like a twisted placebo effect,” Peter said.
Renenet laughed. “Exactly.” We rounded a corner and she opened the first door we reached. It looked like a basketball court but it was equipped with racks of what looked like sparring equipment.
“If it’s something you’re interested in, we could teach you to defend yourself,” Slade said. He strode over to a rack of staves and tossed one at me. Surprised, I threw my available arm up and barely managed to wrap my fingers around it before it could smack me in the face.
“Even if I didn’t already know how, how exactly would I do that when I can only use one arm? I won’t be able to take this thing off for at least a month.” I gestured to my sling.
“Have a little faith,” he quipped humorously.
Slade was clearly hiding something. I turned to Raiden for reliable answers. “What’s he talking about?”
“That’s actually one of the reasons we brought you here.” Raiden said. He turned to Renenet by the door. “Hemway got back from his trip this morning, right?” She nodded and retreated from the room, gesturing for us to follow.
“Who’s Hemway?” I asked Peter as Slade and Raiden filed out.
“A magician. Come on,” Peter said pulling me out by my elbow. They guided me to a hallway they referred to as the “medical wing”. There were four rooms on each side and there was only one window to light the space, down at the end of the hallway. Its silhouetting glow gave me the feeling of ‘going into the light’.
“What’s a magician?” I asked stupidly. If Renenet was a sorceress, then wouldn’t the male term be sorcerer?
Renenet paused outside the second farthest door on the right side. She tapped a finger contemplatively on her hip for a moment as if forming the best way to phrase her response. “A magician is usually considered a sorcerer with a weaker grasp of magic. However, this is not completely true. They do not possess our capacity for offensive or defensive magics and only have the ability to cast lower level illusions, but they can, not to a limitless degree, heal others. It’s a tricky magic, one that sorcerers and sorceresses do not possess. Some magicians use their illusions as entertainers but others like Hemway use their abilities to practice medical magic. He is also a strong voice in the field of alchemy, which helps his medical aspirations. We’re lucky to have him.”
“It's not like he would go anywhere else,” Peter said. She sent him an amused look and lifted her left hand to display a gold band etched with filigree and a single, small diamond embedded into it on her ring finger. It was less flashy than the other rings, but it shone brightly from greater attention to care.
“He's also my husband,” she said.
I smiled. “Oh, that would make sense, then.”
Somehow, I always imagined a laboratory would be messy, but in Hemway’s infirmary room, everything seemed to have a set place. A bookcase between the paned windows was stocked with alchemical alembics, crucibles and such, all evenly spaced without a speck of dust to sully the collection. Glass doored stainless-steel cases lined the rest of the wall, all filled with what appeared to be a wide array of che
micals. Two stainless steel tables were also evenly spaced on this side of the room, their surfaces empty and spotless.
The other side of the room was separated by the type of partition one sees in emergency rooms, with a black curtain. What alarmed me was that the second side of the room appeared to be pitch black over the curtain, even though light from our side should have illuminated it. The light seemed unable to pass. Was this one of the illusions Renenet had mentioned?
“Hem?” She called out.
“Just a moment,” a man called from the other side with a rich British accent. He sounded groggy as if he had been sleeping. All at once, the darkness on the other side started to fade until the lighting was even.
The curtains parted and a umber-skinned man emerged. His hair, buzzed in military fashion, was dusted with grey and although he was not particularly muscular, the way he carried himself was definitely military. Given his current profession, he had likely been a medic. Worry lines seemed permanently etched into his face and creases in his forehead suggested he scrunched it in thought a lot. Despite these signs of an anxious person, he offered a generous smile. He moved to Renenet and kissed her warmly in greeting. With an arm still wrapped around her, he shifted to shake my hand.
“We haven't met,” he noted meeting my eye. “I'm Augustus Hemway, but I mostly go by Hemway. Probably an old military habit. I assume you’re here for that?” He pointed to my shoulder and I nodded.
“I, um… I was shot a few weeks ago.”
My mind turned to Justin and sadness filled my heart. I didn’t elaborate more, for fear that the rush of emotion would make me well up. I held my breath for a few heartbeats to ease the feeling. At my left side, Peter reached around and gripped my right shoulder comfortingly. The ghost of a memory hid behind Hemway’s eyes as well and he nodded morosely. Was he thinking of gunshot wounds he had seen during his time in combat? Perhaps friends he had lost? I frowned guiltily for reminding him about it.
