Blood Haven: Year Three: A Mayhem of Magic World Story

by Nicole Zoltack

  Chapter 12

  Romelia

  My body is shaking, trembling… seizing?

  No. I can hear voices, and I’m pretty sure there are hands on me. Bermon. Mercy. They’re shaking me. They want me to do something… or not to do something.

  Awake. They want me to stay awake. Why? Everything hurts. Everything aches, and maybe if I sleep, maybe when I wake, the pain will go away.

  But what if I don’t wake up? That’s the issue. I might not wake up, and then what? I’ll never see Julian again.

  My husband.

  I need to stay awake for him. The pain I feel is nothing compared to what he would feel if I died. No, I’ll stay awake. I can manage. I’ll survive.

  My eyes open, and I do my best to glower at the two werewolves.

  “You really don’t know how to let a girl get some sleep, do you?” I joke weakly.

  “You can’t sleep,” Mercy says.

  I gape at her. “Are those… My vision’s been weird, but are those tears in your eyes?”

  “Of course not,” Mercy snaps, but there’s no venom in her words. “Me? Crying over a vampire?”

  “She’s not just any vampire,” Bermon says. “She’s the wife of my best friend.”

  “My best friend,” Mercy grumbles, “and don’t talk about her as if she’s not here in front of you!”

  “I don’t mind,” I say. “I just… Can you be a little quieter? My head is really bothering me.”

  “Did you have head pain?” Bermon asks Mercy.

  “I don’t remember. A lot of it is fuzzy yet, but I do think she’s turning downhill faster than I did.”

  “You slept,” I mumble. “Why can’t I?”

  “Didn’t you hear me? I just said you’re turning downhill faster,” Mercy says.

  “You just need to hang in there,” Bermon says. “I’m sure your vampire healing will catch up. You just need to survive long enough.”

  “And if I continue to get worse instead of better?” I ask.

  Neither of them has a response to that.

  “At least you aren’t convulsing,” Bermon says.

  “I had convulsions?” Mercy asks, horrified.

  “You did. You hit your head pretty bad too.”

  I rub the back of my head. Yes, there’s even a lump growing. Every ailment she suffered has been exchanged, and that’s fine with me. I set out to save her, and I have.

  My phone starts to ring. Disgust that my mom is calling has me wanting to throw my phone across the room. I reach for it and barely have time to look away before I’m sick.

  Bermon begins to clean up my mess, and I apologize profusely as Mercy guides me to lie back down.

  “No sleeping,” she warns, wagging a finger at me, “but you don’t have to sit up. I remember feeling weak.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I mumble.

  “If you’re anything like me, then feeling weak is not something you’re used to.”

  I start to laugh but can’t. Thankfully, Mercy’s quick on the draw, and this time, I vomit into a deep bowl that Bermon takes to clean. In a minute, he hands it back so I can use it again.

  “You’re going to need to clean it out faster,” Mercy remarks.

  “Where did you even find that bowl?” I ask her.

  “Don’t you worry about that,” she says soothingly. She grimaces. “I kind of hate myself right now.”

  “Why? Because I’m not an evil ogre of a vampire?” I ask.

  “I actually know a very nice ogre,” she says defensively, “and yes, maybe. I just thought… I don’t know what I thought. I wanted to… I’m glad you are you and not…”

  “I’m just glad Julian has friends who are worried enough about him to be concerned. I mean, I know it’s not normal. Some would think it’s wrong, but… I love him, and he loves me.” I try to hold onto that, to hold onto my feelings for him, but my stomach churns to badly that I have to be sick again.

  Again, my phone rings. Mother again. With a groan, I sit up. Despite shivers that make me mistype and misspell almost every word, I finally send her a text asking her to leave me alone before I block her number.

  Romelia, please. If you don’t want to talk to me, fine, but be careful.

  Now I’m legit confused. Mother doesn’t send texts like that.

  Why are you worried?

  You haven’t heard. I thought you might not since you live in a bubble.

  I don’t need insults, Mother. I thought you disowned me and all of that.

  You need to know about the war.

  What war?

  You really do need to keep your head out of the clouds.

  What war, Mother!

  Between the vampires and werewolves.

  Wait, so it’s bigger than just— I stop typing because an alert goes off on my phone. The same sound dings on the werewolves’ phones.

  Attention, all students of Moonstone and Blood Haven Academies. Both schools are shut down for the foreseeable future. As a result of the on-going brawl to the death—

  Quickly, I delete my text and send this instead, It’s more widespread than just the academies, isn’t it?

  Yes, it is. It’s worldwide.

  And you’re nervous for me, why?

  You’re my daughter!

  You don’t care about me.

  Romelia, I do.

  Sure. Okay. Stop. Just stop. Please. Our relationship isn’t good. It never will be. I’ll live my life, and you live yours. I don’t—

  I keep mistyping words, and tears in my eyes—why are there tears in my eyes? The stupid wetness prevents me from being able to see to correct the spelling, and I shove the phone toward Mercy.

  "Can you fix it?"

  “Sure.” She types a bunch. “I don’t…”

  “I don’t want you to text me again.”

  “For your mom?”

  “You’re just texting, not judging,” I inform her.

  “Okay. There. Sent.” She tosses me my phone.

  I completely whiff catching it, but it lands in my lap anyhow.

  I’m about to call Julian when the strangest sensation spreads throughout my body. I can’t control my feet, my legs, my arms, anything at all, but I’m trembling. Even though my body is jerking about uncontrollably, my mind remains active, which makes things that much more frightening. I don’t know what to do to stop this, and I can feel hands on me as they guide me to lie back down. Did they take my phone? If it falls on the floor, I won’t be able to have it to text or call Julian. I’m stupid, so very stupid. I should’ve ignored my mother and texted him to begin with, and I didn’t even get a chance to tell the others that the fighting isn’t just between Blood Haven and Moonstone.

  Eventually, I’m not sure how much time passes, but the seizure stops. My head aches, and my entire body feels as if I’ve been put on the rack medieval torture device.

  At least I don’t feel like vomiting this very moment.

  Just then, the front door slams open. I roll my head to the side, about all I can muster at this point, and I’m beyond shocked to see Tyra there.

  “What’s going on?” Tyra blurts out.

  “You,” Mercy says with a low growl.

  “You’re the one who attacked Mercy, aren’t you?” Bermon asks.

  “Tyra,” I say weakly. I try to move my arms behind me so I can brace myself up, but my arms don’t cooperate, and they more or less flop about.

  “What’s going on?” Tyra cries. She dashes over to me. “You’re all healed. I thought I… What happened to her?”

  “She’s better than both of us,” Mercy says, lifting her chin.

  “She took a potion to transfer whatever you did to Mercy to her,” Bermon adds.

  "So, you're…" Tyra stares down at me. "Why aren't you healing? I don't understand. I've fought so many werewolves… This has never happened before."

  “Nothing was different this time?” Bermon presses.

  “No.” Tyra shakes her head as she rubs my forehead and brus
hes my hair back from my shoulders. “Oh, Romelia, what did you do? What did I do?”

  “That’s right,” Mercy snaps. “This is all on you. You nearly killed me, and now, Romelia’s going to be the one to—”

  “Tyra…” I repeat weakly. At least I think I can hear my voice. I sound so very far away, but then again, so does everyone else. It’s as if they’re in a faraway tunnel, and their voices have to cross a huge distance to reach my ears.

  “What is it?” she asks, hugging me. “Did that hurt? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t… I swear I didn’t do anything differently! I just… I was so angry and furious with Julian—with you and Julian actually,” she admits. “I… Why couldn’t I have just been happy for you? But I didn’t understand, and I still don’t, and who am I to think that I need to understand? You clearly do honestly, truly love him, and I shouldn’t judge you, and I am so very sorry, Romelia! Why? Why aren’t you healing? I honestly didn’t mean to do anything—I mean, I was trying to kill you, but I didn’t… I…”

  Tyra trails off, staring into the distance, evidently remembering something.

  “What is it?” Mercy snaps. “You remembering what you did to me?”

  “The anger, the fury, the wrath… all of it burned through me. I felt like I was burning alive, and it wasn’t… You know vampires and fire. I didn’t like feeling that way, so I tried to shove all of that heat out of me and at you. I didn’t know what else to do! I felt like I was going to melt alive and become a puddle like I was some wicked witch or something. I don’t… Do you think that did something?”

  “Don’t fret,” I mumble. “I just need some time, and I’ll… I’ll be…”

  The next convulsion is even worse than the first, and I think I might be unconscious for some of it. When I’m next aware, Tyra is crying, and Mercy is wiping my mouth.

  “That bad?” I mouth more than say because I’m too exhausted to speak.

  Tyra just shakes her head. “No, this isn’t right. There has to be something I can do. I… It was anger, right? What if… What if I try to push out love? Is that… Is that possible?”

  “You’re part demon,” Mercy spits out. “Do you have much love?”

  I cough slightly.

  Mercy colors and purses her lips. “She’s more demonic than you are,” she says as if that explains everything.

  “She’s right,” Tyra mumbles. “I am. I must have used some demon power.”

  I point to her. Well, I more or less wave my finger in her direction.

  “A demon power?” Tyra asks. At my nod, she rattles off a long list, but she doesn’t say the one that’s right.

  “Rean… Reanim…” I can’t get the word out. My head is too foggy. “Zom… bie…”

  "Zombie?" Tyra gapes at me. "Reanimation? But you aren't dead! She wasn't dead, either!"

  "Hence the vomiting and the seizures," Bermon says. "The body is alive, so it's fighting off the reanimation process, but it's also killing her."

  “You can’t die!” Tyra says emphatically. “You can’t stay here. If any of the other werewolves—”

  “How did you find her?” Mercy asks, crossing her arms.

  “That’s not important right now,” Tyra says. “I need to take her somewhere safe.”

  “No. Absolutely not.” Mercy shifts over to wedge herself between Tyra and me.

  “You have no say—”

  “You can’t move her!”

  “She needs to go,” Tyra insists. “You can’t help her!”

  “And you can?” Mercy snorts. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

  “Tyra,” I murmur. It’s a challenge to get her name out.

  “I’m here. Don’t worry.” She rushes around Mercy and holds my hand. “What do you need?”

  “Find… Julian… for…”

  "You don't need to tell him goodbye, do you hear?" Tyra says in a rush. "I'll go and get… I'll get your… your husband, okay? But you hold on, and don't you dare think it's goodbye, okay?"

  Tyra straightens and glowers at the werewolves.

  “You two, keep her alive. Please.”

  I half-expect a sarcastic retort from Mercy, but she and Bermon just nod, and Tyra takes off, and my eyes shut, and I fade away.

  Chapter 13

  Julian

  “How many did you get?” a vampire asks another.

  “Three. You?”

  “Seven.”

  “No way. You’re lying.”

  “Are you so sure about that? Maybe I’m just better than you are.”

  “You’re so full of it it’s not even funny. You couldn’t have killed that many.”

  Just listening to them is enough to make me stop trying to break up fights. Honestly, I should let them continue to arguing because it means they aren’t running around killing werewolves, but they’re too high and mighty to be allowed to continue to do that.

  “Boys,” I say amiably, strolling up to them as if I’m a fellow vampire instead of a so-called enemy werewolf.

  They gape at me, and I glance down to see that I’m covered in blood. I must look like a sight.

  “How about we settle things my way?” I ask.

  “What’s your way?” the supposed killer of seven asks.

  The other one lifts his chin, trying to look all tough. If I have to guess, they’re both first years. They seem young and inexperienced.

  “If you two can best me, you…” I trail off as I see a vampire stroll over to join them.

  The newcomer lays his elbow onto the killer of seven’s shoulder and tosses the broken vine at me. “Are you that stupid, werewolf?”

  “Not stupid,” I say. “I just want the fighting to stop.”

  The young vampires burst out laughing, but the one I tied up to the tree just appraises me critically.

  “If you aren’t stupid, you’re a coward,” he says.

  “You can claim that, but it’s not true. I have more to lose than most.”

  “That so. Your pack and all of that?” His sneer is huge as he flashes his fangs.

  I bristle but do my best to force down my emotions. “You don’t’ understand me, and that’s fine. You don’t have to, but I would rather not fight any of you.”

  "Oh, it's too late for that, wolfy, and if you think we're about to let you walk all over us and try to settle things your way… What's that? We all drink tea, and you read our leaves, and then we'll have a bonfire and dance around it singing songs and holding hands? I don't think so."

  “I love bonfires, but I didn’t think you guys cared for them,” I say. “I’ve always wondered if vampires like smores, you know, since they’re delicious, but the only way to have them is over a roaring fire.”

  “They are good,” the one who claimed three kills pipes up.

  The other two vampires gape at him.

  “What?” he asks defensively. “I used a knife, jabbed the marshmallow on the tip, and heated it up over a hot burner on the stove. Was it the best way to do it? Probably not, but it got all nice and gooey and helped to melt the chocolate some, and I used cinnamon graham crackers, and—”

  “Are you really bonding with a werewolf?” the vined vampire asks. “Because you better not be.”

  “Don’t worry,” I assure him. “Anyone who uses a stovetop burner to heat up their marshmallows deserves pity more than anything.”

  “I don’t want your lousy pity, wolfman!” the offended vampire shouts.

  “Fine. Let’s just leave it at that, then. You have your way to make smores, and I have mine, and maybe one day, we can have something together, and I’ll make you one my way, and you—”

  “You can shut up is what you can do,” the vined vampire hisses.

  I give him a small smile. “You’re just jealous that you haven’t had a delicious smore yet, and I understand. It’s a crying shame—”

  “The real crying shame is that you’re still alive,” the vined vampire says, and he nods toward me.

  The other two vampires
lunge for me, but I squat down and then jump up. My one foot lands on one of their shoulders, and I step onto the other’s head, do a flip, and by the time I land, I’m my wolf. My growl is low and deep, entirely threatening, but my hackles aren’t raised, and I’m not poised to jump. All I want to do is make them think twice and maybe frighten them away.

  The one who claimed seven looks more terrified than the one who said three, and I snap my jaws at him. In the blink of an eye, he’s gone.

  But the other two, they move closer together, stalking toward me.

  Abruptly, a ball of black fur rushes by and takes out the younger vampire. Boris.

  Another werewolf, this one a light brown color with some white patches, is right on Boris’ heels. She eyes me, sniffs at me, and then transforms into her human.

  “Tasha, you need to get out of here,” I say.

  She just winks at me. A flash of light glints in her hand, and before I can do anything, she darts forward and slashes the blade across the throat of the vined vampire.

  A hiss escapes through my lips.

  Tasha tosses her dagger from hand to hand. “Why are you telling me to leave?” she asks. “Think I can’t handle myself? Because I can.”

  "He's ready to take on all of the vampires himself," Flint says, strolling over. His one arm hangs limply by his side, clearly broken, but he doesn't seem too fazed by it. "Look at all that blood. It's not yours, right?"

  “He does look fit,” Tasha muses.

  Boris, still a werewolf, whines. He backs away from the vampire he killed, and I hate seeing how stained Boris’ teeth are.

  “Why do you look unhappy?” Tasha asks. She grins. “You do know that this is important, right? We have to do this. Don’t you see? Werewolves around the world—”

  “Around the world?” I ask, incredulous.

  “You didn’t hear?” Flint asks. He glances around. For the most part, no one is paying us much attention, but my gaze does connect with a vampire’s. She flashes her fangs at me and then proceeds to rip chunks of fur right out of the werewolf who tried to leap on top of her.

  "Hear what?" I snap. I'm impatient and frustrated as it is, and to make matters worse, the fighting isn't slowing down. If anything, it's picking up. More werewolves are here than earlier, and the number of bodies is only growing. Vampires are starting to fall more, but that doesn't make me happy. I want all of them to live, to survive, to be healthy, to go off and do their own thing, not be stuck here, rotting on the battlefield. This entire field shouldn't even be the site of a battle!