ã€ŠUnder the Killing Moon | Order of Cerberus IIã€‹


 Prologue

    I¡¯m stuck in a meeting with Chief Glass; Enchanter Ulysses and his Second, Heather; Sentinel Cadence; and Sheldon ¨C who took over as the head of the Order in the eight months following the disaster with Elena Silvyn. Carver faced the Order¡¯s Inquisition after the substantial losses in Boston, who decided that it was best she retire¡­in other words, a graceful means to fire her for what happened under her watch. I always thought I¡¯d be sort of excited to see Carver go, but that was before Joseph Sheldon took over. Carver could be harsh, but she did try to be fair. Most of the time. Sheldon¡¯s a hammer, he drops his decisions with force and finality. Chief Glass and Ulysses have a good chance of questioning him given their seniority, but me? I may as well be a glorified fly on the wall in these meetings for how much weight my voice carries.

    Ironic, since I think my voice is a lot more commanding now after starting Testosterone therapy, and yet I¡¯m cut off even more than when I was a rank and file Centurion.

    ¡°We must find a way to minimize Castillo¡¯s operations,¡± Sheldon says. Castillo is the topic of conversation in most of these meetings now. Not only because word got out about his marriage to Elena, but because he¡¯s become quite the public figure in Boston these last few months.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t he mostly responsible for what work has been done in South Boston?¡± I ask.

    Sheldon narrows his eyes at me, but I don¡¯t look away. ¡°He¡¯s using reconstruction efforts to launder money from his illicit activities.¡±

    I see the reason for concern, but at the same time¡­I can¡¯t help feeling that the benefit outweighs the negative in this scenario. Castillo¡¯s funding is really helping to crew the construction projects, the fact a lot of his werewolves are working said projects only adds said benefit. Werewolves are a lot stronger than mundanes, they¡¯re getting work done in record time. It may not bring back all the lives lost when that part of the city crumbled, but at least it looks like there¡¯s a future there after all.

    ¡°The fact that he¡¯s being commended in the Boston Globe is a problem,¡± Sheldon continues, and I know he¡¯s solely addressing me. ¡°It would behoove us to consider further restrictions on the supernatural community living in the city. This is a calamity waiting to happen.¡±

    ¡°Seriously?¡± I blurt out. ¡°How is that going to help anything? We¡¯re already in the shit with almost all of them since we so expertly fucked up trying to deal with Elena.¡±

    ¡°Averline,¡± Chief Glass says in warning.

    ¡°I allowed you to stay in this position out of respect for Carver,¡± Sheldon cuts in. ¡°I can easily revoke your status.¡±

    It¡¯s tempting to tell him to ¡®go ahead¡¯. I think I would prefer working with the rest of the Centurions again instead of dealing with Sheldon on a near-daily basis. I keep quiet, not out of respect for Carver, but because I know someone has to have the balls to challenge Sheldon no matter what threats he makes.

    ¡°We can continue donations to the restoration efforts,¡± Ulysses begins when the silence lingers. ¡°We should not stop funding just because Castillo is doing the same thing.¡±

    Sheldon twists his mouth into a frown and I assume he thinks that is perfect grounds to pull back support. And people say I have a problem with pride¡­

    ¡°Be prepared to review laws and regulations tomorrow,¡± Sheldon¡¯s using his dismissive tone, and I¡¯m just happy this meeting is coming to an end even if I know he hasn¡¯t dropped the idea of revamping the restrictions we put on the supernatural community. He doesn¡¯t say we¡¯re free to leave, he just grabs his things and sweeps out of the conference room like a movie-style vampire.

    Ulysses, Heather and Cadence follow without a word, but Chief Glass stays back. ¡°I want you in an hour early, Averline. There¡¯s some training I¡¯d like to go through with you.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± I reply. I¡¯m keeping my fingers crossed it¡¯s more on the combative side of things than administrative. I¡¯m so sick of paperwork.

    He nods and also departs. I wait a minute before I stand, stretch and make my way to the elevators. I¡¯m glad that I don¡¯t bump into anyone on the way out, I¡¯m tired and frustrated with the meeting ¨C not ideal for chitchat. Plus my shift is long and I¡¯m still not used to it; Chief Glass told me to give it a full year at least. I start my day at noon and I¡¯m not out of headquarters until around five in the morning. My life has become work, sleep, work, sleep and the occasional hour off for counseling.

    I should go home and fulfill the second half of my new existence by crashing until it¡¯s time to come back here, but I feel an urge for better company. I haven¡¯t seen or talked to Henry in a while. My new schedule doesn¡¯t leave much time to visit a vampire, especially since I put him in enough danger from the sun and refuse to ask him to come out during the daylight anymore. As I step onto Beacon Street, I pull out my phone and tap his name. It¡¯s still dark enough that he should be up and about.

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    Or not, since the call goes to voicemail. Come to think of it, it did that the last two times I tried calling him. I¡¯m trying not to worry as much as I used to, but I¡¯ll never not worry about Henry. I¡¯ll pay for it later when I slog through work later today, but instead of deciding to go back to my house, I choose to take a trip to Roslindale and Henry¡¯s apartment.

    The trains aren¡¯t running yet and I can¡¯t wait the extra hour for them to start, so I hail a taxi and give the driver Henry¡¯s address. We make good time, but I¡¯m running out of that predawn darkness and I hurriedly pay the driver (probably leaving way too much of a tip, but hey, hopefully it makes his day), and head into the condo building that houses Henry¡¯s apartment. I go up the stairs and down the hall to the heavy door marking the apartment entrance and knock. There¡¯s no answer. I wait, in case he¡¯s already settling into that weird comatose state vampires enter when they get rest, and needs a minute to rouse himself. Three minutes go by and I knock again, loudly.

    When that fails to bring different results I try again. A door does open, but it¡¯s not Henry¡¯s. It¡¯s his neighbor, an older woman wearing a frayed bathrobe, her dark hair frizzy and unkempt.

    ¡°Do you know what time it is?¡± she asks grumpily.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I was trying to reach my friend,¡± I reply.

    ¡°Harold?¡±

    ¡°Henry.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right¡­he keeps strange hours.¡±

    ¡°Yeah¡­hence me being here now.¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen him in months.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I said I haven¡¯t seen him in months.¡±

    I take a slow breath. It is my fault for expecting her not to simply repeat herself at my surprise. ¡°Do you know where he went?¡±

    She shrugs. ¡°I assumed he moved. We weren¡¯t really close. He kept strange hours.¡±

    ¡°Moved?¡± What the fuck? Why would he move without telling me? Is he in some kind of trouble?

    ¡°You can ask the landlord,¡± the woman adds. ¡°He comes Friday mornings to tend the plants.¡±

    ¡°So today?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s Friday, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°What time does he usually get here?¡±

    ¡°Between 9 and 10 o¡¯clock.¡±

    That will give me a couple hours of sleep, although I¡¯m not sure how successful I¡¯ll be now that I¡¯m anxious about Henry. I can¡¯t believe he¡¯d just¡­leave without a word. ¡°Thanks. Sorry for bothering you,¡± I say, feeling distant from the present as my mind does its nasty habit of assuming the worst.

    She retreats into her apartment without a word, but at least she doesn¡¯t slam the door. With nothing else to do here, I decide to go home and have a power nap before downing an unhealthy amount of coffee so I can function for the rest of the day.

    ?????¡ã???¡ã?????

    I¡¯m back at Henry¡¯s by 9:30, rushing up the stairs and through the door like a hurricane. I ignore the stairs this time and go towards the back of the building, exiting the narrow door there and looking around quickly. There¡¯s no grassy backyard, just more concrete leading to the street running parallel to the one in front of the building. There are potted plants, however, and I feel a swell of relief when I see the middle-aged man bent over one and tugging out small weeds from dark soil.

    ¡°Are you the landlord?¡± I ask.

    The man straightens and looks at me quizzically. ¡°Yes¡­? Can I help you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m trying to find Henry Stone, he¡¯s one of your tenants. Or was¡­I¡¯m not sure now.¡±

    He looks uncertain for a second, and then dawning comprehension lights his expression. ¡°Are you Mr. Averline?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Mr. Stone told me to expect you eventually,¡± the landlord says. ¡°Come with me, please.¡±

    Now I¡¯m uncertain, but I follow him back into the building with a million questions in my mind as he leads me to a small office on the ground floor. He starts rummaging through stacks of paper that don¡¯t seem like they¡¯ve been organized in decades, not pausing to pick up those which fall to the floor during his search. When he fails to find what he seeks in the large stacks, he turns to the desk and opens the drawers, tossing things aside without a care until he sucks his teeth in an obnoxious way and holds up an envelope. ¡°This is for you. Mr. Stone asked me to keep it for you.¡±

    ¡°Did he say anything else?¡± I ask, taking the letter as it¡¯s held out to me.

    ¡°No. He paid to break his lease and move out, but apart from giving me notice we didn¡¯t get into it much.¡±

    Dammit, Henry¡­

    ¡°Thanks for this,¡± I say, pocketing the letter. I¡¯m burning with the need to read it now, but I¡¯m afraid of its contents and I don¡¯t want to react in front of a stranger.

    ¡°Sure. Anything else?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    The landlord gestures to the door and I vacate his office, moving towards the front entrance while he goes to continue gardening. I¡¯m in a bit of a daze as I get back on the train to return to Dorchester. It moves too slowly, and I find myself annoyed with every stop as if I didn¡¯t expect it to make its routine rounds to every station in between. When I finally get to Fields Corner, I push my way through the crowd and jog back to my house.

    After getting unreasonably frustrated with my uncooperative keys, I finally make it inside and shut the door roughly behind me, not bothering to go any further and pulling the letter from my pocket. I rip it open and read its contents three times without taking in a single word. I force myself to take a breath and go over it more diligently.

    Riley,

    I¡¯m sorry to disappear like this. I know you¡¯ll be upset about it, but I have to do it this way. Something has come up, and I¡¯m sure you would have insisted on helping me but I can¡¯t risk getting you involved. Not this time. I promise that when I return I will tell you everything, and though I know you¡¯ll disregard my request, I must ask that you don¡¯t try to find me. Please, I need to deal with this on my own.

    With love,

    Henry

    The letter slips from my fingers and while I am hurt that he chose to go about it this way, I¡¯m more angry than anything else. He¡¯s right. I¡¯m not about to simply twiddle my fucking thumbs while I wait for him to resurface. I¡¯m going to find him, and I¡¯m going to help him¡­I just need to be smart about it. The Order has never been keen on Henry, and the likes of Sheldon are more distrustful of him now after his alleged friendship with Brianna and Castillo. I can¡¯t rely on them, or not all of them¡­Chiaki¡¯s solid, even after her demotion.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± I say, as if he¡¯ll hear it. ¡°I can¡¯t just let this be¡­¡±

 Chapter I: Henry Stone

    I wake as the last of the daylight fades from the skies, much as I do every evening. I am yet to become used to my different surroundings, always expecting to see the familiar walls of my bedroom instead of the enriched grasscloth textured room that serves as my temporary abode. I wouldn¡¯t ask Castillo for refuge if I thought it would indebt me to him, but he¡¯s assured me my help in getting his pack to safety eight months ago negates any perceived dues he felt I owed him.

    I don¡¯t see much of Castillo despite my staying here a couple of weeks now. Between restoration efforts and his illegal operations, he keeps busy day and night. I prefer it this way, I know that for whatever light is in him, there is an equal amount of darkness ¨C getting to know him more may reveal the balance isn¡¯t truly a balance at all. I feel guilty enough relying on his resources to help me, but with no alternative I have to ignore that guilt for the time being.

    Because nothing, not even guilt, compares to the horror instilled in me by my father¡¯s letter.

    It is because of this letter that I decided to come here. In staying with Castillo, I can be sure to keep Riley away. I cannot involve him in this, I have never been able to involve him in anything related to my family. As far as he knows, I was raised in the foster system, but that is a lie. My parents would never be so kind as to let me escape their home. I wish I could put it behind me, and I almost succeeded after my turn, but the letter reminds me they are still out there. And now¡­they know where I am. Or was. I hope they aren¡¯t bold enough to try and infiltrate Castillo¡¯s home if they do track me here.

    It¡¯s another reason I chose his place rather than asking Brianna to put me up, that and Castillo¡¯s enviable resources will help me track down where the letter originated. I do not know what I will do if we find them¡­whether I will go to them or else leave Boston behind. The latter thought fills me with sorrow, the former with dread.

    At present, I can do no more than what I usually do when my night begins; I go to the small freezer in the corner of the room, open it and retrieve a bag of blood. I assume it¡¯s donated with consent¡­and not stolen, it makes things easier, of that I can be certain. I never quite got the hang of hunting, I can¡¯t bring myself to attack an innocent person or animal to sate my hunger. With it being in my room, I do not have to disturb Gianna either. Castillo¡¯s housekeeper is not overly fond of my nature, and while one may assume Castillo rules his home with an iron fist, he did not argue with her complaints about leaving blood bags in the main freezer next to actual food.

    I stand at the large window which looks down on Fairfield Street, sipping blood as if it were from a juice pack. When I finish, I¡¯ll go downstairs and see if Castillo¡¯s left any sort of word for me. If not, which is the most likely case, I¡¯ll find ways to entertain myself until dawn returns. It¡¯s not the most thrilling existence, but I don¡¯t dare to risk wandering around Boston at present.

    Certainty of another dull night leads to surprise when there¡¯s a rattle at the door instead of the usual silence, which opens to reveal Castillo¡¯s broad frame. ¡°Come,¡± he says bluntly, and I follow him from my room and down the hall to his office. He looks tired, and I can smell the blood that brushes his knuckles and is settled under his fingernails before my sensitive eyes see it.

    ¡°...Bad day?¡±

    He looks at me over his shoulder and raises one of his thick eyebrows before he takes the concealed gun he¡¯s carrying and sets it down on the desk. ¡°No, today was a very good day, Santito,¡± he replies as he moves to sit behind the desk, gesturing for me to take a nearby seat.

    I do so and try not to show my disapproval towards the more violent aspect of his business.

    ¡°It would seem our efforts to trace your family have not gone unnoticed,¡± Castillo sighs. ¡°I got a hit,¡± I notice he glances down at his reddened knuckles. ¡°It turns out that Charlemagne put them up.¡±

    My brow pinches. ¡°Charlemagne? The vampire Riley saw in Elena¡¯s vision?¡±

    It feels like the temperature in the room drops as Castillo stares at me. I haven¡¯t spoken to him about that, or mentioned what Riley told me, and it appears that decision is catching up to me now. His eyes are blazing, and it''s at that moment I realize he has two different colored irises, a detail I note only for the fact I cannot look away.

    ¡°Chingada madre¡­¡± he growls. ¡°What vision?¡±

    ¡°It¡­was very brief¡­Riley mentioned Charlemagne was part of Elena¡¯s visions. Very briefly¡ª¡±

    ¡°You said that.¡±

    ¡°¡­Yes. Sorry. He was the one who told her about¡­Paradise. At least, that¡¯s what I think Riley said.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t remember?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what Riley said,¡± I force my voice to be firmer, but my eyes drop to his desk, staring at the gun like it could still kill me.

    ¡°Pulling teeth,¡± Castillo mutters, obviously frustrated with me. He gathers his patience, however, and leans back in his impressive chair. ¡°Charlemagne¡­Y que chinge a la puta que lo pari¨®, he has had it out for me since I took control of Boston. Some whiney shit about it being his city, I say if it is his city, he would still be running it, no?¡±

    I don¡¯t think he¡¯s actually speaking to me, and is letting off steam more than anything. Still, I nod.

    ¡°I should have known he was the one who told Elena about the True Source.¡± He scowls, his posture rigid. ¡°Which begs the question, Santito, why are your parents going to him?¡±

    ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t know,¡± I say truthfully. ¡°My parents¡­¡± I hesitate. It¡¯s not only Riley I kept the truth from, it is everyone I¡¯ve ever known. Castillo¡¯s demanding glare tells me I cannot keep this part of me, of my story, hidden any longer. He needs to know, and perhaps¡­I need to tell someone. The fact he is still closer to a stranger than acquaintance makes it oddly easier. Somehow. Or perhaps it is because Castillo is the sort who knows how terrible the world can be, even if he is partly to blame for that terribleness.

    ¡°My father¡¯s line came from magic,¡± I begin. ¡°But there hasn¡¯t been any magic for many generations. Despite that, my father upheld the traditions my ancestors began. They were, or I suppose¡­they are, a secular movement devoted to an unknown¡­force. I didn¡¯t¡­there wasn¡¯t anything¡­specific about vampires involved, but there was¡­blood.¡± I see the moorlands stretched out before me and force my gaze to focus back on Castillo¡¯s face. He¡¯s not part of my past, so he can keep me in the present. ¡°It may have been that simple fact that brought them together.¡±

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    ¡°You don¡¯t think this force is the True Source? Paradise?¡±

    ¡°No, it¡­always came across as a tangible¡­thing. Not a person exactly, but something, or someone, powerful.¡±

    ¡°Hn.¡±

    I don¡¯t know if he¡¯s disinterested in this, nor do I care. What matters is that it is enough that the demanding glare softens to his usual stoicism. Yet, without more of a response I am left unsure how to continue.

    ¡°I cannot send wolves with you to Charlemagne¡¯s, it is against the Treatise the Order wrote up a while ago.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Well, that¡¯s alright. I could go alone.¡±

    I am not so afraid due to my current situation to not be offended by Castillo¡¯s laughter following my statement.

    ¡°Ay g¨¹ey, no. No, Santito,¡± he chuckles, mirth extending once he sees my agitated expression.

    ¡°Then¡­¡± I think hard. ¡°The Market, there¡¯s a vampire bar there. Fighting in the Market is still frowned upon, isn¡¯t it?¡± When Castillo nods, I continue. ¡°I can see if someone there could help me figure out why Charlemagne hosted my parents, or if he¡¯s still hosting them. I may find a means to meet with him directly in a less unfavorable location.¡±

    ¡°If you want to,¡± Castillo replies. ¡°It may be enough to stay on your family¡¯s trail. Charlemagne does not live alone, there will be one in the Moliere Coven more willing to talk.¡±

    I don¡¯t tell him that I would rather face Charlemagne than my parents. I know enough thanks to Riley to understand that Charlemagne is a powerful vampire, but I have no personal conflict with him. Unless I count his acquaintance with my parents as a personal conflict, but I can¡¯t see what would be in it for him. I don¡¯t know him, and I rather doubt he¡¯s even heard of me. They could know each other separately from me.

    ¡°Henry.¡±

    I blink, and notice Castillo looks impatient. ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°I have to get back to work.¡±

    ¡°Right. Sorry.¡±

    If anything, he looks more annoyed so I get up with the intention to leave his office. I pause before I pass the door, however, and look back to him. ¡°Thank you. I wasn¡¯t expecting you to be quite so hands on about this.¡±

    ¡°It was coincidence today,¡± Castillo replies. It doesn¡¯t sound like he is trying to dismiss his involvement, rather it is his blunt nature at play again. ¡°Some pendejo tried to steal from me, when I caught him, he tried to dissuade my punishment by using his ¡®patrons¡¯ as a shield.¡±

    ¡°And his patrons were¡­my parents?¡±

    ¡°S¨ª.¡±

    ¡°What did this man try to steal?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. A couple of my Halcones in Mattapan caught him attempting to break into my self storage business there. I¡¯ll give him some credit, he had the cojones to keep that information to himself.¡±

    ¡°Do you have actual customers that use these units?¡± I ask. Castillo nods. ¡°So this man may not have been trying to steal from you, but from someone with a unit there.¡±

    ¡°It is possible.¡±

    ¡°Maybe I could question him?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s dead.¡±

    The balance tips, and I am reminded again of why Castillo has such a feared reputation. He is not known for mercy, or second chances.

    I return to my room, trying to puzzle out what this means while knowing I need more information to do so. I cannot attest to Charlemagne¡¯s moral compass, but I doubt he is na?ve enough to be fooled by the likes of Charles and Ines. They are a scourge, and radiate ill intent like the sun radiates heat. Perhaps Charlemagne is as well, or it could be a matter of being paid enough to play host. The last I remember of my parents, however, they were incredibly poor.

    I go to the dresser and open the top drawer. It is empty save for the crinkled paper that I take hold of again. I unfold the letter and gaze at its succinct message: What was left undone will be finished. ¡ªC. B.

    With a sigh, I look out the window and watch the people going about their night. I too must walk Boston¡¯s streets, because I will gain nothing by staying here any longer tonight. I need to return to the Market, the problem with this is that I cannot remember the password Riley spoke to the statue of Thomas Cass in the Common. Without being able to call him to ask, I¡¯ll need to rely on someone else. I do not return to Castillo¡¯s office, as I¡¯m sure he¡¯s in the midst of work again, and instead go downstairs to one of the landlines scattered through his large home. I retrieve my wallet from my pocket, and take out the slip of paper where I¡¯ve written important numbers, having left my mobile behind to avoid easy detection from the Order. Finding Brianna¡¯s isn¡¯t hard, there¡¯s only three numbers I¡¯ve taken down. Hers, Castillo¡¯s, and of course Riley¡¯s.

    ¡°Boss?¡±

    ¡°No, it¡¯s me.¡±

    ¡°Oh, hey, Henry. What¡¯s up?¡±

    ¡°I need help getting to the Market. Do you know how to get past the statue?¡±

    ¡°Statue? What the hell are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°...Evidently not the entrance you use,¡± I reply, hoping I won¡¯t get Riley in trouble for the slip.

    ¡°Apparently not,¡± Brianna sounds amused, not like one preparing to find out exactly what statue I alluded to. ¡°I can get you in our way. Meet me at the Museum of NCAAA in Roxbury, you know what I¡¯m talking about? The old Abbotsford mansion?¡±

    ¡°I think so.¡±

    ¡°Good. They¡¯re closed now, so we don¡¯t got to worry about visitors. I¡¯ll be out front.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll see you soon then.¡±

    ¡°See ya.¡±

    We hang up simultaneously and since it¡¯s dark outside, I have no need to grab the usual items I would if daylight remained. It feels nice to get out, I haven¡¯t since coming here and only now does the time feel long. I¡¯m not used to the idea of immortality yet, I was barely getting used to the idea of my approaching forties, so while some might assume a few weeks is nothing to me, it still is. I think I¡¯ll be sad when that¡¯s no longer true.

    I don¡¯t go to the subway station closest to Castillo¡¯s. His house is alarmingly close to the Order¡¯s headquarters and I¡¯m paranoid that I will see a Centurion who recognizes me if I go down there in this area. I hail a cab instead, although it would be quicker for me to run that¡¯s something I haven¡¯t embraced yet either. My money will run out soon though, and I¡¯ll not be able to do this forever¡­eventually I suppose I could find work for an overnight shift, but I don¡¯t see it being all that practical.

    It is good I¡¯m thinking of the future, though. I tell myself it means I expect to survive what¡¯s coming, and with that more firmly in mind, I prepare to meet with Brianna and return to the Market. Surely there will be someone at Sanguine Sweet who can give me a tip or two.

 Chapter II: Sanguine Sweet

    ¡°Hey,¡± Brianna greets me as I near her. She¡¯s standing by the red double doors that are securely locked.

    I pass under the middle of three Gothic arches to join her in the portico, eyeing the metal bars set in front of the main doors. ¡°Are we breaking in?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Well, yeah, I told you it¡¯s closed. But not through the front, c¡¯mon,¡± she replies, leading me away from the main entrance and down a stone pathway that circles the building. ¡°How you getting on with the boss?¡± she asks as we make our way to the back of the museum.

    ¡°Well enough,¡± I admit. ¡°I hardly see him.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not surprised,¡± she says. ¡°He¡¯s been keeping busy. Keeping us busy too.¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯re doing well?¡±

    ¡°Well enough,¡± she repeats me with a smile. "I can¡¯t believe you don¡¯t know how to get to the Market. How long have you been a vampire? A day?¡±

    ¡°Nearly three years,¡± I reply, although I know the question was rhetorical. ¡°And I haven¡¯t had much guidance from my own kind.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s because you didn¡¯t bother joining one of the covens,¡± Brianna points out. ¡°Smart call, they¡¯re a bunch of superior-than-thou assholes.¡±

    ¡°If you say so. But it does leave my knowledge lacking, as you have clearly noticed.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s endearing though,¡± Brianna laughs. ¡°Don¡¯t sweat it¡­wait, do vampires even sweat?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Weird.¡±

    ¡°Probably as weird as turning into an animal once a month.¡±

    ¡°Yeah well, most people act more like animals than we ever do. And on the daily too.¡±

    I cannot argue with her about this point, keeping up with the news is a daily torment lately. We reach the back of the museum, to an industrial strength dock door where deliveries must come in. Brianna removes her colorful patterned jacket and holds it out to me. I take her cue and retrieve it from her, hoping the chill of the night won¡¯t affect her too badly as she stands in front of the dock door in a tank top. She rubs her palms together, rolls her shoulders, then stretches her neck from side to side before she squats down, hooks her fingers under the lip of the door and wrenches it up. It groans horribly, squealing like an injured animal while Brianna looks as if she¡¯s barely struggling. She straightens slowly, until she is upright again and lifts the door over her head.

    ¡°Hurry up,¡± she snips at me as I watch her in awe. I snap out of my reverie and quickly duck under the door and into the museum. I¡¯m about to take over for her, but she maneuvers herself to the interior of the door and lets it down slowly.

    ¡°I could have done that,¡± I say.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you could,¡± she replies. ¡°But I handled it, obviously. Let¡¯s go.¡±

    I follow her through the back end of the building. We are not heading towards the museum proper, but instead to a door marked for staff only. It opens to a set of sturdy stairs leading to a finished basement hosting a break room with a refrigerator, microwave, comfortable looking chairs and a television. Brianna heads to the corner of the breakroom, however, and stops at the very solid-looking brick wall. Her fingers coast along it until they reach a rather large line of mortar. I notice there is a gap here, and her fingers slip into it before she tugs, revealing a concealed door that surely no human would have the strength to open even if it were discovered.

    It opens to a dank passageway. Brianna steps back and holds out her hand again, nodding towards the jacket I¡¯m still holding, which I return to her. ¡°Keep going down the passage, you¡¯ll come out by the troll bridge.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not coming?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Boy, I got work to do,¡± she laughs. ¡°I told you the boss was keeping us all busy. I¡¯ll close the door after you.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for bringing me this far.¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡±

    I do not wish to keep her longer than I have, so I depart. The darkness that encompasses me as soon as she shuts the door is no hindrance, my vampiric eyes see everything clearly ¨C albeit in shades of white and gray. Color will return when light does.

    ?????¡ã???¡ã?????

    It feels like I walk quite a distance before I see light. My footsteps quicken and I emerge from the unlit corridor. To the left of me is a set of stairs molded into the rock face. They lead to one side of the troll bridge Brianna mentioned, which connects one sector of the Market to another. Baleful eyes look at me from the shadow cast by the bridge, and I realize where it gets its name as a few trolls observe me before they return to their game, some variant of chess from the looks of it, using stones instead of figures. Watching a moment longer, I decide it is chess mixed with jacks and find a sudden yearning to learn more about these secret societies I never dreamed existed until I joined it so suddenly.

    Tonight, however, I have a set goal and I climb the steep stairs to take in my surroundings and get my bearings. Across the bridge, I see a large wooden sign with a crudely painted wolf head on it. No need to guess as to what hangs around that part of the Market, and a good warning for me to stay clear. For the most part, werewolves are very defensive around vampires. Scanning the area, I see the spire of the Archives in the distance and make my way in that direction. I didn¡¯t join Riley when he went there almost a year ago now, but I do remember the main street should be nearby and thus get on the right track to the vampire bar.

    Without Riley or Billy with me, I don¡¯t garner much attention at all from the others in the Market. It¡¯s not unusual for vampires to come here, this is one of the few places in Boston that not one creature needs to hide. I like it for this reason, and for the level of civility that encompasses the entire Market. Mundanes could learn a thing or two from those they would otherwise deem as monsters.

    I follow the narrow street from the troll bridge, looking at the teetering shops piled one on top of another. I pass by a candy shop that makes me envy the days of my humanity for the treats on display; glittering cupcakes, floating puffs of spun sugar, decadent candy apples¡­I can smell its sweetness above the other smells of spices, smoke, and perfumes that waft in the underground. Beyond the shop is an inn, one of the few buildings that is multiple storeys instead of various shops built into a single structure. The sign out front boldly announces that it caters to all, and I take note of its location in case I need to leave Castillo¡¯s.

    The road splits in three directions after the inn and I¡¯m not sure which one to follow to reach the main street. Seeing a nearby form, I do a double-take when I realize I¡¯m looking at the elusive Bigfoot. The bipedal ape-like creature towers over me, and while its form is intimidating, the expression on its face is calm as it scrolls through an exceptionally large cell phone. ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    Dark eyes look up from the illuminated screen. It doesn¡¯t speak, but it gestures with a hand for me to continue. ¡°I¡¯m looking for main street, could you help me, please?¡±

    The large creature smiles and points at the middle road, then gestures to take a right after holding up its hand, five fingers outstretched, twice.

    ¡°After ten feet?¡± I ask.

    A shake of the head has me guess again. ¡°Ten minutes?¡± and now I get a confirming nod. ¡°Thank you,¡± I say genuinely. The sasquatch returns to its scrolling and I walk down the correct street, doing my best not to look over my shoulder to stare.

    The road curves as I walk along it, banked on either side by copious buildings and tiny alleyways. I hear voices in unrecognizable tongues, hawking their wares or calling out in greeting. Images of legend walk past me, my certainty of what¡¯s real and what¡¯s fiction quickly being amended as I continue along. All the while, I stay focused on how long I walk this road, although I needn¡¯t have been so keen to. It¡¯s very obvious where main street is when I see it, not only for the giant sign, but for how wide it is compared to the smaller avenues I trekked since arriving.

    I follow that bustling road until I return to the entrance of Sanguine Sweet. I would rather avoid the place, it¡¯s not to my liking¡­but I¡¯ve resigned myself to discomfort in order to maintain my, and my loved ones¡¯, safety. I approach the Gothic building and pull open the heavy door that leads into the bar, assaulted at once with the smell of blood heavy in the air, swirling headily with various perfumes. There are mundanes here, although I doubt they would ever find the place on their own power. These people stay at the side of a specific vampire, and I must surmise they are thralls of some kind. Or, as I watch a fellow vampire bite down on a young woman¡¯s wrist, they act for these vampires as the blood bags act for me ¨C readily available food.

    The colors of Sanguine Sweet are disappointedly predictable; dark reds and oppressive blacks. The paneled walls are ornate and ancient, of a style that can¡¯t be found nowadays. Chandeliers hang from the ceilings, encased in black and red shades over the crystalline bulbs. The bar stretches across the entire back wall, showcasing an assortment of drinks I could never learn all the names of. I do know from my last visit that most of them are blood, mixed with a variety of ingredients to cater to the bar¡¯s most prominent clientele. There is something for everyone, however, though I get the impression that not many others from the Market deign to come here.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    While the interior looks as though it belongs in Victorian London, the music and the fashion is entirely modern. Loud, electronic trap music blasts over the speakers, and I move cautiously around pairs clad in leather that gyrate and sensually grind against one another throughout the bar. The space is mostly open in the center, for this very reason, with booths set in the corners and several tables near the entrance. There¡¯s a staircase near the bar leading to a second level, but the last time I went close to it the smell of sex was so noticeable that I gathered what sort of activities went on up there.

    I do go up to the bar, and I take a seat on one of the cushy stools. To my left is another vampire, relishing a cocktail with an inky black liquid within the glass. To my right is a thrall, gazing sightlessly at the many bottles stacked neatly on shelves. The bartender tonight is not the vampire I saw when I came here on Riley¡¯s request, in fact, this isn¡¯t a vampire at all. There¡¯s a sweet smell to this creature that makes me feel suddenly impulsive and bold. I shake my head slowly, and the gesture must be noticed, because the bartender flashes me a knowing smile and leans across the glossy bar top.

    ¡°It¡¯s not you, it¡¯s me.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± I ask.

    ¡°You vampires can¡¯t help yourselves around the Fae,¡± the bartender replies.

    ¡°This seems a counterintuitive choice of employment on your part then, sir¡­¡±

    The bartender holds up a finger and wags it in a disapproving manner. ¡°None of that sir business, if you please. Much too formal, don¡¯t you agree?¡±

    Judging by the rather hungry expression in his golden eyes, I decide formal probably isn¡¯t a bad thing. Regardless, I don¡¯t want to close this window of opportunity if he does know something. ¡°Sorry,¡± I say.

    He winks and flashes a smile before gesturing to the impressive selection of drinks. ¡°What can I get you, sweetie?¡±

    ¡°Uh, I¡¯m not actually here for that,¡± I begin.

    The Fae¡¯s smile turns suddenly lascivious. ¡°Oho, heading upstairs, are we?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± I blurt out. ¡°No,¡± I repeat more levelly. ¡°I¡¯m here for information.¡±

    ¡°Pity,¡± I hear murmured under the other¡¯s breath. I¡¯m sure he knows I can hear him, despite the whisper. ¡°Hmm¡­but still curious. Tell you what, my shift ends in thirty minutes. Why don¡¯t you stake a claim on that corner booth and I¡¯ll join you and see if I can help.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, that¡¯s very kind of you to offer.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome, doll. I¡¯ll see you soon.¡±

    My smile feels uncertain, but I¡¯m hopeful the Fae will be able to help me. I don¡¯t know much about my own kind, but I got the impression vampires can be quite secretive, so I¡¯m not sure how much someone outside the covens may know. Still, as a bartender, he would have access to a lot of different vampires, and perhaps being here loosened a tongue or two. I retreat from the bar, my place quickly taken by another vampire, and once again plot my careful way across the bar to avoid getting swept up by the dancers. I manage to make it to the booth the Fae indicated, and slide onto the velvety red seat.

    Thirty minutes should not feel overly long, but it does here. It¡¯s the music, I think. Or rather, the constant avoidance of gazes that are looking for the sort of company I won¡¯t provide. Or a combination of those things which makes me want to leave the bar until the Fae¡¯s shift is over. I keep looking that way, and let out a sigh of relief when I see a woman going behind the bar. My would-be informant steps away, stretches, blows a kiss to someone I can¡¯t see and then seeks me out in the dim lighting. Seeing I am still waiting, he makes his way towards the booth ¨C only he stops to dance with those in his path. His body is very willowy, moving with a grace that surpasses even the vampires that are swaying to the music. There is control and artistry to every movement, so that I don¡¯t feel impatient waiting for him to get to me.

    ¡°Hello again,¡± he sings as he slips into the booth, sitting next to me.

    ¡°Hello,¡± I reply. ¡°My name is Henry, by the way. Henry Stone.¡±

    ¡°Very Bond of you, Mr. Stone,¡± the Fae snickers. ¡°You may call me Muir. Now then, what is it you¡¯re looking for? You¡¯re not like most of the vampires who come here. Oohh, that¡¯s a double entendre isn¡¯t it?¡±

    I stare at him, and he adopts an innocent expression before withdrawing what appears to be a purple cigarette from his breast pocket. ¡°Hit of Papavari?¡± he asks as he lights it. I shake my head and he tsks, blowing a floral smelling smoke in my direction. ¡°What do you need?¡± he asks, sounding bored now instead of playful.

    ¡°I need to speak with Charlemagne, do you know him?¡±

    Muir laughs. ¡°Honey, everyone knows Charlemagne. Looking to win some favor? I didn¡¯t expect you to be the sort to chase clout.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not the reason I seek him,¡± I argue. ¡°He acted as host to¡­unorthodox guests. I wish to know why, and if said guests are there currently.¡±

    ¡°Nosing about in his business? Mmm, and here I was thinking you were utterly straightlaced. It¡¯s dangerous, you know. What you¡¯re doing.¡±

    ¡°As are the people he¡¯s associating with.¡±

    Muir leans in close again, giving me the impression he¡¯s not one who respects personal space. I would ignore it as best as I could normally, but the scent of his blood is intoxicating and though I¡¯ve fed recently enough, I find that dark hunger stirring within me. ¡°What would a good boy like you want with dangerous people then?¡± the Fae whispers.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­personal.¡±

    He brings the purple cigarette to his lips, and as he inhales the embers light up those odd golden eyes and catch the honey-gold highlights in his light hair. His expression is smug as he breathes the smoke out from his nostrils. ¡°Charlemagne doesn¡¯t come here,¡± he says after a beat. ¡°Nor do many from the Moliere Coven.¡±

    ¡°Oh that¡¯s¡­disappointing.¡± I¡¯m having trouble concentrating, there¡¯s something very hypnotic about the other¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°Mm, I bet,¡± Muir purrs. ¡°But, there may be something I can do for you, although I¡¯ll tell you now it won¡¯t be for free.¡±

    My head tilts slightly in question and he smirks. Did he lean in even closer? His lips are awfully close. ¡°If I get you the information you¡¯re looking for, then you¡ª¡±

    ¡°Muir!¡±

    He¡¯s at the edge of the booth suddenly, and the heady sort of warmth that came over us dissipates instantly. I¡¯m aware of the loud music again, the more metallic scent of blood, the sweat of the nonvampires dancing to the beat. I blink, feeling like I emerged from a dream. There¡¯s a vampire standing close by, her arms folded and her pale eyes locked on Muir in disapproval. He doesn¡¯t appear guilty, more annoyed than anything else, with an air of practiced nonchalance.

    ¡°What did I tell you?¡± the vampire asks.

    ¡°I know, I know.¡±

    ¡°Get out of here,¡± she growls.

    ¡°Spoil sport,¡± he sneers at her, but winks at me again. ¡°Ciao.¡±

    He gets up from the table, adjusts his dark, pinstripe vest, and leaves Sanguine Sweet with his head held high.

    ¡°Nightmare,¡± the vampire sighs. ¡°You need to be more careful,¡± she adds to me.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­I don¡¯t know what happened,¡± I admit.

    ¡°He¡¯s a bad apple, Muir is,¡± the vampire says. ¡°Used to be part of the Unseelie Court. He won¡¯t say what position, but rumor is he was important until he got himself exiled. These days, he just likes playing the role of the spider spinning its web. Last vampire he took a shine to ended up batshit crazy and ran out into the sunlight just to get some peace. Poor bugger.¡±

    ¡°Then why does he work here?¡± I ask, bewildered.

    ¡°He doesn¡¯t,¡± the vampire says stiffly. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t hire him even if he paid me instead. He slinks in here every couple of years, uses the fact his blood is the equivalent of a drug for us to charm his way to whatever spot he fancies for the night.¡± She looks at me more closely, and there¡¯s the shadow of¡­something across her face that intrigues me, perhaps more so for how quickly she tries to mask it than its presence in the first place. ¡°I don¡¯t recognize you,¡± she says, and I believe she is still covering that something. Her words have me realize that the shadow was akin to recognition.

    ¡°This is only my second time here,¡± I offer. ¡°I¡¯m Henry.¡±

    ¡°Good to have you here then. I¡¯m Vivienne, I own the place.¡±

    I¡¯m glad I haven¡¯t voiced any of my complaints about the bar. ¡°Maybe you can help me?¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°Do you know Charlemagne well? From the Moliere Coven?¡±

    She smiles. ¡°I would say so, I¡¯ve only been sleeping with him for the last century or so.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­his lover?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Have you seen him recently?¡±

    She looks suspicious now, regarding me in an assessing manner. ¡°Yes¡­why do you need to know?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not really about him,¡± I say, hoping that will appease her. ¡°I heard he hosted two people recently, and it is them I seek. Charles and Ines Bishop, do those names mean anything to you?¡±

    ¡°Ha! The would-be warlock and witch,¡± Vivienne snorts derisively. ¡°I don¡¯t know why Charlemagne bothered to entertain them at all. They were a pair of frauds, and not even remotely convincing either. I¡¯m glad we¡¯re rid of them.¡±

    I feel that clutch of fear in my throat again. Knowing where they are is painful enough, knowing they are close but unsure exactly where is far worse. ¡°They left?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Good riddance too.¡±

    ¡°I really need to find them.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to tell you,¡± she shrugs. ¡°I don¡¯t know where they went.¡±

    ¡°Does Charlemagne? Could you ask him if he¡¯d be open to a meeting?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s in it for me?¡± Vivienne asks.

    ¡°Oh¡­well, my funds are pretty abysmal, but I could¡­find a way to raise whatever you think is sufficient?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t put stock in IOU¡¯s,¡± she replies. ¡°But I could use another temp employee here.¡±

    I stare at her, and then look around Sanguine Sweet again, to the vampires heeding the demands of clients wishing to feel the sting of their fangs, to the others who dance, and then to the staircase where far more occurs. ¡°This really isn¡¯t my scene,¡± I point out.

    ¡°Obviously,¡± Vivienne chuckles. ¡°I¡¯m not a monster, I¡¯d keep you behind the bar, nothing¡­intimate unless you express an interest in that sort of thing later.¡±

    I was just thinking that I needed a job, and one in the Market really is the only sort that seems suitable now. I¡¯m not thrilled about it by any means, but more time here will offer protection as well, and mitigate the threat to Castillo. I know he can handle himself, but I¡¯d feel terrible if he was put in any sort of danger on my behalf. There¡¯s no fighting in the Market, even if my parents figure out I¡¯m here, there will be little they can do to hurt me. I hold to this thought, even if I don¡¯t truly believe it.

    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll take the offer,¡± I say.

    ¡°Good. Give me your contact information and I¡¯ll try to set something up with Charlemagne soon. Oh, and if you see Muir come in here again, just tell him to leave. He¡¯ll have you tripped up and in his debt in a second if you give him one to speak.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind. Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Sure. Now go get to work, Cassandra can start training you,¡± she says, gesturing to the woman behind the bar.

 Chapter III: The Book & The Relic

    There is not much that can physically exhaust a vampire, save for the mentality of prior muscle memory. This is the only reason I feel physically exhausted by the time my impromptu shift behind the bar is over, because I know as a human I would have collapsed into a booth and slept after the ceaseless serving of complicated drinks. That vampires expect these drinks in an instant only added to the pressure, and watching Cassandra¡¯s hands moving in a blur while she rapidly explained what she was doing did not end favorably in my first dozen attempts to keep up. I managed to get a grasp of several drinks, however, and the last hour of work went by without Cassandra being visibly exasperated with my sloppy efforts. I think I did quite well, considering. After all, my area of study while human was towards becoming a school counselor, very far removed from my current employment.

    It¡¯s three hours until dawn, Vivienne prefers to give us enough time to get home safely ¨C understandable, as few would risk their lives for a paycheck I would call average at best. I retrace my steps down main street, in the direction of the troll bridge. There is a lull in the Market at this time. It¡¯s almost quiet, most of the shops are not open for business yet and as such there are not many wandering the winding roads. I see rarer creatures now, perhaps instilled with a sense of safety otherwise lacking when the Market is too full. The brilliant sheen of a unicorn¡¯s coat is visible in an area of the Market that resembles Boston Common, and as much as I long to approach, I refrain. I would hate to scare it.

    My pace is slow as I take in more details of the Market, from the unknown flowers in the boxes underneath windows, to the perplexing architecture of the buildings that appear as if built by hurried hands. It gives this place a level of charm lacking in Boston, which may be a nightmare to navigate its complicated roadways, but the overall structure is modern as any other city. Here is magic, that thing long forgotten in the mundane world.

    I¡¯m calm as I head down the stairs adjacent to the troll bridge, back to the corridor that will lead me to the museum basement. It feels good to be doing something, instead of waiting about in my room, and while I¡¯ve long mastered my thoughts to keep them from racing, I have no desire to challenge the fortitude of this ability by remaining locked away overly long. Vivienne may not have given me a concrete time when she would speak to Charlemagne again, but I have no doubts that she will. In the meantime, I¡¯ll have the opportunity to learn more about my kind, and perhaps to overhear details from patrons that would help me later on. If not for this, then for some mess Riley finds himself in as he¡¯s wont to do.

    I miss him, I realize, as I cautiously push open the hidden doorway despite the museum still being closed. It would be unfortunate to smack an incoming werewolf with the heavy brick due to a lack of attentiveness. It¡¯s been too long since we¡¯ve talked, let alone seen one another. I know he¡¯s busier than ever with his promotion, and my disappearing act didn¡¯t help. Knowing him, he¡¯s disregarded my request and is looking for me by now, which means I must be vigilant in order to keep him out of it. It¡¯s not only for his safety, but for mine. I did not like what I saw from the Order of Cerberus when dealing with Elena Silvyn. I hope to conclude this trial without their violent intervention.

    The return trip to Castillo¡¯s is uneventful. I quietly withdraw my key and unlock the front door, closing it gently behind me. It¡¯s mostly silent in the pristine home, I still hear the hum of electricity, and the distant beating of Gianna¡¯s heart. Castillo isn¡¯t in then, no doubt working elsewhere. I decide not to ponder on what keeps him out at this time in the morning, and instead return to my room. My eyes catch on the decorative hall table that is near my door, and I retrieve the paper that¡¯s been left there.

    It¡¯s a spreadsheet full of names, credit card numbers, phone numbers, and corresponding storage units; those renting from Castillo¡¯s business in Mattapan. There¡¯s a short note scrawled on the bottom from my host, stating as much and inviting me to see if I know any of the clients renting space here. I take the paper into the bedroom, flipping on the light due to habit, and sitting at the edge of the bed to read over the names.

    At first I think it¡¯s a dead end, a question that will never have an answer since the only one who had it is dead. Then, my eyes return to a name towards the top of the list. William Burke. I only ever knew him as Billy¡­but didn¡¯t Riley once mock his name? I strive to remember: something about his name sounding like a superhero¡¯s for the matching letters of first and last name. It has to be that Billy, but why would he rent a storage unit from Castillo? I look over the spreadsheet again, the name of the company reads Mattapan¡¯s Maximum Storage¡­there¡¯s a chance Billy did not know it belonged to the crime boss. I am certain this is the unit the would-be thief meant to break into, it¡¯s far too much of a coincidence otherwise, and I¡¯m beginning to believe very little is actual coincidence. I must look into this further, although it will have to wait for tonight as dawn will break across the city soon.

    ?????¡ã???¡ã?????

    I withdraw into the slumber that more resembles death. It is an elimination of all consciousness, and I do not dream during it. I have not dreamed once since the turn, and believe I will never dream again. There¡¯s no moment of emerging to wakefulness, it¡¯s more like closing my eyes and opening them again to darkness outside of my window instead of blossoming light. There¡¯s no sense of the time that¡¯s passed, it resumes as if I didn¡¯t rest at all.

    I hear Gianna cleaning the lounge across the hall from my bedroom, navigating the vacuum around the cushy chairs and ornate chess set that appears more decorative than one actually used. Beyond those sounds, I hear the rumble of Castillo¡¯s voice and know if I concentrate hard enough I could hear not only him, but whoever he speaks to on the phone too. As I don¡¯t wish to invade my host¡¯s privacy, I refrain and take up the list he provided me. William Burke. Billy¡­He¡¯s another who I miss. He was a good soul, and one of the few in the Order that seemed to believe in living in peace, rather than control.

    Still aware of the proximity to Order HQ, I opt for a taxi to take me to Arbor Community Church and catch the nearby bus at Roseway and Centre Street. It takes about half an hour and a bus change to reach Mattapan. Right away I catch the scent of werewolves, something about their blood is distinctive. It¡¯s not intoxicating the way Muir¡¯s was, it¡¯s more robust and strong than that of a mundane¡¯s. I will have to proceed with caution, I do not know if Castillo¡¯s alerted his pack to me, but I don¡¯t want them to think I¡¯m blatantly ignoring their territorial nature. This is something I should have asked before coming here. I¡¯m not quite used to this investigative procedure, and while I already respected how difficult Riley¡¯s job must be, I¡¯m gaining a new appreciation of those difficulties now that I¡¯m faced with them personally.

    Fortunately, I have the address of the facility and I¡¯m able to make my way directly there. There¡¯s little activity here at the moment, and a quick perusal of their posted hours tells me I have an hour before they close for the night. At least for the public, I can see the appeal of doing shady after hours business dealings here already. The concrete building has no windows, and I see where heavy doors can be pulled down, then anchored and locked to the ground when it¡¯s past closing time, shielding the less intimidating entrance customers can use throughout the day. There are cameras in plain sight, and I imagine state-of-the-art alarm systems which would explain how the thief was caught before making it to his unit of choice.

    Cameras are visible near the ceiling when I step inside, but there¡¯s no physical security ¨C at least, not that I can see. There¡¯s a strong smell of chemical cleaner in the air, but I think I catch the scent of wolves beneath it. No one confronts me, however, and I get my bearings as I walk down the narrow corridor flanked on either side by secure storage units. At the end of the hall, the path splits into a T, I refer to the print out once more then check the numbers painted on the doors and go left, towards Billy¡¯s. The building¡¯s layout is grid-like, small turns branch from the hall I¡¯m walking down, leading to more storage units facing one another. There¡¯s plenty of units, and I see how this is a lucrative business for Castillo, and one of the few legitimate ones the criminal runs. I find it odd to think of him as a criminal, perhaps because of his generosity not only towards me, but to South Boston and the restoration of what was lost.

    Then again, I am only here because he killed the thief I would otherwise question.

    I pause when I reach the row of units where Billy¡¯s should be, keeping expectations in check as I turn down the side hall and go towards the middle, to number 19. Unfortunately, it¡¯s at this moment I realize once again I should have asked Castillo about coming here. I do not have the key to the unit, and there¡¯s a camera above me that will alert security if I attempt to break in. Castillo may be generous, I cannot know his whole pack will be the same.

    Rather than tear the door open, I look directly at the camera and wave a hand to signal I need help. I only hope there is someone watching the feed who will come to my aid, but I decide if no one does within ten minutes, I¡¯ll have to go in the less desirable way. Six minutes later I hear the sound of two sets of footsteps coming my way, and two werewolves turn the corner seconds later.

    The one on the left, a short but muscular man, faces me with clear hostility. ¡°You¡¯re in the wrong neighborhood, bloodsucker,¡± he snarls.

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    ¡°Wait,¡± says the woman at his side. I recognize her from the docks, she was one Riley and I helped carry from the destruction. I later learned her name was Faith, and while we did not stay in touch after what happened, she had voiced her gratitude profusely for the help before we went our separate ways. ¡°This is Castillo¡¯s vampire.¡±

    ¡°Henry,¡± I correct her.

    ¡°Right,¡± she replies. Her companion remains poised for aggression, but he nods stiffly to acknowledge my identity. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± she asks.

    ¡°Your boss gave me information about this place, I¡¯m following up on the thief who tried breaking in not long ago.¡±

    The man snorts in derisive amusement. ¡°He sure regretted that decision.¡±

    ¡°Shut up, Roger,¡± Faith sighs. ¡°Continue, Henry.¡±

    ¡°I know one of the names on this list, of one of your customers,¡± I reply. ¡°I believe the thief was attempting to get to his unit, and I would like to look around¡­preferably without breaking the door.¡±

    ¡°As if you could,¡± Roger grumbles.

    Faith gives him a stern look that he attempts to match, only to avert his gaze, kick a foot against the floor like a child, and stalk off to likely return to wherever they spent their shifts. She rolls her eyes. ¡°Of the entire pack they stick me with him,¡± she mutters. She reaches for her belt where a large ring of keys hangs, unhooking it and flipping through the keys until she gets to the one she needs. She bends low to unlock the door, pulling it up as she straightens. ¡°Take your time, leave the door open when you¡¯re done so I remember to lock up before going home.¡±

    ¡°Of course, thank you, Faith.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s good to see you again, Henry. Stay out of trouble.¡±

    ¡°I am trying.¡±

    She offers a wry smile and then follows after Roger. I do not envy her, the short time I knew Roger was more than enough to give an unfavorable impression. I wait until I no longer hear Faith before I step into the unit. It¡¯s very¡­Billy. There¡¯s clutter everywhere, most of it in bright, bold colors reminiscent of the 60¡¯s and 70¡¯s, and an assortment of items I could not name. Likely related to his work as a Sentinel with the Order. Risky to leave it here, even if he did not know this place is run by werewolves ¨C which I suspect he did, they have their own way of detecting the supernatural ¨C it would be safer to lock it away in headquarters I would think.

    I make my way with caution around the piles of books, blankets, and boxes that litter the floor, looking for anything that stands out. So far, nothing. Most of the books are old, likely valuable but titles that I recognize. The same with the blankets and rugs, I sense nothing extraordinary from these items. It looks as though Billy mostly used this place exactly for its purpose, to store extra belongings that did not fit in his home. It looks this way¡­but I know it cannot be so simple, so I begin to go through the boxes. Photo albums, scrapbooks, magazines and comics, VHS tapes and a Walkman with accompanying cassettes¡­overall it is an eclectic collection of junk, but of the sort that obviously held sentimental value to its owner.

    It must be two hours before I reach the back corner of the unit. I feel like I know Billy a little better from going through these memories, but I am losing hope of finding something pertinent to my task.

    It¡¯s not until I see the moldy, barely holding together book spine that I know I¡¯ve found it after all. I stare at the title, scratched and faded but still visible, and reach for it with trepidation, as though I¡¯m reaching for a cornered animal. The weight is familiar as I bring it close to me, the cracked leather similar but not the same as the leather I ran my fingers over as a child. I thought the book was one-of-a-kind, something only my parents possessed but this¡­this is not the same exact tome from my childhood, but another print. It¡¯s filled with magic: rituals, concoctions and tinctures, ingredients for spells, potions and poisons. The language is archaic, the words are those I relied on for some means of escape, even if the thoughts it could inspire were of the sort I¡¯m not proud of today.

    I open the cover, and see scrawled handwriting there, a list of who the book was passed to. Percival Burke, Jacob Burke, Adam Burke, William Burke. Why did Billy¡¯s family own this? Were they also warlocks? Did they conduct rituals under the light of the moon¡­attempting to earn favor from an unknowable force? I want to throw the book from my sight and leave, but it is the best clue I found here and reluctantly tuck it under my arm. I am about to depart when I see a glint, light reflecting off of a surface in the dark corner. I focus and see an object there, that I also retrieve. My eyes widen as I look at it, I know this object, but I know it from the book only.

    The relic is about the size of a baseball, in the shape of a pyramid, composed of obsidian, or a stone which looks like obsidian. Fine white lines spread across the impenetrable black of the stone, like lightning tearing across the sky. At the peak of the pyramid, there¡¯s a white pearl-like stone which seems to faintly glow, the reason I saw the relic in the first place. I stare at it and tenuous vibrations tickle my palm, though I am unsure if they are real or imagined. What is real, is the coiling unease I feel when I look at it. This is what the thief sought, I am sure of it, and if he worked on behalf of my parents then this is important to them. Which means I cannot leave it here, even if it would strengthen their resolve to find me. I cannot run from this, I cannot leave to chance that they will fail in whatever endeavor they pursue which brought them here.

    I force resolve and keep both the relic and the book in my grasp as I leave the unit, intending to return to my temporary home. If there isn¡¯t a secure enough safe in Castillo¡¯s home, I¡¯ll have to look elsewhere, but for the time being, I want to keep these things close.

    I am on alert when I leave Mattapan Maximum Storage, so much so I dare not risk public transportation, as if my parents will somehow know I retrieved the relic and come after me. I do what I rarely do, and rely on my vampiric speed to carry me through Boston as a blur, all the way to Castillo¡¯s home. When I enter, I hear music coming from the kitchen and smell a delicious blend of spices that tells me my host is once again preparing a gourmet dish. He has a passion for cooking, one developed by his mother as he told me when I asked about it, although he did not get into more details about the matter and I¡¯m perceptive enough to know it¡¯s a sore subject. I do not go to greet him, nor does he interrupt what he¡¯s doing to greet me, and I go upstairs to my room, sitting at the small desk by the window and carefully opening the dilapidated copy of Magicks & Alchemy and seeking the page I knew from years ago, the one related to the relic.

    To my dismay, water damage makes the pages I need all but unintelligible. I close my eyes, pushing away the creeping defeat, and compose myself anew as I scour the page again for whatever information is left. I have the relic, and I believe that is the most important thing as it means my parents do not.

    Despite my deep concentration, the only substantial words I decipher are ¡°Fair¡±, ¡°North¡±, ¡°in shadow.¡±

    It¡¯s not enough to move forward, so I take hold of the relic and leave the book on the desk, to interrupt my host after all.

    The mood in the kitchen does not match my own. There is lively music playing, Gianna is here and smiling openly for a change, a large glass of red wine set before her. Castillo is at the stove, where rich smells are coming and filling the rest of the large kitchen. He glances over his shoulder at me when I enter, and gestures for me to join him. I do so, ignoring the way Gianna¡¯s eyes follow me as if expecting me to suddenly lunge for Castillo¡¯s neck, and peer into the large pan at the complicated assortment of ingredients simmering.

    ¡°Paella Valenciana,¡± he says, then perhaps sensing my mood he lofts a brow. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Any chance you know what this may be?¡± I ask, holding up the relic.

    Castillo looks it over and frowns. I can see the wolf in him, hackles raising and teeth bared. ¡°Not specifically, no. But there is something¡­wrong about it, Santito.¡±

    ¡°I feel it too,¡± I sigh. ¡°There is a book, but the pages are damaged. All I could make out about it were the words fair, north and in shadow.¡±

    ¡°Vague.¡±

    ¡°Unhelpfully so.¡±

    ¡°Did you have luck with that puta, Charlemagne?¡±

    ¡°The owner of the Sanguine Sweet is going to try and set up a meeting. Evidently, he did host my parents, but they are no longer with him. I work there now¡­come to think of it, I¡¯m probably expected there,¡± it¡¯s been long enough without employment that I didn¡¯t think about my new job when my night started.

    Castillo is looking at me oddly, and I realize he must know the bar¡¯s reputation. ¡°I¡¯m a bartender.¡±

    ¡°Okay, Santito.¡±

    ¡°I am,¡± I insist as he chuckles and shakes his head.

    ¡°Get that fucking thing out of my kitchen, okay? I don¡¯t want it to ruin this,¡± he gestures at the paella while eyeing the relic, then his gaze lifts to meet mine and he grins. ¡°Have fun at work, estriptisero.¡±

    ¡°There will be no living with you now,¡± I sigh. He¡¯s turning back to the paella and I don¡¯t want to give him further ammunition, besides there may be someone at Sanguine Sweet who can help with my mystery. The relic is not ideal for keeping with me, it¡¯s too large to slip into a pocket, but I return to my room to grab my laptop bag and put it there. Being behind the bar will give me some extra security, patrons won¡¯t notice the bag and I do not think Cassandra will care enough to ask about it.

    I put the book in there too, for good measure. If nothing else, I don¡¯t feel comfortable leaving these things with Castillo while I¡¯m gone.  If they make anyone a target, it should be me.

 Chapter IV: Muir

    Inexperience proves a burden once again. I expect things to move as quickly as they did with Elena, instead three weeks pass working at Sanguine Sweet with nothing eventful taking place. I am a proficient bartender now, a blessing for Cassandra who no longer has to mentor me and can work her own shifts instead of hers and mine. Otherwise, I hear nothing from Vivienne about her meeting with Charlemagne, and when I ask she tells me that it will happen in due time. I suppose for a vampire, there¡¯s never really a rush, and it feels rude to push her towards haste for something so personal. The same holds true for Castillo, who has no updates for me during this time. Evidently, the death of the thief deterred my parents from trying to break into Mattapan Maximum Storage again. Or perhaps they know the contents they seek are no longer there. Yet, I am not accosted at all. I make my way to and from the Market with no sense of being watched or followed. Despite this, I know not to let my guard down. I do not believe my parents simply gave up and returned home. They are waiting for their opportune moment.

    Friday night sees me following my new routine. I rise, I drink the blood Castillo keeps supplied for me, I leave for the Market. Cassandra showed me a different way in previously, rather than the werewolves¡¯ entrance I now go through an abandoned and dilapidated Gothic style cathedral close to Dorchester, where the other vampires of Boston come into the Market. It¡¯s quite amazing the building isn¡¯t condemned yet, and I wonder if the Covens are behind its lingering presence, paid off to keep their doorway clear. I prefer the entrance in the NCAAA Museum, the church smells of dank fungus and death.

    The passage leads to a back street behind Sanguine Sweet, so I can make my way directly to work if I choose to. Most nights I do, others I arrive earlier so I can wander the Market. I¡¯ve seen a few of the shops now, selling such oddities that I assume have practical use to those who know how to use them. I make it my goal to learn about these things, broadening my understanding of this parallel society to the one I¡¯ve known my whole life.

    Tonight is not a night of exploration. I left the Back Bay area too late for that, caught up in a game of chess with Gianna and actually giving the board some use. She¡¯s exceptionally skilled in the game and I have yet to win a match, but her continual triumph warmed her to me so I did win in that regard.

    I arrive just as the bar is opening, it¡¯s my favorite time in the place, before the music pounds from the speakers and the place is crowded with the press of bodies. I see a few of the vampires better suited to Castillo¡¯s ¡®estriptisero¡¯ moniker, lounging in one of the booths together and chatting amiably before they¡¯ll be called to satisfied customers. They lift their hands in greeting when I enter, and I return the gesture. I have not made deep ties with any of my coworkers, but they¡¯re welcoming enough and respect my privacy, always willing to chat during a lull without prying. All in all, I am starting to enjoy my job even if there¡¯s a few aspects of it I could do without. I think exposure will get me, if not comfortable, then at least undisturbed by the various activities that happen under this roof.

    ¡°Hey, Henry,¡± Cassandra says as she comes in.

    ¡°Hello,¡± I reply as she joins me behind the bar. She¡¯s rummaging around in the cubbies and withdraws a few wine bottles. ¡°I¡¯m stealing these, we ran out upstairs and Vivienne won¡¯t be back with the new shipment until closing.¡±

    ¡°Very well.¡±

    I haven¡¯t had to work the upstairs bar, and I¡¯m glad Vivienne upheld what she said about not pushing boundaries. Cassandra smiles and wishes me a good shift before she takes the bottles with her and goes up the grand staircase. By now customers are starting to come in; vampires, witches and warlocks, a couple Fae, goblins and redcaps, even a Djinn. The music begins its rhythmic booming, and I shift the satchel that still holds the relic and book so it¡¯s behind me as I prepare for another night of mixing drink after drink. The bustle makes the time pass quickly, in any case.

    ¡°Henry. Henry Stone,¡± the voice drips like honey, honey concealing poison.

    It¡¯s near the end of my shift and I straighten, having been retrieving more glasses from the bottom shelf. Standing next to me, leaning on the bar, is Muir. He has a smug smile on his face, and I notice he doesn¡¯t attempt to hide the fact his eyes travel over me before settling on my face.

    ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to be here,¡± I point out.

    ¡°But you don¡¯t really mind,¡± he decides, not moving. He examines his nails, which are painted a deep blue tonight that match his eyeshadow and shirt, a button-down that is completely open and baring his chest. Dark, fitted pants accentuate long legs, and small, thin loops adorn his pointed ears. His smile becomes more smug as he watches me take in his appearance. ¡°No, you definitely don¡¯t mind.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m working,¡± I argue. ¡°If nothing else, you can at least get out from behind the bar.¡±

    The hint of a feigned pout forms on pale lips, but he does as I ask and retreats to the other side of the bar, ensuring he takes the seat across from where I¡¯m standing. I focus on the task at hand, mixing a complicated cocktail for a siren, and pay Muir no heed until the drink is set before my current customer.

    With everyone served, I look around to see if there¡¯s any patrons standing nearby waiting to put in an order. Alas, I have no more excuse to ignore Muir and I reluctantly return. ¡°What can I get you?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Three¡­no, four, hours alone with you.¡±

    ¡°I meant what drink can I get for you?¡± I ask. One of the lessons I was taught since working here is that vampires can get flushed if they drink enough blood. I¡¯ve seen it in some of the patrons here. I drink only what I need to sustain me, and I¡¯m grateful for it as heat doesn¡¯t immediately rush to my face.

    Muir grins and rests an elbow on the bar, then his chin in his hand. ¡°Still you.¡±

    I stare at him, a confusing mix of feeling affronted, embarrassed and intrigued, warring briefly in my mind before I separate myself from them, detachment my savior once again, and preferable to resigned compliance. ¡°I¡¯ll return when you¡¯re ready to order.¡±

    ¡°Henry,¡± he says in an amused whine as I begin to turn away. ¡°Lighten up, sweetheart. Are you really so displeased to see me?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m beginning to be,¡± I mutter.

    His laugh is like ocean waves, rolling gently to the horizon. Or like trees swaying in the wind. It is of nature, beautiful and alluring. ¡°I shan¡¯t tease you further,¡± he insists. ¡°Come, come. Fix me with a Flaming Pixie.¡±

    The drink is a mulled cider mixed with actual pixie dust said to elicit a high to match many drugs in the black market, with none of the horrid side effects. Allegedly. It is then sprinkled with ¡®dragon scale¡¯, though I have my doubts it is actually from a dragon, which is what¡¯s set aflame before being served. The flames dance in colors of purple and greens, reacting to the pixie dust in the drink. I hand the concoction over to Muir, who inhales its sweet and spicy aroma languidly. ¡°Perfection,¡± he hums, watching the amber drink turn to gold as the fire sinks into the liquid, becoming part of it.

    He takes a sip, his hum closer to a moan that he somehow times to be audible despite the loud music.

    ¡°You know, I would be within my duties to ask you to leave,¡± I say.

    ¡°Yes, but then what¡¯s the fun in that?¡± Muir asks. ¡°Is this drab little club really that much better without me in it?¡±

    I can¡¯t say ¡®yes¡¯ because Sanguine Sweet is never going to be my scene and I think he¡¯ll detect the lie immediately. I shrug as answer and he presses a hand over his heart, a dire sigh adding to the melodramatic performance.

    ¡°At least I am a paying customer,¡± he adds, voice clipped. I cannot determine if he¡¯s truly annoyed with me now or not. ¡°So, kick out your high rollers, Stone, and see where this place ends up.¡±

    ¡°If you are a high roller, why were you working behind the bar when we met?¡±

    ¡°For fun,¡± he says. ¡°You should try it sometime, babe. Let loose, succumb to your wild side¡­I obviously wasn¡¯t doing it for the money, I don¡¯t work here.¡±

    ¡°Why are you¡­¡± I trail off. I want to ask him why he seems so interested in me, but I wonder if he truly is or if this is just how he behaves with everyone. I¡¯m leaning towards the latter, but more than that, I begin to convince myself it doesn¡¯t matter. He¡¯s not my reason for being here, and I cannot let distractions hinder me.

    But he does have a very distracting smile.

    ¡°It¡¯s that obliviousness,¡± he says, leaning towards me as though sharing a secret. ¡°You have no idea do you¡­?¡±

    ¡°No idea of¡­what?¡±

    He gathers his breath and I find myself leaning towards him, failing my goal of keeping distance in every sense of the word. A slender finger suddenly taps the tip of my nose, accompanied by his musical voice singing ¡®boop,¡¯ before a peal of laughter rings like bells. ¡°You¡¯re so easy, just not in the way I want you to be.¡±

    I withdraw with a frown, trying to think of what I can say. He spares me the effort, because he tips back his glass and finishes his drink with a lewd gulp before pulling out a wad of cash and slapping it to the bar top. ¡°Keep the change, honey. Time for me to slink off and lurk in the shadows again.¡±

    I watch him exit and shake my head slowly. I do not know quite what to make of this situation, only that it feels like something more than dealing with an eccentric customer. He worries me in a way I cannot define yet, but it is the absence of his overwhelming presence that makes his last words click in a more pertinent manner. It was most likely an expression, more of his humor to say he was slinking off to the shadows. I think of the text I could discern from the book, however; in shadow.

    Cassandra is coming down the stairs, many of the customers who go up there trickle out of the bar after closing, but her shift is over. She¡¯s carrying one of the wine bottles again, coming over to me to replace it from where she took it.

    ¡°Can you close up?¡± I ask.

    ¡°I just did,¡± she says pointedly.

    ¡°I need to catch someone,¡± I insist.

    She pauses, sniffs at the air and rubs at a temple. ¡°Not again,¡± she mutters. ¡°Let me guess, Muir? Promising to give you everything? Paradise in a kiss, redemption through his dick?¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­no.¡±

    ¡°I guess you don¡¯t seem the type to go for that kind of thing. What do you need him for then?¡± she waves away her own question. ¡°Never mind, you can tell me tomorrow. Fine. I¡¯ll close up here too, but you owe me, Stone.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Cassandra.¡±

    I bring the satchel around to my side, my hand resting on it and assuring book and relic are where they¡¯re meant to be. I am far more adept at weaving through the crowds in the bar by now, and it''s thinning out with closing time swiftly approaching, making my departure all the easier.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    I return to main street and look carefully for Muir¡¯s blond hair. Briefly I think I¡¯ve lost him, but then I catch it like a golden halo in the distance, heading down a side street I have yet to explore. I go after him, reminding myself to keep far back to avoid detection and thankful for my overly keen senses. The street narrows as it goes along, and looks as if it ends with a stacked set of apartments. I see Muir duck under the building¡¯s uneven deck and wait a moment before I follow after him.

    Eyeing the first level apartment for signs of spectators in the windows, I press onward when I determine the way ahead is clear. I duck under the deck, and find the land slopes downward to a pathway that I have to stoop slightly in order to walk down. Instinct tells me to turn back, the smell here is similar to that which haunts me¡­the smell of an unfinished basement, moisture trapped in slab, the pressing earth all around me. I close my eyes, lift a hand and confirm there is no locked door before me. Opening my eyes, I take one step, then another, gathering resolve with every one. The passage goes for about 100 feet before I see another doorway, this one with a light overhead.

    The door is metal, painted a loud yellow and accompanied by a guard; a burly creature with grayish skin, bulging eyes and asymmetric limbs. Its overall shape is humanoid, and it looks at me with sentience and intelligence as I come closer, as well as suspicion.

    ¡°What¡¯re you doing here?¡± it demands in a grumbling voice, like the sound of boulders rolling down a hill together. ¡°You a rat? Huh? You with the Archives?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I insist before he can work himself up further. ¡°I¡¯m here to see Muir.¡±

    Like Cassandra, exasperation overcomes the creature as it sighs heavily, cracks the yellow door open and grunts, ¡°oy, Muir! One of your strays is here. What the fuck were you thinking?¡±

    Muir emerges and looks sinister for a second before his eyes land on me and he¡¯s back to smugly grinning. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s only Henry. He¡¯s harmless, you don¡¯t have to worry about him, Balen.¡±

    ¡°He looks like a squealer.¡±

    ¡°I hope so,¡± Muir sighs dreamily.

    ¡°If you don¡¯t mind,¡± I say loudly. ¡°I did not come here for this.¡±

    Muir and Balen exchange a glance. Balen sighs and steps away from the door, the poor creature is so tall that he cannot be comfortable down here but he seems to make himself smaller as he waits for us to get out of his general space. I wish to go back the way we came, but Muir beckons me inside and disappears beyond the door before I can protest.

    If Sanguine Sweet can be considered seedy, it is nothing to my new surroundings. The ceiling above is rock and earth, just barely opening enough for us to walk straight. Like a rabbit¡¯s warren, tunnels branch off the main corridor, opening to small dens with cushions and pillows thrown about. The smell here is pungent, an acrid mix of smokes, powders and unwashed bodies that assault my nose.

    ¡°Is this¡­a drug den?¡± I ask, watching a dark man light one of the purple cigarettes Muir offered me when we met.

    ¡°You can get drugs here,¡± Muir replies casually. ¡°It¡¯s actually a branch of the dreaded black market.¡±

    Now I see, these warren dens are not lounges for rest, instead they act as merchant stalls. Akin to those on the streets above, but there¡¯s not a great amount of hawking. I assume those who come here know what they want, and need not be persuaded by the vendors.

    I can overlook this, it¡¯s not my business. I wish I could hold to this thought, but it vanishes with the sudden, terrorized shriek of an infant. I stop in my place, looking for the child so I might seize it and bring it from this dreadful lair.

    ¡°Henry,¡± Muir¡¯s voice has no trace of its usual teasing, and he looks more serious than I¡¯ve seen him. ¡°Come,¡± he adds.

    ¡°But there¡¯s¡­¡±

    ¡°Come.¡±

    I ignore him, hearing the cry again and so prepare to travel every twist and turn to find the baby until he grabs my wrist and yanks me towards him. ¡°They will kill you,¡± he hisses. ¡°You do not interfere. Not here.¡±

    ¡°But why is there a child here? What is happening?¡± I ask, jerking my hand out of his grip.

    We draw attention, or rather, I draw attention and Muir notices this immediately. He smiles his bright smile at the vendors now eyeing us suspiciously. ¡°First time on the Never,¡± he croons. ¡°Such a lightweight.¡±

    I do not care what trouble I cause for him, right now¡­I don¡¯t even care about my reason for pursuing him this far. I care about the infant, and the dread that fills me when I hear the next wail cut suddenly off. If I can just break away from Muir, I can go look. I can bring it from its suffering. I step back from the Fae, but Muir reaches out to seize my chin, looking at me with his strange eyes. ¡°Just come with me,¡± he says. ¡°Calm down, you have nothing to worry about.¡±

    I wrench myself from him, on alert and defensive so that when he reaches again to stop me I strike his hand away before he can grip my shoulder. I turn from him, ready to burst into that preternatural speed, when a sudden scent overpowers me. It¡¯s a mistake to turn back towards Muir, who has slit his palm open and fills my senses with the smell of his blood. A mistake with further consequences when he reaches not for my shoulder this time, but to clamp that bleeding hand over my mouth. I may have resisted had he kept that distance, but this? My tongue darts out on instinct to catch the nourishing life force that will do more than sustain me.

    It is incredible.

    All my worries wash away. All the pain of my childhood, of my adulthood...even the pain that has yet to happen disappears. I am in a nebulous world of peace, and nothing can touch me here. The blood is as rich as chocolate, as sweet as a candied apple, robust as the finest wine. It smells of wild flowers and the rain, it smells of some place far beyond this world, and I am at the center of it ¨C of that unknown space, in my peaceful universe. I am everything and nothing, content in this duality and swept willingly to oblivion.

    Oblivion is an arm around my shoulders and Muir¡¯s face, radiant as the stars. His skin looks a pale green now, features more accentuated¡­the whites of his eyes an inky black which make the electric blue of his irises stand out more acutely. He smiles and his teeth look sharp, as sharp as my fangs but I do not feel threatened. I cannot make out his words, but he laughs and the sound is so joyous that I join in, uncaring of where we go as he leads me through warren-like tunnels that burrow into the earth. To the center¡­beyond, out to the very cosmos perhaps.

    We pass faces of knowing, eyes that follow and seem too bright in the harsh glow of bulbs strung up along the walls. Smiling, everyone¡¯s smiling. Laughter echoes in my mind and I feel like my feet no longer touch the ground. I float, I drift along like a leaf in the river, and it is absolute bliss. Muir is warm beside me, and nothing troubles me as I follow that coursing river. I see bodies entwined in passion deeper in the tunnels, I see a rather unattractive vampire lick his lips in relish ¨C a bundle in his arms that twitches then goes still. So small, small as an infant. The witch behind the vampire counts an impressive handful of cash¡­

    ¡°Take my hand,¡± the lyrical voice sings, drawing my gaze from vampire to Fae.

    I¡¯m leaning against the wall and it feels like it¡¯s embracing me, holding me fast. I laugh when I find myself incapable of moving and Muir joins in. He saunters closer and hooks two fingers behind the buckle of my belt, tugging me free of the gripping wall to be captive in his arms instead.

    ¡°You should smile more,¡± he whispers.

    ¡°I¡¯m not happy enough these days,¡± I say between chuckles.

    ¡°Poor thing.¡±

    I think he¡¯s going to kiss me, and I don¡¯t think I will turn away. Odd, since I¡¯m sure I¡¯m not interested in men. Although, if that¡¯s really the case, it begs the question of why I¡¯m just as attracted to Riley now that the exterior matches how he¡¯s always felt inside. I feel the heat of his lips, they''re so close and I drown in those eyes, they are my world, I am floating in the darkness of his essence.

    ¡°No,¡± he purrs, amused. ¡°I¡¯d rather you beg. Preferably while sober.¡±

    His absence leaves me cold but I still take the hand he offers me. What disappointment blossoms in my chest flees as we continue, the dirt and rock around us washed in psychedelic colors and voices that lift like a choir through my mind. Things blur, and we turn a corner and face a door that doesn¡¯t look like it belongs, then there¡¯s a gap, a swirl of nothing, before we¡¯re out in the streets. I don¡¯t recognize where we are, but I hear people speaking and their voices are different. Familiar though.

    The sound of bells rings out and I look to the source, the giant clocktower bears a striking resemblance to the one in London. Then I am consumed by a tide of colors, sounds and smells that make coherent thought impossible.

    ?????¡ã???¡ã?????

    I groan and roll onto my back, feeling as though a sledgehammer is banging through my head. Since becoming a vampire, I¡¯ve suffered no ailments that a mundane may face ¨C and I did not miss headaches, or rather¡­hangovers. I open my eyes and sit up slowly, rubbing my temples and looking around. I am in a bed, but it¡¯s not the one I occupy at Castillo¡¯s. Further observation reveals that I¡¯m in a studio apartment, one that looks cold and sharp. The sheets beneath me are a deep purple, the duvet a rich black and the mattress is firm, unforgivingly so. The nightstand nearby is sleek, also black which makes it stand in contrast to the white marble floor. Veins of charcoal gray splinter out to interrupt the white, the same gray as the walls, the only color being vibrant art pieces in shades of yellow. The bed I¡¯m in is close to a room divider, black pillars with gaps to let me see a leather couch on the other side that faces floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city that is definitely not Boston.

    I see Muir sitting on the end of the couch, his head tilted down, though as I stir he looks up and over his shoulder at me. ¡°There he is.¡±

    ¡°What¡­happened?¡±

    ¡°I underestimated how much of a sensitive boy you are,¡± Muir replies. ¡°You were sky high on me,¡± he finishes with a flourish. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, the undoubtedly shitty feeling you¡¯re experiencing won¡¯t last too long.¡±

    ¡°On¡­you?¡± I recall his hand coming towards me, palm split and bleeding. I frown at him through the partition. ¡°I¡¯ve never drank blood before. Not like¡­that,¡± I admit. ¡°It¡¯s always been from a bag.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m your first? How sweet,¡± Muir snickers.

    ¡°I never wanted to drink from anyone.¡±

    Why did I then? I remember we argued about something down in the black market¡­but my memory is frustratingly hazy. Attempts to discern the memory from that haze end when I see Muir hold his hand up, where the relic sits upon his palm. ¡°I¡¯m curious what such a nice guy is doing with something like this,¡± he says.

    I get out of bed and circle around the partition, holding my hand out for the item. Muir smirks, but he does give it back to me.

    ¡°Do you know what it is?¡± I ask.

    He considers me then shakes his head. ¡°Sorry, honey. All I¡¯ll tell you is that it¡¯s ancient and you would be wise to get rid of it. That¡¯s a dark artifact, surely you can feel it.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I can,¡± I sigh, taking a seat at the other end of the couch. I think of going to Riley, the Order may be able to use its resources to identify the relic. Or maybe I just need to see him. ¡°I was hoping you¡¯d know,¡± I add, more memories from last night breaking through the malaise of my hangover from his blood. ¡°You said something when you left Sanguine Sweet, about being in the shadow.¡±

    I see my satchel set near the glass coffee table in front of the couch. I reach for it and pull the book out, opening to the page and showing it to Muir, my finger tapping at the words ¡®in shadow¡¯ standing out from the rest of the unintelligible text.

    ¡°You must be desperate if you took it to be a lead,¡± Muir says, rather unkindly in my opinion. ¡°Surely you understand a metaphor, I¡¯m never in reputable places.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough,¡± I reply. I look out the window again with a frown. ¡°Speaking of places¡­where are we?¡±

    ¡°My flat,¡± Muir says. ¡°In Canary Wharf.¡±

    ¡°London?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°How did we get all the way to London?¡±

    ¡°We Fae have passages no one else does,¡± Muir says. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I can get you home before midnight, my sweet prince.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re relentless, do you know that?¡±

    ¡°The question is¡­is it working?¡±

    ¡°...I should get back.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not a no,¡± Muir points out, but spares me further interrogation as he gets up and holds out his hand again. I put the relic and book back into the satchel and sling the strap over my shoulder before I take his hand.

    I watch in open wonder as he moves under the light shining from the ceiling, so that his shadow is in front of him. He lifts a hand and it is as if his shadow peels from the floor, akin to Peter Pan, only it does not retain Muir¡¯s shape, it becomes a rectangle instead. A door. He walks through that darkness and pulls me with him, into a world of shadow and smoke. I see the city lights as if we walk the streets during a foggy night, but it¡¯s like every step is a giant leap forward, despite our steady pace. I cannot help but shudder when the city falls away to the pitch black ocean, and feel relief when land rushes beneath our feet again.

    Muir releases my hand and the world stands still again, revealing the Market once more. ¡°You¡¯ll have to kill an hour before sunset,¡± he says. ¡°You might go to the Archives, it could be they have an undamaged copy of Magicks & Alchemy¡­just a thought.¡±

    It seems such a logical step that I feel a fool for not thinking of it right away. ¡°Thank you,¡± I say genuinely. A blur of images pass through my mind, most of them featuring Muir. ¡°Er¡­did anything happen last night I should be aware of?¡±

    He breaks into laughter and shakes his head. ¡°I¡¯m no gentleman, Henry, but I¡¯m not that despicable either. Go solve your mystery, and know I shall look forward to seeing you again soon.¡±

    He blows me a kiss, then makes his way to the nearby main street. I stare after him, mind buzzing and feeling¡­confused. It¡¯s easier to focus on getting to the Archives, and so I get my bearings and go, forcing my thoughts on the book alone.

 Chapter V: A Dark Reunion

    The building that houses the Archives is intimidating. It dwarfs every other building in the entire Market, and there¡¯s a promise of arcane knowledge radiating from its very stones. That it is not made of wood or haphazard in its construction also sets it apart from the other shops that crowd this underground space. There¡¯s also the fact that the Head Archivist is a dragon. Riley told me about Vasilisa, and while I am unsure if my task tonight will have our paths cross, I am both curious and wary of such an outcome.

    Stepping through the double doors brings me to the vestibule, columns lined with gold filigree carvings and beautiful paintings covering the ceiling. These works of arts continue in the Archives main hall, grand as a gargantuan church but lined with bookshelves instead of pews. I feel small here, insignificant against the obvious amount of power buzzing in this place. I do not envy the guards, not only for the temptation this place must present to the truly ambitious, but for the constant pressure of being around this tangible force. I grip my satchel a little more tightly, as I would not be surprised if the relic reacted unfavorably somehow ¨C perhaps springing to its freedom and seeking another dark artifact stowed away within the cathedral.

    Everything within the bag is still, and while relief comes with this knowledge there is also the woeful realization that I do not know where to even start.

    ¡°Can I help you?¡±

    There¡¯s another Fae, a woman, but for a split second I do not see her as a woman. I see her as the blood thrumming in her veins, the hunger stirring in me like a rumbling beast that demands more. Curse Muir for his actions, I always feared what may change in me if I had fresh blood¡­is this what I must deal with forever more? To hunger and lust for the life force of every creature I came across? Or is it just for what she is that I feel myself slipping until forceful restraint submerges the beast, locks it away in a dark place where no one else can see it. I clear my throat, and smile softly to assure her that the growing concern in her face is unwarranted. ¡°I wonder if you could help me find a book,¡± I say, reaching into my bag, I take the worn copy of Magicks & Alchemy I retrieved from Billy¡¯s storage unit, and show it to her. ¡°As you can see, my copy is quite damaged. I hope there may be another in the Archives I can look at.¡±

    ¡°You do realize that book was banned four centuries ago?¡± the Fae asks, incredulous at my request.

    ¡°I¡­did not know that. No.¡± What would she say to the other item in my satchel?

    ¡°Fortunately for you, it looks rubbish. You can¡¯t really read it can you?¡± she asks.

    I open the book to show her the illegible pages and she looks relieved at the sight. ¡°I can show you where we keep what¡¯s meant to be the only copy, but you¡¯ll only be able to look at it under guard.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s fine,¡± I reply.

    ¡°Follow me.¡±

    Her heels click on the stone floor as she makes her way towards the back end of the cathedral-like hall. We do not remain in the main chamber, rather she takes me through a back door located by a spiral staircase that leads to both an upper level and lower. The door opens to a dim corridor of stone, the roof bent in a gentle arc over our heads. The corridor is short, and ends at yet another door, this one solidly locked. The Fae takes a set of keys from around her neck and slips one into the lock, turning it and opening the door for me. Inside looks like another library, heavy books causing shelves to sag in the middle while dust makes a gray layer on many of the spines.

    ¡°Temlin!¡± the Fae exclaims.

    From deeper within this library come heavy footsteps. Another of the towering figures, like Balen, appears. Same grayish skin and bulging yellow eyes, same mismatched limbs.

    ¡°First time seeing a Fomorian?¡± the Fae asks.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I lie, deciding it would be safer not to mention my vaguely remembered trip to the black market.

    ¡°Don¡¯t try anything stupid and he¡¯ll stay harmless,¡± the Fae adds. ¡°Tem, hey, this vampire is going to take a look at Magicks & Alchemy. He¡¯s somehow procured another copy, which I am hoping he¡¯ll leave here after he sates his curiosity.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t mention that before,¡± I point out.

    ¡°No, I didn¡¯t. But I¡¯m mentioning it now. You may not be able to read it, but a powerful mage could restore it. Why do you think I¡¯m even letting you look? You¡¯re a vampire, vampires can¡¯t do magic, but if someone gets ahold of that copy¡­¡±

    If I can see the page pertaining to the relic clearly, I should be fine to leave my copy behind. It¡¯s all but useless anyway, and it would show my good faith to the Archivists. ¡°Very well,¡± I agree.

    ¡°Thank you. I¡¯ll leave you to it.¡± She leaves the way we came in, and I hear the door lock behind her.

    ¡°This way,¡± Temlin grunts and shuffles off towards the middle section of bookcases. His large eyes dart along the shelves until he pauses and reaches for a thick tome above his head. I see that it¡¯s the same book, in far better condition. He hands this to me and gestures to a nearby reading table, lit by a soft amber-hued torch.

    ¡°Thank you, I won¡¯t be long,¡± I promise.

    He doesn¡¯t hover, which I appreciate, but he remains in full view, likely to ensure I¡¯m not going to try copying information down to take with me. I set my copy on the table, preparing to leave it behind, and frown at the cover of the Archives¡¯ version. It looks like theirs, like my parents¡¯. How often did they open this book and recite the poison within? How many lives were sacrificed in their pursuit of power? In their idolatry to a godlike being only they knew about? It¡¯s madness, but madness never stopped the sting of a belt or the pain of a heavy hand across the face.

    Or the cold dark.

    I shiver and force myself back to the present. I¡¯m not there anymore. I¡¯m here.

    I¡¯m here.

    I open the book and flip towards the part that contains the picture of the strange relic. I¡¯ll find out what the rest of the text says about it, and it will help me move forward. I must pay close attention to every detail, as it seems this will be my only chance to look at it. I¡¯m still flipping through the pages when I hear the odd gurgling sound followed by a loud crash. I get to my feet immediately, turning towards the Fomorion, Temlin, who is seizing on the floor. I rush over to him. ¡°How do I help you?!¡± He slaps at his throat and I force him to sit up, shifting behind him in the hopes I can save him from whatever he¡¯s choking on.

    It¡¯s difficult to get my arms around his barrelchest, but I manage and begin the Heimlich Maneuver. He grunts and coughs but I cannot dislodge the burden. ¡°Hold on, hold on!¡±

    But he¡¯s going still, until he is rigid in my arms. ¡°Temlin?¡± I cautiously move around him so I can see his face. The skin is flushed an intense purplish red, eyes all but popped from their sockets and his mouth hanging open, drool trickling down his chin. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­understand¡­¡±

    Then I see what looks like an oversized spider leg emerge from the recesses of Temlin¡¯s throat. I scramble backwards, surprise making me lose my footing so that I scoot towards the reading table on my rear. The spider crawls out of Temlin¡¯s mouth, but it¡¯s not actually a spider. It is smoke or a shadow that¡¯s taken the shape of a spider. There are odd spikes of inky black that shoot upwards from the main body, and jerky movements to the thing, like some sort of glitch. It¡¯s growing in size, until it stands at roughly my height.

    ¡°Good job, you creepy cunt,¡± a familiar voice rings out from the doorway that¡¯s supposed to be locked.

    I freeze in place, the strange, crackling form of darkness no longer my biggest concern. It¡¯s him, he¡¯s here. Not my father, but not much better. My uncle, James, never seemed as fanatic as my parents, but he did their bidding and he never held his punches when it came to me. James is a brutal man, cruel like my father and even louder about the comfort he has with violence. I hate that I look like him, that I see him so clearly when I see my own features. His hair is darker, he¡¯s taller and broader, but there¡¯s no mistaking that we are of the same blood. He swaggers into view and his dark eyes land on me, making me agonize over the emptiness of this room. Logically, I know that his risking a confrontation in this area would not be wise on his part, but I also know that James is a man of action rather than tact. I think my only mercy is that my presence is just as surprising to him as his is to mine, because he only stares at me for a moment while the strange shadow, and its seeming twin that arrived with James, look at my uncle for direction.

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    ¡°You little shit,¡± he recovers first, a savage grin on his face. ¡°You realize the fucking headache you¡¯ve been?¡±

    I cannot answer, it¡¯s as though the monster that killed Temlin is now in my throat.

    ¡°Still a whinging pussy are you? You look fucking terrified, mate. What¡¯s the matter? Not happy to see your own uncle? Give us a hug, eh? Warm me old heart.¡±

    His hands are still in the pocket of the peacoat he¡¯s wearing, but the two shadow beings hold their arms open, the gesture enough to help me rise to my feet and step backwards. ¡°Why are you here?¡±

    ¡°To tell the truth, I was here for that,¡± he points to the book I left open on the table. ¡°But I¡¯m supposed to be looking for you too, so thanks for the help. Your Mum is going to be especially ecstatic about this.¡±

    ¡°Leave me out of it, leave me alone. Please, you¡¯ve done enough.¡±

    ¡°Pleeeease,¡± he whines mockingly. ¡°Please, oh, please. God, you¡¯re fucking pathetic. I¡¯m glad you ain¡¯t mine, I¡¯d be ashamed of you.¡±

    It should not hurt, it¡¯s not as though my parents hid their contempt for me, nor that James was ever kind. But it still hurts. And yet¡­I am no longer the child I was, and while terror grips me, so too does anger.

    ¡°Did your balls finally drop, Hen? You¡¯ve got a look to you right now.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t go with you,¡± I reply. ¡°And I will not let you have the book.¡±

    ¡°See, that¡¯s going to be a problem, ¡®cause I¡¯m not leaving empty handed.¡±

    He lets out a shrill whistle, like he¡¯s calling a dog, and one of the shadows lurches towards me ¨C taking the shape of a monstrous canine. It moves so quickly that had I been human, it would have taken me down in that instant, because my senses are so much stronger I¡¯m able to dart to the side and avoid it. I do not stop there, however, instead moving in a flash back to the table and retrieving both copies of the book to stuff into my satchel.

    ¡°What the bleeding fuck?¡± I hear him murmur. It would appear he knew nothing about me becoming a vampire.

    It boldens me, enough so that I charge towards him before all my past trauma can catch up to me and make me freeze again. Unfortunately, his surprise does not hinder him enough, and he lets out another whistle that has the second shadow expand into a wall between him and me. I hit it and hear my voice wrenched from my throat as pain jolts through my entire being, like electricity crackling through every nerve in my body. I collapse to the floor, feeling momentarily separated from myself ¨C the shock of that sudden agony forcing me to shut down.

    ¡°You aren¡¯t even human anymore but you¡¯re still fucking useless, hey?¡± James¡¯ mocking voice floats above me. ¡°Tell you what, hand over that satchel and maybe I''ll let you go and tell your parents they don¡¯t need you at all. Don¡¯t seem like you¡¯d do a lot of good for anyone.¡±

    I feel the hairs on my arms stand on end and crack an eye open. The shadows are shapeless again, whirling over my satchel like dark vortexes. I fear they may sense the relic, even if Uncle James does not.

    I also fear how appealing his proposal sounds. Who am I to get involved in these matters? I am no Centurion, I am no defender. I can go to the Order and point them in the right direction and they can stop my family¡­but as much as I want to say yes, I know James is a liar. Even if he wasn¡¯t, it¡¯s not up to him. It¡¯s up to my parents, and if they say I am needed, he¡¯ll be back. I force myself to ignore the pain that is only slowly ebbing away, setting a foot against the stone floor and pushing my body away from the dangerous trio. I roll to my feet by the table again, shifting the satchel bag behind me.

    Despite my speed, I¡¯m not sure how long I¡¯ll dodge his strange companions. I need an escape. There are stained glass windows across the way, lining the opposite wall. I imagine they open to a courtyard in the Archives, the direction is wrong for them opening to the Market. Anywhere is better than here, but I have to be careful going forward.

    The shadows grow again, they look like dark nets, coming steadily closer while James¡¯ stocky form remains firmly in the middle of the aisle. I see my way and I move.

    Initially I rush towards the gap between the shadow on the left and the bookcase. As I expected, it quickly expands to close that gap, but I leapt towards the right, to the bookcase. My foot lands lightly on the lip of a mid-level shelf, and I use the momentum to leap higher, back to the left bookcase towards its top. I move before gravity can pull me down again, running along the side of the bookcase until I am past Uncle James. I leap forward again, this time landing on the floor and ignoring the sound of his cursing, the rush of the shadows, the growing commotion outside this library annex as the Archivists catch on to foul play. My only concern is the window.

    I feel that crackling of electricity again and know one of the shadows is right behind me. With an extra burst of adrenaline, I lunge forward, folding my arms to protect my face and crashing into the large window. There¡¯s a brief moment of panic, thinking they may be reinforced against such a thing, but it vanishes when I hear the glass shatter, shards of it slicing my skin as I go through it.

    There¡¯s a drop of about thirty feet, and I land ungracefully in a green courtyard, coming down hard on my knees. There are benches here, and a tree that glows a gentle blue, its leaves glittering silvers and golds. I scramble to my feet and turn towards my impromptu exit, but I don¡¯t see James or the shadow creatures. Did the Archivists apprehend them?

    ¡°Most use the door,¡± a voice rings out.

    I step back, startled, to see a woman walking around the broad tree and into view. I know from her appearance that this is Vasilisa, recalling the details Riley shared with me. Although her hair is no longer in a braid, it spills freely down her back, nearly reaching to the ground.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, there''s¡ª¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Vasilisa replies. ¡°He¡¯s gone now though, dark magic indeed to be able to escape how he did.¡±

    ¡°The shadows?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she says, not sounding alarmed at all about the situation. ¡°An ancient spell, said to be forgotten¡­that should have been forgotten.¡±

    I can hear noise from above us, from the room I just escaped. It sounds like Archivists have found Temlin¡¯s body.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± she¡¯s looking directly at me now, and the amber of her eyes is even more beautiful than the lights shimmering from the tree.

    ¡°My name is Henry Stone, I¡¯m a friend of Riley Averline.¡±

    The imposing expression on her face warms slightly. ¡°He¡¯s a special one.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I agree genuinely.

    ¡°And he could help you.¡±

    I stare at her, nonplussed. Just how much does she see? Her smile widens very slightly, and I cannot determine if it¡¯s in kindness or amusement.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you concerned about what happened?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she admits. ¡°Less so because he failed to take anything with him, less so because he won¡¯t be able to return.¡±

    ¡°How can you be so sure?¡±

    ¡°I have his marks now,¡± she answers. ¡°I¡¯ll share them here, and in the Market, he¡¯ll be apprehended if he comes here, he¡¯ll be brought to me.¡±

    ¡°And what¡­would you do with him?¡± I tell myself I don¡¯t care, that this is for the best, yet I find I need to know her answer to this inquiry.

    Again that knowing smile, as if she is aware of everything going on in my mind and in my heart. Perhaps she does. ¡°I will feast.¡±

    He deserves worse, yet something in my chest constricts anyway so I only nod. She observes me and I decide it¡¯s best I leave here as quickly as possible. But I cannot do so without fulfilling my task. I take both books out again, showing her the copy from the Archives. ¡°I need to look at this, I was given permission to¡­but I didn¡¯t have a chance before my¡­before I was attacked by that man.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she says.

    ¡°No?¡±

    ¡°You may not. It will be safe here, its information. You could be at risk should you leave the Market and ¡®that man¡¯ finds you.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t tell him what I read,¡± I insist.

    ¡°It may not be up to you,¡± she warns. ¡°Give me the books.¡±

    I feel cheated, like I¡¯ve gone through the trials of this night for nothing. I do not doubt she could easily overpower me, however, and with a frown I bring the two copies to her. She takes them and tucks them under her arm.

    ¡°Do not lose heart, Henry Stone,¡± she says. ¡°What happened tonight has ensured the safety of these books. They will not be used for villainy.¡±

    There is the point that my parents can¡¯t have their copy anymore. If they did, they would not go to these lengths for the one in the Archives or Mattapan Maximum Storage. Still, this all feels wrong somehow. Not that I think Vasilisa is implicit in my parents¡¯ plan, but that things are not as settled as she seems to believe they are. Riley spoke of how wise the dragon is, however, and how she seemed to see far more than what was right in front of her. Perhaps she knows more than I ever will, but I cannot shake this disturbance even as I try to convince myself otherwise.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about the window.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a problem. I am sorry you went through such an ordeal in my halls.¡±

    ¡°Yes, well¡­as you say, it may have been to the benefit of far more than myself that I did,¡± I reply, trying not to let my disappointment ring too noticeably.

    ¡°I should help my fellow Archivists,¡± she says, obviously dismissing me.

    She makes her way to a side door framed with ivy. Pulling it open, she holds it open for me, and I pass through it. ¡°Keep going down this hall, you¡¯ll get back to the main chamber,¡± she says. I thank her and watch glumly as she goes the opposite direction, books still firmly in her grasp.

 Chapter VI: A Key to the End

    I¡¯ve no motivation to leave my bedroom tonight. A permeating despondency settles over me the moment I wake to the darkened space, still feeling defeat at last night¡¯s lack of real progress ¨C a mood exacerbated due to my reunion with James. He¡¯s out there still, and while he cannot return to the Market there¡¯s no saying he cannot find me in the streets of Boston, those odd shadow creatures in tow. I am meant to work tonight, moreover, I¡¯m meant to make up time for Cassandra, but I know I¡¯m going to call in. I find my concentration lacking already, too much so to be much use in mixing our more complicated drinks, and I don¡¯t think I¡¯m capable of handling another night in Muir¡¯s company if he decides to appear again.

    I conduct my nightly regime in a haze, chasing phantom memories from consuming the forefront of my mind; screams across the dark moors, the light of the moon seeming harsh overhead, the smell of blood thick and heavy in the air.

    After I finish with the blood bag, I take hold of the satchel and lay it on the bed, my hand reaching inside to retrieve the relic. I stare at it, intensely, as if I may glean its secret if I look at it hard enough. Alas, I do not, and it remains stubbornly mysterious as ever. With a sigh, I stuff it out of sight and listen more carefully for sounds about the large home. Castillo¡¯s not here, Gianna¡¯s watching television downstairs. My indecision of whether I desire company or not keeps me rooted to the spot longer than it should before I decide a night alone may be in my best interest. First, I must make that call to Sanguine Sweet, so I leave my room to go to the nearest phone.

    I dial the bar¡¯s number and hear a lazy voice answer. It¡¯s not open yet, so whoever is there already is likely taking the time to lounge.

    ¡°It¡¯s Henry, is Vivienne there?¡±

    ¡°Hold on.¡±

    I hear the phone set down on the bar top and the same voice asking for the bar¡¯s proprietor. Clicking heels become louder on the other end then there¡¯s the subtle sound of movement as the phone is lifted again.

    ¡°Hello, Henry.¡±

    ¡°Hello, I¡¯m sorry for the short notice, but I won¡¯t be able to come in this evening.¡±

    ¡°That works out well,¡± Vivienne replies.

    ¡°Oh?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Charlemagne is ready to meet you, I was going to tell you when you came in. You¡¯re to be at the Moliere Coven at 1:30.¡±

    Farewell, my night of solitude.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I know she¡¯s arranged the whole thing, after all. ¡°Where¡­is the coven, exactly?¡±

    I can hear her disbelief in the silence that follows, confirmed with her muttering ¡®how you survived this long¡­¡¯ before she speaks to me directly again. ¡°Go to Weston Town Hall. I have a friend who lives full time in the coven, I¡¯ll have her pick you up there and drive you to the mansion.¡±

    ¡°Is there anything I should bring or be aware of?¡± I ask, entirely unversed in how to deal with a coven leader.

    ¡°Be respectful. Charlemagne can be blunt some days and vague as a dream on others, don¡¯t lose patience either way. Oh, he prefers being addressed as Master or Lord Charlemagne, so that will win you points¡­these ancients have their eccentricities.¡±

    ¡°Very well, thank you, Vivienne.¡±

    I have a few hours before I need to head out, and I spend those alone, contemplating how Riley would handle this sort of thing. I¡¯ll bet he wouldn¡¯t have lost the book before getting what he needed from it. I wonder what he might say if he knew where I was headed tonight. I wonder if he¡¯s looking for me by now.

    ?????¡ã???¡ã?????

    I leave Castillo¡¯s early, unable to remain in place any longer. Having worked for some time now, my immediate cash on hand is enough to hail a cab and go all the way to Weston, although it costs me $100 to do so. It¡¯s not as though I truly need money the way I did as a human, so I don¡¯t stiff the driver on a tip and take the warm gratitude as a means to get rid of some of the cold doubts persisting through my mind.

    It¡¯s quiet at town hall, as I expected given the hour. I look around and spy a dark car in the adjacent lot, which flashes headlights at me to indicate this is my ride. I¡¯m at the door when I realize it could be a trap set by my parents, inwardly berating myself for taking things at face value when I should be exercising far more caution. The window rolls down to reveal a face I don¡¯t know, however, a girl who looks to be in her late teens staring at me in question.

    ¡°You coming?¡± she asks.

    ¡°Yes, sorry,¡± I reply, opening the door and getting into the passenger¡¯s seat. ¡°I¡¯m Henry.¡±

    ¡°Figured,¡± the girl says. ¡°I¡¯m Kayleigh.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you, thank you for driving me.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Kayleigh says. ¡°Are you thinking of joining the Moliere Coven?

    We¡¯re pulling away from town hall, driving away from Weston¡¯s town center and towards what must be the residential area. I almost say ¡®no¡¯ at once, but I do not wish to give her reason to pry.

    ¡°It¡¯s a possibility.¡±

    ¡°Well, if you are looking for a coven, ours is the best,¡± Kayleigh says. ¡°I¡¯ve been with this group for¡­fuck, two hundred years now. Can you believe that?¡±

    I look at her again and shake my head genuinely.

    ¡°Hm? Yeah, turned at sixteen,¡± she continues. ¡°My maker was a creeper, but an arrogant creeper. He never thought I¡¯d be capable of burning him to ash.¡± She laughs jovially and I feel less comfortable being trapped in the car with her.

    ¡°Charlemagne is the bomb though,¡± she adds. ¡°Man, he is like¡­all over the place, but I swear it¡¯s deliberate? Maybe? Impossible to pin down, but he makes immortality so much fun. Probably because he keeps it from getting boring. I miss the days when we had the run of Boston though. Fucking wolves multiplied like bunnies and just¡­crowded their way into control.¡±

    I nod noncommittally, thankful that wherever Castillo goes for the change, it¡¯s never in his home and spares me from carrying the scent of a werewolf with me by accident.

    Kayleigh chatters the entire time, which I don¡¯t mind since I only have to respond with the occasional ¡®yeah¡¯ to show I¡¯m listening. There¡¯s no chance for her to ask about me while she¡¯s busy speaking of herself, and the near mundane topics she covers is oddly relaxing, so that when she pulls into the expansive drive of a large mansion, it feels like hardly any time has passed. She steers the car into a six-car garage, lights automatically turning on and flooding the space to reveal high end vehicles. We both step out and she leads the way out of the garage and along a stone path that leads to the impressive mansion.

    Lights shine out of the many windows, and I can see a lot of activity behind the larger panes. There are also several work trucks parked in the roundabout set in front of the grand entrance of the mansion. Kayleigh walks up the steps and opens the double doors into the mansion, where the sound of hammering and power tools echo loudly.

    ¡°Wait here,¡± Kayleigh says, still chipper as she melts away in a blur.

    I do so, staring at my surroundings. It¡¯s all very intentional in its decor. The walls are white, the furniture a dark but warm wood to contrast. It¡¯s somewhat minimalist in design, but I get the sense it is to avoid clutter rather than a lack of care about making this place a home. There is a lived-in atmosphere, ironic I suppose since its occupants are dead. The noise of the contractors only lends to the sensation of being in a home rather than a mausoleum, and while I can detect the high-quality of everything around me, nothing comes off as ostentatious.

    ¡°Welcome, welcome,¡± a rich voice rings out.

    And here is the mansion¡¯s ostentatious beacon. The vampire approaching me is shorter than I am, and possesses unattractive features. Coldness seeps down my spine at the thought, not for its judgment but for the familiarity it bolsters in my mind. I shake it off, believing it remnants of my dour mood affecting my current perspective. He is impossible to ignore, however. The nature of his fashion inevitably draws the eye. He wears a floral print long sleeve shirt with a popped collar. The collar, as well as a thick stripe following the buttons is black, the rest of the shirt is a shiny white and the floral print ¨C thin branches with swirling leaves and delicate flowers ¨C is a rich gold. He leaves many of the buttons open at the chest, revealing a patch of thick hair. Gray corduroy pants hug his legs too tightly and disappear into the golden cowboy boots he has on his feet. He¡¯s also wearing white shutter shades and his thin hair is tied into a high bun on the back of his head.

    ¡°Charl¡­excuse me, uh¡­Lord Charlemagne?¡±

    He presses a hand over his heart, closing his eyes in relish. ¡°A well-mannered visitor, how wonderful. Yes, I am Charlemagne and you must be Henry Stone.¡±

    ¡°Yes. I was wondering¡ª¡±

    ¡°Follow me,¡± he cuts me off and leads the way further into the mansion and away from the entrance hall.

    I swallow the unasked question and do as he bids, walking with him through a long corridor that opens to a grand living room, where much work is being done. My pace slows as I watch them; some are replacing a drywall with marble, the marble is subtle but laced with silver and stands out from the rest of the walls for its composition and design. Others are installing intricate crystal baubles. Some are already finished, shining with a warm light.

    ¡°Keep up, can¡¯t you see I¡¯m on a schedule?¡± Charlemagne asks.

    ¡°You employ¡­¡±

    ¡°Humans? Yes. It¡¯s like walking through a little ant farm, isn¡¯t it? Look how industrial they are! So cute.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it risky?¡± I ask, as Charlemagne does not bother to lower his voice, and I¡¯m sure several nearby workers heard his statement.

    He looks over his shoulder at me with a grin and winks, saying no more about it. I feel apprehensive more than relieved at his response, but recall Vivienne¡¯s warning to show the utmost respect. Challenging his ways in his home before I¡¯ve asked any of the questions I have in mind will do me no favors. Perhaps there¡¯s something I can do to ensure all these people find their way safely home, however.

    The mansion is labyrinthine and we go through many doors, up several staircases ranging from sweeping to narrow, until we reach what I think is the eastern wing and Charlemagne opens a pair of double doors that lead to a sitting room. A fireplace is set in the middle of the wall, with leather chairs around it, and several bookcases line the nearby walls. There is also a dining table on the other end of the room, but no chairs around it. I smell blood beneath the citrusy scent of cleaning supplies.

    ¡°Sit,¡± Charlemagne says in a voice that¡¯s a command instead of an invitation.

    To my utter dismay, I find my feet move of their own volition to one of the chairs by the unlit fire and my body follows suit to do as it''s ordered. ¡°How did¡­?¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± the expelled sound is intrigued, yet I cannot help but think that intrigued is staged for some reason. ¡°You must be a fledgling.¡±

    ¡°No¡­well, unless you count three years as still being a fledgling,¡± I want to flee, a lurching swell of anxiety over the implications this has nearly dragging me into a visible panic.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± Charlemagne ponders. ¡°Not quite, not quite. Do you regularly dine?¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­but not on the living.¡±

    Charlemagne scrunches his features. ¡°Do you ransack recent graves? That¡¯s unhealthy, you know.¡±

    ¡°No nothing like that. I consume donated blood¡­through blood bags.¡±

    I feel like I¡¯m fidgeting, but a quick look over my body shows I am rigidly still. It¡¯s as though I¡¯ve separated from my body, the reality of my mind¡¯s perception unmatched by what my body experiences at the moment.

    My host does not look as if he¡¯s prepared to take advantage of this situation, he looks disappointed and his heaving sigh illustrates a rather dramatic level of that disappointment. ¡°This is what happens with wayward vampires. Not to worry, my boy. Now you know, you need to feed on the living or else any vampire could have you dancing as their puppet. It¡¯s an evolutionary imperative, I¡¯m afraid. We older vampires can¡¯t let you young ones leave the nest until we¡¯re sure you¡¯re equipped for the world. Otherwise you¡¯re as helpless as an infant, and there¡¯s so few of us as it is.¡±

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    I feel that coldness again, exacerbated by this new piece of information about my rather precarious position.

    ¡°You¡¯re here because of your parents, yes?¡± he asks.

    ¡°...Yes. I was wondering¡ª¡±

    ¡°But I¡¯m curious about you,¡± he speaks as if he did not hear my response at all. ¡°You are so unlike them, they start with the hissing and spitting and ¡®hear me roars¡¯.¡±

    ¡°I suppose I never¡­¡±

    ¡°To me. As if such a thing would ever move me. Not even a ¡®how d¡¯you do?¡¯ Just give me, give me, give me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad I am not like them,¡± I say firmly in the silence after his complaint.

    ¡°Me too, they aren¡¯t even pleasant to look at, which might make some of their blustering bearable. Ah, but here I am insulting your family.¡±

    ¡°They deserve far worse than that.¡±

    Charlemagne grins again. ¡°Now I see them in you.¡±

    I bristle inwardly, counting the retort as a vicious insult towards myself. There is little that ignites any semblance of a temper in me, but this is one of those rare exceptions.

    Charlemagne finally takes the other chair set before the fire, looking at me with the avid interest of a scholar discovering a new aspect of long-stagnant research. ¡°Ask me a question.¡±

    ¡°How do you know my parents?¡± immediately barges past my lips.

    ¡°I met them when they were younger, before your time.¡±

    ¡°But why¡ª¡±

    ¡°Good sir Averline didn¡¯t tell you how this worked, did he?¡±

    ¡°...What?¡±

    ¡°Never mind, it¡¯s not my nature to play the same game in such quick succession anyway. Your parents and I did a lot of business back in the day.¡±

    My mouth settles into a frown. ¡°What sort of business?¡±

    ¡°Vampires can¡¯t do magic,¡± Charlemagne sighs. ¡°At the time, I was living near Rosedale Abbey and kept hearing about the prowess of Charles and Ines, so I went to enlist their services. What a load of crock, they could barely use the artifacts they bought in London¡¯s Market. Still, I¡¯ll admit they fascinated me. Your parents are interesting.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re monsters.¡±

    ¡°Interesting monsters,¡± he amends with a smile. ¡°Obscure rituals for an even more obscure case of idolatry¡­¡±

    ¡°Their excuse for murder.¡±

    ¡°Eh,¡± Charlemagne dismisses the accusation with an ease that suggests he has no qualms about taking life. ¡°Long story short, when they contacted me asking for a place to stay I decided to agree.¡±

    ¡°But they aren¡¯t here anymore?¡±

    ¡°Dreadful guests, and somehow more pitiful with their ¡®arts¡¯ than ever before. How¡¯s the wolf?¡±

    The sudden change of topic has me shake my head slightly. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Castillo. That impertinent little mutt¡­I remember when Riley called you a year ago, asking you to contact him.¡±

    I recall Kayleigh¡¯s rant about Castillo and his pack taking over Boston, it¡¯s easy to surmise her bitterness comes from Charlemagne. Judging by his scornful disposition, that bitterness is poignant indeed. I have not forgotten Castillo¡¯s reaction to the Coven¡¯s leader either. There¡¯s bad blood between the two, and I feel caught in the middle of it now. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­¡±

    ¡°Word to the wise, don¡¯t lie to me.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t see how he has anything to do with me being here,¡± I reply, disposing of my brief idea to claim I hardly know the alpha.

    ¡°You want information on your parents, I want information on the beast. Fair?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°No?¡±

    I steel myself for whatever consequence my decision may bring. ¡°Alejandro Castillo is my friend, a generous one at that. I won¡¯t betray him, even if it means leaving here with no answers.¡±

    Charlemagne appraises me. ¡°If you leave here at all. It¡¯s such a betrayal that you would choose him over me.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know you, save for the fact you associate with vile people like Charles and Ines.¡±

    Charlemagne laughs. ¡°Do you think Castillo¡¯s ¡®associates¡¯ are any better than your parents? To quote the cool kids, pull your head out of your ass, Henry.¡±

    Silence falls between us. He makes no hostile moves towards me, nor does he offer any signs he¡¯s willing to help me without getting his request fulfilled. Trepidation coils around my heart, what is really stopping him from simply demanding it from me? If I was compelled to sit, would I also be compelled to tell him all I know? His expression is shifting from studiously neutral to an impish glee.

    ¡°You would be,¡± he confirms the fear budding in my mind and even taps his temple. ¡°You¡¯re not as loud as Riley, but you lack any sort of discipline that would keep me out.¡±

    I stand, deciding a quick retreat would be safer. Not just for me, but those I care about.

    ¡°Sit down, Henry,¡± he chuckles and again I find my body folding to take a seat. ¡°I can tell you more, beyond your parents. I can tell you so many things¡­for instance, the identity of your sire. Wouldn¡¯t that be nice to know?¡±

    I spent the first year of my unlife seeking my sire. By now, I assumed they had no real motive for turning me, perhaps it was little more than a game to them, and finding them slipped from being a priority to a lingering curiosity. I am curious again now, but not so much that I¡¯m tempted to help Charlemagne hurt Castillo. I shake my head, no.

    ¡°Ugh, you¡¯re annoyingly selfless,¡± Charlemagne groans, removing his shades to reveal his eyes fully. He glares at me, and fear grows as I believe he deliberates on whether he shall simply take the information he wants. ¡°No, I¡¯m not going to do that,¡± he says, voice sharp as though in chastisement. ¡°I could. Easily. You¡¯ve totally ruined how I imagined tonight going, by the way.¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± I do not feel apologetic, but I hope the gesture will be taken as the peace offering it¡¯s meant to be.

    He nods, then stands and faces the fireplace, retrieving a long lighter that clicks to life before he puts it closer. The kindling within catches aflame and the room is filled with the crackling of the fire as it spreads to the logs. He turns to face me, his small stature caught in a halo of firelight.

    ¡°Henry, I am your father,¡± he states in a clear impression of Darth Vader.

    ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not actually the quote, you know,¡± Charlemagne replies. ¡°Well, obviously the Henry bit isn¡¯t, but the name; Luke, I am your father. That¡¯s wrong. He just says ¡®no, I am your father¡¯ in response to Luke bitching at him.¡±

    ¡°Why are you quoting Star Wars at all?¡±

    ¡°Way to further ruin the moment. I¡¯m your sire, you dimwit. It¡¯s the only reason I agreed to meet with you.¡±

    I could not say how long I sat in silence staring at him after this declaration. I am only aware of the sudden burst of¡­everything in my chest that comes out as a torrent of demands. ¡°Why? Why did you turn me? Why did you just leave me there in the dark? Why did you force me to come to terms with all of this on my own? Was it some sick joke to you? To jump a random stranger and change him into a fucking vampire?!¡±

    He takes this in stride, which only makes me feel worse. He doesn¡¯t even have the sympathy to look guilty at all. ¡°You weren¡¯t some stranger, you¡¯re the son of my prior associates.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± I do not have it in me to wince at the raw desperation in my voice.

    ¡°You¡¯re in over your head,¡± Charlemagne replies, not at all answering the question. ¡°You have no idea, but suffice to say, leaving you in the proverbial ditch wasn¡¯t actually the intention. I was interrupted after giving you my blood, attacked by a horrendous lowlife. By the time that was sorted, you were gone and I needed to recover. I thought I¡¯d find you easily enough, but it¡¯s incredible how well you mingle with the mundanes.¡±

    My hands shake, I feel like I¡¯m drowning. What fate I once imagined was attached to that night seems to shatter into nothingness. This creature is my sire, the one who took my life and gave me something I never wanted in return. I doubt he expended much effort to find me, to take me in and make it less impossible, to lend a guiding hand when most I needed it. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­understand.¡±

    ¡°I know you don¡¯t,¡± Charlemagne says. ¡°Truthfully, you¡¯re better off not understanding. You¡¯ll be happier in ignorance for now.¡±

    ¡°You make it sound as if there¡¯s some great plan surrounding me. Your acquaintance with my parents, you¡­turning me, and then you letting them stay here¡­surely you knew they were looking for me?¡±

    ¡°Of course I did, and I figured sooner or later you would find your way to me because of it. Much better than me spending valuable resources combing through Boston for you. Especially with you being so close to the dog.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± I ask again.

    ¡°I gave you enough for free, now it is your turn to tell me what I want to know. The sooner I rid Boston of that mangy pack, the better.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t¡­¡±

    ¡°Then I can¡¯t help you, so sorry.¡±

    ¡°You killed me, the least you could do is tell me why!¡±

    ¡°Hogwash, I didn¡¯t kill you, I turned you. Big difference. We¡¯re undead¡­ish, sure, but you¡¯re not a literal corpse walking around.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Why, why, why¡­you sound like a child,¡± Charlemagne sighs. ¡°And you sound like them; give me, give me, give me. All while offering me nothing, and here I thought you weren¡¯t rude.¡±

    I am numb, I am slipping into the void that used to claim me when I was locked in the dark. Shut everything else out, fall away from it all to some parody of peace. I came here looking for my parents, instead I find my sire¡­but this revelation brings no closure. It only brings more questions.

    ¡°I want to go home,¡± I whisper.

    ¡°Home,¡± Charlemagne scoffs. ¡°Back to Castillo?¡±

    Castillo isn¡¯t where home is, not really. Riley is, and I need him. I need him before I disappear, but I can¡¯t go to him¡­because this is even bigger than I thought and I fear what will become of him if he gets involved. I say ¡°yes¡± because I don¡¯t know what else to say. Perhaps there is the hope that it will at least sting Charlemagne, that I should continue to choose his enemy even after knowing what this vampire is to me now.

    ¡°Go then,¡± Charlemagne says. ¡°Go and stay in ignorance, it will be better for you after all. But if you go, know you will remain in ignorance until the end, and there is an end, coming sooner than you think. You are a key to it.¡±

    I attempt to stand and find I am not impeded in the endeavor. Charlemagne cocks his head, eyes steadfast on my face. ¡°You¡¯re not suicidal are you?¡±

    I look up from his gaudy boots to his face. I want to scorn the question, but to write my own ending is nearly appealing all of a sudden, to step once more into the daylight unguarded and let that warmth wash me away. Then I think of Riley again, and I know I will never do such a thing to him. I shake my head.

    ¡°Good! Very good. You can show yourself out then.¡±

    ?????¡ã???¡ã?????

    I am nowhere near coming to terms with what happened tonight by the time I stagger up the stairs to the front door of the narrow home in Dorchester. It is nearly dawn, but my memory is a haze of wandering; dark streets interrupted by sharp streetlights, quiet boulevards cast in the neon of blazing signs, none of which give me direction.

    The door isn¡¯t locked, and it shuts behind me with a creak as I stand in the entryway, familiar surroundings bringing little comfort. It¡¯s the sound of the television playing from the living room which brightens the shadow around my heart, and the approaching footsteps I am still so used to as Riley comes to investigate. The moment I see him there is another swell of emotion, more positive this time. It¡¯s been months, and I can see now the man he¡¯s always been come to the surface as he wanted; a scarce amount of stubble shadows his face, which looks slightly more angular now, and the noticeable curves to hips has lessened. I step towards him, intending to draw him close and hold him for a while but I¡¯m met with a swift punch to the face that nearly lays me flat on the floor.

    ¡°You asshole!¡± Riley snaps. ¡°What the fuck is the deal disappearing like that? Do you realize how goddamn worried I¡¯ve been about you? I¡¯ve been losing sleep over you, fucker, and I have precious little time for that these days as it is!¡±

    I rub my cheek and notice there are dark circles under his eyes. I have been so busy keeping him out to avoid hurting him without realizing I¡¯ve been hurting him in a different way. ¡°I¡¯m a fool,¡± I mumble.

    ¡°I mean, I think that¡¯s putting it lightly,¡± Riley shoots back quickly. He looks at me more closely and the anger recedes. ¡°What¡¯s going on, Henry? You¡¯re in trouble, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­¡± I find myself speaking about my fears instigated by my conversation with Charlemagne. ¡°Something is coming, and I have a part to play in it, but I don¡¯t know what. I¡¯m worried it¡¯s going to lead to something horrible¡­I¡¯m scared I¡¯m going to hurt the people I care about inadvertently. I think I should leave, just¡­go. I think it may be better for you, for Brianna and Castillo too. I don¡¯t want to hurt you.¡±

    ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake, Henry,¡± Riley still sounds exasperated, but there¡¯s concern there too. He completes the interrupted hug and holds me tightly. ¡°You¡¯re okay, it¡¯s going to be okay.¡±

    At that moment, Riley is the sun that has been unreachable to me for these past three years. In his voice is the comfort that felt so far away ever since I got my father¡¯s letter. I am not used to being in touch with emotion, it¡¯s easier to avoid it, it¡¯s easier to shut it all away and use the void as a shield. But it feels like that elusive joy that was meant to come with family, and it is a comfort I did not realize I yearned for so much for years. Lost in my childhood, then again in losing Amelia, in losing our marriage, in losing my humanity. But he¡¯s still here. Riley has always been here.

    I kiss him seeking more of that comfort, seeking those fires that used to encase us and block out the rest of the world in a roar, but he shoves me back firmly. ¡°What the fuck, Henry? This isn¡¯t like you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­I¡¯m sorry,¡± I repeat, struggling to come to grips. I never let myself think about what it would be like to kiss him again, but after that disaster I¡¯m sure what subtle thoughts I had were of a more profound and romantic nature.

    ¡°Just¡­come and sit with me, and we¡¯ll talk about what¡¯s going on. You can be all cryptic, I¡¯ll eventually get the whole story though so spare me the strenuous effort would you? Sheldon¡¯s been working me to death already as it is.¡±

    I can tell he¡¯s more disturbed and confused by my actions than he¡¯s letting on. That¡¯s always been his way, a million thoughts racing through his head while none of them are verbally articulated, not right away. At least he finds the words for it eventually. I rarely do. It makes me come across as appeasing, forever calm, too nice, but at least I can bury the true complications that come with assessing emotion.

    It is not difficult to recognize the relief being in his company brings, however. Even after my blunder and his initial anger. There is apprehension too though, because my coming here means I at least owe him an explanation, and even if I had planned to keep it to myself, I know already my resolve would not last should Riley demand answers. He won''t demand them anyway, but then¡­he would never need to. It is partly why I¡¯ve been avoiding him after all.

 Chapter VII: The Broken Boy

    ¡°He dreams of a place far away from here, it doesn¡¯t matter where. He wants the sky to be clearly visible, and he wants it to be sunny as much as possible. He imagines the warmth of the sun upon his skin, he imagines the fresh air ¨C perhaps touched with the scent of the sea, and the peace that is his at last¡­

    The window shatters where the rock strikes, spider webbing cracks racing across the few panes that manage to stay in place. Three nearby sheep, their free wandering a common sight in Hutton le Hole, startle from the noise and run off. The stone thrown after them is less precise than the one which targeted the window, and clatters behind the last¡¯s hooves harmlessly. The boy who threw it frowns, as if he¡¯s truly disappointed that he missed. He scans the ground for another fist-sized rock, moving towards the back of the empty cottage and finding his quarry. It¡¯s not an abandoned home, nor a summer getaway for some Londoner, it¡¯s a rental place for the avid, foreign tourist who comes to see the lovely village. There¡¯s nothing in particular about it that earns the boy¡¯s ire, but the following rock that smashes through another window suggests otherwise.

    It¡¯s a quaint cottage, two storeys, made of brick. The roof is a red slate that contrasts pleasantly with the washed out honey of the exterior. The lawn around it is a vibrant green, and what the boy did see when he peeked inside before the assault suggests the property is well cared for. It looks like a perfect family home, a place to make good memories.

    He bristles and seeks another rock, spots one in the corner by some fly orchids and goes to fetch it. He bends over to grab it, reels his hand back, pauses and turns around suddenly to see the man approaching from behind him. The boy is always on guard, always listening, always prepared to slink out of sight.

    ¡°You best put that down, kid,¡± the man insists, his accent suggesting he¡¯s American, or used to be. ¡°You¡¯re in enough trouble as it is.¡±

    The boy narrows his eyes, even scoffs at the idea that this stranger knows what trouble actually is. Instead of dropping the stone, he hurls it at the man. He hears a curse as the man lifts his arms to block his face, but then he¡¯s already running. There¡¯s a vindictive triumph in his step as he takes off, it feels good to be on the other end of things for a change.

    It feels good that his behavior won¡¯t be reported to his parents too. They¡¯ve made it very clear that if anything should happen as it did in Epping and force them to relocate, he¡¯ll pay for it dearly. He doesn¡¯t doubt it. So he runs all the way out of the village and heads north. Rosedale Abbey is about an hour and a half¡¯s walk from Hutton le Hole, he won¡¯t be back before sundown, but it¡¯s not like he¡¯ll be particularly missed anyway. Beyond the village¡¯s perimeter, he slows to a trot then a walk, glancing back now and then but seeing no signs of the man who confronted him. He¡¯s halfway home when panic grips him. He will be missed tonight.

    ?????¡ã???¡ã?????

    His lungs are burning by the time he gets through the rotting tavern door, and his legs are quivering slightly from overuse. There¡¯s no customers, which is usual, and unusual as finances are the one thing that pits his parents against each other rather than him. There¡¯s nothing inviting about this place, tucked away on the outskirts of Rosedale Abbey. The floors are warped and sticky, the few tables patrons could sit at are dirty, the shelves meant to carry fine stock nearly empty. Upstairs is where the bedrooms are, although they aren¡¯t really bedrooms. His parents sleep in the loft that at one time was probably used to host private parties. The boy sleeps in what was likely a storage space, with room only for his bed and a plastic bin for his more favored articles of clothing. Those being shirts and pants that somewhat fit him, the hand-me-downs from his uncle will never sit quite right on him, he¡¯s small even for his age. The rest of his stuff, which isn¡¯t much, is stuffed in boxes in the tavern¡¯s pantry by the kitchen.

    He can¡¯t even slip into the pantry to retrieve his necessary item for tonight, and at least show some semblance of respect before his tardiness can be addressed, because both his mother Ines and father Charles are behind the bar, the thick copy of Magicks & Alchemy they consult so often opened before them, while his uncle James is leaning over from the wobbly stool on the other side of the bar. All three of them wear dark leather coats bearing a faded relief of a crude crown on the back.

    ¡°Did you forget what night it is?¡± his mother hisses. Her wrinkled face is twisted, pale eyes sharp as glass and crimson lips lifted in a snarl.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± the boy replies automatically.

    ¡°Your sorry is shite,¡± Charles spits.

    ¡°Get ready,¡± Ines snaps.

    The boy hurries off towards the pantry to grab his own coat bearing the same sigil. He takes his time in retrieving it, however, listening intently to the budding argument between his mother and uncle.

    ¡°No, this isn¡¯t it, you fool,¡± Ines says impatiently. ¡°Look, won¡¯t you? Charles, your brother¡¯s a fucking idiot.¡±

    ¡°Oi, careful now missus, I¡¯m the one busting me arse out there lookin¡¯ for this thing.¡±

    ¡°This thing!¡± Ines repeats him derisively.

    ¡°Show some bloody respect,¡± Charles adds waspishly.

    By now, the boy knows he cannot wait any longer and comes back to the main tavern. Now he sees the item that¡¯s set by the book, it is in the shape of a pyramid, but evidently not the one his parents are currently obsessed with. Whatever gives them power¡­it¡¯s one thing that the boy is thankful for, that for all their insistence of being a powerful witch and warlock, his parents never show any sort of aptitude for their trade. They jump from artifact to relic to spellbook, so sure that the next one will help them achieve their goals.

    Only this time, they seem more sure than ever before that the relic depicted in Magicks & Alchemy is what they seek.

    ¡°Our devotion and sacrifice will bring us to victory. We will honor the Nathir, and thus be rewarded!¡± Ines exclaims.

    ¡°So you keep saying,¡± the boy mutters.

    He doesn¡¯t mean it in jest, but he wishes he could pretend he did given his mother¡¯s horrific glare. ¡°You,¡± she seems to choke on her rage before she rasps, ¡°How dare you question!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you talk to your mother that way, whelp! I¡¯ll whip you raw!¡± Charles barks.

    He feels the echoes of past blows, of being told to bend over before he feels the sting of a folded belt against his backside for his ¡®impertinence.¡¯ Afterwards they¡¯ll ask him why he makes them do these things and his mother will stroke his hair and kiss the top of his head, making him question everything again.

    ¡°If we¡¯re done with the bloody drama, I¡¯ll go get our guest of honor, eh?¡± James asks with a sneer.

    He leaves towards the cellar door, the cool space meant for the storage of alcohol that became a private prison instead.

    ?????¡ã???¡ã?????

    "Tonight, we gather here at the moors," Ines Bishop spoke with a reverence befitting a church, pale eyes fixated on something only she could see, thin lips quivering in anticipation.

    "To the rustic moon, the sign of the King," Charles Bishop continues. "We pay tribute to the liberation¡­"

    "A release from bondage," James Bishop adds. "A tribute of blood."

    The desolate darkness turns what should be a pleasant backdrop of rolling moors into a nightmarish hellscape. The thin grass whistles in the wind, the distant trees sigh and moan, and the moon bears down on them and looks touched by blood, a great angry eye hungry for the promise being made by the trio. The boy does not partake, he watches, with the understanding that upon his thirteenth birthday he will be expected to participate directly. His uncle will teach him how to choose the sacrifice, his parents will teach him how to make the necessary cuts.

    He watches his father and mother lift their knives, sees the sharp glare cast from the moon, and still tries to turn away from the writhing mass set on the natural stone slab jutting from the earth. As always, his uncle hits the back of his head ¨C a reminder to bear witness, and the boy must see the grotesque ritual to its completion. They chant to their unknown king, the Nathir, they gift the life force of their sacrifice to it, they plea for it to come, a tangible awakening that will change the world. The boy thinks they¡¯re crazy. He wants to interrupt them to tell them such; they¡¯re just a pair of insane murderers, they will never succeed. As with every ritual night, he feels the words crawl up his throat, and as ever, they never make it past his lips. It ends with both daggers plunging into the victim¡¯s heart, lifting the blades wet with blood. Ines holds hers out to Charles as he holds his to her, they kiss the bloody knives and whisper their final offering to the Nathir.

    As always, nothing profound happens. There¡¯s a stillness to the moors, like it holds its breath, then the grass continues to wheeze and whistle, the trees to groan and sigh, the foliage to creak and twist in the wind. Charles and Ines will call it a success anyway, and head back to the tavern while James and the boy dispose of the body. He doesn¡¯t know exactly how his uncle hides them, he only helps him drag the corpse to the general area James chooses as a grave that night.

    ?????¡ã???¡ã?????

    He returns to Hutton le Hole the next week, scowling threateningly to the boys his age who snicker at his oversized and darned clothes. Maybe he¡¯s learned how to harness his mother¡¯s piercing look, or maybe it¡¯s the red of his cheek that suggests he¡¯s no stranger to physicality that has the other boys shy away without confrontation. He almost wishes they escalated things; his breath still comes shallow and fast, his eyes periodically sting with tears, and his cheek throbs where his mother hit him. She usually lashes out with words, but that morning he mentions thinking it could be good for him to go to London with Uncle James, under the pretense of wanting to help, but she must sense his greater desire to disappear in the congested city.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t scrape you out of me when I wanted to,¡± she hissed after the harsh strike. ¡°And I didn¡¯t smother you when you¡¯d cry and cry at night, or when I learned the complications of your birth meant I couldn¡¯t have anymore. If I could, maybe the next one would have appreciated everything sacrificed for him!¡±

    She¡¯s just angry, she¡¯ll calm down.

    She doesn¡¯t come after him though, but then¡­he didn¡¯t really think she would.

    For once, the boy is not on guard or aware of his surroundings, so when he hears the click! of a phone camera it catches him by surprise. He looks up sharply to see the man from the cottage last week, pointing a mobile at the boy. There¡¯s a fading bruise on the man¡¯s broad forehead from where the stone hit him.

    ¡°You can run again if you want,¡± the man says. ¡°But if you do, I¡¯ll go to the police with this,¡± he indicates the phone, ¡°and I don¡¯t really want to have to do that.¡±

    ¡°Then what do you want?¡± the boy demands, trying to channel father and uncle¡¯s brusque manner.

    The man lifts a brow. ¡°Help repair what you broke,¡± he says. ¡°C¡¯mon, it¡¯s the quickest way to settle the debt.¡±

    The boy almost refuses, but thinks about the warning from his parents again. When he got into a fight with a classmate in Epping, the level of his aggression for what was a trivial matter was enough for his teacher to call in Charles and Ines, who spent the better part of an hour coming up with a story to explain the boy¡¯s behavior. It¡¯s not just the fight, the teacher insisted, it¡¯s his grades and attendance too. The boy pays for that revelation, his parents didn¡¯t know he skipped class, but during the meeting they explain that away too. It¡¯s obvious Ms Emmerson doesn¡¯t really believe everything, however, and his parents know it. So, they move to Rosedale Abbey and the boy is home schooled from then on. His parents rarely teach him the fundamentals, they provide books and he reads with an avid need to learn¡­hoping it¡¯ll help him someday.

    Maybe this will help him too, the boy knows nothing of labor outside of hauling corpses.

    ¡°My name is Elijah Stone, by the way,¡± the man says as they walk through Hutton to return to the cottage.

    The boy grunts a response.

    ¡°You live ¡®round here?¡± Stone asks.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    He shrugs, and is grateful Stone doesn¡¯t press him on the matter. He¡¯s not used to having secrets, his parents are set against the idea.

    ¡°I¡¯m here on and off,¡± Stone continues amiably. ¡°I¡¯m mostly out in Texas now, by way of Rhode Island, got a small ranch out there, living the quintessential cowboy dream I never grew out of. Livvy, that¡¯s my younger sister, she lives here in England full time with her husband. If he wasn¡¯t such a great guy, I¡¯d hold a grudge for getting my sister off coffee and onto tea.¡±

    ¡°Ha ha,¡± the boy says wryly, aiming to offend. ¡°She like crumpets too then?¡±

    ¡°Matter of fact she does,¡± Stone replies easily. ¡°Do you?¡±

    Another shrug and by now they reach the cottage. The boys sees a lot of the work is already done. The windows he broke are now just open squares, and it looks like Stone has installed new insulation and leveled out the opening, judging by the chipped wood scattered nearby.

    ¡°Think you can handle caulking the opening?¡± Stone asks.

    ¡°Uh¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll show you.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want you messing up the place more than you already have. This airbnb keeps me able to fly back and forth as much as I do.¡±

    The boy isn¡¯t moved by the answer and only shrugs again. Stone looks at him and the boy notices his gaze lingers on the red mark still glaringly obvious against his cheek. The rings his mother wears are heavy.

    ¡°You alright?¡± he asks.

    ¡°Fine,¡± the boy replies. ¡°Just show me the stupid caulk.¡±

    Stone leads him into the cottage, but he leaves the door open as if expecting the boy may need a quick getaway¡­which may be true. Being inside is worse than looking in. It¡¯s clean, the furniture looks comfortable, positioned in a way to encourage conversations and quality time. Stone doesn¡¯t let the boy linger, he brings him to the first broken window, where a replacement frame awaits, surrounded by various tools. Stone takes the caulk gun and hands it to the boy before he indicates where he¡¯s to bead the sticky substance in preparation for installing the frame.

    ¡°So,¡± the boy begins after they¡¯ve been working for thirty minutes in near silence, save for Stone¡¯s pointers and instructions, ¡°were you just lurking about town waiting for me to show up again?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Stone laughs. ¡°I went to town for a lunch break and saw you on my way out. Hey, that¡¯s some good work though, kid,¡± he adds after inspecting the shims the boy inserted to level the frame.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± it¡¯s strange to hear a genuine compliment without a caveat attached. Another beat of silence passes before the boy gives Stone his name.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad this time meeting you is more pleasant than the first,¡± Stone says. He asks the boy about his interests, and the boy is embarrassed to face the fact he has few. He tells Stone he likes to read, that he reads all the classics he can get his hands on; something about the ¡®stiff language¡¯ resonates with him, like it separates all the characters from the events of the story, which is how he tries to live his own life. He doesn¡¯t talk about the last bit with Stone, however, he doesn¡¯t want to risk getting himself into trouble.

    When both the windows are done, Stone smiles in a satisfied sort of way. ¡°I love this kinda work. You see the problem in front of you and you get to solve it right away, seeing every step of progress and controlling it all with your own hands.¡±

    ¡°It is nice,¡± the boy admits.

    ¡°Well tell you what, I¡¯m going to replace some of the roof next weekend. You get a hankering for more learning, you can come over and help me. Heck, I¡¯ll even pay you.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± the boys say. ¡°Uh, about paying. It¡¯s fine, I¡¯ll see if I can make it.¡± His parents will find anything he earns, they¡¯ll take it, they¡¯ll find a way to exploit Elijah Stone and bleed him dry.

    And as the weeks go by, the boy wants less and less for any sort of badness to find Elijah. Given how careful James must be in selecting sacrifices, it¡¯s not uncommon to go months between rituals, something the boy¡¯s always grateful for. Now more than ever, as his parents seem happy to have him out of sight which gives him more opportunities to come to Hutton le Hole. He finds solace here, he doesn¡¯t feel like he¡¯s two seconds from reeling out of control when he¡¯s helping Stone out with renovations, or else just talking with him. He realizes there is something better than what he has.

    ?????¡ã???¡ã?????

    This continues for a long while, and the boy knows what it¡¯s like to feel happiness without question. Elijah continues to teach him practical skills, he¡¯s a skilled handyman and generous in sharing his knowledge. The boy knows he sees signs of unrest when he isn¡¯t careful, such as wearing a t-shirt when his wrist is bruised where his father grabbed him too hard, so he learns to be more careful. He wears clothes to hide any marks, he tries his best to teach himself how to smile no matter what, because he does not want anything to change. He wants no reason to disturb the balance, where darkness may cling in Rosedale Abbey, he can recover from it in the light that is Hutton le Hole.

    Elijah asks about his family, his parents, and the boy says they¡¯re having financial difficulties that causes tension, but otherwise they¡¯re loving. He makes up all the scenarios he wished he shared with his mother, father and uncle. He convinces himself there¡¯s still a chance those dreams can happen. Elijah must believe him, because he doesn¡¯t continue to ask, although there¡¯s an underlying concern from him that the boy tries to dissuade with warm smiles and no mention of any unrest.

    It is something that could not have lasted, no matter how much he wishes it could. His thirteenth birthday comes around, and there¡¯s no cake or celebration, there is only the malevolent gleam of his parents¡¯ eyes when they tell him now he can truly make them proud. Now he may participate, and pay tribute to the Nathir. He¡¯s been dreading this day, but the wave of nausea, anger and panic it inspires still takes him by surprise for their intensity, so that he loses that ability he¡¯s been relying on so readily; to hide the bad so he can keep the good.

    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± he growls. ¡°I won¡¯t do it!¡±

    ¡°You would betray your family?¡± Ines shrieks.

    ¡°Fucking coward! You will do your part!¡± Charles roars.

    ¡°I-I won¡¯t! I¡¯ll go to the police!¡±

    ¡°Oh aye? The police?¡± Charles sneers. ¡°You can tell ¡®em where you dragged all the bodies in that case, boy!¡±

    ¡°If you try to drag us down, we¡¯ll pull you along you ungrateful little bastard!¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t! I¡¯ll tell them you made me! You did make me!¡±

    Charles releases a loud noise, halfway between a curse and a shout as he lunges towards the boy. He smashes his fist across his son''s face in a harsh backhand. The boy lets out a sound of pain and surprise as he falls to his rear, hand pressing to a swelling bump on his jaw as he scrambles backwards from his father. Charles is relentless in his pursuit, heaving the boy to his feet by the hair and striking about his head and face.

    ¡°Disrespectful cur! How fucking dare you!¡±

    The boy raises his hands in a feeble attempt to defend himself. This only seems to anger Charles further and he seizes the boy by the neck, hard enough to make him choke, and drags him to the cellar door. There¡¯s no victim down there now, James has yet to bring one, and Charles heaves open the door and throws his son down the stone steps.

    He lies on the cold stone floor, wincing and crying, cradling a wrist that is surely sprained if not broken from his tumble down the stairs. It¡¯s nearly pitch black in the cellar, and smells of old ale and waste from victims left locked away here until the time of the rustic moon. The boy remains on the floor, eyes cast to the sliver of light that shows beneath the locked door and waits, thinking he will be free soon.

    ?????¡ã???¡ã?????

    It¡¯s not soon. They roll bottles of water down the stairs on occasion, but no food. His stomach is an empty knot, twisting and writhing in on itself. He¡¯s so weak, he can barely move. When the door opens, he asks for forgiveness until his voice gives out. The fear that gripped him at the start isn¡¯t as strong. He¡¯s afraid of dying when hunger first seizes him in its relentless talons, by now he doesn¡¯t have the energy to be afraid. It may even be a good thing¡­if he should drift away.

    Just when he thinks they truly intend to let him die down here they offer salvation. His father comes down the steps and lifts his son in his arms to carry him upstairs. A warm bath is waiting, the filth and grime of so many days, weeks¡­months? needs to be washed away. His father helps him, because the broken boy is so weak there¡¯s danger he¡¯ll slip under the water and drown. He feels his ribs beneath the washcloth, jutting out. He¡¯s scared of what his face might look like.

    When he finishes cleaning, his father helps him into a robe and to the main part of the tavern. A plate of hot food waits at a recently cleaned table, with his mother sitting there and waiting. The boy¡¯s mouth waters, and he knows the serving is too small but dares not say so, fearing a return to the cellar if he does. He eats with ravenous gusto, while his mother coos and says there¡¯s more but he needs to take it slowly. They saved him, and that is all he can think about that night. They saved him from the dark.

    ?????¡ã???¡ã?????

    It¡¯s another three months before James returns with a victim. The woman is forced into the cellar, the door locks, and the boy finds himself staring at it more than he¡¯d ever done before. Because now he knows, he knows what it¡¯s like in the dark¡­and he wants to protest, he wants to tell them to let the woman go, but he doesn¡¯t, because he can¡¯t bear the thought of being down there again. Three days left until they¡¯ll be under the light of the moon, only this time¡­the boy will be taking the place of his father.

    He goes to Hutton le Hole in the meantime, and reconnects with Elijah. To the question of where he¡¯s been, he tells Elijah his family has come into some money and they were on vacation. By now, the gauntness of his time in the cellar is not so extreme, leaving him too thin but not so much to cause immediate concern. Elijah insists he eats a big lunch anyway, while he works on installing a garden fence at the cottage where they met. It reminds the boy that there is normalcy in the world, and while the thought brings comfort it also brings anger. He wants it, that normalcy, he wants it desperately.

    He leaves Elijah after lunch, and wanders on the outskirts of Hutton, scowling at tourists and sheep alike. He feels something building in him, and it feels destructive, it feels like the surge that struck him in Epping, when he hurt that other boy in a fight. Hutton is meant to be separate from that, so he takes his leave before it can be tainted by the dark. His pace is slow, this time he¡¯s sure he isn¡¯t needed at home. Two days left before the knife will be in his hand. He can¡¯t, but if he doesn¡¯t¡­he¡¯ll be locked away again. He shudders as he tops a rise in the moors that surround Rosedale Abbey. From here he can see the dilapidated tavern he calls home, tucked away in the shadow of another hill. From here, he can see the shambling shape rushing up to meet him.

    The boy starts when it clings to him and he looks into the wild eyes of the woman from the cellar.

    ¡°Help me, help me!¡± she wheezes.

    He stares in muted horror as she cries, willing himself to do something, make a decision, anything more than stare at her. ¡°I¡­¡± he trails off, reaches for her hand with the idea of leading her back to Hutton le Hole when another set of footsteps interrupts the groaning of the wind.

    ¡°Oi you dodgy cunt!¡± James exclaims when he comes upon them. The woman screams and brushes past the boy, but James is upon her and clamping a hand over her mouth while his arm circles her vice-like to lift her from her feet. The boy¡¯s uncle rounds on him angrily. ¡°Useless shit, keep an eye out here to see if anyone¡¯s coming.¡±

    The boy watches as James hauls the struggling woman back towards the tavern. His heart races, sweat trails down his spine and panic wells up in his chest. He¡¯s shivering, feeling like he¡¯s going to vibrate out of his skin when he turns and runs. If doesn¡¯t know if James saw him, likely not, hopefully not, please don¡¯t let him have seen¡­but if he has or hasn¡¯t, it doesn¡¯t stop the boy from running all the way back to his sanctuary. There¡¯s only one light on in the little cottage, where Elijah¡¯s staying as he continues renovations through the summer. The boy knows this because they spoke about it on one of those normal days.

    He pounds at the door until he hears Elijah¡¯s voice telling him to ¡®hold his horses¡¯ before the door opens. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± he asks, taking one look at the boy¡¯s face and stepping back to let him inside.

    And the boy tells him everything except what¡¯s important. He talks about how mean his parents are, and he keeps convincing himself he needs to tell Elijah about the woman, the rituals, the murders, but he can¡¯t bring himself to go that far, to condemn his family entirely. But he talks about the belt, the beatings, the time he wasn¡¯t on vacation but was being punished for talking back. He doesn¡¯t say he was locked away, or starved nearly to death, but then he doesn¡¯t have to. Elijah fills in the blanks and his normally happy expression turns to something angry and cold.

    ¡°Bring me to them,¡± he says.

    ¡°No! No, they might hurt you!¡± the boy cries.

    ¡°No they won¡¯t, and they won¡¯t hurt you again either.¡±

    They get into his car and the boy quivers with the need to tell Elijah don¡¯t, because he doesn¡¯t know what he¡¯s getting involved in. But Elijah won¡¯t be deterred, and he asks the boy if he wants to go away with him, that he can help him, and the boy thinks of his dream of a place far away, with an open view of the sky and long, sunny days. He nods and feels sick anyway.

    The boy doesn¡¯t leave the vehicle when Elijah stops it in front of the tavern. He wants to, but Elijah tells him he shouldn¡¯t. So he peers out the window, his shallow breaths leaving steam against the glass as Elijah knocks at the door. It opens to Ines and Charles, the boy thinks James must be securing the woman in the cellar still. He can¡¯t hear what¡¯s being said between the three adults, he just sees the angry gestures from Elijah, the livid rage in his mother¡¯s face and the intimidating glare of his father. He sees them look towards the car, at him, and he knows that if they get their hands on him he may not survive it this time. To his surprise, however, Elijah says one final word, and both his parents nod. Elijah turns his back on them and comes to the car. The boy waits for retaliation from his parents, but it doesn¡¯t come, they just look at him and the smile that curls his mother¡¯s lips terrifies him more than any shouting could have.

    They drive south with no incidents, Elijah stops only for gas and some fast food during the 10 hour drive to York, to his sister¡¯s place of residence. Before they leave the vehicle, Elijah twists in his seat to look fully at the boy.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to just decide for you, I can¡¯t morally let you go back to those people,¡± he says. ¡°I can start an adoption process, it¡¯ll take a while, and I don¡¯t know all the alternatives if you say no, but I promise I will find each and every one if this isn¡¯t what you want.¡±

    He doesn¡¯t, not in that second, because he¡¯s still expecting his parents to swoop in out of the shadows with murder on their minds. Then he thinks of all the normal days he had with Elijah, the happiness he was allowed to feel without thinking he¡¯d owe something for it. He nods, swallows, then speaks. ¡°Okay.¡±¡±

    ?????¡ã???¡ã?????

    ¡°It took six months to go through the whole adoption process,¡± I say heavily as I conclude the tale of the broken boy. ¡°I got to know his sister quite well during that time, and her husband, they were all such good people¡­¡±

    ¡°Were?¡± Riley asks in a quiet voice.

    ¡°When I was fifteen, I moved to the United States with Elijah. He sold his ranch in Texas, we went to his home in Rhode Island. He died about half a year after my sixteenth birthday. I later learned that his sister and her husband also died around the same time. I know my parents are involved somehow, only I never figured out how, there was no definitive cause. I was still a minor, so I ended up in the system.¡±

    ¡°Fuck,¡± Riley whispers. ¡°And your parents didn¡¯t try and claim you again?¡±

    ¡°No, and as far as everyone was concerned, my name was Henry Stone¡­My name is Henry Stone.¡±

 Chapter VIII A Change of Plans

    We speak no further for some time, although I don¡¯t count the minutes. Instead I focus on Riley¡¯s hand holding mine, his grip firm and reassuring. He doesn¡¯t look at me, his eyes are trained on the chipped coffee table set before the couch, unseeing as he processes the story.

    ¡°I wish you¡¯d told me,¡± he says after a slow breath. ¡°Christ, I feel like such an asshole. I was always going on about my shit, because you always seemed like you didn¡¯t have any.¡±

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t tell you,¡± I reply. ¡°I was afraid that if I did, somehow¡­my parents would know, and I would lose you too.¡±

    ¡°I can handle myself.¡±

    ¡°I did not know how much then,¡± I remind him. ¡°I didn¡¯t know about the Order. Besides, meeting Elijah, having a real parental figure, having something good, it helped me to¡­well, focus on the good rather than the negative.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s focusing on the good and there¡¯s repressing, I know a lot about the latter,¡± Riley insists.

    ¡°It never felt that way, but it¡¯s possible,¡± more than possible, if I am honest with myself. I never truly contended with the things my parents put me through. It¡¯s easier not to think about it, and while I can never go so far as to pretend it didn¡¯t happen, I long ago convinced myself that Elijah would not have wanted me to regress to the youth he met.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Riley whispers. ¡°I¡¯m sorry you went through that hell. Fuck, Henry, how could they do that to you?¡±

    ¡°They were blinded by their ambitions, I think,¡± I sigh. ¡°Whatever means necessary to succeed.¡±

    ¡°In what though?¡± I get the feeling Riley isn¡¯t even asking me this directly, rather his frustration gets the better of him. ¡°They didn¡¯t accomplish shit! They just murdered people in a field and made you watch!¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re obsessed,¡± I say bitterly. ¡°To them every ritual was a success, but they may have found a means for it to truly work, to truly fulfill the ritual for their unknown king. They believe the answer is within a relic, one that I now have in my possession. They had a book, Magicks & Alchemy, which referenced the relic¡­only I cannot remember what it said and I didn¡¯t have a chance to read the copy in the Archives. Perhaps even more strange¡­I found the relic in a storage unit Billy rented. Castillo owns the place, I¡¯m not sure if Billy knew that, but he had a copy of Magicks & Alchemy too, it was very damaged, however, but the Archivists were unpleasantly surprised to learn of its existence at all.¡±

    ¡°Wait. What the fuck? So Billy had the same dark magic fuckery in his storage unit? One that Castillo owned? He never said anything about it.¡±

    I nod, thinking of the odds and ends that made up the majority of the unit¡¯s contents. ¡°I don¡¯t understand the connection,¡± I reply. ¡°The only words I could make out in Billy¡¯s copy were fair, north and in shadow¡­My parents fancy themselves as powerful, a witch and warlock to be feared. But they are not. Was Billy¡¯s family?¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t really talk about them,¡± Riley says, voice contemplative. He narrows his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m starting to think it may have been a similar situation to yours. I wish we could talk to him,¡± sadness fills his voice and he looks away from me, and I almost demand that he not hide his sorrow. Riley¡¯s always tried to put on a brave face, however, even in front of me.

    ¡°Where is the relic?¡± he asks after some time in silence.

    ¡°In my room at Castillo¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°I figured you might have been there, but I can¡¯t go near the place,¡± Riley sighs. ¡°This promotion has me bound a lot more than before, I think on purpose. Assholes. Can you bring it here?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not comfortable involving the Order.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not involving the Order, Henry. You¡¯re just involving me.¡±

    ¡°I did not want to involve you either.¡±

    ¡°Yeah well, tough shit.¡±

    I almost tell him no, absolutely not, but it¡¯s fruitless. He¡¯ll continue no matter what I say, and if I am honest with myself, I know that my confidence towards success depends on his help. As much as I wanted to, I cannot do this alone.

    ¡°There¡¯s more¡­The Bishops have ties to Charlemagne,¡± I hesitate, feeling drained from sharing my past, even if I attempted to separate myself from the broken boy.  ¡°I have ties to Charlemagne¡­he is my sire.¡±

    ¡°What?!¡±

    ¡°Another piece of news recently learned.¡±

    ¡°Did he say why he turned you?¡± Riley demands.

    ¡°Only hints,¡± I admit. ¡°He would tell me no more because I wouldn¡¯t help him deal with Castillo.¡±

    ¡°This can¡¯t get out, Henry. Charlemagne has never sired another vampire, there¡¯s a long process between vampires and the Order before anyone can turn a human.¡±

    ¡°There is?¡±

    ¡°Well, there¡¯s supposed to be. A vampire puts in a request to turn a human, the pair has to come in for a hearing after the request is made, then they come in for individual hearings, so the Order can be sure this is something the human actually wants, and if it is usually the request is approved. It¡¯s a means to keep the vampire population in check. Although¡­most vampires don¡¯t seem to be in a rush to pass down their power that way, so we don¡¯t get a lot of them, but there¡¯s never been any documented case of Charlemagne siring anyone.¡±

    ¡°What would happen if the Order did find out?¡±

    ¡°Knowing Sheldon? He¡¯d probably use you to try and get to Charlemagne. Flippant as that asshole can act, if he turned you, there¡¯s a reason and he wouldn¡¯t want the Order to get in the way of that,¡± Riley sounds exhausted suddenly, and I gain a better understanding of just how often he¡¯s butted heads with Sheldon lately.

    ¡°I cannot help but think that it is all connected¡­my parents, the rituals, Charlemagne¡¯s decision to turn me. He says I am a key to the end, and I fear what end he means.¡±

    ¡°One that isn¡¯t going to happen,¡± Riley says, his voice rough. ¡°We¡¯ll figure this out Henry, and it starts with figuring out what the fuck that relic is. Can you bring it here tomorrow?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Good. Hold on a second,¡± he gets up and leaves the living room. I hear him rustling through papers before he returns with a composition notebook and a pen. ¡°Can you draw it? It doesn¡¯t have to be perfect, just enough that I can do a little digging while I¡¯m at work.¡±

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    ¡°Sure,¡± I reply. I fill in the shape I draw with black ink, leaving behind unfilled lines to mimic those lightning streaks across the relic. At the top I draw the glowing sphere, and while the drawing is crude I think it captures the item well enough.

    Riley is quiet for a few minutes as he studies it, his brow furrowed in concentration. ¡°I think it might be Fae in origin,¡± he says. ¡°Especially with the words you could read from the book. Fair¡­maybe Fair Folk, North could point to the Unseelie side of things, shadow fits that Court too.¡±

    I feel a pit open in my stomach. Did Muir lie to me then when he said he knew nothing about it? Or was it so obscure that he simply didn¡¯t know? Is he involved in all of this too?

    Riley glances towards the nearest window, where light is beginning to filter through. ¡°It¡¯s late. You can stay here until sundown,¡± he says.

    ¡°Okay,¡± I reply, coming out of my whirling thoughts, ¡°thank you.¡± We both stand from the couch, and before I lose my nerve, I ask, ¡°will you stay with me?¡±

    Riley quirks a brow. ¡°That depends, are you going to get handsy, Mr. Stone? Any more surprise kisses I should look out for?¡± I know his levity is forced, but I appreciate it all the same.

    ¡°I will be a gentleman.¡±

    ¡°Alright then,¡± he replies. ¡°I could use the sleep too. Don¡¯t be concerned if I¡¯m gone before you get up, my shifts are criminal, but I¡¯ll come back here around three to meet with you.¡±

    We ready ourselves for bed, and the comfort it brings me to lay next to him would be enough to bring me to tears if I could still cry. Riley, like Elijah, is a light in my life that makes it possible to be as I am. To avoid the dark, to hold to the love of good people rather than the poison of hatred that filled my parents. We lay facing each other, Riley¡¯s deep blue eyes on mine before he scoots closer to drape an arm over me and tug me in closer.

    ¡°I¡¯m really sorry,¡± he whispers. ¡°About what you went through¡­no one deserves that, and you least of all. You¡¯re amazing, you know that? That you are so kind and giving despite where you came from. They won¡¯t hurt you anymore, I¡¯m going to make sure of that.¡±

    ?????¡ã???¡ã?????

    Riley is gone when I wake, as I expected. There is an unexpected note left behind, however, reiterating that he¡¯ll be back around three and he¡¯ll leave his door open, so just come in. He signs it with a heart and I cannot help but smile to see it. In the meantime, I must determine how best to use my time. I could return to the Market and take up my shift at Sanguine Sweet as if there¡¯s nothing going on in my personal life, but I am wary about seeing Muir again. I want to know the answer to my earlier pondering, whether he lied to me or is unaware of the relic, but he¡¯s so much to deal with that I¡¯m not confident I¡¯ll get that answer anyway.

    Instead, I go back to Castillo¡¯s, opening the door to be greeted once more with a mixture of fine scents that tells me he¡¯s in the kitchen again. I go to him, and he greets me with a quick ¡®hola, Santito,¡¯ before focusing back on his meal. It¡¯s a wonderful burst of colors and smells and once more I envy those who could enjoy it. He¡¯s finished cooking in moments, serving himself a plate and moving to sit at the island nearby. I think about what Charlemagne wanted from me, to find a means to weaken Castillo, and I cannot help but wonder about their history together, but I have no heart to ask. It feels like a betrayal already that I¡¯ve stayed here now that I know Charlemagne is my sire, and I feel selfish for knowing I will keep that information to myself.

    ¡°Why are you staring at me?¡± he asks suddenly. Or perhaps it is not sudden, and I am only being broken from my thoughts.

    ¡°Sorry, I have a lot on my mind.¡±

    ¡°You are handling things?¡±

    ¡°Mostly.¡±

    ¡°Hm. You need anything from me?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve done so much already,¡± I say genuinely. ¡°But thank you.¡±

    He takes a bite of his dinner, then seems to decide something as he gets up, takes his plate, and nods his head in a gesture for me to follow. I do so, never entirely sure what¡¯s going through his mind, and find myself in the living room. Castillo sits in an armchair, taking the remote for the TV from the side table and flips it on to soccer.

    ¡°You know football?¡± he asks me as I sink onto the couch.

    ¡°Not really,¡± I admit.

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll teach you, it¡¯s always good to focus on something else now and then, hermano.¡±

    I know enough Spanish to understand the term and I smile, feeling assured again by the connections I have, the bonds that keep me afloat in the storm still blowing over me. ¡°That would be nice,¡± I reply.

    I see another side to Castillo again as we watch the game. While he is highly skilled in stoicism, he is not a stoic man. I see this when he cooks and I see it when he engages in another passion. He does a good job of explaining everything, but as the match goes on he abandons English for Spanish and shouts and gestures at the screen. I see what he means about shifting focus, and I can guess that these are his outlets, so that he can maintain that unreadable aura while dealing with business.

    When the game ends, Castillo goes back to his office and I go to my bedroom. I retrieve the satchel and look inside it, ensuring the relic is where it ought to be. Since I have a few hours before I need to go back to Riley¡¯s, I spend the time reading, permitting my mind to escape to another world.

    ?????¡ã???¡ã?????

    Everdean Street is quiet when I return, not unusual given the time. There is a light on in Riley¡¯s place, shining from the living room. My grip tightens on the satchel strap and I approach the front steps, going up them slowly. I hope that he¡¯s found something during the day, to explain all of this, or at least to find a means to end it. I twist the doorknob and step into the familiar space, but there is something¡­off about it. I frown, shutting the door quietly and moving silently as a shadow around the corner into the living room.

    A blast of light flares, one that makes my skin sizzle and pain erupt where it shines. I cry out and throw my hands up, to shield my face as best as I can. The light goes out, and I blink wildly, my vision impaired from the violence of it but still capable of discerning several shapes in the living room.

    ¡°Henry Stone, you are under arrest by the decree of the Order of Cerberus,¡± comes a cold voice. I recognize Joseph Sheldon¡¯s voice from the confrontation at the dock a year ago. All is confusion as these figures approach me, one of them taking the satchel. I seize it to pull it from her grasp, but the light flares again and I fold in on myself trying to escape it. It¡¯s off before it can do serious damage, but the message is loud and clear.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Riley?¡± I groan.

    ¡°Mr. Averline has learned the importance of priorities,¡± Sheldon replies. ¡°Check the satchel,¡± he says to the woman who took it.

    She opens it and shows him the interior. He nods and takes the bag into his possession. ¡°You are under arrest for the possession of a forbidden artifact,¡± I hear a slight tremor under his cold voice, as if he¡¯s frightened of the relic. I may pay this more attention, but right now I can only think of Riley. I do not believe he would sell me out to the Order this way, it¡¯s not in his nature, rather I am worried about what Sheldon has done to him. Did he find out Riley¡¯s involvement? Perhaps he was caught asking about the relic, forced to reveal our prior meeting and the one for tonight.

    Centurions close in on me again, and I feel strong hands wrenching mine behind my back and thick shackles closing around my wrists. A cursory tug tells me that even had I fed recently and had use of my full strength, they would not break. I see the one holding the large light, its lens still pointed at me so I do not resist. We leave through the back door, making for the neighboring street where a black van waits, flanked front and rear by black sedans. I am led to the van, shoved inside once the doors are opened and joined by fully armed Centurions.

    ¡°Is Riley okay?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Shut up, blood sucker!¡± a harsh voice demands.

    ¡°Mr. Averline is fine,¡± the same woman who took the satchel tells me. Now it¡¯s been long enough for my eyes to recover, I realize I recognize her. She was also at the docks when Elena tried to open Paradise. I believe her name is Chiaki. I wish she would tell me more, but she looks away from me. I can only hope that she still has the same honor that had her help me and Riley in keeping Centurions from murdering Castillo¡¯s pack, and wasn¡¯t simply lying to me to avoid escalating the situation.

    What escalation could there be? I notice the light is still pointed at me, and the Centurion wielding it is much closer than he was in the house, I do not want to see how I would fare against it now.

    The drive is one of silence, and I dare not break it to ask any more questions. The Centurions do not speak to each other at all, as if the slightest conversation would put them at risk because of my company. It makes it almost unbearable, though the trip is only about 20 minutes by car, traffic is negligible at this time of day. The vehicles drive into a parking garage that dips under the street, and my hearing catches the beeps of an electronic keypad that tells me it¡¯s a private lot. A few minutes later, the van stops again, this time for good, and the Centurions within begin to stir. The doors are opened, and most of them go out save for the one with the light, who gestures for me to get up and follow them. I do as he bids and while I give no sign I mean to flee, I am closed in by three Centurions once I¡¯m out of the van.

    There¡¯s nothing special about the parking lot, save for notices marking it as private property. Our odd group, the Order all dressed in black, make for the heavy door that leads to the adjacent building. I will be going into Order headquarters for the first time tonight¡­I only hope I¡¯ll eventually be permitted to leave.

 Chapter IX: The Relic

    I am left in an interrogation room befitting a televised police procedural. A metal table set between two uncomfortable chairs, one occupied by me and the other empty for now. The floor is concrete, the walls smooth and unyielding, the door strong enough to hold a rampaging werewolf from the looks of it. There is no window that suggests members of the Order will observe any interrogation that takes place, but I would not be surprised if they had other means to watch.

    I have difficulty worrying overly much about that, however. The light in here makes me feel ill, or perhaps it is only my nerves. The cold light does not burn like the light flashed at me in Riley¡¯s home, but it is too bright, just on the cusp of being too much, and my stomach churns and my eyes burn the longer I sit here in silence. I am suddenly cognizant of my very slow heartbeat, which speeds up slightly and thuds more acutely beneath my chest.

    There is no way to know how long I wait in solitude. The room is underground, there is no natural light ¨C a blessing considering my vampirism ¨C and there is no clock. So I sit still, occasionally tugging at the shackles which still bind my wrists at the small of my back, though with not much hope they will suddenly break. All the while, I feel progressively more ill, not enough to worry about my overall longevity, but enough that mild discomfort turns to a throbbing, overall ache.

    The door beeps, hydraulics hiss as it swings inward and permits Sheldon and Chiaki into the room. Both their expressions are impassive, although I detect a tightness about Sheldon¡¯s mouth that tells me he is irritated about something. I open my mouth to ask about Riley, but Chiaki shakes her head, the gesture miniscule and a direct warning for me to stay quiet. I swallow the inquiry, feeling nerves flutter in my chest as I stare at the two of them.

    ¡°Where is it?¡± Sheldon asks with no further delay.

    ¡°Where is¡­what?¡±

    His hand slips into the pocket of his slacks and withdraws a flashlight. He flicks it on and shines it on me, and like the larger light from Riley¡¯s house, it immediately burns at my skin. I hiss and recoil in my chair and Sheldon turns off the light, but I can still feel my cheek itching where it was illuminated.

    ¡°Do not test me,¡± Sheldon warns. ¡°Where is the actual relic?¡±

    I¡¯m utterly confused and I do nothing to hide this from my features as I stare at him in perplexity. ¡°I¡­I do not understand,¡± I admit. The light comes on again and I shout out in alarm, twisting in my seat. ¡°I don¡¯t!¡±

    ¡°Mr. Sheldon¡­Stone has helped us in the past,¡± Chiaki says after the light goes out again.

    ¡°As he has helped Castillo in the past,¡± Sheldon retorts. ¡°You were taken in by him and Averline before, Miss Ito, do not let that happen again now.¡±

    ¡°The¡­the relic,¡± I groan, the skin of my throat pulled taut with the movement of my jaw where it''s been burned. ¡°It is the real relic¡­¡±

    ¡°It is a tennis ball,¡± Sheldon says coldly.

    ¡°...What?¡±

    ¡°Where is the relic?!¡± Sheldon snarls, the composure in his face morphing to something sinister. It is not the malevolence of one who looks for any excuse to hurt another, rather¡­one borne of a tenebrous desperation.

    I begin to say once more that I do not know, but it turns into a beleaguered cry as Sheldon again scorches my skin with the UV flashlight. My face must be a mess by now, my arms ¨C exposed from my t-shirt, no better. For a second, I think he has no intention to stop before Chiaki shifts by his side, preparing to defend me again¡­I hope.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think he knows,¡± she says as Sheldon extinguishes that dreadful light. ¡°Have you had any contact with others who might have taken the relic?¡± she asks me.

    I am nothing but pain, it¡¯s hard to concentrate on her question as tendrils of smoke drift lazily upward from my flesh. I murmur something, I¡¯m not sure what, I¡¯m having a hard time thinking beyond the pain.

    ¡°Think sharply, Mr. Stone,¡± Sheldon¡¯s voice rings in my ears, and I go rigid, expecting more pain from the light. ¡°You better have an answer when we return.¡± He shows mercy, dropping the flashlight back into his pocket before he leads the way out of the room, Chiaki in his wake.

    The tension of being left alone is absent this time, I find only relief in my solitude. The agony of my burns dissipates somewhat now they are not being agitated further by the flashlight, but the majority will not heal until I feed. I do not know what to do now. I can¡¯t imagine what Sheldon is really talking about, that the relic is a fake? A tennis ball? I do not own a tennis ball, and I cannot imagine Castillo or Gianna taking the relic or swapping it without my knowing. I checked my bag before going to Riley¡¯s. Besides, Castillo didn¡¯t know what it was when I showed him, it is useless to him, and Gianna takes nothing that is not offered to her. So then who disguised it? Who took it in the first place? Panic seizes me, perhaps the reason I have not seen signs of my family since the Archives is because James succeeded in getting it then! Could they be on the verge of completing their strange ritual? Will it be like Elena¡¯s attempt to open Paradise, and leave another gaping wound in the city of Boston?

    What will Sheldon¡¯s reaction be if I tell him about the Bishops? My ties to them? It may lead him to knowing about my connection with Charlemagne¡­he may keep me here, locked away, tormenting me whenever he feels my answers are inadequate.

    I try to pull my hands free with more desperation, to no avail. I could stand and pace, but I think it will just waste what precious energy I have left. I could try to flee when the door opens again, but this is Order headquarters, they must have means to handle such attempts and Sheldon has already proven he does not need much to turn to violence. I look around, yearning for some sign of escape, a crack in the wall that I can try to expand¡­anything. But there is nothing. This room is sealed tight, and the only things within it are the table and chairs and a shadow cast in the far corner.

    Odd, really, the light is even overhead and none of the other corners have a shadow. This one appears too established, a perfect square that becomes a rectangle that looks like a door. I blink as I stare at it, then startle out of my chair when Muir¡¯s head suddenly pokes through the wall.

    ¡°Up,¡± he orders savagely. ¡°Now! I¡¯ve triggered every alarm in this place!¡±

    I scramble to my feet and rush towards the corner. I do not hear any alarm, but I don¡¯t doubt that every Centurion, Sentinel and Enchanter in the building is alerted to the break in. Muir reaches out of the dark abyss, his hand grabs a fistful of my shirt and he yanks me into the shadow with him. I expect to see within the confines of the wall, but there is no impression of any infrastructure around us. Instead, it looks like we are suddenly in nature.

    ¡°Echoes of the past make great paths,¡± Muir says in a sing-song voice that is nevertheless tight with agitation.

    He tugs on my shirt and I follow him without question, even if my mind is full of them. Is this¡­Beacon Street before Boston became Boston? Before settlers ever came to this area? We didn¡¯t¡­time travel, I can still see vague shapes of today¡¯s city around us, transparent and vague as a dream, sometimes looking more tangible, sometimes nothing but a suggestion of something real. ¡°How did you reach me?¡± I ask. ¡°How¡­did you even know I was in trouble?¡±

    ¡°Uh uh,¡± he chastises. ¡°Not now, honey. Let¡¯s get somewhere safe first.¡±

    I nod, and follow after him, feeling disoriented as this path continues in much the same manner, of time sweeping forward then ebbing away; streets full of cars, carriages, horses that shift into cars again. Sleek and modern buildings shrinking, glass and metal becoming wood, spaces bursting between alleyways that were normally tiny. I wonder then if Muir could step out of this path when he pleased, and walk among the streets while they were little more than tracks of mud in soft grass.

    My dizziness abates as we cross the ocean again, it is mostly unchanging and it relieves me to have an idea of our destination. My assumption that he is bringing me back to his flat is the right one, and while I am happy to be away from that interrogation room, Muir¡¯s cold and Spartan home doesn¡¯t elicit much comfort. These harsh surroundings only crystallize their sharp edges when Muir steps through a shadowy portal with me, out of his hidden path and into the world again. The colors are more vibrant now, and everything seems too rigid for a few moments while my mind recenters itself.

    ¡°I really must send the Order a thank you card,¡± Muir hums. I furrow a brow in question and he grins in the manner I¡¯ve become accustomed to. ¡°You look ravishing in shackles, baby.¡±

    I sigh, but his quick rebound to his usual antics after the intensity of what I came from has a laugh escape with the sound, although it doesn¡¯t hold much humor. ¡°Can you get them off?¡±

    ¡°I should demand you let me get you off before I help you with those,¡± Muir tuts. He holds up a finger before I can say anything else. ¡°I said ¡®should¡¯ not that I ¡®would¡¯. Wait here a moment.¡±

    I watch as he goes deeper into the flat, turning a corner and going out of sight for a couple minutes before he remerges with a skeleton key. He comes towards me in that predatory manner that is both arousing and intimidating at once, lifting his hand to pat my shoulder before he steps behind me to work on the shackles. He stands too close, it''s a wonder he can see what he¡¯s doing at all, and I am very aware of his warm breath tickling the back of my neck.

    ¡°Are you sure we can¡¯t have fun first?¡± he whispers playfully.

    I grunt some sort of denial in return and he sighs and presses me no further on it. I can hear the key in the lock, jostling very lightly as Muir seeks a means to make it work. I¡¯m beginning to have my doubts until I finally hear the click of the lock sliding out of place and feel the press of cold metal fall away from my wrists. I bring them forward and rub at them, eyeing the various burns that cover my arms.

    ¡°They did leave you a mess,¡± Muir says. ¡°Poor thing.¡±

    ¡°How did you know I was there?¡± I ask again.

    ¡°We are still connected, albeit only faintly now,¡± Muir replies, walking past me and towards the dark couch that faces the windows overlooking the city. I go with him and sit next to him, eyeing him suspiciously. ¡°When you drank my blood,¡± he adds. ¡°It¡¯s only a faint connection, call it my Spidey senses. I felt your duress and followed it to Beacon Street.¡±

    ¡°But¡­how did you get in?¡± I ask. ¡°I thought the Order would have defenses against the Fae.¡±

    ¡°Oh they do,¡± Muir replies. ¡°But I am not your typical Fae. If it was the Order¡¯s main hub, you¡¯d be fucked, my dear. And if you get yourself arrested again, I probably won¡¯t have the same success in breaking you out, so do try to avoid the Centurions.¡±

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    Riley spoke of that hub before, after my turn and after I knew what he really did for a living. Boston¡¯s headquarters were regional, there were more. Many more. Not just in the United States, but across the globe. He could not tell me where its original headquarters was, however. Although I still don¡¯t know if it¡¯s a matter of security, or if Riley himself doesn¡¯t know either.

    It¡¯s something that isn¡¯t prevalent to the situation at hand, and my mind recalls those questions inspired before my abrupt arrest. ¡°You said you didn¡¯t know anything about the relic,¡± I do not hide the accusation in my voice. ¡°And yet¡­there¡¯s a good chance it is Fae in origin.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t actually say that I didn¡¯t know about it,¡± Muir says with a clever grin. ¡°I said ¡®all I¡¯ll tell you is that it¡¯s ancient¡¯.¡±

    ¡°So you lied by omission!¡± I exclaim, feeling my patience disappear entirely. I am still hurt, I¡¯m worried about Riley, I¡¯m worried about the relic¡¯s whereabouts, and I cannot play these games with him on top of everything else.

    ¡°Oh Henry, you really don¡¯t have much experience with my kind,¡± he sounds utterly remorseless. ¡°Knowledge and information is power, I don¡¯t give it out freely.¡±

    ¡°If you had told me, I might have done things differently,¡± I seethe. ¡°As it stands, the relic is gone! Whatever I had on me was some mundane thing disguised as the relic.¡±

    Muir¡¯s eyebrows inch upwards and I gasp. ¡°You took it!¡±

    ¡°Mmm guilty,¡± Muir replies. ¡°I just couldn¡¯t let such a nice boy hold onto something that could so easily destroy him.¡±

    ¡°Where is it?¡±

    ¡°Henry¡­¡±

    ¡°Where is it, Muir?¡±

    ¡°Here, but not here,¡± Muir sighs. ¡°It is in a safe that is hidden in one of my paths, so under my bed but not under my bed.¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡± I demand, leaning towards him but the action makes me wince, the burns in my skin making their presence well known again.

    "A prison."

    "What do you mean?"

    ¡°Let me take care of you first,¡± Muir insists. ¡°You¡¯re not well, you look dreadful.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡±

    ¡°You should,¡± Muir huffs. ¡°About not being well¡­okay, and about looking dreadful. I miss my handsome boy.¡±

    ¡°Stop!¡± I snap at him. ¡°Just¡­stop. I can¡¯t¡­take much more today.¡±

    The lascivious playfulness leaves him. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± and to his credit, he sounds very genuine. ¡°But you should feed, Henry. There¡¯s no telling how long we¡¯ll be able to sit here in peace. If the Order does manage to track us here, you¡¯ll want to be at your full strength.¡±

    I see his point, but I know he won¡¯t have blood on hand, and I worry about the effects his blood will have on me again. The alternative is to hunt, which is no alternative at all. As I agonize over the decision, he lifts his hand to his neck and I see his fingernails have become sharp. I part my lips, I think I intend to tell him to ¡®wait¡¯ but no sound comes out. The scoop neck shirt he wears already exposes the place where neck meets shoulder and it is here that he pierces with his sharp nail. The smell of his blood is as strong as a physical blow and my hunger, already stirring in the wake of my injuries, ignites through my entire being.

    He beckons me closer and I succumb to the hunger. My fangs find his flesh, puncturing the shallow wounds his nails made and going deeper, allowing that blood to flow more readily. It¡¯s a more poignant high than the first time. Perhaps for how close it is to that life line in his neck, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. I hear a heavenly choir, as if every item in his flat is singing, or perhaps it¡¯s our souls, calling out to one another. His arms wind around me, pulling me into his lap before one hand trails roughly up my spine, the back of my neck, to my head before fingers bury into my hair. The other explores where it wills, and I do nothing to stop its roaming, focused as I am on that sweet, sweet oblivion. The pain leaves me, replaced by a strange itching sensation where my skin knits itself together where burns previously marred the flesh.

    I do not want it to stop, because the mental anguish is gone too, but a sharp tug on my hair jerks my head back, away from his neck. I am met with his wide, electric eyes, pupils dilated, looking as blissed out as I feel. Then he pulls me in close again, my lips meeting not his neck, but Muir¡¯s lips, and it feels as if I¡¯ve waited for this kiss for a thousand years. It is like a poignant memory that remains unclear, something familiar and safe yet entirely foreign and dangerous at the same time, leaving me wholly submerged in the swirl of color and sound of his blood and passion.

    He moves with such grace that I hardly realize he¡¯s shifted our positions until I look up at him. I am lying on the couch now, and he is on top of me, his smirk sensual and triumphant as he guides my legs around his hips before he leans in to resume our heated kiss. I am not used to being the one in this position, and the sudden thought makes me think of my other shared kiss not long ago. With Riley, clumsy and ill-suited as it may have been.

    It takes all of my willpower to twist my head away and break away from those soft lips and clever tongue, and I must find a reserve of that willpower when Muir, undeterred, suckles at my exposed neck, trailing kisses and bites down its length. His features shift and morph, the delicate yet sharp features of Muir, the elongated features of his true form ¨C I think it is his true form ¨C then replaced by my imagining Riley.

    ¡°Stop,¡± my voice is breathy and plaintive, and I¡¯m suddenly frightened he¡¯ll ignore it, but he doesn¡¯t. The erotic movements of his body, his lips, his encouraging sounds, ceases and he pulls back to look into my face, his expression one of bitter disappointment. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I whisper. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­but I can¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°You can,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯re choosing not to.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not right,¡± I insist. ¡°Not now.¡±

    ¡°Not now?¡± he asks.

    ¡°I¡­have to figure things out.¡±

    He regards me for another moment, then smiles sharply, leans in to press a chaste kiss to my forehead and backs away entirely, getting up from the couch to stand at the window. ¡°You¡¯ll be the death of me,¡± he sighs dramatically. ¡°I mean, look at me, acting like such a gentleman!¡±

    I sit up slowly, my body flushed and still reverberating with the effect of his blood. That part of me wants very much to repress my thoughts of Riley and let Muir sweep me into passionate rapture. ¡°I need¡­to rest, to sleep this off.¡±

    ¡°Your astounding erection?¡±

    I do not need to inspect myself for verification of his jest. My entire body is still taut for him. Perhaps he takes pity on me, because he gestures to the bed behind the divide without actively looking at me. ¡°Go, rest. I¡¯ll keep an eye on things¡­in case we need a quick departure.¡±

    ?????¡ã???¡ã?????

    I am not suddenly roused from sleep, so when I wake I assume the Order did not find us. The wild effects of Muir¡¯s blood are gone, replaced with that dull ache reminiscent of a hangover. I groan as I sit upright and swing my legs over the bed, feet finding solace in the cool floor below. Muir is laying on the other side of the bed, a book open in his lap that he closes now that I¡¯m awake.

    ¡°Back from the dead,¡± he purrs.

    ¡°So it would seem,¡± I reply, lifting fingers to my face, I trace over smooth skin. There¡¯s no remnants of the burns at all. ¡°I have questions.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you do,¡± Muir sighs, setting the book down on the dark bedside table. ¡°Very well, ask.¡±

    ¡°Why did you steal the relic from me? And how did you hide it for so long?¡±

    ¡°It is Fae in nature, and it is very dangerous. I was not confident you would keep it on your person, so I relieved you of the burden,¡± he replies with a half shrug. ¡°Being Fae myself, who better to watch over it? As for how I hid the fake¡­Glamour.¡±

    I take what he says to heart, mulling it over so I can form my next set of questions. For now, I go with the simpler topic. ¡°What is Glamour?¡±

    ¡°Fae magic,¡± Muir says with a wink. ¡°I have a Glamour on me now, my fair skin¡­my mundane ears and eyes? All a disguise, my pet.¡±

    ¡°So it is¡­an illusion?¡± I ask. ¡°I saw¡­you after drinking your blood. Your skin was different and¡­¡±

    ¡°Green,¡± he says, waving it away. ¡°Pointy ears, sharp teeth, ¡®unnatural¡¯ eyes and features, I could be the belle of the ball anywhere I went if we didn¡¯t have to hide because mundanes are too stupid and bigoted to accept there¡¯s different sorts among them.¡±

    I blink, taken aback by the sharp tone of voice. Muir doesn¡¯t seem the type who gets upset at many things, he¡¯s too aloof and from what I experienced, treats everything as a game. A lewd game at that. This is genuine, however, and I can¡¯t help but feel empathy towards him.

    ¡°But yes, it is an illusion. I used a very powerful Glamour for the fake relic, the tennis ball,¡± he snickers, but I cannot find humor in the situation considering the pains it brought me. ¡°Unfortunately, while Boston¡¯s headquarters may not have had the means to keep the likes of me out, it certainly has enough enchantments about the place that the Glamour would have been banished soon after they brought the thing inside.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± I reply softly. ¡°You said the relic is a prison¡­what did you mean by that?¡±

    ¡°Surely you know,¡± Muir grins. ¡°You of all people must know.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± I say, exasperation coloring my voice. ¡°If I did, I would not be running around Boston and London trying to figure it out!¡±

    Muir widens his eyes at me. ¡°Okay, okay,¡± he mutters. ¡°What do you feel when you hold the relic?¡±

    I frown at him, but he doesn¡¯t budge or make any indication he will bypass the questioning. ¡°It¡¯s¡­horrible,¡± I finally reply, thinking back to the feeling it inspired when I found it, and when I showed it to Castillo to see if he knew anything at all about it. ¡°Dark and¡­toxic.¡± He calls it a prison, my parents seek it out in desperation, and the idea strikes me like a bolt of lightning as I look at him in dawning fear. ¡°The Nathir?¡± He only looks at me, neither confirming nor denying my suspicion. ¡°But¡­I always thought that my parents were mad, wildly grasping for power wherever they could!¡±

    ¡°Well I can¡¯t speak for your parents,¡± Muir points out. ¡°But there is most certainly something contained in the relic.¡±

    ¡°Why should I know?¡± I ask. ¡°What is it about me that leads you to believe I should know?¡±

    ¡°You are touched by that same darkness,¡± Muir says.

    I am drawn up short by the statement, rigid where I sit as I look at him for signs he only toys with the situation yet again. I am overwhelmed once more, a cacophony of noise in my head as I desperately seek the best way forward in this growing bramble that closes tighter and tighter around me.

    ¡°Can you destroy it?¡± I whisper.

    ¡°The relic?¡± Muir asks.

    ¡°Yes, the relic. That would be the end of it. Whatever my parents are trying to do with it, whatever darkness it contains, there must be a way to simply destroy it and be rid of it.¡±

    Muir taps a finger to his chin, a blatant gesture of thought. ¡°I suppose there must be a way, but it won¡¯t be simple,¡± he says after a while. ¡°And I assure you it¡¯s not something I can do.¡±

    I don¡¯t know if I entirely believe him, he seems capable of a great many things, but I also find myself in desperate need of an ally now that Riley¡¯s being kept away from me. Accusing him of further deceit is likely a quick way to have him dismiss me, and he does have good suggestions when he¡¯s not teasing. I stand up suddenly, so quickly that he starts because of the movement. The last time we were together, it was his idea to go to the Archives to seek another copy of Magicks & Alchemy.

    ¡°Vasilisa,¡± I say.

    ¡°Bless you.¡±

    I round on him, brow furrowed and ignore the feigned innocence in his expression. ¡°The Head Archivist! If there¡¯s anyone who has the power to destroy something like this relic, it must be her!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be so sure of that,¡± Muir warns me. ¡°But¡­if she can¡¯t destroy it, she¡¯ll probably have a better idea of who or what can,¡± he concedes.

    ¡°Give me the true relic and bring me back to the Market, please!¡±

    ¡°Are you sure about this, Henry?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I say firmly. ¡°It is what I should have done the moment I found the damn thing.¡±

    Muir nods and gets out of the bed and then down to his knees. I hear him rummaging under the bed, reaching far below where the actual floor is, then his clothes rustling as he sits up and gets to his feet again, holding the dreadful artifact. It seems even more poisonous now, as if it is angry. Perhaps it is, perhaps whatever is inside of it knows what we intend. I swallow and hold out my hand for it. Muir hesitates briefly, then hands it over to me.

    I stare into its unfathomable depths, my jaw set and my heart sure. Looking up at Muir, I hold my other hand out to him, so he can lead me once more through one of his hidden paths. ¡°This ends tonight.¡±

 Chapter X: Sickly Darkness, Pulled from Slumber

    We emerge on the main street of the Market, the hour is still early and it¡¯s crowded enough that no one seems to notice our sudden appearance. I had requested we go directly to the Archives, only for Muir to tell me ¡®ah, we can¡¯t do that, my sweet. The Archives are shielded against such means.¡¯ And so we enter as close as we can, which is to say not entirely close at all. I suppose with the amount of knowledge stored in the Archives, they would have extravagant defenses far surpassing even the Order¡¯s.

    ¡°Here is where we part ways,¡± Muir says and I turn to him in dismay. ¡°Don¡¯t fret, I¡¯m going to the black market. If Vasilisa can¡¯t help you with the relic, there¡¯s bound to be someone or something in the black market that can.¡±

    ¡°...Very well,¡± I concede. I would feel better not going alone, considering what happened the last time I ventured to the Archives, but his idea has merit, and quite honestly I have no desire to ever return to any part of that hidden area of the Market, despite my memories of it being hazy.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, baby,¡± he grins, then taps the spot on his neck that I sank my fangs into the night before. ¡°I¡¯ll be keeping an eye on you, so to speak.¡±

    It is a reassuring thought. He then catches me by surprise when he slots his arm around me, pulls me in and kisses me again. The scent of him so close, the blood flowing through him, has my hunger stir acutely¡­as does the kiss itself, but I am relieved it is quick as it strikes that chord of discomfort again. I cannot help but think of Riley with every intimate gesture Muir makes. If he suspects this, he does not show it in his expression, and winks before offering a sly smile as means of his farewell. I watch his tall, lithe form disappear into a crooked alley, bracing myself for what tonight will bring. I¡¯m trying not to feel too expectant, too hopeful of immediate success with Vasilisa. I do not know if she can destroy the relic, but it feels right to venture down this path. I grip the case Muir lent me more firmly, within is the relic ¨C a fact I confirmed before we left his flat ¨C and begin the trek down main street and towards the looming building of the Archives.

    If anyone pays me heed it is brief, a glance in my direction as I stride with resolute steps towards my destination. I hardly see those around me, convincing myself that once the relic is destroyed everything else will fall into place. Most importantly, it will somehow lead to knowing exactly what happened to Riley and whether he is truly safe. I want to believe Chiaki, I have to believe Chiaki, but there¡¯s a niggling doubt that eats away at me all the same. I know, however, that I will have no success attempting to break into the Order¡¯s headquarters, especially after Muir¡¯s infiltration.

    I am so focused on putting one step in front of the other that I do not realize the streets are emptied until the Archives are straight ahead. I slow, looking around in suspicion at the eerie quiet that¡¯s fallen over this section of the Market. While some distance from main street, it¡¯s not so far to account for the quiet.

    I feel the same hyper awareness I possessed as a child, and for once I am grateful for it, because the sudden whoosh! does not catch me unaware and I jump from the assault that otherwise would have taken me down. Landing nimbly to my feet, grasping the case tight, I see the two shadow creatures that accompanied James the last time we met here. I do not see my uncle, and peering at the strange creatures I see they don¡¯t seem as tangible as they did before. Their form stutters, drips, fades and distorts more regularly, suggesting that they are not¡­well. Whether it counts as encroaching death, I do not know ¨C I¡¯ve no idea if they are at all sentient ¨C and furthermore, I cannot let myself care.

    One of them rushes towards me, a shadow racing across the cobblestone road. I let my instincts take over, for once not fighting my vampiric nature in some desperate bid to cling to my humanity. I move faster than the dark creature, side-stepping its lunge and swiping at it with fingernails that are hard as diamond. Part of me expects to pass through the thing as if I struck at smoke, instead, my fingers catch at inky flesh and rend it, darkness staining my fingertips like blood, more if it splashing out against the ground.

    The creature buckles, but its companion is leaping forward to take its place. I move backwards, eyes trained on the shadowy form, unblinking. It lowers to a crouch, then merges with the street below and darts towards me. I dodge, and form a fist which I punch into the creature, only to wince as my knuckles hit stone hard enough to form a small crater. The creature is unharmed, but seems limited in its capabilities whilst acting the shadow on the ground.

    I don¡¯t ignore it, but I turn most of my attention back to the first, which warps and flickers in disturbing patterns. Almost sluggishly it comes at me, and I strike just as it stumbles, catching it where a person¡¯s jaw would be. I hit it with all my might, and watch as the headlike shape is torn from the neck and lands in a blotchy splash against the street. It does not move again. There¡¯s a shriek behind me which halts me from celebrating at all, and I turn quickly and hold up the case as a shield. The sharpened point of the creature¡¯s hand splashes into a mess against the heavy siding.

    Before it can recover, I put my fist through its chest. There¡¯s no heart, of course, there¡¯s nothing but more of that inky darkness, and yet the blow proves fatal all the same. It collapses in a puddle of tarry liquid at my feet.

    I¡¯m breathing heavily, although my body is keyed up and not at all tired. The adrenaline has me trembling, and I stare at the two disintegrated forms on the ground in awe. Had I still been human, I would have been defeated on the first attack. Despite my gratitude that I won, there¡¯s still a sorrow tugging at my heart with the thought.

    ¡°Henry?¡±

    I whirl around, facing the road that leads back to main street and seeing Vivienne there. She looks surprised, and I can only assume she saw the end of my fight against those creatures. She approaches me now, her gaze shifting to look at the remnants of the shadowy assailants as if expecting them to rise again.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I reply. ¡°But I cannot linger, I must get to the Archives.¡±

    ¡°The Archives? What is going on?¡± Vivienne asks.

    ¡°I really can¡¯t explain,¡± I feel impatience creeping over me. ¡°I have to go before more of these¡­things show up,¡± I gesture to the nearby puddle.

    ¡°Are you sure I can¡¯t convince you to come to Sanguine Sweet instead?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± She sighs suddenly and her posture shifts. So subtly that had I not been on high alert I probably would have missed it. ¡°Vivienne?¡±

    ¡°I was hoping it wouldn¡¯t come to this,¡± she says before she seems to vanish.

    I feel a sudden rush beside me and I duck just in time to avoid her fist crashing into my temple. I feel it graze off my head and even that elicits sharp pain. I drop into a crouch, then push against the street with all my might to spring away from her. ¡°What are you doing?!¡±

    ¡°My duty to my coven,¡± she replies.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    She does not answer, instead she goes in to attack again. I am not so fortunate this time, feigning to the right of her suddenly appearing before me was something she anticipated, and her leg catches me in the ribs in a tremendous blow that brings me down. I¡¯m sure my ribs are broken, and I grimace as I feel them attempting to reset immediately.

    Evidently she is not out to kill me, because she doesn¡¯t continue her assault as I scramble painfully to my feet. She¡¯s not trying to get the relic either, because she¡¯s made no move to try and take the case which holds it from me.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­buying time,¡± I murmur. ¡°How long have you been in on all this madness?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± Vivienne scoffs. ¡°I¡¯m only looking out for Charlemagne, as I¡¯ve been doing since we met. I knew you were his progeny the moment I laid eyes on you. After all our centuries together, of course I would recognize his power in you.¡±

    Clapping resounds nearby and we both look to the shadows of a nearby alley to see Charlemagne himself appear. He pauses briefly at the remains of one of the shadowy creatures and wrinkles his nose. ¡°What a wasted fortune,¡± he sighs. ¡°It just goes to show that even the most powerful and forbidden of magic is useless to those who don¡¯t have the means to wield it properly.¡±

    ¡°What is this?¡± I demand, backing away from both of the older vampires.

    ¡°The end,¡± Charlemagne replies. He steps in next to Vivienne and circles his arm around her waist. ¡°Well done, my love.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Master Charlemagne.¡±

    My anger and fear at the situation has me wanting to lash out at her, but I cannot accuse her of betrayal. She told me the first night we met that she is Charlemagne¡¯s lover, why shouldn¡¯t her allegiance be to him over a vampire she barely knows? That she knew he was my sire only solidifies her motivation further.

    ¡°These are things you should have thought about before,¡± Charlemagne points out, obviously reading my thoughts once more. ¡°Too bad, so sad, it¡¯s too late for all of that. Now then,¡± he levels his gaze at me and a bolt of terror surges through me. All it takes is a single command, I don¡¯t have the means to fight the power he wields. ¡°Sleep,¡± he orders, and darkness closes over me.

    ?????¡ã???¡ã?????

    I wake with a start, and find myself on my back on an uncomfortable stone altar, stripped to my briefs. If I did not feel such anxiety coming over me I may have been exasperated to find my wrists once more shackled, as well as my ankles this time. I have nothing but fear, however, because I see four figures nearby and I recognize all of them. My father, my mother Ines, Uncle James, and Charlemagne. We are in an underground chamber, the walls made of uneven rock formations. There is nothing in the room save for the altar and those present, but when I turn my gaze upwards, I see a circular opening above me, a natural skylight. Directly overhead is the full moon, glaring down at me.

    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± I hate the desperation in my voice.

    ¡°You dare to even ask us this, after you abandoned us for all those years!¡± Ines snaps.

    ¡°You let me go!¡±

    ¡°We expected you to come to your senses, welp,¡± Charles growls. ¡°Especially after that fucking ponce died. But no, instead you stayed away and look at you now,¡± he sneers,¡± taking on his name. Mimicking his accent. Did you think it really separated you from us, boy?¡±

    ¡°It did! It does! Because he wasn¡¯t a monster!¡±

    ¡°Oi, come on now, son, you want to go calling us monsters when you¡¯re the one sporting fangs, then?¡± James cuts in.

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Charlemagne affects outrage.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to fucking hear it from you,¡± James retorts with a roguish smirk. ¡°I know what you ask for when you come lurking down here.¡±

    ¡°I have delicate tastes,¡± Charlemagne replies.

    The pair grin at one another, comrades in brutality. I try to twist free from my bonds to no avail. ¡°If you didn¡¯t want me to leave, why did you let me think I was free of you?¡± I ask.

    ¡°You were never free of us, boy,¡± Charles replies. ¡°We kept track of you, in our own way, there was no point dragging your whinging arse around until we had the other part of the puzzle,¡± he glances towards Ines.

    ¡°What happens now?¡± I demand.

    ¡°Now we finish what we started,¡± Ines says. She steps closer and I see she has the relic in her hands. ¡°Now we may fulfill our destinies.¡±

    ¡°I still think we¡¯d have better luck going with someone who didn¡¯t fucking hate us,¡± James says. ¡°Maybe there¡¯s something to the whole willing sacrifice, eh?¡±

    ¡°Shut up,¡± Charles grunts.

    ¡°At least tell me why¡­¡± I¡¯m stalling for time, trying not to give entirely in to hope. Muir should know I¡¯m in trouble, and yet¡­I¡¯m also wishing that Riley will somehow come for me.

    There is also the dreadful curiosity of what this ritual was always meant to accomplish. They have me, is there any reason they should deny me the knowledge now?

    Ines draws herself up, she looks excited to speak the truth, to revel in her ¡®destiny¡¯ with a captive audience present. ¡°We call forth the Nathir, the Harbinger,¡± she whispers. ¡°It is our family who has kept the memory alive, who has prepared the way for the return¡­through you,¡± she looks down at me when she says it, her lip curling up as if she looks at something disgusting rather than her son. ¡°It was always meant to be through you.¡±

    My eyes widen and I feel cold terror sweeping over me. ¡°Through me?¡± I know about their calls to the Nathir, I bore witness to them as a child out on the dark moors, but they never mentioned this before. I always assumed I was only meant to carry on the rituals when they passed.

    ¡°A vessel,¡± Charles speaks up, missing Ines¡¯ annoyed look that he takes her spotlight. ¡°Sacrifices under the moon, blood shed to pave the way, to lead the Nathir to a suitable vessel. But it was always too far, hidden away¡­¡±

    ¡°Not anymore,¡± Ines cuts in, holding up the relic. ¡°We always had the vessel, now we have the key!¡±

    ¡°I am not a vessel!¡± I shout. ¡°I am my own person! You cannot do this!¡±

    ¡°I thought they couldn¡¯t,¡± Charlemagne says, glancing at his nails. ¡°They almost botched everything. Humans,¡± he scoffs the last word.

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t our fault!¡± Charles exclaims. ¡°This fucking nancy tore down those shadows easily!¡±

    ¡°What did I tell you about the time limit? You let the spell wear off almost to nothing,¡± Charlemagne points out. ¡°And take care how you speak to me, Charles. I think you forget yourself.¡±

    That brings my father up short, and he seethes in furious silence. Knowing my family is a lost cause to their obsession, I focus on my progenitor instead. ¡°Why are you involved in this at all?¡± I ask. ¡°What could you possibly stand to gain from this? Why do you believe anything they believe in?¡± I remember what Muir said, that there is something within the relic, but how could anyone say that the force is what my parents claim it to be?

    ¡°Because I know it to be true, my young friend,¡± Charlemagne quips. ¡°The Nathir is very real, and I very much want this ritual to succeed.¡±

    ¡°But¡­why??¡±

    ¡°Vampires cannot do magic,¡± Charlemagne says. It is something he said when we first met, only now the bitterness in his voice is tenfold. ¡°Nasty little trade for immortality, really, especially when you could confidently boast of being the most powerful sorcerer this world has ever seen.¡±

    I stare at him, lost for words.

    ¡°It was Charlemagne who told our ancestors about the Nathir in the first place,¡± Ines says. ¡°The Bishops and my family, the Burkes, have been attempting to free it for generations, through the fruit of both our families, through you, Henry, we will succeed.¡±

    Burke, it¡¯s the first time my mother ever refers to the name in front of me. She¡¯s been such a fervent advocate of the Bishop bloodline that it¡¯s like her time before marriage didn¡¯t merit consideration. I begin to understand Billy¡¯s involvement in all of this, but it is distant and far away beneath my growing panic. No one is coming.

    ¡°I still don¡¯t understand¡­¡±

    ¡°You remember Paradise,¡± Charlemagne says. ¡°The True Source? This relic, the Nathir inside of it, it¡¯s more than enough power to open the way. Frustrating, since I could have reached it myself before the turn¡­anyway, your friend Riley ruined my attempt to open it and restore my magic through the enchantress¡ª¡±

    ¡°Elena¡­¡±

    ¡°I wasted such a fine thrall on her too,¡± Charlemagne sighs. ¡°He didn¡¯t survive when he Mad Maxed his way to running her kid over. At least I can imagine the mangy wolf''s face, small victories. Now, however, I get what I want and your parents get their Harbinger.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s just hope you turning the boy won¡¯t fuck up everything we worked towards,¡± Charles grumbles his interruption.

    ¡°The Nathir is no sorcerer, nothing will be lost,¡± Charlemagne says with a nasty smile.

    ¡°How can you be so certain?¡± my father demands.

    ¡°How can you be so dense as to question me after everything?¡±

    James sighs, interrupting my father who swells up to continue arguing. ¡°All this bloody bickering¡­I knew I should¡¯ve nipped to the pub instead.¡±

    ¡°Hold your tongue you insufferable cur!¡± Charles shouts at his brother instead. ¡°You may have never been truly invested in this in the first place, but you will not show blatant disrespect now! Just stand there and be quiet! You are all but useless at this point anyway!¡±

    ¡°So that¡¯s how we¡¯re playing it,¡± James scoffs. ¡°Drag me through all this bleeding shit for years, then tell me to fuck off right at the end? Fuck the lot of you.¡±

    ¡°As if you could be surprised at this outcome,¡± Ines sneers.

    I feel as if I am watching this cold drama unfold like it¡¯s a staged play. How did I become a spectator in my own fate? How am I so caught up in this tempest with such little control over anything? I thrash against the shackles now, my lips pull back to reveal my fangs as I use all of my strength trying to liberate myself. I cannot rely on anyone coming in time, so I must free myself. I feel the shackle around my left ankle give and I focus all my might there, letting out a roar as I pull my leg free.

    ¡°NO!¡± Ines screams.

    A much stronger grip clasps over my briefly freed limb and I look down to see Charlemagne has a single hand pressed against my shin. ¡°As proud as I am of seeing how much strength I passed along, I can¡¯t let you interrupt this. Now then, Ines my dear, hurry it along.¡±

    Ines clutches at the relic, she stands on one side of the altar, my father takes place on the other holding a knife, and James ¨Clooking mutinous¨C takes his place next to Charles. Still I struggle, even when it feels as if my shin bone is splintering under the might of Charlemagne¡¯s strength.

    ¡°Tonight we gather together,¡± Ines begins, looking up at the natural skylight, at the moon.

    ¡°Under the rustic moon,¡± Charles continues. ¡°We pay tribute to the liberation¡­¡±

    I do not see a sacrifice in the chamber, but the knife flashes as my father holds it aloft.

    ¡°A release from bondage,¡± Ines¡¯ voice quivers in anticipation as she holds up the relic. ¡°A tribute of blood.¡±

    Charles lashes out with the knife, and while I expect the sting of the blade it does not come. Instead, I see the deadly weapon puncture the side of my uncle¡¯s neck. My eyes widen just as James¡¯ do. His hands lift to his throat, trying to catch the blood pouring from the gaping wound. My mother holds the relic out over me, smiling as a robust spurt of blood splashes over the artifact. ¡°Take our tribute,¡± she whispers.

    ¡°Let it strengthen you,¡± Charles adds, unperturbed at the violence he committed towards his own brother.

    I see the relic¡¯s color change, from pitch black to a deep red, matching James¡¯ blood. He falls to his knees and I catch his gaze. There¡¯s something of an apology in my uncle¡¯s eyes, and I wonder how different life would have been if we had broken away from the hold my parents had on us both. James collapses to his side and I can no longer see him, but I can hear his heart. It beats more slowly, slowly, and slower still¡­

    ¡°We call to the Nathir,¡± Ines continues.

    My father brings down the bloody blade, and I hiss as this time it tears through the flesh of my chest. He does not swing the blade wildly, I know he cuts a pattern, some sigil of their unknown king. His cuts run deep, so much so that my skin does not have a chance to quickly stitch itself together again. There will be a circular shape on my chest, with lines branching out of it like some crude drawing of a sun. I feel each gash like fire ripping through me, but as much as I writhe on the stone altar, I cannot free myself.

    Blood pools on my stomach, drips over my sides and stains the gray stone beneath me red. Overhead I see the relic, my mother holding it high and it¡¯s no longer opaque, I can see through it faintly¡­I can see the moon, which is as red as my blood due to the relic¡¯s changed color. Something stirs within the relic, and I get the sense that an unformed, dreadful eye is looking at me. I look away, my eyes cast downwards to see Charlemagne, his lips pulled back into a horrific grin and his eyes gleaming. He¡¯s planning¡­something, but I am incapable of knowing what.

    I feel my blood not only spilling from the wounds, but as though there¡¯s suction, a pulling from the relic. It feasts on my blood with all the insatiable hunger of a vampire. It does not only take, however, I feel a sickly darkness, malignant in my veins¡­spreading.

    My father brings up the knife one final time, as if he means to plunge it into the relic.

    Or into my heart.

    The sword that suddenly bursts from his chest stops him and his jaw drops, eyes bulging as he gapes like a fish, his free hand scrambling at the deadly blade as if testing that it¡¯s truly there. Ines screams, Charlemagne growls, and Charles is tossed aside like a rag doll to reveal Muir, wearing magnificent armor. It looks light, but durable, a faint glow emanating from the breastplate and pauldrons. I  see him clearly now, the sharper features, the elongated eyes and green skin.

    ¡°You,¡± Charlemagne hisses.

    ¡°Me,¡± Muir replies.

    My mother shrieks and runs to her husband, who is still gasping wetly in the corner of the chamber. Muir and Charlemagne ignore her, squaring off against one another, hatred reflecting in both their eyes.

    ¡°This time I will tear you to fucking pieces,¡± Charlemagne sneers.

    Muir matches the scornful expression and twirls his sword, leaving a streak of Charles¡¯ blood against the floor. ¡°You know how much I love to see you try, vampire.¡±

 Chapter XI: Let There Be Light

    I feel Charlemagne¡¯s hatred and rage like it is a tidal wave crashing over me again and again. What Muir feels I cannot discern, he stands at the ready with a level of seriousness I¡¯ve yet to see from him. It seemed he truly was listening for me in that silent bond created between us last night. It was never only a means to restore my strength then, which makes me realize that he is not the lecherous cad I believed him to be. At least¡­he is not only the lecherous cad.

    It¡¯s difficult to be warmed by this thought under the present circumstances. The sensation of that trickling darkness is gone, but I am by no means out of danger. With Charlemagne focused on Muir, I focus on trying to break free from the remaining shackles.

    ¡°You won¡¯t interfere with him again,¡± the ancient vampire bristles.

    Again?

    ¡°And yet¡­here I am. Again,¡± Muir retorts. Perhaps he senses my utter confusion, because while his gaze remains on his adversary, I know his next remark is aimed towards me. ¡°I did try to get to you before he turned you, baby, but I was not so fortunate.¡±

    I remember Charlemagne¡¯s explanation for not being there when I woke to the world as a vampire. He said he¡¯d gotten into some sort of conflict, and had gone off to recover. Had that conflict been with Muir? No, I do not need to ask that question, it was because of Muir. The better question is why was Muir there to intervene at all?

    ¡°You wasted time then as you do now,¡± Charlemagne says. ¡°Frankly, it¡¯s shit. You¡¯re shit. So let me hurry up and scrape you off my shoe already.¡±

    He says it in his usual manner, but I can hear the underlying hostility beneath the otherwise dismissive words. The chamber around us becomes even darker, as if shadows rush to conceal the ancient vampire. He may not be able to use magic the way a sorcerer could, but it would seem that he¡¯s not entirely without extraordinary abilities. Even my eyes can make out no shape in the impenetrable darkness now, save for the very faint outline of the moon high overhead. I hear a rush of sound, and the sudden clanging of claws on metal. Sparks ignite where Charlemagne¡¯s nails rake down Muir¡¯s sword. I see both their expressions in the faint and brief light, the hatred twisting their faces, making them monstrous and grotesque.

    Darkness returns, I can only hear the sounds of a scuffle until there¡¯s a heavy blow that lands and the sound of someone crashing into one of the chamber walls. I hear the clink of armor by the floor and know it is Muir who suffered the hit. I fight against my bonds more earnestly.

    Light begins to glow from where Muir is, emanating from his armor and chasing away some of the darkness in the chamber. Blood trails from his lip, but he grins as he regains his feet. Charlemagne does not wait to see what made Muir smile, and launches another aggressive attack. He¡¯s faster than the Fae, but my eyes widen when Muir¡¯s hand grabs Charlemagne¡¯s wrist, halting those vicious claws from puncturing his eyes. Charlemagne cannot break from his grasp, proving that while Muir may not be as fast, he is stronger.

    ¡°I dream of summer days,¡± Muir hisses, his smile widening. ¡°Light chasing away shadow.¡±

    His armor is shifting from green to a fiery orange. Charlemagne gasps but still reacts quickly. He brings up his other hand and I see Muir adjusting his grip on his sword to block the blow. Only, Charlemagne does not aim for Muir, he strikes his own wrist and severs his hand and jumps back just as flame ignites Muir¡¯s palm. The hand he still clutches bursts quickly into flame.

    ¡°Bastard,¡± Charlemagne grunts. He¡¯s near my parents now, and he ignores Ines¡¯ horrible screech when he takes my father¡¯s prone body, brings it close and bites into the neck, drawing what blood remains to himself. I cannot help being impressed as I see his hand growing as if in fast forward, bone protruding from the stump of his wrist and forming the familiar shape, muscle, nerve and sinew growing over the bone before it is encased in flesh anew.

    But the chamber around us is changing. I watch as the rocks seem to flicker, much like the buildings of Boston flickered when Muir helped me escape the Order. Around us now is a wilderness that could never have existed in this world. Giant trees hang overhead, unknown flowers sway in beautiful colors that have no known name. Several moons hang overhead in the sky, none of them blood red, all of them exquisite.

    Charlemagne roars and vanishes. I think for a moment that he has retreated, but a sudden force crashes into Muir. He holds up his sword, his eyes intensely focused as he tries deflecting attacks so fast they¡¯re impossible to track with much accuracy. Every time he is forced back, the wilderness recedes to become stone again. Charlemagne is relentless in pressing his advantage, I still cannot even see his attacks, I just witness the aftermath; gashes appearing on Muir¡¯s face, large scrapes in his armor ¨C some of which look like they¡¯ve gone straight through ¨C the grimace of his mouth as his blood spills from wounds. And that blood filling the air, if it has the same effect on Charlemagne as it does me then it must be working him into a frenzy. I use it to renew my efforts to escape, while Charlemagne¡¯s hunger becomes a palpable force around us all.

    ¡°I dream of our bright kingdom,¡± Muir continues, his voice level despite the obvious strain overcoming his entire body as he defends himself from vicious strikes. ¡°The gem of the Hinterlands, the jewel of all realms.¡±

    Light rushes into the chamber, brilliant and iridescent as gems. The wilderness returns, and this time I see the floor become a tangle of vines and grass. One of these vines, which doesn¡¯t look entirely tangible, still manages to catch Charlemagne. I finally see my sire again as the vine quickly winds around him like a snake, holding him in place. He snarls and begins to rip away at it, even as more appear to hold vice like to his limbs.

    ¡°You think the Wilds give only you an advantage?¡± Charlemagne growls, now completely unable to move.

    Muir¡¯s appearance continues to shift, it becomes more untamed; his hair is longer, caught in the breeze and appearing like spun gold. His ears are longer too, and I see what looks like antlers set just above them, appearing almost like a crown as they branch out further. He regards his trapped opponent coldly, cocking an eyebrow as if daring him to try his next move. Charlemagne¡¯s eyes change, the whites bloodshot and the irises appearing black as a look of concentration comes over his features.

    There is a howl and I turn my head, gazing in surprise at the two giant wolves that come bursting out of the forest that now surrounds us. Muir faces these gargantuan beasts calmly and it is eerie to see them now, Muir in that level of calm and Charlemagne silent as he focuses his will on the wolves to control them. One of the wolves lunges, teeth like daggers. It¡¯s as tall as Muir on all fours, and stocky as a bull. The ground thunders under its paws as it charges, then leaps the rest of the distance towards its target. Muir holds up a hand, and blows a breath across his palm, towards the wolf. The beast stops midair and lets out a heart breaking yelp. I watch in horror as it¡¯s fur, it¡¯s very skin, peels back from its place. Bones crack and break as the wolf seems to compress in on itself, a visceral ball taking its place until it grows into something new: A crow flaps its wings indignantly and takes off with loud caws.

    The other wolf has come in from the side, however. It snaps its jaws around Muir¡¯s still lifted arm and I cry out as those teeth sever it at the elbow. Muir bellows in pain and I hear Charlemagne cackling. Looking towards my sire, I see that he is nearly free from his binds. I let out a frustrated growl as my own remain resolutely in place.

    The wolf is nimble and jumps out of the way of Muir¡¯s hard thrust with his sword. Dark blood flows freely from his injury and he looks pale, his lips drawn back in a silent snarl as he faces the great beast.

    If Charlemagne can control creatures¡­then can¡¯t I do the same? He said he passed a lot of his power to me, and I cannot just lay here. I stop trying to break from the bonds and I become attentive to the wolf. I try to get beyond the exterior, to relate to the beast on an intuitive level. I do not demand obedience, I lead with empathy. It is no villain, it is only another victim of Charlemagne. I feel its wildly beating heart, its instinct trying to get it to retreat while Charlemagne¡¯s hold keeps it in this clearing. So hear me instead, I urge it. Hear me.

    The wolf¡¯s ears twitch and its great golden eyes flick towards me. That¡¯s it, you do not have to be here. Hear me. Flee this place.

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    ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± Charlemagne snaps as the wolf continues to stand there. His eyes widen in awareness as they land on me. ¡°Stop!¡± he commands me.

    The tenebrous hold I have on the wolf is cut off immediately, but in the moment¡¯s distraction, Muir strikes. He ducks under the wolf¡¯s long jaw and stabs his sword through its chest, all the way to the hilt. It howls in pain and rears up. Muir keeps his hold on the sword, and with a shout of exertion, drags the blade through the creature, spilling blood and entrails upon the ground.

    He straightens and I see that his missing arm is replaced. It is not like Charlemagne¡¯s hand, which was restored, rather it looks as though sturdy branches have twisted themselves together to form a forearm, ending in a knotted fist. Yet he still looks gaunt and tired and Charlemagne, free of his constrictions by now, resumes the offensive by charging forward.

    ¡°Muir!¡± my voice breaks as I call his name, seeing Charlemagne¡¯s hand wrap around the Fae¡¯s throat.

    Vampiric claws penetrate, dark blood welling up and slipping down Muir¡¯s neck. ¡°I dream¡­of the fire of the sun,¡± Muir rasps.

    His blade ignites and he thrusts it forward, right through Charlemagne¡¯s stomach. Charlemagne screams as he releases the Fae, his body consumed by flames. He vanishes, and I do not know if he¡¯s ash in the wind or if he manages to retreat.

    The Hinterlands become less defined once more, great trees becoming stone again. Muir¡¯s appearance returns to what it was too, and by the time we are in the chamber entirely again, he is exactly as I know him. Save for the arm, which is lost and bleeding still.

    ¡°We really must continue meeting this way,¡± he says after a minute, with a tired smile. ¡°They even got you nearly naked for me, gosh¡­that¡¯s another round of thanks I owe.¡±

    ¡°Not now,¡± I say without weight. ¡°Get me out of this so I can help you. And¡­thank you properly,¡± I can¡¯t help but add. ¡°This is twice you¡¯ve saved me. I¡­I don¡¯t really know what to say, just that I want to say something. But only after we¡¯re out of this place.¡± My mother remains, and part of me wants to bury her here along with my father and uncle, but I don¡¯t know if I have it in me for more bloodshed after tonight.

    ¡°I¡¯m not¡­actually here to save you,¡± Muir says after a moment¡¯s silence.

    ¡°What?¡± I ask with a half laugh, wondering what will ever cut through his odd sense of humor.

    ¡°Sorry honey,¡± he says. ¡°It was never really about you, well¡­not you as you are right now.¡±

    And as he comes close to me, I see he has the relic.

    ¡°M-Muir?¡± I search his features for hints he is joking and find none.

    Muir looks at the relic with yearning. ¡°They would confine him still,¡± he sighs. ¡°My magnificent one. I couldn¡¯t let that happen.¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?!¡±

    ¡°The ¡®Nathir¡¯,¡± Muir replies. ¡°The King. The Bishops and the Burkes could never serve him as he deserves, thinking he was nothing but a tool for them. And Charlemagne,¡± he scoffs and shakes his head. ¡°He thought turning you was the answer. The sire-progeny bond is powerful, perhaps it would remain even if the ¡®Nathir¡¯ was released into the vessel, if not¡­Paradise could be opened and magic restored, magic strong enough to make that bond exist beyond its normal range.¡±

    ¡°Why? Why are you doing this? Why now?¡± I demand.

    Muir blinks and finally looks at me again. ¡°Why now? Oh honey, I¡¯ve been trying to do this for centuries. It wasn¡¯t until I learned Billy had the relic that it seemed things were finally going to happen.¡±

    ¡°You¡­knew Billy?¡±

    ¡°Black market friends, you could say,¡± Muir titters. ¡°And he could be so talkative when he hit the Never along with Papavari. It¡¯s a shame he had to go.¡±

    ¡°You killed him??¡±

    ¡°The White Amanita would¡¯ve done it eventually, the toxic batch I sold him just hurried it along,¡± Muir shrugs.

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you,¡± I struggle against the bonds again. ¡°After everything¡­everything we shared.¡±

    ¡°We didn¡¯t share much at all,¡± Muir points out. ¡°I wanted to, maybe I could¡¯ve been satisfied with my good boy, but¡­you are not him. Not remotely, and I do so miss him. Don¡¯t despair, Henry, the sunset king is glorious, and you are the gift that is bringing him into the world again.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want this fucking gift!¡± I snap, baring my fangs. ¡°I want you to let me go! I am my own person! I am not some vessel to be used!¡±

    Muir smiles sweetly at me and has the audacity to kiss my forehead. I thrash and try to sink my teeth into him, that rumbling purr that was recently so enticing now filling my heart with dread. ¡°This will probably hurt,¡± he says, his grip tightening on the relic. He holds it at the base, the white stone pointing towards my chest. I see his intent right before he slams the relic down.

    The force of it has the top of the relic sink into my chest, knocking the air from my lungs, making me seize slightly on the altar. Shallow breaths rack my torso, I cough up blood and my body goes rigid in pain. Pain Muir does not even pay mind to.

    Instead he looks around the chamber, his grin widening when he spies my mother still hunched over Charles.

    ¡°Stay away, demon!¡± she screams as he walks in her direction.

    ¡°Don¡¯t compare me to that lot,¡± he laughs.

    Ines gets to her feet and faces him boldly. She seizes hold of the large pendant hanging around her neck and shouts an incantation. Whatever it is meant to do, it fails, the only thing I see is a little flash of light from the pendant and then nothing. Ines looks at it, then at Muir. I must commend her refusal to show anything but contempt as Muir reaches her. She spits in his face and he frowns, backhanding her before he grabs her thinning hair and drags her towards the altar.

    ¡°UNHAND ME, CREATURE!!¡± her voice echoes loudly around the chamber. ¡°YOU WILL RUIN EVERYTHING!¡±

    Muir slams her head none-too-gently onto the altar. I see her frenzied eyes, the quivering of her lips. ¡°Ruin,¡± he sneers. ¡°You¡¯re a fool. You wanted Darkness, never knowing what you called upon was Light.¡±

    ¡°Muir,¡± I speak his name firmly, despite the wetness at the back of my throat from too much blood. I am trying to ignore the frantic beat of my heart that feels halfway up my throat, the pain that radiates out from where the relic is buried into my body. He looks at me again. ¡°You must reconsider.¡±

    He laughs. ¡°No, I really don¡¯t,¡± he replies. I feel ice in my veins, there¡¯s no hesitation in his voice or the way he holds himself. While I thought he felt something for me that I might call upon, I realize that simply isn¡¯t true.

    ¡°Henry,¡± Ines¡¯ whispers my name hoarsely. I force myself to look at her. ¡°Don¡¯t let him win.¡±

    ¡°Yes, because your victory would be so much better,¡± Muir says lightly. ¡°Now then, I¡¯ve waited long enough and I¡¯ll wait no more.¡±

    He brings up my mother¡¯s head.

    ¡°Don¡¯t¡ª!¡± I cry, too late.

    He slams it back down against the edge of the stone altar and I shut my eyes against the gruesome sight of her skull splitting open. I feel blood drizzling over my face and down my neck, to my chest and to the source of that incredible pain. More sacrifices for the relic, for the thing that resides within.

    Muir begins to speak, but I do not understand the words. It is the language of the Fae, ancient and unclear. But I feel that same pulling as from before, of the relic feasting on me, poisoning me in turn. I feel it trembling, then hear a slight crack. I cannot help but open my eyes in panic as I see fissures opening up along the white lines in the relic. ¡°Stop, stop, stop!!¡±

    He doesn¡¯t. Not in this.

    There¡¯s a horrible pressure building in the chamber, a vicious light that makes the moon appear like it''s blazing as brightly as the sun. Then a pause, and Muir looking down at me with a smile on his face. ¡°Let there be light,¡± he whispers.

    The relic shatters, the pressure all around the chamber funnels into me. ¡°No! NO!¡± I try to will it out of me, writhing like one possessed on the altar. But it can¡¯t end this way! Not here, not as things stand. Not without knowing for certain that Riley is safe. I think of him, and for a moment that sickly darkness recedes before I hear laughter deep within my mind. There¡¯s a rush, not unlike the winds that sweep across the moorlands, and I feel it blotting out my thoughts, my feelings¡­I feel it consuming everything that makes me¡­me.

    ¡°Erra?¡± Muir¡¯s voice sounds far away.

    It pulls me into the dark.

    ¡°My love¡­finally,¡± he sounds close to weeping in relief.

    So it may be in the light.

    And I¡­

    I am Henry Stone¡ª

    no longer.

 Epilogue

    ¡°Get the fuck out of my way!¡±

    I shove past the Fomorian looking at me in indignant wonder, flipping him off for good measure when he opens his mouth to probably try and argue our presence here. The Order isn¡¯t supposed to mess around in the Market that much, it makes those who utilize the black market feel confident that we won¡¯t bust their asses for all the illegal trading going on there. I don¡¯t really give a shit what anyone is doing here right now though, I¡¯m only thinking about Henry.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe this!¡± I shout again. ¡°Yeah, lock me up and keep me from helping out,¡± I glare over my shoulder at Sheldon, who ¨C in a rare show of conflict aversion ¨C doesn¡¯t even defend his shitty decision. ¡°Keep me in the fucking dark just like Carver did about magic!¡±

    ¡°Riley¡­¡± Chiaki murmurs.

    ¡°No! I have a right to be pissed!¡± I snap. ¡°You trick my friend, who has helped us numerous times, fucking torture him, and then lose him and this fucking relic and now look at us!¡±

    I don¡¯t need to point out our pendants, they¡¯re all going haywire. The subtle vibrations that normally tell us what kind of creature we¡¯re dealing with have been replaced with the things jerking around on the chains like fish trying to pull free of the hook. It¡¯s unheard of, or¡­I haven¡¯t heard about it. I don¡¯t trust senior leadership to tell us grunts anything anymore, but I know it can¡¯t be good. I¡¯m storming through the corridors all the same, with Chiaki quickly following and Chief Glass, Ulysses and Sheldon bringing up the rear.

    It¡¯s not only us who feel it either. There¡¯s a hush in the black market, everyone is poised like they¡¯re listening for something and I see some figures hurrying away, like they¡¯re running from a threat.

    ¡°What is going on?¡± Chiaki asks, also noticing the odd behavior of nearly everyone down here.

    ¡°Let¡¯s just hurry,¡± Ulysses suggests.

    ¡°We wouldn¡¯t have to rush in blind if you had just let me help Henry!¡± I¡¯m livid, I want to attack Sheldon for hurting Henry, for making his situation even worse. I think about his story, about his parents and the relic and Charlemagne. There¡¯s no way a single vampire could handle all of that without help, even if that vampire wasn¡¯t so gentle and kind as Henry.

    ¡°Hold your tongue, Averline,¡± Sheldon finally speaks, but the bastard sounds like he¡¯s barely present with us.

    ¡°Fuck you.¡±

    ¡°Centurion!¡± Chief Glass warns.

    Sheldon waves it away, upsetting all expectations. I¡¯m not the least bit appeased, however, and I can¡¯t say that I won¡¯t throttle him after we find out what the hell is going on.

    You better be alright¡­you better be here.

    I promised Henry his family wouldn¡¯t hurt him anymore. I promised him we would figure this all out, and when he needed me the most, I wasn¡¯t there. I didn¡¯t think Sheldon would lock me up when it got out what I was asking about. He wouldn¡¯t tell me anything about the relic, or why he took such extreme measures to ambush Henry instead of using calm diplomacy¡­If I keep thinking of all the ways Joseph Sheldon messed this up I¡¯m going to lose my mind. I clench my jaw, my hand at the ready to pull my gun and fire at any sign of hostility. It takes a lot not to be blinded by daydreams of shooting Sheldon with it. Somewhere nonfatal. Just enough to make him feel something for a change.

    We are going deeper into the market, deeper into the earth. The pendants rattle and shake more wildly as we continue.

    ¡°Sheldon¡­¡± Ulysses murmurs.

    ¡°We don¡¯t know yet,¡± Sheldon replies.

    ¡°Know what?¡± I ask bluntly.

    ¡°Not now,¡± Sheldon says.

    ¡°Now now? When? When we¡¯re directly in the shit?¡±

    ¡°Averline,¡± Glass sighs.

    ¡°What do you expect when you all stay so goddamn cryptic?¡±

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    ¡°Trust in the Order,¡± Ulysses says.

    I scoff, feeling exceptionally mistrustful of the whole organization. Chiaki puts her hand on my forearm, a reassuring touch that I wish I could appreciate, but my mind is racing. What if Henry isn¡¯t here? What if he¡¯s being hurt somewhere else and I can¡¯t find him? What if we¡¯re too late? What if this is something we can¡¯t fight? What are we going to find when we get to the place our pendants are leading us to; the place that made every Sentinel in HQ cry out for the scorchingly bright light that filled all their minds at the same time?

    No one else is this deep in the market. I don¡¯t even think we¡¯re in the black market anymore. I don¡¯t know how long we continue walking down narrow corridors, surrounded by heavy stone, when I finally hear the murmur of voices ahead.

    ¡°...I¡¯m short.¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s adorable.¡±

    ¡°I have no qualms thoroughly testing these fangs on you, my darling.¡±

    ¡°Please tell me that¡¯s a promise.¡±

    ¡°You know it is.¡±

    My brow furrows. That was Henry and¡­someone else. I break ahead of the group, ignoring Sheldon¡¯s sharp ¡°Averline!¡± to reach him. I round a corner and find myself in a chamber, one that reeks of blood and ash. I stop short when I notice Henry and a fae. He stands in his briefs, with blood streaked all over his skin. He¡¯s examining his hands like he¡¯s never seen them before, so engrossed that he doesn¡¯t even look up at me. There¡¯s something very¡­not Henry about him, the way he holds himself, the refusal to acknowledge me. The fae sits on a stone altar behind Henry, one that is also stained red with blood. On the floor by the side of the altar facing me is a man, and behind it I see the vague outline of a woman¡¯s arm. Further within the chamber is an older man. None of them are moving.

    The Fae sees me and smirks, sliding off of the altar and wrapping his arms around Henry¡¯s waist from behind, resting his sharp chin on Henry¡¯s shoulder. ¡°We have a visitor.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Henry replies, still looking at himself.

    ¡°Henry?¡±

    He looks up at me finally, and those are not his eyes. They aren¡¯t brown anymore, they¡¯ve become a fiery orange-yellow, glowing faintly in the dim light around the chamber. The moment he looks at me, my pendant bursts, shattering into a million pieces.

    ¡°That is not my name.¡±

    Before I can ask him what the fuck he¡¯s talking about, or ask him what¡¯s wrong with him, the others appear in the chamber. Like mine, their pendants break apart once this close.

    ¡°Gods¡­¡± Sheldon sounds terrified.

    Henry smiles, but it¡¯s not his smile. It is malicious and awful. He extracts himself from the Fae¡¯s arms to take hold of his hand instead. The two of them look us over once before they step out of sight, vanishing.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I demand Sheldon, rounding on him. Both he and Ulysses are pale with fright. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with Henry?¡±

    ¡°That¡­was not Stone,¡± Sheldon murmurs. At my wild look, he takes a deep breath, as if gathering himself. ¡°His name is¡­Erra, the King of Sunset¡­a blight upon the world.¡±

    ¡°But¡­what about Henry?¡±

    ¡°Gone,¡± Ulysses says, as if that succinct word could ever cover something so immense. ¡°Erra consumes¡­¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I glare at them both. ¡°No, I refuse to believe that. I don¡¯t care what this ¡®king¡¯ is, Henry isn¡¯t just¡­gone.¡±

    ¡°You do not understand,¡± Sheldon says. ¡°This creature, this is the reason the Order of Cerberus was formed in the first place. All to fight him. To eradicate him¡­but we only ever succeeded in containing him.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care!¡± I shout. I don¡¯t even know the nature of what¡¯s going on, if this Erra is possessing Henry like some evil spirit or if it¡¯s something else, but I won¡¯t accept that there¡¯s no way to bring Henry back. I can¡¯t accept it. There¡¯s no closure, there was no goodbye, and everything about our last moment together feels too little. I¡¯m not ready. I¡¯m not ready to think of him as gone.

    I feel the sting of tears in my eyes. ¡°If you just trusted me enough,¡± I snap at Sheldon. ¡°Instead of trying to undermine everything I do then this wouldn¡¯t have happened!¡±

    ¡°We cannot waste time on blame,¡± Sheldon replies. ¡°We need to act. We need to alert the High Council¡­the Inquisition too. Chief Glass; you, Miss Ito and Mr. Averline will return to Headquarters and¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going back to Headquarters! I¡¯m going after Henry!¡±

    ¡°This is not the time to argue, Averline!¡± Sheldon exclaims.

    I turn to face him fully, my fist smashing into his face before I can think to stop it. I don¡¯t think I would have anyway. He staggers back and looks at me with those piercing eyes, while Glass and Ulysses grab hold of me to keep me from continuing my assault.

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you didn¡¯t deserve that.¡±

    I wait for his tirade of chastisement, but he straightens, massages his jaw and shakes his head. ¡°Please return to Headquarters,¡± he says. It¡¯s not an apology, but he doesn¡¯t deny my accusation either. ¡°We will need you for this fight, Mr. Averline.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t fight Henry.¡±

    ¡°When you see what he is capable of now, what he will do not just to this city but far beyond its borders¡­you will realize that you must.¡±

    The End