Where Shadows Lie:

Bay City

By
J. E. Cammon

Eternal Press
A division of Damnation Books, LLC.
P.O. Box 3931
Santa Rosa, CA 95402-9998

www.eternalpress.biz

Where Shadows Lie: Bay City
by J. E. Cammon

Digital ISBN: 978-1-61572-304-1

Print ISBN: 978-1-61572-305-8

Cover art by: Amanda Kelsey
Edited by: Sonia Lenardon

Copyedited by: Michelle Ganter

Copyright 2011 J. E. Cammon

Printed in the United States of America
Worldwide Electronic & Digital Rights
1st North American and UK Print Rights

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Dedicated to friends

Acknowledgements:

The Vall-llobera clan, the Nakaharas, and the Novitski family

Prologue

 

Inciting moments were so much more rare back then, the professor remembered. The fire in the expensively appointed mantle warmed the room, but its heat didn’t touch him. In one hand, he held a crystal stopper, which he rolled about his palm lazily. In the other hand he held a glass tumbler whose surface reflected the light of the flame.

Everything about the man screamed indifference. Except for his eyes, whose gaze appeared to be lost in the fire’s colors but was fixed upon memories of a different evening in a different time.

* * * *

Bay City seemed like the perfect place for him even before he decided on his profession. It was an old city lined with brownstones, and it had bitter, unforgiving weather. History was etched into it by the ebb and flow of the waters slicing into the port. Bay City saw the birth of one nation, a violent forging quenched by the blood of fighting men. It would see the spawning of another still, the man realized.

 The evenings stretched that winter. His work always preceded the late dawn and ended after an early dusk. The city lived for the night, even then. Walking home among the unknowing sometimes made him sad; other times he felt empowered by what he knew, by the secrets he promised to keep. On occasion though—and these moments were brief—his faith would slip just so, like a loose garment. Staring into the faces of his contemporaries and hearing the stilted lectures of his superiors brought back memories of his upbringing in a different citadel, among a different flock. Surely, he questioned, there was something more to this. Something more tangible, more believable.

Unlike the last time, his prayers were answered by terrible angels. He never told the story, but it was carefully rehearsed in his mind. He liked to think what made him look up into the rainstorm that night was something else, rather than the sense of dread which permeated him. In any case, a lightning flash obliterated any doubt he held onto—silhouetted in flight against the irrepressible darkness was a figure of legend. A cloak flapped behind it and flowed about in the wind like dark wings. Of course, the creature wasn’t really flying. It simply leaped across the confined width of his vision restricted by the smothering buildings.

He made his way through the streets after the impossible beings; there were two of them. For the first time, he conceived of climbing a ladder skyward. He felt the odd sensation of gravity snatching at him, as if he didn’t belong. The sounds he heard egged him on; things echoing in the night that everyone else heard but rationalized away.

It took forever, and at the end he was too much in awe to be thankful or terrified upon reaching the summit. There they stood, soaked. They were sleek with a different, unfettered way of standing, of being. Small clouds of breath fogged the scene at even intervals as his breathing labored after the chase. Nothing so inelegant as the need to breathe gripped either creature, even as they fought with each other. The damp weight of their clothes did not impede their movements, which were at times difficult to make out. The victor had his back turned; he seemed cloaked by night itself. When the lightning woke the sky, all of the creature was exposed. He looked like an Adonis of dark power.

It made him literally sick to see the both of them. He was attacked by a crushing migraine and was violently ill on the spot. He knew this was the moment when a man had the opportunity to shrug off the shackles of the mundane and accept the yoke of the extraordinary. He stayed, and watched the two become one. The loser fell, discarded and headless, the trappings of possession ebbing away in rapid decay. The body set back to decomposing as it should have so long ago.

It made him even more ill to see how quickly a man could be undone.

* * * *

That thought brought him back to his present. Somewhere in the flame he found the dead eyes of the giant, the storm god who owned that night and all the others in Bay City since. The professor rose from his chair. How long ago had it been? He pretended for a moment as if he could not recall the exact day, the exact year. He pretended as if he had not assumed the lexicon of one who knows in every way, shape, and form since that rainy evening.

It always happened at night, most often with the promise of dawn’s light just beyond the next hill. The man flattened his hand and looked down at his palm. The firelight exposed the red ridges of bruised tissue. The stopper rolled across his palm, and sunk neatly into the grooves as if his hands were made with the object in mind.

 The omen happened just an hour before. It rocked him so fully that he twitched in an uncontrollable spasm. It hurt, but the pain was not new, nor was it unexpected. It was he who set things in place to be forewarned of great import, after all. Ill omen was here now. What it was exactly would have to be uncovered and, of course, why it came but he knew, with all the power of one blessed with knowing, that it had arrived. Whatever it was, it would change things, and change was the most dangerous thing of all. The man glanced over to the complement of the crystal stopper, the matching container filled with brandy. It contained much more before that evening. That container, with its mirrored stand, matching top, and glass tumblers, witnessed the forming of many plans. The man knew for a fact the fates didn’t care. He drank the rest of the amber liquid.

 The fates didn’t care, but that never stopped a man from plotting. These moments used to be so rare, he thought. He was not jubilant; he’d grown wise enough not to look for such dangerous, inciting things. As the fire swayed, chiding, there was a moment of evident fear in the man’s features. Then it was gone as the moorings of the mask were willed back into place.

Chapter One

 

What to do with forever? It’s too cumbersome, too unwieldy for the average mind to accept and for the average spirit to shoulder. The smart man would probably spend all the days trying to learn everything which could be learned. The same went for the strong man; he would try to master every strength.

David considered Jarvis’ broad back and upraised head. He secretly wondered at the vampire’s age and why he chose to spend his free moments stargazing.

Bay City wasn’t a New York by any means; the buildings might have aspired once to great heights, but something came along and repressed the might-have-been skyscrapers, yielding a mediocre skyline to a major U.S. eastern seaport. Still, with enough experimentation, a restless soul would be amazed at how many roofs were accessible in the dead of night—David surely was. Except for the occasional air conditioning or venting unit, the roofs of Bay City were mostly an empty playground under a very high ceiling of stars.

David adjusted the backpack over his shoulders, holding in a sigh. It was a long day, but they scheduled the meeting long ago. Admittedly, he was curious about what Jarvis considered to be a fun time, and he ended up being a little disappointed to discover the vampire’s idea of fun was to go to a rooftop and stare into the heavens. It only really served to show how restless David was, how in need of action, movement, and direction. Jarvis just stood there, his neck crooked upwards, like he didn’t feel fatigue or boredom. David, on the other hand, walked the perimeter of the roof at least half a dozen times.

“We can go,” Jarvis said, in that hollow baritone of his.

David shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I just didn’t realize it’d be this…” he fished around for a nicer word, but couldn’t find one, “…boring. You really just stand around looking at the stars? I mean, really?” Jarvis moved closer. He didn’t answer, which was an answer in itself. “Right. Well, I should be getting home, it’s late.” David looked at his watch for confirmation. “Christ, it’s only ten?” He wiped his face with both hands in a way he considered to be apologetic. Through his fingers, he saw a flash in the sky. They both stood still as the streak of light of a falling star passed across the sky. David pointed. “Okay, now that was cool. How often does that happen?” he asked, looking out over the sea of uneven roofs as if he could still see it.

“Not often.” Jarvis moved towards the stairs.

“I didn’t mean it was super boring, just sort of boring…like straddling the line between boring and…slow.” All things considered, David felt pretty bad. He pondered on how difficult it was to insult the dead. 

“I have other things to do, regardless,” Jarvis said, opening the door for David, even though they were fifteen feet apart. It was an odd gesture.

“Other things?” David paused after he got close enough to study the expression on Jarvis’ face. It was barely noticeable. Jarvis’ flesh did not animate unless he willed it to, and in death he forgot how to use the hundred different tiny muscles of his face to convey emotions. With enough concentration, one could still detect a slightly quirked eyebrow or the lip twitch of a smirk. “Oh. Right,” David said. “That.”

“It would be best to put it out of your mind,” Jarvis said, following the other man through the door.

“Yeah.” David felt the hard edges of the stairs under his feet. Other violent images occurred to him as the apprehension built and threatened to transform into something else. The strangeness in his stomach and in his nostrils never went away, even after he learned of Jarvis’ generally benign intent. They were the same, and yet not the same.

“Never mind.” He suddenly decided to drop it. “I’ll catch you tomorrow night.” With some anxiety, David sped down the stairs. He could almost feel the big man’s smile. The creepy bastard.

David met Jarvis just over three years ago, and he couldn’t figure out if all vampires made his heckles rise and his stomach twist or if it was just Jarvis. He was the only one he ever met; they seemed not to cloister together like popular culture and the movies David was fond of watching suggested. He once spoke to his father about it and found out that officially speaking, they all fell under a mythical subset of mystically cursed beings. His father told him to run, should he ever meet one, and wouldn’t say why. They were dangerous to be sure, but the superstition in the man’s voice alluded to there being some mysterious, uninvestigated reason to stay away from them. David discovered there were more similarities than differences, though; people still screamed the same whenever they found out, and ran just as fast. It was a big reason why the two of them became friends. To him, the superstition didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but there wasn’t a library or anything a person could reference. Once David got past Jarvis’ dead exterior, the vampire proved to be a nice person, just extremely old; it suffocated his overall mood and dulled his personality. He’d make a good straight man in a comedy duo.

David took a direct route home at a brisk jog. Standing around in one place for so long, he felt confined, restrained. He needed a good sweat. He set a pace where he could hear his own heartbeat drumming in his ears. The streets were empty, and although with somewhat of a dearth of tall buildings, Bay City did have lots of alleyways to cut through. A left here, two rights there, and David forgot about that direct route home. He skidded to a stop, trying to force straight the smile on his face. His arms and legs felt active and strong, and he took a moment to calm down. He wanted little else but to cut loose and scream but that wouldn’t have ended well.

He took in deep, slow breaths. That was when he heard the footsteps. No, not really footsteps—the person was sprinting. David looked around and realized he didn’t know where he was. He kicked himself mentally and walked slowly around the intersection he found himself in. If he smelled the air he could ascertain where he came from, but that was about it. Eventually, he found which direction the person was going and moved that way. He didn’t know of anyone else crazy enough to run through Bay City alleys at night. Besides, this person sounded like they were unused to it. There was pain in the haggard breathing, and moaning.

As he got closer, David smelled the fear, and once he got close enough that he was on the next street over, he heard the steps of the pursuer. Whatever it was, it was heavy, yet it moved silently at times; it plodded on two legs, sometimes four. Something chasing someone, and it was gaining. An ancient riddle echoed in David’s mind. He was faster than both pursued and pursuer, which placed him helpfully in front of the prey, who was faltering.

David heard the man smack painfully into a garbage can and stumble. He grabbed the stranger on his third step and spun him around a corner, out of sight. He clamped a hand over the man’s mouth and pinned his arms so he wouldn’t make any noise flailing. David whispered to him to be quiet, and thankfully, the man thought that was a fine idea. David couldn’t help himself and peeked around the corner to get an eye on whatever was chasing the guy. As he hoped, it moved into the intersection. As David looked on, he saw horns, a face with shifting, wavering features and red eyes. Claws sprouted from the ends of darkness-shrouded members. Shadows followed and cloaked the creature as it moved. It had furry hooves, which explained the almost soundless trait of its steps. For all its strangeness, however, the creature possessed human-shaped ears. It peered around for a moment and then sprinted off. David leaned back and removed his hand from the stranger’s mouth.

“What the—” the man rasped, and David quickly covered his mouth again.

David spied around the corner. He shook his head and removed the hand.

“You must want to be eaten,” David whispered, standing back and helping the man up. The stranger stood awkwardly, groaning. “What was that? Who are you?”

“You…I…” the man stammered, exhausted. Then his mind caught up with him. “You saved my life. Thank you. I, uh, have to go.” He stepped around his rescuer and backwards up the alley.

David watched him go, more than a little surprised. “Suit yourself,” he replied, and walked away. He smirked to himself when the stranger followed, but tried to look exasperated when he turned around. “Yes?” he asked.

“What?” the man replied. “I’m headed this way.”

David guessed that was valid, shrugged again and strode on. He felt less confident when he remembered he was still lost. The other man didn’t seem to want to say anything.

“So,” David jabbed at him, “those sorts of things usually chase you around dark alleys?”

“No,” the stranger replied. “I’m not at liberty to discuss it, but no.”

David nodded thoughtfully. “Are you some sort of government guy?” he asked, walking by a suspiciously familiar looking refuse bin. He sniffed at the air, like he was developing a cold. 

“What?” the stranger sounded shocked. “No, I…I’m in grad school.”

David frowned in the darkness at that thought. To give himself a moment to think, he stopped and inhaled strongly—and again. He discovered that he went up and down most of these alleys and considered the ones left would probably result in an exit. He confidently turned right and checked his watch.

“Man, it’s getting late,” he grumbled.

“So what were you doing out here?” the stranger asked.

David smiled in the darkness; he explained himself away to a thousand different people in a thousand different situations. Lying became easy when one did it over breakfast.

“Walking home, cut through the wrong alley.” It was actually sort of the truth, which he discovered was the key to convincing deception.

“You weren’t afraid?” The other man stepped closer to him.

“My family’s really big on self defense,” David replied, turning left and picking up his pace. Eventually, they got to a real street; from there, David determined he wasn’t but a few blocks from his apartment building. He turned around to face the stranger, finally able to study him in decent light. He certainly looked like a grad student, or at least an educated man in his late twenties, probably with low income. His appearance implied that whatever money he had, he didn’t spend on clothes; he wore a worn t-shirt and off brand wind breaker, worn jeans and sensible shoes.

“Well, nice to have saved you. Good luck with whatever that was,” David said, and began walking across the street. He crossed two lanes of the four before the stranger called out to him.

It wasn’t anything beyond the ordinary, given the immediate context, but overall, it was a significant decision for David to turn around and acknowledge the fact that the man was in trouble and needed help, but was too proud to ask. He would prefer to be too tired, or in too much of a hurry, or anything, to help, but he wasn’t. On the contrary, he itched for something to happen.

Standing on a double yellow line, David turned to face what could be.

Chapter Two

David unlocked his apartment and pushed the door open. Nick—the man’s name was Nick—walked in slowly, his head swiveling around like he was not only inspecting everything but also wanted to make that fact as obvious as possible. David stepped in after him and pushed the door closed.

“Take it easy, Columbo,” David jabbed. “No bad guys here.” He tossed his bag on the couch and stepped around his visitor, headed for the kitchen.

Nick watched him go. “Do you go by Dave, or Davey?” Nick took a step backwards at David’s expression.

“David is fine,” David said, then continued his search for liquid refreshment. He snarled, exasperated. He should have gone shopping, he thought as he looked into the fridge and found only the milk carton reserved for tomorrow’s cereal. “Crap.”

“What is it?” Nick said with just a bit too much urgency.

“Nothing to drink,” David replied, standing up. He blinked. “Wait, this is not a social call.” He flashed a look at Nick and pointed at the couch. “Sit down. You need to tell me what’s going on.” Nick complied, though silently. When David got to the love seat, he could see his visitor was looking conflicted. “Look, you want my help, this is how it has to be. You know, trust and whatnot.”

Nick nodded slowly. “I’m a diviner.”

David blinked in disbelief. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m an anthropologist librarian entrusted with certain mystical secrets of the ancient world’s mythic places.” Nick paused, passing a hand through his hair. “I was a history major in undergrad, and my focus in grad school is ancient cultures and religion, but…” He trailed off, conflicted again.

“You found a magic tablet or a green ring with a funky symbol?” David asked, trying not to laugh. He waved a hand dismissively.

“There was a special program. Candidates were chosen and approached individually; one could not apply. It’s government funded. There was no interview. It was all very clandestine,” Nick explained, looking down at his hands in his lap.

“We got to learn a lot of interesting things and study sacred relics. And the libraries…”

David felt a yawn coming on and checked his watch. “Okay, I’m sorry,” he interrupted Nick, making a time-out signal. “I didn’t know this was going to be a life story sort of thing, but I guess I should’ve expected. Can you fast forward to the part where you have to sprint cross country through alleys for your life, or should this wait until tomorrow?”

The man’s eyes widened. “Tomorrow?”

“Uh, yeah. One of us has a day job.” David surrendered to the yawn, neglecting to cover his mouth. “Plus, I’m beat. So yeah, tomorrow.”

“It could be out killing people right now, raising hell. Maybe literally.” Nick stood up suddenly.

David, still seated, noticed how much taller than him Nick was—then again, most people were. He rolled his eyes. “Look, people die all the time. I’m sure once it figures out there are police officers and gangs and…” he paused, suddenly tight lipped, “…other things, it’ll lay low. Especially during the night.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“I’ll admit, I’m mostly assuming. You can have the couch. Don’t drink my milk. The tap water isn’t too horrible. Glasses are in the cabinet,” David said. “You think you’ll need a blanket?” Nick’s mouth dropped open. David stepped forward and tried putting his hand on the man’s shoulder. It helped in the movies. “Don’t worry, man. I’m sure in the future after you finish all your coursework you’ll be able to clean up a mess like this, no problem. Crawl before you walk and all that.” He turned on his heels, not wanting to hear any argument, and threw a wave over his shoulder. Surprisingly, it worked. At least, the strange visitor didn’t follow him.

When David finally slept, he dreamt of a starry night sky above him spinning like a huge, inverted cosmic drain. Stars shot down like bright arrows, compelled by some huge, thirsty maw. Then, in the midst of it all, he turned into a horrible monster and ate everyone he greeted that day, helped or hindered; the last of them was his new acquaintance Nick. David didn’t concentrate too much on whether that felt good or not when he finally woke up, but his sheets were damp from sweat.

Nick was asleep when David went into the kitchen. He showered and then had breakfast, staring at the man’s exposed shoulder over the back of the couch. He heard the man pacing and babbling to himself the night before. The milk was probably a day before stale, which was good, and the news didn’t report any horrible demonic massacres or devil rites, so the world was still turning.

“Yo, Gandalf,” David said. Nick roused slowly, then all of a sudden gave a jerky spasm. “I’m headed out, don’t you have class or something?”

Nick blinked, slowly remembering. “Oh God.”

David put a hand up. “I checked the news; no blood baths. We’re still good. Are you going to have another episode? I’m running late.”

Nick sat up. “David. You’re still going to help, right?”

At the door, David nodded, patting his pockets. “Yup. I even know someone who might want to help. I’ll make a call. You want us to meet you somewhere tonight?” He tried some non-verbal communication to get his guest up and dressed and headed to the door. He didn’t have anything to steal but Nick didn’t need to know that.

Nick eventually got the gist and started putting on his shoes and socks. “Uh, there’s a twenty-four hour diner near here,” he started.

“I know the place, we’ll be there,” David said, starting to help him up and towards the door.

“Can I have some water?” Nick asked, smacking his dry lips.

David stepped to the kitchen and filled a glass, then handed it to him. “Take your time. Keep it. See you tonight.” David closed and locked the door, then watched as Nick slowly came to understand that he was on the hallway side of the door too, inexplicably.

David grinned and stepped towards the elevator. He got down to the transit stop just in time to step directly onto the bus. He imagined Nick standing around, contemplating the glass of water for a while before drinking it and walking back to wherever he lived. David pondered. Nick knew about the diner, so maybe he lived on this side of town. He also didn’t mention which school he went to.

The bus slowly lurched with its passengers toward their various destinations. David mentally compiled a list of important details Nick left out.

The list got longer as he got to work and hunkered down into the rhythm of a repetitious everyday. He wondered if Jarvis would hang the phone up in his face when he mentioned ”demon hunt.“ In their years together, they didn’t really talk much about the things they had in common, all of which fell into the category of the supernatural. Knowing that they qualified themselves was enough. Instead, they talked about…David pondered. They didn’t really talk about anything. It wasn’t like Jarvis was some source of great wisdom; he was old, sure, but he didn’t know about anything that David wanted to know about.

That day work was mundane in a way it never was before. David believed the job got about as boring as a job could get. No experience was as deadening as a nine to five. The people in the waiting room slowed and became black and white; the world outside became brighter with sparkling quality. David realized he was looking forward more than ever to evening. He tried not to think about it, though, hoping the hands on the clock would spin faster when he wasn’t looking.

After work, after dusk, he rang Jarvis. Rang, instead of called, was Jarvis’ language. David didn’t know if the vampire thought it was funny, or dignified or what, but he thought a real friend may have demanded he get out more.

“It’s David.”

“I know,” came the reply in dead-deep baritone. “You’re the only person that calls this phone. I’m the only one who answers.”

This surprised David, maybe because of the vampire’s attempt at trust. “So,” he decided it would be easier to just say it, “I met this guy who I think maybe is being hunted by a demon or a devil or something…it’s related in some fashion. Anyway, I was thinking maybe you’d be up for…” He wasn’t sure how to complete the sentence.

“You cannot be serious.” Jarvis of course was of little help.

“Meet me at that diner near my apartment,” was all David said, and awkwardly hung up the phone. He wasn’t sure if it counted as an ultimatum, or if there was more to that statement he coolly left off. In any event, Nick was going to be there sooner or later, he hoped, and Jarvis would either show up or he would not.

For his part, David went grocery shopping. In the check out line, as the clerk scanned his steaks, it occurred to him that he could maybe even die, and how stupid it would look for him to have bought groceries right before putting his life in danger. Once he got home, however, he took pleasure from having soda and milk and juice and cheese and lunch meats and other things.

He threw his scrubs in the laundry and put a change of clothes in the backpack. He was premeditating. Numbly, he put on the bag and locked the door behind him. He went down the hall, rode the elevator, and walked up the street, noting night fell during all his shopping and musing.

After David sat waiting nervously in the diner for some time, Nick finally showed up, looking more introspective than David felt. He slid into the opposite side of the booth, smiling briefly.

“You came,” he said, fumbling with a menu.

“Told you I’d see you later. I see you weren’t eaten,” David replied. He aimed for nonchalance.

“I did some reading and—”

David held a hand up. “It isn’t that I don’t want to hear it, I just don’t want to hear it twice. A...guy I know might be coming, and if he does, it would be good for him to hear your story too. So let’s just wait. Have you eaten?”

Nick looked thoughtful. “You’re hungry?”

“I find that I usually am, yeah. The chicken chili here is pretty good.” David flipped the menu over. It wasn’t lengthy, just two sides of medium sized print; a couple pictures, a slogan, a guarantee, and some quotes from the founder. For a reasonable price, given foreknowledge of what to order and what to avoid, it was some of the best cuisine in the zip code. “The steak not so much.”

Nick looked at the menu with fresh eyes. David inspected his face. If Nick came to the restaurant before, he didn’t do it very often.

“Which steak?” Nick asked.

“Oh, none of them,” David replied, looking out of their window. “Just ignore the steak section entirely.”

“They only have two steaks, though,” the other man argued.

“No, I mean anything with the word steak in it, or on it, or prepared in the same vicinity of.” David glanced at his watch. He took a moment to rifle though his feelings and found disappointment.

Two hours went by. They ordered and ate. The waiting staff carted away the leftovers and dirty plates. Nick settled on a simple omelet and dry wheat toast. David ate chili and a baked potato with extra bacon. He redoubled his detective efforts and acquired the name of Nick’s school, along with information on how exactly whatever last night’s creature was had gotten into that alley.

There were invocations, Nick said, which brought things forth, but the translations were sketchy. He claimed in this instance, the invocation was to summon an apparition of the entity to retrieve information, but instead it invited the entity as a whole.

That was the short version without SAT words. David didn’t ask why it worked the way it did, or why Nick did it, but it seemed the man broke a dozen or so different rules. David was afraid it might be for something stupid like lottery numbers.

At a quarter to ten, Jarvis materialized near the front door. David really thought he kept better track of people’s goings and comings. One moment he watched Nick’s hands, the odd way the fingers straightened as the man cut and chopped his words in the air, and the next moment his gaze was being pulled away towards the establishment’s entrance. Something in his stomach told him danger was close, and that’s how he knew the vampire was there.

Nick opened his mouth to speak, and his jaw continued its descent as he became aware of Jarvis looming over the two of them, casting a shadow in the soft light of the diner.

“Now,” David said. “You can tell us exactly how we fix this.” He began to slide sideways out of the booth; they were done eating.

 

Chapter Three

Recent events were becoming more difficult to believe by the moment. Scholars could go decades before even getting sight of a vampire in the flesh. Nick shook one’s hand, and he only recently attached himself to the Academy. All empirical evidence was beginning to suggest that he, Nicholas Hughes, was destined for truly fantastic things. It was especially fortunate that he ran into David in that alley the previous night. Who knew, a left turn instead of a right, and he’d have to fix this situation all by himself instead of having assistance.

Sensibly, they left rather than ask the enormous vampire to squeeze into the diner booth with them. On the way to the ritual site, Nick laid out the scenario for the other two. He was trying to advance his understanding with some hands on application and as a result of a mistranslation the rite changed from an invocation to a summoning. The process could most easily be reversed in the location of the initial ritual; if one wanted to erase something and its effects, it was best to address its origin.

“Where would that be?” David interrupted.

Nick glanced back at the two of them. David seemed perfectly nonchalant, hands in his pockets, the straps of that omnipresent backpack adorning his shoulders. When last he saw it, it only contained scrubs, and he tried to jibe how that detail explained the other man’s seeming indifference.

Beside David, the rather large vampire loomed over Nick. He was fascinating, really; his existence railed against every popular vampire mythology of the attractive, pale, gaunt, straight-haired man that flitted about in designer clothes. No, Jarvis wore very utilitarian rigging; what looked like black army fatigues, sturdy work boots, and a hoodie under a black-jean jacket.

Nick looked back at David. “I found an abandoned warehouse. It’s on the east side.”

“Bit far a field of campus. Afraid the headmaster would kick you out of your house?” David grinned, as if he said something clever.

“We don’t have houses,” Nick replied. “Or headmasters.”

David looked up at the vampire for approval, but the reference seemed lost on him, too. Nick wondered how old Jarvis was. There was of course no way to determine specific age, but it could be estimated. It required specific materials, however.

“We should probably bus,” Nick mentioned, searching the street for a stop.

“We’re taking a bus,” David said flatly. “This is somehow less spectacular than I imagined.”

The vampire helped Nick look for one of those poles with the small metal signs. Eventually they found one and waited, the three of them embarking on an adventure, albeit very slowly.

Nick raised an eyebrow and glanced over at the vampire, who was staring out into the street like a statue. “If I might ask,” he began.

“Don’t,” David interrupted.

Nick frowned but kept talking, “What’s it like?” David put a hand over his face. The vampire looked down at Nick and he had the sudden impulse to take several steps backwards.

Jarvis’ mouth opened like a person’s would, the jaw hinging open and closed, but there was no breath. The voice was hollow, like it was being projected through him rather than belong to him and he was only the instrument. “Perhaps this was not the best of ideas,” he said to no one in particular.

“He’s chatty, yeah, but generally okay, I think,” David responded.

Nick looked from one to the other, but said nothing. Eventually, the bus arrived, and they boarded. David swiped a pass twice, and the vampire produced a crisp hundred dollar bill and handed it to David. He didn’t wait for change. Nick paid in the change he got from the diner.

The trip across the city was quiet. It seemed like just another night; they seemed like just another trio of passengers. Outside, the city swept by in a stop-and-start dance of scenery. In fast forward, it could have been media footage of a piece called, ”Dark Pastels out a Bus Window.”

“Wait a minute,” David said, breaking the silence. “How long is this going to take, this ritual?”

Nick looked at him across the aisle. “A few minutes, maybe more,” he replied. “Why?”

David shrugged. “I was just wondering how long we have to distract it for,” he said, openly putting things together in his mind. “Are there candles or anything? Maybe a circle that if broken or interrupted would explode the future?”

Nick looked at him, thinking. “Not really,” he replied, not sure where David was going.

“You know, it sounds like we’re going to show up and that thing is going to chew on us while you attempt something you have no experience at doing,” David retorted, staring at Nick straight in the eye.

“No experience?” Nick feigned offense. “Of course not. This category of endeavor doesn’t have much documentation. Everything is based on sound principle,” he explained.

David threw his hands up, leaning backwards. Behind him, the vampire moved his mouth and his voice emulated a whisper. David sat forward again, eyeing Nick.

“Can’t we just kill it?” he asked. “I mean, you know, as a last resort,” he added quickly.

Nick pondered on the ramifications. David was unusually confident for a very small man. It didn’t seem to be bluster; there was something powerful in his stare and a certain strength to his gait. The summoned was privy to information Nick wanted, maybe even needed. The information may only reside within the creature, thus killing it would be very bad. Nick said as much.

“It was lottery numbers, wasn’t it?” David said, accusingly.

Nick’s mouth dropped open. Lottery numbers? “What? No, that’s horribly crass.”

David made a face, leaning away towards his window. “Whatever,” he said, dropping the issue.

“On the other hand it isn’t the only source…certainly nowhere near the most abstract. Maybe it wouldn’t be missed.” Nick shrugged. “Only as a last resort,” he added quickly.

David made a vague gesture with his hand. “Scout’s honor,” he said flippantly.

Nick narrowed his eyes. Finally, the fateful stop approached, and he signaled with the tiny wire running above the windows of the bus. They were the only ones to get off. Nick’s hands were sweating. Part of him was worried that the summoned, confused and aggravated, was wreaking havoc across the city, and that it was, ultimately, his transgressions that caused it. The key, he theorized, was to learn from the mistakes he made. It seemed to him it would work if he used something better documented, with more sources.

They made their way towards the building. High above them, the moon was shining down on tiny pools of water and broken glass. The holes in the street and sidewalk were obscured, however, and even if one could spy the rim, it was as if they held depths as deep as forever. Nearing the door, Nick realized he was alone. He turned around and could see David and the vampire standing a ways off, talking.

“Cold feet?” he chided them with mirth he did not feel. David shushed him. He walked back to them, looking around. “What’s the problem?” he asked, more quietly.

“It’s inside,” David said matter-of-factly. “Can you do whatever you need to do from out here?”

“What? It is?” Nick was more than a little surprised. “Uh, no. I mean, it would be best if I were as close to where I performed the ritual as possible.”

“Outside the building isn’t close enough?” David retorted.

Nick made a noise and adjusted his knapsack, feeling the books and jars and vials inside.

“What?” David asked, fidgeting. The vampire might have made a subtle gesture. In any event, David said to him, “I’ll be there in a second.” Nick turned and watched Jarvis stalk off ominously. “Hey,” David said, and Nick’s head turned back around. “What’s the problem, Rincewind?”

Nick looked at the smaller man. Suddenly he seemed larger, more imposing.

“I…” he began, not wanting to say it. “I’m just not completely sure I know what I’m doing. I don’t want to do the wrong thing, again.”

“You what?” David said, incredulously.

“Everything needs to be performed in exact reverse. That would be the best way. I don’t know enough to be able to force things.” He spoke quickly; maybe in a blur it would be less true. Studying the things he did, it became painfully obvious how powerful words could be, especially true ones.

David hung his head and ran a hand through his hair. “This is ridiculous,” he said.

Just then there was a huge commotion inside the warehouse, the sounds of shattering glass and twisting metal.

David looked up, turning his head slightly like someone that was listening. “Okay, the new plan is to let us handle it. You stay out here. Don’t sit on any nails or stick your fingers in any electrical sockets.” He took off his backpack and pushed it into Nick’s hands. “Don’t get this wet or dirty.” He stepped around Nick, towards the warehouse. Halfway there, he burst into a sprint and vanished into the shadows.

From outside, the noises were horrible. Nick couldn’t know what was going on, and he had his instructions, but he found himself inching forward, in search of the entrance he used before. Curiosity, even of the terrible, became like gravity.

When he came within sight of the door hanging off its hinges, he froze for a moment; inside he could see only darkness. He took a tentative step forward. At the threshold, the noise of a tremendous roar overwhelmed him and he sagged against the doorway. Somewhere inside, one of the struts attached to the ceiling buckled and gave way, tearing a hole open above, letting in the moonlight. The resulting stage was only a few feet across in both directions, and it was red and slick. Nick’s stomach lurched and squeezed his dinner into his esophagus. His chest felt hot and congested.

An animal was shoved into the light, a huge furry horror, all claws and teeth and terror. As it righted itself, its hair picked up the blood on the floor and the ends of it glowed red like burning spines. Onto the stage then came the summoned, ten feet tall, powerfully built—wise, but angry. There were cuts and bruises all over its body. It brought its hands together above its head as if to strike the other monster, and then it stiffened suddenly.

As the summoned turned sideways in a pained spasm, Nick could see that the vampire was clinging to its back, one arm snaked around a shoulder and another pulling back on one of the horns. Jarvis’ head was buried in the creature’s neck. Several large gashes formed on the magnificent torso as the furry monster lashed out with a flurry of snarling rage, opening the creature’s stomach and then the chest.

The blood didn’t just flow; it gushed. The vampire’s yanking took its toll, too, one of the summoned’s horns was dislodged completely. The creature stumbled backwards, out of the light, off of the stage. Blood continued to spurt into the scene, but aside from the thing’s dying screams and the noise of it falling, there was nothing but Nick and the…lycanthrope.

Things came back to him slowly. First, he was on his knees somehow. He dropped everything he was holding, and he voided his bladder. The hulking beast, with its black eyes and blood red maw, shrank and became less ferocious and hairy and crazed. It turned into David. The last trait to go was the look in his eyes; they were the same black pools of killing night until the transformation was completed. The blood remained—all over David’s face and chest and legs. He was wearing the blood.

Nick ran, or he tried to. He was like a newborn foal, stumbling and falling. David shouted his name, and Nick regained his footing and broke into a maddening sprint. All he could see were those eyes boring into his soul. He stopped just long enough to throw up. Then he passed out, or maybe he fell…or maybe the monster caught him. He wasn’t sure. In any case, there was nothing heroic or beautiful or romantic about any of it.

Chapter Four

Nick woke up, but not from a dream. He couldn’t be sure of what time it was except that it was still dark. Someone was pawing at him gently.

“Nick?”

He was happy the voice was familiar to him…then he recoiled in realization. He remembered what he was running from; he remembered that while falling unconscious he didn’t expected to awake again. His face hurt terribly. He was sore all over in fact, though he didn’t seem to be any worse off than bruised. David, the lycanthrope, was crouched over him, amazingly casual for his being stark naked.

“Stay away from me,” he heard himself say, as he tried to get up and away at the same time. By the time he rolled over onto his chest and pushed himself into a standing position, David was in front of him again.

“You expect me to walk home naked?” he raised a curious eyebrow.

At this new angle, Nick could see the wild smears of blood covering most of David’s small frame, enmeshed with his hairy chest and legs and arms. His eyes were normal now, but Nick could remember how they were. It created a strange overlapping effect between what David looked like and what Nick knew him to be. There was blood all over his mouth, too.

David gestured at the bag Nick strapped to his back. He slowly took it off and handed it to the shorter man, who snatched it away and slung it over a shoulder. He looked down. “No gym classes in grad school, I guess.”

Nick’s mouth dropped open. “You think I’m bothered by your nakedness?” He yelled louder than he intended, “You’re a…you’re a…”

“Lycanthrope.”

“Monster.” He took a step backward. “What is wrong with you? You’re just so…you’re comfortable! Look at you, you’re covered in blood!”

David looked down as if to confirm the words. “Well, you sort of get born into these situations. It’s a fairly common place for me.”

“Common.” Nick’s voice cracked.

“You seem to be acting a bit overdramatically, given the circumstances of our meeting.”

“I just…” Nick paused. Everything was so real, so suddenly real. He took a deep breath, keeping an eye on David. “I may have reacted better if you’d mentioned it a little earlier. You just sort of were…there.”

David held a hand up, looking tired all of a sudden. “It’s cool, man, really,” he said, adjusting the backpack. “We save your ass, you run off with my stuff. Perfectly natural. Well,” he said, looking around as if pondering, “sorry to disappoint, but this isn’t the part where I give you an ultimatum, threaten you or anything. Still, it would be really good of you, fair even, to keep this evening and my address out of mouth and out of mind. I have a day job, I don’t really have time to be making sure the magic police aren’t after me, you know? So, I won’t see you around. Take care of yourself.” With that, he walked out of the conversation.

Nick calmed down as the distance between them increased, and with that came the understanding that maybe he was a little insensitive and ungrateful. He thought about apologizing, but that came after minutes, and David was gone after only moments. Nick found himself standing around for another half hour as if someone would show up and give him advice or tell him what to do. No one came. He went home.

Nick felt like something was missing, but he decided for once not to investigate his feelings and simply go to bed.

He woke up the next day to his alarm and his bed and his life. At no point did he ever think the previous night was a dream. He found David’s number near the phone in the kitchen. He felt the need to rewind, to understand how he got wherever he was. Looking around his single bedroom apartment and the cramped storage space for what he knew to be his entire life, he understood completely how he came to want something else—something better, bigger. He did what he always did and left in the direction of class.

* * * *

There were thousands of people crowded together trying to cut out their own place, the chunk that they felt entitled to and wouldn’t have to fight for. It was owed to them. There was some conclusion Nick was nearing when his advisor found him pondering a broken fountain in one of the courtyards. The water began to run out the cracked bottom, but instead of fixing it the university decided it was better to simply turn off the faucet.

“They still haven’t fixed this thing,” Dr. Gray said. Nick liked the man from the start for how he engaged people on a significant level without being invasive. “Got a minute?”

Nick suddenly realized he had no intention of going to class that day; as it turned out, there were hours to spare.

Dr. Gray’s office was somewhat small, but he didn’t have a lot of furniture and he made good use of the space in such a way that the place looked more comfortable than it probably was. The desk was always mostly empty, though Nick knew the drawers were filled in an organized sort of way. He personally saw the man pull at least eight different things out of one drawer.

Dr. Gray’s body language told Nick to shut the door after him, but strangely he wasn’t concerned about being in trouble or found out.

Dr. Gray gestured for him to sit. “I have some news. I should probably point out, you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.” He leaned forward. “Are you all right?”

Nick frowned, unsure. He told this man things he didn’t tell his guardians. He sort of saw him in that capacity, but he wasn’t sure if the position brought confidentiality along with it.

“I guess. I mean…” He paused. “No, not really. I’m not sure I want to really talk. Unless…” He trailed off, leaving the choice up to the other man.

His mentor nodded slowly. “I see. Well, you put me in an awkward position. You flatter me, too. First, I guess I’ll thank you for that,” he said, looking Nick in the eye.

Nick imagined him weighing what the worst he thought Nick might be capable of against how well he read people in the past.

“Sure, I’m game.” Dr. Gray gestured for him to speak, leaning back in his chair. He looked confident. Nick was confident he didn’t look the same.

“I did something. I broke some rules…a lot of them, actually…but that’s not important.” He put his hand up as his advisor opened his mouth to correct him. “I don’t mean that it isn’t important. I mean that isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about…you know, confidentially.” He thought for a moment. “I got some help to fix the situation.” He made a face at his word choice. “Non-sanctioned help, but no one died. I mean, no one human.” Nick held his hands up defensively. He noticed Dr. Gray looked decidedly less confident, though at the best, he didn’t look mad. Maybe he was waiting for his former-mentee to finish. Nick thought about a variety of terrible punishments that could be leveled on him, both fantastical and real. “I know that we do a lot, historically and anthropologically, to learn about the occult. How much of it is based on reality? Objective reality, I mean.”

He jumped from the confession to what he really wanted to know. He wasn’t sure he was even done confessing, but everything he wanted to know poured out of him like curiosity became a thing that could no longer be contained. He’d probably be expelled for violating the desperately fine line between protection and possession, but he suddenly came to find that he didn’t care as much about that. There was no advocate for deeds done, only the hands that did them.

Dr. Gray stared at him for another moment, a long moment, before clearing his throat. “I’ve been cautioned that a body was discovered on the east side of the city.” He stopped as if he intended to go further.

Nick knew he crossed a line, one he could only see after crossing it.

“I think you need to speak with the Dean Janis,” Dr. Gray said, standing up slowly. He stepped past Nick who heard the office door open behind him.

Nick stood, sadly, and stepped through the threshold. He was only partly sure that Dr. Gray would keep his secret—the brief vague telling of it—but it seemed that Nick would be sharing all the wild vagaries in full detail very soon anyway. Was that still a betrayal? The door closed in his face.

Alone in the hallway, Nick began thinking of everything. No one was making him do anything, and yet he felt a growing desire to confess. His strongest desire, of course, came from the information that he didn’t possess a week before. It was so murky then, but now it was all very obvious. It seemed like such a good idea; now things were being consumed all around him, falling apart with disturbing speed.

The walk to the Dean’s office was short, though Nick made it as long as possible. He felt the need to have his explanations in a rehearsed state. He didn’t feel he wanted to avoid punishment. He supposed he wanted someone to understand, which in retrospect turned out to be highly ironic. Nick thought about David’s words—or rather, the words David didn’t say, everything that was spoken by his manner and his look and his tone. Things were as they were; choice had no place in the origin of things, only in their end.

He knocked on the heavy wooden door. The swirling brown patterns evidenced that the wood was taken from a very old tree. The door was solid and thick, but once the knob was turned, it opened easily. The room beyond was long and wide and expensively adorned. Everything sported a refined economy that bespoke of near endless resources and complimentary taste. It was the kind of room grand wagers were made in, where movements were initiated and their ends decided, where history was written to the liking of victors.

Nick was very glad to see that someone else was already there with Dean Janis; it was a student, a woman. He could only see her from the back, but she was shapely enough to distract him temporarily from his execution. The Dean, a tall, straight-backed man with dull green eyes and thin gray hair, glanced over and smiled slightly.

“Nicholas,” he said, his voice inviting and rich. “I thought you might be arriving here soon.” Then he addressed the woman, “Nicholas is one of our high achievers. His passion for inquiry is unmatched. Isn’t that right, Nicholas?”

Nick wasn’t sure if that was true, but he certainly didn’t want to argue. He nodded anxiously, stepping forward. Becoming aware of the woman’s front was a slight benefit. She was the inciting moment in a narrative, a green-eyed Amazon with red hair and full proportions.

“This is a new transfer into the program, Scarlet,” Nick heard the Dean say. He was probably walking around his desk sipping brandy, or something equally imposing, but Nick wasn’t looking at him. “I was telling her of some of the exploits of a handful of our graduates, how tightly knit we are here, like a family. I thought maybe you could show Scarlet around the campus, help her familiarize herself with things.”

It felt to Nick like he never stopped nodding. He half expected the woman to giggle or coyly look away at some point, but she met his gaze like someone familiar with challenge. Nor could he look away from her embodied aggression.

“Nick,” the Dean said, in such a way that Nick was instantly looking at him. “I trust I have your assent.”

“Yes, Dean Janis, of course.” He tried to sound like a busy man who was imposed upon but whose sense of duty allowed him to see the wisdom of the Dean’s decision.

“Good,” the older man said, and Nick discovered he walked around the desk and was standing very close to him. “I know you came by to talk about very important matters, but I think it can wait. Go.”

Nick couldn’t believe his fantastic luck, nor did he question it. Turning around, he raised his eyebrows at Scarlet. He wasn’t sure if he should take her hand, or maybe reach out and burn himself on her fire. What he ended up doing was nod toward the exit and then walk off briskly. He stopped at the two large wooden doors, waiting to open one for her. Thankfully, she walked somewhat fast herself and they were gone in another moment.

 Dread crept into Nick after he escaped the Dean’s office. He felt like a man staring face down at the wooden planks of the guillotine platform, wondering why the end did not yet come.

“So,” Scarlet said, “what do people in Bay City do for fun?”

Nick grinned, almost as if he knew.

Chapter Five

In the brief yet numerous lessons Jarvis received, many of the details of the severing were explained to him. Though in a long, long life, he really only became as smart, as knowledgeable, as the average learned person. Things made sense, but typically only in retrospect. “One is what one eats,” she said.

Ending the thing from elsewhere, severing its life, brought things into sharp focus. It was altogether different, more potent, like the difference between thin, taut twine and robust anchor chain.

After he recovered, David left, likely to find the conjurer who was responsible for all of this. Jarvis encountered his kind before; then, just as now, they remained a danger, but it seemed odd to speak out against them. Without the poor man’s bungling, he wouldn’t have the chance to feel…the vampire didn’t know the word.

Looking down at his hands in the moonlight, he found the red stained the edges of his fingernails. He listened for a moment, and then retired. Jarvis didn’t lick his hands clean and slept in the destroyed crimson rags. 

The next night began with a familiar ritual: he burned the ruined clothes, washed the rest, bathed in bleach and peroxide, then rinsed with water. The pain was there, but like all else it was a distant, muffled ache that came second to the ever-present drought of emptiness.

He wasn’t working that night, or so he thought. Along his path he encountered a summons, paint sprayed in a specific place, in a specific design, visible to everyone who passed but pertinent only to him. Jarvis stood pondering for a moment, before diverting his route back through neighborhoods and on into what most people considered to be the bad part of town.

The houses weren’t shanties, sheds, or tents, but they were the equivalent. Small dwellings on infertile land, crowded with people who could scarcely afford food, much less improvements. The majority of them lived day to day on the kindness of their self-proclaimed protectors, criminal philanthropists. These warriors commanded the respect of vast territories whose dividing lines were comprised of vague, inexplicable things like streets and overpasses. The resulting violent friction was why the police didn’t come around after dark and sometimes, Jarvis overheard, not even during the day.

At times, he had the habit of working for the largest and most powerful of the gangs, the 7th Street Moguls. Their symbol was a 7 and an M, enmeshed, and all the members bore the mark somewhere on their bodies. The neighborhood was a familiar setting, but evidence showed him in the past that he would be better off dwelling in a nicer area where neighbors were too self-involved to talk to one another and too corrupt to look too hard across the way, lest their own misdeeds become discovered. 

Jarvis could see that he was expected, and even before he arrived could hear them talking. They called him the Big Man, because of his relative size. He was a hitter for the moguls, and his developing legend demanded a relationship with the headman himself. He directed the vampire at problematic individuals that needed to be made examples of; his ultimate goals were either transparent or obscure. Whatever the case, he never explained himself, and over the years he began to pay Jarvis in advance. The Big Man never failed, never turned down an offer; they had an understanding.

Most people thought their relationship was only half a decade old, but truth be told the moguls were akin to the vampire’s creation; their collaboration was decades in the making as Jarvis prepared the greater Bay City area as his territorial severing grounds. He needed accomplices that wouldn’t bother him, and who he could easily find and dispatch if they ever turned on him. In that regard, Raymond Bethel and he were instruments of one another.

“Bigs, what it is?” was his greeting after Jarvis weaved his way through the abandoned apartment complex where the man made his headquarters. He was in charge, but kept himself surrounded at almost all times. It was an irony that Jarvis never pointed out because he was sure the man noticed it himself. The vampire stared at him to acknowledge his greeting, but did not speak.

Bethel opened a drawer on the dilapidated desk he was seated behind and pulled out a recent almanac of the city. He opened it to a specific page and pointed. “You know where this is?” he asked, looking up into the vampire’s face.

Jarvis stepped forward and leaned over to make sure. When the vampire lifted his head, Bethel flipped the almanac closed and lit a cigarette. He was relatively new to smoking; Jarvis imagined he adopted the habit because of stress or a greater need to look imposing. The mogul stood up from his chair; like the desk, it was nice once but now it was a few years past its prime, and it was damaged during the delivery.

“There’s a deal going down in my territory. You know why I can’t allow that, so I need you to go deliver the usual message.” Bethel turned back to face the vampire. “I don’t have to tell you to leave the product, right?”

Jarvis shook his head. There were still subtle kinks in their relationship, mostly as a result of the paranoia that camewith tenuous leadership. The vampire had strength and influence, and with enough power could overthrow Bethel; the mogul had cause to worry. There would be no reassuring him. Any honest declaration would be perceived as a lie, which was why it was best to say as little as possible and to trust only as far as one’s arm could extend. Ultimately, every bit of evidence that showed Jarvis’ loyalty was laced with more reasons to fear him. He was an outsider; they were never friends, and they never would.

The vampire’s stare must have conveyed enough, because Bethel removed an envelope from an inner jacket pocket and tossed it on the desk. Jarvis snatched it up, turned his back to the man, and departed.

In retrospect, it would be practical to get more details concerning who transgressed in the Moguls’ territory. Any indication of numbers and arsenal would lessen the probability that he’d be shot, but Jarvis never asked questions; it would harm his image as something that simply killed and was gone. Besides, for the most part, it was usually just a handful of people that needed ending, and half the time they were asleep in the hour he came calling. Jarvis never called for help, and as far as the Moguls were aware, he walked in and out of every situation unscathed.

When he got to a block away from the location, he could hear someone’s heartbeat and breathing. They were waiting, not sleeping. Getting behind the sentry was easy enough. Like most guards, the man dealt with two realities: the first was that he would have surprise against anyone coming, since he considered himself hidden, and the second was that his world existed only in two dimensions. He didn’t have a communication device, which was convenient.

When Jarvis landed on him, the man let out a truncated gurgle. The binds that leashed his soul to his body snapped like small, fragile things. The severing always brought with it a slight jolt of euphoria that fed the vampire, but when the victim died so suddenly the effect was minimal.

The man had a cell phone and a wallet with a fair amount of money in it. The suit seemed expensive to Jarvis’ inexperienced eye, and the weapon looked like a cross between a rifle and a pistol, which he judged to also be somewhat expensive. Jarvis took the money and moved in a circuitous fashion. His reasoning proved sound; he found three more similarly invested look-outs.

The location in question, once he finally reached it, proved to be a former automotive factory. Like many businesses, it seemed to have died and left just a corpse. Jarvis saw another four men patrolling idly, and he heard at least another half a dozen. Greed was as distant from him as were remorse or agitation, but he suddenly felt the impulse to check Bethel’s envelope.

Jarvis reached at his belt for the arm-length blade he carried. Killing people wasn’t difficult, but hiding his strength from investigators was generally a challenge. The typical human was a thin, rubbery shell framed with limbs and filled with a system of valves and tubes, all required to maintain life. A knife stroke delivered by an expert was easier to explain and less likely to encourage further investigation than wounds to the throat and torso caused by fingers. Experimentally, he ripped a person’s heart out once, but ultimately found the matter to be the difference between ease and efficiency.

Jarvis watched. He waited. He imagined his barreling out of the shadows must look very inelegant, but it must be incredibly frightening, too. As he passed each man, he slashed across their throats at an angle, aiming not for the spine but for the soft knob of flesh so as not to decapitate but simply slice the throat open. Jarvis left before it became difficult to walk without leaving bloody footprints.

The other two men he heard earlier proved to be on the other side of the building; the vampire killed them for thoroughness’ sake. Bright motes flared briefly, moments of heat for his icy insides, and then, as always, irrepressible nothing returned.

Inside the building, he discovered that the individual doing the buying already arrived. It seemed a steady truth that the seller was always there, waiting. Jarvis decided to take a step back and settle himself. The dead man imagined listening for a moment would help.

“This is good. You should be pleased with yourself,” one of the men said in an odd accent.

“You start with a good foundation and build from there,” the other replied.

They were both calm negotiators. Jarvis supposed there was haggling to be done, else they would simply trade and part ways. Haggling, Jarvis never understood, and he supposed he never would.

“May I?” the first asked.

“Of course.”

The vampire crept closer to get a better view. Both were middle-aged men, one skinny, one fatter; a gun hand stood behind each, stone-faced and bored-looking. From the right angle he could probably end the four of them without trouble.

“This is excellent product,” the fatter man said, wiggling his nose. The thinner one smiled.

“I trust we can get to business, then?” the other replied, gesturing to an empty spot on a nearby table. A silver briefcase was brought forth.

It was a surprise when a wet spray rained red on the green money displayed in the briefcase. Both men turned into the gout of blood erupting from one of the gun hands. They looked up at the vampire towering above them, draped much like classical Death. They looked at each other with panicked glances, as if to utter double cross.

If it were in him to be amused, Jarvis might have been. He removed the length of the blade from the second dead gun hand and dipped it into the fatter man’s chest, pushing him over like an empty stool. The thinner one he grabbed around the throat. He squeezed slowly. The nameless man clawed at his hand, and then at his eyes. After discovering that his arm was far too short, he tried kicking, then flailing madly.

With each second the tethers slowly unwound and Jarvis selfishly drank. He looked down at the other man, who was dying much more swiftly; his chubby face held a curious expression as he watched the big man slowly strangle his would-be business partner. He was trying to put together a puzzle, but there were too many pieces, and he didn’t have enough time. Neither of them did.

Jarvis dropped the body he was holding with one hand, retrieving his sword and closing the briefcase with the other. The bodies of the buyer and seller he posed face down, their hands clamped behind their backs. It was a sign for the authorities that Bethel was fond of.

In a moment of charity, he paused and emptied out the bloody half of the money on the table. He took one of those strange, expensive looking guns and put it in the briefcase, then closed it back. He didn’t have a chance to do what he intended that evening, but Jarvis guessed earning money was hardly negative.

“The hunger within never abates,” she said. During those lessons, she called it “all-consuming eternity, as deep and endless as the night.”

Chapter Six

The next night Jarvis went directly to see Bethel. Word spread quickly, it seemed. People whispered as he went in, and even more when he came out. The vampire discovered that the men dealing in the moguls’ territory were doing so in cocaine, though he had no way to distinguish one drug from another.

Bethel was pleased about the weapons and the money; he even thanked him for the work. It was an odd thing to do, but Jarvis experienced pleasantries for some time, watched them evolve with other social norms.

Bethel said he thought about giving Jarvis a bonus, but figured that the money left was not all the money that was brought for purchasing. The insinuation was that they achieved some sort of social mobility, but the moguls would probably ferret away whatever cash they recovered, too. It was ironic that after enough money was amassed, it ceased to matter; the people who had that sort of money didn’t need to pay with it. They used clout, power, and favors. Their identity was worth the thousands of thousands.

Jarvis accepted Bethel’s kindnesses, curious only to know if there were any complications. He left thinking there were none and headed to David’s.

They pre-arranged time when the lycanthrope would rent a variety of moving pictures, and they would sit and watch them. Actually, Jarvis thought they came in the mail; having never received mail he was not sure how it all worked. The vampire had the same difficulty with things like driver’s licenses, birth certificates, and credit cards. He understood how they all functioned in their most general terms, but had no real way to internalize their importance.

Sometimes, David commented on how lucky he was not to have to deal with those kinds of things, that he himself avoided getting a driver’s license because he didn’t want to deal with a car. Somehow, Jarvis suspected he was afraid of driving. Besides, he imagined that over rougher terrain, the lycanthrope could run faster than a car, so why have one? There was much of David that Jarvis did not understand, but he seemed a willing participant in the social experiment called association.

Jarvis walked most places. The comfort of shoes or fatigue weren’t of any concern; he wished to walk and so he walked, from will alone. It was the first lesson all vampires had to learn; after enforcing one’s will on the emptiness that constantly needed filling, there was only focus and discipline. In most situations, it ultimately came down to who had more of both, and every tactic and technique was meant to increase one’s own or decrease an opponent’s. They could all be crazed, massacring savages, to be put down like wild animals, but with a little mental fortitude, they could persist long enough to figure out the why of their existences. At least, that was Jarvis’ theory.

It pleased him to sneak into David’s dwelling; it was challenging. He believed the man always left at least one of his windows open to encourage the attempt; he also suspected that David was equally engaged in the game. To this end, Jarvis approached the problem from the top down, climbing the neighboring building and moving across that roof, eventually leaping across the street and climbing down. Sometimes he used the stairs. Jarvis knew he liked David because he hardly ever conceived of finishing the task on those occasions when he managed to enter his den unannounced. One did not kill one’s friends. 

Tonight he intended to look for...Jarvis supposed the appropriate word was inspiration. What he found instead was someone else on the neighboring roof. Jarvis supposed what it came down to was the slim difference between destiny and fate, luck and chance. He came upon the man, discovering that he possessed a heartbeat and was equipped with a variety of weapons and a small duffel bag brimming with yet more.

The vampire paused then, knowing what the person was. In his experience, they never named themselves as they launched from the shadows, so they were named by their actions. They fashioned themselves as hunters, slayers, warriors of the human world that took to walking in the night. Jarvis encountered a small number over the years, and he came away with what likely amounted to respect. They weren’t much stronger or faster than a normal human, but they s all picked up clever ways of thinking, and a depth for cunning.

They were all trained, all equipped, and all traveled in groups; that last encouraged further scanning of the rooftop. This one was alone and unaware, concentrating fully on David’s building. Focusing, Jarvis made out another person in the apartment; the person looked feminine and was holding something in her hands, though David didn’t seem worried.

With that thought, the vampire decided to act, though he still wasn’t sure of how. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the hunter on the rooftop decided to check his surroundings, glancing around and finding the vampire not a pace from him. To his credit, he didn’t lose much composure and his heart didn’t rapidly increase in pace. Smoothly, he shifted his position as if he were going for a weapon at his side, while at the same time he fired with a gun he already drew and was seated in his lap.

To mislead was a popular trick of theirs, and had Jarvis not seen it before, he would have been shot, like so many other times. Instead, he adopted the tactic of not engaging, moving forward with a course of action and not allowing his opponent’s gestures to change that course. He advanced quickly, turning sideways and lunging.

The hunter needed distance, and Jarvis could see him moving to stand even as he leaped forward. The slayer braced himself with his one arm and continued to fire with the other. He positioned himself as if to engage in some of the martial arts that seemed so popular.

Untrained in such styles of combat, the vampire fell back on simple mechanics and superior strength. His arm reached forward to claw at the man’s face, not at all impeded by the child-like strength of the defense he encountered. Jarvis felt two of his fingers scrape into the supple flesh of the man’s face and then chip away at his skull, and two other fingers sink into the weak viscera of the eyes, pressing them against the bottoms of their sockets.

The hunter screamed, the momentum sending him sprawling backwards along the edge of the roof. He gritted his teeth and fired the remainder of his bullets, having regained the presence of mind for battle. Most of the bullets flew through the spot where Jarvis was standing, but lying on the ground as he was, the vampire remained unscathed. The empty gun clattered in front of his face, smoking. He watched the man blindly draw another gun with one hand while he pulled a cellular phone from a pocket and flipped it open with the other.

Jarvis rose slowly, and as his eyes crested the roof edge, he caught sight of movement from David’s rooftop. Inside, David looked out of his window, but his visitor seemed to have no clue as to what was going on. It was already time to go, but Jarvis saw this kind of situation go from bad to worse before.

He decided he wanted the hunter’s phone. The vampire pressed his feet flat against the rooftop and pushed, leaning forward a hair. The rooftop shrunk in his view as he felt the air press against him, and then the world grew in size again as he aimed for the tiny spot behind the blind hunter. He seemed like a veteran, but his experience also made him prideful. The man survived worse, Jarvis could feel him thinking. He fired many more bullets into the empty space of the rooftop, spreading his fire into a wider arc as death landed behind him.

On the other end of the phone a female voice answered the call. The sound that was transmitted to her was the wet squelch of a man’s neck being twisted completely around and the phone clamping shut.

Jarvis looked at the clam-like device and realized, much like with the gun, that there was yet more technology he’d have to familiarize himself with. He glanced at the other rooftop and saw nothing; he got a few steps start and jumped from his rooftop to David’s. He heard a distant metal door burst open and slam against something hard. Looking back across the street, he could see that someone was looking around on the rooftop. Briefly, they looked about them before squinting across the intervening space. Jarvis imagined them drawing a weapon in a fit of rage, or blinking, but whatever the case, when they looked again he was gone.

Jarvis pondered. David spoke of having a girlfriend, and if that’s who that was with him in the apartment, social norms indicated that Jarvis should find somewhere else to be. He wanted to tell the lycanthrope he was being hunted, though it was possible the hunters’ targets may have changed, or the list at least expanded. He realized then it may have been a good idea to have memorized the man’s telephone address. Eventually, Jarvis retreated.

The nature of the architecture, the height and feel of the buildings, changed by the time he slowed down and finally stopped. He was never able to uncover how it was that slayers hunted. Jarvis imagined it was through some form of occult science or inherited mysticism, baubles and totems that let them see more and identify the tracks of a creature’s going and coming. In his experience the slayers were rare, but always showed up at the worst possible times. They always shot first, too.

The vampire contemplated the flat silver telephone and clumsily opened it. The bright glow of the screen illuminated the entire alley. There were buttons of different colors, blue, green, and red. The blue buttons were numbers, but the red and green were symbols. It was a point of embarrassment that Jarvis could not read. He knew most letters and understood the magnitude of numbers, but little else. He fiddled with the tiny device, looking up every now and then. After a few moments, he decided to move again.

After another hour the vampire made some breakthroughs. Someone called the phone at one point, and he also discovered that closing the device was the equivalent of ending the call. Additionally, it seemed that the phone held memory of recent calls in a list within itself. Jarvis knew about area codes, and after discovering that the call list was ordered most recent to least recent, he assumed the two most prevalent numbers with matching area codes were two other hunters.

The list of numbers was short and there weren’t many with Bay City area codes. One was a place that served pizza, now closed. Another was a number where there was no reply. A human voice was attached to the third, one that the vampire recognized. The call was answered officiously, though the man was mostly still asleep. As the vampire listened in silence, the voice came more awake, growing apprehensive. Jarvis closed the phone, crushing it in the same action, and dropped the resulting pieces as he went. He put blocks between each of the shattered bits.

The vampire was never one for moods, but David maintained he had them, despite his stoicism. Jarvis’ mien darkened to match the night. The vampire found it ironic that short-lived humans would have trouble keeping their promises.

He went home and worked to discover the use of the gun he stole. It took hours, like the phone. In the end, once he discovered that there was a tiny on/off switch, he was mostly prepared.

He gathered the few full head coverings he collected. David showed him a movie once where vampires used a store-bought cream to protect themselves from the sun; Jarvis explained away the assumptions of the makers of the moving picture. Vampires did not explode in the sun, but they did burn and peel to the point of conflagration; there was also some bubbling. There was nothing about the sunlight specifically that caused those such as he distress. There was something else in the air; the same thing that made flowers bloom and trees grow and people happy made his kind wither and die. Nothing smeared on one’s skin could help that. Being outside in the sunlight made vampires nauseous, sometimes dizzy. The dark and the cold were best.

In that regard, Jarvis supposed it was irrational to do what he was doing, but something was tugging at him. They made a pact, and he upheld his end. Betrayal was…it would not stand.

He arrived near to sunrise, which made his skin crawl, but he rigidly focused on the task at hand. The home reminded him of the plantation house, wide and tall and white, sprawled out over a green lawn. Jarvis moved about the immense roof, pausing to listen at times. The betrayer was awake, but waited until full light before he inched his car out of its home. Jarvis crawled across the roof of the garage and concentrated. He should have been more worried than he was, he distantly reasoned.

Once the car exited completely he jumped, aiming like he did with the hunter. The impact of his weight on the car was enough. The bag in the steering wheel quickly filled with air, knocking the man back into his seat and then smothering him. In shock, the man stomped on the accelerator and drove straight backwards into a hedge of bushes. Scrambling, the man punctured the bag and was suddenly aware of the barrel of the gun pointing into his driver’s window.

Jarvis squeezed the trigger, aiming at the man’s lying mouth. The first and second bullet shattered the glass and struck him in non-vital areas; the next dozen were like a hive of strangely affected bees, some streaking in the direction the barrel was pointed, others over and around the man, a few even bouncing back at Jarvis. The inside of the car and the other windows were all destroyed in moments.

The mage’s hand twitched and the gun stopped firing, the mechanism consternated in some way. Jarvis’s insides churned like each of the bullets that struck him was set aflame. He bent double to cover himself from the sunlight scathing his exposed flesh. 

“Fool.” The man spat teeth and blood. He sounded confident, but Jarvis could feel him dying. Forcefully, the man opened the car door, striking with unexpected force. “You may be powerful, but…” He attempted to stand up and mostly succeeded, sagging and wheezing. A few of the holes in his chest were still smoking.

Jarvis sat up and threw the useless gun at the man’s head, while kicking at his legs. The toss was expected, and the object wobbled harmlessly away from him, but the man’s leg broke like a rotten post beneath the kick; the mage toppled over, screaming.

“Motherless sevren, I am the Dean of the Academy!” he screamed.

Jarvis rose to his feet, watching the mage on the ground begin what he suspected was more of that strange nonsense that he was always leery of. He pushed the door closed on the man’s head and stomped on his hand. A suddenly upturned piece of glass shot through the vampire’s foot, but the man could not use the immobilized hand to stop the door’s shutting. It closed against his head, and again, and again, and again. The metal of the door bent beneath the vampire’s grip and the impacts, but did its job.

Eventually the head was messily separated from its body. It rolled between Jarvis’ legs, the eyes still open and alive. The lips moved subtly as the light finally left the irises. The vampire felt a brief spark of respect, but it was dwarfed by the profound sensation of the severing. In awe, he drank, dimly aware of a sudden twitch of the body’s unharmed hand. The car exploded violently, audible for blocks. Other events could be felt much further away than that.

Chapter Seven

David was more than a little dubious about all the popular crime dramas which had at their core some form of scientific reality. Then the sun went down, came back up, traipsed across the sky, and that evening a police detective showed up at his door. She was preceded by a pleasant smell and the sound of a confident, quick stride. Her knock was all business, too.

The entire time the detective was there, David was anticipating a visit from Jarvis. In the comedic part of David’s brain, he was awaiting a sudden spotlight, followed by Jarvis swinging in through one of his windows and yelling something ridiculous. Fortunately, that never happened.

All that came to pass was yet another evening spent evading the truth. Talking to the detective brought back memories of a simple life back on the island: “David, some of the other kids said your family is in a cult or something.” “We’re very serious about our beliefs, but I guess if Catholicism is a cult, then guilty as charged.” “David, why don’t you go out for the basketball team?” “I have a rare disease that makes my ankle ligaments weak. The misfortune of heredity.”

“You’re being completely honest with me?”

David looked the detective in the eye when he answered her. Dimly, he could remember feeling a rush, a flutter, when he was younger. It was exhilaration at the fear of being caught. Now that he was grown into his power, things like fear were rarely seen as accomplices. He was apprehensive, cautious, wary, but never afraid.

The detective said they were investigating a trespassing, a possible homicide, and the mutilation of a large animal. They found evidence that David was in the vicinity—hair specifically, and other evidence he suspected existed but that she didn’t mention—and simply wanted to know if he saw or heard anything strange.

“Strange?” David replied. “No, not really.”

He took that to be the climax of the interview; he got the police lady’s name and her card, and saw her to the door. She hung around for a while on the other side in the hallway—going over her notes, he imagined—but David turned his attention to the scream he heard across the street. He didn’t know where the sound came from exactly, but it was a fact that things were beginning to connect in uncomfortable ways. He didn’t go to investigate though. David was just a vet tech that paid his taxes and lived alone, so he watched the late show and turned off all the lights, and lay awake in his bed.

Jarvis never came. The next morning, David showered and ate cereal. Staring at his cell phone, he thought about the people who he could call. Then he went to work without calling anyone.

Work continued to be the mostly unfulfilled hassle everyone told him it would be. On the other hand, he suspected he neared some sales records in regards to pest solution products. Make them wear this, it repels almost all flea and tick species. Give them this, it makes their meat bad tasting. David lost himself momentarily in that part of the job, because sales was basically lying. However, he never lied about the products.

During lunch he noticed that the officer’s card stole its way into his wallet. The small white slip of paper accused him of things, none of which he denied. At the end of that day, David went home.

A yet third puzzle piece appeared in the form of a police car sitting across the street from his building. David thought he might know what made the detail so important, but instead of doing more to figure it out, he debated with himself over take-out menus. No one else from the authorities showed up, but he did notice that the confident detective with the fresh scent appeared briefly downstairs.

Not full, but not hungry either, David decided that he wanted to go to the diner down the street and have some soup, and he wanted to walk in a very round-about way to get there, too. Paranoia was a new acquaintance. As if to ward off the new foe, David ordered chili. He didn’t eat though, just swirled the beans around in the beefy brown lake of sauces and spices.

Then, to complicate things even further, Nick walked through the front door of the diner. David must have made a face, too, because the other man paused as if to look behind him. David started eating then, for some reason, perhaps to seem more confident or less idle.

“Hi,” Nick said awkwardly, with a little wave.

“I can see you,” David replied. “What?”

Secret agent Nick looked around and then abruptly wedged himself into the opposite side of the booth. He grabbed for a menu and opened it, taking his time to peruse the items.

David let the spoon fall into the bowl and dropped a hand heavily on the menu. “What?” he reiterated.

Nick put his hands up in surrender. “Okay,” he started, sighing. “Look, I came to apologize.”

“For?” David asked, going back to his chili.

“For running.” As he talked, Nick lowered his voice and hunched down. “I’m sorry for leaving you guys. That was wrong of me.”

David finished chewing before he dropped his spoon again. He was surprised that progress was being made; there was only about half the bowl left. “No worries, everybody runs.” He shrugged. Nick sat back thoughtfully, which made David in turn go over what he just said, searching for deeper meaning. “So, did you get expelled for hell raising?”

Nick frowned. “No,” he said, a little surprised at that himself. “I mean, I told my mentor what I did, and he washed his hands of me.” His shoulders slumped. “He told me to go see the Dean and tell him, and Scarlet was there,” he rambled.

“Who?”

“What?” Nick looked up from his hands, fidgeting on the table.

“Who is Scarlet?” Nick’s mouth splitting into a goofy grin told David who Scarlet was, but he still waited for him to say it. He ran a hand through his hair.

“My good man, Scarlet is…” Nick blew air out of his mouth as if he worked all day, “…an amazing wonder, and apparently some sort of new program scholar. The Dean has me showing her around.” He paused, frowning again. David thought then that maybe Nick was trying to solve a puzzle himself and came to this diner to find a piece. “She’s actually the one who made me think of thanking you, or at least realize it was wrong of me to be so unappreciative.”

“You told her?”

Nick pressed his back against his seat, shaking his head. “No, of course not. I just told her I was working on something and my group mates pulled me out of the fire, and I focused on their methods rather than their results,” he said, proud of himself.

David smirked. “Damn right we did.” He hiccupped suddenly. He could taste chili in the back of his throat. “So, group mates?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“I had to say something.” Nick shrugged.

“I guess,” was the reply.

After some time, David stretched awkwardly. Nick twiddled his fingers. The action was fairly impressive: his fingers swam deftly among themselves revealing quite a high level of dexterity.

“Well,” Nick said. “I was thinking that since we’re not bad people, and we don’t hate each other, and we’re sort of like colleagues, that maybe, if you’d like, we could get together some time.” Again came the frown. “Where’s the…Jarvis?”

Where is the Jarvis. David rolled his eyes. “Haven’t seen him. I’m sure he’s around.” He surrendered, pushing his bowl forward and signaling for the check. He leaned sideways to get at the back pocket with the wallet. Opening it, he fetched his debit card.

“The police came to see you.” It wasn’t a question.

David nodded, eyeing Nick as he handed off the debit card. “You?” He queried.

Nick shook his head. “I just figured that unless it was disposed of…” He let the statement trail off.

David chuckled. “You know, if someone were listening to us, they might get the wrong idea completely,” he said, sliding out of the booth. He looked down at Nick, who was still lost in his thoughts. “By the way, thanks, and you’re welcome.” He paused as Nick looked up at him. “Maybe we could get together, but I wonder if you meant to include what’s-her-face when you were speaking.”

Anxiously, Nick exited the booth as well. “No, she has her own space, friends, interests. I mean, it’s not like we’re together-together. I have an obligation to her, and she has one to me, sort of. I’m hoping that during, or even afterwards, that maybe…”

David put a hand up to interrupt. “Plotting Casanova, got it.” He accepted the receipt and signed it.

“She seems fairly receptive, I think we’re hitting it off,” Nick said.

“You hope,” was the reply.

“Her eyes are like emeralds.”

“Wow. Alright, I’ll be leaving now,” David said, walking away from the other man and gesturing over his shoulder.

David’s father had “the talk” with his son after he fathered many children with several different women. There was something animalistic about the duty one had to blood. The mother that David knew liked to read romance books. So he thought less harshly of Nick than his words implied. He swung around the front of the diner to make his way up the street. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Nick sat back down and was now ordering.

David hoped the strangeness of the last two days would only be restricted to those two days. After he turned the last corner, he noticed that the squad car was gone. Things were back the way they were before, and it seemed like maybe he had another friend. David hummed as he walked into his building and smiled as the elevator rose to his floor. He whistled in the hallway. He stopped when he got to his door.

To most people, the door was a barrier sound passed through in muffled ways. For David, it was much less of an impediment. Sounds were still clear and sharp, smells snaked up from beneath it and around its sides. He sensed that someone was moving around within. David decided he didn’t want any trouble, so he dropped his key ring first and cursed loudly. Then he jammed the key into the lock as audibly as he could and jiggled it around. He waited another moment and finally opened the door.

The person was still there. The illusion that the day might be unlike the previous two lifted like the curtain after an intermission. David turned on the living room light, scanning the placement of things. He wondered if his electronics were nice enough to be mugged over. He shrugged, resigned to play the frightened vet tech who managed to beat the burglar senseless out of pure luck.

As he closed the door he became more specifically aware of movement, someone striding towards the living room. He was surprised to see it was a she; the woman didn’t have the tell tale scents of body lotions or shampoos or perfumes that would give that sort of thing away. Her mouth and nose were covered, but her vivid red hair, pulled back into a pony tail, and her piercing green eyes were immediately visible. So were her guns.

David asked Jarvis once what it felt like to be shot, figuring that the vampire would know. Jarvis retorted with a question: did David mean full penetration, or the bullets digging in and staying? Sitting through the gory details was tiresome, but David gleaned some interesting tidbits. For instance, sometimes bullets would bounce or graze painlessly, but if they hit, it was definitely better when they passed all the way through. David got the impression that Jarvis was speaking from his personal experience as a corpse. He didn’t so much feel pain, as sense injury; there was an enormous difference. 

The intense and unyielding burning was not mentioned among the sordid details. Crashing face first behind the love seat, David felt like a hot piece of coal, prickly with sharp spines, was eating away at his thighbone. He tried to think clearly, but that became instantly much less important. It didn’t matter whether the police car or the nicely smelling detective would come back, there was nothing else but the warm pleasure of letting go.

The world became more and less real at the same time; golden light of varying brightness showered everything. David heard more, smelled more, saw more; the world became filled with a colorful liquid that made objects brighter and slowed everything down. He became ferociously hungry to seize upon the next moment, and then the next.

David rose, hurling the love seat at the woman, which she deftly avoided. Her attack and resolute stance fed the rage that made the world glow. David wanted to filet her, and moved to. As he pounced, he was vaguely aware of her flinging a handful of dust at him, except it didn’t smell like dust. Smelling it, breathing it, turned out to be a horrible idea. His nostrils burned, and then so did his throat and lungs as he vomited forcefully. He coughed and wheezed, even as his throat tightened.

His attacker paused in her assault, unsure for only a split second. Vexed in his discomfort, David swatted at her, and became even angrier that the action knocked her through one of his windows. After she was gone, David could do little except retch and heave. Taut muscles stretched over his frame, joining into a chorus of horrible noises.

It didn’t last very long. After a few moments, the pain became secondary to the rage. David stopped vomiting, though he could still taste his own blood on his tongue. Infuriated—both by that taste and the limp he was quickly developing—he hurled himself after his prey out into the night, which to him was not night at all but much like an overcast day under jaundice clouds, streams of light streaking everywhere or hanging in the air like thin clouds.

The distinct scent from before was not only in mind; it was more like a delicious path at the end of which was desirable meat. Something Nick said was nagging at the distant recesses of his mind, and David’s not being able to remember only spurred him on further and faster.

With the joy that came with the freedom of being, there came the additional exultation that the woman was running, and she was wounded. David smelled fear and screamed, but what erupted from his throat was not the voice of a man.

Chapter Eight

Recent memories nagged at David as he sped along happily. There was a pool of blood and dinner and lunch and breakfast on the floor of his living room; he could smell it well enough to almost taste it. The momentum from the start of the chase sent him flying through the window. There was the distinct crunch of the short table under the sill disintegrating, and the angry noise of the paneling being ripped from its moorings and then falling down onto the sidewalk. David knew he wasn’t getting his deposit back.

Memories nagged at him, but it was nothing more than nagging. Everything took a backseat to the rush. Sailing through the air, rooftop to rooftop, he could do little more than think about how far he could jump, clawing at the horizon in midair as if he could touch it. The energy brimmed over in excess, a currency he couldn’t spend fast enough.

David knocked over several air conditioners and rammed askew a brick chimney, cleaved through a fragile bouquet of thin pipes and exploded through a gazebo. Some walls he leapt over, others dared him to charge them at full speed. That they were in his way fed the fire in his blood. Focusing the eye would distract his perception and a moment later the rest of him. Everything was tinged with the speckles of glitter and the stars shone huge and proud. It was like he was a kid again and had nothing but daylight and sugar.

At times he almost forgot mostly what he was doing—hunting—but as always, there were those scents and sounds that were just out of reach except in this fully awakened state. The smells crept over the tops of the rooftops, up through vents, from above and sideways; the same was with screams and cries and laughter and the other hundred noises people make without meaning to. A man was arguing with his wife while she was searing meat with vegetables; a family was praying over their dinner; a couple was having a fight; another couple was making love.

Blood pumped relentlessly out of his leg. He normally healed faster. Much faster. A question wormed its way to the front of his perceptions, but was beaten back down by the experience of the present. David’s capacity to wonder was incredibly diminished, and so he could not speculate. The confusion mixed with the inundation of everything stoked the rage.

Focusing on the tunnel of his intent, he rediscovered her scent and shallow breathing. David howled ecstatically. He wanted her afraid; it was better when they were afraid. Picking among every possible direction and figuring out the finite course that would lead him to his specific goal was like putting on worn socks: they were comfortable, and they smothered the golden light feeding his pores. He tried to exert a stranglehold on himself; enforcing the vice-grip of control was something he never mastered. His father’s voice echoed from the recesses of his mind: “We get to choose, David.” He snarled from deep within his chest.

She made it fun, ducking in and out of buildings, most of them public, leaving him momentarily confused. She also crossed any water she could find. David got distracted a couple times. Once, he thought he saw Jarvis. Lifeless husks like him appeared as sink holes in the shimmering golden world, not inanimate like rocks or alive like people, but distinctly unnatural. He wasn’t able to divert course, however. He was vaulting from a building when he caught a glimpse of something while in midair, and the next moment he didn’t care enough to go back and look. That was the key, focusing. His father told him it got easier as a person got older and learned how to temper it. David remembered the cage in the basement, the sharpened edges of the bars, the disappointment in his father’s eyes and the fear in his mother’s .

He collided with a brick wall, squeezing hand holds into the bricks as he hung there, sideways. He realized he had no idea where he was. More importantly, he had no idea where his prey went. David digressed, moving backwards, until he found her scent again and moved forward. The chase was exquisite, but it had to end, as all chases did. It was in him to be sad on a philosophical level for the realization that it would never be like this again, but like every other emotion, it was swept up in the whirlpool and was eventually transformed into excitable ire, his drug.

She stopped to have a conversation, of all things. The voices, one male, one female, came at him through holes in a metal roof.

“What happened to you?” the man said. He was wearing aftershave.

“We have a serious problem,” she replied.

The building was some sort of machining establishment, another dead BC property. David stomped across the roof, letting a clawed finger drag as he went. He liked the sensation when the roof was that kind of wavy molded metal; it was like a very long keyboard.

“What the…” the man started.

“Lycanthrope,” she said. There came the clattering of weaponry loading and cocking. “It was the target the police tracked.”

“That is a problem.”

David rolled and jumped off the roof, swinging around. He had a moment of embarrassment at not finding a window, so he simply played through, barreling forward. There was an instant of resistance and then a section of the wall gave way. David expected them to be standing there, waiting for him, but he saw nothing. He heard the screeching whistle of bullets biting through the air. He waited for the burning pain from before, but none came.

“Go,” the male said to the female, reaching behind her.

David locked eyes with her and heard her heart pick up its pace. She did run, but not before kicking three levers on a nearby panel. Parts of the plant activated, first with a screeching whistle and half a dozen warning sirens. David staggered sideways into a fork-lift covered in dust and cobwebs, knocking it over. He watched the man pick up a pair of weapons and disappear deeper into the facility, and when he looked for the woman, she was gone completely.

David roared after her. He roared at the unceasing noise, at everything. Pure and inconsolable rage had him inwardly cursing the two of them, vowing to hunt down their families and loved ones. It was just rage barking for him; in truth, they were meat, and he was the eater.

David felt the squirming bullet wiggle its way out of the back of his leg and ring against the ground with a wistful chime. He supposed all the running and jumping worked it through his leg. David looked on in satisfaction as the wound began to visibly mend, stitching itself together. He reached up, shooting through the air, and caught hold of a building support. He couldn’t get high enough to escape the noise; it made his hair stand on end.

The man couldn’t possibly believe he could stay hidden for long. Or maybe he could; the two of them proved to be strangely clever. Did they mention something about the police? David jumped to another support, his claws biting into the steel for purchase. For a moment, he was pleased about finding his newest prey, unworried that it likely meant the man saw him too. Then he remembered the guns.

This time the whizzing bullets didn’t miss, and David lost his grip as searing fire enveloped one of his arms and the same leg. He landed hard, half of him on a conveyor belt going off to somewhere and half of him on the floor. His head bounced, but he was up again before the pain registered. Another split second, and David was standing where he saw the man last—and another split second later he realized that might be what his quarry was trying to accomplish. Sure enough, another half dozen bullets sailed toward him, this time ricocheting off the machinery all around. A couple bits of shrapnel from the adjacent machinery bit into his flesh but there was no fire, and hardly any pain.

David sneered and reached up for the ceiling again. This time, he let his momentum carry him up and through the roof, out into the night air. His arm hurt almost to the point of being useless and he was worried his leg would be ruined; both limbs came together to spark the inferno. David roared like the lion being taunted by the antelope. He pushed forward all of his consternation that the fragile man was mocking him, that he was shot, again, that his apartment was ruined—all of it went into seeking out the things all the noisy machines were toiling to hide. The yellow lights shifted, spinning in a storm the shade of gold. Somehow, his whim was affecting them, and David struggled to remember that detail for later. 

Stalking about the roof, eventually, he found him. The man was keeping his breathing and movement under control, but his heart was working, what with all the running and jumping he was doing. He was afraid.

Altering his tactics, maybe falling back on instincts unremembered, David stalked down the side of the building and re-entered on the ground level. Moving with his belly close to the floor, he grew anxious with the smell of his own blood in his nostrils. His prey was close, which made him want to snarl, but he stifled it. To dissipate some of his frustrations, David scratched into the concrete as he inched along painfully.

Satisfyingly, his prey crept around a corner, slinking directly into his jaws. The man glanced behind him and to the sides, up. When he turned around completely, his eyes grew wide with the realization of the last mistake he’d ever make. He didn’t stop or pause. The man fell backwards as he brought his weapons to bear but David’s arm was already falling. Struck dead, the prey fell over, his front folding open like the gills of a fish. The blood spray was generous and brief, like the bursting of a watermelon.

Once the moment was over, David flexed his wounded arm painfully. The excitement was dying, and he was returning to more rationalized thinking. Focusing was easier, and everything that happened caught up with him, like it always did. First there was panic, and then guilt.

He sped off in the direction of Nick’s school. The significance of that decision was lost in the wind, but the first meeting David had with Jarvis while in his less than sensible state ended awkwardly with him on the losing end. The significance of that outcome David kept close at hand. More than twice he came to a falling, skidding stop on a rooftop rather than landing on his feet. The golden light was fading and the pace of the world was quickening. Nick’s scent flared on and off, palpable and then only vaguely perceptible.

Finally, naked and bleeding, he came stumbling out from behind a row of bushes in Nick’s path. It was somewhat ironic how when they first met the desperate shoe was on the foot of the other man. Nick was holding food, which he dropped in surprise.

“David?” he asked.

In reply, David collapsed, his knees bending under him like his bones were rubber. Nick might have yelled something then.

“Funny story,” David said, beginning to lose consciousness. “Remind me to tell you later,” he mumbled and promptly passed out.

Later, he woke up in a bed, with no inkling of what time it was or where that bed was. Sluggishly, David thought about where he started and where he ended up, trying to fill in the middle. A familiar voice in the next room cleared the cobwebs almost instantly.

“What happened to you?” Nick asked.

“We have a serious problem.”

 

Chapter Nine

 

Days passed since Nick saw David. He didn’t expect to. The lycanthrope didn’t call, but Nick also decided to recommit himself to staying on the straight and narrow. The guillotine was hovering overhead he knew, and every moment before it fell was borrowed time which he decided to invest in building a case against expulsion. He had a hand in the fire, and he was secretly ambivalent about everything that happened since.

He felt an odd lack of regret, but he also accepted that it was a mistake. Other concerns occurred to him, like what his guardians would think. He was supposed to be the bright one, the one to go the farthest. He didn’t want to fail their impression of what success was.

Then there was Dr. Gray. It was perhaps bad form to use the man’s love of order and duty against him. No punishment was leveled on Nick, which meant his status was unchanged, which meant Dr. Gray remained his advisor. That meant so long as Nick brought in work, his mentor was expected to help him.

“Oh. Hello,” he said when Nick knocked on his door again, holding stapled sheets of paper like a shield. He was wildly hopeful the man would not push the door closed in his face. It was awkward. It was almost like the first time, both of them feeling the other out and deciding upon their relationship.

Eventually, Dr. Gray used Nick’s work to forget about the things he shouldn’t have. “An intriguing premise,” he said finally. “I believe you’ve conflated the inner workings of the mind with something more relatable to a communal acknowledgement of the nature of reality, or maybe just physiology and sociology.”

Initially, Nick said nothing, only nodded and took notes. He was happy the man was talking to him at all. He was also happy that his idea was not disregarded, that he was being encouraged to tinker with real truth and understanding. Nick was always a learner, but he never wanted to do it so ferociously before. Desperation was as good a motivator, apparently, just as hunger was a spice.

So he redoubled his efforts, remembering everything he was ever told about research and what it was to be a scholar. Almost any sentence or reference in practically any significant historic text had behind it a library’s worth of circumstance, exposition, and context. It was the layman that received the broad generalization and accepted that as truth, but much of what man knows is a glossy finish flush with deeper imperfections. Nick was looking for complete understanding, complete command; he was trying to create his unique brush stroke that would contribute to an enormous creation.

Over the previous week, he learned the life stories of the security guard who worked at the front desk of the university’s public library and the privateer in charge of the Academy’s stacks. Their titles were different—and salaries too, no doubt—but they really could have been brother and sister. They led lives ripe with memorable detail; there was the focus of Nick’s research.

One man, old and very long dead, worked for one year and one day, dictating from another man sermonizing on his deathbed. The author took down detailed events that the dying speaker was privy to in his life. If the secondary source was to be believed, the dying man lived a fantastically successful life of which there was no other record. He won fortunes and lost them, forgot more than most men of his time knew, but mostly, the author’s account centered around a rivalry with none other than Julius Caesar. Naturally, things failed to match. Anyone who was so prolific in their own right and lived near another individual whose exploits were so well documented would be easily identified, their accounts authenticated. There was no such rival to Caesar, save for the obvious ones.

At first Nick was intrigued by the stories the man told to his confessed, and even more so that he knew the secret to Cesar’s power, but then it all fell apart into mad ravings. Sometimes following a strand of thinking yields results, and sometimes those results are a lack of results. Nick rubbed his eyes, channeling Edison’s perseverance, and like every other night, packed up his supplies and departed, waving goodbye to Alan and Gladys and going home by way of one of the eateries still open.

On his walk home, David came stumbling out of the darkness, bloody and naked. Nick dropped everything in the shock of that sight. He thanked his late night study habits; there were no witnesses to the strange encounter outside of his apartments near campus.

David went in and out of consciousness several times, mumbling incoherencies. Nick wondered if maybe he would be dictating the last ravings of a dying man that evening, then he remembered the fortitude for which lycanthropes were renowned. Within the hour, his bed sheets were in worse condition than was the man lying atop them. Nick attempted the chore of putting pants on David after he showered off all the blood and hair.

He was worried when he heard the knock at the door. Maybe one of his neighbors saw David. Nick walked up to the door, piecing together a string of convenient lies. When he opened it, he became much more worried. Scarlet staggered into his apartment, somewhat badly abused herself. He was both encouraged and confused by her wording. They, she said, had a problem.

Nick tried catching up. “I don’t understand.”

“Bitch!” David yelled, awake and alert, standing in the doorway to the bedroom.

Scarlet took a calculated step backwards, reaching into an oddly shaped hip pouch. As if seeing her for the first time, Nick began to notice that she was actually somewhat covered in all sorts of pouches and belts and harnesses. It was a strange fashion decision; the times they spent together before produced no knowledge of that sort of thing being in her closet. She typically wore skirts of varying length and matching button up shirts that could be said to belong to a type of uniform. Her hair was the only thing that looked the same. It was always restrained, kept away from her face and eyes.

At seeing David, her green eyes narrowed, glancing once at Nick. He was putting things together slowly, but sleep deprivation could not dull the impression in the pit of his stomach that danger was near. 

“Woah,” he said, in an attempt to get himself talking so he could, eventually, get a handle on the situation. “Woah.” It came out again, as if he felt the need to repeat himself. 

“Why is he here, Nick?” Scarlet asked in an authoritative way that demanded he answer. She produced a handgun from the pouch and efficiently cocked it. 

“What?”

“Nick,” David said, limping forward, looming. “I’m sorry, but I’m gonna mess up your pretty girlfriend’s face.”

Somehow, Scarlet knew who and what David was. Nick stepped between them. His hands were up, like he tried to surrender to both people at the same time. He turned from one to the other.

Nick swallowed and tried speaking again. “Let’s everyone calm down. Could you not point that at me?” He pleaded, the sudden urge to not be shot forcing words out of his mouth.

David’s grip shocked him, as the man’s hands dug into the muscles of his arms. Nick repressed a small yelp.

“Yeah,” David’s voice came from behind him. “Put that down so we can talk.” There was something in his voice that made Nick thankful that he couldn’t see his eyes.

Scarlet readjusted her aim, straightening her elbow, and took a step back. Nick watched the compassion drain from her expression.

“Not going to happen.” Her eyes were darting all around, searching for an opening to fire. “Let him go.”

“I’ll trade you Nick for the gun,” came David’s reply.

Nick tried flexing his fingers to test if he could still feel them. David stepped forward, half pushing, half lifting him. Nick looked down at the dried blood on David’s hands, outlining his fingernails. The barrel of Scarlet’s gun increased disproportionately; he leaned his head backwards to make it smaller, or maybe dodge even while being held.

“Oh God, please…” He trailed off, suddenly unaware of how to finish that sentence. David was, technically, his friend, but a different technicality tethered him to the woman with the gun. “This is ridiculous.” He tried shouting. “Stop! Look, you’re both hurt, and I’m pretty sure I’m hurt, or going to be hurt.” He stopped talking when David tightened his grip and he felt it all the way to the bone. Nick’s head sagged forward as he blacked out for a second.

“Why have you been snooping around my apartment?” David snarled.

Scarlet took another calculated step towards the door. “I hunt anathema. You,” she retorted simply.

There was a low guttural sound behind Nick that he heard before.

“Sorry Nick, I don’t think you two are going to make it,” David said, his voice going deeper.

Scarlet’s eyes met Nick’s for the briefest of moments, and then he was sailing towards her. The next seconds were filled with rough impacts and scrambling. One moment, he was looking into those angry green eyes, and then his head snapped backwards and he was looking at the ceiling as he was flying across the room. Scarlet broke his fall, though Nick imagined it was not her intent to catch him. In the middle of their tangled tumble, she separated herself and tried to get to her feet, but she wasn’t fast enough.

David stepped forward, roughly striking her. She dropped the gun, both her hands clamping around her throat even as she fell to the floor. Nick watched David kick her roughly in the side. The impact sent her flying into the kitchen; she landed neatly in the square area above the stove beneath the microwave. Nick winced. Then he realized he was in pain, too. He pushed himself to his knees and then to his wobbly feet.

Scarlet, fighting unconsciousness, started to slowly unfold from her crumpled position. Nick watched in horror as David lifted his sofa and slammed it onto the island in the kitchen, aiming the mass oddly. It looked like he was lining up a shot in pool.

Nick wasn’t sure how he got in the way, or what strange biological impulse would demand as much. He sprang fully in the way, trying to save the nail by laying on it, as it were, and was certifiably hammered for his trouble. The weighty sectional slammed into him with a solid thud. There was an explosion of a variety of sensations: the fluffy cotton of the sofa and its solid wooden frame beneath, the comfort of Scarlet’s hands at his shoulders, and the impact.

Nick couldn’t be completely sure, but he thought he heard David’s voice ring out, ironic.

“Dammit, Nick.”

Chapter Ten

 

“Nick.” Swimming. He was swimming. “Nick, come on. Wake up. There you go.” He shifted, feeling the wool of the couch at his back, itching through his clothes. His left arm was pinned. The voice was David’s, but at the thought of being restrained, Nick panicked. “What are you doing? Stop it.” All the lightning-fast jerking he thought he was doing in his unconscious haze was apparently more like infantile groaning and swatting.

Nick opened his eyes wide, but his vision remained blurry. Finally, he could make out the detail of David’s face. He also realized that his arm wasn’t broken or detached, but simply pinned against the back of the couch. A thought occurred to him: didn’t David hit him with the couch he was laying on? He looked up at the half naked man, ready to jab him with that very question, and thought for a moment.

“Where’s Scarlet?” was what came out of his mouth.

David turned away from him, mumbling something he couldn’t quite make out. When David moved out of his view, he could make out Scarlet’s slumped form against one of the dining room chairs, which she was fastidiously affixed to with several feet of tape. Nick watched David creep over to her, noticing how much more spring was in his step.

“She’s alive?” Nick asked, remembering his worry from before. He shifted painfully on the couch to get a better view. He was very unaccustomed to diagnosing his own injuries.

“Yeah, the two of you have been out for a bit,” David said, poking at her face with an index finger. “Luckily, you had some tape.” He gestured to the empty spool on the floor.

Scarlet came awake with a sudden jerk, writhing against her bindings for a moment before she finally realized with what tenacity she was restrained.

David snatched up the empty spool and happily brandished it in her face. “That’s right. Holds the universe together.”

Nick tried sitting up, and settled for resting on his elbows at the urging of the pain in his midsection. “I think we need to talk,” he said.

David stepped away from Scarlet and turned his head to face him. “This should be good,” he said.

Nick rolled his eyes, trying to swing himself into a sitting position. His legs stirred lazily. “I meant all of us,” he said, pressing himself up into a full sit. “It’s my hope that all of this is a huge misunderstanding.”

David extended an index finger. “Fine. Exhibit A: She tried to kill me. She shot me, with a gun.” He moved around the couch toward the kitchen. He brought back a few things. “This is the gun, or was; I think it fits together in some sort of way.” He paused to demonstrate. “I think I broke it.”

Nick could tell she tried to repress it, but the quietest of exasperated noises escaped from behind the tape strapped over Scarlet’s mouth. Nick hid a smile behind a grimace as he rotated to set his feet on the floor.

“I think I need to go to a hospital,” he said. He wasn’t sure if he was just saying that. He was in pain, but somehow, he also felt fine. It was like he was outside of himself. Maybe he had a concussion, too.

“Oh, man up,” David grumbled.

Nick’s mouth dropped open. He interrupted David’s next statement away with a gesture. “Can you please take the tape off of her mouth?” he asked. “Without her agreement to a peaceful resolution, you’ll either have to leave or smear a blood splotch on one of my favorite chairs.” He was only half joking, and he hoped the statement discouraged any insanity from Scarlet.

David wavered only for a moment, before shrugging and peeling away the tape beneath Scarlet’s nose. To his credit, he didn’t snatch or pull at the tape. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line and her eyes stared daggers at, surprisingly, the both of them.

“What’re you mad at me for?” Nick asked openly.

David roughly turned her chair to face Nick, then took a seat in the recliner and kicked his feet up noisily like he was about to watch a movie.

“How can you call yourself a member of the Academy,” she began, adjusting her gaze to take in David, “and allow this creature to persist?”

She waited for an answer that he didn’t have. Nick realized he didn’t want to tell her how they met and that suddenly her judgment mattered.

“I saved his life,” David offered. Nick tried not to send him a signal that he didn’t want that known, but he wagered enough was revealed in that look alone. “I noticed you have some snacks here. Either of you want anything?” David tumbled sideways out of the chair and skipped over into the kitchen.

Scarlet’s expression made it clear she was awaiting an explanation.

“It’s true,” Nick sighed. “I owe him my life.” He owed it to the vampire too, but he thoroughly hoped she didn’t know about Jarvis.

He could see that she was reevaluating things in her mind. When they met, Nick was one thing to her, and all his character and potential were decided upon and carefully put away into a file. Now that file was open and she was making addendum.

Nick supposed he was doing the same thing with her. A dream of his died, he realized, while he wasn’t paying it any attention. Nick thought her just a girl.

“You owe me your reputation too,” David offered from the kitchen through a mouth full of chips.

Nick sighed and groaned.

“You might as well tell me. I’ll find out the truth eventually,” Scarlet said.

Nick heard David gag. The humor wasn’t lost on him, either. He managed to stand up without shaking too much.

“You’re duct taped to a chair,” he began, wincing slightly. “With an entire roll of tape, as far as I can tell. I don’t see this working unless you can cartwheel through a window while in a seated position without the use of your arms or legs.” He paused, then shifted to a deeper level of sincerity that he didn’t completely intend to reach. “Who are you?” he asked her. Nick thought that maybe for a moment the sharpness in her eyes wavered.

“I’m a hunter,” her reply was quiet, like a concession.

There was more crunching from the kitchen. “We got that already,” David said, walking up with an arm elbow-deep in a bag. “What does that even mean? You have a license to kill or something?”

“Yes.” Then she zipped up again.

David stopped chewing. “That’s actually pretty neat.” For a moment, Nick could only stare at him. “Alright, look,” David continued. “I don’t know what I did, or what you think I did, and I think as long as that’s the basis on which,” he gestured with the bag from Scarlet to himself, “this happened, I can let a bygone be a bygone.” He paused, questioning his usage. Nick questioned his usage, too. “I can forgive fairly easily, normally.”

“You killed my partners,” she spat.

David took a step backwards as if struck. “I did not.”

“You didn’t?” Nick wished the words back into his mouth but they wouldn’t go.

David looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. “No,” he said pointedly. “I did not.”

Nick turned his attention on the seated woman with the green eyes. “Well, good. See?” He begged with his eyes. “A total misunderstanding.”

“Hm. Okay, I might have killed one of them,” David thought out loud; he didn’t sound sure.

“What in the hell, David,” Nick yelled, and gestured such that he tweaked his back. He recalled every argument he ever heard about cursing being a character of the unintelligent. 

“Hey, you weren’t there. It was self-defense,” David said. He looked away from Nick and kept going before he could interrupt, “If that was some sort of payback for some other action, then I’m not the guy. I don’t start fights.” While he spoke, he leaned forward to get at eye level with Scarlet. Then he stood back up to his short height, addressing Nick, “I finish them.”

The exchange wasn’t lost on Scarlet, who was working things over in her mind. Nick saw it in her eyes, which seemed at times fixed on him, and at others drifting about the room. He threw a casual glance back toward the kitchen and could see the contents of her various pouches and holsters spread out onto the small island. There were strange devices, knives, and all sorts of things in between.

They all seemed content to let the next few moments pass on in silence. Nick decided that he was definitely beholden to David who saved his life and did not lie to him as far as he could tell, but could admit a strong desire to see Scarlet free and unharmed, no matter what that meant for his future, or David’s. Nick worked through the various scenarios, and sadly, kept running across a convenient explanation that involved yet another person he was beholden to. Being objective, or fair, was becoming difficult.

“Given up, yet?” David asked suddenly.

Nick stared between the two of them, confused. Scarlet didn’t reply in the affirmative or negative but relaxed slightly.

“She’s stopped stirring under there,” David said to him, as if that were an explanation. “Okay, this is important. You admit that I could twist your head off at my leisure?” He put a finger up, inches from her face, then waved it side to side. “I’m not, because it was an honest mistake. Plus, Nick here wants you to have his babies.” Nick cringed inwardly, but hoped he just looked confused on the surface. “So, I’m going to turn you loose, and I would really appreciate it if you didn’t shoot me, or kick me, or stab me, or anything.”

It was an elementary argument, but it worked. Scarlet replied with a slow nod, and David released her. The chair was ruined, but with no blood lingering behind. Nick remembered that Scarlet was injured when she arrived, but strangely she was mostly in working order save for some obvious bruising. She seemed as much in shock about the last ten minutes as he was over the entire evening. Peeking at the microwave clock, he saw that it was nearing dawn.

Once free, Scarlet took a rapid step backwards, her body poised for some attack or defense. David gave her a wide berth on her path to the kitchen where she retrieved all of her things. Nick hid his surprise at that, a part of him wagering her to at some point turn around and start the entire evening all over again. For whatever reason, she did not.

Before leaving the apartment proper, however, Scarlet mentioned again that she would be finding the truth of all of this, and all responsible would pay a dear price. Right then Nick really hoped that he wasn’t responsible. He could tell she meant it. He wanted to say something—not just something, but something important and life changing. He knew what he wanted the words to say, but not what they were; he knew what he wanted the words to achieve, but not how they could.

Then she was gone, and Nick was alone with a lycanthrope who was wearing a pair of his sweatpants; it was also likely that he had moderate internal bleeding.

“I hope Jarvis isn’t involved,” Nick said some time after Scarlet left.

“Me too,” David replied. “For her sake.” He saw Nick’s expression and shrugged. “He isn’t nearly as nice and forgiving a guy as me.”

Nick tried sticking the two of them on a comparative scale, lifting each up and down on whim. He came up with no argument.

David looked down at the crisp school logo on the thigh of the pants. “Man, I gotta find a new place to live.” 

Chapter Eleven

 

Jarvis said once to David that the most telling characteristic about any person was how they reacted in the face of fear. They were watching a movie on his television, and during a cold winter scene, a group of people marched through the white snow with orange torches and wide eyes.

“So trite, but so true,” Jarvis said. It was one of his more eloquent moments, and even then he mumbled it. Normal ears wouldn’t hear him.

The people in the movie beat down the gates, slew the monster, and the dawn rose on a changed day. Jarvis wasn’t sure until later about who was supposed to have won. He made his statement about fear because the movie triggered a memory in him.

He was young, then. Time was different; the sun went down, and came back up. It got cold, stayed cold, and then eventually it became warm again. The night in question happened during the cold time, and despite the light from the torches making the night look like morning, they provided no warmth to speak of.

The Mistress, that’s what she wished to be called, bade him go and defend her. He could not deny her; she commanded and he obeyed. He supposed it was his nature, to be a tool. It didn’t happen like in the movie. The frightened people with their big eyes were a field of scarecrows, almost frozen with their thin skin and fragile bones. He was young. Jarvis bathed in the senselessness of so much death; his task was a dull memory and the reasoning behind it was even further away. He was like a spear thrust into their midst, and out of their back.

When he was done, he turned to see the light from the burning manor. Jarvis stood there for a long time marveling at how fluid and slippery time could be. He was even more surprised by his sense of allegiance to the woman who ended and began him.

The men who killed her hid among the dross of terrified farmers and townsfolk. They had special weapons and tools, the like he would see again; but that was the first, confusing time. She was laying amongst them, still clinging to whatever it was their kind clung to at the end. She might have survived, too, had Jarvis not decided to take her head with him and leave her body there. She couldn’t stop him, and when she realized she couldn’t control him, she begged like a spoiled child. They were less and yet greater than they were in life. No one knew what Jarvis was in the beginning, which always made his ends that much more unpredictable.

That same, uncertain terror was what he imagined the old homeless man saw a split second before he was dragged down into the sewer. Part of Jarvis was surprised that the man allowed his curiosity to endanger him in that way, but man’s curse was his endless wondering. Jarvis took a moment to ponder at where the transient’s loved ones were, and if they were thinking of him. There was the yip of a stray dog and the scream of an onlooker from across the street. Jarvis was as careful as he could to get at the blood without killing the man. His prey squirmed, his desire even for his downtrodden existence resurgent, but in the end he was still and quiet.

The flow of time felt even murkier than usual, but the vampire would say that he wasn’t significantly injured in decades. To regenerate broken bones and ruptured flesh took a surprising store of living blood. Burned tissue was even more demanding. The old man was mostly empty before Jarvis regained enough lower body structure to walk. He left him there, a mute witness at the bottom of the drain. Jarvis distracted himself wondering about those who would point feverishly at the drain, tell their stories, conduct their investigations, and make up their legends. Going from hearsay to a crowd of torch bearers required a smaller step than he knew most people would believe.

Jarvis was near the side of town with the house he dwelled in when the sun mercifully set, and he set to outlining the Moguls’ territory in terror and death. As the night crept on, Jarvis came to realize many things. The killing of the betrayer at his home left him with a much greater reservoir to fill and a fuzzy sort of inkling that he only experienced a few times before, most recently with Nick’s escaped summoned visitor. His memory engaged when he tried to find the language to articulate how he was feeling. The Mistress came to his mind—her lessons and her large, empty eyes. “Threshold,” was the word she used.

Jarvis rolled a dead man onto his back and robbed him. He found another constable’s badge and suspected that he should be paying more attention to things. That made him think of David, and of Nick. They were more finite; it was natural for them to think about day-to-day consequences. Jarvis could do the same thing with years, but to examine something so tiny required concentration. They were better at the finer details of shorter context.

Jarvis posed the man into the symbolic posture so that the kills would count as the Moguls’. It was important to Bethel that he be feared. The youth was so unlike his father.

Reaching David’s was an experiment in discovering to what extent the betrayer’s severing changed him. The man was strong; that was Jarvis’ conclusion after experiencing a few things. Among these, there was the newfound ease of motion. Reaching the top of a building became as easy as reaching out his hand to touch the edge of its roof and willing himself there. It might be thrilling under different circumstances.

Stalking into view of the huge dwelling allowed him to see that David wasn’t there, and probably wouldn’t be coming back. A woman, vaguely familiar, was standing in the living room, visible because of the large hole in the side of the building. She was talking to half a dozen other people. Some of them were policemen, some were not. Jarvis could even hear bits of conversation, the blowing wind willing, but there were still so many noises in-between him and the apartment that it was more distracting than anything.

Jarvis knew the distant horizon would be developing a rosy tint soon. Being caught outside at day more than once in the same week was living beyond his want. Jarvis pondered for a moment that stretched farther than he intended, and realized he had no idea where Nick lived. He was reasonably confident that’s where David would be. He was running or chasing something, most likely chasing. The vampire spied some of the lycanthrope’s favorite things still on the mantle and kitchen tabletop. He would take those things with him, even if there was a fire. Those were the words David used. Jarvis stared across the street, focusing on the fleshy details of the woman’s face. This was definitely not the first time he saw her, or even the second.

In the stairwell behind him, people were talking as they made their way to the roof. Jarvis stepped from his perch into the alley below, deciding that it might be better to walk home, at a mortal pace. On the way, he passed the diner that never closed; inside there were people asking questions about David at the counter—David and anyone else seen with him.

Jarvis crossed the lane, putting his back to the entire situation. He remembered from before how sometimes things changed after sleeping. It was like he took a nap and things happened in the meantime. Jarvis couldn’t remember what dreams were like, but he heard them described. 

Moving through the quiet streets with the dark faces of homes on both sides, Jarvis eased back into his habit of seeing things from a distance rather than up close. The city grew, strangely in both size and speed. The forest was pushed back, but fear returned to the people in the form of unknown alleys or mysterious next streets over.

Jarvis never thought of any place as his home, not the way people meant. His thoughts recalled the sentiment the Mistress expressed on that evening, and it made him pause. Others came to visit her and left, and they all had different opinions, different reactions to this existence of theirs. Hers was the least accommodating, and the most intractable.

“I’ve run before,” she said. “This is my home now, and if they want it, they can come and take it.”

It never occurred to him to go to the house he used, pack the few things he possessed in a bag and simply leave.

His first thoughts were on finding David and mending whatever was broken. Inside him there was a stirring, and it wasn’t the realization of the ironic similarity between himself and his Mistress. He wasn’t sure what it was he was clinging to, but that didn’t make it any less precious, he realized. Jarvis remembered the old beggar man’s glassy eyes. He and that dead man were alike with no effort or fault on the part of either.

That thought pocketed, Jarvis looked for the solid comfort of the sharp steel he carried. Looking up, he searched the sky for stars, those little dots of light that defied the dark blanket that made the world sleep and fear. The city slowly swatted them from the sky as the years went by, but his vision could ferret out the remainder wherever they hid. A few of them winked down at him, content not to know who was staring back. What mysteries they saw and would never tell.

It was one of the very few times Jarvis could not easily access his indifference. He discovered what scared him the most before, and each time he realized it after forgetting made it fresh.

Chapter Twelve

 

When the sun came up, Jarvis rested. He sat on the floor in the basement, forced his eyelids closed, and waited.

The day brought as many surprises as the night. Through the tiny windows he could hear the neighbors and the animals, the sound of wind blowing between the buildings and leaves scraping across the ground. Things were clearer, and he could make them out at a greater distance. It was similar to waking up that first night; Jarvis thought he could hear everything and see everything, in comparison to how he heard and saw before. It was strange to think that he was so terrified of the change back then; everything scared him. Everything scared all of them.

In the midst of it all, the vampire only noticed the car’s engine when it turned off, the sudden absence of the sound followed by the closing of two car doors. Right after that he heard a conversation carried on by familiar voices.

“Oh wait, I just remembered, he won’t be happy I showed you where he lives. Don’t touch anything.” David.

“What did you think I was going to do?” Nick.

“You ask a lot of damned questions. It annoys him. It sort of annoys me, too. Just, you know, be quiet.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah. Do you feel…weird?”

“No. Why?” Nick asked. The two of them stopped moving.

“Nothing,” David said.

The lycanthrope was wrong. Nick’s questions didn’t annoy him. Jarvis didn’t know what annoyance was, really. It simply made things less problematic the less people knew. He contemplated on whether to stay or leave for much of the morning. What he discovered was that the more people knew, the more good would be done by leaving, but greater was the cause to stay. He unfolded himself and drifted upstairs towards the front door to open it before the knock came.

“Why does he live here, anyway?” Nick asked.

As David was answering, the vampire opened the door to find the two of them silhouetted against the bright sunlit world beyond, David’s arm upraised to knock. 

“Please come inside so I can close the door.” Jarvis stepped away from the debilitating heat and let the two shuffle in. He closed the door, locking it fast.

“You don’t keep it locked when you’re here?” Nick asked.

Jarvis didn’t feel the need to answer. Instead, he walked deeper into the house, towards the stairwell that led down. The summoner did not speak again, and the two followed him down the old stairs. Once in the basement, he turned around to face them.

“Interesting choice of neighborhood,” Nick commented awkwardly.

David made a face like he was struck.

Jarvis addressed him, “The police were at your apartment.”

David made a different face now. “Yeah, that’s sort of why I’m here,” he admitted.

“You cannot stay here,” the vampire responded. It was a reflex he was unaware that he had.

David put his hands up defensively. “Oh no. No, no, no,” he waved his hands. “I don’t…I mean, I wasn’t going to ask that.” He put his hand behind his head and smoothed his hair down. “Not that the place isn’t nice,” he added quickly.

“He doesn’t have furniture,” Nick said. Then again, to Jarvis, “You don’t have furniture.”

David made the struck face again. “I need money,” he said quickly.

Jarvis nodded. It was a simple thing, the exchanging of paper for goods and services. The vampire surmised that he had more than some, perhaps more than most, but he also provided a highly illegal and specialized service to his employers. He stepped to a corner of the basement and reached inside one of the several garbage bags placed there. He blindly opened one of the mismatched luggage pieces he kept inside the bag and retrieved a stack of bills. He proffered them to David, whose mouth dropped open. So did Nick’s.

“Holy shit,” David said. Jarvis presumed that meant that it was more than enough. “Where in the…” He looked up into the vampire’s face, and stopped talking.

Nick looked like he hoped for the answer Jarvis never gave.

“This is enough,” the vampire stated simply.

“I’m sorry, but you really have garbage bags filled with money?” Nick said.

“Dammit! Will you shut up?” David snapped. To his credit, Nick actually reigned in his curiosity and closed his mouth. “Yeah, this is…damn. Yeah. I don’t know if this is going to fix things…” he trailed off.

It was Jarvis’ turn to be curious. “So, it isn’t enough money.”

David shook his head. “No, no, it’s not the money,” he said. “I can’t go back to work, I mean, the police are looking for me, and I can’t just…” He trailed off again, forgetting about the money in his hands. “I need to work, I need my credit. I have to live.” He looked up at Jarvis, and his expression changed a little when he realized the vampire had no reference for such ideas.

They talked once about what was necessary to live, how identity and that identity’s security became paramount. David had documentation revolving around where he was born, when he was born, what family he belonged to, and other things like that. They discussed giving Jarvis a last name; it wouldn’t mean anything, because he would have no connection to anyone else with that same name. Jarvis never had a family.

“This is great, thanks,” David said, sincerely and a bit sadly. Jarvis gathered that he felt bad about them being so different when their relationship was such that they could depend on each other. “I’ll pay you back,” he added.

“Don’t worry about it.” Jarvis mimicked a tone he heard before. The interchange of lending between associates had a specific rhythm. David wasn’t going to pay Jarvis back, and David knew Jarvis didn’t need to be paid back. What would he buy? Mostly, the vampire kept the money around because of some distant feeling that if other people valued it that much, so should he. 

“No, I’m serious.” David he looked at the money. “It’s going to take a while, a long while, but I will.”

The vampire nodded. Whether or not there would be any repayment was no longer important. What was important was that David promised. They had a pact.

“So, the police,” the big man reminded him.

“Yeah.” David tried folding the money initially and then, impatiently, just shoved the sack into one of his pockets. Nick didn’t hear the rip. “Nick’s girlfriend jumped me and I reacted sort of harshly.”

“Jumped you? You did kill one of her friends,” Nick retorted. He seemed conflicted. 

“That was only after she jumped me. That guy was a casualty, technically.” David hesitated just so. He did not have the practiced posture of someone used to ending lives. “She had faerie dust and guns and a whole ninja get-up. It was crazy.”

“Nick’s girlfriend is a hunter,” Jarvis said flatly.

“Dammit, she is not my girlfriend,” Nick flared suddenly, offended almost.

“That’s what she said, yeah,” David said.

“They can be very dangerous,” Jarvis noted. “What happened to your clothes?”

“Well they got...oh no, these are Nick’s clothes. You run into these hunter types before?” He tugged at his pants and shirt, but he could not fix that they were simply too big.

“Many times. There was one near your building, several nights ago,” Jarvis said.

“I guess that’s not important now.” David looked over at Nick. “You better warn her. She comes looking around here, she might get shot by some of his neighbors.”

Jarvis didn’t think any of the people who lived near him had guns, though the area was heavily patrolled. The houses neighboring him on all sides sometimes had squatters, but mostly people stayed away. Memory of similar situations over the years nudged at him. Hedging out life was part of the bargain.

“Why do you keep assuming I keep in touch with this person?” Nick flung his arms about. “The department told me to show her around as a potential student, but that was apparently a lie. She was just here to—” He paused in the middle of his tantrum, pondering.

“To…?” David made a rolling motion with his hands.

“She said there were others, so they were here for something.” Nick looked at David. “They showed up at your place. Why would they be at your apartment?”

David shrugged the question off, though he contemplated it himself. In Jarvis’ experience, hunters simply appeared where there was prey. It never took long. He offered as much.

“So you killed the guy you saw, right? Outside my place?” David asked. “So she mistakes me for the one who killed the guy and comes after me. If they were already in the area...what does that mean?” David squinted at a vacant corner of the basement. “Is anyone else confused?” He looked between Jarvis and Nick, who was in deep thought.

“Evidence points to me being at fault.” Nick sighed. “Again.” He wasn’t afraid, Jarvis noted, which marked progress. 

“Will they send more?” Jarvis asked. The idea of leaving occurred to him again. Given that one of the hunters escaped, it would only make sense that they would send others. The ultimate risk for anyone in his position was to be found out. The chorus of common folk waving farmers’ tools flickered into the forefront of his mind.

Nick shrugged. “You apparently had run-in’s with them before. I met Scarlet only recently.” He shook his head. “If they thought you were a problem…”

“This is just a bad month,” David muttered. “My credit is going to be ruined and I’m going to be hunted down by crazy vigilantes. I was really looking forward to work on Monday after last week. Seriously.”

The decision was made. Uprooting would be difficult, and finding a place with similar conditions would be hard, but much less so than actually staying. A period of great social unrest decades previously prompted Jarvis’ recent contemplations about relocating. He would need to find a train heading in the correct direction.

“They’re going to impound all my stuff if they don’t find me. They’re going to go through all my records. They’re going to call my—” David stopped in mid sentence.

“What,” Nick asked, looking into David’s face.

The conjurer peered up at the vampire, as if to ask if he knew what was wrong. As far as Jarvis was aware, David never displayed that expression before. Jarvis saw a man being run through with a spear before; he was similarly awe struck.

“They’re going to call my emergency contact list,” David explained.

Nick frowned at that. Jarvis didn’t know what an emergency contact list was.

“So?” Nick mouthed it slowly as if David wouldn’t understand him.

“They’re going to call my parents.”

Jarvis might have suspected why that would have been so terrible, knowing some of David’s past life. He knew all too well what sort of trouble could be stirred up when the past refused to stay buried. 

Chapter Thirteen

 

Thankfully, Nick’s car wasn’t on blocks. David opted not to examine his hopes and expectations. He was just happy the ‘93 Cavalier with two hubcaps was still there and in the same working condition they left it in. Every one of David’s movements reminded him of the veritable fortune he was sitting on, which then reminded him of what happened and why he needed it. He adjusted his seating once, and then again as Nick started the car. The thing sounded like it just wanted to be left alone to die, then as its owner gave it more gas, the engine warmed into a state of grumbling resignation.

“Want to stop in somewhere and put a down payment on a jet or something?” he joked as David finally pulled much of the money into view.

David frowned, feeling the humor but not laughing. “Yeah.” The reply was half-hearted.

Nick pulled a rolling stop at the end of Jarvis’ street and hung a right, bound for the heart of the city. He tapped his fingers nervously on the steering wheel.

David looked over at him. “Did Jarvis’ place smell funny to you?”

The other man frowned, pondering not just the question but also why David asked it. He shook his head. “No. Why?”

David tried to find better words. It wasn’t the smell, really, but that was the closest thing he could relate it to. The place just smelled wrong; it felt wrong. Ever since he knew Jarvis, the vampire was surrounded by an invisible aura that made David’s hackles rise and his lips itch. Over time, it was easy enough to get used to it, but somehow he assumed it would always stay at a constant level of eeriness. David didn’t know what caused the escalation, or what it meant. In truth, he didn’t have time to worry about it. 

“I dunno.” He shrugged, looking down at the money again. He flipped through each bill slowly, seeing that they were all the same. “This is the most money I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” he mumbled.

Nick chuckled. “It’s normally a briefcase,” he said. David put on a confused expression. “You know, the payoff, or whatever. It’s always a briefcase filled with stacks of those. What’s that, a stack of hundreds?” he asked. David finished flipping through the bills and nodded. “Which is what, $10,000?”

They both fell quiet for a moment.

“Yeah. Chump change,” David said.

They cruised to a stop. Beyond the red light the skyline of Bay City opened up to the north and the south. Two more streets and they’d be out of the so-called bad part of town. 

“I’m still not completely sure why them calling your parents is a horrible idea.” Nick broke the silence after the light turned green.

David cringed. They probably wouldn’t both come, he reasoned. Plane tickets from Puerto Rico were outrageously expensive for the next or same day. He let the thought go and hoped it would fly.

“Are they very hands-on people?” Nick prompted.

David glanced at him, then looked back at the road. If they only bought one ticket, there was no question about who would be coming.

“Why do you think it’s bad, Nick?” David retorted. A plan began forming, feeding on his growing desperation. David swatted Nick. “Hey, turn here, right here.” He pointed. Nick followed the direction. “Now turn left at the next light and park on the right. It’s a goodwill store,” he answered preemptively.

“Why? Are my clothes that bad?” Not preemptively enough.

They pulled to a stop and David hopped out, measuring each next step in his mind. Would an actual clothing store be better? Would it even matter so long as he had on clothes that fit? “I’ll be back in a bit.”

He visited the place before. It was during a similar time. He needed clothes. They actually washed the hand-me-downs they accepted, and a person of his size, which was to say medium to small, had fairly good picks. He looked ridiculous paying with a hundred; there was no way to soak up the cost at a thrift store. He bought two vintage t-shirts, each depicting main characters from different cartoons from the 80’s, and thought about how he might ask for change for a hundred. In the end, he drastically overpaid with 300% tips all around.

He kept his objectives firmly in mind. One thing at a time, David told himself.

“You look practically the same.” Nick looked hurt when he got back into the sputtering car.

“No,” David said, exercising confidence and evening the sides of the shirt he wore unbuttoned. Beneath it, he decided on the Thunder Cats t-shirt. “I look awesome.”