by D O Thomas
“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” gloated Noir.
“Why did you have the other one killed?” asked Regulas.
“I only had enough serum for two agents.”
“Are you serious?”
“Do you know how hard it is to extract the patience of a day-old snail? Huxley spent months concocting that serum and you wasted all of it on your Knights,” Noir complained.
“When will there be more?”
“A few days from now, and until then I need you to make contact with our little friend. If we have any hope of surviving the future, the wolves have to be next.” Noir looked in Banhier’s direction and laughed, “You can leave, I’ll deal with the peeping tom.”
Regulas removed his right gauntlet and rolled up his sleeve, revealing a tribal style lion’s head tattooed over his heavily scarred flesh. Upon gripping it, a portal opened in the ground between him and the other zodiacs. No words were exchanged between the eight men, they all gave Noir a loyal nod and stepped forward, disappearing into the shimmering yellow portal.
“Banhier, I know you’re there, mate,” said Noir loudly. Banhier stepped out from behind a large pine tree with a look of betrayal plastered on his face. The vampiric prince approached Noir with his fists clenched and his eyes burning a deep red.
He was ready to kill.
The mention of the dwarf infuriated him. Just the thought that Noir had played a hand in the acts of terrorism carried out on his brood made Banhier almost blind with fury.
Noir took note of Banhier’s emotional state and produced a friendly yet nervous smile.
“Perhaps I should explain,” said Noir as his smile turned into his signature grin.
The night had aged ever so slightly while it had unnoticeably been spitting. The stars were once again joined by the light of the full moon as the smog cleared, as much as it could over the city of London.
A thick cloud of smoke lingered in the damp air between Noir and the moon’s light. Banhier’s blood boiled with every word Noir uttered. Although he was reluctant to do so, he listened, and he understood. The prince felt uneasy, however. Catching a glimpse of a future he was certainly afraid of shook his entire being. Noir took a drag and held out his hand, holding his half-smoked, thinly-rolled cigarette that was put out by the dampened air.
“Look at that, nerves of steel,” exclaimed Noir, adding smoke to the air around him.
The sight of Noir’s hand trembling in front of him only added to Banhier’s fear of what might be.
He didn’t know Noir that well, but he knew of his infamy; the man who stood before the ferocious rage of the wolfpack’s strongest hunters and emerged unscathed, with the beasts behind him whimpering in the foetal position; the untouchable man who lived in the light and relished the dark, the all-hearing shadow, the myth that was Noir wouldn’t… no, couldn’t tremble in fear.
“Earlier I heard you mention a little friend. Please tell me…” began the vampiric prince as he tried to calm himself.
“You think I was referring to the Dwarf, don’t you?” Noir replied.
“I hear you’re the one who suggested we work with the wolves.”
“After everything I just told you, do you really think I would be involved with terrorist activities on your little nation?”
“Why are you being so defensive?”
“This world is a matter of weeks away from becoming a dystopian wasteland and you’re worrying about a stupid little Dwarf that only exists because you and your brother couldn’t bring yourselves to finish a job you had already started.”
“We couldn’t obliterate an entire race.”
“No? But genocide is fine? And didn’t you kill the last of the small gods?”
“The elves deserved their fate,” Banhier scoffed at Noir’s critique. “You know exactly how to push a man’s buttons.”
Banhier had had enough, Noir’s point was valid, and he didn’t need to hear any more. The night grew old and the dawn was only a few hours away. Banhier’s thoughts were with the future, as aspects of Noir’s explanation made sense. The vampire prince had already pieced some things together, only to mistake them as absent-minded paranoia. There were things Banhier had to do to ensure his brood’s safety, now that his fears had come to life.
“Look… I’ll tell you more about the plan in a few days, okay…? There’s… just a few things I need to sort out…” said the distracted Noir as he patted himself down, searching for something he knew he had forgotten.
“I’m off. I need some warm blood while I think about this shit.”
“Before you go, mate, you got any fags?”
“I’m a vampire, Noir. My lungs don’t work like that.”
“Yeah, but you can still inhale.”
“No… No, I can’t.” Banhier’s face drooped into a disappointed frown, “How did you not know that?”
Noir stood there, scratching his head, while Banhier sped off into the distance. The rain continued to spit upon the confused information broker.
He continued to pat himself down in a hopeless effort to feed his nicotine addiction.
“Why didn’t I know that?” said the man to himself as he found an empty packet of rolling tobacco in a hidden pocket in his sleeve.
Chapter Three
Wyll watched with Cidney while the less fortunate wolves, who had been split into groups of six, fought for leadership of their respective groups. One stood out amongst the rabbling groups. He was taller than most, muscular but slim. His skin was dark and tough but had a certain softness to it. His group respected him without any show of strength. He put his five subordinates in place with a suave grin and a welcoming but serious look in his eye.
“Who is that?” asked Wyll, with a face glazed in infatuation. “The tall one with the valiant stance.”
“That would be Geoffrey, true alpha material. the only problem is he’s very independent. As a child, he excelled in his training. Academically he was the brightest of his peers, but in his teens he began to show signs of an omega and was deemed a lost cause.”
Some wolves would be cast out by their packs and be dubbed omegas. Others would grow into omegas of their own accord; this came from the inability to recognise an alpha as their leader, while having no aspiration to overthrow said alpha. Omegas like this would usually leave their packs and wander alone until their untimely demise, or until they found a cause to live for.
“He seems to accept you as a leader,” said Wyll.
“But he despises my grandfather.”
“Hmm… what’s his view on vampires?”
“He doesn’t really care for them, but that’s good compared to most of my kind.”
“Perhaps I could make him care for this vampire.”
“Aren’t you married?”
“My husband enjoys good company,” laughed Wyll, with an imaginative glint in his eye.
Moments later Wyll had Cidney escort him, with Geoffrey and his group, to a house within the estate. Standing in the lounge of the house, that was too neat to be called a dump, yet too cheap to be called nice, Wyll addressed the surrounding wolves.
“Please make yourselves comfortable. After all, I am your guest,” said Wyll, smiling at Geoffrey, who received his attention with slight confusion.
The wolves took a seat on the tattered sofas while Wyll inspected the room. The vampiric advisor observed the room, noticing the design of poverty, and the lights hanging from rusted chandeliers, probably with the original wiring dating back to a time where any electrical faults were something left to be dealt with at some future point. The carpet was worn, with the worst parts hidden by a cheap rug, the walls suffered from damp and bad workmanship, and the cheap pieces of furniture didn’t fit very well with each other. In fact, the only thing in the room that was up to the wealthy vampire’s standards was the fifty-inch 3D smart TV fixed to the wall.
“Perhaps we could stretch the budget to refurbish your accommodation,” spoke Wyll in a voice expressing a kind
of sympathetic pity.
“For all the wolves?” asked Geoffrey.
“Would you like that?” replied Wyll.
“That would be great,” said a scruffy brown-haired man sitting beside Geoffrey. “I’ve got two kids at home that could do with a set of bunk beds.”
Geoffrey nudged the man, who nodded his head in shame. “Darryl, you speak out of turn.”
“It’s fine, Geoffrey. I’ll send over a builder for each house tomorrow night. Spend the day deciding how you would like your homes,” said Wyll softly.
“So, what…? Are we like your pets now?” asked a young and busty red-haired woman.
“I apologise for Donna, she’s had some trouble with your kind before,” said a long-haired man of distinctly masculine build.
“Just like the loyal pup you are, Opie,” replied Donna.
“Hey, you might be happy with your house, but if they could build me a recording studio, maybe I can finally get my band out there,” said Opie selfishly.
“Listen, the last thing I want is for you to fall out with one another. Donna, I apologise for the vampires that did you wrong, and if there is anything I can do to atone for my brood’s misdeeds, don’t be afraid to ask. And Opie, whatever you ask for, you shall have, it’s the least we can do.”
“You can’t just buy loyalty, you know?” said Geoffrey, showing his passive aggressive nature.
“That’s true, but I can pay for your comfort as I try to convince you that we aren’t the monsters your forefathers portrayed us to be.”
“What of the demons that hunt our young for sport?” said a sheepish blonde sporting a pair of stylish glasses.
“Yeah. Felicity’s got a point,” said a rowdy heavy-set man in the corner.
“Thank you, Turtle,” replied Felicity. Geoffrey grew impatient but let his group have their say. He looked over at a large muscle-bound man sitting behind Wyll, and gave him a nod that said, use your words. Donna saw the look in the bald behemoth’s eyes and stopped Turtle from opening his mouth.
“Quiet. Wilson’s about to speak,” said Donna.
Wilson was a wolf of few words. Despite his gargantuan build, short temper and brutish demeanour, the forty-something year-old werewolf was astute, elegant and of an ironically delicate nature. Like Geoffrey, Wilson was cast aside by the elites of his kind. As a child, his body was made of less solid material and this brought on years of bullying, which led to the young Wilson becoming reclusive.
During his close to solitary childhood, the wolf spent his days training to mould his soft paunchy body into something that even sticks and stones couldn’t break.
Wilson’s nights, however, were spent in the world of knowledge, ensconced in the wolfpack’s grand library. In his teen years Wilson had become not only one of the strongest wolves in his pack, but perhaps the most intelligent. His father, the widower of Jasper’s most valued advisor, pushed Wilson to return to school in the hopes that he would mirror his mother’s public image. Wilson did as his father wished, and he joined the most esteemed academy within the wolfpack. Lessons were easy; Wilson found that he had already learnt more than those who were trying to teach him. The only hard part of school life for the large wolf was socialising. Although bullies were a thing of the past and most of the wolves around him either feared him or envied his intelligence, Wilson once again found himself in the cusp of isolation, this time by choice. He found that the widespread ignorance of his kind irritated him so much so that he would often fall into a rage over the smallest of issues. To calm himself after long days of listening to lame-minded teachers and incompetent schoolmates, Wilson would spend his time visiting galleries and historical sites around London.
The wolf found humanity to be a beautiful thing, full of complexities, ones he wished to be a part of. After breezing through college and university, Wilson joined Jasper’s staff as a butler, in the hopes of becoming an advisor as his father intended.
After a few years in servitude, he rose to the place of advisor, but during a budget meeting he found himself at the foot of a heated debate about the education of the less fortunate wolves. The debate ended in the loss of Wilson’s temper and the death of two of Jasper’s long-serving advisors. Jasper didn’t want to fire Wilson, he could see that Wilson’s mind would one day lead the wolves to a place where idiocy was a myth, but the rest of Jasper’s staff refused to work with him, and once again Wilson was left as a recluse, sent out of the elite’s village.
“I would like to request an addition to our terms of service… that is if the terms are up for debate,” spoke Wilson, in a shaky yet firm voice.
Wyll was surprised to hear such an eloquent voice from the oafishly large wolf. “The terms may be discussed. What would you like to propose?”
The rest of the room remained silent. Wilson’s temper was something of a worry to the wolves residing within the estate. He had once broken the limbs of a wolf he used to call a friend, after a seemingly gregarious debate on climate control.
“If we take part in a contract to protect not only your assets, but also your dwellings, would you consider funding an educational budget for the wolves of this estate?” Wilson’s voice remained solid and unwavering. This was a subject that held the utmost importance in his heart.
“Education is very important, as is the safety of our brood. I cannot promise this as yet, but it would be a pleasure to aid in the vanquishing of ignorance.”
Wilson’s heart skipped a beat with Wyll’s words. Just the thought of a proper education for the children he could only see as potential idiots, brought a cheek-cracking smile to his eternally frowning face. The smile shocked the entire room. In all the years the wolves had known him, Wilson had never laughed or smiled. Turtle would often claim that he had caused the behemoth to snigger once, but no one ever believed him.
“That is adequate. Perhaps once you have finished preparing this little pack of ours for the days to come, you and I could discuss the possibilities of vampiric tutors. I have heard that your scholars have the knowledge obtained only by centuries of focused self-education.”
Wyll instantly fell in love with Wilson’s mind; he just wished it were in Geoffrey’s body.
Wyll and the wolves made their way to the blood bank that had recently suffered a critical blow from the dwarven menace that was Reggin von Rundeep. Upon entering the vampiric stronghold, the wolves split up, leaving Wyll and Geoffrey to search the office. In the office, after acquiring a larger than average iPad each, Geoffrey and Wyll sat, iPads in hand, swiping through footage of the attack. Reggin’s movements were swift and fluid, as each vampire was reduced to dust before even acknowledging his presence.
“The little fella must move in complete silence,” said Geoffrey, with the taste of astonishment in his mouth.
“It is worrying. Perhaps the ears of a wolf could pick up on his movements,” exclaimed Wyll.
“I can’t believe my ears. A vampire without a superiority complex?”
“It is a well-known fact that a werewolf, even in human form, can hear the shudder of a fly’s wings twitching from across a long hall.”
“That’s an exaggeration, mate. If I were to focus on the fly, perhaps, but if a wolf were to allow all the sound their ears could pick up to reach them, it would be a deafening feat.”
“A newly-turned wolf must go through much suffering.”
“They do. It’s a horrible sight, but it’s during a full moon that they go through the most pain.”
“Why is that, my friend?”
“Their first few transformations are despicably agonizing.” Geoffrey grew cold with his explanation. “Imagine having the low pain threshold of a human and feeling every bone in your body break and bend, while your skin stretches and tears, and your teeth grow, pinching every nerve in your jaw.”
“Funny you said that, I recently had an experience somewhat like that. May I ask, was it as bad for you?”
“Luckily, I was born a wolf and went through the pain of trans
forming during infancy, with the help of Lycanaid. I’m sure it was just as painful, but I have no memory of it.”
Wyll pulled back the footage of the attack to a few hours before it began, and he witnessed the dwarf lurking around the air conditioning service room.
“Look at this, Geoffrey.” Reggin unscrewed the coolant system and poured a bucket of water into it.
“What was that?” asked Geoffrey.
“Enough holy water to dull any vampire’s senses.”
“So, he’s not as powerful as we thought.”
“Maybe more so. Brute force can be countered with brute force. But intelligence is a threat to be treated with much caution.”
“I think you overestimate your enemy.”
“Isn’t that better than underestimating him?”
“Look there.”
Reggin rested in the corner of the room, shrouded in darkness. The dwarf was barely visible until a small light flashed from a phone held in his hand.
“Why does a Dwarf have a mobile phone?” asked Wyll.
“Do the cameras have mics?”
“I could kiss you.”
“What?”
Wyll activated the sound feature on the iPad and the two could hear at least one side of the conversation.
“Iy poored thi holly whater into thi err sisdem.” The Dwarf listened for a while. “Das ay very long tim ti wait. Kant iy jus kill all now?” He stopped.
“Massage? Why must perzon bleed?” the Dwarf stopped again, this time stepping out of the darkness with the look of irritation painted across his face.
“Iy not idiot, Iy very int… intel… egant. When speking dwarvish, Dis uman langwedge not so easy, many too rule.”
The conversation went on for a few minutes with Reggin rambling on in shattered English about how smart and powerful he was. For a while Wyll laughed and smiled, as did Geoffrey, until he felt Wyll’s hand rest upon his knee. Geoffrey brushed off the discomfort by standing up and walking to the door.