Amongst the Fallen

by Devin Lee Carlson

  Again, no answer.

  A few more items tumbled from the pack. Sabree sniffed the air over the desk. A package of purple bat-shaped Halloween Peeps drew his attention. The sweet scent of marshmallow sugar enticed his taste buds. The Fallen fueled up on sugary sweets to tide them over between blood meals. He glanced at Brian. Assured he was preoccupied, Sabree popped one of the morsels into his mouth. Sweet. The gooey Peep slowly dissolved as he watched Brian sift through his belongings. Colton was an odd sort. Usually, Sabree could understand what made the man by observing his personal effects, but not the ghoul, not unless he learned more about modern technology.

  After Sabree shoved another Peep into his mouth, he handled Brian’s wallet. He winked. “Got cash?”

  “Rarely,” Brian said, snatching it from his hand. “Stop snooping through my stuff. In answer to your question, I make copies—not one, but two, so, altogether, I have three backups of every computer hard drive, DVD, or flash drive you see here. I also have three copies stored on three different clouds, most of the duplicates safe at home.”

  “Like father like son, both cautious individuals. Perhaps too.” Sabree mumbled his words, the Peep stuck to the roof of his mouth. He had no idea what Brian meant by clouds. Instead, his eyes focused on the silver sticks and flat disks, already forgetting the technical names. “Do any of them hold a copy of the journal?”

  “No such thing as being too cautious.” Brian muttered about the importance of backing up data as he rummaged through his wallet, sifting through every note, card, and receipt. “I know it’s in here somewhere or at least a copy of it.”

  “What are you looking for?” Sabree asked again.

  “Aye, wouldn’t you like to know. Maybe a copy of the journal,” Brian said without curbing his sarcasm. “Bugger, it’s not here.” He jammed everything back into his pack.

  Sabree grabbed a chunk of metal and waved it in Brian’s face. “Tell me what this is, and I’ll help you look.”

  “Why the sudden interest?” Brian snatched the object. “Looking for the anti-vamp pills or the journal?”

  “No.” Sabree snickered at how he had already accomplished that feat. “I am only trying to mend our friendship.” He tried to mist behind Brian, but the task of dematerializing took longer than usual. His snickers choked, uncertain as to why he had trouble misting. Perhaps the anti-vamp pill, the one he stole from the stash, taxed his ability. Sabree hoped the side effects would wear off soon. For now, he stepped in front of Brian to taunt the ghoul. “Don’t you trust me?”

  Brian hung his head as he stared at the pack. Seconds ticked on before he answered. “Why should I? You threatened to turn me into dog food, probably stole an anti-vamp pill, and the clincher, you work for Wayde. Granted, you saved my sister today, but I know you did so just to get the journal.”

  Sabree thought it best to leave. Something about the ghoul’s brooding made him uncomfortable. “You’re right; this hero should not be trusted. Au revoir.” Without explanation, his body began to dissolve.

  “Wait,” Brian called out. “Ariane nearly lost her head to an airborne nutcase.”

  “I lost my head once,” Sabree said, reforming into solid matter.

  “For real?”

  The skin felt smooth beneath his fingers as he massaged his neck. “Why would I lie?” His eyes narrowed. The pill he took relaxed him more than if he drank a pool filled with wine. He wanted to tell Brian about the experience. “In 1695 I became a member of the King’s Musketeers. The outfit I wore at the masquerade is genuine. To make a long story short, someone framed me for stealing crown jewels from Louis XIV. Probably an envious comrade. Because I was under constant guard until my execution, I could not mist away. Rule number one, never reveal our Fallen gifts to humans. An elder collected my head and body and tended to my needs as I healed. Three hundred years later my neck mended. I would not wish that on Ariane.”

  “What if we run into another nutcase like your old pal? What was he after? We have the right to know.”

  “Ghouls have no rights,” Sabree said dryly. As usual, the demands were absurd and pompous. From their brief acquaintance, he noticed how Brian had already learned to squeeze answers from him by provoking or driving his anger over the edge. He sensed the ghoul intended to take this course and braced himself for the inevitable.

  “Wrong answer,” Brian growled. “Perhaps I should make a deal with Wayde and trade the journal for amnesty. Let him have it instead of you, since you’re not working for him.”

  Sabree scoffed. No sympathy offered by Brian after he spilled his guts about his decapitation. The pressure behind his eyes throbbed.

  Brian gazed beyond him at the bookshelf as though a certain book held the answers to his questions. He grimaced as he stepped closer. “Better yet, why not infect thousands of humans with my blood. As a legion, we would defeat your pathetic clans. Whether you like it or not, I’m one of you now—perhaps superior.”

  As predicted, the ghoul managed to push all the right buttons, and then some. The mellowness brought on by the anti-vamp pill was flushed from his system. With extended fangs and smoldering eyes, Sabree tackled him. Together, they tumbled onto the floor. On top, he grabbed Brian by the neck and squeezed to gain his attention. He spoke concisely, choosing his words with the utmost care. “You will never be one of us. You are the putrid result of Duncan’s sacrilege to Turian’s remains. A plague that I, alone, must exterminate—purge before you infect another living soul.”

  Enraged, Sabree had already revealed too much. He sucked in a breath, released Brian’s neck, and jumped to his feet. He counted to ten as he paced. Upset with himself more so, he regretted the pent-up anger he released on Colton. The twins’ fates were in his hands and he blew it. Gain Brian’s trust, not sever the fragile friendship with blatant insults and threats.

  Rising to his feet also, Brian leaned against the mirrored wall between two shelves. His reflection revealed glistening eyes as the truth of Sabree’s words sank in. He squeezed them shut. His voice cracked with emotion. “Then do it. Destroy me before I do any damage.”

  His sympathetic side won out. “I don’t wish to destroy you. But if need be, I will.” Sabree stepped behind Brian, while yielding to his personal space. “Euriel is an anarch, one of the Fallen gone sour as you might say. In fact, he’s an old acquaintance.” Brian’s sudden interest urged him on. Sabree sat on the desktop. “Euriel left the DanJal voluntarily, well, sort of. Centuries ago, his clan gave him an ultimatum to leave peacefully or face exile. On his own, he hunts the nosophor. As you heard, his gift is flight. A handy skill for a hunter, but nowhere near as beneficial as misting.”

  “Noso what?” Brian asked with arms folded across his chest.

  “A human infected by the Fallen. Humans call them vampires.” Sabree coughed to remove the ludicrous nickname from his vocabulary.

  “I thought you called them ghouls.”

  “The nosophor is comparable to the vile creature written in the volumes of vampire folklore. Unlike us, when exposed to the sun, nosophors vaporize into dust. Easy to kill as long as you sever their heads, drag them into sunlight, or pierce their hearts. The weapon doesn’t have to be a big wooden stake like the Hollywood prop. The skewers Euriel designed are perfect: thin, light, and forged from titanium—strong enough to penetrate bone.”

  “Aye, sort of an angel of death without wings. Why is he a rogue?”

  “Euriel is a loner, a mercenary, but most of all he hunts the nosophor to tidy up after the clans. These days, the clans forbid members from infecting humans, thus resulting in the transformation. Drink their blood, yes, but never infect them with our own.” Sabree stole a glance at Brian and quickly looked away, realizing his mistake.

  “Infect? So, you are a plague. The Fallen too.”

  “Yes—no,” Sabree snapped. His explanation had backfired. “A curse upon us perhaps, but a plague—never.” Enough talk. The ghoul had not earned the right to know the Fallen’s true origin. Neve
r will. None of this mattered since neither twin would survive much longer. An alliance with them was definitely out of reach now.

  “Did you ever infect a human?”

  The question caught him off guard. During his lifespan, Sabree had transformed a human only once, and because it ended horribly, he swore never to infect another. The woman he loved died by his own hand. He stared at the door to avoid eye contact. Tears formed along with the emotions that had long since withered from his soul. An uncomfortable grief overwhelmed him. Without knowing what else to say, he stood and walked to the door. “Just once.” Sabree misted without saying another word.

  16

  THREE’S A CHARM

  A lone in my bedroom, I stood in front of the dresser fretting about a more immediate problem than decapitating rogues or decapitated Sabree—only one pill left for Ariane, the rest of our dwindling stash at home. I hid the vial of anti-vamp pills behind Pop’s picture. Sabree’s taunts echoed inside my mind. Nerves ready to snap, I shoved the frame aside, grabbed the bottle, and popped it open. Not one tablet left.

  Muttering a curse, I threw the empty container across the room. Without a doubt, Sabree stole the last two. But relief was close by, an emergency supply stashed inside the speaker unit of my laptop. Forego taking any for myself, I’d save two for Ariane and use the rest to poison Sabree.

  Three pills should disable the immortal while Ariane and I flew home. Three’s a charm. Nothing escaped my notice. Sabree could barely mist. If one pill hindered his abilities, three should render him helpless. I stared at the top drawer where I stuffed my pistol beneath a few pair of socks. I had much to prepare before the day’s end.

  Later on, I walked into the library. Unlike the office, this room exuded a warmer ambiance carpeted with a reddish-orange Persian rug and lined with mahogany shelves instead of steel. Perhaps the numerous books aligned along the walls had once enriched my mind. One thing I do remember was settling into the overstuffed sofa and reading to my heart’s content, although never as a youngster.

  I ran my fingers across the binders full of literary fiction. Duncan loved the classics, a collector of hardback novels. Hundreds of books lined the bookshelves. Unlike my father, I stored my entire collection into a Kindle. When my fingers snagged on the rough edge of a binder, the book, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, slid out. I scoffed. “A fitting biography for you, Pop. Ariane and I being the monsters you created.” I threw the book across the room. A cloud of dust puffed from its pages. “How fitting.”

  Guilt devoured the strength I had left to maintain control over my sanity. My actions of late ruined any chance of my sister having a normal life. What was I thinking? Why did I invite one of the Fallen into our lives, ignore the warning signs only to fall into Wayde and Chamber’s snare? Above all, why did I cross the line, give in to such monstrous instincts. I chose my fate.

  Months had passed since the last fit, and now, a maelstrom roared inside my head. Most of the attacks occurred when I slept, disguised as nightmares. The whirlwind magnified. Alien worlds and strange voices bombarded my mind as if the entire library of books flew off the shelves all at once. I squeezed my skull to stop the fit. The opposite happened. Blackness swept over me.

  A numbness engulfed me, suffocating all coherent thoughts. Unable to snap out of the fit, I slammed into a wall, bounced off, and scrambled on all fours across the floor. My innards burned. Wheezing breaths sucked the air from my lungs. I screamed until my cries echoed off the library shelves.

  Ariane would normally hear the commotion by now and run in to help, but not in her weakened state. I cried out again. This time the force of my pleas hurled me into a tailspin.

  Turquoise sky replaced the library shelves. I now stood in a desert, the blue-lensed goggles hanging loosely around my neck. Still reeling from the gut-wrenching journey, I leaned over to draw in a much-needed breath. The sharp lemony bite of nearby flowering cacti tickled my nostrils. The area looked somewhat alien, yet familiar. Ariane and I had toured Canyon de Chelly once with Jesse, located entirely on Navajo tribal lands. This had to be the same canyon.

  Sensing something nearby, I twirled in place until I saw a rocky outcrop built like a mineshaft. As I approached it, unable to recall the man-made structure on the tour, my eardrums prickled. Grinding gears resonated from the structure until they squealed to a halt. I ducked as two men dressed in beige dusters and mica-lensed goggles stepped outside. I didn’t recognize the taller of the two, but the other one looked like Sabree. What’s he doing here? Where’s here?

  “Did you hide Turian’s kin?” the man with dark long hair asked.

  “Hidden from all. Only one other knows where I concealed the twins per chance something happens to me.”

  “Obviously, it’s not me. Still have trust issues?”

  Sabree chuckled. “You have never given me reason, Euriel.”

  Had my ears heard right? I leaned back on my haunches. Euriel? Minutes ago, I was in the library and then magically appeared in a strange canyon hidden from Sabree and the flyboy who tried to behead my sister. Did Sabree drug me to bring me here? Time to confront them. I eased the goggles over my eyes and stepped into the open. “Hey, Sabree, what’s up?”

  Sabree and Euriel spun around together. Euriel flew off.

  “Who are you?” Sabree asked. “You are trespassing.”

  What a kidder. “Sabree, it’s me, your favorite ghoul.”

  “Bah, I do not associate with ghouls.” Sabree pulled a stone from his pocket and tossed it overhead. The stone flashed like a starburst.

  I squinted, temporarily blinded, when in its place, a sword appeared. I stepped back when Sabree wielded the weapon as if he caught a lightning bolt. The sword sailed from his hand.

  Faster than the eye could detect, I ducked as the weapon flew over my head, singeing the top of my hair. “What’s wrong with you?” I patted my hair and tore off my goggles to make sure Sabree recognized me. “It’s me. Brian.” The small stone grazed the side of my skull when it boomeranged back into Sabree’s hand. Mist enveloped his body until he disappeared.

  “Wait,” I cried too late. “What about me? How do I get home?” Dumbfounded, my nerves on edge, my gaze was fixed on the elevator shaft. Minutes passed before the grinding noise returned. Sabree must’ve changed his mind. Worried it might be someone else, I eased the goggles over my eyes.

  The door zipped open to reveal three men carrying archaic crossbows. They aimed their weapons at me. My eyes closed tight, wishing I were anywhere but here. The arrows zipped by as my body disintegrated and reappeared in the library, sprawled on all fours. I looked up with the goggles dangling around my neck and frowned. Behind me, an arrow pierced the wall, the souvenir definitely one to remember.

  At the door, Ariane stood with arms folded. “What are you doing? No, wait, forget it, I don’t want to know.” She hobbled away before I could answer.

  I grabbed the goggles swinging from my neck to study the eyepiece. They were mine, the goggles I designed for a steampunk getup. “What the—” I shook my head, remembering that, unlike the steampunk ray gun, I left the goggles at home. How’d they get here? What the hell just happened? Forget it, like my sister, I didn’t want to know.

  An hour had passed since the bizarre blackout and trip to the desert. Recalling the catalyst for the fit, I found the book I threw on the floor under the arrow. I opened it to the bookmark tucked within the pages. The passages narrated by Frankenstein’s monster were a reminder of the unanswered questions I faced daily. I read aloud, “Who was I? What was I? Whence did I come? What was my destination? These questions continually recurred, but I was unable to solve them.” I slammed the book shut. Contradictory to my sister’s opinion, my father’s explanations were fabricated. Duncan initiated the lies, lies I had hoped Sabree would have disclosed. My trust in the Fallen, however, dwindled. The immortals obviously detested us.

  Time to act. The anagram in Pop’s farewell letter deciphered, I thought up a plan of action the mi
nute we returned to Arizona. For Ariane’s sake, we hoped to find three flash drives to complete the journal. And like Frankenstein’s monster, I vowed to avenge those who dared to harm her. That promise included Sabree.

  Hero indeed.

  17

  STEAMPUNK JUNK

  S cheduled for an afternoon flight, I asked Ariane to meet me in the library after she finished showering and packing. When she stepped inside, I noticed how relief washed over her at first until she saw me on the couch. Airports stressed her out, which was why she marched straight for the wet bar to pour a double shot of amaretto over ice and swallowed the sweet liqueur. Lately, the sweeter the food or beverage, the more satisfying to our taste buds.

  I cleared my throat. “A wee bit early for a drink, even in Scotland.”

  Ariane jumped without spilling her drink. “For Pete’s sake, Brian.” She shot a quick glance my way and frowned. Her shoulders relaxed when she noticed I was hunched over the coffee table tinkering. “You’re one to talk,” she said, eyeing my empty highball glass. “What are you making now?”

  I called it a steampunk ray gun. She called it steampunk junk. For days, I had been working on a delicate part—gears, always tiny-tiny gears—that required my utmost concentration. Always the same. My breath hitched as I leaned back and stared at the tiled ceiling. My indecisiveness on how to approach the delicate subject could stall our discussion. As a rule, I usually blurted out whatever was on my mind. My gaze drifted to the picture window, to outside where the overcast weather reminded me of our fate. A dreary sign of things to come.

  “We’ll both need a drink to get us through the chat we're about to have,” I finally said. “Pour me one.” Deft fingers slid the ray gun across the coffee table as though it might break if I sneezed. I directed my attention solely on her. My icy stare made her quake, spilling the drink as she poured.