Xander did his best to fake a laugh, assuming it was another one of the doctor’s jokes.
Range frowned, “I’m serious, Stryker! Those things are not to be taken lightly! They’ll feed on you as quick as they’ll feed on a human, and that sort of mindless killing results in secrets that have been kept for thousands of years being spilled. Any made sang caught making those things on purpose is hunted down and exterminated—no questions asked. So anytime you feed, be sure to break their necks or take off their heads to make sure they won’t be coming back!”
Xander, still feeling foolish for laughing, cocked his head, “A broken neck stops the change?”
Range shrugged, “Can’t start a new life without an intact nervous system.”
Xander nodded, chewing his lip through the awkward silence that followed for a moment, “Anyway,”—he forced himself to sound upbeat as he changed the subject—“about the ceremony! You were saying I would meet my pure-blood…”
“That’s correct,” Range nodded, “At that point you will be bitten within the chambers of the ‘Changing Hall’.”
Xander couldn’t help but laugh.
Range rolled his eyes, “Yes, I know. Whoever was making up names that day was having an off moment. Afterwards, you will die—pause for dramatic gasp—and, for three days, your body will undergo a complex metamorphosis.”
Xander ran a tongue along his upper jaw. “So I’m going come out of all this with fangs, too?”
“Absolutely!” Range nodded, excited by his own answer, “Part of the change is the losing of your human canines. This will happen soon after you are bitten. From there, a complex, hollow, bone-pocket will form in the gums to sheathe your new fangs.” He peeled back his upper lip and rubbed a bulged area in his gums right above his elongated fangs. “This allows them to extend and retract while also providing enough rigidity to keep them from snapping out when you bite something.”
Again Xander’s tongue probed his upper jaw, caressing both of his canines before he nodded again.
“When the three days are up, you will awaken and feed for the first time”—he motioned towards the refrigerator behind him that contained the vials of blood—“and you will emerge as your new self and be greeted by the clan as one of us.”
Xander smiled. The idea that he would finally be accepted was a euphoric and long since abandoned hope that was becoming all so real for him, “Then what?”
Range shrugged, “Stryker’s offspring is already the thing of legends. Once you’ve been changed and are a part of the Odin Clan…” he let out a long breath, “… well, after that we’re treading in new waters.”
“How so?” Xander asked with a frown.
“Xander,” Range’s tone became cold and serious, “there are already plenty out to kill you. Once it becomes known that you’ve been initiated, there’s no telling what will happen.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Happy Birthday, Xander
Xander recalled the anticipation he used to feel when his birthday approached; how he’d count the days remaining as his mother marked off another spot on the calendar. There was a great deal of magic and excitement in the thought that he would be celebrating his birthday and dressing up to go door to door for candy on the same day, and for the longest time he was sure that his was, by far, the best birthday.
Then, when Kyle arrived, Xander found himself marking the calendar on his own, and the magic seemed to disappear. The years following, he stopped marking the calendar altogether. With Kyle in the family, he became used to riding life’s torturous train straight through the last day of October without ever being reminded that it was his to celebrate.
The memory saddened and enraged him as he sat on his bed with a smoking cigarette pinched between his fingers. He’d been thinking about it for some time, and each time it started to hurt too much he’d light up a fresh smoke. Finally, crushing the fifth one that hour in an ashtray, he reached out to pet Tiger-Trepis, who had become a nearly permanent fixture inside his room when he was occupying it.
After moving in with his grandma, his birthday had again become something worth caring about, though he’d never fully gotten back into the habit of anticipation or celebration. This thought, while a forced attempt at making him feel better, only served to remind him of his recent loss and the need for another cigarette ached within him.
He sighed, looking at the clock as he lit up number six and ran his fingers through the length of the tiger’s fur. After all those years of letting his birthday pass as another meaningless day, it seemed he was feeling all the added anticipation press down on him with every moment he was forced to wait.
First time I’ve ever seen you actually eager to live for something in a while. Mind-Trepis said, startling him to the point of almost dropping his cigarette.
He smiled and nodded after he’d regained his composure, “I know. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
It has. Maybe you should have some breakfast before the big event.
It was strange that the word ‘breakfast’ was being used at almost eleven-thirty at night; even more-so that Xander was getting used to the idea. Regardless, he was hungry and wondered how long it had been since he had last eaten. Earlier, he’d gotten another two packs of cigarettes—a foreign brand, this time—from another charitable clan member and spent the rest of the time since his meeting with Range sitting in his room contemplating the upcoming event and smoking like a wild fire. He looked down at the tiger with pity, realizing that the animal hadn’t eaten in a while either and decided that he owed it to both of them to take a trip to the dining hall.
The rest of the mansion was already awake and the clan’s members were bustling about when he stepped out of his room. All of his life Xander had been uncomfortable around large crowds, and though he was in a place he knew he was accepted, it was hard not to feel the familiar shudder of insecurity travel up his spine and spark electrically in the back of his mind.
We don’t need an anxiety attack in this place. Trepis scolded.
He sighed and nodded, taking a deep breath to calm himself and heading down the steps—Tiger-Trepis not far behind. It was a funny thing to see a full grown tiger walking about in a mansion without its occupants seeming to care. A few of the more familiar clan members even stopped to give the animal a pat on the head as they passed!
Arriving at the dining hall, Xander wasn’t surprised to find that it was already crowded with clan members; some eating normally—as Range had described—with tall glasses of blood close at hand while others seemed content without the food. Several, Xander noticed, sat with neither food nor blood and just conversed with their neighbors. These, he assumed, were auric members.
Heading towards the kitchen, he grabbed a miniature box of Raisin Bran from the pantry that contained the more recognizable groceries and prepared a bowl before visiting one of the clan’s kitchen crew and getting a large cut of steak for the hungry tiger. Afterwards, he found an empty corner table—politely declining the enthusiastic invitations to sit at other, more packed tables—and dropped the hunk of meat in front of his animal companion before starting on the cereal. As he scooped up a spoonful, he couldn’t help but realize that it would be the last meal he’d eat as a human being.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sophie enter the room and walk straight to his table with a purposeful stride. He frowned. That sort of walk was never followed by casual banter, and he knew that she intended to discuss something that he would rather not. However, as he watched her approach he felt his troubled mind calm and smirked at her, shaking his head. Though he still hated the idea of having someone besides his life-long friend poking around in his head, it was hard to feel angry when she was putting forth so much of an effort to keep him calm. Seeing his smile, Sophie’s own lips curled upward as she pulled back a chair and sat down.
“Finally using real chairs, I see,” Xander said as he poked at a sugar-coated raisin.
Sophie shrugged, “Can’t s
how off all the time.”
Xander nodded, “I suppose not.”
“So… you ready for the ceremony?” she asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”
Nodding, Sophie looked down at the bowl of cereal, her lip twitching at the sight.
Xander frowned at her reaction, “You don’t eat?”
Sophie grinned, “I am eating.”
Xander nodded and chuckled. Of course; the entire bustling room might as well have been a buffet for a mind-feeder! His eyes scanned the room before stopping on a clock hanging on the wall.
It was almost time.
The growing anxiety formed into a lump in his stomach and he pushed the cereal away.
Sophie looked at him, “I don’t like to act like a therapist, but it’s hard not to see your fears and concerns.”
Xander frowned, the feeling of invasion returning, “I’m not—”
Her hand went up to stop him before his pride started an inappropriate monologue, “I hate discomfort, Xander; it tastes foul. I step into this room—hell, this level—and I can taste yours like spoiled milk. I can see that you’re eager for this to happen, but I want to see you step into your new life with at least some confidence.”
Xander’s face reddened. Though the words were kind, he didn’t like being analyzed—especially when they were accurate. “You play therapist pretty well for someone who doesn’t like the game,” he grumbled, staring down at his meal, which was growing more unappealing by the second.
Sophie was scowling before he’d finished his sentence. “I know, and I’m sorry for making you feel”—she clucked her tongue—“weak by doing it. But it’s easy to see for those like myself that your entire life has been spent in unease and fear. Whatever it takes, do what you need to enter that ceremony in the right frame of mind.”
There was a pinch in the back of Xander’s mind that rose into a flame of concern, “Do you know something? What’s going to happen?”
Sophie’s features gave her away and her sadness leaked through, “Nobody can see the future, sweetie, but it’s important to stay strong… no matter what happens.”
He wasn’t sure if it was the power of her words or the power of her mind, but he felt empowered and, moreover, motivated. He nodded and got up, tossing the half-finished bowl of cereal into the garbage and turning to leave.
“Hey, Xander!” Sophie called out.
He turned towards her, almost afraid of whatever closing remarks she might have, “Yea?”
Though her face had moments ago been sad and concerned, her fresh smile was warm and sincere, “Happy birthday.”
Xander smiled as he turned and headed towards the stairwell to make his way to the ceremony room. Somewhere in the distance, a large grandfather clock struck the hour and the new day—his birthday and last day as a human being—began.
****
When, at last, Xander had found and entered the ceremony room, he saw that most of the square-footage was occupied with red and black candles that supplied the large area with all of its light. A figure stood before him in a red robe with a hood pulled up over its head and as Xander approached, it turned and faced him, bowing. As Xander drew nearer, the figure pulled the hood back and revealed itself as Depok, who smiled and guided him towards an altar that rested in the center. As they arrived at the massive stone surface, Depok stepped away and positioned himself over a nearby podium that held a large, leather-bound book.
While Xander looked around the room, Depok lifted a small bell from the podium’s surface and shook it three times. Just then, two figures in matching black cloaks emerged, one carrying a red bundle tied with a length of thick, black rope. Depok nodded once to them and the empty-handed figure began to help Xander out of his clothes. He was compelled at first to struggle against the invading hands, but held back the urge and allowed the mysterious vampire to continue with the task. The second figure, standing a short distance away, began to untie the bundle it carried, revealing a long red robe—similar to Depok’s own—and helping Xander into it. Before leaving, the figures tied the black rope that had held the bundle together around Xander’s waist and stepped back, bowing in unison and leaving with the same speed and silence as when they’d entered. When they were alone again, Depok motioned to the altar and Xander nodded and sat. Even through the fabric of the robe, the stone slab sent a chill up Xander’s spine.
“Are you ready?” Depok asked him.
Somehow feeling it would interfere with the significance of the event, Xander opted to nod rather than speak.
Depok looked down at the book and began reading in a low tone. The language was not one that Xander recognized, and instead of trying to decipher the words he let the melody the words created lull him into a trance; feeling his mind calm until no thought existed.
At the other side of the room, the sound of a door squealing open and shutting soon after snapped Xander from his trance and he shifted his eyes to see who had entered.
“Xander Stryker,” a thick, rich voice filled the hall. The speaker stopped at the altar, standing in a blue robe. His thick brown hair was slicked back and tied in a small ponytail in the back and his solid blue eyes—matching the shade of his robe—shifted from one to the other.
Xander blinked several times, clearing the grogginess from his mind, and began to sit up, nodding his respects at the newcomer.
“My name is Ronen,” the newcomer said, bowing his head as he took a step towards him, “and it will be my pleasure to guide you through the change.” He stopped for a moment, offering a warm and sincere smile, before lifting Xander’s left arm. Pausing, he locked his gaze on Xander’s own, “You are sure that this is what you want?”
Xander nodded.
There was a sharp sting then as Ronen bit into his wrist and Xander flinched before a warm rush made the pain subside and the room began to spin. Thrown off kilter, Xander felt himself start to fall as the poison seeped into the veins of his arm and, after a long, lingering moment, crawled past his shoulder and into his chest—into his heart—where it exploded into a full-body inferno.
He was burning to death!
When he was certain that he was on fire there was a sudden cool rush; a wave of ice that ran through the length of his body and seeped into his core until he found his eyelids and pried them open. The image of Depok and Ronen came into focus and, in a distant corner of his mind, he was aware of Depok’s left hand on his shoulder as the pure-blood pulled his fangs away from his wrist.
Mind still reeling, Xander noticed, not without a bit of shock, that he was still lying on top of the altar. A moment later, his eyes rolled back in his skull and the lights from the candles melted into a solid glow that swallowed him and faded to black. As Death swooped down and enveloped him, he heard Depok’s voice in the distance:
“Welcome home, Xander.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Born into Slaughter
The darkness seemed to stretch on forever. It encased and bled into Xander, making him blind even to his own thoughts. As he tried to focus, he became aware of a distant sound, followed by another, and then again by another—each time becoming louder. Ahead of him the darkness rippled as a figure emerged, and the red fabric of Depok’s robe became visible as he stepped into an invisible source of clarity. The darkness unveiled Depok’s smiling face and Xander couldn’t help but return the smile as he hurried towards him; the clan leader’s arms opened to him.
He continued forth, beginning to feel at last like he belonged, when suddenly a portion of Depok’s face peeled off and fluttered to his feet. Watching in shock, more bits of the still smiling—still waiting—vampire fell away, until Xander finally recognized the strips as paper; pages from the library’s dusty books! He looked up, horrified, at Depok moments before he burst in flames.
Startled, Xander fell back and watched as the clan leader’s face—still wearing the same caring, welcoming smile—melted away and exposed a grinning, chattering skull. His arms were s
till held open in an invitation as more and more sheets of burning paper fell. Xander rose to his feet to flee, and, before turning away, caught sight of the vampire elder’s dwindling arms as they snapped and fell from his body.
As he hurried away from the all-consuming fire, Xander could hear the blood chilling screams.
The darkness went on forever! No matter how far he ran there was nothing but infinite blackness surrounding him.
And the screams…
No matter how far he went—how hard he tried to escape them—they followed!
Finally the shrieks and wails caught up to him, knocking him off his feet and drowning him in a thick, red noise that turned sticky and warm and seeped into his core.
He tossed and shook, trying to free his body from the weight of the tragedy that was creeping into him. When he saw there was no salvation from the cries he looked up at the source—into the void above him—and saw them.
His clan!
His grandmother!
And there, in the abyss, Xander saw his mother.
All of them were crying; weeping bloody tears that fell onto his face and dripped into his open, horrified mouth.
And then he felt the hunger.
It was agonizing! He’d never felt so empty; so devoid of nutrition. He began thrashing within the suffocating darkness. There had to be a way out, had to be some way to find something—someone—to eat.
Xander? The voice in his head seemed distantly familiar.
Something skittered and made a noise by his ear.
Noise.
Meaningless noise.
He ignored it.
He had to eat! Had to find a way out! A way to escape the haunting nightmare! Damn it, he could still hear their screams!
His searching hands found something in the darkness; something long and smooth. He was about to throw it until he smelled the sweetness. Such sweetness. He pulled the prize to his nostrils and inhaled. The sweetness was contained within it; inside the cylinder. Using his fingertips, he examined it until he found a lid on one side and twisted it off before pouring the contents into his mouth.
Noir: A Crimson Shadow Novel Page 16