Knowledge Hurts

by D. S. Williams

  Conal lifted the weapons belt from the top of the oak dresser and handed it to me cautiously, taking care not to touch the weapons.

  The injury was covered in thick white gauze, taped down around the edges. Jerome pulled the gauze away and I stared at the damage in dismay. The centre of the gaping hole was still a shocking mass of torn flesh, only the edges were knitting together with the aid of the sigil. The skin around the wound was tinged black where poison was still seeping into my bloodstream. Raising the Hjördis, I marked both a blood and poison sigil. The skin began to bind together, leaving a glossy pink circle. The blackish tinge grew fainter and the veins near the surface of my skin reduced in size as the poison sigil worked on the toxins in my bloodstream.

  “That's an impressive damn trick.”

  Sherriff Davis was standing in the doorway of what was becoming a rapidly filling bedroom, along with Nick and I smiled at them both. “Sherriff; Nick.”

  “I'm supposed to be arresting you,” Sherriff Davis announced with a smirk. He was out of uniform, wearing an olive green t-shirt which stretched across his broad chest, and tailored black pants. “But given what I've seen the past few days, I'm gonna give you a reprieve.”

  “I'm not,” Nick growled. “Charlotte, I told you I'd kick your ass if you got into trouble out there.”

  “I believe you told me you were going to haul my ass through the portal. You didn't say anything about kicking my ass.” It was difficult to tell whether Nick was truly angry, or if he was teasing and consequently I was anxious about his reaction. It seemed he and I were always at odds with one another.

  To my surprise, Nick grinned. “Well, I got my ass kicked by Rowena, Marianne, Acenith and Gwynn when I got back here without you. Seems only fair that you get the same deal.”

  I grinned back. “Can it wait till I'm feeling better?”

  Nick stepped across to the bed and pressed a quick kiss against my forehead, his expression filled with relief. “Yep. You get a reprieve for now. But if you ever…” He inhaled sharply, before continuing. “Don't put me in that position again, or you really will get an ass kicking.”

  “Deal.”

  Sherriff Davis crossed his arms over his broad chest. “How're you doing?”

  I attempted another shrug, found it worked marginally better than the first time. “Okay, I guess. Thanks for your help.”

  The Sherriff pursed his lips. “Not sure I did all that much. Seemed you had it all under control. Kind of.”

  I smirked. “I'm pretty sure I was in a heck of a lot of trouble. You're pretty handy with a rifle.”

  “Wasn't doing much against those critters.” He inclined his head towards the weapons belt in my lap. “Seems like you have much better ammunition.”

  Lucas interrupted to urge me to reapply the sigils. They'd faded swiftly, presumably due to the amount of damage I'd suffered.

  “There's no options, you know,” I murmured as I finished a second set of markings. “These people have to learn to cooperate with one another.”

  “I think it might be an impossibility, love,” Lucas warned.

  “There isn't a hope in hell,” Conal added.

  “I think they need a wake-up call,” I declared.

  Chapter 24: Rally

  After tightening my boots, I stood up, glancing at the reflection in the mirror. Weakness still beset me from the attack and the receding poison was creating a light sheen of perspiration over my skin, but the sigils were doing their job. The newly-healed skin on my chest was shiny and pink, but it would fade in a few days. I was certain I would be left with a scar, the injury had been too extensive to disappear entirely.

  Stepping from the bathroom, I picked up the weapons belt and slipped it around my waist. It hung low on my hips, the weapons in easy reach whenever I need them. Impulsively I reached for the Hjördis, marking one final sigil on my chest.

  Lucas tapped at the door. “May I come in?”

  “Sure.”

  He pushed open the door and stood in the doorway, wearing camouflage pants and a black t-shirt which hugged his chest. “Nick and Conal are waiting downstairs. Are you ready?”

  “As ready as I'll ever be.” Shoving the Hjördis into my pocket, I looked up at him with a shy smile. “Lucas - technically, I think we're living together now. I'm fairly certain that means you don't have to knock on our bedroom door.”

  “Old habits die hard, my Charlotte.” He was gazing at me, his eyes drifting across my black tank top and camouflage pants. “And I'm hoping to make the 'technical' aspect of us living together a thing of the past. Soon.” Longing was evident in his dark blue eyes, as he focused on my breasts and his gaze lingered. “Do we have to do this?” he inquired huskily. “I'd much rather stay here.” He bridged the gap between us and drew me into his arms, his mouth finding mine for a long kiss. “These clothes – they say women like a man in uniform, but I find you're having a similar effect on me.” He ran his fingertips along the ridges of my spine and I shuddered, goose bumps forming on my skin.

  “Trust me,” I whispered, lowering my hands to his backside. “I'd rather stay here, too. It's been a very long time since I've spent a night with you.”

  “Far too long,” he agreed, kissing me again, biting my lower lip gently. He glanced down at my chest. “Is that a fearless sigil?”

  “Yeah. I thought it might help.”

  “It's certainly helping in one area,” Lucas nuzzled my neck, pressing his body against mine so I could feel him, hard and firm beneath his pants. “You do realize you're holding my ass, don't you?”

  I laughed huskily. “Yeah, I do. I've never heard you say that word before.”

  “You're a bad influence on me,” he smiled.

  “Probably. But for now, we have other things we need to do.”

  Lucas emitted a heavy sigh, but allowed me to drag him downstairs to the tiny living room, where Conal and Nick were waiting for us, dressed in similar camouflage pants and t-shirts to Lucas.

  Conal groaned aloud. “Damn it, Charlotte! I thought we'd decided the fearless sigil was a bad idea?”

  “Stop looking at my chest. Then you wouldn't know it was there,” I retorted mildly.

  “Let's face it Sugar, in that top, it's pretty much… out there.”

  Lucas snarled, the sound rumbling through his chest and I squeezed his hand forcefully.

  “Down boys. Enough.” Heading towards the front door, I stepped out into the rapidly descending dusk. “Besides, public speaking isn't my thing. I figure a little bit of fearlessness isn't going to go astray.”

  Our quartet strode through the silent streets of Zaen, the three men dwarfing me in size, but that wasn't the purpose of their attendance. I wanted the new residents of Zaen to observe that werewolves, vampires and shape shifters could be together, working as a united group and this little demonstration of unity might help.

  As we drew nearer to the central courtyard, my nerves accelerated despite the fearless mark. A steady buzz of voices grew louder as we approached and I made a conscious effort to keep my pace steady and my shoulders firm.

  The population had been summoned to the meeting, told only that it was compulsory to attend. As we approached the outskirts of the crowd, they began to notice our arrival and stepped back, creating an avenue to stride through. A hum of recognition broke out as I made my way into the centre of the circle and stopped, waiting while they settled. Nick, Lucas and Conal stood a few steps back, standing side-by-side.

  Looking around the assembled crowd, I saw the Tines standing together with Nonny and Epi. With them was Sherriff Davis and he nodded in recognition. Nonny smiled brightly, holding her two thumbs up. I returned the smile before turning my attention back to the waiting populace.

  “For those of you who have met me,” I began, pacing around the circle, “and those of you have not – I'm Charlotte Duncan. The Angel Child of Nememiah.” I paused for a moment, allowing this information to sink in. “There have been a number of rumors swirling
around Zaen in recent days, including one which suggested I was dead.” Shaking my head, I offered them a little smile. “As Mark Twain once famously said – rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”

  “Yeah, but you got mighty close this time!” Striker yelled.

  I grinned at him, before turning back to the sea of people, scanning the faces. “Another rumor you may have heard is that I'm a murderer.” Some people glanced away uncomfortably, others stared defiantly. “It isn't a rumor. It's the truth.” Hushed whispers rippled through the crowd and I waited for them to settle. “I killed my step-father three years ago. Was I right to do that? Was I wrong? Like everything in this world, it helps to have the full story before you make your decision.” Raking my gaze across the solemn faces, I paused for a moment. “I made a decision between right and wrong. It was my decision to make.”

  The silence was absolute now, as they waited to hear more.

  “The truth is, I killed my step-father. After he'd murdered my mother, my two sisters, my baby brother. How you feel about my actions is your choice. I believe justice was done. I don't regret the decision and feel no sympathy for the man I killed. I believed in the choice I made.” I began walking again, holding each individual's gaze in turn as I passed.

  “And now, you have to make a decision between right and wrong. As we speak, the Consiliului Suprem de Drâghici Vampiri are amassing a sizeable vampire army, all younglings who are less than a year old. Unstable, dangerous and volatile, there are more than two thousand of them. Nememiah created two Angel Children – the Consiliului have created the other one to vampire. In conjunction with a warlock named Alberich Bran, they have the ability to summon demons from the Otherworld.” I paused, giving them plenty of time to absorb this statement. “All of this is because they believe they're going to right a wrong. Those amongst you with mixed blood are considered an abnormality – they've decided you're an abomination, that you need to be exterminated. They intend to make you into a supreme race of supernaturals, based on their vision of what's tolerable and what must be eradicated.” I stopped in the centre of the crowd, my expression grim. “What the Consiliului are doing is not dissimilar to what the Germans did during World War Two by annihilating the Jews. What happened in Croatia in the nineties. The massacre in Rwanda. It's ethnic cleansing. Eradicating anyone they've deemed unsuitable. I've heard complaints regarding the mark, which was required so you could enter this city.” I'd spied Reynolds in the crowd and stared at him, watching him lower his gaze. “Yes, the mark is permanent and yes, it's painful. I've heard some of you think it comparable to what the Germans did, tattooing the Jewish population with identification numbers.” My voice grew more confident. “That's where the comparison ends. Whilst the Germans used their tattoos to mark their victims, the wing you now bear is what provides you with sanctuary within Zaen. It's part of our plan – to keep you alive and keep you safe. Here, you are protected from the mass murder being perpetrated against others like you. Be thankful for the mark, knowing it stands between yourselves and what awaits you out there.” I waved my hand towards the massive walls. “The mark is providing safety for you, your families and your loved ones – surely it's a small price to pay for the security those walls now provide you with?”

  I pointed to Conal when I continued. “The Drâghici's plan is straightforward. He will be given the right to live, because he's pure-blooded. But that right bears a heavy penalty. He must bow to their rules, conform to their laws.” I pointed to Nick. “He will die. He's a shape shifter, an abnormality. There's no room in the Consiliului's plans for anyone they deem an aberration.” I pointed now to Lucas and he watched me solemnly. “And he will die. They'll kill him, because he's an anomaly. He doesn't drink the blood of humans and chooses to survive on animal blood.” I began to pace again. “Look amongst yourselves. Many of you are half-blooded. Some of you love someone who isn't supernatural. Pure-bloods amongst you will have friends, relatives who are human or carry mixed blood. All are wrong in the Drâghici eyes. All will be slaughtered.”

  Turning to face Nick, Lucas and Conal, I chewed my lip thoughtfully. “These three men have one thing in common. Yes, they're different because of their bloodlines; because of their species, if you will. But they fight together, work together and manage to overcome their suspicions of one another in a common goal. To stop the Consiliului – to protect all of you. And to win this battle.”

  I scanned the faces before me. “All I keep hearing is you can't trust one another. You can't work together. You've hated one another for thousands of years. The mistrust you show to one another makes this situation untenable. You have a common goal – survival. You all have the ability to right this wrong. A wrong which will be perpetrated against every single one of you.”

  Drawing a Katchet from my belt, I waved it in the air. “Twelve months ago, I believed I was human. Perfectly normal. I didn't believe in any of you. Werewolves; shape shifters; vampires.” With a wry smile, I shook my head. “All stuff of fiction. Then I met a group of vampires, who took me in when I believed there was nothing left to live for. They cared for me, offered love and protection, both from themselves and others who already knew what I was. I met werewolves, who did exactly the same thing. Protected me, believed in what I was, nurtured my abilities. And shape shifters.” I smiled at Nick and he winked. “They too have accepted me and given me support when I needed it most.”

  Confidence grew when I was sure the group around us were really listening, their silence encompassing. Whether they believed or not, I couldn't tell, but I had their complete attention. “I discovered I was a child of Nememiah. An Angel child. And I have a mission – to save you from annihilation by the Drâghici and their allies.”

  Flicking the Katchet between my fingers nervously, I contemplated how much of my own thoughts to admit. “Believe me, there have been times when I've thought it would be easier to run away, not face the battle I know is approaching. But I know it's not an option. Part of my power lies in my abilities with these weapons. Another part is in my mind, working with ancestral spirits and accessing their help to defeat our enemies. And part of my powers lie here…” I pointed to my heart. “In my love and friendship with vampires, werewolves and shape shifters. Running away is not an option because I'm prepared to lay down my life to protect you. But you must offer allegiance to one another for us to succeed.”

  Striding closer to the people in the circle, my voice rose. “In my world – the human world – it's not so different from yours. Racism, intolerance – both a normal part of life. Asians, Caucasians, Europeans, African Americans and American Indians – there's a mountain of intolerance to overcome.” I raised my eyebrows scathingly. “So when I hear you don't get along – it's nothing new. Black skin, brown skin, white skin – there's racism and intolerance between them all. There are two things that draw all together, two commonalities, for both humans and yourselves.” Stopping in front of one of the Lingard pack, I twirled the knife between my fingers. “If I cut you, shape shifter, what color is your blood?”

  He was solemn when he answered. “Red.”

  Next I headed towards Phelan. “And you, a werewolf. If you're cut, you bleed. What color is your blood?”

  “Red.” His response was loud and firm, filled with confidence.

  “If I hold this dagger to my own skin and cut, the blood will be red. Something we all have in common.”

  “What about the vamps?” Someone called out. “The only blood in their bodies belongs to their victims!”

  “Yes, that's true.” I agreed quietly. “The creation process changes their bodies, removes their own blood, the need for human food. But they have something else in common with you. The second commonality I spoke about. They have love, affection, understanding. They care deeply about what is happening to all of us and they want to help.”

  “Vamps don't care about anything!” Another voice yelled.

  “Yes, they do,” I responded, looking across to my friends
. “Ben Becket spends his time helping youth homeless who have been abused. He tries to make their lives better by helping them get an education, finding them housing, helping them escape from desperate circumstances. And he's loved me, as a father loves a daughter. He's here now, with you, willing to support you in this nightmare we now face.”

  Holden, Striker and William stood together, their expressions solemn. “Those three vampires will fight at your side against our common enemy. They're brave men, strong men – loyal and fearless. They're also vampires – but that has nothing – nothing to do with their ability to love, to protect and nurture those they care for. Striker and William are both married. I've seen how much they love and adore their partners. They're protective, caring, nurturing of the women in their lives. They've protected me, saved me in more ways than you can possibly imagine. All these vampires, every single one of them, made a choice between right and wrong. They've decided on your side in this war. Our side.”

  “They're vampires! They'll attack us!” One woman yelled anxiously.

  “They won't. I'm well aware this small group of vampires are not the norm of what you've seen. I'm certainly aware, from my own bad experiences, of how brutal, how aggressive, how bloodthirsty and murderous vampires can be. I understand your fears, your concerns. I've had them myself. But I need you to trust me - have faith in this small group of vampires – accept them as part of our team, people who are on the same side. They will not attack you. Every single one of them has made the choice to feed only from animals and their commitment is indisputable.”

  “Everyone makes mistakes! What if they make a mistake?”

  “They take precautions against that. They feed regularly and often.” They were doubtful and it was difficult to decide how to convince them. It was probably only the passing of time which would provide them with enough evidence to start trusting, but time was one thing I didn't have. “Vampires were human once. With families, with children. Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers. Daughters and sons. These vampires, the ones here with us now, they've made a choice – a decision to make the best of their existence and avoid human blood, avoid murdering humans for nourishment.”