A Shade of Vampire 54_A Den of Tricks

by Bella Forrest

  He stared at me for a while, and I waited patiently for his answer. A flurry of emotions trembled in his eyes, his brow furrowing slightly. He was taking his time formulating an answer, while I struggled to keep my pulse in check. Then a distant drumming sound caught my attention. Or at least, it seemed distant. It wasn’t. It was right in front of me, nestled beneath Patrik’s ribcage.

  My vampire hearing was picking up on his heartbeat. Tumultuous, erratic, and thundering in his chest. He was nervous.

  “It’s been a couple of really crazy days, Scarlett,” Patrik said, his voice calm, in stark contrast with his pulse. “To be honest, I’m having trouble making sense of what’s happening in my head, not to mention my dreams… It’s difficult to understand one’s subconscious, and as much as I would like to, I don’t think I can offer you an explanation. I think it just happened.”

  He looked a little tortured, as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t—or worse, didn’t know what to say. He’d never thought he’d mention a dream of me out loud, in front of the whole team. It couldn’t be easy for him to actually talk about it.

  Time to lighten things up a bit, then…

  “Meh, it probably means you’re getting the hots for me and your subconscious is trying to tell you that,” I chuckled.

  He almost laughed, his lips stretching into a grin. But then his serenity faded and he faltered for a second, his gaze softening as it settled on my face again. The humor rushed past us, and I suddenly felt naked in front of him, vulnerable and defenseless. His eyes lit up, and what I’d just joked about seemed to sink in.

  It was all happening in slow motion, and I had a front-row seat, watching as Patrik took my weak attempt at a joke as something very serious, something he’d actually considered:

  “I’m in mourning, Scarlett,” he whispered. “I’m still learning to live without Kyana, and I’m getting the hang of it, you know…”

  “I… I was joking, you know—”

  “Don’t think I don’t see you, Scarlett,” he went on, determined to make himself heard, and inched closer. I had to look up to maintain eye contact, and I had to work harder to keep my breathing under control, our lips mere inches apart. “I’m not blind. I’m aware of the effect that you have… The effect that you have on me, even when we’re just standing next to each other. I just don’t know what to do with that yet. But I want you to know that I see you.”

  I was simply floored. Out of words. My thoughts jammed in the back of my throat and my temperature spiked.

  What… What do I do with this? What do I do with what he just said?

  My lips parted, my mouth trying to form some words, but nothing came out. His gaze lowered, and I noticed a shadow settling in the blue pools of his eyes.

  “Good night, Scarlett,” he muttered, then walked away, disappearing into his room farther down the hall.

  He left me with a spiked temperature and a riled-up heart muscle. He’d just said he saw me. He noticed me. As if… As if I were real, and more than a teammate.

  I exhaled sharply and went into my room, locking the door behind me. A couple of minutes went by as I tried to make sense of the storm brewing inside me—a strange mixture of excitement and… curiosity. What did it all mean? What did he mean?

  For the first time in months, I didn’t feel like I was in a one-sided limbo anymore. Patrik had just acknowledged that he was aware of me, of the… effect I had on him.

  Whoa.

  My room was too hot. Or at least it felt that way. I went over to the window and opened it wide, gazing at the city spreading below with dark rooftops and alleys, thick tree crowns and twinkling street lamps.

  There was so much to unpack in his statement. And I also needed to get some sleep.

  “I’m screwed,” I mumbled, realizing how powerful an impact Patrik had on me. It had already gone past the stage of an innocent crush. There was so much about him that I couldn’t get enough of… I was falling for him, deeply and irreversibly. “I am so screwed…”

  And the fact that there was the clear possibility of one fraction of my feelings being mutual—well, that certainly added a spring to my step. I had to give it time. He needed patience and understanding, more than anything. A friend. A teammate. Someone he could rely on. It would be me. It had to be me.

  Movement somewhere below caught my eye. A passing shadow that crossed my field of vision. I caught a glimpse and followed it till it reached a dark cluster of large trees on the edge of the city level. My breath hitched as I realized what I was looking at.

  “Holy hell,” I breathed, feeling my eyes attempting to jump out of their sockets. “Holy friggin’ hell…”

  The pit wolf I’d rescued in the gorges had followed me all the way up here. I could see it clearly, resting at the base of a tree, out of sight on that level. Its glimmering red eyes were focused on me, its mouth open and tongue hanging out like it was a good dog.

  What in the world…

  For a moment I thought the city’s protection spell hadn’t worked, but I quickly shook the idea away, since the pit wolf didn’t have a collar anymore. It was free. And it didn’t strike me as evil or hostile, despite its frightening appearance.

  It was just sitting there, watching me quietly. It didn’t react. It didn’t even growl or glare at the Imen who passed by, less than twenty feet away from it.

  You giant weirdo…

  Whatever it wanted from me, it didn’t involve stringing my intestines out. That was clear. I wondered if the creature was maybe feeling thankful after I’d released it from its charmed collar.

  I also had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time I’d see the pit wolf, and it didn’t bother me. In fact, it kind of comforted me. On any other day, the presence of a giant beast waiting outside my window would have creeped the hell out of me.

  But on Neraka… It was better to have a pit wolf keeping me company than invisible daemons lurking around, eager to slice me open and consume my soul.

  Harper

  (Daughter of Hazel & Tejus)

  The night went by in what felt like seconds. I remembered putting my head down, and then my eyes peeled open to find a solitary strand of sunshine slipping through the window shutters. A cold shower was needed to get myself back into a functioning mode—the past couple of days had definitely taken their toll on me.

  After we went over mission details at the infirmary, we joined the rest of the people of Azure Heights on the fourth level, at the funeral home. Scarlett and Patrik stayed behind, as they had Minah’s coffin to bring out into the procession and the daemon’s body to burn.

  Thousands of Maras and Imen stood quietly outside and in the alleys surrounding the simple, cubic white building. A plethora of beautiful flowers lined both sides of the procession path, leaving about twenty feet in between, and connecting the main entrance of the funeral home to the cemetery gates down below, on the north side of the mountain.

  Candles burned inside, the scent of melted wax and jasmine filling my lungs. The terrace was covered, but we all wore black, as we were about to go into the sunlight for the burial ceremony. My team and I were in our usual black leather suits, with head covers, masks, and goggles ready to be put on once we left the safety of the awnings.

  The Imen and Maras had opted for the same type of clothing—black cloaks, which made the crowd look downright eerie. They all held flowers in their arms, waiting patiently for the dozens of Imen and Maras killed in the attack to be carried out in their coffins.

  The silence weighed heavy on our shoulders, but there was nothing we could say or do to make this easier. The people were in pain and mourning. Loss could not be reversed.

  Caspian and the remaining three Lords came down, accompanied by Vincent, Rewa, Amalia, and the other family members who had survived the explosions. They, too, wore black cloaks and brought flowers with them. Caspian crossed the funeral path and came to stand next to me, his eyes searching my face. Emilian, Farrah, Rowan, Rewa, and the others waited on the ot
her side.

  “Did you sleep?” Caspian asked, his voice low. I gave him a brief nod. “You don’t look like you slept.”

  Wow. Right before the funeral. Smooth…

  “I’m fine,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. I looked away. He stared at me for a while, somewhat confused.

  “I didn’t mean it as an insult,” he whispered. “I just think you need more rest.”

  “Well, thank you for your concern, Lord Kifo, but I’m fine.”

  Music started playing inside, two flutes and two drums, complementing each other in a slow but steady rhythm. It was a song of heartbreak and sadness, trickling out of the funeral home and spreading around. It brought tears to people’s eyes. Rewa was a mess, poor thing, her eyes red and puffy and her skin paler than usual. Vincent had his arm around her, holding her close and comforting her.

  The crowd hummed as they all took out metal masks from the folds of their black cloaks—they were simple, made from meranium, with eye holes and molded noses and lips, similar to Venetian masks back on Earth. They all put them on and pulled the hoods over their heads. The music got louder.

  The funeral home doors opened wide, and out came two drummers and flute players, followed by four elder Maras, four old Imen, and a string of coffins that seemed never-ending. They all wore black cloaks and meranium masks, spreading flower petals as they walked down the processional path.

  I heard murmurs and sobs emerging from the crowd as more caskets were carried out on the shoulders of Imen. My stomach tightened when I allowed my inner sentry to “listen” to the emotions pouring out of the Imen surrounding us—there was so much grief… and angst, and fear.

  The last coffin left the funeral home, an elegant black wooden box with gold lace motifs that held Darius. The cleric came out behind it, wearing a white hood and meranium mask and holding a scepter made of gold, with a cavity at the top, in which fragrant incense burned. Ten more Imen in black cloaks followed.

  “Do they represent a cult or religion of sorts?” I asked Caspian, watching as the crowd slowly moved onto the path, following the cleric.

  He placed his hand on the small of my back and gently nudged me forward. We all joined in and walked behind the string of coffins. We pulled our hoods and masks on, and the direct sunlight washed over us. My body felt warm, but my heart was heavy as I gazed forward at the dozens of lives lost, carried on the grieving shoulders of their brothers, their sisters, their mothers and fathers, while the rest of the city wept.

  “There is no religion here,” Caspian replied, “but there are traditions, which have been assigned to the cleric to help us remember and perform. We do not worship anyone or anything, but we honor life and grieve in death. Rituals help us fare better in loss.”

  The main road leading toward the base of the mountain was covered in black hooded beings, with wooden coffins stretching in a long line through the middle of the procession. Sunlight glistened on their lacquered surfaces. Birds trilled from trees nearby, almost matching the flutes playing at the front.

  We reached the infirmary floor, where Scarlett and Patrik awaited in their GASP uniforms, carrying Minah’s coffin into the procession. They seamlessly blended in as we descended farther down the mountain. I glanced to the left and saw the daemon’s body, wrapped up and burning on a funeral pyre built on the edge of the terrace outside the infirmary.

  Rabid orange flames licked at the sky, consuming his flesh and spewing plumes of black smoke.

  Several Correction Officers stood on the edge of the road, their heads and faces covered, their hands behind their backs. I could see their eyes through their smoky goggles—there was sadness in them, and anger, as they watched the procession.

  Once we made our way down to the base of the mountain, we followed the flowery path all the way to the north side, where the cemetery awaited, several acres’ worth of tombstones for the thousands of years of Azure Heights’ existence. It looked strange but beautiful, with crypts nestled between trees with reddish foliage and white flowers sprinkled across the short, neatly trimmed grass. The caretaker in charge did a wonderful job of keeping the place up.

  Rectangular holes had been dug and lined with white flowers. We all gathered around that portion of the cemetery. The Imen’s caskets were lowered into the ground, and the cleric spoke of peace, of love, of the fragility and beauty of life, and of the hope that there is something there, beyond death. The people cried as they bid their farewells, stopping in front of each hole and dropping a flower inside.

  Soon enough, the Imen’s coffins were buried beneath flower petals, with the cleric moving on to address the deceased Maras’ families in his speech. The Maras’ caskets were mounted on funeral pyres, surrounded by flowers, and were getting a different funeral service. The cleric walked between them, setting them alight with a small torch.

  As the fires burned and crackled through the wood, the flames rising and black smoke billowing, Rewa stepped forward in front of her father’s pyre, which had yet to be set on fire.

  “We’ve all lost someone today,” she said, her voice raw and trembling as she swallowed back tears. An Iman servant came to her side with an umbrella, so she could take off her mask and hood and reveal herself to the people. I assumed it was part of the tradition. “Whether you all knew the deceased or not, you have lost someone today. An Iman, a Mara, a brother… a sister, a father, a mother… a friend or a loved one… or just the neighbor you never speak to, or that person you bumped into the other day… You have all lost someone today. And I have lost someone, too…”

  She choked up, and the cleric came by her side and gave her his flaming torch.

  “I’ve lost my father,” she continued, barely holding it together. “My best friend, my mentor… the only creature who has always understood and loved me unconditionally. Today, I burn the body of my father, Darius Xunn, Lord of Azure Heights. Today, we burn the body of our leader, our teacher, our protector and our fellow citizen. Tomorrow, the sun will rise again, and our world will be poorer without him, but far richer with the heritage he leaves behind…”

  She took a deep breath, tears streaming down her cheeks, then turned around and set fire to her father’s casket. The flames engulfed the funeral pyre, the wood crackling as the fire ate its way through it, turning everything to ashes.

  I wasn’t one to cry at funerals, but the atmosphere got to me—I realized that as I felt tears soaking into my mask. Caspian’s hand took mine, and I gazed up at him. My eyesight was a little hazy with tears, but I managed to see the pained expression he wore as he looked at me. He gently squeezed my hand, a small but reassuring gesture that somehow meant the world to me.

  As a sentry, I could see the sadness and frustration emanating from him in deep shades of blue and crimson. He had every reason to feel that way, and yet there was something more beneath those obvious layers. The golden tendrils I’d seen before, warm and almost palpable as they tickled my face. It was so strange and beautiful to experience, in the midst of all that grief.

  Caspian had this effect on me, and I found that it didn’t bother me. It didn’t scare me, either. Sure, it confused the hell out of me, but his presence and his touch seemed to make it all worth it. He was an enigma I was determined to unravel, one layer at a time.

  For the time being, however, I was thankful to have him standing next to me, holding my hand and filling my heart with an unfamiliar, peculiar, but wonderful kind of warmth.

  As I lifted my goggles and wiped my tears, I glanced at Rewa for a minute. Her grief seemed genuine. Tears rolled down her pale cheeks and dripped into the short grass at her feet. Her head was down as the flutes and drums produced a mournful ballad to which they all knew the lyrics.

  Her lips parted, then moved as she sang. Soon enough, the entire crowd joined in—a sea of voices singing about the ephemeral nature of life, about how a second and a thousand years are suddenly equal in the face of death.

  It sent shivers down my spine, reminding me of how precious life
was. Sure, I’d opted for immortality as a vampire. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t be taken away from me. It didn’t mean that it wouldn’t all come to an end at some point.

  I instinctively squeezed Caspian’s hand, then gave him a sideways glance as I wondered… If my life were to stop right here and now, I would never see him again. Something clawed at my heart in response, painful and unforgiving.

  As our eyes met, I understood.

  Caspian was slowly but surely becoming an extra reason for me to live and keep fighting.

  Caia

  (Daughter of Grace & Lawrence)

  A luncheon was organized at the White Star Hotel, with a massive buffet covering the ground and first floor of the building, along with seating and more stalls on the front terrace, for all those who wished to join the grieving families of those lost in last night’s attacks.

  The banquet hall on the ground floor was enormous and beautifully decorated with floral spheres and black ribbons hanging from the domed ceiling. It was simple, but elegant and full of expression—an artful way of mourning, I thought.

  Our team was given a table at the far end, secluded between large potted flowers that gave us a mild sense of privacy. Servants brought over pitchers of blood and mixed platters from the buffet. My gaze quietly followed them as they then took more blood pitchers to the Lords’ table, on the opposite side of the hall.

  The funeral ceremony had been quite intense and emotional, but something else bothered us, collectively. It hung heavy in the air between us, and it had to be addressed sooner rather than later.