Vampire in Silver

by Mia Strange

  As the daylight glinted off the arm, The Bone Man narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “No offense, Pilot,” he said. “But the arm? Comes off.”

  “It doesn’t.”

  “It most certainly does. You take it off every night.”

  “Fine. I’ll switch arms, ya big baby.”

  With that, Pilot let go, gave a half mid-air twist, grabbed for the thick copper stanchion with his brass hand and? Missed.

  The Bone Man gasped.

  I sighed. “Aw damn it,” I said under my breath.

  I knew Pilot would catch himself using bent knees and his feet. He was a skilled acrobat after all.

  I knew Pilot wore a ‘kill’ cable clipped to his vest and anchored to a bolted cleat in the teak deck. Falling was not an option.

  I knew Pilot was just showing off.

  But The Bone Man? Not so much. I shook my head.

  The Bone Man squeezed his eyes shut and bravely held out his long spindly arms. Like catching Pilot blind was even an option.

  “You are so not helping,” I said to a dangling upside-down Pilot. “I should unclip the kill cable and let you fall on your head, just to teach you a lesson.”

  “Sorry.” Pilot righted himself and flipped back onto the safety of the deck. “I don’t know what gets into me. It’s just so much fun.” He laughed. “Besides. The Bone Man said my arm would pop off. He hurt my feelings.” Pilot tried to look insulted, then burst out laughing instead.

  The Bone Man had opened his eyes and now stood with hands on hips glaring up at us. “Even if I was considering a lift,” he shouted. “I would change my mind. I’m not riding with a maniac like that. Not funny, Blondie.”

  “Nice going,” I said to Pilot. He didn’t even have the decency to try and look sorry.

  “Phil’s waiting,” I tried once more with The Bone Man. “And you know how he hates to travel without you.”

  “Naw. He just tends to drool more when I’m not around. That’s all.”

  As if on cue, long, disgusting spittle’s of drool dripped past my nose from up above where Phil was strapped in his air seat from the bridge above. It pooled on the toe of my boot. Nice.

  “Bone Man. We don’t have time for this. The wind is shifting,” Pilot yelled down.

  “And this affects me how?” With that, The Bone Man put two of his long fingers between his teeth. An ear-shattering whistle pierced the air. Not quite a zombie call, but almost. Phil pulled against his woven hemp seat belts and tried to stand.

  “Phil,” Pilot pointed at the zombie. “Sit.” He reached into the pocket of his vest and threw a dried chicken foot at him. It smacked Phil in the nose, but miracles of miracles, Phil caught it on the rebound.

  Onyx, trailing a stream of sea fog behind him, galloped out from around the engine. Iron hooves clattered against the pavement sending out an eerie tattoo rhythm that echoed through the air. I saw The Bone Man smile as he reached into his pocket.

  “Don’t you dare,” I yelled down at him.

  I could see him wink behind the glass in his goggles.

  He bent over at the waist and as if blowing on a rare dried dandelion, he pursed his thin lips together and blew at a small pile of dust in the palm of his hand.

  Opalescent, lavender-colored dust flew toward the oncoming clockwork horse. The particles met with the sound of hooves and mingled. Mingled until the echoing sound reached up and up. The yummy smell of dust magic reached us, magic that smelled like crisp sliced apples dredged through warmed brown sugar and melted butter.

  The clanking of hooves strung together into a flow of notes that burst into music. Pilot and I, through no choice of our own, started to sway to the melody, and I swear, Phil even tapped his sneaker-clad toe. Not in rhythm of course. But still. When ya gotta dance? Ya gotta dance.

  As the magical notes enveloped us, Phil tapped harder, and I was reminded yet again that not so very long ago, Phil from Missouri had once been human. The thought made me sad. The change in my emotions shook The Bone Man’s harmless stage magic from me and I stopped mid-twirl under Pilot’s brass arm. I pulled away.

  “Aw. Now why ya gotta do that, Skye?” Pilot said with disappointment. “I was just going in for the dip.”

  I shook my head and snapped my fingers in front of his nose, loudly. He blinked. And blinked again.

  “Aw shit,” he said as clarity passed over his face. “Tell me I didn’t breakdance on the deck again.”

  I shook my head, rolled my eyes, and once more leaned over the stanchions to yell down at The Bone Man. “Not funny. Not even.”

  Sparks flew as Onyx’s metal hooves scraped to a stop against the asphalt. Steam rose into the air from his nostrils, while the giant gears that made up his mainframe, ground to a halt. His ebony mane and tail blew in the wind, tossing below us like an angry thunder cloud.

  Today, Onyx wore his ‘coat’ and at first glance, he looked every bit like a real flesh and blood horse. But I knew only too well that a real horse could never blow flames from his nostrils and fry you up quicker than you could say, ‘ride ‘em, cowboy.’

  “Well,” The Bone Man grinned up at me. “There’s my ride.”

  “You are not.” I glared down at him. “You are so not leaving me with Phil.”

  “I am.”

  With one smooth movement, he tipped his top hat, bowed, and stepped off the roof. I might have been shocked if I hadn’t seen him do this before. But I had. Like a thousand times.

  He landed safely into the worn leather saddle that was beautifully trimmed with hammered brass and tarnished old pawn silver. Without even a wave much less a backward glance, he was off, taking the musical notes with him.

  Leaving me to zombie-sit. Drooling Phil.

  Nice.

  3

  Pilot stood on the bridge of The Dark Destiny with my brass spyglass held up to his eye.

  With his booted foot propped up on an old leather trunk, and the wind whipping his hair, he looked like a dashing sky captain right off an old movie poster. He even wore a long cream-colored scarf that streamed out behind him, fluttering and snapping in the wind.

  He looked like a hero in the making.

  He looked like an air pirate.

  Air pirates, the real thing, abound and thrived in our demolished world. It’s just that most were not dashing. And they were never heroes.

  Most were thieves, murderers and madmen.

  Most? Were death in the air.

  I shook off the thought. Air pirates would be at our show in droves. The bastards always were. Still, they had coin and spent a large amount of it. An enterprise we should not ignore according to Dark. Something about keeping your enemies close.

  Zombie Phil turned his face toward the sky as if remembering what it felt like to have fresh air ruffle his hair and tickle his nose.

  It was moments like this that reminded me only too well what a price our society had paid for losing its way.

  How cursed were we, I thought as I looked at Phil, with his pockmarked, scarred face turned upward to the leaking sunlight, how cursed were we that our dead became this? Would there be redemption? A miracle? A last save? I wish I knew. What if Traveler Hale was right? Was there really no point in our quest? Could we do it?

  Could we save our world?

  I pressed my fingers to my now healed belly wound once again and thought of the blood magic that ran through the veins of Traveler Hale, and now through my own. I thought of the magic, colored and dancing, twisting through the steam. I saw a fleeting image of Emma in my mind’s eye and felt the press of hope against my heart. I saw the face of Elijah Dark, and thought of, of what?

  I couldn’t deny it.

  That overwhelming attraction, the pull. The want.

  Yeah. Probably not happening.

  Still, I gripped the teak railing until my knuckles ached. We could do it. We could save this flippin’ world. I could find Emma. With Elijah Dark, we could do anything.

  And at that moment? I believed it.

/>   I watched as Phil’s eyes squeezed closed, as if in prayer, and I swear, it looked like he was smiling. Unnerved, I looked away.

  “Hey, Skye. Have a look.”

  Pilot waved me to the bow of the airship. Now having earned my ‘air legs’ I walked over and took the spyglass from his brass hand. I swung the telescope north, following his outstretched arm and gleaming, pointing finger.

  My breath caught.

  On the horizon, just above The Neptune Theater, a mingling mass filled the sky. It wriggled and tangled together like serpents, caught in a huge, writhing ball.

  Airships of all sizes and shapes filled my view. Some were tethered together, looking like miniature floating cities. Others were adrift on their own, floating at all different heights. Giant inflated balloons of every size, shape, and color dotted the skies.

  Balloons were patched and stitched and painted. Balloons were dyed and stenciled and stamped. Balloons that were filled with dangerous lifting gases like pure hydrogen, and wild, frightening concoctions mixed with aether. Harnessed by amateurs and ignorant tin men, men who were clueless about their trade, manned ships begging to explode.

  Most held lifting gases that should not be encased in anything, anywhere. Ever.

  I knew in my gut that some of these ships would not survive the day. And neither would the people piloting them.

  Some of these dirigibles would burst into flames, only to rain down on the Neptune in flaming chunks and pieces. Fireballs of wood and metal and smoldering debris would pelt what was left of the Neptune’s rooftop. Bits of charred flesh would dot the patina roof, and lay there just long enough to feed the flocks of vultures and gulls that would fly from the murky sound to feast on the morsels.

  Airships exploded at these gatherings.

  Every damn time.

  I just hoped it happened after curtain call.

  I pointed the long lens to the streets below, where I could see where some of the ships had landed. Docked and tethered to anything that was anchored in concrete, they were tied to street lamps, burned-out rusted hulks of cars, even to the chipped and broken remnants of an old statue of Chief Sealth, the city of Seattle’s namesake.

  I liked that I knew about the statue of the famous Chief. I liked that I knew about him, about his history. I smiled. Rail-school history, one oh one. Sometimes? I paid attention. And when it came to the City of Seattle, I had sat up, clicked my copper auto pen on, and taken notes.

  After all. This is the city where someone had tipped me off about a tombstone. My sister’s tombstone.

  For an instant, Dr. Dark was in my head.

  I thought of the magic stream of air that had been sent to me on stage bearing the whisper of Emma’s name. The slipstream that had almost led to my death.

  Disappointment clawed at my heart. Another dead end. It must have shown on my face.

  “What?” Pilot asked.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Nothing.” He gave me a curious glance before shrugging off my comment.

  I raised the scope, and I could see one giant airship tied to the jagged, broken flagpole on top of The Neptune. The Church of Guidance and Good was painted on the huge canvas balloon.

  This was a Gov ship. Maybe even Bishop West’s.

  A string of zombies hung down from each side of the deck, hogtied and hanging like sausages in a meat vendor’s window. They were being used like bumpers on a yacht.

  Extending the scope to the fullest, I could see these zombies were of the most lethal variety. By their snapping jaws, I knew they were Dead and Done. That they had entered the final phase where the only thing on a zombie’s menu is you. The Gov had made sure no one would attempt to board, that any assassination attempts would be impossible. Disgusted, I lowered the glass and snapped the case closed with a vengeance. The good old Gov. Always bringing a new level of horror to our world.

  “Looks like your parking space is taken,” I said.

  “No fuckin’ way.” Pilot grabbed the telescope and slid it open. The harsh snap, snap, snap of the brass tubing extending, rang in my ears.

  Pilot swung the long lens up to his left eye. “Well fuck. Everyone knows that’s my spot. I’m the star.”

  I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re the star?”

  He looked at me and smiled broadly. “Well. The main one.”

  I crossed my arms and gave him a look. “Really.”

  “Yeah. That’s why we always run out of my pitch cards first.”

  We all had pitch cards, cool drawings of our likeness with a list of our phony abilities and exaggerated talents on the back. The popular cards were handed out free to ticket holders.

  “It seems to me we ran out of mine at the last show,” he said.

  “It seems to me you conveniently ‘misplaced’ mine at the last show.”

  He laughed and shouldered me out of the way for a better look. “Well, no matter what, we’ll always beat Dark. Not a lot of folks clamoring for his. If they only knew he wasn’t as old as he looks.”

  An image of crystal blue eyes, glossy raven black hair, a lyrical lilt in his voice, and a single dimple that danced to the surface whenever he smiled, filled my mind. I smiled. “Yeah. If they only knew. Anyway, Pilot my man, good luck with your docking spot. The Gov doesn’t move for anyone. Let alone for a couple of freaks from Dr. Dark’s Academy.”

  “Speak for yourself. I prefer stars.”

  His smile faded. I watched as the color slowly drained from his face. He must have just noticed the strung-up zombies. Yeah. I knew the feeling. The sight had turned my stomach as well.

  “Damn it,” he said, his voice hitching.

  “I know. I feel for the zombies, too. Leave it to The Gov to think up something new in the cruel and disgustingly gross department-”

  “It’s not that. I mean it is that, but there’s more. They’re launching The Inquiry.”

  “What? At us? Why?” I looked up to make sure our identifying flag was hoisted. It was. Pilot would never forget a detail like that. As if on cue, the giant black banner that bore our signature Academy Shield, the shield of two rearing horses, representing Dr. Dark’s Traveling Troupe Academy, snapped in the wind.

  “What are they sending?” I grabbed my goggles and frantically dialed in the lenses. Turning to squint at the looming cloud heading our way, I couldn’t make out the shapes without the power of the spyglass.

  But I could hear them. And suddenly I knew. I knew.

  The cloud was not a cloud at all.

  It was bats.

  Hundreds and hundreds of mechanical bats. A thousand maybe. Made from metal and reinforced steel, every detail of the creatures was perfectly accurate.

  Everything but the teeth.

  The exaggerated fangs were crafted to maim and chew, rip and tear. I had only seen a mob of bat automatons once before. Of the crowd of people that they had been unleashed on, only two had survived. And I’m not sure they even wanted to.

  “That’s not an inquiry,” Pilot said. “It’s judge, jury, and a fucking verdict.”

  “A guilty verdict. But why, Pilot? Why?”

  He grabbed his goggles. “I have no fucking idea. Maybe just because they’re bastards?”

  “I think it’s another test,” I shouted over the building wind.

  “What? A test? What the fuck. They can clearly see we are part of Dr. Dark’s Academy. They’re here for the show. Is it really in their best interest to kill the stars?”

  “So. You admit I’m a star?”

  “Shit, Skye, really? You gonna go there now?”

  “Yep. If I’m going to die up here? I want top billing.”

  “Yeah, ‘cause that makes so much sense.”

  “I think they want to see more from us than smoke and mirrors. I think they want us to show magic-”

  I was interrupted as the bats’ echolocation sounds were amplified to carry across the wind and bounce against our hull. It sounded like a giant pounding at our door.

 
It sounded like death calling.

  The bats’ clicks and clatters and clacks made my eardrums scream in pain inside my head. I fell to my knees, pressing my hands to my ears in attempt to muffle the sound.

  Pilot did the same. My spyglass dropped from his brass fingers and clattered to the teak deck. His metal hand was a poor barrier against the deafening noise. He fell beside me moaning.

  And Phil? Was going crazy.

  Zombie groans filled the air, mixing with the high frequency of the bats. Phil heaved against his restraints, and I heard the pop of bone. I could only hope it was a rib. The Bone Man would never forgive us if Phil broke a leg.

  A leg that could never heal.

  I saw a trickle of blood seep from Pilot’s ear and I knew unless something was done right now, we would all be deaf in minutes.

  I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain and felt the magic locked into Dru’s wards spill out of the horseshoe and surround us like one of Dark’s theater capes. For an instant, the sound was muffled. For a moment I felt sane again.

  Pushing to my knees I watched as the mass of shiny black monsters drew closer. And when they reached us? We would be dead.

  Dru’s wards were already weakening against the onslaught. My ears started to ring and sting once more as the bats high pitched screeching seeped through her magic. As powerful of a witch as Dru was, her wards had not been reinforced since she left. And that was over six months ago. I loved her. I missed her.

  We needed her.

  As Dark would say, unattended wards, lead to unintended accidents. We all knew this. But until Dru returned, we had to make do. And today, it wasn’t enough.

  No, her wards couldn’t possibly hold back a colony this size. Not to mention fight the blood magic that drove them.

  I didn’t know why we were being targeted.

  And I didn’t have time to care.

  “Use it,” I screamed at Pilot. “Use your magic. Harness the Aether.”

  4

  I heard Pilot’s choked cry. “I can’t, Skye. I can’t show–”