The Changeling

by H. P. Mallory

  I was a snob when it came to vehicles, but I did not want to offend Hero and, thus, said nothing.

  We all piled in and Hero drove off into the night, speeding us through a well-lit town and out into the pitch blackness of the country beyond.

  “How can you see where you’re going?” asked Damek.

  “I see fine,” replied Hero. “And I’m guessing your girl does too.”

  Dayna continued to be nervous of the old woman but nodded.

  Werewolves had excellent night vision, as did vampires.

  What was Hero? She was not mortal, that was for sure—I doubted Mathilda had many mortal friends anyway. I would have known if Hero were vampire or werewolf and she did not strike me as an Elemental. Perhaps a witch? That was possible. Or a Fae? She did not strike me as a Fae, but I realized that might just be my pre-existing notion of what a Fae looked like. The Fae I knew were people like Odran, Chevalier, and Mathilda. I thought of Fae very much as they existed in mortal literature and folklore. But, of course, there were African Fae too, I had just never met one before. But again, I found myself thinking Hero was something else entirely.

  “Where are we heading?” I asked.

  “Mathilda said you were going to the mountains.”

  “Did she tell you why?”

  “She did.”

  “Only ‘the mountains’ is a pretty vague location. We were hoping you could…”

  Hero smiled. “I know what you are here seeking master vampire. I am taking you as far as I know.”

  I did not know what more to say to that. “Thank you.”

  Hero laughed. “A polite vampire, now I’ve seen it all.”

  “Where I come from—or perhaps when I come from—vampires are still gentlemen.”

  “Well where I come from—and definitely when I come from—they’re bloodthirsty monsters without a soul to call their own.”

  “Well,” again I was unsure of what to say, “I hope I can leave you with a slightly better impression of my people than that.”

  “Maybe.” Hero shrugged to herself. “I’ll be honest with you, master vampire. I wouldn’t be helping you if Mathilda hadn’t asked and if I didn’t owe her a favor. I’m glad to have the debt paid off.”

  “What did she do for you?” asked Damek.

  “Saved my spirit from being consumed by a hell spawn.”

  I nodded as I took this in. “And all you have to do in return is give three people a lift from the airport?”

  Hero turned her black eyes on me. “One of those people is a vampire and another is a werewolf. As far as I’m concerned, Mathilda is the one who got the bargain.”

  After several hours of driving, the lights of a village appeared, apparently out of nowhere, glimmering through the blackness.

  “You hungry?” asked Hero. “The kids. I’m not talking to you, vampire, you can make your own arrangements.”

  I chuckled. Hero was quite… humorous, as it turned out.

  “Starving,” replied Damek.

  In the village, we pulled up to a little home where a tall man stood outside, seeming to be waiting for us.

  “This is Phil,” said Hero, indicting the man, who looked less like a ‘Phil’ than anyone I had ever seen. “He is a vampire hunter, and he’s going to watch you, master Sinclair, while the rest of us eat.”

  “How exciting for both of us.”

  There was a time when vampire hunters were common, back in the days when mortals had good reason to fear the coming of the night. I would not call them the good old days, but it was the way things were back then. Vampires and mortals were hunter and prey—that was nature and you could not fight against your nature.

  I had got used to the idea that we had moved beyond that relationship, but the truth was that in most places around the world, we had not. Vampires still killed humans for food and occasionally for sport.

  “How long have you known Hero?” I tried to engage Phil in conversation.

  “She raised me.” He seemed surprisingly personable, given that he would try to stake me if I made a wrong move.

  “Do you mind if I ask,” I could not help myself, “have you ever met a vampire you liked? One you did not want to kill?”

  Phil nodded. “Yeah. Sure. But—you’re a few hundred years old, right?”

  I inclined my head.

  “You ever meet a mortal you liked but bit them anyway?”

  “ Touché ,” I replied.

  “Fish got to swim; birds got to fly.”

  Vampires got to bite , I added to myself. “Phil, one more question; if I took it into my head to attack you—which I have no intention of doing, by the way—do you think you would have any chance at all of stopping me?”

  “No,” said Phil, without a shade of doubt. “You’re a master vampire and I’m not.”

  “Yet, you are a brave man, Phil. I like you.”

  SEVEN

  Sinjin

  Hero, Damek and Dayna re-emerged. Hero shot a glance at Phil, who leaned over to whisper something to her.

  As they returned to the car, Hero went around the back and opened what Americans would call the ‘trunk’. Those who possess a more refined version of the English language refer to such as the

  ‘boot.’

  “Master Sinclair, it will be sun-up soon. I assume you do not wish to stop?” Hero asked.

  I raised an eyebrow. “You want me to travel in there?”

  Hero shrugged. “I’m happy enough for you to sit next to me and burn, but assuming you don’t want the same and unless you have a better idea, the trunk it is.”

  I had imagined I might be able to sit in the rear of the vehicle with a blanket over me. But the African sun was very strong, and a blanket might not be enough to protect me. I did not like the idea of traveling third class in a car boot. And I definitely did not like the idea of leaving Damek and Dayna alone with a woman who, despite her friendship with Mathilda, gave me severe misgivings. But, alas, I really did not fancy burning to a crisp.

  Besides, if Hero did try anything against my young companions, there was realistically nothing I could do about it in daylight.

  Sometimes being a vampire can be most frustrating.

  “The ‘trunk’ it is. Do you by any chance have a book I could read to pass the time?”

  It would be folly to pretend I enjoyed that day. I am a tall man, and being curled up for hours on end in the heat of the sealed car was not pleasant. And being provided with nothing more than a gossipy magazine was quite worse. As I invested myself in the offensive literature, I found I had a headache and, therefore, had to leave it for another day to learn why Harry and Meghan opted to relocate to Los Angeles and where young Archie would do his schooling. Los Angeles! It was quite a travesty, really.

  More importantly, I was Sinjin Sinclair, Master Vampire, one of a handful of such vampires left in the world, and the ignominy of traveling in such a fashion was hard to take. Privately, I thought it not unlikely that the woman, Hero, had done this simply to shame me, as she clearly had no love for vampires.

  Well, bravo! I was quite shamed!

  I slept much of the day, keeping myself fresh for night, but slept only lightly, always aware of my surroundings, though I was not sure what, if anything, I could do in the case of an emergency.

  As the heat of day finally began to cool, I felt the vehicle coming to a stop. It was about time, as I had not felt my right foot in over an hour, and my right buttock was growing quite numb as well.

  I heard footsteps and then a knock on the lid of my temporary bedroom.

  “Do not come in as I am quite indecent!” (If one cannot rely upon humor in these ignominious times, truly what can one rely on?)

  The boot was opened by Hero who peered down at me. “A joke?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Alright in there?”

  “Quite; thank you.”

  “The sun is setting.”

  Beyond her, I could see the red glow on the horizon. And wha
t a horizon! We had left behind the Africa of towns and cities—the Africa of the humans—and penetrated its wild interior, home only to beasts and camera crews making wildlife documentaries. The land here was dusty and russet yellow, the rocks scorched by the sun, the sparse plant-life hardy and grey-green. Is was lonely and desolate, but it was achingly beautiful.

  “Bryn would love this,” I murmured as I clambered out, stretching my long limbs after their enforced confinement.

  “Your lady?” asked Hero.

  “Indeed.”

  Hero nodded. She seemed different, less hostile toward me than she had. “Your friends are sleeping, and I think, for now, we should let them.”

  “Agreed,” I said. “Have you slept?” I assumed driving duties had been shared between the three.

  But Hero shook her head. “My kind store up sleep for when we need it. I slept long before your arrival, so I have no need for it now.”

  “Quite well-prepared,” I observed. “Where are we?”

  “You surprise me, vampire.”

  I frowned. “How so?”

  “You’re not like other vampires I have met. Phil said something similar last night.”

  “Did he?”

  “He said, there are lions that can kill and lions that can’t, but it’s rare to find one that can and chooses not to.”

  “I think I might detect a compliment in there.”

  “Just an observation,” replied Hero with an enigmatic shrug. “You are a dangerous man, Sinjin Sinclair.”

  “That is accurate,” I assented.

  “You’re not a tame vampire, one who’s had his fangs pulled.”

  “Most assuredly not.” I lifted my lips and pointed to the fangs in question. Hero smiled.

  “But you control your instincts.”

  “I am quite civilized, I must admit.” There had been a time when I had been a slave to those instincts, to my desire for blood.

  Hero shrugged. “No doubt you’ve done bad things, but so have I.”

  She smiled a smile that looked as old as the red mountains on the horizon. “I’ve done things that would make even you blanch.”

  “I can believe it.”

  “But you’ve learnt to live like a man. And that’s rare in your race.”

  “Perhaps.”

  For a long while Hero looked at me, then her face cracked into a more natural grin. “I’m sorry I made you travel in the trunk. I was just screwing with you.”

  “It gave me time to think, and, in thinking, it gave me time to appreciate yoga.”

  Hero chuckled at that one.

  “Gave me time to listen.” Hero indicated Damek and Dayna, sleeping on the back seats, curled around each other as if they could not let go. “Those two told me some stories about you.

  About the things you’ve done.”

  “If it was good, they were speaking the truth. Bad, they might be lying,” I suggested as Hero barked out another raspy laugh.

  “I’ll tell you why I was so suspicious of you, Sinjin Sinclair,”

  she went on. “Because you are not the first to come to my country,” she spread out her arms, “and all of this is my country. You’re not the first to come seeking an audience with The Mother. And they all come for the same reason—for power. I thought you were the same.”

  “Did Mathilda not tell you…?”

  Hero waved a dismissive hand. “I love that old witch, and I’d trust her with my life. But she’s too naive. Always wants to see the best in people. Maybe I’m her opposite. I thought you’d fooled her to get my help on some vampire power kick. But I see now that what Mathilda told me was true. You’re not here for power; you’re here for love.”

  “Something is wrong with my child,” I said plainly, and I felt a stab at my heart as I said the words out loud.

  “A child not yet born,” mused Hero as she narrowed her eyes on me. “I would have never believed a vampire had spawned his own child, but Damek explained to me how it was possible.” Then she shrugged. “A most extraordinary story.”

  “Quite,” I grumbled as memories of my brief stint as a human returned to me anew.

  “Are you worried for child or mother?”

  “Both.”

  She studied me even more narrowly. “And if you had to pick?”

  “I would save Bryn.” I did not even have to think about it.

  “And if she had to pick?”

  I grit my teeth against this questioning. “Bryn would sacrifice herself to save the baby.”

  “Always the way,” smiled Hero. “I can see the truth in you, Sinjin Sinclair. And that’s why I’ll help you.”

  I felt a tremor of anxiety as I asked my next question. “Do you think Gaia—The Mother—do you think she can help Bryn?”

  “Sure, she can,” replied Hero. “Whether or not she will is another question. And whether or not you’ll get as far as asking her is another one still.” She turned back to the car. “Come on, we’ve a few miles further to go yet.”

  I returned to the car, this time sitting in the front seat which was much more comfortable. “Say, have you heard where Archie will be enrolled for school?”

  #

  Hero drove on towards the mountains through the drawing night.

  And as she drove, we chatted together. She told me stories of Mathilda when the Fae witch was younger. Then she asked me about Bryn, and I poured out our love story to her, my mouth running ahead of my brain. I wondered if she had charmed me to speak so freely, or if they were words I had simply needed to say. I fancied the latter—I wanted to talk about Bryn, now more than ever.

  “I suppose there’s no mobile reception here?”

  Hero laughed. “No. Do you taste that in the air?”

  Now that she mentioned it, I had noticed a tang in the air, like the iron in blood. “Yes. What is that?”

  “We’re on the border.”

  “The border of what?”

  “Of everything I suppose. There are few places like this out there. Places where the real world meets the unreal. Places where our reality borders the world The Mother created for herself out of the torn fringes of reality. She bound those tatters about herself to create a nest where her power could grow without smothering us. Your next task will be to pass through the borderlands.”

  “Will you come with me?” I had to admit, I had grown quite attached to Hero, ever since she had released me from the boot of her car.

  “No. You must make your own way.”

  We passed into the foothills of the mountains, the car growling as it crawled up steep ascents, spitting dust and loose rock back from beneath its spinning wheels. Perhaps it was my imagination, but the higher we went, the more the mountains closed in around us.

  Looking back the way we had come, I could no longer see the dusty plain we had crossed to get here. There were nothing but mountains, stretching out on every side. Though the night could not be over yet, the sky above us fluctuated, ripples of color passing across it like surf on a beach, the still blackness of night washed across by tides of deep red, sunburst orange, and iridescent green. The stars moved as if we were traveling back in time.

  Finally, we could go no further, and Hero stopped the car. Behind us, Damek and Dayna started awaking, looking about, sleepy-eyed, at their surroundings.

  “Where are we?” asked Damek.

  “End of my journey,” replied Hero. “Beginning of yours.”

  We all got out and Hero pointed to a thin, winding trail that led up into the mountains.

  “That’s your path, Sinjin Sinclair. From here on in, you don’t need to worry about day and night. The sunlight in the borderlands won’t hurt you because it’s not real sunlight.”

  “Not real sunlight,” I repeated as I nodded. I quite liked the sound of that.

  “Is that the only way?” asked Damek, staring at the long path, going higher than any of us could make out.

  Hero smiled. “Good question. When you reach this point in your quest, you have a
choice; the easy way or the hard way.”

  “What’s the easy way?”

  “Back the way you came.” Hero opened her mouth and let out a roar of a laugh that quite took me by surprise.

  I turned to Damek and Dayna. “You still have a choice to turn back now.”

  “The hell I do,” said Damek, suddenly sounding very much like the man I had hoped he would be. Then he turned to face his girlfriend. “Dayna, if you…”

  “Don’t even say it,” the werewolf girl barked sharply. “Where you go, I go. I’m as strong as you, at least.”

  They made a good couple and I could not help smiling. “Fine. You can both attend me. But I am in charge.” I narrowed my eyes at Damek. “And that means you must do as I say.”

  The pair nodded.

  “We do as you say,” agreed Damek. “Everything except going back.”

  I stared up at the mountain trail and then turned to Hero. “What lies along the hard way?”

  Hero shrugged. “Don’t know. No one ever came back to tell us.

  Good luck, Sinjin Sinclair.”

  EIGHT

  Bryn

  The cry went up in the early hours of the morning, rousing me out of bed. I rushed to the window and saw lights from torches as people hurried towards the copse in which Mathilda’s little home stood. Had something happened to her?

  Shaking the sleep from my head, and with my heart riding up into my throat, I pulled on my clothes quickly and hurried out to join the stream of people.

  Mathilda lived slightly set apart in a stand of trees she had grown herself. The trees were hundreds of years old and yet had also grown in one night.

  “ How do you make them grow so quickly?” I had asked.

  “ They didn’t grow quickly,” Mathilda corrected. “They took centuries.”

  “ But they weren’t here yesterday.”

  “ They took centuries,” Mathilda repeated. “They took centuries overnight.”