“And your relation to Drakka?” This could all just be one big sting operation. Drakka isn’t the most trustworthy of our kind. He’s been known to drop secrets to protect himself in the past.
“I’ve been his go-to man for operations for years now. I get the information, source the weapons, and he does whatever he needs to with them.”
I finish my drink. “You’ve got any proof of this?”
“Yes.” he takes out a small box, opens it up, and there sits the talisman that was promised to me as payment once the job was done. “For a client.” He adds, “Something to do with your shifter kind.”
I admit that it would be nice to just take the talisman and this dagger for future use, but I am a man of my reputation and word. These well-paying clients are the ones that come in handy in the long run. I re-wrap the blade in the leathers provided by the old man, tucking it into my pocket and replacing it with my wallet and dropping some money on the table for the drinks we both shared and a hearty tip. Be good to those around you, and they will be good to you, right?
“One more thing,” the old man speaks again as I get up. “The old man gave me his location, too. A wood cabin out on the outskirts of Mount Umbra. Follow the five o’clock shadow and you should find it.”
I nod. “That takes out a lot of the guess work.”
***
What an age to be alive. With modern technology the way it is, I didn’t even have to wait for the shadow to be cast. A quick search on the internet shows me precisely what I need to see. A clearing between no man’s land and Mount Umbra houses a small, sporadic growth of trees and bamboo shoots – the only vision of any remote growth for miles, apart from the grass beneath my foot. The internet search provided me with this patch of unruly mess but not what was hidden inside. Here, hidden among the plants and vines, is a small wood cabin. The perfect hiding spot for someone wanting to remain in clear view. I might adopt this cabin myself, once Mason has been taken care of.
The cabin itself is nothing more than a few wooden beams in a four-wall construction. Sturdy but not spacious. It would be foolish to keep all your eggs in one basket, though, so I understand. It’s the middle of the day. I do believe that I may find a sleeping Mason here. Hopefully…
I enter through the front door. The wooden cabin, like its outer walls, has nothing special about it. The construction, that is. In piles and masses, the gold overflows on the floors. Relics, armor, paintings, rubies, emeralds, weapons, and more litter the floor, all surrounding one single black coffin. I can’t believe it is this easy. Could Mason be so foolish?
I inch closer because I find that my previous assumption of a foolish Mason was not the right one to make. This man has lived thousands of years. He’s probably waiting to strike. So, I find the best position, the blade hovering over where Mason’s heart would be. Deep breath...
The initial plunge will weaken him, I surmise. Even if it doesn’t pierce his heart, it must act as some form of weakening force.
I push the blade through the coffin lid, removing it and flinging open the coffin itself to reveal nothing.
“Out gallivanting, eh?” That’s fine. I have a few hours until nightfall. He no doubt has some echolocation bullshit that can sense that his home and coffin have been tampered with. He will be here tonight. I start going through all the loot that he must have acquired over years and years. Pocketing weapons, wearing rings and jewelry that I have no knowledge of what it can accomplish. Luckily, I have a guy for that and finally the gold. I take as much as my pockets can carry before I feel too heavily weighed down.
Only scouring the surface of his goodies has taken so many hours that the sun is nearly setting. I know that there won’t be much more time to look through all the other toys that lay on the ground. Mason will be here shortly, so I take a minute to relax, getting into his coffin.
“More comfortable than I thought,” I shift around to reach the maximum level of comfort I can because now it’s a waiting game.
“Almost forgot…” The problem with forgetting this little item would have possibly resulted in my death. A small, blue flame, housed in a glass orb. I throw it on the ground near the door. The glass breaks with the dim flame burning in place. Devised by a witch, it is used to sense a coming presence. The stronger the flame burns, the closer it is. I will have my warning when Mason is near.
***
As predicted, it doesn’t take long for the flame to begin burning brighter and brighter until it reaches its maximum. A glowing white light. The flame itself has only grown a few inches with the nearing Mason. How the witches can do these kinds of things always astounds me…
I wait for him, still seated in his coffin. He’s behind the door now. It’s not even half an hour after the sun has set. He got here quickly.
“Come out, come out wherever you are.” His teasing tone puts me on edge.
“I know you’re in there.” A crack that sounds like a tree has collapsed out in the distance blares through the small wooden cabin. The door flies off its hinges, landing just in front of the coffin, and there he stands, his burning eyes catching mine immediately.
“Foolish shifter…don’t you know a vampire’s coffin is his pride and joy?” He steps in. I’ve heard stories of this one. The way he plays and toys with his victims. He’s not going to just come in here and kill me. No, he wants to make an example of me. That will be his downfall.
I stand up from his coffin. The blade was housed in the back of my belt, hidden beneath my jacket. I don’t want his death to be too obvious. Put him on the same side he puts all his own victims.
“You shouldn’t have come here, cabron.” He walks toward me. Slowly, lazily.
“I considered your fate the entire way over here. I mean, I could snap you like a twig, right?” I gulp. “But then I thought I would rather play with you first. El Flamenco, you’re some kind of legend among your kind…”
He puts his hands behind his back, inspecting me as he walks.
“I do think you’re going to be some fun,” he adds.
It’s at this point I lose my own edge. I may have had the upper hand but before I draw the blade, he won’t know it. I slip my hand behind my back, drawing the dagger. The dagger itself makes Mason’s eyes go wide.
“Where did you find that?!” he shouts.
“I got my ways, man.” A moment of awe strikes Mason. He lunges forward. I pirouette with the dagger extended as he passes, catching his chest. He falls to his knees. Wide-eyed, he turns to me, getting up. The wound does not heal. It gushes blood. I take an en garde stance.
“Think about what you’re doing,” he exclaims. He steps forward. I lunge, the blade precisely thrust. I feel it scrape bone in his rib cage before he goes limp as it strikes the heart.
Your problem is solved.
Mason is dead.
I send a message to Drakka. In this bundle of trees, it doesn’t go through. No signal here, I presume. For good measure, I draw the blade from his chest, removing the head, stabbing the dagger back into his heart once more. I place the body in the coffin and close it tight. On top, I place a few of the heavier objects. I will bring the coffin to Drakka eventually. For now, this will have to do.
Chapter Nine: Drakka
It’s after hours in my bar, and only a few of the shifters I keep around for protection in the late night remain. They are all minding their own business or drinking their drinks. The message came through a few hours before: “We have killed an Ancient vampire.”
The Flamingo is on his way. He should be here soon. I informed him of the payment that is waiting, so I don’t think it should take too much longer for him to get here. Those here already know that I have ordered the hit. They have all voiced their concerns and all, are now, abolished.
Che steps through the door, a smug grin on his face, coming directly to the bar. I’m excited. I want to know exactly what happened. We say nothing for a second. I pour him a drink. He takes a sip, removes a fedora – Mason’s fedora –
and lets off a grunt of glee.
“The man was a chump!” His first words.
“What do you mean?” I cock a brow.
“When he saw the dagger, he became a lost puppy ready for a kicking.” I can’t help but feel excited by this.
“So, he’s really dead?”
“He is.” I gesture with a hand, rolling the index finger in the air for him to elaborate while I take a sip of my drink. The others who hear the exploits all come nearer, apart from one – one of my top spies: Stanley. He’s always been reserved, so I understand why he stays out in the back.
Che takes from his pockets a great sum of gold, dropping from his neck chains and from his fingers rings. “This is all stuff I found just lying around his house.” The spoils, obviously his. “So I feel I made off well. Especially with the talisman.”
I pull the small box from behind the bar and place it down. He opens it and inspects. He throws it on top the pile he made of his own loot and gold seized from Mason.
“So, what happened?” I ask.
“The second he saw the dagger, he was reduced to a whimpering baby.” Interesting. “It was then that I knew I had him in the palm of my hand. I’ve heard cautionary tales of the great Mason. The man who plays with his victims. So, I thought I’d do the same. I don’t know if it was just because he was in the vicinity of the dagger or not, but I had the time to shift into my flamingo. In this form, he tried to fight, thinking I was some kind of joke. I took from him an eye...”
“Where is it?” I interrupt.
“I left it in the coffin.” He quickly backtracks. I guess it makes sense that he would leave it there. There’s no need to have it out in the open. Che finishes his drink, asking for another but doesn’t touch it. “Without an eye, his depth perception was all messed up, right? He swung and missed and swung and missed. He couldn’t even catch a flamingo,” he teases the deceased.
It’s at that point that the door swings open wide. The first thing coming through it is a hand, holding an eye in the air. Che lets out a chicken’s ba-gock as he shifts into his flamingo form.
“Do you mean this eye?” The all too familiar voice speaks. In the other hand is the dagger. He slams it into the table, pulling his eyelids apart, shoving the eye back into its socket. At first, it’s lopsided and facing the wrong direction, until he wipes it beneath the lid. When he’s finished, it returns to that glowing red I’ve grown all too familiar with.
Che has reverted back to his human form. He says nothing. I can hear him trembling. Mason takes the dagger back up, walking toward us. The shifters that have gathered round are now making their move to be away from the three. Mason takes up the drink I poured for Che and sips it down in one gulp.
“Losing your head really makes you thirsty.” With the hand that held his eye a moment ago, he pulls on his hair, and his head pops off his shoulders. Che gets up, grabbing a few of the items he dropped on the table and starts to run. Mason lets him, turning only his head in the free, flicking the dagger over his shoulder. It pierces through the Flamingo’s back, and he drops to the ground.
Dead.
The hair from Mason’s head slowly seems to seep into his hand. Then the scalp, forehead, and then the rest of it before it reclaims its place on his shoulders.
“A trick I learned over the years,” is all he adds. One cold, dead hand wraps around my throat and pulls me over the bar.
“Now which one of you was the one that shared the information?” he asks. Stanley raises his hand.
“You see, Drakka, there was no chance of you succeeding. The tale of that blade was crafted a hundred years ago by me. You know, the one this young man claimed to have the powers to kill an Ancient?” The hand is squeezing my windpipe. Enough to slow circulation but also allow enough for me to stay conscious during this process.
“This young man is the true brain of your organization.” Mason taps him on the shoulder. “You are merely a puppet to a far greater power.” I gasp for air, my hands wrapped around Mason’s, trying to break free.
I feel myself slipping out of consciousness. For a split second, I black out, but when I awake I am hurtling through the air. I smash through a table.
“Can you kiss the ring?” Mason asks, “Of your new master…”
I don’t reply. I can’t. I try to speak, but nothing comes out. My throat is slashed. I’m struggling for air. I’m coughing and wheezing, which doesn’t help this situation.
“I guess not!” Mason’s final words. A flash of white follows…
Chapter Ten: Atticus
There’s no question that I’m not the smartest witch or warlock in our coven. It’s not a secret, but I am still a partner in running this business. My sister…I love her so, but as all the rest she treats me like a simpleton. Something I put past the others doing to me because they don’t know me. Their opinions don’t have sway in my life.
My own flesh and blood treating me as if I am nothing more than a fool…this hurts.
I know that this move is not a foolish one. Siding with an established force will not hinder us. It can only help us in the long run, but the establishment of our coven was to give our kind a place to rest their heads from years of torment that has been forced on us. Launching them directly into a battle may hinder, more than help us.
These are the concerns that face me as we walk through the mucky earth toward the wolves.
I say nothing. I know that she is going to accept their offer. Fight the oppressors. Between the two of us, there has only ever been one fighter in the mix, and it was never her. A decision that doesn’t only affect us should be equally discussed at worst; discussed among our coven at best.
It is not a decision one person should make alone. Not after someone played on her own heart strings. It’s for this reason that I find myself growing more hateful toward the wolves. Cunning bastards.
My sister stops. I am inclined to join. These are uncharted territories after all. I’d prefer staying on the safe end.
“I am here to see Romulus,” she says.
The slightest rustling can be heard, and then we continue walking. I assume a wolf. It would make sense; we are in their territory, after all.
We walk on for a short while with no interaction from anything or anyone. I’ve stepped into a good amount of mud patches. One so deep it took my leg to mid-calf. Why would anyone want to stay in these conditions?
“Perception is key,” a voice comes from above and behind after we tread a little further.
“What the…” I turn my head to face the voice, and in a tree, lazily swinging one leg off the branch, sits Romulus himself.
“You walked right by me without noticing a leg dangling in your face.” That one’s directed at me. Verona would be too short to notice this. My expression turns sour. “You need to be more perceptive. You need to take in your surroundings. Find the most traveled path and set your traps accordingly. I said I’d help you, and I will. This was your first lesson and first fail.”
His smug attitude to this situation doesn’t do anything for my distaste for him.
“Why would you help us before you even know our answer?” Verona asks, trying to play the wiser.
“You wear your heart on your sleeve, little lady.” Romulus drops from the tree. “I knew your answer from before I walked away from your coven grounds...”
“Then why not save us the trip?” I ask. Verona steps in front of me, stroking my arm to soothe my temper. This time, it does not work.
“Because I needed to make sure you were as serious about our mutual, beneficial arrangement as I am.” He adds, “You coming here is more than just agreeing. It means you understand the value of my cause. Our cause.” Preying on a young girl. How cruel.
“Then it is done. We are here, as you believe, to agree to your assistance and ours in aiding your war. I know that it will be good for both pack and coven.”
“I don’t,” I remark. “You are a wolf. You only have knowledge of what covens can do. We c
an read the same books. Speak to the same people. What do you really have to offer us?” Verona seems shocked at my outburst. Upset that I am speaking to an alpha like this.
“Brother, this is a man of great power!” she exclaims.
“And are we not? We are the first coven to stand solidly in centuries. Why must we show him respect if he treats us like children?”
Romulus steps closer. “You’re right,” the wolf speaks. “You…are…right. How can I expect you to give me respect when I don’t, in turn, give you the same? Please, forgive me.” I nod. “I will still pass down as much information as I can. I believe that you’ll be a good part of my fight. You have the potential to be great warriors in whatever magic you choose. I don’t want to show disrespect. I want to help you grow into the best you that you can be.” He’s good with words. I never took him for the kind. “And what better experience can you get than going out in the field, learning in a practical situation rather than among yourselves.”
“You say learning, but we will be dying. Many of our kind are not seasoned in their art. They have not spent years developing their skills. They are just there, doing what they can to survive, and I will not allow you to bring harm, or worse, death to a coven that trusts us.” I push in front of Verona again. My temper is high. Romulus remains calm.
“Brother, stop. This decision is final.” I know she can see my point, but she’s not looking at the broader picture. Verona’s looking for a quick solution. Does she know what this will mean for our kind? A war that has nothing to do with us. The vampires enslaved witches; that doesn’t mean we have to fight for the ones that are dead. We do not work on ancestral magic, to begin with.
“Fine,” I leave it there, “but do not say I didn’t warn you.”
I push past the wolf and begin backtracking to where we entered the forest. There is nothing for me to do here.
The Vampire Touch 3: A New Dawn Page 3