The Vampire Touch 3: A New Dawn

by Sarah J. Stone

  “Simple search and rescue,” Sybil replied. “Easy to locate the target with just a small bit of magic. Anyone could have done it.”

  “You are modest,” Mariah praised her. “And your Tiro?”

  “Already itching to go out again,” Sybil replied. “How are you, Maestro Desmond?”

  “I am well, Sybil,” he replied. “It's been a quiet week, so a chance to reflect.”

  “Are you two going to the showcase?” Sybil's eyes lit up. “We're going just to watch.”

  Sybil had grown up in the center of the relationship between the two of them, and while she didn't agree with the grey line they walked, she was well aware of it. She knew it would take wild horses to separate them when they had every opportunity to be together.

  “We might,” Desmond replied. “I have encouraged Nathaniel to attend, though.”

  “Excellent! I haven't seen him in weeks,” Sybil replied. “I'll leave you to it. It was nice to see you.”

  “And you,” Mariah replied as she left. She turned to Desmond with a smile. Desmond sighed.

  “Oh, is that what it's like when your Tiro graduates and becomes a proper person away from you?”

  “Hush,” Mariah said. “Nathaniel will be fine. Didn't you have an errand to run?”

  “The med bay,” Desmond remembered. “Do you want to come?”

  “I have a few tasks myself,” she replied. “Go ahead, and I'll find you at the showcase.”

  “Will you?” Desmond asked. “They can be quite crowded.”

  “I'll be fine,” Mariah reminded him. “Go on.”

  He touched her hand lightly and then rose. She was so independent, so strong, and he had to remind himself often that she would be fine. But it didn't mean he resisted the urge to try and take care of her when he could.

  The med bay was in a separate building, connected by tunnels. They confused him once upon a time, with no signs anywhere. Now, he knew them like the back of his hand, hardly paying attention to the twist and turns as he walked down the hallways.

  It was unusually busy today, likely due to the showcase. It was more than participants coming in today, with observers and Maestros looking for new Tiros attending, as well. The landing bays would be constantly occupied, and he was glad he didn't have any travel during this time.

  When he rounded the corner and entered the med bay, it was chaos. They were used to receiving wounded warriors just off quest or dealing with minor injuries. But Desmond quickly identified eight young Tiros and a frantic professor, who was arguing with a medic, being held there.

  Desmond recognized Tara, the head medic, trying to calm the situation. He stepped in, cleared his throat, and Tara looked at him gratefully.

  “Did the Jurors send you?” she asked, and he nodded. “Took them long enough. This is Desmond. He will determine whether your Tiros can enter the showcase.”

  “We came all the way from Maui,” the professor snapped, heavily accented. “We better–”

  “Sir,” Desmond said calmly, as he often was, “I will give my judgment based on Tara's advice, and the requirements of the Jurors to enter a showcase. Shall we begin?”

  “Here,” Tara indicated he should follow.

  They were so young, Desmond observed. It felt like the participants got younger and younger every year, smaller, and more frightened. He remembered his first showcase as a Tiro, and then as a Maestro. These Tiros seemed to be positively tiny compared to him now.

  “This is Judd,” she said. “He's eight years old, and he broke his left arm in the turbulence However, his magic is right handed, so he's not technically handicapped by it.”

  “Hello, Judd,” Desmond said, and Judd nodded, tears in his eyes. He took a look at the report Tara had written up and tried to think of how the Jurors had set up the showcase this year. “Technically, that should be fine, if he's up to it.”

  “That's fine,” Tara said, placing a checkmark on his file as Judd broke into a smile. “Next is Ian. This is a concussion without a doubt. It would be against my medical advice.”

  “Absolutely,” Desmond said, despite the tears of the groggy six-year-old. The professor growled, and he turned to him. “He will have many more showcases ahead of him. To present now will harm his house. My former Tiro suffered a concussion early in his career, and it took us out of quests for nearly a month. You wouldn't want that, would you?”

  “I know that you headquarter staff like to think you know better,” the man said, and Desmond didn't address it. He wasn't one for arguing or confrontation. Either things were done, or they weren't.

  Slowly, they moved through the Tiros, most of whom were all right to continue, at least with modifications. When he got to the last one, he reached for the report, but Tara pulled back.

  “This one is…” she chose her words carefully. “Was just here to observe anyway.”

  Desmond turned to the young girl sitting on the bed and felt something hit him like a tidal wave. She cocked her head, meeting his eyes, and he felt something stirring that he had not felt since he first laid eyes on Nathaniel and the ones before him.

  “What do you mean?” he asked Tara for clarification

  She regarded her report. “Sienna is not meant to be trained.”

  “What do you mean, ‘not meant to be trained?’”

  “She has the acridid gene,” Tara replied. “You've heard of it?”

  “I thought it was a myth,” Desmond replied, aware of the medical condition that tended to attack all bodily systems like a swarm of acridids. It was autoimmune, and he thought it was fatal very early on. Medical science had come far, and it appeared that it could be managed, for she was bright eyed as she watched him. She was razor thin and fragile, but he felt magic within her that shocked him. This girl was powerful, brimming with magic.

  “It's not, and we do everything we can to manage it. Sienna comes here a few times a year for advanced treatment. I wasn't sure if she was going to participate.”

  “Do you want to participate?” Desmond turned to Sienna. She opened her mouth, and he could see the thoughts behind her eyes. “She doesn't speak Basic,” he realized, turning to the professor. The man raised an eyebrow.

  “She really was just here to observe,” he answered. “There's no point in training Sienna. She's an interesting case, but she won't make it to the tests.”

  “Every Tiro brought to school has a chance,” Desmond said, turning back to Sienna. He focused directly into her eyes, speaking slowly. “Do you want to participate in the showcase?”

  She nodded, picking up the words carefully.

  “I…can…fight?” she asked, her words stilted. He held her focus, waiting patiently for her to get the right words out. It wasn't uncommon that those who trained offsite were weak in Basic. She should be stronger in it by now, but he suspected she might have been identified late or not given proper training. He wasn't about to stand for that, especially when he felt such power in her.

  “If you are well,” he turned to Tara, who sighed.

  “I guess,” she said. “She wasn't injured in the turbulence. She's just…her.”

  “Then she will compete,” Desmond said, smiling at Sienna. “Yes.”

  “Me?” her eyes lit up. “Thank you!

  He chuckled at that.

  “Good luck to you,” he replied, and then turned to Tara.

  “Is that all?”

  “For now,” Tara shrugged. “I think you are making a mistake.”

  “Luckily, Tara, you do not sit on the Jurors, nor do you have to answer to them for my mistakes,” he answered.

  “You are getting surly in your old age, Desmond,” she answered. “Go.”

  “I'll see you all at the showcase, then,” he answered, rolling his eyes as he headed out. He, perhaps, would have given an even more brusque answer had he not been distracted by Sienna's magic.

  ‘Did the acridid gene produce more powerful magic?’ he wondered. ‘And if they were more powerful at birth, did the fla
me of hope get snuffed out early?’

  He didn't know enough about it to even speculate, but he did know that everyone deserved a chance, no matter their situation. His last three Tiros had been long shots – black sheep – and most of them had turned out all right.

  He tried not to think about the ones that didn't.

  Desmond paused outside Nathaniel's class for the last few moments, listening to his former Tiro teach. The Tiros were engaged as they always were. Nathaniel was closer to their own age than most Maestros, and he was still full of energy.

  Sometimes, Desmond thought, it was hard to belief that this was the sullen thirteen-year-old boy that he had seen dragging himself through the showcases, thinking he had no hope.

  It was also hard to believe that this was the same fifteen-year-old boy who had looked up at Queen Eliza and known instantly that his life was going to change. Nathaniel and Eliza as teenagers were even more headstrong than they were now. Now, they were quiet, able to hide their feelings, careful, and accepting of their fates. He was a witch, and she needed a noble marriage. It was safe, Desmond thought.

  Except for the amount of time he caught Nathaniel thinking about her in the moments that were quiet. He knew that his former Tiro was in too deep to stop now, but he hoped, as the months went on, that Nathaniel would continue to learn discretion.

  It would be the hardest choice to leave the witches' order because one was trying to be good to their heart as well as the rest of the galaxy.

  “Hi,” Nathaniel interrupted his thoughts. “I thought we were meeting at the showcase?”

  “I was in the area,” Desmond said with a shrug. “Mariah and I saw Sybil this morning.”

  “Oh, she's back?” he grinned. “Good. I want to talk to her. “

  “Don't get into mischief,” Desmond warned him. “The two of you together are worse than a tornado.”

  “But we're Maestros now,” Nathaniel pointed out. “Which means we call the shots.”

  “No,” Desmond said, knowing it was a losing battle. “Are you done here?”

  “Aye,” Nathaniel answered. “Ready to see an amazing display of power?”

  “I'm ready to watch the showcase,” Desmond replied, always the more serious one. “And who knows? Perhaps you'll find a Tiro.”

  “I don't want a Tiro,” Nathaniel answered, surprised. “I thought you knew that.”

  “You will have to take one eventually,” Desmond pointed out, knowing that arguing with him now was pointless. “Let's go.”

  Chapter 3

  “Nathaniel, I just saw an eight year old warming up who could beat you!” Sybil greeted her former classmate with a grin as the crowds gathered for the showcase. Desmond and Mariah were standing behind him, and a smile came to their faces.

  This was the closest to a family they would ever come, Mariah thought as she listened to their voices. They were like two grown children harassing each other.

  “I believe a weapons class just called me the greatest warrior of our generation,” Nathaniel replied with a grin on his face as he greeted Sybil. “They did a whole lesson on the Bablyon quest that Desmond and I took down single-handedly.”

  “You and I remember Bablyon very differently,” Desmond said as they tried to find seats. “Because I remember it being a whole lot of effort, and you seem to think you just snapped your fingers.”

  “Maybe I did,” Nathaniel answered with a shrug. “A snap to make you work. Here, Maestro. Sit.”

  “At least they respect their elders,” Desmond said to Mariah as they both settled into seats that had been laid out. The gymnasium was crowded and buzzing with energy. The younger children were sitting on the floor, and seeing no other seats, Nathaniel shrugged. He and Sybil settled down at their Maestro's feet, her Tiro gone to find her friends. “Can you even see anything from down there?”

  “Let me worry about that,” Nathaniel grinned. “Besides, what do I need to see? I can sense strong magic a mile away.”

  “This is like old times,” Desmond said to Mariah, who smiled.

  “Isn't it?” she said. “I thought we wouldn't get another chance to be together with everyone. I would have thought by now that everyone would be going off in their own direction.”

  “Life is surprising,” Desmond said as the first group moved into the center of the gymnasium. They were young, and his low expectations were met. At that age, they couldn't do much besides levitate a few objects and practice making their usually visible streams of magic vanish. Still, every once in a while, there was one who stood out; one who was clearly above their class.

  The Tiro-less Maestros were looking for different things. Some wanted fighters; some wanted diplomats; some wanted older Tiros so as to be done training faster. It was a matter of choice, and no one could guess who would be picked out from any given showcase.

  Desmond looked down at some point to see Nathaniel with his com unit, sending a fast message through in between groups. From his vantage point, he recognized Eliza's contact information at the top of the screen. He raised an eyebrow as he watched the message shoot across.

  By six p.m., I can be online.

  Seven p.m. Some of us have a job to do.

  Being a queen isn't a job, your highness.

  If you don't stop, I won't be online at all. And then what will you do with yourself?

  “Nathaniel,” Desmond landed him a kick as the next group came up to the center. “Pay attention. More importantly, dim your screen.”

  “She's just so…” Nathaniel forgot where he was and looked up to meet Desmond's hard gaze. “Right, sorry.”

  Desmond rolled his eyes at his lack of focus and turned his attention to the group in the center. He saw Sienna right away in the center of her group. She stood out from the rest; she was slightly taller and thinner. Her focus was like a laser, and her thin shoulders were tensed in concentration.

  Desmond's gaze became like a laser as he watched her. He reached down to Nathaniel to indicate where his attention was.

  Sienna's magic was clearly stronger than the rest, and she was more powerful than Tiros in the age group above her. It was untrained, though, and messy. There were streams of magic long after the others had vanished. She was so strong, but such a mess.

  And within eight minutes, Desmond caught a quiver in her knees. She was battling to stay upright as the Tiros were tasked with levitation. Her body tensed, and her knees buckled, but she fought it again and again.

  Desmond rose up, the only one in the crowd doing so, and she looked up, watching him rather than focusing on the pain she was clearly in.

  ‘Come on, little one,’ he thought. ‘Come on.’

  The bell rang, the exercise ended, and all the objects dropped like a stone. Sienna put her hands on her knees, panting. But she caught his eyes and gave him a smile that was like sunshine.

  “Maestro?” Nathaniel asked in confusion as the Tiros took a bow. There was a break directly following the exercise, and Desmond remained standing, watching where Sienna went. “Did you see something?”

  “You didn't feel that?” Desmond asked. “The tall one? She was so strong.”

  “With the brown hair?” Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “Strong is not the word I would use. All of that magic serves no purpose if it's all over the place.”

  “That can be trained out, Nathaniel,” Desmond replied, but his former Tiro shook his head.

  “Not for the precision a warrior needs,” Nathaniel replied.

  “And is that all you would consider?” Desmond asked. “A warrior?”

  “Well, yes.” Nathaniel looked surprised, “That's what I am; that's what I want to train.”

  “I think we should meet her,” Desmond replied. “At least to tell her that she was strong.”

  “But she's not,” Nathaniel protested. Mariah picked up on the conversation, turning her head. Despite a lack of sight, her eyes bore holes into Desmond.

  “You felt a connection,” she said, half reading his thoughts.
>
  “I don't know what I felt,” Desmond answered. “I just want to tell her to keep persisting. Is that so harmful?”

  “We are just watching, Desmond,” Mariah said, but he got her meaning. She was apprehensive about his approaching a potential Tiro when they had just gotten through a conversation that this wasn't their future.

  “I'm just watching,” he echoed. “Nathaniel? We'll be right back.”

  “I don't see why I have to go,” Nathaniel answered, but he clambered up anyway.

  Sienna was sitting on the floor on the other side of the gymnasium, looking winded. Still, she smiled when Desmond came into her line of sight.

  “Hello, little one,” he said, crouching down. “You did well.”

  She clearly did not understand his words, but she understood a compliment and nodded her thanks.

  “You…are…” She looked between Desmond and Nathaniel and made a motion with her hands. Nathaniel raised an eyebrow, looking to Desmond, who understood right away.

  “Nathaniel is my former Tiro,” he said. “A year or two gone now.”

  She paused, searching. Nathaniel turned back to Desmond.

  “Why doesn't she speak Basic?” Nathaniel asked.

  “She wasn't properly trained offsite,” Desmond admitted to him. “On the offsite facility, they are assisting her because she is a witch, and all witches belong with us. But they didn't train her well.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” Desmond sighed, “she has the acridid gene, and they consider that too difficult to deal with.”

  “The acridid gene?” Nathaniel blurted out in surprise “Well, no wonder they don't train her. That's hopeless, Desmond.”

  “Is it?” Desmond asked him sharply. “There were some who said you were hopeless, too.”

  “You are perception?” Sienna finally managed to Nathaniel. He turned back to her.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Perception…” Desmond struggled through the few languages he knew, translating back and forth to see if he could come up with what meaning she was going for. “Looking. She wants to know if you are looking for a Tiro.”