The Vampire Touch 3: A New Dawn

by Sarah J. Stone

  The magic jumped again.

  “What the hell?” he asked. She didn't look like she wanted to eat it, but she recognized what he was doing. “Has that happened before?”

  Her hand reached for her plate which was full of pasta. The magic did not appear as she pulled her plate closer and picked up the fork. Now that the apple slices were removed, she seemed to be in more control.

  He knew that the off-site facilities did not have proper catering, and he also knew that the planet she came from could not grow anything. Most things there were made instead of grown. It was possible that she had never come in contact with an apple before.

  But why was her magic pushing like that? It baffled him, and he didn't like things that baffled him.

  They didn't have any way to communicate, and so he waited until she was done eating before he stood with her.

  “I can give you a tour,” he said. “Show you where class is going to be. You will be going to class.” ‘Since you can't go on any quests worth their salt,’ he thought.

  “Quests?” she asked, as if she was reading his mind.

  “Sometimes,” he replied. “Jeffro, on Monday.”

  “Jeffro,” she recognized the name, and reached for her com-link. To his surprise, he found that it was Jeffro issue.

  “Where did you get that?”

  She paused. “I…Jeffro.”

  “You...” he shook his head in confusion. “Are you from Jeffro?” he asked. He saw it now, of course. The accent should have given it away, but Eliza was so fluent that he hardly heard it. “Oh, my creator.”

  She waited to see whether that was good or bad, and he took a risk.

  “Eliza?” he asked, and she nodded.

  “Queen Eliza,” she said, mocking a curtsey.

  “That's right,” he said, grinning despite himself. He put a hand to his chest. “Eliza and I are good friends.”

  Her eyes lit up at that, and she nodded. It was the first moment that he felt something, but he dismissed it.

  So, she was from Jeffro, and Eliza could tell them what was going on in her head. It didn't mean he should get attached, because she was likely not going to survive long enough to do so.

  Chapter 7

  “I might not be here when you get back,” Mariah said early on Monday morning to Desmond as he packed his bag. It was five a.m., and they had to be on the airstrip at six. Desmond was barely awake himself, trying to think about what he needed. Twenty minutes ago, when the alarm had gone off, he had sat upright in bed, and right away sent out an unobtrusive ping of magic. It was what he did every day by instinct.

  ‘Christa,’ he said at first before his mind had pulled through sleep. ‘Safe.’ She wasn't on planet, but the faint bond that they still had told him she was fine.

  ‘Reynolds,’ he always tried, his heart aching. Nothing came back in response, as usual.

  ‘Nathaniel,’ he pinged, feeling his former Tiro still sleeping soundly somewhere.

  ‘Mariah,’ he reached out, and was surprised to find her presence approaching. She must want to see him before he left.

  ‘Sienna,’ it was new to his routine, but he knew he would be doing it for the rest of her life. She was next door, still curled up in bed. He briefly considered waking her, but decided it wasn't necessary yet. She would learn to be ready for quests on her own, or she would make a mistake once, and never do it again. It was how they all learned, and he smiled, remembering the first time he had left Nathaniel on the platform, stunned that Desmond would follow through on his threats.

  ***

  “Where are you going?” he asked as he grabbed another shirt.

  “The facility on Rogers Base has had four Tiros blinded during a training exercise,” she replied. “They have asked me to work with them for a few weeks and see if they can continue.”

  “Oh my,” he replied. “I am sorry to hear that. But if anyone can assist, it is you.”

  “I'm glad to be asked,” she said. “Their life does not have to be over. I wish there had been someone there to show me the way.”

  He paused. “Mariah…”

  “No, Desmond. You were a wonderful support, of course. But you sympathized. You didn't understand.”

  “Of course.” He accepted this as he zipped his bag. “You really didn't have to get up this early, you know.”

  “I wanted to,” she smiled at him, her sightless eyes somehow sparkling. “We always used to do this for each other before we got old.”

  “Or lazy.” He shrugged. “I remember, though. We'd always see the other one off.”

  She stood up, hearing him zip up the bag. “And it was wonderful, wasn't it? The quietness of the morning…” She reached her arms out, and he let her put them around his neck, leaning into her. This was something that was recent, this level of touch. It was as if the older they got, the more they needed to feel each other and to know the other was still breathing.

  They said nothing for a long moment, holding each other in the semi-darkness. He would have let it last another moment longer when Mariah gave a startled gasp.

  “What is it?” he asked in shock.

  “It's nothing,” she shook her head. “It's nothing. I think Sybil just took a tumble on a cliff somewhere. She's all right, but I felt the impact.”

  “The bond never quite fades, does it?” he asked. “Even with Christa, I still feel when she's overexerting herself, running for miles, or dodging a meteor shower.”

  “How odd to think that she's had two Tiros and is on her third,” Mariah shook her head. “Christa is efficient.”

  “That's one way of putting it,” Desmond said, and reached out with the magic again. “Both of them are still asleep, by the way. I really don't want to have to barge in and wake them both.”

  “Have you tried the light trick?” Mariah asked, a devilish smile on her face. “I used to do it with Sybil all the time. Reach out with your magic and turn on the light in their rooms.”

  “That's positively evil,” Desmond replied, as he twisted his hand. It took a moment of concentration, because he needed to visualize exactly where it was. But once he could see it clearly, it was easy. “Ha!”

  “Kids these days,” Mariah said. “Shall we get some breakfast?”

  “I think I'll wait, if you don't mind,” Desmond answered. “I've found that Sienna won't eat unless encouraged, so perhaps we should indulge on the ship.”

  “That's going to be quite a problem to deal with,” Mariah observed, and he sighed.

  “I know. If I could figure out the cause – what she's feeling – perhaps we could help. I think going to Jeffro, where Eliza can directly translate, is going to be a huge leap forward.”

  “If you can tear the queen away from Nathaniel,” Mariah replied. Desmond shrugged.

  “Eliza and Nathaniel have always been good about dealing with the task at hand. It's after we are done working that I will worry about them. I don't want Sienna to know that–”

  “Her Maestros break the rules?” Mariah inquired.

  “Walk a grey line, is the term I prefer,” Desmond replied. “If there was just one for her – her one and only – that would be different.”

  “Like you and I,” Mariah prompted, and he lay a hand on her shoulder.

  “Like you and I,” he assured her. “Not like Nathaniel's multiple women before and in between Eliza's knowledge. That is not the way to go about things.”

  “But you have a new Tiro now,” Mariah reminded him. “Despite the mistakes you feel you made last time, this is time to start anew. Besides, he didn't turn out so bad, did he?”

  “No,” Desmond admitted with a smile. “He's all right for now. I should get going, though.”

  If they had been a normal couple they would have kissed just then. But instead, they stood inches apart. There had been hundreds of moments like this in the past years. When was it okay to cross the line, and when could they be strong enough to not do so?

  Desmond reached the platform at ten
minutes to six a.m. and filled out the necessary paperwork. Sometimes, they took commercial vessels, but most of the time, they could sign out one of the smaller ships to make their own way for their quests. Every witch was trained in piloting during their schooling, and the day they took over piloting the ships from their Maestros was a rite of passage. The ships operate manually with fuel, but could also be fueled by strong magic if needed. Desmond chose a stronger battle ship, unsure whether Eliza was telling the truth about the situation on Jeffro. It wouldn't be the first time that she had downplayed just how bad things had gotten. Eliza was a strong leader who ruled absolutely, and she didn't like to admit weakness. But Jeffro controlled so many planets that they could barely keep a grip on it, and rebellions were a common experience. Peace talks, assassinations, search and rescues, and all out wars happened often within the Jeffro system.

  “I don't want that one,” was the first thing Nathaniel said to him when he arrived on the platform and saw which ship Desmond had signed for. “It's boring to pilot. I want the Portland Wing.”

  “Are you going to fly a Portland Wing by yourself for twelve hours?” Desmond asked. “It may be more exciting to fly and have better guns, but it isn't a one-man operation.”

  “Isn't that what you're here for?”

  “I may be occupied,” Desmond replied, watching the door for Sienna. He decided to give her five more minutes to show up on her own, and then he was going to go and get her.

  “You always flew one with me when we got it,” Nathaniel grumbled.

  “Nathaniel, if you want it, you need to take responsibility for it,” he replied. “But that ship is not a smooth ride.”

  “For those of us who are fragile,” Nathaniel grumbled as Sienna made her way to the platform, a backpack over one arm. Since it was her first quest, Desmond had sat with her and told her what she needed to pack, as well as going over the quest plan. He noted that Nathaniel had apparently contributed to nothing about this plan.

  “Good morning, Sienna,” Desmond greeted her warmly. “Are you ready?”

  She looked between the two of them, and then her eyes darted to the Portland Wing. She smiled, pointing. Nathaniel smirked.

  “You see?” he asked, going to change the paperwork. “Sienna knows what's right.”

  Desmond sighed as Nathaniel vanished, and he crouched down to talk to his new Tiro.

  “Can I see your pack for a moment?” he asked, wanting to check that nothing had come out from last night. She needed a myriad of medications that he couldn't keep track of, and he wanted to focus on something other than missing Mariah already.

  He was checking the pill bottles when there was a shout behind him. Desmond thought it was just an accident, someone dropping something. But his shoulders tensed as he sensed darkness in the room, and he spun around suddenly.

  “You have no authority over me!” a voice screamed as a body broke free from two guards exiting a ship. A dark stream of magic shot from his hands, and one of the guards fell.

  The alien was dark blue, with two antennas and four eyes. Desmond could see from his broken bonds that he was a prisoner, possibly being brought to trial for an intergalactic crime. However, his strength was clearly more than anyone had anticipated.

  The alien turned before anyone could stop him and shot magic toward the ship's fuel tank. It ignited, and Desmond barely had time to react. He pushed backward, putting an arm against Sienna as a stream of magic shot from his hands. He was trying to block the alien's magic, and luckily, everyone on the platform had the same idea. If the alien's magic hit the fuel hold, the entire place would blow.

  “Hey!” Nathaniel's voice distracted the alien as he dropped the paperwork. Desmond watched as his stance changed, and his hands went out. He was ready to fight, but the alien was strong.

  Sienna made a noise, and he realized she was scared. She had likely never seen battle.

  “It's okay,” he said, quickly, as he reached his hand out to Nathaniel. It was easier when they were still bonded, but Nathaniel could still feel his offer for help. He redirected his palm, and the magic transferred between the two of them.

  The alien shot a blast of magic that could have destroyed the whole platform, but Nathaniel's borrowed strength, combined with his own, stopped it cold. As quickly as he had stopped the shot, another one came.

  Witches were taught not to kill unless they had to, to be more peacemakers than killers. At the last second, Nathaniel circled his hands to twist the magic, and it formed a bubble rather than a single shot.

  The alien froze, trapped. His limbs were frozen above his head, and his mouth twisted in a sneer.

  Desmond held the pose until Nathaniel dropped his. Both their shoulders dropped, relaxing.

  “It's okay,” he turned back to Sienna, who was watching with her jaw open. Her hand twisted, a bit of magic coming out.

  “Warrior,” she said, and Desmond smiled.

  “Yes,” he replied. “We are warriors. And you are safe, little one. I promise.”

  Chapter 8

  “Approaching Jeffro,” Nathaniel said, several hours later when Desmond came to sit beside him in co-pilot seat. True to his word, he had let Nathaniel pilot the Portland Wing, which was proving difficult. Nathaniel was keeping a steady grip on it, but he looked tired. He was clearly focused on his goal, which was getting them to Jeffro to see Eliza. Sienna had been sitting in the co-pilot seat, mostly silently, fascinated by the dashboard. She moved when Desmond got there, scrambling up.

  “Make sure everything is packed,” Desmond said, turning toward Sienna and speaking slowly. He mimed, and she nodded, scampering to the back. He watched her go with smile. “It's like she's never seen a ship being piloted before.”

  Nathaniel flipped a few switches as he began to activate the landing procedures. He was still waiting for clearance from Jeffro, but he didn't want to wait until the last moment.

  “By that age, she should have already taken a test flight. Her education is clearly lacking. She's not going to do well in the classes back home, Desmond. I think she's a few years behind.”

  “Well, then she will catch up,” Desmond said with a shrug. “And we will teach her.”

  Nathaniel sighed.

  “That's not the point of a Tiro,” he replied.

  “Teaching?” Desmond asked. “Teaching is not the point of a Tiro?”

  Nathaniel said nothing as he flipped a few more switches.

  “You know enough Jeffroian to communicate better than I,” Desmond told him, and Nathaniel shook his head.

  “I don't. The only words I know are when Eliza calls me names, which is not helpful. Standby,” he turned on the monitor as they approached. “Portland Wing 343 requesting permission to land.”

  “Portland Wing 343, you are not cleared to land,” came the crackle back. Nathaniel froze.

  “Sorry?” he replied. “We are requested directly by the Queen Eliza.”

  “Repeat, Portland Wing 343, you are not cleared to land.”

  Nathaniel glanced to Desmond, who raised an eyebrow.

  “Can I ask why?” Nathaniel said, after a moment.

  “Portland Wing 343, you are not on the list.”

  “But I am on the list, I made sure that…” Nathaniel looked down at the monitor, and then swallowed hard. And, to Desmond's amusement, he repeated the call-sign in Jeffroian.

  There was silence through the landing system, and then a crackle came back, also in Jeffroian. From Nathaniel's expression, Desmond saw that they were clear.

  “You don't have enough Jeffroian vocabulary, hmm?”

  Nathaniel growled at that, bringing the ship down.

  “You're not going to help me at all, are you?” he asked his former Maestro, who sat back.

  “Oh no,” Desmond replied. “This is on you.”

  “Maestro,” Sienna appeared again in the doorway. Landings in the Portland Wing were shaky, and Desmond pointed to the jump seat.

  “Sit,” he said, making it cle
ar she needed to put on her seat belt.

  “Hungry,” she said, and he realized they hadn't been on meal duty today.

  “There are some…” He reached to the side, looking for the small storage cupboard. “Ah, dried apple slices. Typical space fair.”

  “Don't give her those!” Nathaniel blurted out so suddenly that even Desmond was startled. He froze, the pack in hand.

  “What?” Desmond asked, confused.

  Nathaniel glanced over. “Just put the packet in her hands, and watch what happens.”

  “And don't let her eat them?” Desmond raised an eyebrow.

  “Just do it,” Nathaniel replied, as he held the wheel tight. Desmond did as he was told, holding the top so that Sienna knew not to open it. She watched him, confused, but Desmond saw exactly what Nathaniel was talking about. The second her hand came on top the apple slices, her magic began to seep out, covering the package. “You see?”

  “Huh,” Desmond replied.

  “Every time she reaches for something natural – apples, a flower, a plant – that happens,” Nathaniel replied. “There's not enough research on the acridid gene to tell me why that's happening, but I've noticed it.”

  “It's attacking anything natural,” Desmond replied. “That's what's happening inside her body. So, it would make sense it attacked slightly outside.”

  “Watch out, plant-based aliens,” Nathaniel answered as they came into the landing bay.

  “I'm sorry, Sienna,” he pulled them away. “We'll get some rations once we land and get settled.”

  “Looks like we are expected,” Nathaniel said, as he watched the royal procession enter the hanger. “There's Eliza. And she does not look impressed.”

  “Probably because you brought a battle ship onto a planet that asked for peace talks,” Desmond pointed out as Nathaniel powered down. “Come on. We wouldn't want to keep the queen waiting.”

  Witches were so highly regarded in the galaxy that they were almost always met by the royals, the leaders, and the cream of the crop. It was expected that they were met with the utmost ceremony and respect.

  Nathaniel knew he should be paying attention to what Desmond and Sienna were doing, but the second he stepped down to the platform, his eyes were fixed on Eliza.