Broken Souls

by Jade M. Phillips

  “You said you were reborn here?” I asked, following Cloe’s now rushing footsteps toward the theatre. We passed another large group of vampires who froze at our passing. I ignored their stares, hating the way it made me feel like I was on display. “So you were brought here as a human. Was it against your will?”

  Cloe shot me a sidelong glance. “No. I did not wish to become what I am if that is what you are asking. But it was many years ago and I’ve come to accept my life now.”

  “Do you know who your maker is?” I asked.

  My guide’s shoulders tensed at my question, and I got the sudden hunch that asking about one’s maker was a highly personal question. But upon thinking about it, the notion made sense to me. Turning into what we were was hardly a happy event. It was grim, painful and, if I was right in my assumption, most likely nonconsensual.

  The words Cloe said next leaked dread through my body, and she spoke barely above a whisper.

  “Horus… is my maker.”

  SIX: RUBY

  My heart sank to my feet when Cloe told me Horus was her maker, now allowing me to understand her apprehension and fear. I felt bad for her and couldn’t imagine what she must’ve gone through being made by that horrible beast. It almost made me glad I didn’t know Frank, my maker, and I couldn’t help but think maybe it was better that way.

  Our feet clacked on the sidewalk as we neared the entrance of The Bird Cage Theatre, the place I would await my sentence. The sounds of rowdy music and cheering could be heard through the old doors, and my heart pounded hard, mirroring the rhythm of the muted music inside.

  “Here we are,” Cloe announced, her voice quivering.

  Faded pink paint covered the structure and the bricks on the sides were disintegrating like a dried-out sandcastle. Three tall doors interrupted the façade and were set back within brick archways. The place looked deceptively small from the front, but I imagined it was long in depth to hold the size of a theatre. The top of the structure was painted with the date it’d been established, Eighteen Eighty-One, and we stopped directly below the sign. Cloe gently placed her hands on my shoulders and I turned to face her. She looked deeply into my eyes, obviously unbothered by the noisy cacophony inside.

  “My only advice is: Do not speak unless you are spoken to. And address the legion with the upmost respect.” I nodded, my pulse racing hard through my body. Cloe opened the doors and I followed her inside.

  The first thing to hit me was the scent of the place, piercing my nose like a distinct fume. It smelled very old as though history itself still resided within its crumbling walls. I detected the decaying of brick, the rotting of wood, and even the dust that clung to the stained wallpaper peeling from its sides. Large antique chandeliers dimly lit the inside and the aroma of burning kerosene filled the air as well.

  A long wooden bar to our left ran the length of the room. It was crowded with vampires holding glasses of blood and chatting idly. Thankfully, they only offered quick pause at our entrance and then went back to their conversation. I continued scanning the room, trying to get my bearings.

  To our right, a large painting of a half-naked gypsy woman flanked the entire wall, her eerie smile causing me unrest. A chill ran through my body and I resisted the urge to shudder. The room was tight and narrow yet the ceiling rose high above our heads, being topped with a wooden catwalk near the cracked ceiling. On opposite sides of the catwalk were two small doors and two staircases, allowing access from the bottom floor where we stood.

  “This way.”

  I followed Cloe through the hordes of bodies, mesmerized by the ladies clad in Edwardian-style suits and corseted dresses, and men in tuxedos and top hats. I still couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d gone back in time and was pretty certain I stuck out like a sore thumb in my rumpled jeans and faded T-shirt.

  We swerved through the room, past the bar, and stopped in front of a closed door beneath one of the staircases, music reverberating from inside. I imagined it was the entrance to the theatre room and Cloe opened it, affirming my suspicion.

  Piano music burst through as we entered the dark theatre, the audience clapping in time and stomping their feet to the dissonant and eerie tune. I recognized it immediately as an odd rendition of Poor Unfortunate Souls, a childhood classic. A hefty vampire woman in a green bustier and hoop skirt bounced around the stage, her vibrato thick and enchanting. Her hair stuck out in every direction like snakes and her skin glistened with makeup and glitter. Two thin Saloon girls followed her, their green and black costumes tightly fitted to their lithe forms.

  My stomach dropped to my feet when realization hit me. On stage between the vampires stood a naked female, a human female, and the aroma of her blood found its way to my senses, thundering my heart like the drums of the band. And I couldn’t help but think the pounding in my chest came not from a place of hunger for the poor woman’s blood, but from a place of fear for her life. The actors floated around her tauntingly, throwing her around the stage like a rag doll.

  The woman tried to flee the stage but was apprehended by the two saloon girl vampires, laughing like they were merely playing a game of ring-around-the-rosies. Tears streamed down the woman’s face and her hair hung in clumps over her shaking shoulders. The larger vampire came to the front of the stage, bent down, and shimmied her large breasts in a man’s face. The audience roared with laughter and I glanced up to see more Unfortunates hanging over the small birdcage balconies at the top, their eyes wide with excitement.

  “Are they allowed to do this?” I croaked, my eyes brimming with tears for the poor woman. Disgust burned my throat like acid, and I couldn’t believe the cold cruelty I was witnessing.

  Cloe offered me a sympathetic glance and leaned into my ear. “This is how all of the celebrations go. With a human sacrifice.”

  “How is this a celebration? It’s inhumane.”

  Cloe shrugged. “I forget how young you are. I used to feel the same way when I was a Newborn. But you aren’t a human any longer, Ruby. You’re an Unfortunate Soul. Again, something you’ll get used to.”

  The lead actress’ heavy voice brought my attention back to the stage. The music lowered and she spoke melodically as she swayed her round hips back and forth.

  “Before the sun rises on the third day, you must consume your first human breath. And if you don’t your soul will wither and you will belong to the true death.”

  I pondered the lyrics she sang, wondering if they were true. If a vampire did not drink human blood soon after turning, would they die? Should I have died since I hadn’t drank human blood? I shook away the notion, deeming it invalid at a time such as this. Plus, the rules must not apply to me because I was a hybrid freak of nature, and I was indeed, still alive.

  My wondering thoughts were interrupted when the music grew in intensity, the vibrations pounding from the soles of my feet to the tips of my fingers. The voluptuous, snake-haired vampire raised her arms and the two thinner ones brought forward the whimpering human, her chest heaving with sobs. The two accomplices steadied the human and yanked her head to the side, revealing a pulsing vein in her neck. The larger vampire circled the human and came up behind her. She closed in on the sobbing female, the music now speeding like an out-of-control marching band. The audience went wild, shouting and laughing as the human’s body shook with tremors. Without warning, the vampire sunk her teeth into the soft flesh of the woman’s neck, eliciting a blood-curdling scream from her. I gasped in spite of myself and the lights went down, casting the room into complete darkness. The music came to an abrupt halt and the screaming stopped.

  Maybe because I was a Newborn and freshly remembered my humanity… or maybe because I was different than the others with an aversion to taking human lives… but regardless of either, tears streamed down my face. White-hot anger coursed through me and an overwhelming urge to fly on stage and rip the woman from their arms tore through me. I wanted to save her. I wanted to take her with me and get the hell out of this place. In
stead, I stood there with shaking hands and a heavy heart, knowing I’d be done for if I showed my sympathy for the human.

  “Is this the Newborn?”

  A woman’s voice behind us gave me a jolt and I quickly swiped away my tears, swiveling a one-eighty to face her. My vision adjusted to the dark, revealing a tall, thin vampire, her long red hair hanging like satin ribbons down her shoulders. She looked at me with eyes that shone as green as emeralds and I couldn’t help but be frozen in place by her timeless beauty. My mouth hung open in spite of myself.

  “Yes. This is Ruby Carter,” Cloe affirmed, stepping forward.

  The woman looked me up and down, her gaze landing on my tear-stricken face. She frowned, obviously unimpressed. “Pull yourself together, young one, or the legion will eat you alive. Come, they are waiting.”

  I glanced to the stage, now empty, and sorrow clenched my heart for the poor woman who was more than likely dead. I sucked in a deep breath, and followed Cloe and the red-headed vampire, thinking if my experience in the theatre was any indication of what was to come, I was in for quite a surprise with the legion— and I was pretty certain that surprise would be far from cake and presents. We took the left aisle that slanted downwards past the noisy crowd and came to the side of the bottom of the stage. The taller vampire leaned down and opened a hidden door right beneath it and went through. I hesitated.

  Behind us the lights rose on the stage again. The music elevated, another performance under way.

  “Go on,” Cloe urged. I glanced back at her nervously, my heart slamming against the inside of my ribcage.

  “It’s okay. Go on.” She nodded toward the opening. I exhaled slowly and hunched down to climb through the tiny door, followed by Cloe.

  “This way,” the red-head said impatiently when I appeared on the other side, apparently in some sort of basement. I scanned the dank walls as I followed her quick footsteps past a wooden railing and around a corner of crumbling bricks. There in a small room sat three forms at a long narrow table, and I knew at once they were the legion. I knew it was them for the familiar male vampire who sat in the middle. Horus.

  His eyes burned into me with their inky blackness and the fine hairs on my body stood on end, the sudden instinct to run nudged at my wobbly legs. He held a cigarette between his teeth, the smoke swirling around his head.

  Tension thickened the air, and my heart pounded so loudly I was certain everyone could hear it. I was suddenly aware of the legion’s wariness of me, and thought it maybe had to do with my sixth sense. But either way, I knew if I could sense their uncertainty, they could sense my fear. But I stood up straight, pushing away my doubts, thinking I would not let them see my weakness. I would stay strong and proud, if not for me, for Guy, and Wilson, and my real dad. The look in Horus’ black eyes, one of pure hatred, blazed through me. But I took a calming breath and turned to Cloe.

  “What are they going to do to me?” I whispered.

  She turned her head so the legion would not see her reply, but as vampires go, I knew they heard every word we said. Cloe whispered in my ear.

  “It’s okay. Just do what I told you.” No sooner had she spoken to me, was Horus standing mere inches from her face, bearing down with his body.

  “What did I tell you about speaking with the prisoners?” he growled. All color drained from Cloe’s face, leaving her pale and quivering. Awareness struck me like a wooden bat. I was not just some vampire come to join their coven. I was different and they were aware of that. I was not their guest, but a prisoner awaiting her fate. And Cloe remained the pawn in the middle.

  “I’m sorry,” Cloe choked, her voice trembling.

  Horus lifted a hand and backhanded her so hard she flew against the wall, slumping to the floor like a puppet without strings. She brought her hand up to her swollen lip and took it away with a spot of blood. My mouth hung open in shock.

  “Horus!” The red-headed vampire moved in. “That’s enough!”

  “Stay out of this Pandora,” he growled, spinning toward her. “Although you may not like it, I am the vampire legion leader. Not you. You are merely an Overseer.”

  The shock of what Horus did to Cloe fled when he used the red-headed vampire’s name. Pandora. My breath caught in my chest and —if only a little— hope replaced my fear. Pandora was the one Wilson told me about, the one I was supposed to find. His friend. And if Wilson’s kind nature had any indication of the company he kept, Pandora was likely my only hope for survival. I remained unsure of her connection to Wilson, but I needed to trust his words. Or single word, rather. The name Wilson gave me came to mind.

  Nora.

  I was somehow supposed to give that name to Pandora. Wilson said she would understand. But how could I do it without the others hearing?

  “Sorry is not good enough,” Horus boomed at Cloe, his sharp features and dark hair making him look like some creepy Halloween cartoon. He lifted a hand and pointed down the hall, his long black duster swooping the floor with the movement. He opened his mouth to speak, and I saw his fangs, sharp and extended. “Now go. Get the hell out of my sight. You disgust me.” Cloe scuttled across the floor and quickly made her way out of the room. My sympathy for Cloe was clouded by my desperate need to make contact with Pandora. I had to do it soon or I might not have another chance. But just how I would do that, was a mystery within itself.

  Pandora sighed and shook her head, looking to the place where Cloe disappeared to. I couldn’t tell if she thought the young vampire a nuisance or felt sad for her, but either way it didn’t affect her for long. She turned to me impassively.

  “Come.”

  She took me to a spot in the middle of the room facing the legion. I stood there, studying my surroundings, making note of the cluttered space. To our side, broken bottles littered a dark wooden bar, and a worn poker table sat in front of it with burn holes and cracked poker chips strewn about. Black and white pictures of horse-mounted cowboys hung askew on the walls. There were no doors or windows, the only light coming from an overhead kerosene lamp, its eerie glow flickering against the walls reminding me of a bad horror flick. The sounds of the muffled performance leaked from the ceiling above, confirming that we were indeed beneath the stage in some sort of secret gambling hall.

  Pandora turned to leave me, snapping me back to reality. Without thinking, and knowing I had to act fast, I called out to her. “Thank you, Nora.”

  Pandora froze with her back to me and I wondered if she’d caught on. I hoped she understood the code word and didn’t just think I’d accidentally called her the wrong name. I nervously glanced at the surrounding faces to see if they noticed my ‘slip-up.’ But they murmured idly, exchanging stacks of paper, unaware.

  I looked back to Pandora. Whatever shift I thought I’d seen in her stature before was now gone. She gracefully made her way to the corner of the room as if I hadn’t said a word. My heart dropped into my stomach, thinking that maybe she didn’t understand what I was trying to tell her. Or maybe Wilson gave me the wrong code word. Regardless, she sat down in an old wooden chair and nonchalantly crossed one leg over the other, not giving me the time of day. I resisted the urge to sigh with frustration and played with the hem of my shirt instead.

  Looking at my clothes, I reasoned that I was in desperate need of a shower, still wearing the long-sleeved pink T-shirt and blue jeans Guy had bought me when I was training at Wilson’s ranch house. I wished I was still there instead of in my current predicament, but the house had been destroyed in an explosion during our escape. My insides ached at the death of Wilson, but even more so for my savior. No matter how hard I tried I could not keep Guy Stone from my mind. I wondered where he was and if he was plagued by the same sorrowful feelings as me.

  “Let’s begin, shall we?” Horus said, snapping me back to the gambling hall. He leaned back in his chair and glanced to the woman at his side. She had gnarled grey hair and her long skirt jingled with charms when she shifted in her seat. She wore a peasant-style shirt laye
red with a dingy brown cloak. She was not a vampire and looked older than the others in the room. A witch maybe? The grey-haired woman nodded and spoke in a low, gravelly voice.

  “My name is Morin, the legion leader for the witches,” she said, confirming my suspicions. She then gestured past Horus to a man on the end whose long brown hair was tied into a tail running down his back. “And this is Jax, the Werewolf leader.”

  Jax nodded, but with a scowl on his face, pointing to the fact he was less than amused by my presence. He was large and burly and I could tell he was just as pleased to be there as I was. His darkly tanned skin complimented his golden eyes and dark hair. He looked Native American or Mexican, or possibly a mixture of both.

  “And I assume you have already met Horus?” The witch asked me.

  I nodded confidently, betraying my trembling fear. Horus furrowed his brows and I was just glad he was far enough away I couldn’t smell his breath.

  “Yes, we’ve met,” I added. I’d learned all too quickly that Horus was not fond of silent answers. And though the urge to punch him in his smug face was eating at my insides, I knew this was not the time to be snarky or uncooperative. This was the time to do as much brown-nosing as possible, and hopefully buy myself some more time to stay alive.

  “Let the trial begin,” Horus said. His dark gaze bored into me with the intensity of death itself. “For this night, Ruby Carter, you will learn your fate. Whether it be life within the walls of Tombstone as a contributing vampire, or the permanent death by means of hanging and sun.”

  My swallowed hard as I thought about frying like an egg in the sun with a rope tied around my neck— in my opinion, not the ideal way to celebrate a going-away party. My gaze slid to Pandora, begging her to give me just one hint that she understood what Nora meant, a hint that I was not as alone as I felt. But she picked at her nails as though this were the least exciting thing that happened all week, her expression holding no sign of care or urgency whatsoever. I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Wilson had been wrong about her after all, and if my entire journey thus far had been for nothing. But most of all, I wondered if these hours that I stood before the legion, would, in fact, be my last.