Amaranthine Special Edition Vol I

by Naylor, Joleene

  Katelina stared through the darkness, her thoughts churning. She could hear Jorick’s slow steady breathing as he settled down for the night, and she knew that any moment it would all but disappear as he dropped off to sleep. If she wanted to talk, now was her chance.

  “So, what’s with the Executioner’s cliché outfits, anyway?”

  Silence greeted her question, so she nudged Jorick and repeated it. Slowly, he asked, “What?”

  She was certain she’d spoken English, but she tried to hide her impatience and said for the third time, “I wondered why the Executioner’s outfits are so cliché. You know, long black coat, black clothes; even the silver medallion thing’s pretty unimaginative. They look like they came out of a Hollywood blockbuster, or an anime.”

  “A what?”

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Jorick was getting oddly hard of hearing all of a sudden, or else purposefully obtuse. “An anime. You know, those Japanese cartoons with all the weird stuff in them?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “You can get them online almost anywhere. There’s a bunch of them on youtube-” she broke off as she realized who she was talking to. “Oh.”

  “If they’re Japanese cartoons, why are they called anime? Why aren’t they just called Japanese cartoons?”

  “Because anime is short for animation.”

  Jorick rolled over to face her. She couldn’t see him in the darkness, but she could feel him studying her. “All right. Then why isn’t all animation called anime?”

  “Because it isn’t Japanese!” she exclaimed impatiently. “Have you been listening to me?”

  “Yes, but have you?” He broke off and then repeated, “Why is it called anime?”

  Why did he expect her to know that? It wasn’t as if she was an emissary for the whole human race! “I don’t know! It just is!”

  “Okay then. That’s why the Executioners dress that way. Because they ‘just do’.”

  Katelina ground her teeth impatiently and jabbed her finger into his ribs. “Very funny.”

  “You expect me to know everything, so why can’t I expect you to?”

  “Because I’ve never been to Japan, or made Japanese cartoons, but you’ve been an Executioner! For crying out loud! Did you used to look like something from a cheap horror movie?” She stopped as she had a sudden mental image of his current wardrobe choices; black shirt, black pants, long black coat. “My god, you’re a walking cliché!”

  “Thanks very much,” he managed to sound very offended. “But, did it occur to you that cliché’s come from somewhere?”

  She blinked against the darkness. “What?”

  “Now who’s obtuse? Cliché’s come from somewhere. Someone has to originate every idea, and that original idea becomes a cliché when everyone else embraces and regurgitates it. Just because it is now a cliché, doesn’t mean that it wasn’t an original idea when it started. And yes, that was the basic ‘uniform’, if you will, when I was one of them. Originally it was a long black cloak, and then, as time and fashion progressed, it changed to a coat. And yes, I like black. We’ve been over this before. Black is non-offensive, it doesn’t clash so I never have to worry about mixing and matching clothes, and it makes it easier to disappear into the shadows. All together it’s a lovely color and I believe that’s why it rotates back into popularity all of the time. You notice that yellow doesn’t last long, but everyone likes black.”

  Katelina stared towards Jorick in disbelief. “Yellow?” she asked weakly. She couldn’t picture Jorick anywhere near yellow, let alone wearing it. In fact, she couldn’t picture any vampire in yellow.

  “Exactly,” he agreed emphatically. “Now, if you’re done, I’m afraid I’m rather tired.” As if to prove his statement, he gave a long, loud yawn. “I realize that I’m the all-knowing font of knowledge, but even the wisdom of the world must sleep now and then. Unless you have any other random questions?”

  She glared at him and then, in her most innocent voice asked, “Yes, all knowing font of knowledge, why is it called anime?”

  He made a small noise in his throat, but didn’t bother to answer her.

  **********

  Scene 3: Ask and Ye Shall Receive

  (Insert this in the middle of Chapter Five, on the way to the roses.)

  Katelina glared into the unfamiliar darkness of the motel room. She was annoyed with the situation, annoyed with Jorick, and even annoyed with Loren. How could he be so enthusiastic about it all? But there were a lot of unanswered questions about him.

  Jorick stirred next to her and murmured quietly, “You should get some sleep, Katelina.”

  She agreed, but instead of taking the advice asked, “So how does Loren get away with it?”

  Jorick half turned in bed to stare at her. “Get away with what?”

  “With being a vampire. I mean, he looks like a teenager, right? Don’t the locals notice he doesn’t ever grow up? How does he get out of going to school? And you know, that chick he was dating? I mean she was a teenager, but he’s really, what? My age or older, I imagine. Think about that age difference!”

  Jorick cleared his throat noisily to stop the flow of random thoughts. “I don’t know. He just doesn’t go, and I’d have to figure up how old he was, which I don’t care enough to do.”

  Not to be deterred, she demanded, “But he is from around there, right? And no one notices?”

  Jorick gave a resigned sigh and rolled over to fully face her. “Yes, he’s from ‘around there’. He and his brother both were.”

  “And where are his parents?” She paused, and then gave vent to her own private theory, “He didn’t, you know, suck them dry?”

  Jorick’s eyebrows shot up with outraged offence. “Suck them dry? Suck them dry? That’s a lovely phrase!”

  She brushed off his overreaction. “Well, did he?”

  “Not that I know of.” Jorick glared at her. “The next time you’re eating I should say you’ve mashed your food to death, right?”

  “It’s already dead. So, what happened to his parents?”

  He sniffed disdainfully. “They died. They were mashed to death.”

  She couldn’t stop from rolling her eyes. “Very funny. What really happened to them?”

  “A car wreck, I believe. I don’t know. It isn’t as though Loren and I sit around the fire trading stories of our lives! If you want to know, then ask him. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to tell you.”

  She turned the idea over uncomfortably. “No. It would be rude to just point blank ask.”

  Jorick seemed surprised. “Why?”

  She fidgeted with the hem on the bedspread. “Because, it is. If he wanted me to know, he’d tell me, himself.”

  Jorick pondered the idea a moment. “Assuming he knew you were interested. I doubt it’s occurred to him that you care.”

  “Oh, I don’t care,” she said quickly. “I’m just, you know, kind of curious.”

  “Well, be kind of curious tomorrow and ask him.” Jorick yawned pointedly and then rolled onto his back. “For now, I’m rather tired, and we have a potentially long day ahead of us.”

  “Yeah, I suppose,” Katelina murmured with no conviction. Somewhere the mood of the whole conversation had changed, as had the real topic. The letters popped into her mind and she wondered if Jorick would have the same “just ask” policy about those?

  Somehow, she doubted it.

  **********

  Scene 4: Jorick of Oz

  (Insert this in the middle of Chapter Ten, after the grocery store and before burning the bodies.)

  The headlights cut through the night and illuminated the fat, falling snowflakes. Jorick shut the car off while Katelina climbed out, her blue eyes bright and her cheeks pink in the cold. Like a child, she held out her hand to catch a snowflake. Three of them landed on her outstretched fingers and she hurried to think of a wish for each.

  Grocery bags rustled and Jorick called, “Are you going to help?”

  Hi
s voice broke the magic of the moment, but she refused to let him spoil it completely. As if to punish him, she scooped up a handful of snow, squashed it into the semblance of a ball, and hurled it straight at his head.

  It hit its mark. Most of the snowball dropped away, but a lump stayed lodged in Jorick’s dark hair; white on black, and a few flakes were even brave enough to splatter across his cheek.

  Jorick stared at Katelina, at first emotionless, then a mixture of outrage and disbelief took over. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I hit you with a snowball.” She hurriedly scooped up another handful of snow. “And-”

  He cut her off, his tone brooked no argument, “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

  She weighed the cold snow in her hand. “And why not? It isn’t like you’ll melt.” She changed her voice to an imitation of the Wicked Witch of the West. “I’m melting! Meeeeeellllting!”

  “No! I won’t melt. Now, come along and stop this nonsense.”

  “Nonsense?” she echoed. “It’s not nonsense, Jorick. It’s called fun. I realize that’s something you try to avoid, but….” She trailed off and waited for his denial. His only answer was a dark scowl, so she let the snowball fly. He dodged to the side and back so quickly she barely saw the motion, and the snowball flew past him and landed in the yard.

  “That’s enough of that,” he said firmly. “Now come on, we have groceries to put away. You can help carry them inside, since they are for you.” As he spoke, he hefted three plastic bags and turned towards the house, his broad back a black coated target. Katelina couldn’t resist.

  The snowball hit him between the shoulder blades, and he stopped mid step to spin around and glare darkly. “I said-”

  “Yes,” she interrupted. “You said. But, you’re not my father, so….” she left the vague threat hanging and offered him what she hoped was an evil smile.

  Jorick’s opinion was silent, but sudden. “Evil? Actually it looks like you’re having problems with digestion.”

  “Stop doing that!” she shouted and waved her fist emphatically. She was getting really sick of that! It made her wish she’d never found out about his mind reading, and that he’d never-

  The thought broke off as he smirked smugly; too delighted at having annoyed her the same way she’d annoyed him. “Then stop acting like a child with your snowballs and come along before you melt.”

  He turned back towards the house, while Katelina puzzled over his words. The subtle insult took a movement to register, but when it did, she flung a large snowball at the back of his head. It hit with a satisfying plop, and she called after him, “I’ll get you my pretty, and your little dog too.”

  Jorick’s only answer was, “I don’t have a dog, only a human pet.”

  As if he sensed it coming, he easily dodged the next snowy missile.

  **********

  Scene 5: They Say

  (Insert this at the end of Chapter Sixteen.)

  Katelina flipped the cable channels randomly and only stopped on the local news as a last resort. The news anchor was a cheerful looking male with graying hair and a tie that was too tight. He tugged at the offensive neckwear as he continued his story.

  “-Baker’s Funeral home reported the theft of eleven caskets from its downtown showroom. A security camera recorded the image of a masked man before it was disabled-”

  A fuzzy picture showed someone who was built very much like Micah and wielding a crow bar. He swung the weapon towards the camera, and the picture disappeared.

  “-Authorities are unsure at this time if the theft is intended as a prank, or if it is related to the theft of fifteen caskets from the Bryson County Funeral Home in Palmina earlier this month. The eleven caskets have been estimated to be worth over $30,000.”

  Katelina whistled low. At that price no self-respecting vampire could afford to buy their own casket! No wonder they were stealing them. If Oren and his cohorts had that kind of money, then surely their war den would have heat and running water? Though, it was Oren’s own fault. It wasn’t like vampires had to be in coffins; Oren was just a psychopath who liked them.

  The funny thing was, she’d never bothered to wonder where the caskets came from, even though there’d been a basement full. And just how did they steal fifteen caskets at one time and transport them? That would take a lot of trucks, wouldn’t it? Or one really huge one?

  She’d have asked Jorick but, as usual, he wasn’t there. And even if he was, what would he say? She could imagine the conversation:

  Jorick would laugh, then he would say something like, “You wonder about the strangest things, little one.”

  And she’d glare at him with offence and snap back, “It’s a perfectly logical question! How do they haul all of those?”

  Jorick would roll his eyes. “Not all at once, obviously. I imagine they take them one or two at a time, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know! If I did, I wouldn’t ask you!”

  He’d snicker, pat her on the head or something similar, and casually remark, “Perhaps you should ask Oren.”

  No he wouldn’t. Not now. Now he’d say:

  “I don’t know, does it matter?”

  Yes, that final statement was a far closer fit to his mood. And technically he’d be right, it didn’t matter. She’d never even thought about it until a moment ago, but now inquiring minds wanted to know. And know they would!

  It was an hour later when Jorick returned, and he was barely through the door before she was on her feet, hands on her hips. “All right! No evading my questions!”

  He rolled his dark eyes and moved around her. “What questions?” He dropped onto the edge of the bed and kicked off his snowy boots. “If you must know, I followed him. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a trick.”

  His immediate answer threw Katelina off guard. “What? No! I want to know how they haul the coffins!”

  Jorick’s head snapped up and he stared at her incredulously. “How they haul the coffins? Who?” Understanding slowly filtered over his features. “Oren? For the love of- I don’t know! I imagine they use Des’ truck!” He shook his head and turned his aggravated attention to his socks. “How they haul the coffins!”

  “It’s a perfectly legitimate question. I mean, they did steal fifteen at a shot.”

  “Did they?” he asked with no interest as he peeled off his dirty shirt and tossed it away. “I’d imagine they carry them out, stash them somewhere and then haul them a few at a time.” He stood and started for his jeans, then paused to look at her. “Why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She shrugged, as if that was an answer. “I was just curious.”

  He tugged off the jeans as well and left them on a heap in the floor. “Yes, well, you know what they say, curiosity killed the cat.”

  He started to turn for the bathroom and a shower, but Katelina called to him, “Who says? It’s always ‘you know what they say’. Well, who exactly are they?”

  Jorick stopped, and without turning around answered, “Someone very wise.”

  “Really, well ‘they’ also say that inquiring minds want to know.”

  She felt his amusement and heard the smirk in his words, “Too much knowledge can be a bad thing.”

  “But knowledge is power,” she quipped back.

  Jorick’s smirk grew into a full blown grin, and he looked back over his shoulder and said, “Yes, but they say power corrupts, and I wouldn’t want to be responsible for corrupting you, so…” He trailed off into laughter and, before she could work up a good counter argument, disappeared into the bathroom.

  **********

  Scene 6: That Would be Cheating

  (Insert this at the end of Chapter Eighteen.)

  Katelina stared at the window where light leaked around the stack of dressers. Despite the precautions, the room was far from dark, and whether because of the light or her nerves, she couldn’t find sleep.

  Jorick stirred beside her and murmured, “You should rest, little one.”
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  “I know, but I can’t.” She stopped short of mentioning why; the panic, the worry, the hovering thoughts of certain death. He’d know them all, anyway.

  A sudden wave of relaxation crashed over her, and she could hear him soothing her, “Sleep. Everything is fine. Everything will be fine. Sleep-”

  “No.” Despite the good intentions, she didn’t want him to use his mind tricks on her. “You know I don’t like that.”

  He sighed resignedly. “Yes, I know. But, I thought rest was a higher priority, this time. You’ll need your strength tomorrow, and it seems a waste for you to ignore the resources available.”

  “I hardly call you ‘enchanting’ me to sleep a resource.”

  “Why?” He rolled her over to face her and met her eyes with a challenge. “If you were tired and had sleeping pills then you’d take them, wouldn’t you?”

  She knew where this was going, and she refused to play into it. “Maybe.” He narrowed his eyes, as if reading the truth from her, and she relented. “All right, fine. If I was tired enough, then yes, I would. But,” she added quickly. “I’m not that tired right now.”

  “If you say so.” His shoulders moved in an almost imperceptible shrug and he rolled onto his back. “But, I did offer.”

  “I know.”

  They fell into silence and she stared at the dressers again. Maybe she should take him up on it. After all, they’d have a fight tomorrow and-

  And why didn’t he just use that mind control to win? “He could just take them over and-”

  “Wouldn’t that be cheating?” he asked to her unspoken thought.

  She started to chastise him, then let it go. What was the point? “Not really. If you got it, use it.”

  His amusement was palpable. “Yet you just said-”

  “That’s different,” she interrupted. “That’s using it on me. I’m not trying to kill you.”

  “Really? It often seems the same,” he joked, then turned serious. “No, but they are, and that’s the problem. Influencing someone does require a certain level of concentration, and it’s rather difficult to concentrate while you’re fighting.”