I set my pencil down, picking up a yellow colored pencil and using it to add highlights of my mother’s hair color into the sketch. I’d already added the blue of her eyes. My father was finished, his brown hair and hazel eyes shown with subtle hints of color. I’d drawn them sitting together on the sofa we’d had in the front parlor. My mother wore her favorite blouse and skirt, soft ruffles along the sleeve cuffs and collar, the skirt high waisted and fitted down to her hips before it flared out. My father wore his brown suit, the one he preferred when my mother made him dress up for something.
I still remembered the subtle details of their faces. The way my father’s eyes had always been patient, kind, generous. He had been a good man who would have done anything for his family and always enjoyed a good laugh. My mother’s face had always been a bit mischievous, with a bit of a twist to her smile and wide-eyed innocence that could be deceiving.
I hadn’t sketched them for a long time, probably close to fifteen years. I used to draw them every so often, just to keep them fresh in my memory. While there were some things in my life I desperately wanted to forget, there were others that I just as desperately wanted to hang onto.
My dinner at Marcella’s had gotten me thinking about family again. She’d been a bit off all evening, more tense than usual, even snapping at Rosie at one point. Rosie had walked me to the door when I finally left, telling me Marcella had been like that since she’d woken up after feeding. I suspected something about this old one had upset her and possibly even frightened her. Perhaps it was her doubts that she could stand up to them if it came down to it. Marcella was used to being the alpha and this could be a serious threat to that.
I knew without a doubt, she wouldn’t go down without a fight, though. Just the fact that she’d gone straight for my throat told me how on edge she was. I usually got at least one warning shot before she got that serious when she attacked me. Though I suppose cracking my ribs might count as that. But still, there being less than a second between the warning and the actual dangerous hit wasn’t like her.
I had to admit, I did like healing as quickly as we did. And walking home in the dark last night had sped that up even more. The claw marks on my neck were more or less gone, with just faint lines from the scars left to heal. My ribs had mostly healed, with just a faint ache now when I breathed. They’d be completely healed by tonight before I went to Aleksander’s.
I’d gotten my usual few hours of sleep, then gotten up and sat and sketched after cleaning my blood from my coat. After doing four or five other drawings, I’d decided on the spur of the moment to draw my parents. It helped focus and clear my mind of all the clutter before I was going to have to be on my toes tonight. The more random thoughts I could get out of the way now, the less chance of them distracting me tonight.
Or at least I hoped it was going to work that way.
I hated this part, the waiting. Knowing something was going to happen, but not being able to do anything about it. It was different from simply being patient. This was knowing something was going to happen that could potentially be very bad and not being able to do anything about it at this point. This was seeing a wild dog running toward a child and knowing you’re too far away to stop it.
And I was going to drive myself bloody insane at this rate.
I tossed the sketchbook onto the table by the sofa along with my pencils.
Maybe I could make something happen.
As my regular coat wasn’t dry yet, it only took me a moment to gather my older coat and hat. Aleksander might not be planning on me being there until tonight, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t go poke around the area before. And this time if he caught me, I’d have a valid excuse that would be entirely reasonable.
I locked my studio door behind me, positioned my hat so it was tilted a bit more to the right side to hide my ear, then made my way down to the door to the roof. I paused before going up, considering.
No, I wanted to know more about my surroundings as I made my way over to the river. I wanted to have the time to look at who was in the area and test the air for scents.
I wanted to know what I was getting into.
I turned and took the stairs down to the ground level instead, jumping the whole length when there was no one around to see me. Out on the street, I turned toward the river and began walking.
I paid quiet attention to those around me as I walked. The young couple holding hands and walking their dog. The old man with the bad cough at the corner newsstand, a half-smoked cigarette in his hand. I could hear the rattle in his chest each time he breathed and even more so each time he coughed. I’d be surprised if he lived another two years. Two boys yelling and running down the street. The distant honking of a car alarm. The quiet rumble of a city bus on the next block.
I followed Aleksander’s directions to the warehouse, moving cautiously along. The road down between warehouses was wide and he’d chosen one down on the abandoned side. It was maybe a mile from the building where I’d last fed. I checked the area, listening for the subtle electrical hum of any security cameras, but didn’t hear any. I walked along the side of a building, then across the short parking area, all the while testing the air, listening for anything out of place, letting all my senses sort through my surroundings. I sensed a tension there, something that set me slightly on edge.
When I reached the next building, I jumped easily onto the low roof, the single story being no real challenge to reach. While I hadn’t found anything out of the ordinary on the ground, up here, I started picking up faint scents. It quickly became obvious to me that the ones who were able to, were using the rooftops to travel. Most of the scent trails were old, though, having been left at least a day before.
I continued along, following the roadway by rooftop, until I reached the warehouse Aleksander had specified to me. It was an older building, with rust running down the sides from the metal roof. Cinderblock walls made up most of the building, with a couple of large rollup doors on one end. About half the building was a single story, with the back half easily being two stories. What few windows there were at the front had either been boarded up or broken out completely. It was on the land side of the road, putting it a fair bit back from the river. The scents were stronger here, coming and going from every which way. I picked up a half dozen easily right off, then more as I moved closer. I found Aleksander’s, then Gianna’s.
I moved along the roof, my boots making more noise on the metal than I wanted. But then again, if Aleksander was here, he’d have already picked up my scent. Possibly Gianna as well, though I had serious doubts about her ability to track anybody by scent alone.
I changed direction toward the back, wanting to get a look at the building back there. The very back of the warehouse was overgrown, with a couple of large trees extending their branches over the outer edge of the roof. Weeds covered the ground, nearly obscuring what must have once been a gravel parking area.
As I moved closer, my stomach knotted itself, warning me of danger. I paused, testing the air. I could smell it, even taste it, the closer I got to the back. Dark, cloying, dangerous. It was heavy in the air, one of those tensions you know is there, but can’t pinpoint. Like walking into a room and even though everyone was silent, you knew they were talking about something uncomfortable.
And I just had to be here alone.
I paused, still testing the air, trying to pick out the exact direction it was coming from. I slowly extended my claws to their full length, then shrugged my coat to a position that would be easier to move from. This one fit a bit tighter through the shoulders and I wanted to make sure I had free range of movement with my arms and hands.
I flexed my fingers slightly as I continued walking towards the back. Good, my fingers were loose. I sniffed the air every few seconds. No scent. But the danger was still there.
It wasn’t Aleksander, that much I was positive about. No, this was something else. This was something here that didn’t want to be found.
And
I was dangerously close to finding it.
I paused, turning my head slowly, scanning the trees and overgrown weeds. No birds sang. No squirrels chattering or scratching their claws on the bark as they ran and jumped from branch to branch.
I tensed myself, my next step cautious.
That was when it hit me.
It was big. Heavy and strong. It hit me from the branches overhead, aiming down at me. I felt claws sink into my back and shoulder as the force of impact rolled us to the edge of the roof and sent my hat flying. I had barely enough time to twist in the air, pushing it so it landed first and I landed on top of it, my own claws extending to their full length. Even then, the sharp jolt of hitting the ground knocked the wind from me and sent a jarring pain through my left elbow. The ribs Marcella had cracked complained, but I ignored them.
I twisted free of the claws in my back, rolling to my feet and turning to face the next attack fully prepared. I growled as the other one sprang to his feet. That was when I caught the scent.
The old one.
Heaven and hell help me, he was old. I couldn’t even begin to fathom the age I picked up from his scent. It went beyond anything I could relate it to.
Deeply yellow skin was criss-crossed with deep creases around his eyes and forehead. He had deep curves on either side of his mouth. His lips were thin and pale, the red around his eyes dark and almost scarlet. His wide nose flared with each breath as his gaze pinned on me. Even the whites of his eyes were yellow. He dressed in heavy pants and a dark long sleeved shirt. No coat or hat and what was left of his dark hair fell almost to his shoulders in a wild, thin fringe.
He crouched down, though not from any ailment or injury I could see. I recognized the same stance Marcella had taken before she attacked the boy the other day. Crouching down, giving more power to the attack. It was something I did as well.
He fully intended to kill me. I could see it in his eyes and taste it in the air. He growled, low, deep in his throat, guttural and animalistic. His claws were fully extended, each one thick and hard, dark yellow with mottled white spots and easily over three inches in length. I could see the razor sharp edges on them even from here, running from the tip to where they disappeared under his skin.
I wasn’t so sure I was comfortable with the idea of dying now. Where there once was a time I wouldn’t have fought it outside of natural survival instinct, there were things I wanted to do now. Things I needed to do.
I needed to make sure Dawn was safe.
I barely had time to react before he launched himself at me. He growled something I couldn’t make out and I’m not entirely sure was in English anyway. He tried to knock me off balance, swinging his claws in quick swipes for my chest and head as I twisted out of his way. I spotted an opening, striking with my own claws and feeling them cut deeply through his flesh.
I paid close attention to his hands, making sure they stayed clear of my chest and neck. I had the advantage of being quite a few inches taller than him, though he had several pounds of muscle on me. Which is saying quite a bit, because my own build wasn’t slender. Even if he hadn’t been infected, he’d have been a formidable opponent in a fight.
I saw a flash of yellow as his claws swiped towards my face and I quickly ducked out of the way, trying to bring my own up under his chin towards his neck. He saw my swing and twisted to the side and down, deftly avoiding me.
I noted with some relief he hadn’t filled his claws with any venom. Yet.
My left elbow throbbed, but I ignored the pain. I had more important things to worry about.
He spun around and attacked me again, this time practically flying at me, aiming low to try to knock me off my feet. I tried to move out of the way, but he was too fast, hitting me full force once more and taking me down. We rolled across the gravel, our claws tearing at each other as we both growled and yelled, trying to get a good enough grip to gain the upper hand. I felt his weight shift slightly and shifted with it, keeping him from twisting one arm towards my neck.
He was strong. Stronger than Marcella and Aleksander combined. It took all of my considerable strength just to block his swings and get past his own blocks to do any damage. I’d lost count of how many superficial scratches he’d given me already. It seemed every way I turned, he had claws there. At least I could return the favor and I did, tearing through fabric and flesh with a stern determination.
We continued to roll, the scent of our blood growing more evident with the more damage we did to each other. I tore a gash in his forearm. He ripped one along the side of my stomach.
He was fast. Faster than Marcella. It took every bit of my concentration to keep up with what he was going to do next. I felt for weight shifts, muscle tension, changes in direction. Anything that would allow me to keep alive until I could find an opening of my own.
As we rolled from the weeds and gravel towards the trees, I caught another scent.
Marcella.
Whether she’d sensed there was danger or had followed me I didn’t know, but I was never more happy to know she was there.
And she made her presence known in the next second.
I couldn’t see her attack, but I knew it once she hit. I was underneath the old one, trying to get him off of me, when she hit him full on from the back. I felt the hard pressure of her weight with his for only a moment, then the two of them rolled to the side.
Have you ever heard dogs or cats fighting? That terrible combination of growls, screams and pain? Now imagine that as the worst sound you’ve ever heard amplified by a factor of ten and it might start to compare to what I heard now.
I didn’t have time to just watch. I already knew Marcella would be no match for him on her own either. The two of us together, however, might stand a chance.
Maybe.
If we got very lucky.
I rolled to my feet, turning to find where they’d gone. They’d both gotten to their feet and were circling each other, back up towards the gravel. Marcella growled something in her old Bari dialect, only a few words of which I recognized. Something about his heart and her claws.
When the old one answered in the same dialect, however, it made me pause.
It did the same to Marcella.
Marcella’s pauses are notoriously short. Especially when she’s decided she doesn’t like you.
She hit him full on, moving at a blinding speed. Her claws tore at his chest and stomach, sinking deeply into the front of his shoulder. Just a few inches lower and she’d have hit her target. He hadn’t been fast enough to block her completely and had to struggle to get away from her.
My eyes moved quickly, noting movements, actions and reactions.
He wasn’t fighting back.
He was defending himself. But he was no longer fighting back.
“Marcella!” I barked her name, hoping to startle her enough to get her attention. When she didn’t seem to hear me, I repeated it, adding a heavy growl to it this time as well. That got her attention and they scrambled apart once more. Marcella turned to scowl at me while the old one moved back slightly. Crouching down, ready to defend himself again. “He’s not fighting you,” I pointed out to her. “After he heard you speak, he stopped fighting you.” I put my hand over my side, the gash there bleeding freely as I applied pressure to it. Hopefully it would heal enough to stop soon. I was breathing hard, trying to catch my breath between the fall, the re-cracked ribs and the exertion of the fight. I noticed with some chagrin that the old one barely seemed winded.
Marcella turned to the old one, the realization dawning in her expression now that I’d pointed it out.
She spoke again, once more in her Bari dialect. The only word I picked out now was name. I decided I really should have had her teach me more of it when I’d lived with her in Italy.
My body tried telling me about all of the damage it had just sustained, but I ignored it. I wasn’t dead. I would heal.
“Jozef,” the old one replied, his eyes watching her now. His voice was eve
n more of a growl than my own and heavily accented. He must have really avoided speaking to others. His expression was cautious, but curious as well. He circled slightly to the right, moving to keep both of us in his line of sight and to a better position in case we both attacked at once. While hearing Marcella speak had obviously piqued his interest, it was clear he also wasn’t about to trust us.
Marcella took a slow step back, then made her way over to my side.
“Mikhos--” she hesitated and I could hear the uncertainty in her voice. “That was my grandfather’s name.” She was still tense, ready to defend or attack at a split second.
I looked at the old one. Could it be? Could it possibly be, even after all this time?
He certainly looked old enough.
“So ask him,” I told her. “I’m watching him.”
She spoke again, longer this time. I picked out a few words, but nothing I could connect to know exactly what she said. Something about his name and a town or city.
He took another couple of steps to the side and I could see him sizing us both up, noting where the danger would most likely be to fight both of us. After what seemed a long time, he focused on Marcella, answering her.
I felt Marcella’s heartbeat speed up for a moment, then slow back down. She reached over and grabbed my arm, almost startling me from the contact.
“I think it’s him, Mikhos,” she said, her eyes never leaving the old one. “Is it him?” I knew she was asking the question more to herself than to me.
And I tried very hard to resist answering that I had no idea.
After what seemed forever, the old one spoke again, asking Marcella something about her name. When she answered him, I saw his eyes widen as he stared at her, then he glanced at me and they narrowed again.
Oh good, apparently we weren’t going to be friends right off.
I’d been accumulating far too many friends lately anyway.
The old one spoke again, his words angry and harsh as he motioned to me with a sharp wave of one clawed hand.
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