by J A Campbell
The sun was only moments from rising outside, so the brothers each gave their own silent goodbyes and left, leaving Darren at Marianna's side.
A while later, he kissed the tips of his fingers and rested them upon the glass. He whispered his love for her and stepped into the sunlight.
Even after her death, she avoided the sunlight, more out of habit and fear of what would happen to her soul should she venture into its bright light. What if her soul was still that of a vampire?
She didn't want to be here alone though. It was eerie to see her body lying there like that. So she gathered her courage and stepped out into the light.
Nothing happened.
She had half expected to end up in heaven, or perhaps be burnt to a cinder, but she was merely outside. There was the old barn. There was the building where Donny now kept the blood along with herbs and his books.
She wondered where Darren was now, and suddenly she was moving. She looked down and right below her she saw him running along in wolf form.
Marianna wondered about moving on to that better place people had always talked about and had no clue how to get there. She thought about what to do next as she followed Darren and sat unseen in the passenger seat as he drove home. Often, he would pull over to weep, and then he would dry his eyes and continue on again. It broke her heart to watch his pain and she would whisper words of comfort to him though she knew he couldn't hear her.
For months, he did nothing. He barely ate and hardly ever slept. When he did sleep, he woke shouting her name. He didn't hunt during the full moon and didn't run with his family. He changed, he had no choice, but he would lie down outside by their tree and not move.
She watched over him. Tried to tell him not to worry for her, that she loved him and death would never change that. She knew it was doing no good, but she had to try.
Eventually, his father convinced him to volunteer at the local hospital. To get up and do something. At first it only managed to make him tired enough to start sleeping through the night. He still often woke calling her name, but he finally started to show improvement.
She stopped worrying about moving on. Being near Darren and trying to comfort him and praying for him was her only concern. She spoke to him, though he couldn't hear her, and watched.
In time, he began to heal. His nightmares began to fade and he started classes at the local university. He finally received the pre-the pre-med degree he'd always wanted. Marianna was there when he was accepted into a medical program at a prestigious university and became a doctor. She was still around as he devoted himself to healing and caring for the humans who put themselves in his care.
She felt sad watching him go through his life alone. Decades passed, and though he was seventy years old, he looked as if he were only in his thirties. Thanks to their supernatural genetics, werewolves aged a lot slower than humans. So it was no surprise to her that all the pretty young nurses would develop feelings for him.
She watched as one day one of these nurses, another werewolf, caught his eye. Marianna felt a bit of jealousy, but she cared more for his happiness and hoped the young girl would return his feelings.
She watched as he and this female werewolf fell in love and got married.
It broke her heart to see her love in the arms of another, but she was dead and this woman was not. Still, she kept his happiness in mind and continued watching his life unfold.
She saw the look of joy on his face when he learned he was going to be a father. She rejoiced with him at the birth of his son, and again a few years later when he learned his wife was pregnant with another child. Oh, how she wished they were hers, but she would not begrudge him this happiness.
Then tragedy struck.
She wept with him as his wife and son were murdered before his eyes and he cut his unborn daughter from his dead wife's body. He named the baby Rochelle, Marianna's middle name, and she felt honored. She stayed unseen by his side as he raised his little girl.
* * *
One day, he packed up their house and moved his now fifteen-year-old daughter to Tucson. Though he was still young as far as werewolves go, he had gone from being a powerfully dominant wolf to a submissive man in his grief. He did his best with his daughter, but he needed help, so he moved down to join one of the strongest packs in the states. His parents had passed a year or so ago in an accident and he needed the stability a strong Alpha would provide, especially now that he was raising a teenaged girl by himself. He hated to rely on his brothers for help, although they understood. He felt it was time for him to get out on his own.
Being in the area was exactly what he needed. His Alpha, Ben, gave him responsibilities, something his brothers wouldn't do, and it helped him get his mind off the pain haunting him through his life. Most wolves can barely survive losing one mate. He had lost two, and no one expected him to survive it. He surprised them all, though they were still hesitant to add any extra stress to his life.
Not Ben. He took the time to listen and gave him exactly what he needed.
Being in Arizona had its drawbacks. The proximity to Marianna's resting place nagged at the back of his mind. He and Rochelle took trips to his wife's and son's gravesites every year, but he had yet to see Marianna since he had left her nearly seventy years before.
One day he asked his Alpha to watch over his daughter for a few days. Ben obliged and thankfully asked no questions.
He took the long trip to Flagstaff to the home of the vampires. The remaining four still lived there and he was glad they didn't expect him to explain what he was doing there. They merely nodded at him as he walked past to visit the tomb.
He slowly entered the tomb and stopped when he caught sight of her glass-covered casket.
He didn't know what he had been expecting, but the sight of her lying there perfectly preserved sent waves of pain through his heart until he was doubled over on the dirty floor, heavy sobs wracking his body. He finally accepted the pain of her death and the deaths of his wife and son and parents and allowed those feelings to wash over him. He allowed himself to finally feel instead of merely existing as he had for so many years.
He didn't realize until now that he had held on to Mari so tightly. The pain was fresh and new and suddenly flared into anger and he felt the glass lid of her coffin shatter under his fists before he even realized he'd raised them in his fury.
The four vampires rushed in at the noise and started asking him what had happened, but the weeping werewolf paid them no heed and merely brushed the glass from his first love's cold dead face and he lowered his lips to hers.
Suddenly he stopped crying and pulled quickly away as he peered down in shock.
Her lips had moved.
A moment later her eyelids began to flutter until they opened and she looked into his eyes.
"Darren?" she muttered weakly and the room grew very still and quiet as the vampires were shocked into silence.
"I don't understand. Are you alive?" He wondered if he had finally snapped.
"Sort of," she replied, then grimaced in pain. "I'm thirsty." Within a few seconds, Donny appeared with a bottle and held it to her lips. She drank one, and then asked for more as they obliged and stared in shocked silence.
"How is this possible?" He watched her drink her fourth bottle of blood.
"I think it has something to do with the spell the witch cast on her," Donny said. "For every action, there is an equal and… I'll stop talking now," he said when George turned a glare on him.
"It doesn't matter," she said to Darren. "I was there with you all these years. I wept with you, rejoiced with you. I've never left you and now we get to share the rest of our lives together. If you'll have me."
"Forever," he said as he gave her another one of many kisses in their happy ever after.
* * *
When I first started writing this story, I had the mental image of cute little midget vampires fighting a scary evil witch. I also pictured a ghost watching her lover move on with his life
and get married, have children, and live his life without her. How would this person feel seeing this happen? Especially knowing he never really got over her? Does death have to be a permanent thing? Was she really even dead, or did she just appear to be because of the curse? I still don't know the answer to that last question. I don't think I'm supposed to. I think the characters meant for me to leave that up to the readers' imaginations. I do know that Mari is a very pure soul who stood against me as I tried to corrupt her. I wanted to! Really! She just wouldn't hear of it. So, in spite of her pain, she did what she felt she had to and I simply had to trust her judgment and don't regret it in the slightest.
My one real regret is that the Vampire Brothers refused to be midgets. I thought it would make for a cuter story, but my characters stopped listening to me a long time ago.
I hope you enjoyed my little story. You can check my website for updates on when to expect to hear from these and other characters fighting for attention in my head!
~Emmalyn Greyson
In Spite of Fire
by
Tilly Boscott
It was the first day of spring when they came to tell Alice the news. She didn't cry, not in front of them at least. She nodded, took the letter, and slammed the door in their faces, sinking down against it to weep. The letter was soaked through by the time she was done, but she felt no need to open it. She knew there was nothing more that could be done. The sunlight dripped in through the windows until it was all gone and darkness slipped in after. The night settled over her like dust and she took to her feet, shaking it off.
Every night for a week she would walk, if only to stave off the realization that he wasn't there, nestling under the covers, keeping close. If she wasn't there either, she couldn't know the truth, she wouldn't feel the emptiness. Even so, she felt sure that she could hear the rattle of gunfire through the trees and the screams of men trailing on the breeze. She would hurry faster, hugging her hat to her skull, with the taste of dead men's blood on her lips. She would race through the forest and dodge branches that leapt forward to snag her skirts.
On the last night she walked, she turned left at the crossroads for the very first time. She had heard talk that day, idle gossiping of dumbly loud villagers, with their hands flailing and eyes fiery with unearned knowledge. There was a place, so they said, up on the moors, amongst the trees, where grieving ghosts would wander, shrieking for their lost loves. Her feet stumbled over the unfamiliar ground. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her as the air grew thin with cold. Still, she hurried on, clouds of breath bobbing back to her, her eyes skimming over the shadows. On and on and on she climbed.
The sky fell lower and lower until she was at the top of the hill, with the whole world swimming below her. The mist rose up and danced around her, rolling and winding and spinning. She watched it for a while, a faint smile touching her lips; then her mouth dropped.
The mist wound up around itself, building itself higher. Two dark holes appeared near the top and began to glow red.
Alice screamed. She turned to run and the ghost slipped in front of her, eyes burning like coals.
"Do not worry, Alice Cotter." The smoothness of his voice sent sparks up her spine. She drew her arms around herself.
"How–" She swallowed, "How do you know my name?"
"I know many things." His smoke tail licked against the ground, leaving the rocks glittering with ice. "I know of a single blade of grass in a meadow that is tipped with poison; one day a child shall slice his foot upon it and die. I know of a dragon that cannot breathe fire until the moon shines upon her tail. I know of a handsome prince trapped in a dungeon by his parents, who refuses to marry for anything but love. I know many things." The mist wavered, "I know who you are and why you are here. I know that I can help you and what you must do for me in return." His eyes flickered and were consumed with white for a second, before bursting into crimson flames once more.
"How can you help me?" Alice's voice was steady, though her fingers quivered as she bunched and unbunched the fabric of her skirts. The mass of mist swam past her and curled itself around a tree, before floating upright once more.
"A long time ago," the ghost said, "a witch hid a great many precious things inside this tree." Alice narrowed her eyes. The tree's leaves seemed to stab through the ghost and out the other side. The trunk itself was fat and ragged with age, its skin peeling off in chunks.
"If you look up," the ghost continued, "you will see that the branches bunch together. This is where the entrance can be found; a hole, wide enough for a lady like you to climb into, but impossible for a gentleman."
"Or a ghost?" Alice dropped her gaze back to him. The mist seemed to quiver.
"The witch cast a curse on the tree," the ghost said, his voice frosty, "preventing any spirit lacking a body from entering."
"And why is that?" Alice raised her eyebrows. The ghost's eyes dimmed. "Surely," Alice continued, "if you know many things, this is one of the things that you would know. You seem to be so knowledgeable about the subject after all."
"Because," the ghost's eyes stuttered and blazed brighter than before, "because she knew that she had hidden away something that was of great interest to the dead and the damned. A tinderbox." He swooped around her. A bitter chill bit at her cheek. "In return for the information that you seek–"
"I asked for no information."
"You are forgetting that I know many things." The ghost sank back toward the tree. Alice shuddered as her insides seemed to prickle with ice. The ghost continued, "I know why you are here. You wish to know about your husband. He is not here." Alice's shoulders hunched. "But," the ghost said, "I know where he is and how you can find him."
"You do?" She lifted her head.
"All I ask in return is that you fetch me the tinderbox from the bowels of this tree."
Alice glanced at the tree again. Her hands were clasped so tightly her fingertips were white, not that she had noticed. The wind blustered through the forest and branches clawed the air. She swallowed.
"How far down is it?"
"Not as far as hell, but close enough to be hot." The ghost made a rasping like a dead man's laugh. He shifted forward, "But on your journey, you will find gold and silver and rubies and diamonds and enough shining trinkets to blind you with beauty. You may take anything that you wish, just bring me the tinderbox. With that you may buy your husband back."
"Very well." Alice said, taking a deep breath. She hitched up her skirts and stepped toward the tree. The closer she came, the taller it seemed to grow, its branches stretching up to catch the moon. She stroked a hand over the bark. Then, with an unladylike grunt, she grasped a branch and hoisted herself up, freeing her legs to dangle, kicking at the bark to find footing. She slapped her hand onto the next bough, then the next and the next.
Alice settled herself in between a cluster of branches and peered around her. The ghost had melted into the air and she was alone. Behind her, the blackness seemed to stretch wider and deeper than shadows. She narrowed her eyes, peering into the tree. This was it. A hole opened up before her; from the hazy edges she could see, it seemed just wide enough for her to fit inside. She shifted herself backward and brought her legs around. She glanced to the ground once more and hoisted her skirts up to the knee. The air inside the tree coiled around her legs, warm like bathwater. She tossed her hat down into the darkness below, watching it flutter into nothingness. Holding her hands together, she lifted her chin, eyeing the stars. She whispered a prayer, gripped the bark around the hole and closed her eyes. She screamed as she fell.
Alice landed with a thump, her skirts splayed around her. Shards of wood plinked to the ground. She opened her eyes to see a flame flickering inches from her face, suspended in the air. She snatched up her hat, pulling it firmly down over her head. Staring at the flame, she edged closer, slicing a hand through the air below it, then above. The fire shuddered slightly, but continued to burn. Alice staggered to her feet and nearly collided wi
th another flame. She stepped back. A row of them bobbed in front of her, and then one of them began to drift away. She watched it for a second, and then ducked under the flickering lights after it.
As the flame slid forward, the walls seemed to appear around it, dancing with an orange glow. Alice slowed as the flame disappeared around a corner. She reached her hands in front of her and edged after it. She stopped as bark scraped against her fingernails. She felt her way around the wall and the light appeared again, idly dipping down the wooden stairs. She hastened after it, gripping her skirts with one hand, the wooden wall with the other.
As she reached the foot of the stairs, Alice gasped. Standing before her was a monstrous dog with eyes the size of saucers. She stumbled backward. The dog sat still, but the light of the flame licked over him, making it seem as if his moist jowls and razor claws were moving. Alice clasped the wall, a foot poised on the first step. She glanced around the room. Hundreds and thousands of bronze coins littered the floor, piled up in mounds, leading like a ramp to the dog's paws. Tentatively, she reached down to pick one up, her eyes trained on the dog. It made no move. She picked up another and another until her skirts were bulging and pulling at her waist.
The flame flickered, filling the dog's eyes with fire, and then it carried on its way. Alice took a few steps forward, her eyes on the dog. His saucer-sized, glassy eyes stared back at her. A slither of drool dangled from his mouth, falling into the mountain of coins. She slipped out of the room after the flame and fell back with a cry.
Standing before her was an enormous dog with eyes the size of dishes. He blinked at her, his face still. The light of the flame washed over him, making it seem as if his wet nose was sniffing her in and his dripping teeth were ready to bite. She clutched her skirts to her waist and the bronze coins jangled together. Hundreds and thousands of silver coins were piled up against the wooden walls.