Black Fall (The Black Year Series Book 1)

by D. J. Bodden

  Jonas sat up. He could hear — or at least sense — Sam shouting at him. My barrier, he thought. He wasn’t sure when — maybe after he’d started talking to Viviane — but he’d let it slip. He clamped it back down, and François flickered, then disappeared. Jonas knelt on the floor, breathing hard, his knuckles sore from hitting the gym mats. “He wasn’t real,” he said, getting to his feet and looking at Viviane.

  Jonas felt a coil of force push through his barrier, and François reappeared. The illusion aimed another slap at him, but Jonas ignored it. François’ hand passed straight through him. “He still isn’t real.”

  “You’re Alice Black’s son, that’s for certain,” Viviane said, smoking a cigarette. She flicked the ashes toward the ground; they disappeared before they landed.

  Jonas clamped down his barrier again, and Viviane flickered, though he couldn’t completely block off the outside force. “And she’s not real either, which means there’s only you,” he said, looking at Eve.

  Eve winced. Jonas wondered how long it took other students to figure it out. The Viviane illusion walked over — the cigarette disappeared somewhere, which Jonas thought was sloppy — and moved to slap him. Jonas grinned and turned his face into the blow, keeping his eyes on Eve.

  It felt like getting hit in the jaw with a crowbar. The blow knocked him to the ground and bounced his head off the mat, making him see stars.

  “She’s real,” Eve said. “Sorry.”

  Viviane stepped toward Jonas, and he instinctively curled into a ball. She reached down, grabbed him by the back of his collar, and lifted him to his feet. “What have you learned?”

  Jonas’ throat felt tight. He understood Eve’s previous outburst, now. The instructors were terrifying. Viviane looked like a petite French model, with dirty blonde hair, big brown eyes, and pouty lips, but she’d lifted him easily. She held him by the scruff of the neck, like a puppy, with only the tips of his toes touching the floor. He knew he’d be hit again if he said something stupid, or hasty, or if he didn’t answer at all. “I learned that I don’t know anything about being a vampire,” he blurted out.

  Viviane set him down, gently, and straightened his jacket. “Now, questions.”

  “Who is François, really?” he asked, rubbing his jaw.

  “My first and last boyfriend. He used to call me names and slap me around after he’d had a few drinks. I left him for a German during the war.”

  “You left him for a Nazi?”

  “A German,” she said, irritated. “We met during World War I. At least, I thought he was a German. Turned out, he was a vampire from Norway, and we didn’t ‘date’ so much as he had me for dinner. So François was my only real boyfriend, and now, everyone fights François.” She smiled playfully, and took a pull from the cigarette that had appeared in her hand again.

  “Why do you smoke that cigarette?” Jonas asked.

  “It calms me.”

  “But it isn’t… I think it isn’t real.”

  “Good, that’s an important distinction,” she said, waving the cigarette in front of his face. The end glowed red, and the smoke irritated his nose. He flinched away. “You’re right, it isn’t real, but it still calms me. You’d have to be an idiot to smoke a real cigarette.” She counted, pointing to the fingers on her left hand, and said, “They make you smell bad, start fires, and will kill you.” Then she took another puff and gave him a wink.

  Jonas bit his lower lip. He knew he should have more questions, but he was too tired. His head hurt, and his arms still felt rubbery from his “fight” with Viviane’s ex.

  “What else should I know?” he asked.

  “Those are the basics. You’re a vampire, not a werewolf, a golem, or one of the other physical types.” She said the word physical with laudable disdain. It was beautiful, in a way, the product of almost a century of condescension. “Your fight is first in the mind, then with your fists. Imaginary things you believe in can hurt you, but real things you don’t believe in can hurt you more. In that, we aren’t much different from humans.” She looked at Eve, and said, “Take him through the blocking drill, until he can’t anymore.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Eve said.

  “And Jonas?”

  “Yes ma’am?” Jonas said, mimicking Eve.

  “Give your mother my regards.” She turned and walked over to another group, trailing a thin line of smoke behind her.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Sorry. I tried to warn you,” Eve said. She was wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a green tunic-sweater with tight sleeves that let her move easily.

  “Yes you did,” Jonas said, feeling like he’d just had a near death experience. His head ached, his jaw hurt, and he felt so tired that he was shaking. “If you hadn’t, I might be worse off than I am.” He sized her up, hesitantly. She looked like a skinny teenage girl, but somehow he knew she’d hit like a fully-grown man. “I don’t know how much more I can do.

  ‘“We’ll take it easy, but you have to at least try or she’ll come down hard on you.”

  Jonas felt a lump in his throat. He glanced back at Viviane; the instructor didn’t turn but waved over her shoulder. He swallowed. “Okay, what do I have to do?”

  “It’s a blocking drill. Stick your arm out like you’re punching me in the chest.”

  Jonas stuck his right arm out, and Eve turned his hand so the top of his thumb was facing her.

  “Now, watch.” She pushed his hand to the left, backhanded his elbow, then trapped his upper arm against his body with her left hand. Immediately, her right arm shot forward and stopped inches from his chest, like she was stabbing him with an invisible knife. “Now, you do it,” she said.

  She was holding his right arm, so he pushed with his left hand, batted her elbow with his right, and pushed down on her forearm with his left. She let go of his right arm in the process, and he punched it forward.

  “What’s this drill for anyway?” he asked.

  She pushed, struck, held, and punched. “To stop you from taking a stake to the chest.” He pushed with the right hand. “No, left,” she said, correcting him.

  “They still use stakes?” Strike, hold, punch.

  Eve shook her head. “Most of the hunters use UV flash grenades or lasers these days. Explosive bullets too, because those work on everyone.” She went through her part of the drill quickly, with a tap-tap-tap. It was starting to hurt. “There are still traditionalists out there, though, and sometimes someone just wants to make a statement.”

  Jonas got his part wrong again.

  “I think you should just focus on the drill,” Eve said, her eyes flicking to look over his shoulder.

  He nodded, gritted his teeth, and tried again.

  ♚

  Jonas woke up late Saturday afternoon, arms flailing as he tried to stop an unknown assailant from staking him. Then he realized he was at home, back in his room, and the “assailant” was just his sheets. His memory of Friday was hazy. Bert almost had to carry him home. I’m safe, he thought. But he felt overheated and sore, as if he had a low grade fever. And his arms hurt. He was surprised to find they weren’t bruised. That was good. The pain he could deal with. At least nobody was trying to kill him… for now, anyway.

  He heard a knock on the door, then his mother came in with a glass of water.

  “Here, this will help,” she said.

  How did she… He checked his barrier, but Sam had maintained it after Jonas passed out from exhaustion.

  “You aren’t exactly a varsity athlete, Jonas, and you went straight to sleep when you went home,” she said.

  He realized it wasn’t magic after all, just his mother acting on intuition. He gulped the water, surprised at how thirsty he was. Afterward, she took the glass.

  “I’ll refill it for you,” she said.

  He heard the refrigerator open and shut, then she came back with another full glass and handed it to him.

  “Viviane sends her regards,” he said between sips.

  “Did
she, now?” his mother said, smiling. “So, that means you met her old boyfriend. What was his name?”

  “François.”

  “Yes, that was it. Did she tell you she tracked him down, between wars?”

  “No. What did she do, kill him?”

  “Of course not!” Alice said. “That’s against Agency rules. He killed himself.”

  Jonas had just taken a drink and almost spewed water everywhere. “Seriously? How did she do it?”

  His mother smiled. “She used illusions to make others believe he was treating them the same way he treated her when she was human. His family and friends started to hate him. It drove him mad.”

  “And that’s legal?” Jonas said.

  “It was. The Agency had to revise the rulebook several times because of Ms. Lefèvre. That’s her gift, you see? That’s why she teaches fledglings.”

  “The Agency wants us to break rules?”

  Alice shook her head. “There are many rules that can’t be broken… gravity, the conservation of energy, entropy. But, every once in a while, it seems like they get broken. Sometimes it’s because we didn’t understand the rule, and sometimes it’s because someone very clever understood it very well.”

  Jonas thought about it. “So that’s why, even though I was keeping my barrier up, and the image of François was gone, I could still see Viviane’s cigarette.”

  “Yes. You see a pretty French girl raising her hand to her lips, blowing, and tapping it with her thumb, and your mind fills in the blank. You’re letting her in.”

  “I’m giving her a window.”

  His mother smiled sadly. “You’ve been talking to Doris. She always liked that image.”

  Jonas nodded.

  “You be careful around her. She’s very old, and very dangerous. And she’s not to leave the Agency lobby under any circumstances.”

  “Umm… Okay,” Jonas said. He couldn’t imagine how Doris — with her lisp, gray skin, and goofy wig — could hope to escape without the whole world noticing. But Jared had said the same thing, so he assumed there was a reason behind it.

  “In any case, you’re right about Viviane. She makes a small breach with a trivial illusion and uses it to push more and more through your barriers. It used to be knitting needles, before women’s lib made a girl holding a cigarette more likely. She’d sit in the corner of a room for hours, needles clicking away, until even I could see the scarf.”

  “She told me it calms her,” Jonas said.

  “I’m sure it does. Viviane is someone who likes to feel in control. You remember your father’s lucky coin?”

  “Yeah, he used to sit and roll it across his knuckles. He was teaching me how to do it, until you got upset… it wasn’t real?”

  She gave Jonas a smile, then did something he thought was odd. Reaching to brush his hair back, like she often did, she hesitated. The pause only lasted a second, then she completed the gesture, but it was like, for a second, she wasn’t sure he was really there.

  “You’ll never marry her, you know… Amelia. You’ll never fit into her perfect little plan of a house, two kids, and a successful husband.”

  Jonas sat back. Where did that come from? “You don’t think I’ll be successful?”

  Alice shook her head. “She doesn’t need you — I should say she doesn’t need you in particular — and pretty soon you’re going to realize you don’t need her either.” She looked at the heavy black curtains over the window and touched the black rose pin on her dress. “If I hadn’t needed Victor, on some level, even without knowing it, I never would have married him.”

  Jonas didn’t know what to say. We’ll find him if he’s still alive, he thought. If he’d gained anything from his experience at the Agency, it was the understanding that the world was strange and magical enough anything was possible. He struggled for the right words. After all, she had known his father for centuries; it wasn’t like she’d be able to replace him. Jonas had only known his dad for sixteen years, and he missed him every day. He couldn’t imagine what she was going through, and wanted to comfort her, but—

  “You’d better get ready, or you’ll be late,” she said, and walked out of the room.

  ♚

  An hour into the training session, after Eve had managed to find every bruise on his right arm at least twice and was starting to work on his left, Fangston walked in. Jonas was thrown off his rhythm and Eve knocked him back two steps.

  “Ow!”

  “Pay attention,” she said. “You need to be able to do this while thinking of other things.”

  Viviane walked over to Fangston and they spoke in hushed tones. It was like watching two cats who didn’t like each other, but didn’t know who would win if their claws came out. Viviane pulled a cigarette out of thin air, brought it to her lips, and blew smoke in Fangston’s direction. He stood still, but Jonas saw his head move back a fraction. Viviane smirked. Jonas tried to see through the illusion. He thought the smoke might have gotten a little thinner, but he couldn’t seem to affect the cigarette itself.

  Suddenly, Fangston snapped his fingers and the cigarette went up in flames. Viviane dropped it immediately and stepped back, seemingly unfazed, as it hit the floor and continued to smolder. The stench of burnt rubber, from the scorched training mat, quickly filled the room.

  “Can we do that?” Jonas whispered to Eve.

  “Do what?”

  “Set things on fire.”

  “No,” she said, coughing. Her eyes were watering from the smoke, and Jonas realized his were too.

  “Then how did he—”

  In an instant, it all disappeared — the smoke, the flames, everything but the unlit cigarette, which was lying on the mat near Viviane’s feet. She bent to retrieve it.

  “Using props, Viviane?” Fangston asked.

  “Chocolate,” she said. She flicked her fingers, making the candy cigarette disappear, although from where Jonas was standing he could tell she’d palmed it and slipped it into her pocket

  “What just happened?” Jonas whispered.

  “Viviane knew he’d see through her normal trick,” Eve whispered, “so she used something real. Only the smoke was an illusion. The Director was so focused on trying to ignore the cigarette, he—”

  “That was clumsy, Marcus,” Viviane said. “The Roman in you is showing. You used to be more fun.”

  “And you’re getting a little old for parlor tricks,” he replied, looking her up and down. Jonas felt the temperature in the room drop. “The boy?”

  Viviane nodded and waved Jonas over. “The Director has something important he wants you to see,” she said, and then turned her attention to another group of students.

  “Come with me, Jonas,” Fangston said and walked out of the room. Jonas looked over his shoulder at Eve, who made a shooing motion with her hands. Then, shrugging, he followed the Director warily.

  As subtle as Viviane’s trick had been — mixing reality and illusion — Fangston’s response had been overwhelming. Even Eve, knowing it wasn’t real, had been affected. Jonas tightened his barriers, wondering what would happen if Fangston used that power on him. Would he actually burn?

  They rode the elevator down in silence, and Jonas followed Fangston back to his office.

  “This is what I wanted to show you,” he said, pointing to a box on his desk. It was about three feet long, a foot wide and a foot tall, made of dark gray material that was warm to the touch and etched with arcane lettering.

  “What is it?”

  “Some of your father’s personal possessions. Go ahead, open it.”

  Jonas lifted the lid. Inside, the box was lined with red felt. It was about half full: a few pictures of Jonas and his mother, a very old Bible – the faded leather cover held shut by handmade metal latches – some coins, and a pair of blackened daggers.

  “You can have those when you’re older,” Fangston said, as Jonas turned one of them over in his hand.

  After removing all of the other items, Jonas a
lso found a neatly folded, black leather jacket that he’d initially mistaken for the bottom of the box. It was old, well broken in, but otherwise in good repair. The coat’s leather felt soft, but heavier than it should have. Jonas checked the pockets. They were empty.

  “Is there something special about this?” he asked.

  “It’s lined in Kevlar. Other than that, just cow leather as far as I know, but well cared for and worn often,” Fangston said, smiling. “Check the bottom of the box.”

  Jonas looked to see if he’d missed something. All he could see was a small, circular recess in the bottom. He pushed it but nothing happened.

  “We’re missing the key,” Fangston said. “Something you might be able to help us with. Do you know what happened to your father’s coin?”

  Jonas felt the Director pushing against his walls.

  The coin wasn’t real, he thought, but immediately slammed his inner wall around the idea, willing Sam to protect it at all costs. If his father went through the trouble of hiding the information from Fangston, he must have had a good reason.

  “He always kept it on him,” Jonas said. “So it’s probably lost. Have you asked my mom?”

  “Alice and I don’t talk like we used to,” Fangston said, resting a hand on Jonas’ shoulder. It felt hot, almost burning. Jonas could feel his outer barrier cracking in places. “Are you sure you haven’t seen the coin?”

  “No, I’d remember if I had,” Jonas said, truthfully. He focused his thoughts on the box, while frantically repairing his inner barrier. “Why do you need the coin?”

  “I believe it opens the compartment in the bottom of the box. We think your father may have hidden something there, something that might tell us why he disappeared. It’s very important that we find out, Jonas.”

  “Can’t you just break it open?”

  “Yes, but not without destroying the… item.”

  Again, Jonas was able to sense some of Fangston’s thoughts. The last statement had been true, but there was something else he couldn’t put his finger on. It was strange. Sometimes when he looked at Fangston in a certain light, he thought he could see a skeletal outline through the older vampire’s face. "Can I take this stuff with me?"