Black Fall (The Black Year Series Book 1)

by D. J. Bodden

“I was just checking to see if you were really who you said you were. You weren’t.”

  “I teach history, and my name is Dave Edwards. I never lied. Why didn’t you turn to ash?”

  “That’s none of your business,” Jonas said. “Besides, you’ve seen me at school and know who my mother is.” He was guessing about the last part, but knew the school had a file with his emergency contact information in it. “You should’ve already known I was a vampire, and that I was sun proof.”

  “We thought you might be human,” Edwards said. He didn’t deny knowing who Jonas was.

  “Who’s we?”

  “That’s none of your business,” Edwards said, chin raised defiantly.

  They stared at each other.

  “Have you told anyone about our conversations?” Jonas asked, lowering the knife.

  “Only that we’ve had them,” Edwards said, as a bead of sweat ran down the side of his face. Jonas scanned his mind. He was telling the truth.

  “I’m not your enemy,” Jonas said. “I appreciate all the help you’ve given me. As long as you don’t give anyone details about our conversations, we can just be student and teacher.”

  “Or what?” Edwards said, tensing, his eyes darting to his desk.

  Jonas tried to think of what his mother — of what Alice Black would say. “I’ll drain you and dump your body. But before I kill you, I’ll pull the names of everyone you told — and everyone you love — from your mind, and hunt them down until they’re no longer a threat to me. Even daylight won’t protect them.”

  Edwards studied him.

  Jonas did his best to look completely emotionless, like a man contemplating a distasteful but otherwise simple task, instead of a scared and angry kid.

  “You have my word.” Edwards said, finally. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  Another quick scan revealed that, once again, the teacher was telling the truth. He believed me, Jonas thought in wonder. He was mildly troubled by the fact that, as the words had left his mouth, he’d believed them too.

  Jonas placed the dagger on Edwards’ desk and walked out, recalling that Madoc, the specter who attacked him on more than one occasion, had warned him about a hunter. He was beginning to suspect that maybe they hadn’t been attacks at all, just Madoc’s attempts at reaching out to someone who didn’t understand and was unintentionally blocking him. I need to talk to him, he thought, especially now that a demon in the Agency might be a reality, and that one or more werewolves could be after him as well.

  ♚

  Phillip’s bearing changed subtly as Jonas exited the school. It was as if he was shifting his weight slightly forward, getting ready to pounce. “What happened?”

  “What do you mean, ‘What happened’?”

  “You’ve been in a fight. Someone pulled a little too hard on your sleeve, and I can smell them on you… an adult male. Who was it, one of the teachers?”

  “I handled it. I don’t need anyone else getting involved.”

  Phillip crossed his arms. “I’m in charge of your safety, kid. If there’s a threat, I need to—”

  “Where’s Bert?”

  Phillip went silent faster than Jonas would have expected over a simple fight between father and son.

  “Phillip, what happened?”

  “It’s family—”

  “It was a hunter, okay? My history teacher is a hunter. He’s not going to hurt me or tell anyone anything he shouldn’t, but he was watching me, and there are probably more of them somewhere in the city that he’s working with.”

  Phillip went very still for a moment, then started walking toward the school.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need to have a talk with the hunter,” Phillip said without stopping.

  “No, you don’t.” Jonas said, getting angry, and he added a mental shove to it.

  The werewolf stopped dead in his tracks, turned, and stared at Jonas. His eyes had turned yellow. “I warned you already, boy. If you do that again, I won’t be responsible for—”

  Phillip should have been terrifying. He was two or three times Jonas’ size, and something was driving the normally calm bodyguard to the brink of violence. But between his father’s death, his mother going crazy, Edwards, Madoc, Amelia, Doris, and Fangston ransacking his memories, something in Jonas snapped. He stood up a little straighter, snapped his fingers, and dragged Phillip into his mind.

  As Phillip’s rage hit him like heat from an oven, Jonas thought, Oh crap, what have I done?

  CHAPTER 14

  “Let me go now, boy, and I promise I won’t do any permanent damage,” Phillip said. Except it wasn’t the same Phillip, not as Jonas knew him. It was a six-foot-tall tower of muscle and bone, covered in brown fur, with two-inch black claws, inch-long black fangs, and bright yellow eyes. Drool dripped from the creature’s mouth and pooled on the ground. He was trapped, and Jonas was trapped with him.

  Jonas felt his throat tighten. He wanted to run, but his feet felt like they were glued to the floor. A weight in his right hand made him look down. It was his father’s coin, resting in the palm of his hand. No one is stronger than me in my own dreams, he thought, remembering his father’s words.

  Jonas looked up at the enraged beast before him. “No,” he said.

  Phillip snarled and charged, a seething mountain of pain and fury, but Jonas merely waved his hand and the werewolf slammed into the stone wall to the right, then the left. Then Jonas turned and hurled Phillip against the metal portcullis, pinning him there. The werewolf howled and thrashed, but couldn’t break free of Jonas’ invisible grip.

  “My family will come for you! They’ll rip the flesh from your—”

  “I’m a kid!” Jonas said, his voice thundering in the enclosed space. “I shouldn’t have to deal with this! You’re supposed to be the calm one, dealing with things so I don’t have to. You’re supposed to keep me safe! Now, where’s Bert?” His words came out amplified, as if he had a bank of speakers behind him. Phillip whined and went still.

  “I don’t know.”

  Jonas was so surprised that he lost his grip on Phillip, and the werewolf fell to the floor, catching himself on his hands and feet. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

  “I don’t know, Jonas. He didn’t come home after our fight. I thought he just went to blow off some steam, but he never came back. Now you’re telling me there’s a pack of hunters in the city and—” The muscles on Phillip’s body rippled, and his lips peeled back, baring his fangs, “—I swear, if they’ve harmed my son, I’ll rip the skin from their—”

  “Phillip!” Jonas said.

  The werewolf closed his eyes and shuddered, taking deep breaths. When he opened his eyes again, they were flat brown. He spoke through clenched teeth. “Full moon on Sunday. I need to find my son.”

  Jonas opened the outer gates and pushed himself and Phillip out.

  ♚

  They were back in front of the school. Only a few seconds had passed, but Phillip’s collar was stained with sweat.

  “I’ll dig through Edwards’ mind, see if he knows anything about Bert,” Jonas said. “Are we good?”

  Phillip was still breathing hard through flared nostrils, fists clenched at his sides, but he seemed to be back in control. “Humph. You’re your mother’s son, all right. But yeah, kid. We’re good. And if he does know something—”

  “I know, I know. Crack his bones and suck out the marrow, right?”

  Phillip cocked his head, then laughed a deep, booming laugh that drew looks from some of the other kids leaving school. But there was no mirth in his eyes when he answered, “Yeah, Jonas, something like that.”

  ♚

  They watched the school from the end of the block until, a half-hour later, Edwards finally emerged. Jonas reached out and searched for any knowledge of Bert. Edwards stopped and looked around, but Jonas and Phillip were already walking around the corner.

  “Anything?” Phillip asked.

  Jonas only had ti
me to skim the surface, but he was sure of one thing: Edwards was at the school to watch him, not for anything to do with werewolves. “Nothing, sorry.” Jonas paused, then added, “It’s only been one day, Phillip. I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

  Phillip grunted. “It’s not Bert I’m worried about. It’s a full moon, kid, and he doesn’t have as much control as he thinks.”

  Jonas thought of what Phillip had looked like, transformed, and how he’d acted. The mayhem something like that, out of control, could cause in New York — especially in a crowded space, or on a subway — made him shiver.

  Another thought occurred to him. “Phillip? Do all werewolves look like you?”

  “What do you mean? You’ve seen the difference between me and Bert, and we’re related.”

  “I mean when you’ve, you know… changed. Brown body, black claws, yellow eyes… that sort of thing.”

  “Well, yes, for the most part. Yellow eyes, fur can be brown, black, or even gray if we’re old. Different blood lines can have slight variations.”

  “What about Kieran?” Jonas asked.

  Phillip stopped in his tracks. “He’s never been out during a full moon, and he’s too young to force the transformation himself. Why?” The werewolf eyed Jonas suspiciously.

  Jonas was quickly learning to be tactful when dealing with a werewolf’s family. “When we were training — that is, while I was in his head — his eyes flashed blue, and I could swear he had white fur.”

  Phillip’s jaw dropped, then he chuckled. “That explains a lot. I’d take it as a personal favor if you didn’t repeat that to anyone.”

  “Okay, but why?”

  “Kieran’s just… he’s very special, Jonas. More than I even realized myself.” He licked his lips, then added, “You really should try to be his friend, Jonas. I think his brothers have already burned that bridge, and they may soon regret it.”

  “I’m sorry, Phillip, I’m tired. I mean, I’ll do it because you asked, and I won’t tell anyone. But two weeks ago, I didn’t know werewolves existed. What’s so special about white fur?”

  “I thought he’d outgrow the eyes, that they’d turn gold, like mine. But if he’s got them and the white fur — if, mind you, because it could just be the dreams of a boy who was picked on too often. But if he does, Jonas… he’s a winter wolf.” Phillip said the words reverentially, like he was talking about something magical or holy. “God help my boys if Kieran holds a grudge.”

  ♚

  Jonas was still riding the high of facing down both Edwards and Phillip when he walked into school the next day. He felt strong, like he was finally in control of his life again after a year of struggling to stay afloat. Other people seemed to notice, too. They moved out of his way on the sidewalk and in the hallways at school. Girls stared at him. One of the younger teachers even looked at him thoughtfully as she walked into the classroom, then shook her head and took roll.

  At lunch, he walked up to Amelia’s table and it’s payload of hostile teenage girls, and smiled. “Excuse me, would you mind if I talk to Amelia for a few minutes… alone?” He put a little willpower behind the words, and the hostility at the table melted. The girls who, moments before, would have very much minded, didn’t seem to have any objections. Amelia stared wide-eyed as her friends picked up their trays and moved to another table, leaving her with Jonas. One of them even winked at him, then blushed and hurried off.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Umm… hi,” Amelia answered. She was staring at him like she’d never seen him before. “You’re… you’ve done something to your hair. It looks nice.”

  Jonas frowned. He’d dried it with a towel after showering, as usual, and combed it with his fingers. Then he realized what was happening. It’s the glamour. The strain from the past few days must have switched it on for him, however that worked.

  “I’m glad you like it. Are we doing anything together this Sunday?”

  Amelia licked her lips, blushed, then looked down at her tray. “I guess we could do that. I mean, don’t you have plans? With Eve?”

  Jonas clenched his jaw but resisted the urge to push thoughts to her. He already felt like he was cheating a little, now that his glamour was working. “I’m not going out with Eve, she’s just a friend from… counseling. Remember? My mom sent me to talk to people after the break-in?”

  “The break-in… right,” Amelia said, pushing her plate away. “And I guess you’re not going out with her because her skin’s too perfect and she dresses a little too nicely and—” She bit her bottom lip to stop herself.

  “You could just trust me,” Jonas said.

  Amelia gave him a skeptical look. “You’re a guy, you think with your—”

  “So, I’ll see you Sunday?”

  She sighed. “Yes. Maybe. Probably.” She smiled.

  Jonas could hear her pulse beating faster and suddenly felt thirsty. “Gotta go,” he said. I really need to get one of those mini-fridges, he thought, and make sure I have a pouch or two before going out with Amelia.

  ♚

  By the time he got home, he was parched. It was too early to wake his mother, so he waited, not doing anything in particular. Mostly, he just stared at the cable-box’s clock, until his phone vibrated. It was a text from Amelia. He spent the better part of an hour reconnecting with her and making plans for Sunday’s outing.

  Around 5 p.m., he knocked on his mother’s door. “Mom, are you up?” When she didn’t answer or come to the door, he knocked again, opened it, and said, “Mom, are you—”

  The room was neat, exactly as it had been before, except for a five-foot-long wooden box at the foot of the bed. It was full of Styrofoam. His mother sat on the bed, fully clothed. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and her head hung down, allowing her long, straight black hair to drape down over her legs. She twitched and whimpered every so often.

  “Mom?” Jonas said, gently touching her shoulder, and felt himself get drawn in.

  ♚

  London, May 8, 1945. Alice heard the news over the radio, and the clamor from the streets below. Germany had finally surrendered, and the people celebrated with laughter and tears. Men and women, no longer having to gaze fearfully at the sky, emptied liberated bottles of alcohol and danced.

  She and Victor listened through heavily curtained windows, then left the flat as soon as the sun set. She put her arm through his and they strolled through the streets, soaking in the undisguised emotions that filled the city. The joy of having survived, the grief of missing friends and family, and the open contempt for those who now hid behind locked doors, fearful of retribution.

  “Isn’t it wonderful, Victor?” she said.

  He nodded, absently. He’d always been a gentle soul, and the war had been hard on him. Alice even acknowledged to herself that she’d been shocked by the scale of the conflict, and the systematic, almost industrialized slaughter of non-combatants.

  “Have you heard from Marcus?” she asked.

  “No. He’s not talking to anyone, not since we pulled him out of that crypt in Austria. He’d been sleeping for thirty years, Alice. It’s going to take him some time to come to grips with what the world he helped build has become.”

  They continued to walk quietly, in the midst of the celebration, basking in the glow of incandescent streetlights.

  “Can you believe Marcus still moans about oil lamps?” Alice said.

  “Can you believe my wife still moans about gas lamps?” Victor said, chuckling.

  “The light was softer,” Alice pouted.

  Victor patted her hand, something she would never have tolerated from anyone but him. “We’re all looking for home, Alice. You, Marcus… even me.”

  Alice felt a pang of alarm. It reminded her of their first year together. It’d been horrible, taking all of her strength and cunning to keep her fledgling, future husband alive.

  Suddenly, some troops in brown and tan uniforms, wearing cocked garrison caps, spilled out of a tavern, laughing riotously
and speaking in American accents. Alice felt an old longing, an aching deep in her chest. She gripped Victor’s arm and said, “I want to go home, Victor.”

  He frowned, looking puzzled. “To Hungary?”

  “No, to America. To New York.”

  Victor patted her hand again. “We will, my love. There’s still a lot of—”

  “I don’t care, Victor. They can hang for all I care. All of them.”

  Victor stopped walking and looked at her with concern. “We have a duty to—”

  “Four centuries, Victor. I’ve protected these people for four hundred years. For what? So they could slaughter each other? And the Russians aren’t any better. You mark my words, they’ll be at it again in a decade. No, I want to go home now… we can leave tonight.”

  Victor flinched, like he’d been cut, and she felt a trace of guilt rise up before smothering it. She was tired. She would have left already, if not for his damnable self-righteous compulsions.

  “The war is over, Victor. You gave me your word,” she added, playing her trump card.

  He stared down the street, eyes unfocused. “You’re right. I’ll make the arrangements, and we’ll—” He stopped, staring intently.

  Alice turned to see what he was looking at. A boy — almost a man — wearing strange clothing, moved toward them. He shouldn’t have been able to see them through the field she was projecting, same as the rest of the crowd, which flowed around her and Victor without realizing they were there.

  She laughed. “He looks just like you, Victor. Is this one of your tricks, to distract me from—?”

  Suddenly the boy was next to her. He reached out and grabbed her shoulder, shaking it roughly. “Mom! Are you—?”

  ♚

  Faster than Jonas could react, Alice batted his hand away, rose from the bed, and lifted him by the neck with one hand, pinning him to the wall. She slammed his entire barrier at once with a single mental blow. Stunned, he dangled there, his feet several inches from the floor. Her attack had been more powerful than Fangston’s, powerful and focused at the same time. To Jonas, it felt like the walls that he and Sam had so carefully built had cracked like a dropped egg.