The Afterliving (His Blood & Silver Series Book 1)

by Fernando Rivera

  “I’m afraid not. This is Manny, a silent partner of the allotment.”

  “Oh?” He studies my face. “Just a minute, I’d know those eyes anywhere. You’re a Stockton boy, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  He shakes my hand with sincerity. “Dear chap, I am so sorry for the loss your family has suffered. Isidore and I were very close mates. He was a man after my own heart, diplomatic through and through” — Starkly’s attention soon falls on a pair of plot owners in the distance — “but that’s a story for another time if you’ll excuse me. It was an honor to meet you, and please, keep the flyer. Remind the constituents of Sector A it is their duty to vote for the most qualified representative. They owe it not only to themselves but to the fine owners of this establishment.”

  “Okay, I’ll do that. Thank you.”

  “No. Thank you,” Starkly replies, scurrying away.

  I turn to Lucy, in awe. “What was that all about?”

  “That was the owner of plot A90, Reginald Starkly.” She watches Starkly converse with the others. “He’s on temporary leave from the British Parliament, suffered a nervous breakdown several months ago. He was referred here to aid his recovery.” Lucy waits until we’ve exited the allotment to continue talking. “I don’t like him.”

  “Why not?”

  “To begin with, he told you a barefaced lie. Isidore tolerated Starkly, but they were far from close mates.”

  “I’m sure he said that to be nice.”

  “Secondly, the Disciple who referred Starkly to the allotment is Nicholas, and I don’t trust Nicholas as far as I can throw him.”

  I recall the argument he and James had earlier today about Lucy being a distraction to me. I could infer Nicholas’ disapproval of her extended beyond my involvement, but I had no idea the feeling was mutual. “Nicholas isn’t too crazy about you, either,” I confess.

  “Oh, I’m well aware.”

  “Why don’t you two get along?”

  “Because he’s a snake, Manny, the Artful Dodger of the group. He has a habit of manipulating the board into furthering his own agendas.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Lucy continues her rant in the Phantom. “Nicholas claims to have referred Starkly here to benefit his mental health, but that’s not the purpose of the allotment. This is a sanctuary of fellowship, not a bloody rehabilitation clinic. And then, instead of eliminating the triggers that led to Starkly’s crack-up, he introduces this election nonsense mere days after Starkly’s arrival. Not only is it an added distraction to our clients but it also introduces a competitive element to the allotment’s peaceful environment. And it’s completely contradictory to the man’s recovery,” she exclaims.

  “So this election was all Nicholas’ idea?”

  “Not directly. Nicholas isn’t a board member, so he doesn’t have directive privileges. He brought the idea to your father’s attention, suggesting the BHSA was growing at a rapid rate, and the plot owners’ needs would be better addressed if they were assembled democratically. Then Isidore proposed it to the board.”

  “And they voted in favor?”

  “They were split. James and Anthony were against the idea from the start. Anthony doesn’t approve of any idea that isn’t his own, and James detests Nicholas as much as I do. Micah, on the other hand, believed it was worth a try — which doesn’t surprise me. Nicholas has always had him wrapped around his crooked little finger.”

  “Who is Nicholas? Everyone seems to be ‘related’ to each other, except him. How does he fit into the picture?”

  “Nicholas is in charge of ensuring the humans permitted into the allotment pass their background inspection and aren’t a danger to your family. According to James, he’s been an acquaintance of Micah’s since before your father came along.”

  I wonder how old Nicholas is. “If that’s true, why isn’t Nicholas on the board?”

  “Because I think his overall agenda entails something much bigger than Stockton Farms.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. But I feel it.”

  “But if Micah’s trusted him for this long, why shouldn’t you?”

  “Because, Manny, Nicholas’ eyes are golden,” she stresses.

  “Lucy, I have no idea what that means,” I laugh. “Is that bad?”

  “It’s cautionary. Disciples with golden eyes are Memoreapers. They possess the Talent of Recollections, meaning they’re able to read and manipulate memories, erase experiences from your mind, or create new ones. They’re tremendously rare, and vital to the Afterliving’s survival. But they also have a reputation for being some of the Fallen’s most devious vampires. The only safeguard against their trickery is to deal with them in pairs.”

  “Wouldn’t that be twice as dangerous?”

  “Not necessarily. Only a Memoreaper can detect and undo the work of another. So until the allotment has a second Memoreaper, any people who vouch for Nicholas’ character are as reliable as a chocolate teapot.”

  Our next stop is Weston Acres. I’m disappointed to see Henry waiting in the driveway. “I took care of the four and the five while you were out,” he tells Lucy, “and the ten is confirmed for this afternoon.”

  “Splendid.”

  “Hey, Henry,” I force myself to say.

  “Afternoon, mate. Now, Luce, you know how important this is. We can’t be late.”

  “Right.”

  “What’s the appointment,” I inquire, “if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “It’s a meeting with Anthony and one of his allotment clients, Michelle. Because he was hasty to inform her of his Discipleship, it’s resulted in a minor traumatic setback,” she jokes. “As resident non-Disciple, I’ve been assigned the role of crisis counselor. So James will continue your instruction for the time being.”

  “James?” I respond, halfhearted.

  “He can teach you heaps more than I can.”

  “I know. But he’s so awkward.”

  “He’s also right behind you,” she replies.

  I turn to see James leaning against the Phantom in his leather jacket and shades. “You were saying?”

  “Where the hell did you come from?” I exclaim.

  “The estate.” He flashes a cocky smile. “I phasmed.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” Lucy adds. “Bye for now.”

  James takes me around the back of Weston Manor, and we inspect the fence surrounding the pasture for rotted planks of wood. “You forgot your mobile,” he says, pulling my phone from his jacket pocket.

  “Thanks. I didn’t have a chance to grab it as I was plunging to my death.”

  “Don’t be dramatic. Your instincts would have never allowed you to miss that landing.”

  “That still doesn’t make it okay.”

  The phone screen powers on, but sending or receiving messages will have to wait until I reconnect to a wireless network.

  “How was your instruction with Lucy?” he asks.

  “Intense.”

  “What did you learn?”

  I recount what Lucy said about the Immortal Sins, her mention of the sacraments, and the strategy behind my father’s acquisition of subsidiary animal farms. “He was a Voloccult like I am — or would be. Anthony’s also a Voloccult. Nicholas is a Memoreaper. You’re a Cereflex, which is a Voloccult-Synchopath hybrid. And my mom’s a Synchopath.”

  James pauses, surprised. “Lucy told you Mina was a Synchopath?”

  “No. But her eyes are green, so I put two and two together. When was she sired?”

  James sighs, giving in. “After you were born.”

  “I already know that.” Otherwise, I wouldn’t be a Daemon. “Can you be more specific?”

  “I don’t remember. A couple of years, maybe.”

  “A couple of years? But s
he’s aged since then. I saw a picture of her and my dad on their wedding day, and she was a lot younger than she is now. I thought vampires and Disciples couldn’t age.”

  “That’s a misconception that’s always worked to our advantage. Animal blood and human blood have different effects on our bodies. The former keeps us young, and the latter makes us younger. That’s how we know when Disciples have fed on the Living and committed Bloodlust outside of Baptism.”

  “Because they look younger?”

  “Yes. Now, if a Disciple refrains from blood altogether, they’re able to ‘age’ like the Living, which is exactly what your mum did after the two of you left Devil’s Dyke. It’s a common practice for those of use wishing to occupy Living communities for extended periods of time, and the longer Mina resisted, the ‘older’ she became.”

  “Was it hard for her to abstain?”

  “For the first few years. But she was doing it for you, so you could live a normal life with a normal aging mum. Abstaining gets easier with time, especially if a Disciple has access to enough food. Human food curbs the natural craving for blood, and it conditions our bodies to need it less when a non-human supply is low, lest we commit Bloodlust. That’s why it’s important allotments like this are situated next to thriving bloodstocks.” He points to the sheep in the center of the pasture.

  “That said, excuse me.” James hops the fence and strolls into the cluster of sheep. He locks eyes with a member of the flock, and within seconds, it collapses onto the ground. James scoops up the dazed animal and brings it to the edge of the fence.

  “What’d you do?”

  “I stunned her,” he replies, indicating the ewe’s dilated pupils. Then James grims and lowers his fangs to her neck.

  “Are you going to kill it?”

  He looks up, his lips stained with blood. “Of course not. We wouldn’t have many left if we bled them dry. Here” — he offers the sheep to me — “she has a few ounces left before she goes into shock. Have a taste.”

  I shake my head.

  “Don’t be stubborn, Manny. A meal like this would keep a Daemon fed for at least three more days, and I doubt anyone would notice the effect it has on your visible age.” He presents the sheep’s neck once more. “Come on. You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

  He’s right. I am hungry, and with everything that’s gone on, I hadn’t realized how much I’ve neglected to eat.

  “Listen to your instincts,” he urges.

  “My instincts want a burger and fries. You do your thing. I’ll wait.”

  James shrugs and finishes drinking. Then he tilts the ewe’s face toward his, and his irises pulsate until she snaps out of her trance and wobbles back to the herd. He licks the corners of his mouth and uses his mirrored sunglasses to ensure his lips are clean.

  “Out of curiosity, does human blood work on a Daemon?”

  “Yes. If you haven’t already figured it out, the only tangible difference between Daemons and Disciples is your mortality and inability to sire. Other than that, you can do what I can do.”

  “So I can drink human blood and get younger? That’s pretty cool. Gross, but pretty cool.”

  “Abusing the gifts of the Afterliving isn’t pretty cool. It’s the defining line between Disciples and vampires. So unless you plan on joining the Fallen, I suggest you take these matters more seriously.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  James suggests lunch in Brighton, so we head back to the Phantom. I make a better effort to humor him. “Tell me more about the Immortal Sins. How does a Disciple avoid them?”

  “The most effective way to prevent the Seven Offenses is through the Sire Bond…” James goes on to explain how, when a human is baptized into the Afterliving, both Sire and Saved drink of each other’s blood. This creates a link between them called the Sire Bond. It’s a pledge of obedience, ensuring the Saved follows all of his Sire’s orders while acclimating to the Afterliving — orders that should include refraining from Immortal Sins.

  “What happens if you disobey your Sire to commit an Immortal Sin like Bloodlust?”

  “You’re committing two Immortal Sins in one,” James declares. “The Offense of Bloodlust and the Offense of Insurrection, which is the proper term for violating the Sire Bond.”

  “But how does the Sire know he’s been defied?”

  “He feels it. Committing Insurrection causes the Sire and Saved to experience immense physical pain. It’s a consequence not even vampires can avoid. That’s how strong the Sire Bond is, whether or not you adhere to the Afterliving’s principles.”

  “But what if the Sire commands his Saved to commit an Immortal Sin?”

  “That’s a behavior more common of vampires than Disciples, but in the case a Disciple were to do something like that, he’s committing the Offense of Manipulation. At that point, the Saved is faced with a difficult decision: follow the Sire’s order to sin and destroy his own virtue, or stand up for himself but also commit Insurrection.”

  “Which would cause both of them pain?”

  “Precisely. This is why the proper pairing of a cooperative Sire and an obedient Saved is so important.”

  “But what if you’re tricked and get stuck with a crooked Saved or Sire?”

  “Then you wait for the Sire Bond to be lifted.”

  “So it’s temporary?”

  “Yes, temporary guidance…” Based on James’ explanation, the Sire Bond is like a set of moral training wheels, and releasing the Saved from his bond is a symbolic rite of passage. It’s represented by two of the Afterliving’s sacraments: Ordination and Confirmation. At Ordination, the Saved petitions his Sire for bond release, and at Confirmation, the Sire confirms his Saved’s request. At that moment, the Sire relinquishes control, and the bond becomes inactive. But when the Sire saves a new human, the Sire Bond is fully lifted from the older Saved and transferred to the new, setting the former Disciple free.

  The only way to disrupt the workings of a Sire Bond is for the Sire to refrain from drinking his Saved’s blood during Baptism. “But that’s an insult to your Saved,” James says, “because in doing so, you rob your Saved of the ability to create future Sire Bonds once they start baptizing humans of their own.”

  I try repeating the logic to understand it better. “So the Saved whose blood wasn’t drunk will be bonded, but his future Saved won’t?”

  “Yes. They’re called Desoulates — Disciples who cannot produce Sire Bonds — and because the Saved of Desoulates are Sire Bond-less, they have a greater tendency of abandoning the Afterliving for an eternity of vampirism.”

  On our way into town, James revisits the conversation we had earlier today about my rogue echoes. “We can’t have you spouting your thoughts all over Brighton and Hove,” he criticizes. “Understand, Manny, echoing is like using an inner voice. When emotions are rattled, that voice is harder to keep silent. Does that make sense?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Now, that inner voice operates on different frequencies, depending on whose attention you’re trying to obtain. Low frequencies are for Disciples only. High frequencies are meant for Disciples and Lycains.”

  “Lycains can echo, too?”

  “Yes, which is precisely why you need to be careful about echoing and syncing in public.”

  “Remind me about syncing again.”

  “Syncing happens when we speak and echo simultaneously. It’s a sign of authority, as well as the most aggressive way to grab a Lycain’s attention — which you don’t want to do.”

  “Okay. So keep my emotions in check, my frequency low, and don’t sync. Got it.” I sigh. “This is a lot of information.”

  James pulls into a parking spot along the sidewalk. “One more thing. Even if you do keep your frequency below Lycain range, remember you can still be heard by vampires.”

  “Do they also not like Daem
ons?”

  “Oh, no. On the contrary, they love Daemons.”

  “That’s refreshing.”

  “They love your blood. Because you’re half human, feeding from you is just as tasty as feeding from the Living, without the effect of making them younger. Daemons are a treasure for any vampires wishing to look the same age while enjoying their fix of human blood.”

  “So I’m basically a walking target? Good to know.”

  James leads me to the colorful entrance of a familiar Mexican-themed food chain, Burrito Mas. I had no idea they existed in England, much less in Brighton. “We’re eating here?”

  “Are you disappointed? My mobile search says Burrito Mas is ‘Brighton’s most authentic Southern California cuisine’ — south of London.”

  I scan the street for other food selections, but nothing looks close to something I’d find in San Diego. “You’re probably right. Good choice” — though Burrito Mas is as authentic as canned cranberries. At least James is making an effort to be considerate, despite having pushed me out of a window several hours ago.

  We pass a CCTV sign on the way into the restaurant, and the feeling of paranoia sinks in.

  James and I line up to order. I see him glance at the security camera behind the register. “When is someone going to tell me about that?” I ask.

  “About what?”

  “That.” I nod my head toward the black dome wedged in the corner. “That CCTV thing, or whatever. I know there’s more to it than restaurant surveillance.”

  James glances at his watch. “I suppose we have time.”

  After we build our burritos, we take a seat by the window. “Let me start from the beginning. The Living’s concept of Christianity is not only a lie, Manny, but it’s the product of a truce, an alliance formed between Christ’s Apostles and the pagans of Judea…”

  The spread of the Afterliving was naturally met by a backlash of Lycain and Jewish opposition, but another faction was also interested in the mission of Christ: pagans known as the Heksatese. The Heksatese were worshippers of nature, the moon in particular, and practitioners of white magic. Their abilities were varied, ranging from short-term prophesying to light healing, and the power of their sorcery was cyclical, tied to the stages of the moon.