by Tim O'Rourke
Chapter Three
The very first lungfuls of fresh air made me feel somewhat lightheaded and dizzy. The wind was cold and blew my long, black hair from off my shoulders and about my face like tentacles. With my head down and hands thrust into my coat pockets, I made my way quickly across the park and in the direction of the church where I knew Morten had set up home since arriving in Shade. I passed the swaying swing and what had once been an old schoolhouse. I hurried along the gravel path that wound its way slowly away from the heart of Shade and toward the church with the twisted spire. For the first time in ages, I felt I had a purpose and I wasn’t going to let myself be distracted from that again. I pushed every other thought from my mind, other than how I would find a truce. I knew that Morten knew more about the vampires in England than anyone else I’d met. He would know the name of the vampire leader and where I could find him. The hedge-lined path twisted before me as I navigated the narrow bends and turns. In the distance, I saw the church spire sticking up proudly from behind a row of leafless trees. I made my way toward it. To my right there was a hill and I guessed that the woodland lay on the other side of it, which would lead to the wall of magic I’d created around Shade.
A stone wall surrounded the church on all sides. There was a gate set into it which screamed on ancient hinges as I pushed it open. I made my way amongst the slanted and broken gravestones. I hadn’t gone very far when I heard the sound of scraping, like metal being dragged over stone. Stopping short, I looked up and could see the wiry frame of Morten in the distance hunched over a spade as he dug up the earth at his feet. Just as always, he wore the same tatty bowler hat on top of his narrow skull and the same dishevelled black suit hung from his emaciated frame.
Hearing me approach over the rough and stony ground, Morten looked up. On seeing me, a wide smile cracked open the lower half of his face and his milky white eyes almost seemed to beam in the pale sunlight.
“I was beginning to wonder whether I’d ever see you again, Julia Miller,” Morten said, resting against the spade as if it was a walking stick. “Why didn’t you open the door when I came to see you?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you,” I said.
Sensing that I was a little bit embarrassed by the way I’d behaved during the last couple of weeks, Morten shrugged his bony shoulders and said, “No matter, I’m sure you have your reasons, and after all, we need a little bit of solitude from time to time to gather one’s thoughts and feelings.”
“Yes, something like that,” I half smiled, looking down at the grave he had been digging. I then added, “Why are you digging graves?”
“Just in case,” Morten said, lifting the spade once more and beginning to dig all over again.
“Just in case of what?” I said, clawing loose strands of hair from my eyes so I could see him at work.
“Just in case our friends return with dead wolves,” Morten said, shovelling earth from the hole he was working on.
“Dead wolves?” I frowned. “Why would Trent and the others come back with dead wolves?”
“I’m sure that our friends’ journey across the seas will be safe enough, but once they reach the shores of England… well, that is a different matter entirely,” Morten said over the scrape-scrape sound of the shovel that he worked with. “Just like we did, they are going to have to travel some distance before they reach the safety of Shade and it will be during that journey that they will be most vulnerable from attacks by the vampires.”
I looked at him and said, “Not if I can find a truce – some peace – between the werewolves and vampires before Trent and the others return.”
Morten stopped digging and turned his head to face me. “So you’re still persisting with that idea then?”
“What other choice is there?” I asked him. “You yourself say that you fear the werewolves might be ambushed as soon as they come ashore. But perhaps, if before they return, I can go to the village of Maze and speak with the vampires, then our friends’ return journey might not be as treacherous as you think.”
“But your journey into Maze might be,” Morten croaked.
Undeterred by his warning, I said, “You’ve been in England longer than any other werewolf I’ve met – you fought with the vampires here – you know them better than anyone…”
“So you’ve come to pick my brains?” Morten said, returning once more to his grave digging.
“I want to know what the vampire leader’s name is and what he’s like,” I asked him.
“The vampire leader is a she, not a he,” Morten said, shooting me a sideways glance. “Surprised by that, are you?”
“I guess,” I shrugged. “What is her name?”
“Veronica Cabal,” Morten said, continuing to dig.
“And what is this Veronica Cabal like?” I said.
Morten made a grunting noise in the back of his throat. “She’s a vampire, Julia, do I need to say anything more?”
“Do you think she will be interested in forming a truce between the Beautiful Immortals?” I asked.
Setting the shovel against a nearby tree, Morten rubbed dry earth from his hands and looked at me. “Do you want to know what I think, Julia?”
“Go on.”
“I think if you go into Maze you will die.” Morten said, his white eyes fixed on mine. “If you ask me whether I think Veronica Cabal can be bargained with, reasoned with, then I say no. Didn’t what you see at the human farm make you realise that? These vampires are killers.”
“I can’t believe that,” I said, my mind momentarily thinking of Theo. I knew that he had been capable of love once. He had loved me and I had loved him.
“If you don’t believe me, believe the witches – the Wicce – that once lived in the town called Twisted Den,” Morten said as if in warning.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked him.
“If the witches who came before you believed that some kind of truce could have been negotiated with Veronica Cabal where are they now?” Morten said. “Why did they flee? Or perhaps they didn’t? Perhaps, like you, they did head into Maze in search of a truce, but they never returned. Perhaps Veronica Cabal and a legion of vampires killed those witches – just like they will kill you.”
With Morten’s words of warning ringing in my ears, I turned away. I didn’t want to hear any more. “I have to believe,” I muttered under my breath, making my way back across the graveyard.
Chapter Four
At first, I thought the loud bang that had startled me so was the sound of the graveyard gate swinging shut behind me. But the thunderous sound came again and then again and again. Tilting my head to the right, I listened intently. It was the unmistakable sound of gunfire that I could hear coming from beyond the hill that lay stretched before me on the opposite side of the road. Fearing that perhaps Shade was under attack from vampires, and that they had somehow managed to find a way into the village, I darted across the road, scrambled over the slate wall and into the field beyond it. Drawing deep lungfuls of breath, I trampled as fast as I could over the uneven ground and up the hill. Reaching the summit, I looked down the other side to see a small, red brickhouse set near to the treeline that led into the woods. The sound of gunfire came again, echoing off the walls of the derelict building and up over the hill.
There was no sign of any vampires that I could see. So, at a slower pace than I had climbed it, I crept down the hill and approached the redbrick building. Crouching low, I tiptoed slowly forward, coming to rest against the wall. Where there had once been windows, there was now only warped frames with splinters of glass jutting from them like broken teeth. Wind howled around the edges of the building like a dog crying out in pain. Still on my haunches, I peered through one of the shattered windowpanes and into the building. Calix was standing inside. He had taken off his coat and it lay on the dusty floor at his feet beside some boxes of bullets. Around his waist was strapped the usual gun belt, which was tethered to the thighs of his faded denims. Wit
h his back and chest muscles flexing and arms positioned straight out in front, Calix took aim at a series of drawings that had been etched onto the wall at the opposite end of the building. The sketches had been rendered with chalk and were illustrations of painfully thin creatures with long, pointed hands. At once I knew that these rough drawings were meant to represent vampires. Taking aim with his guns, Calix released a volley of bullets into the heads of the vampires.
As the bullets thundered into the wall, red brick dust burst into the air in thick, powdery puffs. From my hiding place, I watched Calix refill the chambers of his guns with bullets from the boxes piled at his feet. Taking aim once more, Calix fired the guns. But this time there was a flash of bright white light as one of the guns leapt from Calix’s fist and went spinning across the room.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Calix cried out in pain. He holstered his remaining gun and looked down at his free hand. I could see blood dripping from between his fingers as it spattered the ground. His face looked suddenly ashen and once more he cried out in pain, pulling his bleeding hand up to his chest, cradling it like a baby.
Seeing that he was in pain and bleeding, I crept from my hiding place and entered the disused building via the broken doorway. With the sound of broken glass crunching beneath my boots, Calix wasted no time in drawing his gun once more with his good hand and taking aim at me. When he saw that it was me, he lowered his gun at once and went back to nursing his injured and bloodied hand. Without saying a word, I approached him. Gently placing my fingers around his wrist, I drew his hand away from his chest and into the light so I could inspect it. There was a dark bloody hole in the palm of his right hand which bled profusely.
“You wait until I see that fucking moron,” Calix groaned through gritted teeth.
“What moron?” I asked.
“Morten! Who do you think?” Calix growled at me. “Those boxes of bullets he gave us are nothing but shit. How long he had them buried away in the crypt beneath the church, Christ only knows. But one thing’s for sure; they’re not fit for shit and have nearly blown my hand off.”
Although I could see how painful and bloody Calix’s hand looked, I knew he wouldn’t die from his injury. But all the same, if it wasn’t treated quickly then it could easily become infected. So shutting my eyes, I placed both my hands over his. As Calix continued to groan and list the ways in which he was going to rip Morten a new arsehole, I tried to picture that wound in my mind’s eye and stir those tendrils of magic deep within me. Not so long ago, healing Calix’s wound wouldn’t have seemed like such a feat at all, but now I struggled to entice those threads of magic up from the pit of my stomach and out through my hands and over his. To do so made me feel lightheaded and nauseous. I opened my eyes and looked at the bloody hole once more.
“I want to heal it but I can’t,” I whispered almost to myself more than him. “But my magic is just too weak.”
“What do you mean, weak?” Calix said, looking down at the blood that continued to gush from the wound in the palm of his hand.
“Since casting the spell over Shade my magic is still yet to fully return,” I tried to explain to him. “But if your hand isn’t cleaned and bandaged soon…”
Before I’d had a chance to finish, Calix pulled his hand away and was cradling it once more against his chest. “And why are you so concerned about me all of a sudden?” he said. “You’ve been ignoring me for the last couple of weeks.”
“Look, do you want my help, or not?” I shot back at him, although I could understand why he felt mad at me.
“How can you help?” Calix said, that cocky air already returning. “You said yourself that your hocus-pocus has run out.”
“Suit yourself,” I said, turning my back on him and heading back toward the splintered doorway. “Don’t come running to me if your hand gets infected with disease and ends up falling off.” Reaching the doorway, I glanced to my left and could see a grubby-looking mattress and a pile of blankets in the far corner of the room. I suspected this was where Calix had been sleeping since arriving in Shade. Then glancing back over my shoulder at him, I added, “After all, this place isn’t very clean, is it?”
We stood and stared at each other until a heavy silence fell over us. Eventually, Calix gave in and said, “Okay, Florence Nightingale, how are you going to fix my hand up?”
“For starters, I’m not gonna do it here,” I said, once again glancing over at the mattress then back at him. “Come back to my place. At least there’s clean running water there and I’m sure I can find something to bandage up your hand with that won’t be covered in the bubonic plague.”
Without saying another word, I turned my back and left the ramshackle dwelling. I hadn’t gone very far when I heard Calix walking behind me.
Chapter Five
We made our way back to my house in silence. Calix walked a few paces behind me, and every so often, I heard him wince and groan with pain. As I stood and fished the front door key from my coat pocket, I couldn’t help but notice how blood continued to drip through Calix’s fingers and down onto the step. I could see that his chest was lined with blood in thick, dark streams. I’d always known Calix to look pale, but now he looked almost as white as milk. Fearing that he might faint on me, I toed open the front door and took him by the arm. I guided him along the hallway and into the kitchen, where I eased him down into a chair. Calix sat hunched forward, his forehead resting on the table, cradling his hand in his lap and moaning in pain. Taking my coat off and throwing it to one side, a picked up a nearby bowl and filled it with cold, clean water from the tap. Setting it down on the table, I lifted Calix’s hand out of his lap and held it gently with my own.
“This might sting a bit,” I said, placing his hand into the water.
Calix groaned through clenched teeth, screwing his eyes shut. I wanted to tell him not to be such a baby but I didn’t have the heart.
“Stay there and keep your hand in the water,” I said, heading out of the kitchen.
“Where you going?” he called after me.
“To get some clean towels,” I said, climbing the stairs to the bathroom. Here I took some of the clean toilet tissue that Calix had brought me a few days before and snatched up a fresh towel. I hurried to my bedroom, pulled open one of the drawers, and took out a fresh T-shirt. I then headed back downstairs and into the kitchen. Just like I told him to, Calix still had his hand plunged beneath the water. Perhaps it was my imagination, but he looked a little less pale than he had before. Spreading the towel over the table, I removed Calix’s hand and gently dabbed at the wound with the tissue paper. Within seconds the white balls of tissue had turned scarlet, soaking up the blood that leaked from the palm of Calix’s hand.
“Ouch!” Calix hissed.
Hearing this, I did say what was on my mind. “Quit being such a baby, why don’t you?”
“Baby?” Calix said, dark eyes growing wide. “You try blowing your freaking hand off and see how it feels.”
“Oh come off it, you haven’t blown your hand off – it’s nothing more than a graze,” I said.
Calix glared down at the hole in his hand and said, “Graze? You call that a graze? Jesus, I’d hate to be seriously injured and have you as my nurse.”
“Well, I’m the only nurse you’ve got right now so quit complaining,” I said, secretly enjoying Calix’s anguish. “And besides, now you might understand how I felt when I woke up to find half my throat ripped out by you and…”
“Back to that, are we?” Calix cut in. “I thought me biting you had all been forgotten?”
“It has,” I said, regretting what I said.
“Why mention it?” he said, watching me tend to his wound. “Is that what this has all been about?”
I shook my head. “What’s what been about?”
“You hiding away in here for the last couple of weeks,” Calix reminded me. “You’ve been sulking because of that bite-mark?”
“I haven’t been sulking at all,” I snapped
, throwing down the bloody tissue. I snatched up the T-shirt and began to tear it into thin strips.
“So what have you been doing in here all alone?” Calix said, watching me as I wound the strips of T-shirt about his hand and wrist.
“It has nothing to do with you,” I told him, feeling annoyed at his questioning of me.
“Is it because of Trent?” Calix said.
I felt startled by what Calix had just asked me. Did he know what had happened between me and Trent? Did he suspect that we had become lovers? “Why would it have anything to do with Trent?”
“I dunno,” Calix said, his eyes fixed on mine. “Perhaps you’re just pissed off because he took Rea with him and not you?”
“It has nothing to do with me what Trent does or who he chooses to spend his time with,” I said, securing the makeshift bandage about Calix’s hand with a knot.
“So why have you had the arse-ache for the last few weeks?” Calix pushed once more, seemingly unable to let the matter drop.
Fetching up the bowl of red coloured water, I headed across the kitchen to the sink where I poured it away. As it gurgled down the plughole, I said, “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Have it your way, Julia,” Calix said.
I glanced back over my shoulder and could see that he was inspecting the bandage that I’d fixed about his hand. “How does it feel now?”
“Better, thanks,” Calix said.
A fly buzzed past my eye line and I swatted it away with the back of my hand.
Seeing this, Calix said, “I don’t know about you, but it’s really stuffy in here. When was the last time you had any windows open?”
Without answering his question, I went to the kitchen window, raised the catch, and flung it open. Folding my arms across my chest, I turned and scowled at him.
With a knowing smirk creeping across his face, Calix looked at me and said, “Too scared to have the windows open over the last couple of weeks, were you, just in case I crept inside?”