by Lizzy Ford
Sweating already from the effort, she braided her hair to keep it out of her face and then leaned her full weight on the rope. It held. With another look down, she found her first foothold along the side of the cave and began to climb.
The ten feet to the top felt like it took hours, though the sun had barely risen when she finished. By the time she clawed her way over the edge, she was soaked with sweat and panting, her muscles burning from effort. She rested on her back for a short time before forcing herself up to sit up and look around.
Wherever she was, it was beautiful. Cliffs stretched as far as she could see in either direction with uneven stone and shale between her and the rest of the island. Some sort of goats watched her from the distance. Far, far, away, beyond the stone and shale, she thought she saw a swatch of green.
She might not be on her street or even in her neighborhood or city, but it certainly looked like she was back in her world. She trotted away from the cliff, slowing when she felt far enough from the edge. She walked through shallow stone valleys and hopped across boulders and shale toward the sun, casting frequent looks over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being stalked by a shape-changing demon with an attitude.
She found a narrow, rocky road and hopped from rock to road, surprised to see an older man leading a donkey pulling a cart ahead of her. There were small white houses here, one with a dog that barked as she passed. Fences that looked like nothing more than stacks of rock shingles edged each property. She followed the man at a distance, slowly confirming she was somewhere on her planet. She didn’t know where exactly, but by the man’s pale skin, she guessed Europe, maybe one of the Slavic countries.
The road rose, and she stopped at its peak to stare at the small village edging a wide bay below. The word "HOSTEL" was emblazoned across the side of what looked like a large red barn in the center of the village. There were several small vehicles, several more men with donkeys, and a slew of boats departing the harbor for the morning catch.
The old man was waiting for her on the other side of the peak. He spoke a smattering of words she didn’t understand.
"English?" she asked hopefully.
"Aye," he said with a chuckle. "Bit early fo’ the tours to be comin’ up this way."
"I wasn’t on a tour. Could you tell me where I am?"
He looked her over, eyes lingering on her neck. She covered the bite marks self-consciously.
"Ye drinkin’?"
"Um, yeah," she said slowly. "I had all my…things stolen."
He gasped and crossed himself.
"Mother Mary," he murmured. "This is the second time in a year some thug’s attacked a tourist. The world is going to shite."
"It is," she agreed. "Listen, I need a phone. I have to call my sister and tell her to send money so I can get home."
"Come, come with me," he said, resolution on his face. "Not all us here are thugs."
He led her back the way she’d come and to a small house with a couple dozen fluffy sheep in a pen in back. She paused on the sagging porch until he beckoned her in. The house was cozy and simple, with creaky wooden floors covered in rugs, a pot-bellied stove still warm, and worn furniture.
"Toilets are there," he said, pointing.
She grimaced, expecting an outhouse, and was pleasantly surprised at the cozy but modern bathroom. She looked first in the mirror and froze. Aside from the scarring, a maroon tattoo seemed to wind all the way around her neck. She turned slowly and craned her head to confirm the design covered every inch of her exposed neck.
"Son of a bitch!"
Rhyn.
He’d not just claimed her in deed but had the nerve to brand her like chattel as well! She’d never in her life wanted a tattoo, but to have some blood-sucking, shape changing, ill-tempered, inhuman beast’s name on her neck was infuriating! She tried to scrub it off with no success.
When she emerged, she saw tea and cookies on the small table tucked into a corner of the living room. She joined him, hesitating before gulping down most of the cookies.
"Here ye go," the old man said, handing her a cell phone. "Yer American?"
"Yeah."
"Dial oh-one-one then the number." He eased into the chair across from her and poured them both tea as she dialed.
"Hello?"
"Hey sis!" Katie exclaimed, never as happy as that moment to hear Hannah’s voice.
"Oh, god, Katherine! Where are you? What happened? Gio had the police looking everywhere for you! They said you’d been kidnapped from the--"
"I’m fine, I’m fine. I was…taken. Not sure where I am now, but I’m free and okay," Katie said.
"Are you in the city? We’ll come get you!"
"No, I think I’m in some other country."
There was a pause as Hannah waited for her response, and Katie covered the mouthpiece.
"Where am I?" she asked the old man.
"Innisheer."
"I’m in Innisheer, sis," she relayed. "You know where that is?"
"God, no. How did you get there? Did someone take you or….maybe you forgot?" Hannah asked in a hushed tone.
"Sis, I have no money, no passport, no identification, and I haven’t eaten in a few days. I didn’t forget anything. I even remember Toby, the Masquerade, and some guy snatching me when the lights went down."
"Thank god!" her sister sighed. "Toby’s been staying with us. You really let him eat that many marshmallows?"
"Don’t tell him where I am," Katie said quickly. "I don’t want to worry him. Just say I’ll be back soon."
"I don’t even know where you are. I’m Googling it now."
"Sis, can you send me some money to get back?"
"Yeah, sure," came the distracted response. "Ireland? You’re in Ireland?"
"I don’t know where I am."
"It says it’s an island off the coast of Ireland. I bet it’s nice," Hannah said.
"I really don’t care, Hannah."
"I’ll send you money. It doesn't look like the place you're on has an airport. Can you get to Dublin? I'll book you a flight."
"I'll figure it out," Katie replied. "Thanks, Hannah."
With the old man's help, she caught the last ferry across the channel just before sunset. She stepped off the ferry and stood in a mostly empty parking lot, wondering how the hell to get to civilization from there. There weren’t any cabs or buses like in the city; she didn’t even see a town nearby. Just a road leading to the small parking area and a closed ticket booth for the ferry. The lone two people on her ferry got into a car and left. She stood for a long moment before striking out after them on foot.
The old man, Liam, had fed her and given her a handful of euro coins before putting her on the ferry. Grateful to him, she was likewise anxious to leave the island before the beast returned and flew off the handle.
She scratched at the tattoo winding around her neck, furious with him. She didn’t walk far before someone in a tiny car speaking only Gaelic pulled alongside her and motioned to her. After several failed attempts to communicate, they proceeded in silence to the nearest town, a coastal resort-like town. As if sensing she was some poor tourist, he dropped her off at a youth hostel located above a bar already teeming with people. For an extra few Euros, the hostel manager gave her a clean though worn sleeping bag that matched the clean but worn bunk beds in the women’s section.
The two German women sharing her room ceased talking when she entered and looked her over before one said in halting English, "You’re American."
"That obvious?" Katie returned, tossing the sleeping bag and a small shaving bag filled with basics on one bunk.
"I like your clothes," the other said, gazing at her jumpsuit. "Very fashionable."
At least Hell kept up with the latest styles, she thought darkly.
"Your…" the other woman said, motioning to her neck. "Very nice."
Katie snatched the shaving bag and a towel, stalking to the bathroom. She bathed in the unisex shower room, grateful for the lukew
arm water and the chance to scrub herself down and assess the damage. Her arms and legs were only faintly scarred despite the glass shards from the rocket attacks and the damage done by Sasha. She marveled again at Lankha's healing skill.
Her first shower in days made her want to stay in the hot water forever, until one of the men staying at the hostel entered the bathroom. Self-conscious, she turned off the water and wrapped herself in a towel before crossing to the sinks lining one wall with bright mirrors hanging above them.
Her eyes were drawn to the Rhyn tattoo snaking around her neck like a collar. The name was black against a band the color of red wine, both intricate and bold, with odd characters etched into the edges of the band. The geometric shapes changed as they circled her neck rather than stuck to a pattern; she assumed it was some kind of writing.
She wore a collar like a dog with her master’s name on it. There was no other explanation. She’d never wear anything but turtlenecks ever again!
"Son of a bitch!" she muttered.
"Awesome tat," a male voice with a distinctly American accent said.
She dropped the hair she’d been holding up and wrapped the towel around her tightly. She met his gaze briefly in the mirror. He looked like any normal nerdy American with big glasses and a scrawny frame. She thought she saw tattoos flash across his exposed chest. She blinked, and they were gone.
After her time in Hell--where most of the monsters looked human--she didn’t trust this one. He shrugged as she ignored his hello smile.
She returned to the room, where the two Germen women still sat and talked while cleaning their camping gear. She dressed quickly to avoid comments on either her collar or her scars and flung herself into her bunk, reminded of her cell with Lankha.
She’d never had an opinion of bunk beds until this moment. She hated them!
"American, you like beer?" one of the Germans asked.
"Yeah."
"We’re going down to the bar. Come with us?"
She hesitated. The Irish rock blaring from the bar below was loud enough, and cigarette smoke already curled in through the window. A shot of whiskey sounded heavenly!
"Yeah, I’ll go."
She joined them at the door with enough loose euro change for a couple of beers and dinner. The women with her spoke in German as they made their way down the narrow wooden stairwell to the packed bar. The music blared louder, the smoke became thicker, and the scent of food intermingled with body odor. They stopped to join a small group at one side of the bar and squeezed their way into a booth meant for four and already holding four. They made room for her and pushed fries at her, which she accepted.
Katie’s gaze took in the crowd. She looked for Rhyn. She looked for Kris. She looked for any face she knew.
She was done with them. All of them. When she got home, she was kicking Toby out, buying a gun, and taking back her life. Her paranoia faded with the first round of beers and disappeared completely by the third. She joined the Germans and other backpackers in an Irish dance as the cigarette smoke thickened and the rock band grew louder.
"Fire!" The shout went unnoticed until the panicked bartender grabbed the mike of the lead rocker.
"Everyone get out!"
Katie stared at him dumbly until the crowd forced her toward the exit. She let the bodies pressed against her shove her into the chilled night and blinked back her blurred gaze until she saw her German friends. Smoke billowed blacker than night above orange-yellow flames that mesmerized her.
The whole top of the building--where the hostel was housed--was on fire. The flames were beautiful and entrancing. She and the Germans stood in silent awe, too drunk to feel the cold.
"Rhyn, is it?"
She blinked and turned at the voice, not recognizing the American nerd until her vision cleared.
"Funny name for a girl."
"Whatever," she said curtly.
"I told my friends about your tat. Mind showing it to them? My friend Ziggy’s a tattoo artist in San Francisco. Thought he’d like yours. It’s kinda unique."
She sighed, her instincts too dulled by beer to warn her. She had nothing better to do, not with her source of alcohol gone and her bed in flames.
"You guys got any whiskey?" she asked, trailing him through the crowd.
He held up a bottle. "I grabbed this when everyone started panicking."
"Vodka? No way."
He lowered the bottle. She didn’t notice how far they’d gone until the blazing bar disappeared around a corner. Only then did her senses register the three men before her, the alley, and the familiar bloodlust in their glowing eyes. This time, there was no mistaking the tattoos on their bodies.
She spun, the action rocking her precarious balance, only to come face-to-face with the American nerd.
"You don’t want to do this," she blurted out. "I taste like shit."
One laughed.
"You should be used to it, or you wouldn’t wear your dead master’s mark," the nerdy guy said.
"Dead? He’s not dead," she replied. "In fact, I’m expecting him any minute."
"No one leaves his mate in a place like this. Penniless? Alone? Obviously too long under his keep to know what to do with herself in the real world?"
Mate?
"He’s bigger than you," she warned.
"Bigger than this, bitch?" the American nerd demanded, shoving her against a building and riding his erection against her backside.
"I’ve seen popsicles bigger than you, jackass!" she snapped.
He pulled her away from the wall and backhanded her hard enough for her to feel nauseous. She was too drunk to feel the landing. He licked his hand, where blood from her lip remained.
"Sweet," he whispered, closing his eyes to savor her. "The Ancients always choose the sweetest blood monkeys."
"You can lie there still like you did for your master while we do our thing, or we can tie you and beat you into submission and then do our thing. Either way, we do our thing," another reasoned, kneeling near her.
"Let me think," she said, and rolled her eyes. "Why don’t you walk away now before a certain Ancient tears you into pieces."
"Nice try, sweetheart. We’ve seen your type before. You won’t last the night anywhere you go. He made his mark; it draws us to you."
She frowned, wondering when someone would explain the rules of this game to her. Wobbling, she rose, familiar coldness replacing the alcoholic warmth inside her.
"Sweet, little, defenseless, bet you're wet and taste just as sweet," the man who’d tasted her said. His eyes glowed more unnaturally than the others, the taste of her addling his senses. He looked like the rabid dog she’d expected Rhyn to be.
"Chill, Dean. First we all drink, then you can fuck her up," another warned.
"Appreciate the chivalry," Katie retorted.
If ever you were going to appear, Rhyn, now's the time!
Dean backhanded her again, following her to the ground. He pounced, tearing at the jumper. Her head spun. She batted at him with clumsy arms, at last landing a punch in the neck, as the creatures in Hell had taught her. He gagged. She tried to shove him off, but he snagged her hips and dragged her down, pinning her hands over her head.
She squirmed. His knife cut through her jumper, slicing into her skin.
"Dean, fuck, chill man! She’s gotta last the night! We’re all famished!"
She cried out, and the other three pried him off. She scrambled up, watching them wrestle Dean until he shook them off. She looked down at her newest cut. It wasn’t deep but it stung. At their silence, her gaze returned to them.
She saw their expressions change as they got a whiff of her blood. Whatever control they hoped to maintain slipped.
"I’m warning you," she said again, backing away. "If you…"
She heard the beastly snarl and caught the blurred mass of darkness, punctuated only by two flashes of silver, as Rhyn flew by her. A new terror filled her. As if the four fledgling vampires weren’t enough…She turned
and ran. One of them snagged her, but his attention shifted at the strangled cry and sound of snapping bones. Dean’s head sailed over them. She stared in horror and launched forward. The vampire holding on to her didn’t fight her but joined her, running with her from the possessed shapeshifter. She followed him, praying he knew the town better than her, until they ran into a dead end.
Rhyn shoved her into the side of the building with a massive paw, holding her there for a split second as a warning before he launched himself at the vampire. She heard the kid scream and hunched her shoulders, nearly vomiting at the sounds of his body being torn apart. When there was silence, she felt the beast approach her, its bloodied fangs at the same level as her head.
"Is it too late to say sorry?" she managed.
He growled low, and she jumped, squeezing her eyes closed. Swallowing hard, she tilted her head to one side in a display she hoped he took to be an apology. There was a long pause before she sensed him change forms behind her. He gripped her throat roughly and pulled her against his body. Her body shook, but she didn’t dare fight him, not when he was so pissed.
There was no pain this time when he bit her, only numbness. She almost cried in relief. He didn’t hurt her, even when she had obviously infuriated him. He drank longer than he had before and withdrew at last with a satisfied growl.
"Can’t take you anywhere without you beheading folks," she whispered.
"That I let them die fast is not something I’ll do for you if you betray me again."
"I’d rather die than be stuck in a cave."
"You think I can’t replace you with a willing nymph who knows her place?" he demanded.
By the stillness of the body at her back, he was deciding her fate. She waited, her breathing growing shallower and faster.
"Now you have nothing to say," he snarled. "You taste like cheap whiskey."
His words were accompanied by a push. He walked away. She gasped in air, heart soaring. She’d escaped death again, but how many lives did she have? Near hyperventilating, she bent over and drew in deep breaths until moonlight revealed the dismembered hand near her feet.
She darted after him, cold on the inside yet still buzzing from whiskey. He walked through the town to a large bed and breakfast near its edge. She didn’t look up as they walked through a comfortable living room with several guests talking loudly about the fire. They grew silent as Rhyn entered and stared her down as well.