The Bonded

by John Falin

  I awake from the daze, holding the boy’s limp body, and realize that I must have crushed what little spark of life that remained without knowing it. I drop him in a flash of guilt, looking to his empty stare for consolation, but receive no such reward.

  Quilici says from the edge of the tree line, “Your strength is maturing, Adriel. You could not have known that would have happened, so please release yourself from unnecessary guilt. The poor boy wanted death and you gave it to him. Although accidental, it was needed.”

  Then Percy says with slight chill, “I know who it was that did this. I can smell him!”

  I remember the caves in Virginia and say, “Franz!”

  Quilici and Percy nod simultaneously in approval. I raise my head, looking into the night sky and letting the resentment run its course, wondering how someone could do such a thing. I’ve killed, killed this boy and countless others, but never have I intentionally mutilated a human or animal for that matter. These guys were sadistically sending me a clear message that they are willing to sacrifice whatever I hold close, including my affinity for humans. Yet what terrifies me most is that Percy and Quilici are now merely obstacles to their objective and have no real value other than through my worth. They will be hunted down and utilized as bait if necessary and when I am captured, they will be disposed of like this poor young one slumbering at my feet.

  Percy breaks the silence. “Do not worry, Adriel. I am not a victim nor have I taught ‘Hanz and Franz’ everything I know.”

  I reply, “What do you mean taught?”

  Quilici interjects. “Percy was a Team Leader for a… special group that took care of special problems.” He pauses so I have time to absorb the indirect meaning. “This, of course, was before your birth and her eventual demise because of it. Her team consisted of four members that were all specifically trained to track, capture, and extrapolate relevant information from potential threats to the tribe. Percy had been the lead for a century or so with Hanz and Franz appointed as her new trainees. Cassius himself chose those two without the consultation of the Council of War, which was a departure from the system of selection and approval. There were many rumors that floated around, but I suspect he chose them for the greater purpose of his own personal scheme.”

  Percy says, “In order to be selected, one must be tested physically, intellectually, and psychologically. Their psych reports were disturbing, even for a team with missions like ours. They lacked empathy, were immune to guilt, and possessed a will to succeed no matter the cost. This was most likely due to their insatiable need to please an authority figure and Cassius capitalized on this weakness, exploiting them in every way at every opportunity. I was charged with their training, but he deliberately manipulated them into unconditional loyalty.”

  I respond. “So, there are two psychopaths who are trained to hunt us down and torture us because their father figure gives them positive encouragement?”

  She replies with resignation, “Basically, but we will have our opportunity with them before that happens.” Then it turns serious. “No one kills Franz… He is mine.” Her words are frozen with a total absence of heat and a shiver runs quickly up my spine in response. She must perceive my expression of ignorance and proceeds to further explain. “They were the ones designated to extract information concerning your birth and abrupt disappearance. Cassius interviewed everyone—our team being the last. He was vague in the questioning, being exceedingly careful not to reveal more than what was needed to detect a glimpse of a lie. If his scheme were to leak or if he were to become suspected of treachery, all would be at risk. I recall him frustrated and ready to accept that the fae had somehow located your mother and taken back what they felt was rightfully theirs.

  “After the entire tribe, including the council had been asked questions, it was my turn. No one suspected that one of the team would betray the tribe. It was unheard of, and Cassius scheduled our interrogation merely to please his constituents. I was justifiably nervous as Cassius is a vampire of rare talent that can detect untruths and lies with implausible accuracy.” She shifts her attention to me and says, “Riley is unique to the Avvelenato in that he has learned to deceive our internal sensitivities to abnormal patterns that signal a lack of truth or a blatant lie. I have only heard of several other vampires that have achieved that ability as well.”

  Quilici asks, “Who amongst the vampires, and why would the waers lack that ability?”

  She cranes her neck sideways, startled at his question, and answers, “Waers are too emotional to control something so delicate. You are more predisposed to rage and excess than the subtle manipulations required for true deception. I’m not dismissing your kind, Quilici, but let us have honesty when it is needed.” She lets her words hold for a moment, anticipating his acceptance and is satisfied as he grunts the equivalent of an okay. She goes on. “The vampires that possess that ability are sporadically found in the descendants of Cassius. His father allegedly had the ability and used it to his advantage, creating a web of deceit so intricate that no one in his lifetime was able to unravel it to remove him from his position. There were others in that line through the millennia, but most were just whispers of rumors, or tall tales as the humans call them. So, Adriel”—she stares through me—“you can imagine Cassius’s surprise when you lied to him about your abilities the day that he revealed our history to you. He was well aware of your power spikes, but wanted to place you in an awkward position of subordination by forcing you to answer his questions. If you would have been honest, then he had you and if you would have lied, then he would have shown you how superior he was and that he could not be fooled.” I recall that evening when he knew I was deliberately misleading him, but dismissed it, as a chess master never reveals his true intent until necessary. I’ll also never forget the beating he gave me… asshole. She continues, “You are alone in your gift, Adriel, at least as much as I am aware of, excluding Riley, who may be even more of a mystery. That being said, we mustn’t be distracted with this. Let’s return to the story.

  “He was shocked when I was not able to dodge the questions with honesty and genuinely upset, I think. Although his emotional response was not based on his tender affections for me, but rather his disappointment, that in spite of his uncanny intelligence and craftiness he had been swindled. That actually made my situation direr as his precious male pride had been wounded and nothing motivates a male vampire like ego!”

  I say, “So, I guess all races have more in common than I thought.”

  “Unfortunately, yes, I’m afraid so. Yet that is his weakness as well, but that is for another time. He personally oversaw my interrogation through Hanz and Franz, ensuring that I was the recipient of the most horrible of tortures, and preemptively started rumors that I had lacked courage during a mission, leaving the team in great peril. That is the worst of offenses in militant circles and gave justification to my unusual treatment as peers and colleagues turned on me in that instant.” I hear the reservation in her gentle voice begin its journey to steeled resolve. “They did… things to me that I will never speak of and laughed while doing it. I realize that Cassius is the leader and his command is what instigated the atrocities, but I blame Franz. He was the vampire who… He will die by my sword and it will be slow and painful.”

  Hatred seeps from her lips and I am careful not to interrupt, knowing that some things need to be said without rebuttal. Yet, I feel the angry pull of a protective lover as my heart begins to beat with fury at what they did to her. I control the impulse so I don’t add to what already must be painful, but make a private resolution that one of them will die by my hand. It takes a moment, but she snaps back from the murder Franz fantasy and wraps up her thought. “I have done and seen horrid acts to humanity and our kind for what I believed was the greater good. Quilici and I are more than we appear, Adriel; beyond the façade of my empathy and his sophisticated culture is the primal lust for blood and death. We are animals and nothing more.”

  I say, “
I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree. I think beyond the blood and murder you are sophisticated and empathic. I’m just a young one, but I know that I can’t fight what I was born to be, but I can embrace it and accept that I am more.”

  She gives a non-verbal thanks and says, “I’m still going to kill him.”

  I return, “As long as Hanz is mine. He needs to be accountable for what he did to this sacred ground and more importantly… to you!” A pause settles to leak the intensity and I continue with another thought for distraction. “Wait a minute. Why were you and the twins at the bar together the night we met, or became reacquainted?”

  She says, “Every year or two they invite me to have a drink just to reminisce about the old days and how they miss having me around. After several hours the conversation inevitably ends with some casual questions concerning you and that night. Cassius is no fool and could have killed me with the approval of the Council of War for lacking courage in an operational situation, but chose instead to let me live. He knew that I could not say anything about his devious plan for a couple of reasons: One, the Council would take his word over mine as he was the leader and had two witnesses, Hanz and Franz. Two, if I did disclose my part in the scheme he would have immediately abducted me and eventually had me killed.

  “So, he allowed me to live, knowing there could be the possibility that I would confess or make a mistake, leading him to you, or to whatever his true objective is. I was no threat to him, although it always bothered Cassius and the twins that I never broke. He knew I was lying, but could not get his answers.” I felt her pride shine through and knew that males weren’t the only gender that struggled with it.

  Finally, Quilici rejoins the conversation. “I hate to keep pushing us along, but we do need to get to South Mountain ASAP.” He thoughtfully stalls and says, “I feel compelled to say this—what we are doing tonight is strictly a reconnaissance mission. We will not be seeking revenge or reacting emotionally when a remark is made that offends us. I realize all of them need to be exterminated, but right now, it is more important we discover their true intent without action. If we were to kill them, the entire vampire and waer nation will be hunting us down by sunrise. Is this understood?”

  Percy and I shrug our shoulders, as children being corrected, and give him the affirmation he wants. Percy says, “You are right, Quilici, and for the record, I would never have jeopardized this mission for revenge.”

  I interrupt. “I may have.”

  He laughs like a tuba surrounded by trumpets. “I’m glad I said it, then. On a more serious note, I am afraid that the SUV will not be adequate for a quick escape in the occasion that circumstances go awry.”

  Percy mischievously replies, “I have the answer.”

  Chapter 14

  Twenty minutes later we arrive at a large warehouse with an eight-foot fence snugly wrapped around the perimeter to keep out any of the local delinquents. The parking lot is immaculately clean with plenty of space for employees and customers to park their vehicles without concern of some idiot opening their door and dinging someone else’s. We approach the guard shack at a turtle’s pace, ensuring that we don’t interrupt the night security’s well-deserved nap. The cross arm blocks our entrance and to my surprise a disheveled young man in baggy uniform pants that hang halfway down his legs, complimented by a crooked tie that rests on an untucked shirt, peeks his head out the shack window.

  His greeting is indifferent and expression blank as he says, “Your name please.”

  Percy responds, “Percy, Percy Amador.” She tilts her head slightly, reacting to my curiosity, as he checks the list and waves us though.

  The horizontal arm lifts simultaneously with the electric windows and as their motor hums in the background, I ask, “Amador? I don’t know why, but I never thought to ask for your last name. Is this something that you’ve adopted because of our culture or a name that has been passed on for thousands of years?”

  Percy responds, “We borrowed the tradition from the Chinese in approximately 2,500 BC and have kept it ever since to track lineage. For most of us, it is a futile practice that has absolutely no meaning, but for Cassius and a few others, it is a symbol of power as their ancestors ruled the tribes. Also, certain families or bloodlines have unique talents and a propensity to produce the best of our species in specific areas. As humans have bred wolves to exhibit desired traits, the vampires have accomplished this as well. Hanz and Franz are the pit bulls of our kind and their lineage is riddled with enforcers and warriors. Cassius has been bred to lead through intelligence, ruthlessness, and his ability to detect untruth or motives. The surname gives us insight into what and who they are.”

  I return, “What does your surname say about you?”

  “We are trackers. To continue with the analogy, my family is the blood hound.”

  She ends the statement with averted eyes and I notice a tinge of pink flash over her cheeks, so I say, “Are you blushing? I didn’t think that was possible. What’s going on? What are you not telling me?” I’m fighting a smile when a deep bass laugh reverberates from the back seat. “Tell me, Quilici.”

  Percy glances to the rearview mirror throwing him a warning shot, but he dismisses it saying, “They are also known to be very… skilled… lovers.”

  He barely finishes the sentence as laughter has now infected both of us and Percy yells, “Shut up, Quilici! And, Adriel, if you insist on mocking my gift, then I’m afraid you will not have the pleasure of enjoying it.” Now that shuts me up fast and Quilici begrudgingly follows and seems agitated that a good chuckle was lost. I turn to apologize and hear the clinging of chains rotating and lifting the warehouse door—saved by the bell.

  Before it reaches the full extension, I can’t help but ask, “What is Cassius’s last name?”

  They both pause and say together, “Darkre.”

  The door clicks and rattles to a stop, transferring the moment from lighthearted humor to inquisitiveness as Percy drives the SUV through the Warehouse maw and into what appears to be a storage unit for antique cars, boats, and motorcycles. She shifts the SUV into park and removes the keys as she exits the door with a little extra pep in her step. Quilici and I share one final, guarded laugh at her expense and follow suit when he says, “What are we doing here, Percy?”

  She answers, “As was mentioned earlier, the SUV will not suffice for a quick departure if needed, so I think a more agile and personal solution is appropriate.” She allows the last word to coincide with her finger pointing and we follow the line to six motorcycles lined in a row to our left. Both Quilici and I grin in anticipation as we hurriedly walk to our newest acquisitions.

  They are a mix of sport bikes with their aggressive appearance and high revved engines and cruisers that explode with machine gun exhausts with comfortable seats for long rides. Personally, either one is perfect for me, but I can’t resist the siren call of a raven-black sport bike with 1,000 ccs of naked power awaiting my command. Percy casually steps over to its matching set, but with a deep purple paint job sprinkled with metallic flakes that glimmer in the light. I straddle the bike, dismissing the helmet and see Quilici caressing a muted-black Harley Davidson chromed out with all the bells and whistles. He raises his head for Percy’s approval and she says, “Please, take it. It belongs to Hanz!” We all laugh and turn the keys, igniting the engines while the warehouse rumbles in response. Within seconds, the three of us are on our way as the bikes scream through the parking lot and race to the lion’s den.

  * * *

  The ride is a welcome respite from mind-numbing strategies and plots. On the motorcycle, I’m forced to concentrate on what’s in front of me in the moment rather than the distraction of endless possibilities that become wearisome tangents at guessing someone’s intentions. Cassius really is good at this and deserves at least a little admiration for his efforts. My attention is catapulted back to the road as a rock spits out from Percy’s tire and zings by my right cheek, leaving me a stinging cut as a r
eminder. Fortunately, the cut heals within seconds and I regain my focus, paying acute attention to the squealing exhaust and deafening wind. I’m grateful for the pair of clear goggles that were left in the helmet to protect my eyes from the watery effect of strong winds as I pierce the air at 85 mph. I miss my MJ’s, but they’ll do.

  Quilici is the first to cross the threshold into Gathland State Park when the throaty grumble of his bike protests against the idle speed as he pulls into the vacant parking lot. I drift next to the War Correspondents Arch to appreciate the archway that was created to honor the Civil War journalists and artists who risked their lives to tell the true story of war. It stretches fifty feet toward the sky and spreads forty feet to keep balance with ornate pictures and artistry to remind tourists that soldiers aren’t the only people affected during war. I wonder how many wars I’ll witness if I live forever. After a moment of contemplation, I turn left, following Quilici and Percy to the farthest corner of the lot.

  All of us remain still in quiet pleasure from the ride before swinging our legs over to begin the night’s quest. Shaking the residual wind and exhaust noise out of my ears, I say, “Why would they use a park that is visited by humans as a secret meeting place?”

  Quilici replies, “Caedmon will actually utilize a different entrance on the other side of the Appalachian trail that is not accessible to humans, unless they are seeking adventure. If we were to simply beat them to it and use their paths, we would leave a trail for them and the element of stealth would be compromised. They will never suspect that someone would be careless enough to hike through the human trails, let alone even know the whereabouts of his location.”