“I will expect you again soon, Lucia?” Vasquez asked with a smile.
“Of course, Father.”
“I have some things to show you,” Tom told Molly, “I think you’ll enjoy them.”
“I have taken it upon myself to buy you a birthday gift!” Tom announced. The two sat alone at a table in the back corner of a tavern across town.
“Birthday? It’s not my birthday,” said Molly, shaking her head.
“I know. It’s the eighteenth of August, yes? It’s a little early, but I couldn’t wait to give you this.”
“Captain, really, I haven’t celebrated my birthday in years. This isn’t—”
“Oh, stop complaining. Just smile and thank me.”
Molly sighed, defeated, but couldn’t help but smile.
Tom threw open a rolled bundle of fabric and spread it out on the table. “Oh, look at this.” He took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Molly, who unfolded it and looked it over. Tom arranged the items from the bundle while she read.
The news notice had a large drawing of Tom on it, framed by thin lines that read: “Thomas Crowe: wanted, in any condition, by the British Royal Navy and the French Colonial Guard in various territories of the Caribbean. Reward: generously negotiable depending upon condition of subject upon capture.” There were two bold paint stripes across the picture of Tom in the shape of an X. Below it read: “Executed.”
Molly sighed, throwing the paper onto the bed. “How lovely.”
“Do you see the humor?” Tom asked, laughing. “Well, I’m amused. Captain Locke is a hero and I’m dead. Ha!” He picked up a small, shining object from the wrappings. “Here we are … more jewelry. I hope you don’t mind much,” he said, grinning proudly. “Try it on.”
The small gold band he handed Molly was shaped like the scaly body of a dragon. A squared, beautifully cut ruby was set in the open mouth of the dragon, clasped in place by four long golden fangs. Its tongue hung out below the gem and curled to one side. The legs and arms of the serpent seemed to cling to her finger like the limbs of a little perching bird. Something about the light the ruby reflected was reminiscent of the behavior of flames.
“Under any other circumstance I would have to refuse,” Molly said, taking it carefully before slipping it onto her finger. “But I am a magesmith’s daughter and a woman of impeccable taste, aren’t I? It’s beautiful, Thomas.”
“Yes it is, but that’s not the point.” He scooted to his left, snuffed the candle on the table and put it between them.
“And what’s the point, then?”
Tom hid a grin. “Aim your ring at that wick. Make a fist and point the ring at the tip of the candle.”
Following his instructions, Molly raised her fist.
“Now,” he began with a coy grin, “Repeat after me, all right?”
“All right.”
“Spuere ignis!” he cried.
Molly took a deep breath. “Spuere ignis!”
A blazing stream of flames burst forth from the tip of the ruby ring. The fire illuminated the entire back corner of the tavern, roaring loudly and then hissing to a stop. Molly gasped loudly, using her other arm to steady her hand. The flames vanished, and the ring emitted small wisps of smoke.
“It is a beautiful ring, isn’t it?” said Tom, touching the blackened wall behind him. The candle in the middle of the table was reduced to a waxy blob and ran off onto the floor.
Molly stood in place, eyes wide. “That is why I don’t celebrate my birthday, Mr. Crowe!”
Thomas stared at her, trying not to laugh.
“I hate surprises!”
He frowned.
“But I love this ring!” she squealed, scrunching her nose and smiling. The two looked at each other across the table like a couple of adolescents.
“Oh, I purchased something else as well. I’ve been meaning to get one but just didn’t have the money.” Tom took a golden necklace from the bundle and dangled it for her to see. A teardrop shaped onyx hung from it. Tom looped it around his neck and vanished from sight.
“Thomas?” Molly gripped the table and looked around. Where the devil had he gone?
“Wonderful trick,” Tom whispered, his voice right next to her ear.
“Ah!” Molly scooted away from the chair beside her.
“Amazing, yeah?” One of the wine glasses rose from the table and wafted to her hand, waiting to be taken. Tom’s sword appeared as well, balancing the other glass on its tip. Its contents sloshed and the glass tilted over but did not spill. The wine simply vanished as it fell from the lip of the glass.
“Not bad stuff,” Tom’s voice said.
“Thomas? What is this?” asked Molly, watching the ghostly phenomena occur all around her.
The empty glass settled on the table and the sword found its sheath as Tom reappeared before Molly’s eyes, in the chair right next to her. In his hand he held the gold and onyx necklace.
“How—” Molly began.
“Don’t ask me, ask your father,” Tom replied quickly. “I wouldn’t know what kind of magic causes such an effect. I can appreciate how expensive it is, though.” He looped it around her neck. “All you have to do is touch the stone and whisper, ‘absconde me’, and you’re gone.”
“This is marvelous. Are you sure I can have this?” She was completely enamored with her gifts.
“Of course. I don’t need it. If I need to do any spying I’ll stick to the hole in the cabin wall. It’s much simpler and cheaper,” he said, quickly getting up and cackling as Molly gasped, blushed and swatted him.
Thomas often spoke to me about an unusual fear he had developed over many years. The idea of bleeding frightened him. Not the sight of blood or the spilling of it, but the concept of losing blood was what concerned him.
His fear reminded me of vampires and the ill-willed nickname used against them by mortals and sometimes werewolves. Vampires often have been called “cowbloods,” or cow-blooded, because most of them choose to sustain their bodies by draining the blood of livestock instead of humans. Living off the blood of livestock doesn’t seem to disturb most vampires, but many often develop a certain dreary disposition when realizing they possess no real blood of their own. I believe Thomas was bothered by the notion of living a borrowed life through his curse, but the only way he could describe his fear was through the concept of “bleeding.” He told me he felt as though the “haunting possibility that he was immortal” sometimes made him feel dead, or imaginary. He didn’t feel like a beast or an immortal. He felt like a man who was sentenced to facing the punishment of eternal life while on earth—a horrible fate, in his eyes. “Man was not meant to live forever while still bound to a body,” he would say. He so hated the persecution—the fact that his fellowmen never looked upon him as human.
What is it then that makes us human? Is it because we bleed? Is it because we are so frail? Thomas Crowe believed mortal frailty was the most precious of gifts.
Geoffrey Mylus,
May 5, 1833
~~~
After leaving the tavern, the pair spent the remaining afternoon shopping in the markets nearby. In particular, Tom was on the lookout for an apothecary. Much time at sea and a handful of run-ins with the authorities had exhausted his medicinal supplies. As luck would have it, he was able to find a small place, and left Molly outside, letting her know he’d only be a moment.
Molly wandered close to the apothecary, eventually standing off to the side of the foot traffic and happily examining her new ring and necklace. How she longed to be a magesmith or magician more and more each day. And to think, she told herself, I could’ve been cleaning stables or plowing fields or mending dresses should I have stayed at home. Ha! Molly wandered next door and discovered a man selling flowers. She began to ask how much he wanted for a carnation, but then a voice she recognized interrupted her.
“Hello! Molly! Molly, is that you? I thought I’d never see you again!”
Inside the apothecary’
s, Tom paid what he owed and reached to take his satchel of medicines. He stopped, and inhaled, turning his head this way and that. A scent of death—old death—had crept past his nostrils. He also detected another scent. That’s blood, he knew.
“Gracias, y buenas tardes, señor.” The apothecary bid him farewell.
Ignoring the man, Tom put his satchel in his pocket and moved to the door. Someone or something unpleasant was about.
“I’ve been looking for you, Molly.”
Thinking herself to be dreaming, Molly pivoted in place. Her chest filled with bricks, heavy with dread.
“Christopher?”
A handsome young man stood before her, his lightly stubbled face half hidden in a black bandana and long, brown hair tied back neatly and hidden beneath a hood. A distinctive silver hoop dangled from one of his ears. His frame towered above her as he embraced her.
“I was begining to wonder when I’d find you. Ever since you left Bridgetown all I’ve done is wish to hold you again,” he told her.
Molly could hardly believe her eyes. “Well, this is certainly a surprise.” She tried not to act entirely repulsed. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you, of course.” He kissed her cheek.
Molly was taken aback. “Christopher, I don’t think I understand.” She took a step away from him. “Perhaps we can speak some other time.” (Never is a time, right?) Molly put on her best smile. “I need to finish my shopping. I have a prior engagement and I’m already late.”
Christopher feigned a hurt expression. He’d always been a bad liar. “Nearly a year has separated us and you leave so quickly?” he said, placing a gloved hand on her shoulder. “I’m quite curious as to why you left, but I suppose that can be left for later. It’s just fortunate that I found you. Wonderful things are happening back home, and everyone wants you to be part of it.”
Molly again put one stride of distance between herself and Christopher. “Why have you been looking for me?”
“My associates and I have made significant headway in the Caribbean, and soon I’ll be able to have us our very own home built to any specification you wish,” he replied, avoiding the question.
Molly glanced over her shoulder anxiously. “I really need to return—”
Christopher grabbed her hand suddenly, cutting her off. “If you come with me, love, I can explain everything on the way to Barbados.”
Molly looked down at her feet, “I’d rather stay here.”
Christopher reached out to move a strand of Molly’s hair behind her ear. “Please, Molly, I’d like to take you home.”
Molly pulled her head away, but his grip remained around her wrist. She refused to placate him. “Why are you really here, Christopher?” she demanded to know.
“I thought you’d been kidnapped, or arrested, or worse! I had to come after you and make sure you were safe!”
Molly tore her hand away from his cold claw. “You never were a good liar.”
Christopher chuckled darkly. “For once, love, you’re wrong. I’m not lying.” He grabbed her hand again, this time holding it painfully tight. “The Society is growing, and you are to play a wonderful part in it. I volunteered to fetch you because, in my company, you’ll be safe. We’ll return, and you’ll be looked after closely. You’ll never again need to worry about anything. And I’m sure this time you’ll accept an invitation to join the Society as my wife. Yes, there are risks, but you can have life everlasting, Molly!”
Molly tried to jerk away. “It would not be wise to make a scene here, Christopher, wouldn’t you agree?”
Tom had been watching the two from the shadows of the apothecary doorway, his keen eyes gazing over the heads of the crowd. Seeing fear in Molly’s eyes, he could not delay any longer. His instincts had led him to assume danger was prowling, and sure enough, they had led him to the source. His body ached. The blue in his eyes faded and died. They turned deep gold, then a pale yellow. The pupils shrank and became void of humanity. Stitches from old wounds in his arms and torso split and popped, falling away. Newer injuries hissed and sealed within mere seconds. His head throbbed painfully.
A thirsty smirk remained etched into Christopher’s face. “It’s probably best you come with me, so we don’t draw any attention, love. Come, let’s get out of this wretched sun,” he urged her, tugging at the hood on his head and pulling his bandana up, keeping his face turned away from the daylight.
“I don’t think so. In fact, I think you ought to slither away before my friend chews you in half.” Molly spat the words.
Tom’s senses sharpened tenfold. He could hear Christopher’s breathing and Molly’s protest. He smelled traces of blood on the man—blood not his own.
Christopher moved closer to Molly. “You think to frighten me away? I know who you are with. He is also of great interest to the Society, and my superiors. Especially Harlan.”
Tom’s terrifying presence divided the crowds and opened a path straight to Molly. His teeth grew long and razor sharp, hidden behind his lips.
Molly’s eyes widened. Harlan was Christopher’s superior? What was the Society up to? A creeping horror filled her mind.
“So you are with Thomas. I thought so.” Christopher read her face like a book.
The bones in Tom’s spine cracked and popped. Growing taller, his body stretched his white shirt to its limits and tore it in the back.
“I can only imagine what you’d like to do to Thomas,” Molly said bitterly, “but whatever it is, you’re a fool to think you could. He can kill men as a horse’s tail swats flies. Harlan should have come here himself. I won’t tell you where Thomas is, because if you find him, you won’t leave here alive.”
All traces of Christophers grin disappeared. “Oh? But I believe you will tell me.” He reached for something in his coat.
Tom moved fast, his large steps beating on the dusty street with increasingly heavier thuds. Several people screamed, frantically getting out of the way of the giant in the crowd.
Noticing the disruption, Molly looked around her. Christopher was momentarily distracted, but as he glanced about he kept a painfully firm grip on Molly’s wrist.
Tom sensed Molly’s discomfort and roared in anger, releasing a sound Molly had never heard from him before. His demonic howl drove the rest of the crowd into their homes and shops. The shoppers dispersed, dropping their goods in order to flee. Molly trembled, her eyes watering. Breaking into a lightning sprint, Tom’s transformed legs propelled him toward Christopher, who gaped at him in horror and pulled a pistol from within his coat. Molly shoved Christopher’s arm as he pulled the trigger. Roughly, he flung her away, swearing. Tom received the bullet as a mere brush on the cheek. He charged, growling and winding back one arm to bash Christopher sideways off his feet.
Getting up quickly, Molly backed away to safety. Tom moved behind Molly, looming over her and maintaining a wide stance in order to surround her with his protective presence. He watched Christopher struggle to stand and dared him to touch Molly again. From the ground, Christopher sneered at Molly and the beast. Molly moved closer toward the monster, making Christopher furious. Hatred marked his expression as he stood and fled. Tom’s dark eyes asked Molly to make the next decision. Would the stranger be allowed to escape? He hunched down, awaiting any indication and kept Molly shielded.
Molly spoke hoarsley. “Let him go. He’s not coming back.”
Tom obeyed, but his attentiveness did not wane.
“I’m fine, Thomas,” Molly stammered, touching the beast’s arms, her hands disappearing in the thick, dark golden fur.
Tom’s breathing hushed. The yellow eyes became bluer. While the wolfish traits receded, Tom’s eyes blinked sleepily. After walking back home with Molly, Thomas slept, knowing Christopher would be back when the daylight was gone, and with the disappearance of the sun, Tom knew he’d have a deadlier fight on his hands. He did not alarm Molly, but when she refused his advice to go to her father’s shop for the night, he asked her
simply not to leave the house.
With the setting of the sun, Molly prepared herself to sleep, but slumber would not come. Her mind was on Thomas, Christopher and her old life in Barbados. But she mostly thought of Thomas. Life wasn’t fair to him. Despite having witnessed the man kill and steal, she felt nothing but sympathy for him. He was not the bad person whom the bounties depicted. He was not an animal. He was a young man with nowhere to go but further and further away from himself—further and further away from normality, grace and peace. Becoming a wolf wasn’t the real curse, Molly thought to herself. Unable to sleep, she left her room, knowing she’d find Tom on the roof, where he’d been sitting for about an hour since waking from his long hours of sleep.
Tom did not speak when Molly appeared on the roof. His eyes looked out to sea as the sun sank lower and lower. In another hour or so, the light of the day would be gone, and darkness would come looking for him. When Molly sat next to him, he broke away from his thoughts and smiled for her.
Molly lay against Tom. He seemed so happy, and it showed in his eyes. It was something she was unable to see often.
In the short time elapsed sitting there with Molly, all Tom’s pain ceased, and life seemed to greatly simplify. The world and its vices were far away.
Molly lost herself in his features. She had never before seen such contentment and peace in his eyes. There was a new, serene beauty to them—a beauty she had longed so badly to see on the surface. Something within her chest began to flutter, and an electric chill rolled across her arms to the tips of her fingers. She wanted to become much more familiar with that sensation. She wanted it to last.
Tom’s eyes watched the sun intently. Against expectation, he had always felt a closer kinship to it than any other celestial object. Like the sun, he felt, he rose and fell each day—was born and died again like clockwork. But neither life nor death was permanent. Neither life nor death ever lasted, and that’s why his existence was everlasting—because he was always being born again, always dying. His curse and punishment were regular, inevitable and powerful, like the light of day. They were never waning or waxing; never new, full or halved like the light of the moon.
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