Dhampir

by Barb Hendee

  He lay asleep on the floor next to her. She touched his shoulder.

  “Rashed, wake up.”

  His transparent eyes opened. Just a brief flicker of confusion passed across his perfect features, so quickly she almost didn’t notice, and then he, too, sat up, looking like a competent commander again. She’d done well to choose him as the champion of her small family. But he could be so strong-willed. How ironic that such a trait was his only true weakness. Now she faced the difficult task of manipulating him into flight again. It hadn’t been easy the first time.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “I could use a needle and thread.” She smiled at him.

  He never smiled back, but she knew pleasantries on her part always put him at ease. And somehow she gained strange comfort from comforting him.

  She examined their surroundings, feeling more aware than she had last night. Apparently, Rashed had come across this abandoned ship one night while exploring. The crew must not have been able to free it, because they simply left it behind, and now trees, shrubs, and moss almost hid its existence entirely. The boards of the deck were old but intact, and no light peeked through to burn them. It was as safe a place as she possibly could have expected.

  Rashed walked over and shook Ratboy. “Wake up. We have to go.”

  Of the three of them, Ratboy still seemed the weakest and least healed. Though most of the dog’s bites were closed, a mix of fire and garlic water had taken their toll. He would need to feed again soon.

  “Where are we going?” Teesha asked Rashed.

  “Back to the warehouse.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because we have nothing, and we don’t know if it burned down completely,” he said. “What if the dockworkers put the fire out? Not one of us could blend into a crowd safely like this. We need clothes and weapons. Everything was in the warehouse.”

  She shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. There may be guards investigating. We should just leave tonight. I know it’s risky, but we can feed while traveling and steal what we need along the way. After passing through a few households, we should be adequately, if not well, set up.”

  Ratboy struggled to his feet. “I agree.”

  “Guards are nothing to us,” Rashed said.

  “If we disappear, the town will think us dead,” Teesha insisted. “The hunter will leave us alone.”

  For the first time in her memory, Rashed snapped at her in anger. “She’ll only stop hunting us if she’s lying in a grave!”

  Even Ratboy seemed stunned by this outburst and shifted uncomfortably. Rashed pushed open the hatch door.

  “Come. We’ve got to see what happened to the warehouse.”

  Teesha wasn’t angry. She could never feel anger toward Rashed, but his manner unsettled her. She wanted him out of this town and away from the hunter. She never wanted that hunter’s blade near him again.

  The three of them should just quietly leave. That was the logical course of action. But he was in charge, and she had certainly helped to place him in that position.

  With little choice, she and Ratboy followed him outside.

  While feeling any sort of sympathy for Rashed seemed impossible to Ratboy, as they all stood staring at the burned remains of what had once been home, he dimly realized that he felt only a small portion of anger and loss compared to the tall warrior who looked on without expression.

  There was nothing left. The three of them were now hidden from sight by a huge half-charred crate, but the warehouse structure itself had burned from the inside out, allowing heavy support beams to collapse inward. The tunnels below were probably nonexistent now. Had Rashed not planned that secret tunnel to the beach, they would all be lying crushed under a pile of dirt and beams. Or burned to ash as well.

  And therein rested Ratboy’s dilemma.

  Everything inside Ratboy screamed that Teesha was right. They should leave Miiska tonight and take their chances on the road, killing and resupplying along the way. However, as much as he loathed Rashed’s arrogant manner, the self-proclaimed leader of their group was always one step ahead when it came to survival.

  The question here was one of motivation. Rashed claimed that lasting safety could only be achieved by destroying the hunter. If this were true, then Ratboy would stay and fight. But tonight, Rashed appeared less rational than usual. In fact, he seemed to be functioning from a standpoint of pure revenge. Vengeance was a luxury. Ratboy had no interest in luxuries.

  And what exactly was driving Teesha toward flight? Was it a sensible desire for survival or some perverse wish to keep Rashed from further combat with that hunter? He sometimes believed that he understood her a great deal more than Rashed did. Their leader viewed Teesha as a lovely creature to be protected, as the fragile heart of this little family. Ratboy knew she possessed the ability to care, even to love, but she had always been ruled by her own drives and desires, and she knew how to work Rashed like her own personal, life-size toy soldier.

  But lately her actions were difficult to gauge. He suspected her feelings for Rashed were beginning to outweigh her own survival instincts.

  And for all his resentment of Rashed, Ratboy did acknowledge his uses. And Ratboy certainly knew he didn’t want to be alone. But problem solving wasn’t one of his strengths. He wanted to follow the course of action that would stop this hunter’s vendetta and allow them to continue existing. But which course was that? Flight or fight?

  Cool air blew in from the sea, causing piles of dust from the blackened wreckage to rise and drift away.

  “Oh, Rashed,” Teesha said in genuine regret while examining the remnants of their home, “I’m so sorry.”

  She walked over and gently touched his shoulder in comfort. He did not move or acknowledge her.

  “Well, we aren’t going to find anything of value here,” Ratboy said sensibly. “Do we feed, run, or start tracking the hunters? I say we should all agree on our next move before doing anything.”

  Teesha smiled at him gratefully. Her concern for Rashed’s state of mind was becoming obvious. Actually, Ratboy was growing worried as well.

  “You’re both fools if you look to him for decisions,” a hollow voice said.

  Edwan appeared near Teesha in his usual horrific state. Although Ratboy wasn’t exactly unnerved by the ghost’s macabre appearance, he’d never learned to regard Edwan as anything but an erratically useful aberration.

  This was a night of new expressions. Teesha almost frowned.

  “My dear,” she said to Edwan. “We are in a rather bad way tonight. I wish you would attempt to be helpful.”

  “That hunter is not a charlatan,” he answered angrily, his long, yellow hair moving as his severed head jerked toward his wife. “She’s a dhampir, born to hunt and kill your kind. You will not defeat her. If you stay here, you will all die a true death and join me.”

  Rashed finally turned away from the burned warehouse. “How do you know this?” he asked of the ghost. “Every time we talk, you have more tragic or critical news to share.”

  “There is a stranger living at The Velvet Rose. He knows many things. I heard him tell her.” Edwan’s words faltered slightly, and Ratboy knew communication on a physical level was becoming more difficult for the ghost with each passing season. “He’s strong—not like the others. Something about him . . .”

  “So how badly injured is the hunter?” Rashed asked bluntly.

  “Not at all,” Edwan answered. “The half-elf fed her his blood, and she healed like one of you.”

  Rashed shook his head almost sadly.

  “Long years in this physical realm are affecting you. Dhampirs only exist in stories. Offspring of a mortal and vampire? Our kind cannot procreate. You know that.”

  Ratboy wasn’t so certain. “Corische used to talk to me sometimes when he fell into black moods, and his favorite subject was always our strengths and weaknesses and abilities. He told me once that it takes our bodies a bit of time to completely alter. I
don’t know why. But he said that in the first days after being turned, it was still possible for an undead to conceive or create a child.”

  “This is pointless.” Rashed waved him away like an annoying insect. “If she is something beyond human, then the need to kill her is increased not reduced.”

  “Well then, my lord,” Ratboy drawled, “perhaps we ought to try a different tactic. The two of us would have killed her last night were it not for the half-elf, the blacksmith, and that damned dog. No one else in this town will help her. If we rob her of any present assistance, she will be alone.”

  Teesha nodded, her face intense. Ratboy could just glimpse her smooth, white stomach through the rip in her red gown.

  “Yes, Rashed,” she said. “If we kill her friends first and then destroy her, will you take us away from here? We can rebuild someplace else?”

  His voice softened, and he stepped over to stand behind her petite form. “Of course. We can’t stay in Miiska.”

  “One on one is the only way,” Ratboy put in. “Less chance of being seen.”

  “All right then,” Teesha said, almost happily. “I will take the blacksmith . . . no, Edwan, don’t be concerned. He lives in solitude. I will sing him to sweet sleep before he even knows what’s happening.”

  “I’ll take the half-elf,” Ratboy said in resignation. “I can use the dog to lure him off by himself. Although to deal with the dog, I may have to use something vile and mortal like a crossbow.” He smiled. “Or maybe an ax.”

  “You’re both certain?” Rashed asked. “I know they’re just mortals, but don’t try anything unless you can each draw the blacksmith and half-elf off by themselves.”

  “Don’t be so protective,” Teesha answered. “I know how to control a mortal.”

  That much was true, Ratboy mused. She knew how to control immortals as well.

  Rashed wanted the hunter’s blood tonight, but Ratboy could tell this new plan made sense.

  “Decided then,” the tall undead said, more to himself than anyone. “Her friends die now, and we’ll track her down tomorrow. Then we’ll be free to go.”

  Edwan watched this entire exchange in silence, but his form was exuding a cold that even bothered Ratboy—who never felt the cold.

  “And what will you be doing while the two of them are out murdering this hunter’s followers?” the ghost asked Rashed.

  Rashed stepped back in calm determination. The sea wind blew against his torn tunic. “There’s only one hole in the belly of that ship. Otherwise, it’s intact. I’m going to try to repair it and push it off the ground.”

  At first, Magiere found the thought of serving customers at The Sea Lion that night to be absurd. She could not believe Leesil had made a public announcement that they would be open for business.

  Caleb quickly put together a simple mutton soup, and Leesil bought bread from Karlin’s bakeshop. They tried to lay the convalescing Chap on Leesil’s bed and close the bedroom door, but he whined and pawed at the door so much that Magiere relented and brought him back downstairs. All his wounds were nearly healed, but he still moved slowly and carefully. As long as he lay quietly by the fire and pretended to keep watch, he could stay in the common room with everyone else.

  Once people began arriving to drink ale and talk, her spirits lifted slightly. Leesil’s instincts were correct yet again. The inn was transformed into a place of life, food, and chatter. She’d spent too much time with death lately.

  Her clientele was slightly altered. Fewer dockworkers came, but more shopkeepers and market-dwellers walked through the door and shouted greetings. Of course, she could always count on a variety of sailors. Several fishermen’s wives made a fuss over Leesil’s face, and he in turn soaked up the attention like a dry sea sponge.

  Magiere poured tankards of ale and goblets of wine, the new glass goblets purchased as a gift by some of the local folk. Leesil helped Caleb serve soup until the supper crowd was sated, and then he started up a loud faro game. Too loud for her tastes, perhaps, but half the room alternated in and out of players’ positions, the other half shouting or cursing at the luck of the cards.

  Something in the air felt almost like a harvest celebration. Although Magiere could not take part, an expected—but not entirely unwanted—feeling of satisfaction began pushing away the guilt and horror she’d experienced earlier when Geoffry and Aria tried to pay her. Miiska was her home now. Intentionally or not, she and Leesil had actually done something to protect it.

  This thought forced her gaze from the ale cask to the only person in the room not celebrating: Brenden.

  He’d stayed all day on the pretense of helping get the tavern set up, but she had a feeling he simply didn’t want to go home. Now he sat alone, drinking, occasionally smiling and nodding when someone else spoke to him. But the moment he was left in solitude again, she saw a deep sadness settle back over him. He was clean now, wearing a long-sleeved white shirt and brown breeches. Without his blacksmith’s leather, he looked more vulnerable somehow. Magiere wanted to comfort him, but she didn’t know how.

  She herself was wearing the tight-laced, dark blue dress Aunt Bieja had given her so many years ago. As Leesil had pointed out that morning, her usual clothes were ruined beyond repair. She ordered a new set from Baltzar, a local tailor, but for now, the dress would have to do. Besides, the sight of it made Leesil smile. She owed him that much at least, and tried to return his pleased glances. Still, when she looked at him, the half-memory of his pale skin and bleeding arm would rush back to her.

  The door opened again. Karlin the baker, Geoffry, and Aria all swept in with a chorus of “hellos”and laughter. Both young people went to watch the faro table, and Karlin practically danced over to the bar.

  “You look lovely,” he said, smiling.

  “So do you,” she joked.

  “Pour me an enormous tankard of ale. I rarely drink, but tonight is different.”

  “And why is that?” she asked, wondering if she wanted to broach the subject at all.

  “You know good and well. Our town is safe. The streets are safe. Our children are safe. I think I’ll drink till dawn.”

  Much as Magiere’s thoughts still wandered to dark places, the jolly baker’s mood was infectious.

  “I’m going to need a steady supply of bread if you can manage,” she said. “At least for a while.”

  He nodded, his plump face glowing.

  “I have a better idea. Aria’s father is the local cobbler. He does a good business, but there are five children in the family, and they can only assist him so much. The girl’s a fine cook. I thought you might want to employ her now that . . . well, now that Beth-rae is gone.”

  Magiere realized that one of the things she liked about Karlin was his ability to discuss the truth without ever seeming crude or unfeeling.

  “Is she interested?”

  “Yes, we spoke of such an arrangement on the way over.” Magiere nodded. “I’ll speak with her later.” She paused and tried to seem lighthearted. “Why don’t you go visit with Brenden? I see he’s sitting alone.”

  Karlin picked up his tankard. “I’ll just do that.”

  And so the night went on.

  The townsfolk of Miiska stayed late. Magiere had not spoken to Caleb of any matters beyond business. She felt shame that Beth-rae’s body had been taken from the kitchen and buried at some point during the past two days, but she didn’t know where or when. She would have to ask later, when a proper moment allowed. She would take Leesil, and they would pay their final respects. He needed to do this as much or more than she did. And she would see to it that flowers were placed regularly at the grave.

  Little Rose was sitting by Chap near the fire. She appeared wide awake, wearing her usual muslin dress. Her long, blond curls hung in an uncombed mess. Magiere didn’t have the heart to send her up to bed.

  Sometime, past the heart of the night, when only a few patrons remained, Leesil stood up and announced it was time to close. His actions surprise
d her slightly, but she agreed and helped him to good-naturedly usher the last celebrators out—all except Brenden.

  “What a night,” the half-elf exclaimed as he closed the door. “I’m ready to drop.”

  The huge common room felt empty and too quiet now. Magiere heard the fire crackling, and she turned to see Rose lying asleep on the braid rug beside Chap, the dog with his nose pushed warmly into the back of the child’s neck. She almost went to wake her, then thought better of it. Let the child rest there. Leesil could carry her upstairs later.

  Brenden got to his feet. “Well, I should be going, too. You all need your sleep.”

  “I’ll walk you home,” Leesil said. “Just let me put the cards away. You should see the profits, Magiere. Everyone was in such a good mood that I fleeced them a little.”

  “I thought you were tired,” Brenden said. “You don’t need to walk with me.”

  “The air will do me good. It’s a bit stuffy in here.”

  Magiere knew Leesil too well to believe he wanted some night air. He must have been watching Brenden’s mood as well.

  “You both go on,” she said. “We’ll clean up in the morning.”

  Brenden looked at her helplessly, as if he wanted to say something, but then he turned and stepped out the door.

  As Leesil followed the blacksmith, he paused at the door. “I won’t be long,” he said.

  Magiere merely nodded, and closed the door. Then she was alone with Caleb.

  She found the old man in the kitchen, quietly washing the stew pot.

  “Just leave that,” she said. “Should I carry Rose up for you?”

  “No, Miss,” he responded. His expression was always so calm and composed. “I can bring her. You should get some rest.”

  “Are you all right?” she asked, with an unusual desire for a real answer.

  “I will be,” he said. “You know most of the townsfolk are grateful, don’t you? No matter what the cost.”