by J. Stone
He said nothing. His eyes focused on every detail they could take in.
“Now, now,” Petronila said in her slithering voice. “You know that Alviva, as the oldest and wisest of us all, gets the first pick.”
Mabilia turned around and snarled at the slender, hunched over beldam, but she said nothing in response. Alviva then brushed past Mabilia, jiggling her fat with each step until she reached Lockhart. Her bulging hand pressed against the vespari’s gut, and she twirled him around to face the other direction, twisting his arms over his head. In this dreamscape that the beldams had brought him to, the cave had been transformed.
Rather than composed of simple rock and shaped by the natural ways of the world, the backside of the cave had a prison carved into it. Inside each cell sat a creature that he’d killed at some point in his life. He could hardly see where the sides and top of these stacks of cages ended, the thing sprawled on for so long. Looking at it, Lockhart realized that this was a buffet for the beldams.
“Let’s see now,” Alviva began. “What have you killed recently? I want something fresh.”
The beldam looked at the various monsters on display, tapping her fat finger against his abdomen. The cages shifted and moved in this dreamscape, as if magically controlled by her wishes. The most recent beasts and creatures he’d killed showed up at the front. That meant the ghoul he’d killed out in Delamar.
“A ghoul?” Alviva turned toward Lockhart with a scowl on her hideous face. “Well, now, that simply won’t do for a big girl like me. What else?” She looked back at the rows of caged creatures, and her eyes lit up. “Ahh, yes. A vishler. That’s more like it. So much taste in such a small package.”
Alviva pushed her fat, greasy hand against Lockhart, causing him to wobble and flail on the hooks, spinning back in the other direction. The beldam, meanwhile, walked up to the cage and opened the door. The vishler, a terrifying beast in its own right, scurried to the back of the cage, terrified of the sorcerous old woman. If there was a pecking order in the monsters of the world, beldams were certainly near the top. A coven of them even more so.
Lurching forward, Alviva grabbed the bones of the vishler with her enormous hands. The bony creature whipped its bird beak fingers at her, but the bones did nothing to harm her. She ripped and pulled the bones away, searching for the heart. The vishler screeched and wailed with every bone pulled from its collection, but Alviva didn’t slow in her pursuit of the one edible piece of this creature’s strange body.
Eventually, after discarding more than a dozen of the bones, Alviva found what she was looking for. She wrenched the little skull of the lizard off its belt, separating it from the vines and weeds that tethered all the other bones together. The vishler’s manufactured body fell in a heap on the cage floor, as Alviva pulled the heart out of the skull and tossed it in her mouth.
Turning around, she chewed it loudly and with her mouth open for all to witness. The organ shredded against her teeth, and the blood dripped in excess down her chin. “Delicious,” she said, spitting some of the heart out with the word.
“I’m next,” Mabilia declared, moving forward.
“You will eat when I tell you to,” Alviva shot back, pointing her fat, crooked finger at the beldam. “Wait your turn, Mabilia.” She turned to the short, fearful beldam in the coven. “Estrild, what would you like?”
Mabilia grumbled and backed away, while Estrild stared at the vespari, shaking and only managing to move forward a little. He scowled at her, and she took that one step back again.
“He can’t hurt you, Estrild.” Alviva assured her. “Go ahead.”
Still the little beldam quivered on the spot, staring at Lockhart’s grizzled face.
“Now, now,” Alviva said to him. “Stop scaring poor little Estrild.”
She reared back and punched him in the gut so hard that he lost his breath for a moment, gasping and swinging on those hooks.
“See?” Alviva told her. “He’s harmless. Now come forward and choose something.”
The little beldam teetered forward and stopped well to the side of Lockhart, with Alviva between the two of them. She stared at the cages of monsters, tapping her fingers together into tents and then releasing them as part of a nervous habit.
“Nosferatu!” Estrild shouted suddenly, hands rising into the air.
Called vampires in general, nosferatu were but one type among the family of creatures. Their kind, smarter than some other vampires, tended to dwell in cities, hiding amongst their victims. Before he traveled out to the desert though, Lockhart killed more than his share of nosferatu when he came across a nest. Estrild would have no shortage of choice in her meal.
“An excellent decision,” Alviva said.
Lockhart twisted his head around to see the cages. Again, these shifted at their will until a single cell came forward occupied by a female nosferatu. Lockhart had once known the name she chose for herself in an attempt to hide among the humans, but he’d long since forgotten it. She cowered in the back of the cage, just as afraid of the beldam as the vishler had been. As terrified as Estrild seemed of Lockhart, she held no such reservation toward the nosferatu. She pranced forward, a gleeful smile stretched across her face.
The nosferatu looked like a normal enough human. She had curly blonde hair, pale skin, and wore a rich noble’s dress. As Estrild moved ever forward, however, she began to shift to her true appearance. Red replaced the white of her eyes, as they sank back further into her skull. Claws grew out from her fingers. Fangs from her mouth which ripped open at either side, tearing into her cheeks. Black veins pushed to the surface of her pale skin. Her ears sharpened to points. Her body stretched, arching upward, as she swiped her claws down at Estrild.
The beldam, just as Alviva before her, was not concerned with this display. She reached her arm out toward the nosferatu, and a shimmering, magical force extended beyond her grasp. This magic gripped the nosferatu and dragged her to the ground. She dropped to her knees first, and then her head slammed hard into the floor of the cage. With an unnatural strength and speed, Estrild proceeded to rip pieces out of the screaming nosferatu, shoveling them into her mouth. She splattered blood, tossed chunks of organs, and cracked bones between her teeth in a disgusting display.
Once the screaming finally stopped, Estrild stood upright, grabbed the nosferatu by her hand, and pulled her back toward the other beldams. She looked not unlike a child dragging a stuffed animal, except this one left a trail of blood in her wake.
“Next,” she said with a little giggle. Estrild then plopped the body down and continued devouring her piece by piece.
“Petronila,” Alviva said, glaring at Mabilia.
“No, no,” the slender beldam replied. “I can wait. Mabilia should go first. After all, the vespari did maim her.”
Mabilia scowled at her.
“Well, hurry up then, Mabilia,” Alviva told her, tapping her foot on the cave floor so hard that it produced tiny echoes.
The large beldam stepped forward and grabbed Lockhart’s arm, her big fingers easily wrapping fully around his limb. She squeezed and glared at him.
“I want a lycanthrope!” Mabilia declared.
“Fine,” Alviva said, exasperated and stepping out of the way. “Have your lycan.”
Once more, the cages before Lockhart shifted and moved to adjust to the whims of these beldams. And just as with the nosferatu, the vespari had killed more than a few lycans in his time. Unlike the blood suckers, the shape shifters had spread out into the desert. Their curse tended to leave lycans more human than the nosferatu. Only when they transformed did they hunger for flesh. In their human state, they were no different than anyone else. Given this, many lycans had fled westward to escape the confined spaces of the cities and execution by the vespari. Regardless, their curse was immutable, and they had to die just the same as any other monster.
The one that the cages produced happened to be Lockhart’s first ever. Like the nosferatu, he’d killed it long before
he traveled westward from his home and into the wastes. This one had killed a string of young girls and did so remorselessly. He claimed to enjoy the act, never repenting from these foul deeds. The vile man embraced the curse, and Lockhart was all too happy to have eliminated the beast.
Unlike the vishler and nosferatu before it, the lycan showed no fear of Mabilia, as his cage moved closer to her. His hair raised on end and he hunched forward, growling, fangs exposed and with beads of saliva dripping down from his mouth. He ran his claws along the bars of his cage, and dragged one foot backward across the floor in an attempt to get leverage.
Mabilia didn’t care. She proceeded to open the cage, and the lycan charged her. The beldam raised her one remaining hand and grabbed the monster by its neck. With a simple jerking motion, she snapped the bones, and its body went limp in her hand. Mabilia then flopped it to the ground, putting one foot on its body while still holding its neck. Pulling away, she ripped open the lycan’s body with a terrible snapping sound. With blood spurting out and muscle exposed, Mabilia dropped the body to the ground and bent over, shoving her whole face into the gory chunk of meat.
Alviva looked away from this scene and toward the last beldam. “Petronila,” she said. “I believe it is your turn.”
The tall, lanky beldam stepped forward. “I think I’ll have Gunnilda,” Petronila said.
Both Mabilia and Estrild stopped feasting on their respective monsters and Alviva made an aghast expression at this pronouncement. Even Lockhart couldn’t believe it. She actually wanted to consume the wraith that had once been a beldam in their coven. Though disgusted, none of the others moved to stop her or even said anything.
The cage with the wraith moved forward and dropped down before them. Lockhart watched as Petronila strolled forward and opened the cage. She then raised her hand and gestured with one finger for Gunnilda to come to her. The wraith looked confused, not scared, but given her horrible face, he couldn’t say for certain what she was experiencing in that moment. Regardless, hovering there in her semi-tangible form, the wraith floated forward.
As soon as she exited the cage, the beldam struck. Petronila stretched upward revealing her true height, well over Lockhart’s even suspended from those hooks. Her mouth dropped open like a snake dislocating its jaw, and she reached down, grabbing Gunnilda. The wraith tried to phase out of there, but Petronila managed to raise her to her mouth and bite off more than half of Gunnilda’s body. With no blood in her ghostly body, a transparent sludge slopped out instead. The clear ooze flowed from the lower half of the wraith and squeezed out of Petronila’s mouth with each bite she took.
The other beldams watched this act with some level of disgust, but Estrild and Mabilia soon returned to their meals. Petronila then stuffed the other half of the wraith down her throat and, after chewing, dropped down to her typical hunched over posture. The coven’s leader stepped toward the cages once more and pressed her hand to Lockhart. She spun him around idly on the hooks, twisting his hands over his head once more, and then turned back to face the other beldams.
“You know, girls,” Alviva said, looking down and tapping her fat gut. “I’m still a bit peckish.” She smiled and looked to the other beldams. “Who’s hungry for seconds?”
Chapter 2. What it Takes to be a Vespari
Wynonna felt gutted. Truly alone for the first time in her life, she didn’t know what to do with herself. All she’d thought about since discovering what happened to her family had been revenge, but the Gentleman had denied her of that. The vespari, Corrigan Lockhart, had even refused to help her - to train her to do it herself. She felt sick, and the disgusting, sweat and blood covered clothes weren’t helping matters. She needed to get clean. She deluded herself into thinking it would make her feel better inside too, but she knew that wouldn’t happen even if she wasn’t willing to admit it.
Having been to Delamar before, she knew they had a bath installed there in the inn, so she left the hallway where she’d been standing frozen ever since being abandoned by Lockhart. After preparing the bath and removing her dirty garments, Wynonna dipped herself into the warm water. She didn’t scrub or try to clean herself. She just sat there in the water, letting it envelop her. Her head sunk lower and lower in the tub until it was entirely under water.
Wynonna stared up at the ceiling, holding her breath. Her face remained still and emotionless. She stayed under until she couldn’t stand it any longer. With a jerk, Wynonna rose up and gasped for air. Continuing to stare into the distance, her mind drifted away, and her body operated of its own volition. She grabbed a bar of soap left beside the tub, and she started cleaning herself, especially the wound that Lockhart had stitched up.
Before she even realized it, Wynonna was finished and getting out of the tub, starting to dry herself off with a towel. She snapped back to reality, as she stared at the bench where she’d left her clothes. She needed to get dressed, but her sweat, blood, and the black substance the revenant had infected her with covered those particular garments. They reminded her of her failure. They reminded her of her family, taken by that dark creature. She needed something else. Anything else.
Wynonna wrapped the towel around her and set out to find something clean to wear within the inn. After all, the residents of Delamar wouldn’t need them now, not after what the revenant had done there. Searching around, she found that the patrons staying in the hotel had left no shortage of various garments behind. Unfortunately, Wynonna wasn’t certain why she was still going on. She’d failed to kill the revenant, the so-called Gentleman that had taken her family from her, and she‘d even failed to get the vespari to help her get her revenge.
She sat there in one of the hotel rooms, staring at an open suitcase of clothes. Her long black hair dripped drops of water to the floor, and the towel slipped further down her body with every passing second. Since she found the scene at her family’s ranch, anger and a desire for revenge were all Wynonna had known. Now though, with that desire left unsatisfied and out of reach, she didn’t know how to go on.
The anger had been a comfort, and now that it had begun to fade, an emptiness sought to consume and overwhelm her. The anger had been her armor, her protection against the pain of what happened to her. Unwilling to let it go, Wynonna resolved herself to finding vengeance for the family she lost, even if Lockhart refused to help her.
With this in mind, Wynonna dropped the towel to the floor and picked out a new set of clothes. Finding most of what she needed in the one suitcase, she slipped on a tan buttoned up shirt along with a fresh pair of light blue jeans. Her old boots would do, so she found them beside the bed she’d recovered on and slid them over her feet. Knowing she needed to hurry after the revenant, she started to leave the hotel to begin the search. On her way out though, Wynonna spotted an old, tattered poncho with a pattern of orange and black diamonds hanging on a hook. She grabbed the garment and threw it over her head, as she headed back to her horse. She found the animal right where she’d tied it up and in good condition. Lockhart must’ve taken care of it while she was out, she realized.
The vespari had left her things there as well. She found her rifle tucked into the saddle along with a canteen and the bag of supplies she’d brought from the ranch. Nearly ready to be on her way, Wynonna untied her horse and walked it to the town’s well. There, she filled her canteen up, took a big swig, and filled it up again. When she had everything she needed, she mounted her horse and started north at a slow trot.
Taking the road out of Delamar, Wynonna followed the tracks the vespari had taken. Interspersed, she found strange boot prints. They were the same ones she’d followed from her family ranch. They belonged to the Gentlemen, of that she had no doubt. The tracks of what Lockhart had called ghouls accompanied him, but there weren’t as many this time. Apparently, she and the vespari had thinned his herd at least a little. It didn’t help to sate the emotions swirling inside her.
When her horse reached the edge of town, Wynonna flapped the reins, increasing
their speed. With each bump in the horse’s steps, the pain in her shoulder grew. The wound hadn’t healed yet. She wasn’t a vespari, after all. She’d heard of what they could do, what they were capable of, and she wanted it for herself. Wynonna didn’t know how to kill the revenant, but Lockhart did. She’d put a shot straight in the Gentleman’s chest, but he’d stood right back up. Lockhart could teach her how to survive the encounter, how to put the thing down, and how to avenge her family. She just had to convince him that she was capable.
Her mind considered the possibilities of how to do that. Lockhart seemed hard and tough. He hadn’t seemed interested in her or her need for revenge. He seemed cold. But then, that didn’t quite mesh with what he’d done, she thought. The vespari saved her life. If he hadn’t been there to push her out of the way of both of those diseased bullets, she would’ve died then and there. One would have lodged in her chest rather than her shoulder. Not only that, he took the bullet out of her. He had to care about her, and Wynonna meant to use that somehow. There was just the matter of finding him and doing that.
Raising her head from the tracks to look into the distance, she discovered that her task might not be as difficult as she’d expected. Despite the failing light of day, she saw that a figure sat on the horizon. A horse, by the looks of it. Had she already caught up with the vespari? Why would he have stopped so soon? Wynonna didn’t have the answers to those questions, but the closer she got, the more convinced she was that it was him. Back in Delamar, she hadn’t seen his horse. She now realized that it was one of her family’s. He must’ve visited the ranch and followed the same tracks that she did.
This close, Wynonna also discovered that a body lay on the ground near the horse. She slowed her steed’s pace a bit at seeing this. Something was clearly wrong. He hadn’t stopped to rest; he’d fallen from the horse. She looked around. The sun dipped below the horizon, and her eyes struggled to make anything out, but Wynonna didn’t see any sign of any creatures, monsters or otherwise.