Butcher, Baker, Vampire Slayer: A Retelling of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night

by Juliann Whicker

  I looked up at the rain, and stood there for some time. How could I save Sebastian and Olivia, and everyone else in my care?

  “Thinking deep thoughts?”

  I heard Armand’s low growl. I shook my head and rubbed the water out of my eyes. Standing blind in the rain was a good way to get killed. Not that many creatures enjoyed the rain. It was too cleansing, would wash away the skin of most zombies.

  “Thinking isn’t the responsibility of The Butcher.” My words sounded tired.

  “It’s good about Miriam. The vampire,” he added like I cared what her name was. “She’s been sitting there in that mansion for over eight months. She’d become more and more confident. The mostly good vampires of Bordertown had been considering whether to go to war with her, or join her. You made their choice much simpler.”

  “That’s my job. Making things simple. Sometimes it doesn’t feel simple.”

  “Feel?” He barked out a short laugh that made my skin prickle. He was still a werewolf, even if he was a respectable member of Bordertown and followed the rules. Most of the time.

  “Yes. Sometimes I have the odd feeling before it passes away like the mist or the rain. I don’t want Olivia. I don’t want to be a Butcher because I’m good at it.”

  He made a noncommittal sound. “I don’t advise you become a werewolf. For the record.”

  I snorted. “No, Armand. There are actually other alternatives to life than becoming a werewolf or remaining a Butcher. There’s a whole world out there. Not every city is as infested as ours. Not every place needs Butchers.”

  “You’re thinking of running away? How bizarre. I don’t think you could. If there was one thing you would fail at, I think running away would be the thing. What’s going on?”

  The pounding of the rain on the rooftops and pavement was maddeningly insistent, like his question. I turned and walked. He fell in beside me, apparently thinking that we were having some kind of conversation.

  “It’s vanilla jasmine, isn’t it?” He glanced at me with a gleaming smile.

  I swallowed. “I like vanilla.”

  “Boring, but with the jasmine, that slight hint of the exotic, strange, unknown, it’s irresistible.”

  I turned and grabbed his coat, lifting him up to glare at him. When did I get taller than him? “What do you know about her?”

  He blinked his golden eyes at me while his nostrils flared, a threat, but I didn’t care. “I know that she’s dangerous to you. Dangerous to herself as well. I know that isn’t going to stop you. Reason has its limits and your heart has already been compromised. Let’s hope she doesn’t become a vampire, because you’re already in thrall.”

  I pushed him away from me. “You overestimate her effect on me.”

  “Do I? You had to be rescued by a renegade. Maybe that’s part of your plan, to show your weakness so they’ll feel sorry for you and rejoin your cause.”

  I shook my head, walking faster. I didn’t need him to needle me, not when I still felt so angry about the girl, about how helpless I was to actually save anyone. I killed. That was my job, not saving. I had to refocus. Stop eating her bread. Stop feeding her my energy. But I wasn’t sure if I could. Maybe Armand was right.

  Chapter 16

  The Baker

  The next week went by with strangely few incidents with Orion. Francis came once to inform me that Orion had asked me to come and play his brother’s violin. I’d gone with him, eager to see him, wondering if I’d still be angry at him, but wanting to see him anyway. Orion nodded at me then refocused on his papers, as though they were far more interesting than me. Anger sizzled inside of me. I played the violin, feeling the anger crowd my fingers, flying into every note until I dropped the violin from position, and put it carefully away. As I stalked past him, scowling my most Sebastian scowl with ease, he grabbed my hand, bringing me up short.

  “Thank you, Tancetta.” That was all he said. He gave me a slight smile that made my heart pound while a shiver coursed over my skin. That touch was the only thing he gave me for the rest of the week.

  He was busy. Of course he was busy, but I missed him. It wasn’t his fault. I knew where his room was. I knew where he spent most afternoons going through paper after paper. I could have asked Francis any other time and he’d take me to him, but I couldn’t be so stupid about him. I had to focus on classes, on everything that wasn’t Orion.

  I couldn’t sleep a week after the bread incident and found myself in the kitchen. With pounding heart, I turned on the light, but no gorgeous guy was waiting for me. After an hour, I had a basket of baked goods and no one to feed. I wanted to throw it at Orion, volley after volley of raisin muffins until he called for truce. And gave me hot chocolate.

  The next day after school, I took my muffins in my backpack on the metro downtown feeling weird in Sebastian’s wig outside of school. A cute black-haired girl smiled at me. Totally freaked me out.

  I stumbled out of the train and hiked up the stairs to the street, my backpack loaded up. I took a few wrong turns, but finally I found the little shop just a few blocks south of the desolate North side. I pushed through the door, the bell jangling loudly.

  The Greek came in from the back and I set my backpack on the counter before I took off my wig and scratched my head. “Do you get a lot of customers?” I asked looking around the empty place.

  “Violetta,” he said, his broad face splitting into a pleased grin. “Didn’t recognize you at first. Did you need some help with your wig? Fall into any more ponds?”

  I sighed. “No, it’s fine, thanks. I just wondered, do you want some muffins? I think I made a hundred of them. Or two.” I shrugged and tried not to feel psychotic.

  He raised his eyebrows. “You brought me muffins? That you made?”

  “You have a baking compulsion?” a voice said from the back until a shadow materialized. It was slightly less creepy in the shop than in the dark. Slightly. His voice still bothered me. Something about it made my chest hurt.

  “Sorry. I didn’t know you had company,” I said, fiddling with the wig. “Hey, Armand. Yep. I still smell the same, so you don’t have to sniff me.”

  He smiled a dangerous smile that showed his sharp teeth. “And raisin cinnamon muffins.”

  I stared at him, perplexed. “You can smell muffins from the depths of my backpack? That’s impressive and only slightly disturbing. Not that I should talk because, yeah I bake compulsively. What’s your superpower?” I asked the Greek.

  “You need to ask?” he asked, picking up scissors and snipping the air.

  I grinned at him and jumped up to sit on the counter. “Right. You are seriously gifted at cutting hair. Do you guys hang out a lot?”

  “We’re lovers,” the Greek said, winking at Armand who only winced and shook his head.

  “As fun as that sounds, I fly solo.”

  “If you’re so solo, why are you here? Not that I want you to leave or anything,” I lied through my teeth.

  “I smelled the muffins,” he said, reaching into the backpack and pulling out three. He put one in his mouth, chewed, swallowed, then another, chewed, swallowed, then another. I watched in terrified fascination as he consumed half of the contents of the backpack.

  “Wow,” I finally said when he showed no signs of slowing down. “You must really like muffins.”

  “Almost as delicious as vanilla,” he said pausing in his consumption to rake over me with his eyes, like he couldn’t just strip away the boy’s clothes and see the girl, but could see what kind of girl I was.

  “Next time I’ll use more vanilla?” I asked as the Greek put an arm over my shoulders.

  “It’s getting dark, Violetta. Do you need a ride back?”

  I looked up at him. “You didn’t eat any muffins.”

  “I’m allergic to cinnamon.” He sighed. “Otherwise, I’d be eating them faster than Armand. I really appreciate the thought, though.”

  I nodded and felt a slight letdown. I felt a little bit like crying fo
r absolutely no reason. I wanted to feed Orion, who would give me chocolate, and hang out with me without talking. Or talking. That was good too. I was trying too hard with the Greek. Clearly he did not need some idiotic orphan girl baking him muffins. Did he think I liked him? I stared at him while I blushed.

  “I didn’t mean this like that,” I said sliding off the counter. “I mean, I wanted to be friends. Nothing else. Not that you aren’t great. It’s just…”

  Armand snorted. “He doesn’t think that you’re hitting on him. You wouldn’t have the first idea how to hit on someone.”

  I bristled. “That’s not true. I hit on people all the time.”

  He raised his dark eyebrows and smirked.

  “I mean, not all the time. But I have done it. Once or twice. Mostly badly. Okay. I have no idea how to hit on someone, but I wasn’t trying to hit on the Greek. That’s what I mean.”

  He grinned fully at me with all those white teeth. “We know. I can smell your intentions from the other side of town. You are desperate for friends who don’t think you’re a boy. You’re also desperate for a boy who isn’t one of us.”

  I scowled at him. “Are you always this sensitive?”

  He looked at the Greek, bewildered. “Am I being sensitive? I thought I was the one who said what everyone’s afraid to put into words, otherwise called insensitive.”

  I sighed and shook my head, putting the wig back on my head and retrieving my backpack from Armand’s grip. He snarled at me, but I only snarled back. He blinked at me in surprise as I slung my backpack over my shoulder.

  “I’d love to be your friend, Violet,” the Greek said, eying Armand with a scowl. “Armand is always obnoxious. He can’t help himself. He’d love to be your friend, too, if only to eat as many phenomenal baked goods as you let him get away with. Wouldn’t you, Armand?”

  Armand growled before he shrugged and looked slightly sheepish. “Yeah. I’d love to be friends with you. We could get matching heart necklaces and be all OMG, LOL together.”

  I blinked at him the tall, dangerous guy with long, mottled hair and golden eyes. “Right. Sounds like a plan for next time I bake too many muffins or whatever. I’d better go. I don’t need a ride, but thanks for the offer.”

  Armand lunged forward and grabbed another handful of muffins out of the backpack before I could move. After my heart left my throat from his sudden and terrifyingly fast movement, I opened the zipper and dumped the rest of them on the counter. “Go for it,” I said and slipped out the door, bell jangling.

  That had been weird, but I felt slightly less lonely. Armand was a freak. Total freak. But at least he liked my muffins. The Greek was nice. And had a freak for a friend. At least he had a friend. I had my wig.

  Chapter 17

  The Butcher

  Raisin muffins. She’d baked raisin muffins the only night that week while I was out. When I smelled the slight aroma of baked goods, I went to the kitchen, but I’d missed her. I paced the hall outside her door, trying to convince myself to give her the space she needed, the distance I required as a Butcher, but it took forty-five minutes before I was able to leave, heading back out into the night because I knew that I would never be able to sleep while thoughts of her muffins, her eyes haunted me.

  The next day, I waited for her to come, to bring me what I craved, but she seemed intent on her classes and didn’t even see me when she passed me in the hall. I tried to brush against her, but the current of bodies pulled us in separate directions.

  After the weekend, which I spent at Candlestick Manor listening to the old priest go on and on about the dangers of the void, the requirements of being a Butcher, words I had memorized and would have gone over mentally with him a year earlier, or even a month ago. Other Butchers were there, dozens, but they seemed so much older than I was, older and contemptuous of me, someone who had climbed the ranks too quickly, someone who lacked the maturity, the wisdom to be a truly excellent Butcher.

  I could sense their distrust of me, could sense their emotions. It was connection, something the CM had always had. I met his eyes above the crowd of black clothed Butchers where he sat beside the priest and felt a twinge of awareness from him. He was gauging my energy, seeing that it was off, unbalanced, teetering on the brink of chaos and ruin.

  I gritted my teeth as I forced my mind to put away the insidious scent of raisin muffins and followed the words in my mind, words like prayers, words that mesmerized and calmed, letting the Butcher take over, the voice of reason, logic, strategy and violence. I did what must be done to protect those who could not protect themselves. Those like Violetta. Before I left Candlestick Manor, I went to the kitchen, searching the shelves for raisin muffins. Out of the hundreds of different kinds of baked goods, I was certain I would find something so perfectly ordinary, but instead, blueberry, raspberry, razzleberry was all that he had.

  “Are you looking for something in particular?” Landry’s voice was soft with an English accent that rolled the r’s at the end.

  I looked up at him, tall, blonde, with pale green eyes that reminded me of Violetta so much that my entire body tensed up while my mouth watered and my skin prickled. It was a bit like waiting for wraiths to consume one.

  “My energy has been off lately. I need balance and cinnamon raisin muffins.”

  Landry narrowed his eyes as he studied me. “What have you been doing, Orion? I’ve known you a long time, and your energy has always been phenomenal. Have you been touching a Baker?”

  I studied him, trying to gauge what his reaction would be. Finally, I shrugged. “I think there is a boy at school who has that potential, but I’m not certain. I didn’t intend to become unbalanced, but there was need, and I am The Butcher.”

  He nodded like that made sense and didn’t disturb him too much. “You couldn’t send him to me?”

  I shrugged. “He’s tried to be a Butcher for years. He doesn’t wish to settle for Baker. I’m trying to convince him that it’s a noble profession as important or more so than that of Butcher, but I am not as persuasive as I would like to be.”

  Landry nodded again. “It isn’t conventional, but the amount of energy drawn out of you shows that the Baker has potential.” He turned to a cupboard beside the enormous sink and pulled out a dark glass vial that he tossed to me. “Two drops on the tongue after contact. Make certain the contact is strong but not too strong or often. I would say three times a week, five minute sessions tops, unless he’s been baking and then directly afterwards as well as the next day, up to ten minutes or until you begin to feel dizzy with euphoria. I’m impressed that you’ve been able to connect with someone, Orion. It’s a difficult thing, weighs heavily on your father.”

  I inhaled and tucked the vial into my pocket. Hearing Landry mention euphoria like that, casually made me feel better about my own reaction to Violetta. It wasn’t bad or wrong, but simply how I was repaid for my energy, as though baked goods weren’t enough. Of course, they weren’t enough if I didn’t get them. Another Butcher came into the kitchen, a distant cousin from the West coast. He started talking about the upcoming Awakening, and I tried to focus on him instead of pale green eyes so much like my father’s Baker.

  The following Monday, I tried to reach her, but she clung to her books and showed no sign to being open, willing to talk or connect with me. The conversation we’d had last, when she’d baked bread for vampires, she’d been angry at me, but I had thought the anger would cool. Maybe not. She was tired, drained from baking for me without receiving any energy. I needed to give her my energy. It was required of me to protect and guard Calder’s boys.

  I spoke with the school coach and arranged to teach a self-defense class the next day. It was too long, but I had enough on my plate with Butcher’s duties that the time managed to pass until her P.E. class when she came in with the stream of boys who were all fairly pathetic specimens of manhood.

  When she saw me and the blue mat, she jerked to a stop then eyed the entrance, like she might escape, but t
he coach barked at her.

  “Tancetta, get over here and take position. You don’t have something better to do, right?”

  She sighed and jogged over to us, her sweatshirt over the t-shirt camouflaging her body. She crouched on the mat, scowling at me and looking particularly dangerous. I smiled at her because I wanted her to be dangerous, lethal, capable of protecting herself from anything that might hurt her.

  She sprang towards me before the coach gave the signal, and I let her knock me down while I grabbed her wrists, skin on skin contact that made my skin buzz. She struggled while I rolled over on her then put her in a lock that she was able to escape, but not her wrists. She was once more on top of me, straddling my body and I had this moment when the rest of the world disappeared besides those pale eyes framed in soft, dark lashes. I forgot to fight, forgot to struggle, and then the coach was counting me out.

  She lifted her chin when she grinned at me, a smile a little bit wild. “Because I’m awesome,” she murmured before she rolled off of me and stalked to the end of the line behind all the other boys.

  I let them beat me up, mostly to show that Tancetta wasn’t special and favored by me, and also because I couldn’t seem to make my body care about anything besides touching her again. This wasn’t an actual threat, and they were all goofy puppies that needed affection. I played big brother to all of them and found myself laughing and connecting with quite a few of them.

  Some had streaks of surprising violence and determination that impressed me. After the last one, I glanced up and met Tancetta’s eyes. They weren’t angry anymore, instead, she had a half smile curved on her lips as I let a skinny kid with sharp elbows knock me down. She liked me being nice, vulnerable, weak.

  The skinny kid elbowed me in my cheekbone and I had to shake my head and let him get away with it.