He shook his head, growling.
“Tonight we’ll be sparse. We have to patrol the border. Most years weren’t as interesting as this year will be. Your wolves are going to be irritable. I’ll worry about this after we have the border under control.”
He snarled, irritable himself. “You aren’t focusing on the right thing, too distracted by Vanilla.” He pawed his head with his human hands, the effect entirely disturbing.
“Armand, you’ll have to work to keep your wolves in line, keep them focused on fighting North instead of running South. It’s going to be a long night. I’ll see you later.”
He shook his head back and forth like he had a flea in his ear then turned and slunk off. What had he been trying to say? I needed to see Violetta, make certain she was safe, secure for the night. Calder was safe. If it wasn’t, I didn’t know where I could take her. Not even Candlestick manor was guarded as securely as Calder, home to the Butcher’s Boys of the next generation.
I glanced at the sky, gauging daylight as I headed back indoors, the scent of Everlast reminding me of her.
Inside, I passed Francis and nodded to him, holding up two fingers.
He nodded back and went to pass the message. My Boys would be ready, waiting in the predestined gathering place, in Werewolf Bane Courtyard.
I paced through the corridors of Calder, searching the faces of the boys, the first years who we’d elected to join the Butcher’s Boys staring at me with wide eyes. This would be their first exposure to werewolves. It wouldn’t be their last. How many would we lose, from fear or from something a little more permanent?
I nodded at them soberly.
The atmosphere of the school was charged. Excitement of one kind or another filled the place. I hadn’t seen Violetta all day. How was she dealing with the overwhelming energy of Butchers who were burgeoning, coming into their own, most of them having completed their change, only waiting to face the darkness to begin the rapid progression from an ordinary boy to Butcher’s Boy.
I checked the guards, sober, retired Butchers who looked at me with flat, fearless eyes from their positions before I left.
I took my car. I might need to transport bodies quickly. I inhaled the cold, crisp air as it rushed through my hair, slapping my cheeks, my neck. I should probably have The Greek give me a haircut. Maybe I could go there with Violetta, as a date. The last time she’d left the school, I hadn’t been notified until it was too late to follow her. I’d gone to the shop and seen her inside, touching Armand’s face.
It wasn’t any of my business. He hadn’t hurt her, but he’d gotten too close to my Baker. My brother. He had no business touching a Baker, but her expression, I’d seen the sadness, known that they were talking about her parents. If he could give her peace, I couldn’t take that away from her.
Shaking away the unpleasant thoughts, I pulled up in an alley close to the Courtyard.
I turned off the engine, eyes closed, tasting the darkness for a moment before I opened the door, closed it behind me and felt the hunger grow inside. I entered a building, high, brick, abandoned except for the lock boxes Butchers kept along the edges of the space. I climbed the stairs to the roof, my footsteps echoing. On the roof, I put my foot on the cement ledge, looking down at the Butcher’s Boys gathering below me. I waited until it was time. The Butchers kept the Boys in their organized groups, all of them shuffling around, whispering low as they waited.
Across from me, from the shadows of a window, I thought I saw movement. Someone was interested in our display. We’d make it worth watching.
I stepped up on the ledge and pulled out my whip, wrapping it slowly around my wrist. Below me, in the courtyard, the masked Butchers stilled, feeling my call. I closed my eyes and with the moon shining on me, cracked my whip.
“Begin!”
I felt the crack in my bones as my masked Boys snapped their whips in one body. They stepped forward in their black coats, whips raised, up and down, side to side then diagonal slash across their bodies. Again, faster, the Butchers moved as one as they moved from the shadows towards the center of the courtyard, towards the seal burned through layers of asphalt and soil to rock below.
They stopped moving until I cracked my whip again. The Butchers stepped forward, leaving the first years behind moving into the second formation, a more complicated series of whip cracks and lashes, wrapping the leather laces around their forearms as they kicked and spun. After another pause, I cracked my whip and the Third and Fourth years stepped forward, knives in one hand, whips in the other. Their whip lashes and kicks blended with flips and spins, their knives flashing down, around, whips tangling with the darkness.
After they finished their display, they waited for me. I looked up at the moon, inhaling its light and hearing a faint sound from the alleys beyond the courtyard before I brought my whip out in one last crack.
The Fourth years walked forward, confident, their footsteps in unison, a loud, stomping that echoed against the walls on all sides, as they marched towards the seal. Olivia stalked forward, wearing her mask, her walk as lethal and dangerous as any other Butcher, the few other Butcher Girls in the city surrounding her as they moved towards the center. The fourth years dropped their coats, the guys taking off their shirts while the girls took off their outer shirts showing off tank tops that revealed the scars they bore from their Butcher duty.
In the moonlight, their scars flickered, blue, red, silver, gold, scars from werewolf teeth, vampire claws, scars that they all bore.
When they flicked their whips, slashed and spun with their knives, the motion was perfect, a blur of light from the glowing scars on their bodies. Even Toby, too plump and out of wind, kept up with the other Butchers. Mal moved with beautiful precision, but the finest specimen by far, was Olivia. She had bright scars on her arms that were invisible during the day but that left the impression of fire when she spun.
Finally, they stopped, breathless, waiting. I raised my whip and worked through the first series. I felt the whip stretch out, curl around my body, wrapping the space around me, ribbons of leather that snapped close enough to my flesh that I could feel the wind behind it. I stretched my arm, feeling the whip, a living thing in my hand that obeyed my every thought. I took out my knife, working through another series, kicks, spins, on the ledge two stories above my Boys. Time seemed strange as I danced in the moonlight, my coat kissing my boots, a whirl and swish that followed my movement until I jumped.
My coat flapped around me as I fell, flew, feeling the draw of the seal stronger than gravity. It caught me, drew me, pulling me over the heads of my Butchers. I landed, one knee down, hand resting on the seal before I stood, coat swirling around me from the power, the energy that rustled my hair. I knew that all of my exposed skin flickered with light from my scars. I didn’t need to take off my shirt. Did I have any untouched pieces of flesh?
I stood, donning my mask as I waited until howls echoed around us. The Boys began murmuring, flinching back from the first wolves that entered the square.
They had to face them, the experienced werewolves who had come to join us in pushing back the shadows. Armand hadn’t come himself in past years, not when he had to monitor the wolves less engaged with our cause. This year, I heard his growl, recognized it as well as I would his voice. What was he doing here? The wolves paced among the Butcher Boys who held their whips in white fists, holding as still as they could while the wolves sniffed the hems of their coats.
The wolves wove through the Butchers, towards me where I waited on the seal. They circled me then melted out of the courtyard, disappearing into shadows except Armand, his russet coat gleaming in the moonlight as he gazed at me with golden eyes.
What was he waiting for?
I nodded to the Butchers, the fourth years who gathered up their coats, organizing the Boys into their groups, following the wolves into the darkness.
Olivia nodded at me with something like respect before she turned, her hair sweeping around after her.
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br /> “Yes, she’s beautiful,” I muttered to Armand when he lifted his nose in her direction. “Almost as beautiful as me.”
He gave a bark, almost a laugh and cocked his head at me. He was enormous, the same mass as he was as a man, but with claws and fangs.
“Is that how you talk about a woman?” A shadow dropped from the window of the building. I smiled as a masked Sebastian walked towards me, his arms swinging loosely. “Do you need me to do that whole thing,” he said, moving his arms around his head in a very loose interpretation of Butcher forms.
“Do you have a whip?”
He nodded and pulled his coat open, showing a whip wrapped around his chest. “It’s not as useful in actual combat.”
“It holds back wraiths,” I said with a shrug. Armand nosed my leg. “And werewolves,” I added.
“This a pet of yours?” Sebastian asked, gaze narrowing on Armand.
“Armand, may I introduce Violetta’s brother, Sebastian. He’s almost as irritating as you are. You should get along very well. Sebastian, my brother and Alpha werewolf. If you try to fight him, he will eat you.”
Armand sniffed and turned, trotting towards the darkness, glancing back at me once to make sure I was coming.
“Your brother is a werewolf? Do you trust him?” Sebastian’s voice echoed my own question as we stole through the night.
“No, but I don’t trust anybody.” That wasn’t entirely true, but I barely let my thoughts rest on Violetta’s pale eyes and her low laugh before I refocused.
Fighting with Armand and Sebastian, while the older Butchers joined us felt strangely right. We held steady when the masses of zombies, spectres, and unspecified monsters pushed down, South, hungry for the light and life. Sebastian finally working with me, following my lead, having the capacity to keep up with me, with the Alpha wolf who guarded us, I enjoyed it as I enjoyed the hunger growing sharper, leaving me with a craving for Violetta.
The bells of the church tower struck midnight.
I left the older Butchers, my brother and Sebastian to return to the courtyard and wait for the count of freshly made Butcher’s Boys. Francis was the last to come, bringing with him a limping Boy, his leg wrapped in what looked like the remnants of a shirt. Francis’s chest shone bare in the moonlight as his coat flapped open.
I nodded towards the baskets of bread that lined the walls. All the Bakers in the area had done their part and the Boys were consuming the goods with relish, milling around, their voices low, tired, but filled with the thrill of their first expedition as a Butcher’s Boy.
Mal came towards me with a bent silver mug in his hand, the mug that had been in Butcher circles for longer than America had colonies.
“Congratulations on a successful Hallow’s Eve,” he said, handing me the mug filled with dark liquid.
I took it while the Boys watched, expectation on their faces. I raised it.
“To the Boys who are Butchers. May the darkness forever flee from the light.”
I drank to cheers, their howls and the crack of their whips, the liquid burning in my mouth, down my throat, filling me with a strange ache in my chest as I lowered the mug.
When I looked around, I couldn’t see Mal, but Francis was frowning at me, waiting for my signal.
I nodded at him and started walking towards the alley where I’d parked my car. I would take Francis and the Boy to the C.M. before I stopped by Calder, checked on Violetta, then returned to finish the night with the rest of the Butchers.
In my car, the injured boy stared at me with wide eyes, eyes that reminded me of Violetta, eyes filled with pain. I brought the engine to life and pulled out, tires squealing. I did not ever want to see Violetta hurt.
I drove quickly, through the evening traffic, thinning out, even during the holiday at that hour, until I pulled off the highway, speeding through the dark streets to the Manor away from the road. The gate opened as I approached and drove along the curved drive to the doors.
The C.M. waited at the doors of Candlestick manor. He smiled warmly at the boy, holding him between himself and Francis. The C.M. glanced at me, a frown in his eyes before he focused on the boy, the one who had been in choir, so nervous, but now had his first scar to show for his courage.
“You did well,” I said, catching the boy’s eyes. As I looked at him, he seemed to change from boy to something older, wiser.
Yes. He would survive and become a Butcher.
I felt a small satisfaction as I sped towards Calder. The night was full of darkness. It would push until dawn. The Butchers would be fine without me. They’d been trained to hold back the shadows for generations, but my place was with them. So, why was I rushing towards Calder?
Halfway there, my vision began to get blurry. I drove faster, speeding through red lights that looked like miniature burning suns in my eyes. I wiped my face, but my hand felt far away from my body, disconnected.
My stomach churned and I felt cold sweat pool on my skin beneath my clothes. I saw Calder rising up ahead of me, a solid stone monument that would never fall. I passed through the metal gates, grazing one side with my car with an ear aching sound. The rest of the driveway, I managed to veer from one side to the other until I parked. I was half on the grass and half in a flower bed when I got out, fumbling with the handle, my fingers unresponsive.
My body was shutting down. I knew the symptoms of poison, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that I find Violetta, protect her from this night with my life if she required it.
I stumbled through the open doors over the body of a fallen guard, his body barely distinct from the shadows to my steadily worsening sight. I moved as quickly as I was able, my hands outstretched as I walked mostly by feel through Calder, where someone had broken through when we were away, where the most precious treasure of my heart hid.
I fell against the solid wood of her door and rested my forehead against it, fighting back the desperation in my chest. She had to be there.
It took all my strength to knock.
I waited in silence, in darkness until I heard her voice. It was the sound of choirs and angels, a sound as sweet as her cream puffs.
“Who’s there?”
“Orion.”
After a few moments, the door opened and she looked out at me, her wig askew above two shirts that she must have just thrown on over a pair of short shorts that showed off her legs.
“What’s up?”
I smiled and fell sideways against the door frame.
Her eyebrows drew together as she leaned forward and rested her hand against my forehead. “Are you sick? You look terrible.”
“I had a misstep,” I slurred sliding down the doorway a little.
She caught me, wrapping her strong arms around me and pulling me upright. “Are you drunk, then? I’ll help you to your room.”
“Beautiful,” I said, closing my eyes. Even blurry, she was beautiful, but my head was throbbing, my throat closing up so that it was hard to breathe. I should be somewhere dark lying very still until everything went away. Except Violetta. She would stay with me, feeding on me until I was empty of every pain, every hurt, every sorrow.
“You’re all right,” I mumbled while she helped me down the hall, towards my room.
“Sure. School is fine.”
“Your sister never comes out to play, Violetta. Beautiful flower, Vanilla and Jasmine.”
She laughed breathlessly beneath the strain of my weight. “Hang on, we’re almost there.”
“Who wants to be there when they can be here?”
The rest of the trip through shadows, with her scent in my nostrils, her arms around me, and my weight on her, I felt better in spite of feeling worse.
Before we reached my room, everything turned black.
Chapter 32
The Baker
I spent the rest of the week in the normal flow, no more weirdness and everything according to schedule with Orion. He seemed more rushed, but he still took time to put his hand against my n
eck after I played a song, and thanked me in the hall the morning after I’d left a batch of scones by his door. It was hard to be Sebastian, but at the same time, it was enough, it was good, it was right if that meant that I could brush against Orion, see him across a room and know that he saw me.
When I saw him walking down the hall, a bounce in his step as he walked, I remembered the cemetery, the chocolate, the way I knew him more, his expression and a little bit of his soul instead of seeing him as a magic untouchable vision. I’d touched him, tasted him, and I had to let it go at that. I agreed with myself, but it didn’t stop me from wanting more.
Halloween wasn’t celebrated like Halloween at Calder, you know, all about candy and sexy taco but as All Hallow’s Eve, beginning a religious Countdown to the Days of Christmas. We all went to Mass. I wore the generic boy’s suit and tie trying to look masculine and debonair without staring at Orion. He looked good, from what I could see of him in his place close to the front in his trim black suit and tie. He looked serious and somehow passionate as he stared up at the crucifix instead of whatever I felt, still spinning out of control.
Afterwards, classes were cancelled for the day, so I got to stay in my room, outlining the next papers I had due and trying to ignore the shouts and howls outside my room. The school might not celebrate Halloween, but the boys intended all kinds of nonsense. I wasn’t interested. All I wanted was a diploma for my brother and somewhere to stay while I contemplated my future.
I went online and did a search for culinary schools. Would I be happy making food for other people for the rest of my life? Only a small percentage of cooks made good money. None of them like the amount my father’s business brought in. I hadn’t gone shopping for months. Could I live on a small income? How small? I ran some numbers checking out apartments in the city and came to the conclusion that it wouldn’t be very comfortable or glamorous, but certainly possible. In the Greek’s neighborhood there was a cheap apartment for rent that didn’t look too cockroach infested.
I shuddered when I thought about the wolf at The Greek’s and closed my laptop. I had a degree from the girls school. I’d graduated a year early with honors. I should get a scholarship to a University somewhere and get a well-rounded education like a normal person. A normal person orphan whose parents were eaten by a tiger.
Butcher, Baker, Vampire Slayer: A Retelling of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night Page 25