by Megan Derr
"I see," Ceadda said, snorting with brief amusement. "He started out your guardian and now wants to be something else entirely—I can see where that would give him a headache. Honor is overrated. Come, let us go find the sorcerer who has stolen your stubborn duke away."
Neirin stirred where he sat patiently listening and waiting. "How will you travel, sir? Shall we request another horse?"
Ceadda laughed. "Not necessary. I am a necromancer of no small skill. I shall fly."
Midnight's brows went up at that, but he did not question, simply transformed himself. He opted again for the cat; it had always been his favorite non-human shape to take. Mewling at Barra, rubbing against a lazily growling Troyes, he ran off.
From above him came a sharp cry, the flapping of wings, and he looked up to see the dark shape of a bat taking to the skies. Ceadda could transform into a bat? Simply incredible. He'd never known vampires could do such things, not any longer. They'd given up such magic for good a century or three ago.
Onward they traveled, pushing hard to return to the place they needed to be. They would find Devlin before it was too late. That the meeting with the vampires had gone so well surely boded well for the rest of the horrible adventure. So much good was coming from it, he would get Devlin as well.
He refused to believe anything else.
They were halfway home when he was struck by a presence he had not expected to feel—not here, not now, though the only thing that really surprised him was that the bastard had found them.
Nearby, Troyes and Barra growled as they felt the same presence: draugr. More draugr than he could easily count, and that was bad.
The draugr came from all directions at once, moving in a circle meant to trap and bind them. He should have sensed them sooner and wondered why he had not—then there was simply no more time for thinking.
Shifting forms, Midnight immediately lunged, tearing the head from one and throwing it at another, nails more like claws as he fought his mindless, hungry brothers. A burst of light and heat, accompanied by a deafening roar, indicated that Troyes was taking to the fight with a vengeance.
He briefly caught the flash of steel from Neirin's sword, saw Barra lung and sink his teeth into another, and the stench of magic said that Ceadda had his own ways of dealing with the problem.
Still, there were too many. Had he practically emptied an entire graveyard? Yet some had the tell-tale seaweed that spoke of sea draugr. Why were they being assaulted this way?
It was only when a draugr passed by him, as he dealt with another, that Midnight suddenly noticed something—the draugr were attacking everyone but him. Even those draugr he attacked were not putting up much of a fight against him.
Midnight snarled in rage and tore apart two more, rending them limb from limb, tearing the head off a third, throwing the body into two draugr threatening Neirin. A thought was all it took to summon a thick fog, and he absently heard Barra tell the others to withdraw. He could still feel Ceadda, but only absently, as he devoted all his attention and power to ridding the field of the draugr.
How long he fought, he did not know. Much of the work was done by Ceadda and Troyes, who had little to fear from the draugr. When at last there were no more to kill, he found a tree and collapsed against it, feeling dizzy and sore and tired. It was fortunate he'd had so much blood at Seth's home, for it had given him additional energy, but that energy was now depleted.
The fog he had summoned, and which the lesser draugr had not been able to drive back, slowly thinned out to a fine mist, and then at last to nothing.
Midnight dragged his eyes open as he felt, and smelled, Barra. He dredged up a tired smile. "Is everyone all right?"
"We're all fine," Barra said. "You look a bit the worse for wear. There was no need to do so much yourself, Midnight."
"Of course there was," Midnight said. "There were too many of them—you and Neirin could have taken injury from so many. We got them, and now we really need to get moving again."
"You're in no condition to go anywhere," Neirin said firmly. "I doubt you can even stand at the moment."
Troyes growled. "Not well."
Midnight made a face. "I assure you, I can still return to the village before daybreak." In truth, he was not at all certain of that. There was the horse, if he could get on it. He was tired. Blood would be nice.
Snorting softly, Barra knelt by him, brushing back loose strands of Midnight's hair. Midnight realized he had lost the ribbon binding it back somewhere in the chaos.
Barra pulled out a knife and made to reopen one of the pale, thin scars across his arm. This would hardly be the first time that Barra had fed him, though the need had never been quite so dire.
Neirin knelt opposite Barra suddenly, frowning. "You are going to feed him?" he asked slowly, looking between them. "I thought draugr needed the blood of humans."
"Well, usually he prefers Devlin," Barra said with a smile. "However, I do in a pinch."
"Indeed," Neirin replied, still frowning as he reached out and took the knife from Barra. "You do, whatever the case may be. However, I wonder if perhaps my blood might be more efficacious? I am completely human, after all, and a direct descendant of the Lord du Lac, greatest of the Pendragon's knights."
Midnight laughed. "Now, now, no bragging when Devlin isn't around to take offense." He looked at Neirin, truly surprised. "You have taken to all of this remarkably well. I cannot think many in your situation would help, let alone offer me blood."
Neirin shrugged. "Lancelot du Lac fell because he wanted something he could not have; all the great families bear some form of curse as punishment for wrongs we committed when we let our own power overcome us. All true descendants of du Lac are cursed to want something they cannot, should not, have and will suffer greatly should they pursue it, if not simply die outright. I always wanted to see what life beyond the clans was like, and for that wanting find myself in it forever. I will never see my home again. I can bemoan that fate or embrace it."
He abruptly lifted the knife and sliced open a small gash on his wrist, then presented it to Midnight.
Midnight immediately accepted the offer, fastening his mouth over the wound and swallowing the blood as it poured out. He was a monster and often did not care. At times like this, however, he wondered if he would ever have been happy being normal. That was, perhaps, the worst and darkest part of him—he liked being a draugr, except when it seemed that might be what kept his Heartbeat from him.
Except that kiss…
He clung to that kiss fiercely, with all the obsession that only a draugr could muster.
Neirin's blood tasted surprisingly sweet. Blood did not usually taste so; it was metallic, or bland, or the thick, rich, slightly bitter taste of Devlin's blood. Sweet was new and surprising. He broke away when he realized he had been drinking longer than was typical, licking traces from his lips. "Thank you."
"Of course," Neirin said calmly, allowing Barra to bandage the wound and fuss over him.
Troyes pushed in amongst them, breath hot as he breathed through his snout, smelling like fire and metal, like something wild. He growled, and the sound rumbled through Midnight like a cat's purr but hundreds of times stronger. Then he backed away and made a series of short, sharp barking sounds.
"He has decided that you are well, I am well, and the wolf-elf is well," Neirin said with a chuckle.
Another sharp bark cut through the night.
Neirin rolled his eyes. "He also says he should get some apples."
Barra laughed. "I'll get him some apples once we're back in the village."
Troyes growled in approval and prowled around Midnight to push and rub against Barra—then he abruptly reared back and whipped around, snarling and growling with hostility.
Midnight struggled to his feet, grateful that the blood was already returning his strength to him. Even faster than normal, which left him wondering if clan blood held something special.
Another draugr drew close, moving slowly
, preceded by the fog that came rolling back in. Midnight could not completely drive it back, only thin it, and he felt his own power rage against that of the other draugr.
Powerful, though still not as powerful as he, even if it could control the fog with seeming impunity. Likely that was cockiness. The moment a draugr learned to do such a thing, that was all it did for a time. Assuming it lived long enough to play with the skill.
Midnight strode to the front of the small group, noticing for the first time how caked in blood and… other miscellany his hands were. The lace at his wrists was beyond repair. Poor Barra would be most put out.
He tensed as the draugr drew near enough to properly see, swearing loudly as he took it in.
Winsted. Someone had turned Winsted into a draugr. That solved the riddle of where he had gone, but why would someone do such a thing? What was the point? Surely Winsted was more useful alive? Hell, he was more annoying alive.
This did not seem fair. Midnight hated Winsted because Winsted hated Devlin and did his best to make Devlin's life miserable, despite the fact Devlin was the only reason Winsted's sister still lived. He would have liked nothing more than to tear out Winsted's throat and drink down his blood as he watched life leech from Winsted's face.
To simply make him properly dead again did not seem fair. It felt as though they all were cheated out of something, even if that something was an ugly, bitter fight.
"Oh my god," Barra said. The others were silent.
Ceadda stepped forward. "He's well made, I will say that much. You act as though you know him."
"Yes," Barra said softly, and explained their history with Winsted.
Midnight left them to it and spared one last moment to mourn the unfairness of it all. He loathed Winsted, but this did not seem right. What had been taken from him, for what did he search, that someone was able to make him a draugr?
Midnight bolted forward, running full tilt to meet Winsted head on—and barely dodged in time as one giant fist came flying at him, faster than any human would ever be able to move.
It would seem Winsted was a bit more powerful than he had thought. New draugr tended to be slow at first. The strength and the power and ability to minutely manipulate weather came much later. Whoever had made Winsted a draugr had managed to accelerate the process.
Midnight dodged another swing, bolting away as Winsted came at him, barley keeping ahead of a fury that had nothing human left to temper it. Finally, finally he saw his chance, catching Winsted's arm as it came at him again and tearing with all his strength.
Casting the arm aside, he lunged at Winsted, catching his other arm and burying the claws of his free hand in Winsted's throat. Feeling flesh and blood and bone, he listened as Winsted gurgled in surprise more than in a sudden inability to breath.
The eyes glowed blue, but there was something—something in them had not completely turned into an inhuman monster. Beneath it all, a shred of the human monster remained.
Pulling his hand from the ruined throat, letting go of Winsted's arm, Midnight tore Winsted's head from his body and cast it aside.
He turned away as Troyes drew near to burn the body to ash, staring at the filth that covered his hands. He flexed his fingers, flicking off bits and pieces he preferred not to look too closely at. What would Devlin think, to see him like this? Would he be repulsed? It was hardly the first time Midnight had gotten into a brutal fight; Devlin would never lead the true life of a gentleman of leisure.
It was, however, the first time he had been this ruthless, this violent. They had taken Devlin, however. Were using him because of Midnight. He would be as much a monster as necessary to get back his treasure, his reason for fighting off death itself so many years ago, but he wondered if the methods would cost him the prize.
Making a rough sound, Midnight vanished to find water, ignoring the sounds of the others calling out to him. He moved too quickly for them to easily follow, not stopping until he came at last to a stream. Dropping to his knees, he plunged his hands into the water all the way up to his elbows, willing all the nastiness covering his hands to wash away.
He would have cried if it were in him to, but crying had never been his way. All he had ever needed when he reached that point was Devlin's presence. He'd simply stolen into Devlin's arms for an embrace that let him feel their hearts beat in time. He was not a monster because he was Devlin's.
"Heartbeat," Midnight whispered to the dark, finally pulling his hands from the frigid stream.
Fancy
By the time every last body was destroyed and they were certain no more draugr were forthcoming, it was too close to dawn for them to make it to the safety of the village.
"You should go on ahead," Midnight said to the others. "Simply see that I am well hidden and thoroughly covered, and once it grows dark again I will catch up to you." He truly hated his weakness to the sun. He'd overcome so much—Devlin's spell had given him every semblance of true life, but even Devlin's magic could not conquer the terrible effects of sunlight, or the fact that Midnight fell into a dead sleep with its rising.
"No," Neirin said firmly. "You are, without a doubt now, what our mysterious sorcerer wants. Not all of his magic may be confined to night. He knew where to find us; it is not unreasonable to think he might have intended to strand you here in the open, for better to take you in daylight when you are most vulnerable. We will stay and guard you. If he is trying this hard to obtain you, then at least be assured Devlin is not dead."
Midnight nodded, unable to argue even if he wanted to. Something about Neirin's tone and manner made it impossible to voice a protest. He didn't truly want to be left alone, anyway.
They quickly found a thick copse of trees, through which very little sunlight would get through. Once Midnight had settled as comfortably on the ground as he was able, Neirin and Ceadda covered him with their greatcoats, protecting him completely from any possibility of sunlight.
It made him think of a coffin, of being buried. Not that he would ever rest in one—upon Devlin's death, Midnight would turn to ashes. Precaution prevented any other possibility. He had never particularly cared before, but now he was grateful he would be dust. He didn't want to be buried in the ground. It seemed too awful a way to spend eternity.
As unsettling as it was, he was too tired to be kept awake by it. As the sun rose, Midnight fell asleep.
*~*~*
It should not be so thrilling, but it was. This was only his fourth time venturing out by himself, and after being constantly confined to the house or always made to go about with Devlin or Barra—he was alone! It should not be so exciting, but there you had it.
True, it was only to the nearest of the bookshops they visited, but where else would he go? At so late an hour, precious little else was open, and none of it was conducive to keeping his nature from normals and nightwalkers alike. Ever fretful, he reached up to make certain his short cropped hair was suitably hidden beneath his hat. Devlin occasionally took him to museums and pubs and the like, but those visits were infrequent, as he was too strange to go out often, and too young to protect himself well should something go wrong. One day, though. One day he would be unstoppable, and Devlin would have to let him go everywhere.
Entering the bookshop, one that catered specifically to nightwalkers and so was open at peculiar hours, Midnight nodded to the imp clerk and a vampire perusing the poetry, then strode on to the newest fiction releases. A good dreadful, that was the very thing. It was always so funny, the ideas that normals had about the nightwalkers right under their noses. Devlin hated when he read the things, but they were so very entertaining.
He was still vibrating from being alone as he began to comb through the selections. So exciting, especially since Devlin had said he would be going nowhere alone until he was at least eighteen—and here he was, fifteen and managing perfectly fine. Probably he had Barra to thank for that. Barra was not quite so Devlin about things.
Though tonight, even Devlin had not been very Devlin.
Normally he frowned and scowled and fussed a bit before finally relenting. Tonight, Devlin had given him extra coin to spend, admonished him to take extra care in all things, and sent him on his way. Perhaps Devlin was beginning to see reason.
Maybe he could find a book for Devlin, though that was always a tricky affair. His Heartbeat had more books than anyone could remember, least of all Devlin. Still, he was always behind on the newest volumes. Abandoning his dreadful, Midnight moved to peruse the latest additions to history and memoirs. Devlin was always fond of such things; he found the memoirs especially amusing, claiming it was entertaining to pick out the truths, the exaggerations, and the outright lies.
He nearly crowed his victory aloud when he found a book guaranteed to amuse Devlin—a book that claimed to be a history and study of ghosts by a famed 'expert' amongst the normals. Devlin had once read a pamphlet about the man and laughed himself silly—for the 'expert' was apparently unaware of the ghost that lived in his own house, a ghost Devlin had turned to for assistance more than once.
Taking the book to the counter, Midnight resisted an urge to fuss with his hair, which was starting to itch at the back of his neck where it was too long to stay properly where it was put. Hopefully Barra would be able to trim it tomorrow. It was much easier to pass it for black when it was cropped short, and who wanted long hair that must be constantly fussed over anyway?
The clerk held out his book, wrapped in paper, and Midnight handed over the necessary coin, thanking him absently. Leaving the shop, he quickly made his way home. He kept well away from the lights, staying deep in the shadows. Unable to resist, he called upon his powers and tried to coax up a mist.
He sort of succeeded: strands of mist curled at his feet along the street, slowly drifting upward. He had most of the street shrouded before he simply got too tired to maintain it.
Soon, Devlin had said, his powers would increase rapidly. His body was only in want of the proper strength for it. In normal draugr, they suffered only those changes that pertained to their unique nature. Midnight, however, was not that simple. Thanks to Devlin's spell, he grew and changed like a living person, which meant his draugr powers must wait until the body was settled before the energy could be turned to his powers.