Young Blood: The Nightbreed Saga: Book 1

by Phillip Tomasso²

  “You should start taking self-defense lessons. Your mother should have had you enrolled in them from the time you could walk,” Seamus said. “She refused to accept the truth.”

  “That grandma was a vampire? Geesh, why do you suppose she struggled with that?” Madison shook her head. She had a hard time accepting she was a vampire, and she had been drinking both animal and human blood.

  “Sarcasm doesn’t help,” Seamus said.

  “So I am behind what, like fifteen years of martial arts training?” Madison said. “I can fight, you know.”

  “Can you?” Richelle said.

  “My dad and I took grapple lessons at the Y. You know, like cage fighting techniques.”

  “Grapple?” Richelle said.

  “In close fighting, without weapons. Are you any good?” Seamus said.

  “I was when we were going,” Madison said. It had been a while since their last class together. What she liked best wasn’t the fight, but the extra time she spent with her father. It was something they did together, and then always went out for lunch after the Saturday morning lessons.

  “I’d suggest brushing up on those skills. The dagger will help you. Don’t ask me how. In your hands it will guide some of your movements. Not all. You are not a puppet to the weapon, but if you open yourself up to it, and let the power you feel take over, you might be surprised,” Richelle said.

  “Don’t even tell me I have to go to the Dagobah system to complete my training.” Madison wanted to scream.

  “The what?” Richelle said.

  Madison shook her head. “Forget it. Now what?”

  “We take you home,” Richelle said.

  “What time do you fly back to New Zealand?”

  “Eight in the morning,” Seamus said, he pulled out of the park and onto the main road. “What are you going to do first?”

  “First?” Madison said.

  “You have the dagger, and you know the truth,” Richelle said. “Do you have a plan, a next move?”

  “I have a question. Am I immortal?”

  “No one is immortal.” Seamus caught her eyes in the mirror. “But you will not age the same. It’s slower. You’ll notice it. Others will, too. Be careful with that. Blame a skin cream or something. You will heal from wounds, even serious injury more quickly, however. . .”

  “However, what?” Madison said.

  “The stagnant aging, the healing, it only comes from maintaining a regular diet.”

  “Blood?”

  “Human blood,” Richelle said.

  Madison removed her seat belt. She knew she was feeling hungry again. It had been some time since she last feasted. Oliver. She pushed her head up between the front seats. “Actually, I do. Don’t pull into my father’s driveway. Drop me off down the street.”

  When Seamus stopped the car, he turned around to face Madison in the back seat. “Listen. When you face another vampire, you will know right away if it is a hostile situation. You don’t want to hesitate.”

  She shrugged, a little confused. “Hesitate about what?”

  “You will have to kill some. Many.”

  “Kill?”

  “It sounds crazy, I know. You may start to second-guess yourself. There won’t be time for that. You strike fast, and hard, with the intent on killing the vampire. Think about that now. Get your mind ready for it now. Because once you are in the situation and faced with the call, there won’t be time to hesitate,” Seamus said.

  She lowered her head.

  “I know this is rough, and maybe it wasn’t the best time to lay it all on you,” Richelle said.

  “You think?”

  “There wasn’t time to wait. Once you turned, the other vampires will assume you have the dagger. They’ll come for you. If we waited a few months, all we would accomplish is putting your life into more danger.” Seamus pursed his lips.

  “More danger.” She shook her head. “Well. Consider me educated.”

  Chapter 16

  Madison sat on a bench outside of Donuts Delite, just down the street from where her father lived. The wood bench was beside a large, round, pink doughnut sign. She kept the dagger close but hidden while she texted Neal. It was nearly midnight. He could be asleep, which was why she didn’t call first. She waited a few minutes for a response and watched traffic pass on Clifford.

  The temperatures continued to drop, and the wind had picked up.

  Another text, U up?

  If Neal still believed he was contagious with–what was it he said he had–a killer cold, a deadly flu, a incurable headache, then there was a good chance he was doped up with a few shots of Nyquil and asleep like a baby. Madison thought it was unfortunate for the Eckard family that hypochondria was very difficult to diagnose and even more impossible to treat.

  It would take days to process everything her cousins had told her. She understood well enough the basics. The dagger was hers now. It would kill vampires easily. She needed to collect pendants and affix them onto the dagger’s handle and sheath. Once they were all collected and in place, the two-thousand-plus year old curse of the vampires would be broken. While she collected the pendants, she needed to be careful because those that didn’t want the curse broken knew they needed to possess the dagger to preserve their accustomed way of life.

  She saw a number one over the email icon, and touched it with her thumb. The email was from Neal.

  He’d forwarded her the information before going to bed.

  She read it over quickly.

  It contained a schedule for the carnival. They were making their way south.

  Madison almost laughed. Not for the first time, and probably not the last, either, she had to question her sanity. She sat on a park bench with a sword tucked under her thighs, and a hunger for blood that was getting stronger by the minute.

  Before she could do anything, she needed blood, and she had to change into more suitable clothing.

  She made a phone call and gave her location. “I’ll be by the donut sign in twenty minutes. And thank you.”

  She ended the call. She had just enough time to head home for some things, and then get back before Butcher showed up with some blood.

  # # #

  Outside her bedroom window, and behind the waist high yews, Madison removed the outer screen, ran her student ID between the upper and lower windows disengaging the slide lock, and pushed open the window. She pulled herself up and into the house with practiced ease. She stood silent inside her room and listened for a moment.

  Her entry had not disrupted her father.

  She looked around, amazed that despite the darkness, she could see. It didn’t look exactly like it might if the lights were on. Everything had sort of an overall blue hue to it. Things were clear and vivid, though. She hadn’t noticed it as much outside. The moon and the stars must have camouflaged the power of her night vision.

  Climbing out of her clothing, she replaced her dress for black skinny jeans, her high heels for black motorcycle boots, and the shawl she’d carried for a black leather jacket. After tucking her hair up under a black knit cap, she looked at herself in the full-length mirror, and shook her head. Even though she wore the sword secured under the jacket, the hilt stuck out. She looked like a criminal, or ninja. Either was not good.

  It would have to do. She feared strapping it to her side would draw even more unwanted attention.

  She dumped her school backpack onto the bed and filled it with additional clothing and the envelope from her sock drawer. It was filled with birthday and Christmas money. It wasn’t much, just over five hundred. She didn’t keep it at her mother’s house because she knew when she was at school Oliver went through the things in her room.

  She dropped the bag out the window and took one last look around her room. The idea of leaving a note for her father made sense, but calling him first thing in the morning sounded better, unless he woke up in the middle of the night, checked in her room to see how she was doing, and discovered she still wasn’t
home yet; then he’d be panicked and would end up calling the police.

  She opened the spiral notebook from English, but had no idea what to write.

  Dad,

  I am okay. I just need some time alone. Trust me to handle my feelings my way. I will call you soon.

  Love,

  Me

  He was never going to go for it. She tore it out of the notebook and set it on her pillowcase.

  It reminded her to grab her phone charger, at least. She went head first out the window, closed it, and replaced the screen. She pushed the backpack over a shoulder, sidestepped her way out from behind the yews, but used the shadows as she made her way toward Donuts Delite.

  # # #

  Madison stayed low with her back to the side of the doughnut shop and watched traffic along Culver. The fire inside her stomach had grown and grown over the days. The fact that food was on the way made it almost worse. Knowing she was going to feast soon made being patient that much more difficult. Thankfully, the most she could smell outside Delites was glaze and motor oil; maybe she caught a whiff of urine and beer, too.

  Butcher pulled into the small front parking lot. His headlights grazed over her. She stood up and trotted toward the passenger seat. She climbed into his vehicle, and without a word they pulled out of the parking lot.

  She strapped on her seat belt and eyed the two Styrofoam cups in the center console.

  “You wearing a sword?” Butcher came to a stop at the red light.

  “Dagger.”

  “The blood’s for you.”

  She pulled off a top and drank down the contents in a few loud gulps. “That was delicious.”

  “Was it?”

  It was, but it wasn’t. It was not as satisfying as draining Oliver. “It will work.”

  “I’m not so sure, but I hope so. For your sake,” he said.

  “For mine?”

  “Tell me about what happened,” he said.

  She didn’t hesitate, but went right into describing what had happened at her mother’s house.

  “Was it difficult, taking his life?” he said.

  She shook her head, eyes on the second cup of blood. “It was easy.”

  “That was what I feared.” Butcher sighed as they drove aimlessly through Rochester’s city. “Remorse might be an emotion you now lack.”

  “That’s not true. I am not heartless,” she said, but wondered if that were accurate. Did it still beat? Did it still pump blood? Was she a mere living corpse? “I still have emotions. This man had just killed my mother. He was worthless, and worse, he was dangerous.”

  “I was in the war,” Butcher said. He fell silent.

  Madison waited for him to continue. She placed her elbow against the side door window, her cheek against her first. She stared straight ahead. The street lights they passed under caused iridescent orbs of spiked red, yellow, and blue light to shimmy up and over the windshield. There were a few people out, either leaning against nondescript brick buildings, or walking along cracked sidewalks.

  “I don’t talk about it, usually. I was forced to do things that I’d never have dreamt possible,” he said.

  “You killed people?” Madison said.

  “I did. Most were clearly the enemy. They aimed guns at me. I aimed mine at them. It was do or die. I had to shoot them,” he said.

  “They were going to kill you?”

  “I have no doubt in my mind.”

  “But you killed them first?”

  He nodded.

  “And do you feel remorse?” she said.

  “All the time.”

  Madison crossed her arms and grunted. “It’s not the same.”

  “No, it’s not. And that’s why I am concerned.”

  “I’ll be able to control this,” she said. She knew she could be stronger than some urge.

  “The blood you just drank, does it make you feel the same as when you drank human blood?”

  The dirty penny taste was still raw on her tongue and lips. Her body felt a jolt from the consumption, but not rejuvenated. She shook her head. “No.”

  “Do you feel as strong? No? I didn’t think so. I promise to always be here for you, but if you continue down the wrong path, then you should no longer call on me. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “I do,” she said. She wanted to tell him that she was going away, but didn’t. Butcher didn’t need to know everything about her. “If you don’t hear from me for a while, don’t assume the worst?”

  “Fair enough.”

  “You mind letting me off at the bus station?”

  “With a sword on your back?”

  Public transportation was not going to work. She sat silent a moment. There was really only one option that came to mind. “Do you think you could drop me back off where you picked me up?”

  Butcher headed back toward Donuts Delite. “I know enough not to ask questions. Your business, whatever is happening, goes beyond anything I need to know about. But, kid, I feel like we’re friends. You have my number. Unless it involves what we already talked about, if you need me, you call me. Okay?”

  “I feel the same way, you know. I’m glad we met,” she said.

  “You coming into Wegmans when you did was perfect timing; a minute later and I’d have been on break. A few minutes earlier, and I would have been in back cutting meat. That guy came across my father, and you came across me. There’s no such thing as coincidence,” he said.

  It was the same thing her cousin Seamus indicated. “I’m beginning to agree with that statement.”

  He stopped the vehicle in the parking lot. “You just promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”

  “I promise. I’ll be back in a few days. I’ll get in touch with you then.”

  He smiled.

  She closed the door, slapped the hood of the car, and then turned toward home as her friend pulled out of the parking lot and back into traffic.

  Madison tapped a hand against her pocket, felt the keys against her thigh. Her father wasn’t just going to flip when he found the note on her pillow and her gone, he was going to freak when he saw his Jeep missing, too.

  Chapter 17

  Madison entered the address Northway Mall from Neal’s email into her phone for turn-by-turn directions. She plugged her phone into the charger connected to the cigarette lighter, and set it down on the passenger seat.

  As she stopped at the red light at Rt 104, the phone rang. Her breath caught in her chest. She knew it had to be her father, and didn’t want to answer it. She glanced over at the display screen. It was Neal.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “What’s going on? You get my email?”

  She nodded. “I’m headed there.”

  “What? Now?”

  “I have to save those kids,” she said.

  “Don’t they have police for that sort of thing?”

  “I need to go myself. I have to.” I need to find a pendant for the dagger, she thought. The police will not help me recover a pendant. They might keep it as evidence if they come across it.

  “You can’t do this alone. Not just because it’s crazy, but. . .well, yeah, because it’s crazy.”

  “You could come with me,” she said. Asking was wrong. It was selfish. “It’s almost a three hundred mile drive.”

  “It’s crazy, you know? You’re crazy.”

  She didn’t say anything. When they had been younger they explored along railroad tracks that ran east and west at the end of his street. The tracks were located behind the back row of houses. It was for cargo trains that came along less and less as time went on. A shallow stream and a small forest of trees blocked the backyard view of residents on the one side, and on the opposite side there were even more trees, as well as new houses continually going up in multiple developments along the route. The area was prime for mischief. Teens partied in the open basements of the new homes, and within the trees were countless fire pits marked by circles of rocks, with outer circles of tree stump seat
s and weak folding chairs. The empty crushed beer cans, clear glass vodka and whiskey bottles, and discarded cigarette butts littered the various recreational grounds like teenage angst calling cards.

  One winter when they couldn’t have been older than ten, they ventured behind the houses and past the trees. The stream was wide, but frozen. The normal fallen tree bridge they crossed was gone. It had either washed away, or a resident was tired of kids trampling through his backyard to get to the tracks, and removed it. They walked along the edge looking for the best place to cross. Madison went first. She walked cautiously, listening to ice crack with each step. Holding her breath, she ran the last few feet, and once on the other side, spun around and raised her arms in victory. “Nothing to it,” she’d said.

  “I think I should cross somewhere else. You broke the ice,” Neal said.

  “I didn’t break through the ice.”

  “I heard it.”

  “That’s the sound ice makes when you walk on it,” she said. “Come on. It’s cold just standing here. We need to keep moving.”

  Neal shook his head. He didn’t look confident, but took three steps back.

  “Where are you going?” she said.

  He ran forward and was in the air before she could even scream for him to stop.

  The scene unrolled in slow motion. The movements made were the exact opposite of those an Olympic long jumper used to reach maximum distance. Neal’s arms and legs flailed in a panic; eyebrows arched like tents over eyes big and round and bulging from sockets; and his mouth was open wide in a petrified “O.” He didn’t gain much air in his leap, but it provided enough velocity so that when his feet came down, the impact from his eighty pound frame punctured through the ice.

  He tried to yank a foot free, and the ice around him crumbled as he plunged waist-deep into frigid water. Neal slapped his arms and gasped as he spun around and around looking for a way out.