The Chronicler and Mr Smith

by Angie Martin

  Dark Man continued speaking, but I tuned him out in favor of the Morse code. My brain logged and deciphered the taps – apparently my translation superpower wasn’t limited to spoken languages, but also worked on codes.

  Wait for my signal.

  The same sentence repeated two more times before ceasing. My mind flooded with dozens of possibilities of what that signal might be. I told myself to stop overanalyzing and wildly predicting, and exhibit some patience. I would recognize it when it happened, so long as I trusted Mr. Smith. With him, it always seemed to come down to trust, no matter how reluctantly I gave it.

  As if a wave from the ocean crashed into me, I wavered on my feet as water rippled across my brain, drowning and hypnotizing me. My equilibrium failed, and I faltered, tripping to the side, but not falling.

  Dark Man’s voice sounded in my mind as he beckoned me to come forward, to leave the safety of Mr. Smith and follow him instead. Whispered promises caressed me, but I fought him with every bit of strength I had left.

  I rocked into the back of Mr. Smith’s left shoulder.

  He caught my arm and steadied me. “What’s wrong, Madison?” he whispered.

  His touch and voice brought lucidity to my mind once more. “Dark Man is trying to control me again,” I said.

  “Fight it,” Mr. Smith said. “You’re stronger than that. I’ve seen it.”

  I was stronger than Dark Man. I could defend my senses against him, keep him out of my head. But, I needed a weapon to use. Something much more powerful than a revolver and a knife.

  “You’ve been in my brain,” I said to Dark Man. “But, I’ve been in yours, too.”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” he said.

  “Yes, it does. The blood exchange works both ways,” I continued, speaking much louder to grab his attention. With everyone focused on me, I said, “I know where each member of your nest is at right now and what they plan to do. I know your strategies, your tactics. There’s nothing you can keep secret from me.”

  His facial muscles tightened, and unspoken threats floated in his dark eyes. “That’s impossible,” he said. “You’re bluffing.”

  I was bluffing, but I couldn’t let him know that. We had to somehow gain the upper hand in the standoff. “De daemonium exolvuntur,” I hissed in Dark Man’s direction, just loud enough for him to hear. My mind called up the words I’d read in the chronicles, and it seemed to impact him. “You’re in the middle of evolving again, just like you do every hundred and sixty-six years.”

  Dark Man quickly covered up his surprised expression by hardening it again. “How do you know that?”

  “I told you. Sanguinem commutationem. Blood exchange. What else do you think I learned from you all those times you tried to get into my head and control me?”

  “Interesting,” Dark Man said.

  A long pause followed, and I prayed for Mr. Smith’s signal. I didn’t know how much longer I could continue the farce.

  “You are a feisty chronicler, aren’t you?” Dark Man laughed. “Coming into your first nest, lying about getting into my head, putting all of your little night stalker friends at risk. I rather like that about you.”

  “I’m not ly—”

  “If you knew everything I knew,” Dark Man said, “if you were truly in my mind due to the blood exchange, then this won’t surprise you at all.” He held up his hand and wiggled his index finger.

  My heart bounced in my chest as its beating spread out of control. Did I just get everyone killed?

  A blood seeker I hadn’t yet seen emerged from the shadows and took his place next to Dark Man. My jaw slacked and eyes widened as recognition came over me.

  Dark Man had called my bluff, and he had won.

  I stared at the new blood seeker’s dark brown hair, a good inch below shoulder-length, tousled, and in need of a trim. His familiar blue eyes seemed colder than even Dark Man’s. Though clean-shaven (did the dead blood seekers even grow hair?) and a few inches taller, he looked just like Mr. Smith. As he crossed his arms, I didn’t need a picture, didn’t need a description or introduction, to know who this was standing in front of us.

  Brent Frye. Mr. Smith’s younger brother and our former chronicler.

  Chapter Thirty

  M y mind flashed with a thousand thoughts at once. Brent had fallen on the previous mission, but they hadn’t been able to retrieve his body – commonplace, according to Mr. Smith. But, he hadn’t died, not in the traditional sense. He had been infected with the virus. Even with the team monitoring the nest, the other blood seekers must have kept him hidden from view so that no one from our side would know the truth about Brent’s fate.

  The emotion radiating from Mr. Smith encompassed me in its bubble of pain. Betrayal. Not a purposeful traitor, but one nonetheless. Yet, there was more suppressing his usual strength. Sadness, but beyond that, defeat. The leader of our complex’s always-hardened shell had cracked.

  My neck rotated as my gaze traveled between each group of night stalkers. Keira, Garrett, Morgan, Harvey, Colin, Andre, Rich, Brady… plus five new night stalker faces from the other complex. All of their expressions varied, but they settled around the same crushing thought that permeated the group. Brent was alive, yet dead. And, he was standing on the wrong side of the fight.

  “Good to see you, brother,” Brent said.

  “I wish I could say the same,” Mr. Smith said. “What happened to you?”

  “What happened?” An incredulous laugh played on his words. “What happened is this incompetent bunch of night stalkers couldn’t wait two minutes to confirm if I was dead or alive. Sure, I was down and in a bad way, but I wasn’t gone. Not until after they left.”

  “Brent—”

  “And, where were you, the almighty Spencer? Off on some other, more important mission. Too busy to protect your baby brother, the chronicler. But, I can see you have a new one already to watch over. Of course, you’re going to let her down, just like you did me. Soon enough, she’ll be one of us.”

  I cringed behind Mr. Smith, my fists bunching up the back of his shirt, afraid to look at his brother or Dark Man any longer.

  “Don’t hide, Chronicler,” Brent said. “He can’t save you. Besides, it’s far better on this side. And, from what I understand, you enjoy the blood just a little more than a human should.”

  As my face flushed, I could sense the questions – and possible judgement – from the other night stalkers. No one knew of my dreams except Mr. Smith, and he was only present for the second one. The first one, the more disturbing of the two, I had kept secret.

  But, Dark Man knew about it.

  Lost in my own personal panic, I didn’t see Mr. Smith’s signal or the start of the battle. I have no idea who attacked first or from which direction it started, but begin it did. Two blood seekers charged Mr. Smith, but he quickly dispatched them with Andre’s help. The sounds of an epic fight surrounded me, all while I stood paralyzed between Mr. Smith and Andre.

  A gunshot echoed through the factory, followed by a scream filled with pain. I twisted my head in time to see Rich fall victim to a feasting blood seeker. Another blood seeker pounced on Rich’s flopping body, and bones crunched as the blood flew. Morgan raced to his aid and beheaded both, but it was too late for Rich.

  Mr. Smith grabbed my arm and dragged me across the room. He hissed at me to get out my gun, which I did. I held it close to my chest and rotated to make sure there were no oncoming blood seekers. Mr. Smith ushered me to a corner of the room, saying something about it being safer for me. I simply nodded, my overwhelming ineptitude shining through. How could anyone ever get used to this… chaos?

  I breathed through my fear and talked my frozen limbs into moving. Standing there, I’d never survive. Though Mr. Smith hovered near me, killing one blood seeker after another, I had to protect myself if needed. Dark Man’s presence doused me in terror once more, and I knew he inched closer to me. The strongest of all the blood seekers, I didn’t know how Mr. Smith could k
ill him as easily as some of the weaker ones. And, then, there was the matter of Brent.

  Three blood seekers charged Mr. Smith, drawing him further away from me as he fought. I held out my gun, pointing it at nothing, but ready for anything. My brain cursed my sedentary lifestyle, and questions fired at will. Why hadn’t I been more active and in shape? Why couldn’t I have had more time to train before this mission? Why couldn’t I be braver, like Keira? And, why the hell did blood seekers have to smell so damned awful?

  A gleaming gold tooth appeared in my view, and my body decided to go into shock as Mullet Man came closer to me. The gun shook in my hands, but somehow, I managed to squeeze off a shot. The bullet slammed into Mullet Man’s shoulder, jerking him back. Only for a second. He regained his stance, and his smile grew.

  “I’ve heard how good you taste,” he said, his blood teeth descending. “I can’t wait to try you myself.”

  I squeezed the trigger again, but he hit my arm a split second before, causing the gun to point up as it fired. He threw me to the ground and wrenched my neck to the side. He pulled down the collar of my shirt, exposing my skin. I screamed for Mr. Smith, but Mullet Man’s teeth still penetrated just above my shoulder. Excruciating pain shot through my body, involuntary tears raced down my cheeks, and for the first time, I understood what it was like to want to die. To crave death more than anything else. To need it desperately… just so the agony would cease.

  Mullet Man lifted off me, and through my tears, I saw Mr. Smith throw him down to the ground. As Mullet Man tried to stand, Mr. Smith’s machete seared through his neck, severing his head.

  Though grateful for the intervention, I couldn’t move. Nothing in my body seemed to function, except my eyes.

  Mr. Smith knelt in front of me, and his hands pressed down on my wound, his gaze meeting mine. “No, Madison. No, no, no. You have to stay here with me.”

  I wanted to respond, my mouth attempted to move, but nothing happened. I couldn’t communicate with him, couldn’t stand, couldn’t run away to safety.

  “Madison, I need you to hang in there,” he said. “You can’t leave me now.”

  Dull panic swarmed my mind as I watched Brent step up behind him. I tried to signal with my eyes, but it didn’t work. Brent pulled Mr. Smith up and threw him against some machinery. My gun rested beside me, but my hand wouldn’t move to grab it and shoot Brent.

  Another form filled my vision, eclipsing the fight between Mr. Smith and Brent, and I knew who it was before he lowered himself to my level. Dark Man. I needed to do something, fight back somehow, but my body seemed disconnected from my brain.

  “You’re wondering what’s happening to you,” he said, his soothing voice washing over me. “Like some predators, when we bite, we release a paralytic. Makes our prey a little easier to control. Although I wanted to have you first, I’m glad someone else prepped you for me.”

  I grunted, but no words came out.

  He turned my body to the side and slid his arms under me. Lifting me up, he said, “Let’s go somewhere a little quieter. How does that sound, pet? Some alone time?”

  As he walked, I captured the sight of Mr. Smith battling his brother. I could hear the other night stalkers fighting, and I prayed the rest of them were still alive. Dark Man carried me across the factory floor, and I wondered how anyone would find me if he managed to abscond with me.

  They won’t find you, I thought. You’re going to end up like Brent. Dead but alive with an insatiable thirst for blood and a more-than-unpleasant odor.

  The night seemed much darker than it had when we first arrived, but my numb flesh could no longer feel the chill of the air. A door opened to a vehicle, and Dark Man slipped me onto the backseat. He climbed in beside me and laid my head down on his lap. Brushing stray hairs away from my face, he gave directions to the unseen driver. The car engine roared to life, and soon, the factory and Mr. Smith were far behind.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  R ays of sunlight broke through a small opening in the thick layer of gray clouds as the car pulled up to our destination. Once upon a time, as a child, hopeful and innocent, I could name every type of cloud. These were just ugly. Filled with the promise of gloom and possibly a bleak storm later.

  In and out of consciousness throughout our drive, the journey blurred in my mind. Where we were, how far we traveled, there was no way for me to tell. The numbness in my body had tapered off at some point, but the effects of the paralytic still restricted my limbs to a degree. I could lift an arm, but only a few inches. My leg itched, but I couldn’t reach it to relieve the nuisance.

  When the car engine died down, Dark Man helped me out of the vehicle by lifting me into his strong arms. A large, blue home with white shutters lingered in front of us, and as far as I could turn my head, I didn’t see any other signs of life. Dark Man carried me into the house, much like an eager groom entering the honeymoon suite.

  As we moved through hallways, various blood seekers flitted in and out of my view. Up two flights of stairs, past more curious blood seekers, the house never seemed to end. Eventually, we ended up in a bedroom, where he laid me down on a comfortable bed. Still groggy from Mullet Man’s bite, I couldn’t see much else in the room outside of my captor.

  Dark Man’s fingers combed through my hair, and I realized at some point he must have taken it out of the tight bun.

  “I know you’re tired, pet,” he said, lovingly running his fingertips across my cheek. “You’ll be able to sleep soon enough, but the next few days will be… delightfully agonizing for you. But, once you’re through the worst of the pain, you will change into something you’ve never dreamed of. The power and strength alone. There’s no comparison.”

  My mouth moved to protest, to beg for mercy, but words failed me.

  “Don’t be scared,” he said. “It’s a beautiful transition into a higher evolution. Into what we are meant to become.”

  “No,” I managed to get out before exhaustion took over again.

  “Let’s get this off you.” He shimmied my shirt out from under me and raised my head to pull it off, leaving me in only a bra and jeans. “That’s better.” He moved my head to the side until my wound was exposed. A finger pressed into the bite, sending pain through my nerves into every part of my body. “Just like I thought,” he said. “Dry. Time to fix that.”

  Out of the corner of my eyes, I watched his blood teeth descend, just as Mullet Man’s had before he struck. Within seconds, Dark Man’s teeth punctured my skin. A barely audible scream escaped me, but there was no way to fight him. The paralytic entered my body, rendering me helpless. The only feeling left in me was the gentle sucking of my lifeblood.

  As my head swarmed in a sea of dizziness, Dark Man lifted off from me. “The virus is inside you now,” he said. The back of his hand caressed my cheek, a lover’s touch in a most frightful form. “You’ll need to feed soon, but for now, just sleep.”

  My stomach revolted at the sight of my blood smeared across his mouth, and my spirit gave one final push for a fight, but I couldn’t move. Not when his lips touched mine, not when he engaged me in a one-sided kiss. The metallic taste of him – of me on him – pushed me over the edge, and I blacked out.

  When I regained consciousness, Dark Man was no longer on the bed with me. Other voices, two men and a woman, had joined him in the room in faint conversation. My eyes fluttered open, and I tried to raise my head. When my neck didn’t cooperate, I lulled my head to the side to try to catch a glimpse of them, but they merged into blurry figures. I let my eyelids fall shut again and instead tried to focus on their hushed voices.

  “You prepared the blood?” Dark Man asked.

  “Precisely how you asked,” one of the men said.

  “Here it is,” the woman said. “May I inquire—”

  “You will be rewarded for your patience,” Dark Man said, “as soon as the chronicler is one of us. For now, your job is to provide her the blood she needs.”

  Heavy footsteps app
roached the bed, and I forced my eyes back open. The mattress dimpled with Dark Man’s weight, and his touch soon found my face. “It’s time to feed, pet.”

  My scratchy throat barely emitted words. “No… I, no… no.”

  His smile stopped me. “You’re dying. Everything inside of you is beginning to decay. The blood will help you through the pain. It will feed the infection and ease you into death. Here.” He dipped his finger into a cup, then placed drops of blood on my lips. “Taste it, and you’ll see.”

  Against everything inside of me that remained human, my tongue licked off the blood. The liquid satisfied a visceral, base desire, as if I’d wandered in the desert without water for days before finally being offered a drink. My words echoed out from my dream, despite residing in a living nightmare. “More.”

  Dark Man set the cup down on a table beside the bed. His hands dove under my arms, and he lifted me to a sitting position. The cup back in hand, he raised it to my lips. “Drink slowly,” he said, and the blood trickled into my mouth. After a few seconds, he pulled the cup away.

  I grabbed his hand, desperate for more elixir. Instead of providing it, he brought his mouth against mine. This time, his kiss aroused nerves deep inside, ones I never knew existed. My body came back to life as the paralytic wore off, yet new sensations racked me. Ones a human could never experience.

  When he parted from me, his breath warmed my face. I tried to find his lips again, but he withheld himself from me. “You’re transforming beautifully, pet. In a few days, you will have been made new.”

  He allowed me another sip of blood, then lowered me down in the bed. “I will be back soon to feed from you again. I’ll bring you more blood then.” A loving kiss on my forehead, and he disappeared from my view.