It was enough to piss Eva off. “What, my blood isn’t good enough?”
Right. I’d forgotten about that. Eva’s decision to turn vampire had irritated many of the Lamias. Some had even considered it a form of treason against their species. Nevertheless, Eva had not looked back. And Nethissis seemed to be one of those who’d disagreed with her change.
“It’s a common fact now that vampire blood has a slightly quicker effect than any of our healing potions,” I said, trying to stop a conflict before it spilled over. “Nethissis, you’re better off drinking from her and letting us keep the potions for later. Hopefully, we won’t need them—or vampire blood, for that matter—once we land. Until then, however, I would like to be at peace, knowing that the two swamp witches in charge of our transport are able to finish the job. And, frankly, by the looks of you, I’m not that confident.”
Acantha gave Nethissis a discreet nudge, while Eva kept her wrist up, scowling at her. Nethissis sighed but drank from Eva’s wrist. Her expression changed—from wary to surprised and ultimately enchanted. It tasted good, from what I could tell. Or at least, she liked it. Acantha was next, after which Eva licked her wrist, the wound closing quickly.
“Thank you,” Nethissis murmured.
“It’s not soiled, you know,” Eva said. “It gives life. And it’s an honor to have it flowing through me.”
Awkward silence settled across our group, until Fallon chuckled, seemingly as he remembered something. “Oh, man, you should’ve seen the look on my parents’ faces when I made the decision to turn. They looked as though I’d kicked them both in the stomach with a steel-pointed boot. For a week, they barely said a word to me.”
“But I don’t get the stigma of vampirism,” Varga replied, shrugging. “It’s the closest we’ll ever get to immortality. Who wouldn’t want that?”
“Think of it this way. The fae have long lifespans, anyway. And it’s deeply embedded in our cultural beliefs that everything that lives must also come to an end,” Fallon explained. “Vampirism, in the fae’s mind, is a type of cheating. Plus, there was also that concern that not all fae are compatible with vampirism. I took a great risk. It’s just something new and previously unheard of. Not everyone embraces change with arms wide open,” he added, looking at Eva. “Your people, just like mine, simply need time to adjust.”
“It would be great if they could just accept it and let us be happy,” she replied, crossing her arms. I knew where this was coming from. Unfinished business with her mother. Tamara had not been at all pleased when her daughter had turned to vampirism, that much I remembered, though she’d yet to give us all the details—Eva didn’t talk much about her mother.
“I’m sorry,” Nethissis said, eyes on the glass screen. “I don’t think any less of you for having done this, Eva. I admire you for doing it. It’s just a big step. Most of us spend our lives worried about continuing our bloodline. By becoming a vampire, you pretty much ended yours. I imagine that’s what your mother is upset about. You made this decision without considering that.”
Eva sighed deeply. “I don’t want what my mother wants. There are plenty of Lamias in our city that she could appoint as her heirs, if she decides I’m no longer a good fit, given my current inability to procreate.”
“Doesn’t the vampire cure work on you?” Varga asked.
“We’re not sure,” Eva replied. “When she turned me, Harper warned me that it might be permanent. The cure works for humans and sentries—the latter are still basically humans, which I’m afraid I am not.”
“Tell you what, let’s get ourselves out of this whole Hermessi jumble alive, and we can worry about procreation then. Whaddya think?” Herakles interjected, a grin slitting his face from ear to ear. “I mean, Ta’Zan managed to turn Derek into a day-walker. If Amal and Amane are at least half as gifted as he is, I’m pretty sure they’ll be able to take that vampirism cure and make it accessible to other species that may choose to become vampires.”
“You know, that doesn’t sound as far-fetched as one might think,” I mused, thinking about it as I spoke. “The Faulty twins are geniuses when they’re together. There’s no telling what they could accomplish. Hell, they might even be able to tweak it and make it less dangerous.”
“I think that last part is more like wishful thinking,” Varga said. “Vampirism isn’t easy, and it doesn’t let itself get cured with the snap of one’s fingers, either. It’s a commitment, a complicated relationship with a genetic manifestation that permanently affects our bodies, even if we take the cure.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, slightly confused.
“The cure becomes more dangerous after the first use. Derek and Sofia can’t try it again, for example. Not without risking death,” he explained, reminding me of how fickle blood could be, especially when turned back and forth from human to vampire. “Maybe a Lamia or a fae wouldn’t be as vulnerable, but, then again, they might even be more sensitive to it. Honestly, if you ask me, Eva… if this is what you want to do with your life, I can only hope it brings you nothing but happiness. That’s really all that matters.”
Eva couldn’t stop herself from smiling at him. There was warmth in her yellow, snake-like eyes, the kind that gave them a soft, golden glimmer. Nethissis didn’t seem too happy about it, though. That gave me nothing but relief, along with the fact that Acantha had also slowed down her advances on Herakles. The last thing I needed was a gorgeous Bajang distracting him. You’re a jealous little jinni.
I didn’t want to feel this way, but I couldn’t control it. It was likely fueled by angst, as well, because I’d been waiting for Herakles to say or do something about us—yet, he’d done nothing. Our rapport had changed significantly since we’d first met, and my skin tingled whenever he touched me. I wanted him to do more, to say more, and, at the same time, I was terrified of taking the lead on this, even though I’d thought about it more than once.
Acantha’s presence was actually benign. It was my own insecurity which I’d have to deal with, which, in turn, sounded ridiculous whenever I considered it. It didn’t make it any less true. Deep down, I wondered if Herakles and I would ever get past shy smiles and cute jokes and stolen glances.
Nethissis dropped to one knee, and Eva and Varga rushed to help her up. Any thought I’d harbored until now had been promptly tossed out the window. Our swamp witches weren’t getting any better.
“What’s wrong?” Eva asked them.
Acantha glanced at Nethissis, then back at Eva. “I don’t think your blood is working as well as you’d like,” she said. Indeed, they were still pale, though the nosebleeds had stopped.
“We’re weakening,” Nethissis replied, giving Eva and Varga a thankful nod for their help. “The interplanetary spell is using our energy, too, not just the serium batteries. It was expected. What wasn’t expected was the amount we’d have to put into the spell from ourselves, just to get us off the ground.”
“If you draw energy from us, will that give you some time to replenish yours and get us safely to Mortis?” Fallon asked as he got up.
Nethissis nodded. “Maybe. It’s a possibility, yes.”
“Then do it,” I said. “Take whatever you need from me, from Eva, from Fallon… We’ll be okay.”
“The journey is hours long,” Acantha replied. “We didn’t want to do this so soon. You’ll be drained and exhausted by the time we reach Mortis.”
Fallon chuckled. “Let’s actually reach Mortis, and then worry about ourselves, okay? We’re in the middle of the cosmos with our lives in your hands.”
“Fair point.” Nethissis smiled. “All of you sit down. It’ll pinch and hurt for a while.”
We settled on the glowing floor as Nethissis and Acantha murmured a chant. Before we knew it, our bodies reacted. My skin began to light up in shades of white and lilac. Nethissis was right. It pinched, somewhere deep in my stomach, followed by a dull ache that spread through my chest and my limbs.
I felt Herakles’s arms wrap a
round me. He held me close, and I softened in his embrace, feeling his gaze on me at all times. He was concerned about me, and that, alone, was enough to make me just a little bit better.
Fallon was slumped on one side, leaning onto Herakles, as well. He glowed a peculiar shade of amber.
“I’m not gonna hug you, too,” Herakles grumbled at him.
“Yeah, no, it’s cool. I see you’re busy,” Fallon replied, his voice fading.
Varga held Eva close. Her skin glimmered green and gold, much like her serpent scales. Her eyes were half closed as the swamp witches continued to draw energy from us and fuel the interplanetary spell.
It was all for a worthy cause, so we accepted it. Far more intense than other times we’d given our energy, but still necessary. Acantha gave us all an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. It’ll be like this till we reach Mortis. The spell puts you in this state to conserve and gradually drain your energy.”
“It’s fine,” I mumbled, my eyes no longer able to stay open.
“I’ve got you,” Herakles whispered, and I thought I felt my lips stretch into a sleepy smile, my head cradled against his muscular chest.
A dream enveloped me, soft and sweet, carrying me away to the agitated rhythm of his heartbeats. I no longer had the strength to worry about what came next. All I could do was hope that we’d survive this journey.
Harper
Once he was ready, and as the sun began its final hours of descent into the western horizon, Herbert stretched his bony arms and took a deep breath. Nestled inside him, I actually felt the rush of cool and salty air, and even the breeze tickling his grayish, translucent skin. The anticipation of going back to Neraka, back to my body and my husband, made me tingle.
“Now, don’t let anything you see scare you. Most importantly, don’t talk. If you have something to say, I will know,” Herbert said.
I’d already gotten accustomed to this peculiar kind of fusion, piggybacking on someone else like a homeless soul. “No worries, I’m aware,” I replied.
Before I could register the changes, reality began to warp around us. The Calliope I knew drifted away before his very eyes, in colorful threads—like streaks of watercolor dissolving in black water. Seconds passed as I listened to the sounds of the ocean going farther and farther away. The chilly softness of the afternoon breeze was replaced by the cold of the cosmic void.
And Herbert dropped, the peak beneath us disappearing. We fell for what felt like the longest minutes of my life, but I kept my mouth shut. Every inch of me wanted to scream with horror as we plunged into the vast unknown of the In-Between. I kept it together, and my restraint was quickly rewarded.
Soon enough, Herbert was merely a wisp of iridescent flesh and bones, literally flying away from Calliope and toward the edges of Eritopia, where clouds of stardust stretched for millions of miles, delineating a solar system protected by the Daughters, once home to a bloodthirsty warlord who had forsaken the wisdom of the Druid species, choosing to slaughter and dominate instead. Azazel seemed so far away now.
I wanted to tell Herbert, as we shot between thousands of wandering stars and just beneath an asteroid field, that he should be mindful of the stardust stream. I wasn’t sure which were controlled by Brendel, and I certainly didn’t want to find out.
The ghoul, however, already tapped into my mind through no fault of his own, immediately registered my thoughts, and moved to a lower angle. We passed the swollen river of pink-and-orange stardust and proceeded toward Neraka. We couldn’t see it yet, but I recognized the general direction, along with the star clusters we zoomed by.
Silence settled around us. The quiet of open space, where a creature like Herbert was free and needed only to be careful not to get tangled in some random mass of jagged asteroids. Space was a wonderful thing, but it was huge, perhaps endless, and riddled with all kinds of things—both good and horrifying. I only wanted to see Neraka again.
“Can I speak?” I whispered.
Herbert chuckled. “Yes. It’s pretty peaceful out here, for now. I don’t see any ghouls.”
“You’d see them, normally? Just drifting through space?” I asked.
“Mm-hm. But given the number of souls still tethered to their bodies inside your fae sanctuaries, I can see why they’d choose to focus on them. They’re like starving wild animals, hoping a soul might get lost, or that at least they’d get to feast on the bodies once they die.”
The thought alone was enough to make me want to hurl. It made him growl.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help feeling that way,” I said.
“That’s fine. I, for one, am starving as well. But I’m too determined to regain my freedom to let myself fall prey to my hunger,” Herbert replied.
“You know, I’m wondering… Why did you want to become a ghoul? From what I’ve learned so far, being a Reaper comes with some benefits. All you have to do is carry souls into the world of the dead,” I said.
Herbert didn’t say anything for a few minutes, but I knew that he was trying to formulate a sincere answer. I could feel it. There were upsides to hitching a soul-ride in other creatures’ bodies, it seemed, for I could sense their thoughts and intentions. Granted, I could only do this with Ramin and ghouls—though, so far, I only trusted Herbert to take me in without eating me.
“I never really wanted to become a ghoul,” he finally said, surprising me. “Perhaps that’s why I was so easily trained by the witches. Why I obeyed and listened to Ibrahim over the years. Why I was more or less okay with being cooped up in that pencil box for so long. It kept me from committing heinous crimes… eating souls…”
“Then how did it happen?” I asked, trying to understand. At the same time, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the guy. He seemed genuine.
“I was tricked by an original ghoul. You see, darling, being a Reaper isn’t at all easy, especially in the beginning. In my time, there was something we referred to as the Critical Hundred Years. The first hundred years spent as a Reaper are crucial, a difficult adjustment period, during which time we learned to leave our lives and everything we knew behind. Reapers have to be neutral and controlled in their demeanor. They must tell people that they’ve died, that this is the end for them, and that they cannot tell them about what’s on the other side. Believe it or not, it’s a tough one, even though we all were in that position before. It’s difficult to deal with the five stages of death that beguile one’s soul.”
“Five stages?”
“Oh, you know, the classics. Denial, bargaining, anger, depression, and acceptance. It’s grief that you experience first, when you realize that this is it for you. So, even though you’re a soul, you still go through these motions,” Herbert explained. “And it’s heartbreaking for a Reaper, especially a young one, like I was. To listen to people crying and pleading and cursing and bargaining… Some took longer than others to accept that everything that was happening to them was real. It got to me.”
“And you wanted a way out?”
“I did. I begged the other Reapers to get me off this task. I couldn’t do it anymore, but they all encouraged me to keep going, saying that it would all become better, eventually.” He sighed. “One day, I came upon an original ghoul. He’d been like this for a long time, simply scavenging the world for souls to eat. As you may know by now, some souls just… slip away. A distracted Reaper. A late Reaper. You’d be surprised. But anyway, that’s how ghosts come to be. I don’t think there is a single Reaper out there who hasn’t lost a soul, at least once. Whether they admit it or not.”
“What happened then? You said you didn’t want to become a ghoul.”
“Well, this original ghoul, he was nothing like his kind had been described to me by the elder Reapers,” Herbert said. “He was friendly and kind. He seemed to like me. He showed me what his life was like. Unfortunately, I didn’t know at the time that it was just an act. He told me that all I had to do was eat one soul, instead of reaping it. And then, I’d be free. I’d b
e like him. I didn’t mind the ghastly appearance of him, as long as it came with freedom. I was miserable.”
“And you believed him…”
“I was young and foolish, my sweet plum. I didn’t know any better. I figured it was only one soul, selfish and desperate as I was to renounce my position,” Herbert continued. “I did it. One day, I just found the courage to do it, and… I ate a soul. A warlock, killed before his old age. I just gobbled him up.”
The mental image made me shudder. I could almost see that moment, through a thin, dark veil, a distant memory of Herbert’s. The astonished look on the face of the warlock, who’d already been reduced to a mere translucent version of his old self. The consumption, the exhilaration that followed… and the dread.
“That’s right,” Herbert said. “As soon as I consumed him, I knew he’d never be enough for me. That I would want more. My insides burned and decayed. My bones began to shift… the process was agonizing, to say the least. And the ghoul… he just stood there, watching me and laughing, eager to have a friend to hunt with. Naturally, I felt betrayed. I couldn’t turn back, either. I’d committed the unforgivable sin. I’d disgraced myself. Every Reaper out there would be eager to drive their scythe through me and obliterate me. So, I ran. I ran from the ghoul, I ran from the world I was only just beginning to know.”
So, that was the tale of Herbert, of how he’d become a ghoul in the first place. My sympathy for him only grew. I felt sorry for him.
“Don’t,” he replied. “I’m good. I was in a bad place for a long time, fighting against my ghoulish, primary instincts. Until the witches found me. I was both thrilled and terrified back then. But, you see, once they starve you properly and you devolve into this form of mine… carcasses are good enough to give you some sustenance. At least, like this, I didn’t touch the living. It was difficult to resist the miasma of a soul, of course, but while I was in the witches’ care, I got meat and bones to feast on. I was fine.”
A Shade of Vampire 73: A Search for Death Page 14