When I finally can land and retract my tired wings, I'm more than happy to do it. I've strained them lately, flying too much.On the way back from the slayers - or should I say deranged fanatics? - I carried Carla. Not that she was heavy, but Vladimir wasn't exaggerating when he told me the wings were fragile. My back is so sore I can barely imagine how I'm supposed to fight tomorrow.
At least Carla is safe, or at least relatively safe - you reconsider what you think is safe when you know you're going to war in less than twenty-four hours. I left her back at the mansion, seeing as she isn't fit to fight. Vladimir will have her moved somewhere else tonight, because if we lose tomorrow, the mansion is probably one of the first places Ruthven will attack.
Now I'm headed for the new fledgling boot camp. Presuming I find it, I'm supposed to help Edouard with a few last minute arrangements. I've never been here before, so I don't know my way around this city.
I walk out from the secluded park where I landed, into more crowded streets. It's really been a long time since I was on my own, alone and out at night, yet the old instincts awake in me as if I never was removed from my old life. I might not be a slayer anymore, but I'm still a hunter. My intended prey has changed, though. Even if I try not to think of humans as food, I still notice myself eyeing them as if they were. It's only natural.
A woman brushes past me, hurrying somewhere in the opposite direction and I wonder what would have happened if she knew. To them I'm only a shadow, a figment of their overworked imagination. It would be for the best, for everybody, if it stayed that way.
Ruthven must be an idiot, I conclude. But it's nice to know that if we lose and he really goes through with his plans of merging the underworld with the mundane part, it won't take long time before the humans respond, with weapons.
I could die tomorrow. I put my hands into the pockets of my jacket and wonder why I'm not scared. I should be, shouldn't I?
I feel the tiny blade I keep hidden in the palm of my hand just in case trouble should come looking for me. People would be shocked if they saw someone grow claws, so I can't use them, and if someone should be dumb enough to harass me, I wouldn't want to harm a human, just teach the moron a lesson.
There's a new confidence in my strides, an air of self-assurance I never had before. Normally I would have kept to the shadows, trying not to be noticed. Now I meet the gazes of those who pass me and make sure they know I'm not to be meddled with.
A group of teenagers walk by, shooting me weird glances. Goths, of course. I guess I am dressed too normal to be accepted. If they only knew what I was, they'd either line up to be turned or run away. Suddenly I feel like an old geezer compared to the rest of the crowd, even though I'm younger than most of them. Weird, huh?
The old building Vladimir told me about comes into view further down the road. I stop outside, ignoring the people around me and pull the map he drew for me, out from an inside pocket, and, after studying it for a moment then look up to compare it to my surroundings. I continue down a sideway, removing myself from the safe streets of town.
Soon I find myself in the shady part of town, in streets none of the other vampire rulers would ever set foot in. This labyrinth of alleys belongs to the criminal underworld; there is plenty of suffering here. Drugs, kids living on the street, prostitution, even trafficking. There are all kinds of people you'd rather not meet here, the mob in particular. I'm not keen on walking here by myself. Vampire or not, it can be dangerous. Humans may not be much of a threat, but they are not the only ones who could lie in wait for someone to come by. Ruthven may have people following me, aiming to make sure I won't make it tomorrow - there are a thousand different hiding places here. And who knows what Zachary and his psycopaths are up to?
But placing a training camp in this neighbourhood is close to ideal, as there aren't many people actually living here, and those who pass by know better than to question the noise we make when lecturing. The only risks we run are being subject to police raids, or having neighbouring thugs burst in. So far that hasn't happened, and seeing as tonight is the last night we're staying there, I hope nothing happens. But knowing my bloody luck, we're probably going to get distracted by something mundane.
I hold my breath as I walk past a passed out man. He's obviously drugged, and he's bleeding. I must be weaker than I thought, because I've never felt the urge to attack humans before. Better find the lair as quick as possible. I am not risking human life by getting lost, blacking out and then find myself draining some unfortunate person - I just hope I find the time to have a quick snack before duty calls.
I turn left, but stop, confused. Vladimir is talented - he plays the piano-like thing, whatsitcalled; he's great with tactics in battle; he can be charming and controlling when he wants to; I bet he can sing opera too, it wouldn't surprise me - but judging from my map, drawing clearly isn't one of his strong sides.
It's got to be around here somewhere, I just have to... find it. By myself it seems. I look up from the paper, as if by a stroke of luck, I'd spot a vampire I could follow. It's actually quite hard to pick a vampire out of a crowd when you can't sense them. Of course there are certain things about them that make them stand out - odd fashion sense, for example, how they act and talk - but how do you keep them apart from those crazy Vampire Lifestylers? Some of them even get fangs. Had they known how dangerous it can be to dress up like a vampire and actually looking the part, they would have burnt all their fancy frilly clothes. Besides most of them look like total retards.
You can never be sure whether it's really a vampire before the person in question proudly proclaims he or she is almighty and all, yada yada, and that they're going to kill you like the cattle you are.
And you can't be completely sure then either. Once I almost killed a goth guy who thought it'd be fun to sneak up on me and pretend he was a vampire. The only reason that idiot survived was because I stopped to wonder why he was screaming so god damn much. He was quite surprised over being beaten up by a fourteen year old girl.
But as far as I can tell, or sense rather, the few people who are around here, are alive. Good for them, but I could really use some help.
Sensing someone approaching, I quickly shed the insecurity, walking on in a random direction, but with an air of confidence. Having anyone see me insecure and vulnerable would only serve to weaken the reputation Vladimir has spent the better part of twenty years building. Vampire lords are ruthless. I need to play the part Vladimir gave me until it's no longer needed.
I realise I should pay more attention to what's going on around me instead of focusing on maintaining a mask, when a hand clamps over my mouth and I'm pulled into the alleyway I just passed. My first impulse is to kill whoever it is. Then I realise I accidentally dropped the little knife I brought with me.
My thoughts are close to panicked. Ruthven has sent someone. Then I hear the man's heartbeat. Human. Not a threat, despite the blade he holds to my throat.
"Valuables," he hisses into my ear. His breath almost makes me gag. "Hand 'em over."
Seriously, what has this guy eaten? Or wait, do I want to know?
I raise my hands slowly, a sign of submission. His heart races as I reach for what I have in my pockets. I've to think fast - I was quick to conclude he was harmless. Human or not, he only needs to make a tiny incision and he'll slice my jugular and that means goodbye and goodnight for a certain Tatiana Wendell.
Oh, why haven't I asked Vladimir to teach me how to control humans? I make sure to tap into his mind, wanting to give myself a moment's notice should he do something rash.
And then he lowers the knife, choosing to place it just below my right breast. I can feel the sharp blade through my jacket. Still dangerous, but yet a tiny improvement. Whoever heard my prayer is silently thanked.
His left hand leaves my face. Assured I won't scream for help, he reaches out for my hands when I pull them out from my pockets, thinking I'm handing over my stuff to him.
"I don't have anything," I tell him, way calmer than a mugger's normal victim. "You can let me go now."
He answers by putting more pressure on the knife. "I'm not fooling around, I'll do it!"
His other hand shoots up, grabbing my throat and forcing me back, against him. I close my eyes and try not to think about how close he's holding me and what germs and bacteria and fleas and icky things he's transferring to me. He smells like garbage, rotten and just disgusting. I hold my breath in an attempt to keep my stomach calm.
But he's serious. There's no mistaking the desperate edge in his voice.
I react only a moment before he does and save myself from a stab wound in the chest. The knife only slides across my ribcage, and then I'm out of reach. Or so I thought. When he brings it up, the blade is tainted with red.
He sees the wound heal through the large tears in my jacket and sweater, and backs away in fear, dropping the knife. I have to do something, he was so not meant to see that, and I can only see one outcome. He takes a few steps further back, unsure of what he just saw happening. I slip my right hand behind me, letting my claws grow, feeling awful about what I'm about to do.
How old can he be? My age, perhaps, probably younger. Life on the streets is rough, making these kids look way older than they are. I stop myself, not wanting to feel pity for him. He was about to kill me for money, I remind myself. I can't allow him to go, he's seen too much.
Before he has the time to scream or run, I lunge, going straight for the jugular.
All it takes is one swipe of my arm, and my claws puncture his carotid artery, cutting off the air-supply to his brain. He staggers away from me, gripping the wound. I turn away as he falls to his knees, both to check for bystanders and because I don't want to look at him. I can feel his fear; I don't need to look him in the eyes as he dies.
It only takes a few seconds for him to pass out. Fifteen seconds later he is beyond medical help, a strike to the carotid artery causes the victim to bleed out with tremendous speed.
I retract my claws, and wipe most of the blood off on my jeans, trying to hold my breath. His blood will be stuck under my nails for days, I'm sure. But I deserve the reminder. Had I been a good person, I would have turned him. Despite the complications that could have caused, not to mention the stress this guy would have gone through - realising vampires were real, dealing with his condition and then probably getting himself killed in the fight tomorrow night... - I should at least have given him a chance.
It's too late now though. I feel the last trace of life leave his body, and finally turn back. I'm a coward, but at least I admit it. And even if I tried to turn him now, all I would have ended up with would have been a mindless killing machine. While that could have come in handy tomorrow, he would also have killed our people, if he had revived at all.
Looking down at him, torn between hurling and throwing myself down to tear at his throat, I realise I've killed my first human.
I've never wittingly killed a human before. When I attacked Jeremy, I wasn't myself, the beast was in control, and for better and worse I can't even remember it. This is different. I had a choice.
Surprisingly, I'm not as sickened as I thought I would be. Not that I thought I would ever do it - and this isn't how my nightmares envisioned it would happen. At least I didn't kill for food. If I ever lose that last little slice of humanity left in me, I would lose my sanity with it.
I crouch down beside him, going through his pockets. Meanwhile, I hold my breath. It's tempting to lean in and bite him, it's been a while since I fed, but I can't leave bitemarks.
Pocketing what I found on him - some money, a little bag of queer-scented powder I assume is some sort of drug, plus some random pocket fluff - I lean over the body, reaching for the knife he's still clutching. I can't leave it behind, in case the police should investigate. If they should find my blood and test it, the results could be severe for the vampiric society. That would be very frustrating, seeing as we're going to extreme lengths to defend ourselves and the right to live in secrecy. Vladimir wouldn't have been happy if I accidentally exposed our species.
I straighten up and look over the crime scene, wondering if I've left anything behind. Nothing catches my eye, and the police probably won't find reason to investigate. When he's found, this is almost certainly going to be written off as either gang-related violence, a robbery gone wrong or, well, why should I care. The wound on his neck can have been caused by a blunt blade.
Slipping the knife into an inside pocket, I look back once more, tucking my hands deep into my pockets, trying to convince me he deserved it. I read his thoughts, damnit, and he was going to kill me. Regardless of his young age, he wasn't a nice person. He deserved it, I think as I walk away, hopefully in the direction of the camp. The streets are safer without him, the less of his kind roaming the streets, the better.
It doesn't help. I'm probably going to be mulling over this for a good while, possibly the rest of my life. I didn't think it was possible, but when I walk past two men discussing something in hushed whispers, my mood darkens even more. Pathetic as it might be, I miss Vladimir. First, he would have known exactly where to go, and second, a glance at him and these good-for-nothings would have scattered.
One of them notices the directions I'm trying to understand - I've taken the map forth again, slowly realising I'm lost - and decides to take advantage of the situation. "You lost, missy?"
I read his behaviour, dominant and threatening, and then have a look inside his head. Against my better judgement, I answer him. "A little, but that's not your concern."
His buddy sends him a smug grin, and he smiles in return. "But we can help you."
I can't help but roll my eyes. Some men are the definition of stereotypes. Despite the unpleasant things they have on their minds, I think I can handle them, in a non-violent manner too.
"Alright," I say, "I could need a little help."
As I step up beside them, showing them the map, pointing and explaining, their faces are priceless. The last thing they expected was for me to accept their help. I'm a vampire, I lead a coven and we are at war. I just killed a young boy and I might die myself tomorrow night, or lose the few people I care about. I take my fun where I can find it.
I keep constant track of their thoughts, better safe than sorry. They're confused at first, and then notice the blood on my pants and hands. They exchange a worried glance, both realising there's something terriblywrong about the young girl they've encountered. I make sure to keep my mouth closed, afraid they should spot my slightly elongated eye-teeth.
But to my surprise, they give me directions, eager to get away as fast as possible. Just a few minutes later I stand outside a small, anonymous brick-building, and inside I can sense a hundred undead rushing around.
I walk in. The tense atmosphere is easy to pick up. We are marching out in less than twenty-four hours and many of us aren't coming back. Knowing you might die isn't a comforting thought, and most of the vampires here haven't been through this before. It's only natural they would be nervous, hell, I am too, even though I've done this a thousand times; ventured out in the night, knowing every hunting trip could be my last. One of my duties as a leader is to lift their sprits. I'll have to convince them everything is going to be fine while we might be on our way to hell on earth. Let's hope I'm a good liar.
Some are taking advantage these last free hours, training. I recognise the blond vampire sparring with Gregor, and am not surprised Nathaniel would choose to push himself like this.
They finish soon after, as I walk closer, keeping out of sight. I hear Gregor tell Nath to get some rest before tomorrow, but that idiot fledgling of mine doesn't listen. When Gregor doesn't try to convince him it's time for him to hit the sack and get some sleep, I guess this has happened before.
I nod to Gregor when he walks past me and go back to watching Nathaniel fight an invisible enemy. Because of the bond between fledgling and sire, I don't have problems feeling what he feels. He's pushing himself, he's exhausted, and still goes on.Idiot.
I consider going over and make him stop, but I'd rather not have to explain my bloodstained clothes to him. He wouldn't accept it. And then there's what Carla told me. One of the vampires, the woman who was loyal to Ruthven, had been prisoner for nearly two months, meaning she was with them while Nathaniel still was alive. I can't believe he was in on something like that, torturing and killing people.
When this is over he'd better be ready to answer for it.
Edouard comes towards me, looking almost comfortable in comparison to everyone else. There's a look of determination in his eyes. Seeing it is a comfort.
"You're late," he comments, noticing the tear in my clothing and the scent of blood. He frowns, immediately assuming the worst. "What's happened? Were you ambushed?"
"No," I calm him. "Some human tried to mug me. Didn't get far."
He gives a sigh, relieved we don't have to worry about enemy vampires before tomorrow. I reinforce the mask I've put on my face, pretending I'm alright. If I can just get something to do I won't have to think so much about everything - Nathaniel, the young boy whose blood is drying on my hands, those who are going to die tomorrow, who I am going to kill, the friends I'll lose...
I turn to him, planning to put myself to use. There are plenty of things left to be done before dawn. "So," I say, acting casually, "where am I needed?"
