Authors: Jade M. Phillips
I awoke from a troubled sleep to the sound of a coyote
howling in the distance, a familiar sound from my childhood that created a pang
of homesickness in my gut. But it didn’t faze me much anymore, my loneliness
having become a close companion, something I resigned to live with.
I peeled open my eyes and scanned the cellar around me, my
pupils dilating and my sight adjusting to the darkness. I sat up, the chain of
my rosary sliding down my neck to rest on my chest. I’d finished fixing it that
morning, every last bead and link in the chain now intact. Though scuffed and
bent, it was whole again, and I touched the wooden crucifix with my fingertips,
reminding myself of the love I’d lost. My soul pined for Guy, my Captain and
savior, but I shook the heartache from myself. I needed to keep focused on the
task at hand, which was to find out who the prisoner was. I wasn’t due to
report for blood slave duty for a couple of hours and I needed to find Cloe. Time
was of the essence and a man’s life could be on the line. Guy’s life could be
on the line.
After quickly lacing up my boots and readying myself for the
night, I climbed from the cellar into the kitchen to find the house empty. I
glanced around, noting how dark it was. Jax and Orie were gone and I realized I
must’ve slept later than I intended. Orie and I had become close over the past
couple of weeks and he’d always bid me goodbye in the evening before he trudged
off to work. Yet it was clear he’d left in a rush. Something was wrong, I could
feel it.
I made my way from the house and around the large chasm
running up the street. I wondered where I’d find Cloe this time of night so I
went to our usual meeting place, the laundry well. The park stood vacant, the
clothesline hung with dried socks and dresses that fluttered in the breeze. I
shivered, but not from the cold. I shivered at the darkness settling inside of
me.
I rushed toward Allen Street, the smell of roasting meat hanging
on the air. Everything seemed as it should be. The werewolves were up to their
noisy antics in the Crystal Palace Saloon. The shopkeepers hollered, inviting
you to come on in and survey their newest supplies. Lady vampires clustered
together in groups, gossiping like squawking ravens, and witches bustled this
way and that, preparing for dinner that night.
I came upon Big Nose Kate’s, the place Cloe trained me to
pick up the food for the humans. Bodies crowded the space, but Cloe was not
amongst them. I sighed deeply and went back outside, feeling lost on the wooden
sidewalk, frustrated. I had to find her. I needed to know who was in the jail.
Just then, Orie flew by me looking upset, but even more so,
angry. I called out to him and he stopped abruptly, his yellow eyes gleaming at
me from beneath his dark brows. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out
and I couldn’t help but think he looked like someone had stepped on his
sandcastle. His strong chest heaved beneath his shirt, his security pin
glistening in the lamp light. His face drew in as though holding back tears. I’d
never seen him like this.
“It’s Cloe,” he croaked. “She’s… hurt.”
Though I had no idea what was going on, Horus immediately
came to mind. My fangs throbbed in anger.
“I… I have to go,” Orie said, his voice breaking. “I’m on my
way to the infirmary to see her right now.”
“I’ll come with you.”
I followed him to the far end of town past Vampire Hall where
Pandora’s recruitment office stood, never having been this far North before. I
wanted to ask him where we were going and what had happened to our dear friend,
but we were moving too fast.
The streets became more distorted and damaged as we went,
their conditions similar to the ones in the werewolf and courthouse district.
The fronts of homes and buildings sagged and crumbled, looking like sad faces
mourning their own losses.
After a few minutes we arrived at the front of an old
two-story Church House, the sign on the front saying Old Church Rectory,
dedicated 1881. We went through a gate and crossed the courtyard, arriving at
the front door. I followed Orie inside to a small office. To my surprise, the
witch leader Morin sat at a desk beneath a collage of spiritual pictures. She
raised her head at our arrival, her attention flickering between me and Orie, but
if she recognized me from the trial, she gave no hint of it.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes,” Orie replied hurriedly. “There was a young vampire
brought to the infirmary just a bit ago. Her name’s Cloe. Can we see her?”
The old witch cocked her head to the side and studied us. After
a few moments, her eyes softened with sympathy at our distress. “We don’t
normally allow visitors when the patient is in such a fragile condition. But
she’s stable now. I guess it would be alright.”
Orie’s chest dropped in relief. “Thank you.”
Morin stood and led us out a side door into the night. We
moved across a span of grass to another tall white building, marked with a sign
saying Sacred Heart Church. She turned to us before opening the doors.
“We just ask that you please keep your voices down.”
My heart pumped furiously, and I worried about what state we
would find Cloe in. Morin opened the doors, an aromatic blast of incense and
herbs hitting us in the face.
I followed the scent to a large cauldron hanging above a
fireplace to our left, colored smoke floating from its surface. Sage and other
dried plants hung in bundles from overhead shelves and statues of Jesus and
other deities unknown to me stood with arms raised. Bottles of powders and liquids
littered the tables and the witches worked busily with their concoctions.
I scanned the building beyond the witch’s workstation,
seeing what appeared to be a makeshift hospital inside the old church. On both
sides, wooden pews flanked the long nave in which we stood. Tall walls held sharply-pointed
gothic windows constructed from colorful stained glass. They were boarded up
from the outside to keep out any light.
At the front where we stood, half the pews were shoved aside
allowing for the many beds placed there. Some held the forms of sick werewolves
and witches and some lay vacant, but I sensed no vampires.
“Where is she?” Orie, asked, voicing my unspoken question.
Morin shifted her weight, the bells on her long skirt jingling.
“It’s rare that we have vampires here, so we’ve made a special place for her in
the back room.”
The witch took us down the side of the nave to a door near
the pulpit, leading us inside. White tapered candles lit the tiny room and I
gasped at the sight of our friend. Cloe lay on a bed, her eyes closed and her
chest rising and falling softly beneath a thin white sheet. The soft light from
flickering candles highlighted her scarred profile. Purple bruises marred her
face and gruesome cuts marked her arms. A gash ran up her forehead into her
hairline.
“Cloe,” Orie whispered, tentatively reaching out to her.
Morin slid Orie a sympathetic glance. “She can’t hear you,
honey.”
Orie frowned. “What? I thought you said she was stable?”
Morin stood to Cloe’s side and gazed down at her sadly. “Stable
yes. Conscious no.”
“What happened to her?” I finally spoke, my heart sinking to
my feet.
The witch looked at us for a few moments and then turned
away. She tucked the sheets in tightly around Cloe’s body. “I am not exactly
sure. We found her lying on the steps outside when we opened the doors a few
hours ago.”
“She needs blood to speed the healing,” I said, stepping
toward her, ready to rip open my wrist and feed her. I speculated Morin knew
very well who did this to Cloe, but held back for some reason. It angered me
even more.
“No,” Morin protested my attempt, both Orie and I looking at
her in shock. She averted our stares. “Her maker showed up not long after she
did. He instructed me to let her heal on her own. He told me under no circumstances
was she allowed any blood.”
“Horus…” I said barely above a whisper.
If Morin heard me, she gave no response, instead reaching
for a jar on the side table and unscrewing the lid. She finally caught our
gazes and winked. “But he said nothing about potions.” She dipped two fingers
into the creamy salve and proceeded to rub it on Cloe’s wounds.
“That’s ludicrous!” Orie cried out, and I got the sense that
witch potions weren’t as powerful of a healing tool as blood was. The young
werewolf growled. “It was he who did this to her. We can’t just stand by and watch
her suffer.” His golden eyes blazed as he plucked a knife from his belt and
held it to own his wrist. The witch grabbed his hand to stop him. She looked
scared.
“Please. No. I’m afraid of what might happen to you if Horus
finds out you fed her your blood.”
It was now apparent that Horus probably threatened the
witch, and I couldn’t help but think that no one was safe while that insane
vampire was around.
“I don’t care!” Orie growled, his body twitching. Sharp
claws grew from his fingers and his face bulged red, indicating he was about to
lose control and turn into his wolf form. That wouldn’t do any of us any good,
especially not Cloe.
“Orie,” I stepped forward and placed a hand gently on his
shoulder, pulling his attention to me. His eyes met mine, and then Morin’s, and
then dropped to the ground as though in realization. His face calmed and his
claws receded.
“I have to do this,” he rasped.
I sighed, thinking Orie was asking for it, but nodded just
the same. I would’ve done the same thing if it were Guy lying there. I stepped back
giving Orie his space with Cloe, and glanced to Morin, signaling she should do
the same. She hesitated for a moment, but stepped back as well.
Orie gazed down at the woman he loved as though holding back
so many words he wanted to say. He ran a finger down the side of her face, careful
not to touch any wounds, and then smoothed out her hair. He held his breath, brought
the knife up to his wrist, and I winced as he made a small slice. The blood
trickled down his flesh and dripped onto the floor. He lowered his wrist to her
mouth and let the blood trickle past her lips, but she did not move, nor
swallow, nor give the slightest hint she was able to ingest the healing
lifeblood.
“Come on,” he coaxed her. “Drink.”
Suddenly as if on cue, she coughed and sputtered, the red
liquid dripping down her chin. Her throat bobbed up and down, and she
swallowed. Orie let out a laugh of joy and I joined in, giggling, unable to
contain myself. I looked upon my friend’s swollen and battered face, noticing
the gash in her forehead lessening in size.
“Look Orie! She’s healing!”
“Yes,” the witch agreed. “The blood is working. Though
rather slowly it appears.”
All of our gazes were glued to Cloe. Her scratches had slowly
decreased in size, but her eyes stayed closed, her body lax and weak. She gave
no sign of awareness. Orie let some more blood into her mouth allowing her to
swallow again before pulling away. He pressed his wrist into his shirt to
compress the bleeding and turned to Morin. “Will she wake?”
“I’m not sure,” the old woman mused, pushing her gnarled
hair from her face. “Given some time perhaps, but she was badly wounded. I
don’t know exactly what happened to the poor thing, but it appears someone gave
her a potion to disable her healing. And from the looks of it, she was given
more than she could handle. She is healing at the speed of a human. A
very
ill human.”
“The suppressant,” Orie seethed through gritted teeth, and I
grunted my shared anger, though I wasn’t sure exactly what this “suppressant”
entailed.
“There is nothing else to be done tonight,” Morin said
sadly, eyeing us both. “All Cloe needs now is time to heal.”
I read the witch’s insinuating stare and took Orie by the
arm. “Let’s go. We can come back tomorrow to check on her.” Orie hesitated, but
I spoke in a soft and reassuring voice. “She’s in good hands, Orie. It’s okay. She
needs to rest now.”
Orie’s chest heaved and he relaxed in resignation. “I will
be back tomorrow night. If she’s not better, I will feed her again.”
The witch nodded and led us from the room, closing the door
behind us. She led us to the front of the church and out the doors, bidding us
a goodnight. But before she closed the church doors, she whispered, “Speak of
this to no one.”
Orie and I nodded, our concern thick and palpable. My mind
whirled with questions, wracked with doubt and fear. My throat clenched with
concern over my friend’s well-being. It was painful to see her suffering so.
And although it felt selfish at such a time, I couldn’t help
Guy arising to mind. Now that unconsciousness had taken Cloe, there was no way
for me to find out the identity of the mystery soldier. And from what I gleaned
from our conversation the other night, Orie didn’t know the prisoner’s identity,
either. Frustration filled me like a balloon ready to pop, yet I held strong,
hoping at least the human’s vote would go in my favor. But with my current
luck, even that seemed like a long shot.
“You think Horus did this to her and then dropped her here
so she could be watched?” I asked Orie, but already knew the answer to my own
question.
“That’s exactly what happened,” Orie growled. “Bastard.”
A presence materialized before us as though if by magic,
taking me by surprise. Pandora. I exhaled sharply at her sudden appearance, still
trying to get used to the way vampires moved about. Pandora studied us with her
dark green eyes and whipped her long red hair back from her shoulders.
“How is she?” Pandora asked, her normally unaffected voice
holding a hint of concern.
“You heard?” Orie asked. “You know who did this, right?”
“Word travels fast,” Pandora answered. She glanced back at
the Church House. “And there is no direct proof as to who did this until Cloe
herself can confirm it.”