Byron

The meeting with Rory didn’t go the way he wanted. There was a part of him that believed the hand of fate joined their paths. He’d gone looking for the one Galena said would come and the mysterious old woman had claimed would be there for him, but was she Rory? Was it fair to expect that anyone could match his built-up expectations? He figured it was best to exercise some patience. If he’d learned anything, it was that things changed and sometimes people—including vampires—did too.

But first, he had business. If Vic was collecting witches, Billie wouldn’t be safe. After that, Sharona had to know about the ambush at Mount Forlorn. Why didn’t she say anything? Vic couldn’t be the only one responsible for the recent intrigue. Could he?

A mile away from Billie’s house, Byron scouted the vicinity. There were no tracks anywhere. As he drew closer, he peered through a clearing and found the home still intact. Has to be a trap. Paranoia swept through him. Why, though? When his only problem with Vic was Vic’s problem with him—whatever it was.

He surveyed the all too peaceful scene once more. If he’d learned anything over the years, suspicion was merely due diligence with vampires. “Fuck it,” Byron said. “Billie will have to figure this out for himself. I need to go see Sharona.” A lump formed in his throat as he turned away. They can’t hurt him that bad, right? But there was no answer for this voice of conscience—only silence.

He covered his tracks on the way out. There was no sense in making things easier on Vic than he had already.

* * *

A few miles away from the refugee camp, he found Sharona sleeping at a cave she frequented. He steadied a makeshift stake over her heart and smacked her awake.

Motionless at the sight of his weapon, she asked, “What are you planning to do with that?”

“For the time being—give you a good fright. After that, who knows,” he said and emphasized his intent with a hard press. “There was an ambush at the Mount. A bunch of Blueskins were playing dead.”

“Yeah. So fucking what?”

“If you were a friend, wouldn’t you tell me about something like that?”

“What would it matter. You survived, why are you so butt hurt?”

“We have an agreement with the people of Alma. One that goes way back. I don’t need to tell you-”

She scoffed. “That’s the problem, Byron. We were all dying to follow you, but you’ve been a goddamn robot forever now. When Vic started doing all this shit, you turned a blind eye. If we tried to tell you anything, you’d just throw up your hands and tell us you weren’t the boss. All of a sudden you give two shits?”

Byron pounded his empty fist inches away from her skull, his face within kissing distance of hers. “Don’t play with me, Sharona. Think you were about to tell me what was up, but then you decided not to. Why?”

She spat at him. “Maybe, I wanted to see the fire sparkle in your eyes again. Or make sure you weren’t dickless. Besides, you know what they say, ‘vampires don’t make friends, they make truces.’ You weren’t shit and Vic made me an offer. Can’t hate me for doing what we do.”

Byron pushed the stake harder against her chest. “How about this deal? You want to live, you tell me about the trap outside Billie’s house and if it pans out, I won’t torture you for the rest of your miserable life.”

“Or, I tell you and you kill me anyways, right?”

“Unlike you, I don’t stick people in the back when they turn around.”

“No, you wait for them to go to sleep. Like, you know, what’s happening here.”

“If it gives me the advantage—absolutely. But you know this is different. And you know I keep my word.”

She looked away and sighed. “Fine.”

* * *

Byron trudged away from the cave aimlessly. Based on what Sharona said, getting to Billie wouldn’t be easy. Two vampires roamed the area and about a half dozen encircled him at all times. While it wouldn’t be that hard to elude the scouts, the six or so guards were too much. To top it all off, the closed quarters would make it hard for them to escape—even if he sneaked in somehow. It was all too clear—he needed help.

But from who? Sharona’s deceit made him wary of recruiting the aid of other vampires. If she would sell him out, did he have any allies left? He cursed himself for leaving Billie alone. He should have insisted the guy go with him. At least, he can’t die. Too bad I can’t just walk in and tell them all to go fuck themselves.

“Do we not know anyone who can?” a voice asked from behind.

“Who?” Startled, he whipped around and found the old gray woman in the maroon cloak from before. “Oh, it’s you. What was your name again?”

A half-smile curled her lips. “I never told you. And you will not make me slip up that easily.”

“Can’t blame me for trying. What’s the harm in telling me? I’m not a witch or anything. I can’t make any spell that will bind you to my will.”

She looked past him and asked, “Does anyone ever really know the future?”

“Well, no. But I’m sure I’ll be a vampire until somebody gets the better of me and I die.” With a hand, he jabbed at his heart.

“It’s the way of violence for your kind. Yes. There are those who would even consider it the curse. Do you?”

He scratched at his chin. “Yeah, it probably is,” he said, and his head swam with bloody images from the past.

She smiled. A small laugh lilted and barely left her throat. “The curse was immortality. Not too many know that.” Her eyes glazed over and she swayed in the breeze. For a moment, Byron thought she might blow away if the wind hit her cloak. “I too used to think it would be a blessing.”

“You’re not a vampire, are you?”

Her gaze sharpened, and she looked away. “No. I’m something else entirely. But we won’t get into that… Anyways, you need help rescuing Billie, right?”

“I do.”

“Rory and her friends will assist you with the matter. Afterwards you must go with them to the strait west of Alma. Near the tip, you’ll find Mara. She is already waiting as we speak.”

“So, I get to meet the one you said was smiling on me, huh?”

The woman nodded.

“And who should I say sent me?”

She held up a hand and shook it. “I don’t have any other answers today. Mara will—once you get to her. So, make sure you do. By the way, Rory will come around to you and the rest will follow. Well, Sven will continue to be an asshole, but that’s his way.” And with that said, she turned and disappeared into a forest of broken trees.

* * *

Byron realized Mara’s messenger hadn’t told him where he’d find the witches, but he figured it was safe to assume they’d be in Alma. As he traveled, his mind worked at unraveling the mystery of the old woman and how she appeared able to shape shift in their previous meeting. He wondered if it was by a spell and not some inherent gift. Could she be a witch? Or even a shifter? While he’d heard retellings of a shapeshifter settlement, he’d always dismissed them as refugee fairy tales. The kind they’d act out with puppets or sing songs of when they were drunk.

At one point, Blueskins were a story too. It was kind of funny how their homeland was only fifty miles out from Alma, and yet, for the longest time, no one could verify their existence.

Once he was outside the city’s walls, he didn’t see any of the witches right away, so he thought he might detour through the tent people’s makeshift village. There were always singers lamenting the state of things at all hours of the day and night. They carried a range of instruments made from scavenged objects.

A tune caught his ear, and the chorus went like this:

Mara, Mara, Mara.

Is that your name, my dear?

Please tell me so I hear.

You change your face so often,

I don’t know if I’ve forgotten.

Mara?

Just as Byron went to inquire over the lyrics, a cart he recognized from Mount Forlorn emerged from the gates. As it drew closer, he caught sight of Rory, Sven and Doc accompanied by a fourth passenger he didn’t know.

They passed, and Byron hung back. He followed as inconspicuously as possible, worried they’d make a scene amid the crowded streets if he announced his presence. Once the party was out of earshot from the refugees he called, “Rory?”

Deep in conversation with the other woman, she jumped at his interruption. “Byron?” Their eyes met, and she beamed at him momentarily before her face twisted into a frown.

“Oh, fuck off mate. Keep goin’ Betts. We’re not stoppin’ for him.” Sven leered and spat over the side of his cart. As if the horse had a mind of its own, Betts ignored the command and stopped.

Byron looked from one face to another in the group and asked, “Can I borrow Rory?”

Doc stood. “If she goes, I go.”

Rory grimaced. “I owe him for getting me back to you,” she said and pushed him away. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay where you can see me.”

Sven said, “What part of undead-”

A red-haired woman with an infectious smile put herself in front of Sven. “That’s enough. It’s nice to meet you, Byron. I’m Nadine. I’ve heard all about you. And I mean, all about you.” Her friendly demeanor faded slightly, and she gave him an all too knowing look.

Byron waited for Rory until she was at his side. They turned and walked down the road a bit. He caught her scent and his head swam with the succulent scents of jasmine and mint combined with her alluring essence. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. “I was told you’d be here.”

“By who?” She took a small step away and crossed her arms in a protective gesture.

“I don’t really know how to put it. An old woman appears to me. Sometimes she flies off as a black heron. Other times it seems like she just disappears. She… uh… seems to think you and your friends will help me. Look, I’m doing a terrible job of explaining myself. But if you can help, it would be appreciated.”

“If I were to help, what would I be doing?”

“A friend of mine, a witch actually, or warlock I guess, has run into some problems. Promised I would keep him safe. Unfortunately, there’s about eight or nine vampires between me and him.”

She rubbed her arms and scanned his face sharply. Finally, she said, “I can’t speak for the rest of the group, but since you got me out of trouble the other night, chances are they’ll help too. Give me a second.”

Byron did his best to suppress hungry stares in her direction as she walked away. He couldn’t make out much of what they said, but from the loud tones and rapidity of their words he could tell an argument ensued.

Silence broke over the group, and Doc rose to his full height. He waved Byron over. “We’re helping. All of us.” He shot a meaningful look at Sven. “So, what’s the plan?”

* * *

Outside Billie’s house, the party split up into two groups. Byron, Rory and Nadine made up one while Doc and Sven made the other. Their first priority was to take out the two patrolling vampires.

His group found theirs with little difficulty. Trevor, Ol’ Vic’s second in command.

Byron caught him off guard and placed a hand over his mouth while Rory whispered into the vampire’s ear, “Sleep.” Trevor went limp, and they covered his motionless body with ground.

A smile worked across Byron’s face and he said, “That was a lot easier than expected. Now let’s catch up with the others.”

Minutes later, they found Sven laughing hysterically as the scout fed from him.

Doc tore the vampire away, depositing him on the ground. “Enough. Anymore and the poor thing will have a seizure.”

“Poor my left bollock.” Sven wrapped a paisley scarf around his neck to staunch the flow of blood and spat as it convulsed. He shot a toothy grin at Byron. “Blues ain’t the only ones who can make a cocktail outta themselves.”

Byron gave him a confused look. “Never seen that happen before. Is he all right?”

“Fine. I figure he’ll have a bit of a hangover tomorrow or whenever he comes down from everything in my system.” Sven pulled the scarf back down and ran a thumb over the bite marks. “You wanna have a go?”

Doc growled and put his hand around his friend’s neck. His eyes flickered white before returning to hazel. “We don’t have time for your games asshole. We need to move.”

They drew closer to Billie’s house. Nadine kneeled and placed her palms against the earth while facing a large oak near the home. “Hello my friend. Can you help me?” She said, “I can feel you in there.” Worried lines appeared on her forehead. “We can do something about that but I need your help.”

A trail of dead grass between her hands and the tree turned a bright, healthy green. One large branch with a rotten tire swung wildly, crashing through a room where Billie kept the bulk of his ‘treasures’. The blow sent shock waves through the old structure and it imploded into dust.

“Oops,” Nadine said.

Seven figures emerged from the ruin, six scattering in every direction before fading off into the horizon. One figure, however, stood stock still.

Billie.

“My house. My treasures. Gone. All gone.”

Byron jogged to his friend’s side. “Are you all right?”

“You came back for me!” Billie’s eyes flashed briefly and he looked around at the wreckage of his house once more. “I’d invite you in but… but…”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry about that. But look, I found some other witches and I think they’d like to meet you. Also, there’s a cart with a horse and...” His words fell off and Byron just smiled. It was good to see his friend in one piece. For a minute, he almost felt human again. Like someone good.

“Okay, Byron.”

With an arm around Rory, Doc waved a hand at them. “Are we ready? I don’t want to be here when they get the nerve to come back.”

Byron grabbed Billie’s hand and led him to the cart. A shy grin from his friend told him his gesture was being misread, and he shook his head. Didn’t seem like he was worse for the wear at least.