Byron

A bomb exploded inside Byron, and it unleashed the inner animal. At times like these he had trouble loosening his fists until he put them through a wall. He didn’t just want a fight; he had to fight. So, there was only one question—who?

An image of Vic sitting on the Big Chair in Blueskin territory with that awful smirk of his played in the theater of his mind. Fuck that guy. In this same imagination, Sharona jeered at him from the sidelines. Why did I show her mercy? Am I becoming soft like she said?

He breathed deeply. I don’t have to let the beast inside drive me—so why can’t I stop running?

Byron exerted enough control to slow to an even pace through the Blueskin Lowlands, at least. He even maintained enough presence of mind through the enemy’s territory to bypass the heavily populated areas and stick to the outskirts of Paradise. Once he found the sloping hill which bore the throne of the Big Chair, he wrestled his internal demon as he stalked close by.

To quell its insistent roar, he roved farther out until he came upon a small hunting party of Blueskins camped a few miles away from the city. The first of them he found relieving himself in a bush. Arms wrapped around the fellow of their own accord.

“Don’t scream and you don’t die,” Byron said.

Apparently, the fellow didn’t understand, and he said as much with a shout. Reflex snapped his neck and all the roused Blueskins who assailed the vampire after.

Surrounded by their motionless piles, Byron wrestled the beast back in to the corner of his mind—enough that as he walked by a wriggling bedroll in their camp, he managed curiosity instead of rage.

Under his gaze, a petite pale hand uncovered the face of a woman. She gasped and cried. “Please don’t. I’ll do anything you want. Just please, let me live.”

“Then tell me where the Big Chair is?”

“I don’t know. Please sir, have mercy on me. I’m not a Blueskin. They abducted me from the camp outside Alma.” She sat up and brushed her dirty blonde hair out of her eyes. The skin on her wrists were clean of any marks.

“Why didn’t they tie you?”

“I convinced them to let me go. Do I look like any threat?”

He pointed at a series of brightly patterned luggage surrounding her bed. “You’re lying to me.”

She shook her head so hard her hair spilled out from its bow.

“Look, I’m in no mood for playing nice. So, let me ask this again: do you know where the Big Chair is? If not, do you know when he’ll be around?”

The blonde sighed. “No idea. He left recently. Usually, he doesn’t come back for a few weeks.”

“I’ll be on my way then.”

Mostly in control again, he only thought about letting the blonde join her friends. Progress.

* * *

Time passed, and the lights in Paradise died. Bored with all this waiting, he inspected the Big Chair’s throne atop its hill. The seat may have once been from a kitchen set, but over the years it had become intertwined with a gnarled tree until the two shapes became one. Each piece marked with the runic scrawls of the tribe. Byron reckoned it was a record of those who’d sat on the seat. Those who’d led.

He made his way down the opposing side of the hill and chanced on a recessed entrance hidden away by tall grass. Must be the governor’s mansion around these parts.

A shout from behind him rang out. “There he is. By the door.” Byron spun and found a horde of Blueskins all standing behind the blonde from the bedroll.

The beast beset him again and without so much as blinking, Byron rushed at the woman he’d left alive and ripped her off the ground, throwing her over his shoulder. He ran her to the Big Chair’s throne, and tied her fast with the ribbon from her hair. “I’ll be back for you later,” he said before tearing down the hill and into the fray.

He didn’t see his foes after that, only their blood. Felt the squish of flesh and the crunch of bones. Heard their screams until his ears only rung. His body carried him to each last soul and extinguished everyone.

In time, he found himself buried under a thick mass of corpses. Weakly, he pulled himself out from under and found none left standing. A voice above called, “Help.”

The blonde. He loped up the hill and found her gaping at him. Terrorized. “You-you’re a monster.”

“Yeah. I am,” he said and tore into her neck. Her blood only a little tainted from the Blueskins silver burned a little as he drank. As he took enough to slake his thirst the beast purred and fell back into hibernation. That’s enough.

At that point, he would have left her there to her own devices, but she’d worked a hand free and filled it with a long knife. She swung at him and reflexes took over. He ripped the weapon away, turned it, and beheaded her. The head fell to his feet with a plop and he kicked it down to the pile of corpses.

Back at the door in the hill, he ripped it off its hinges and went inside. “Hello, is there anyone here?”

A pained moan cried back in response.

“Who? I hear you, but I can’t see you,” he said. The darkness of the pitch-black chamber tested the limit of his vampiric sight. He squinted, forcing his vision to sharpen. Around him were the shapes of several tables. Upon which three had bodies stretched and bound.

The figure at far-left shook. Byron moved closer and found a young man, almost a boy, gagged. He removed the sodden cloth from his mouth. “Are you all right?”

“He killed Lena.” The young man sobbed without tears. From the streaks down the side of his face, it looked as though he’d cried so hard, he’d run dry.

Across from him, another kicked, and he found a dark-skinned woman with thick glasses. He set her free from her gag. “Thank you,” she said and cocked her head to Byron’s right. “Gregory is correct. The Big Chair—who the other vampires call Vic—killed Lena forty-nine hours and seventeen minutes ago.”

“You’re witches, aren’t you? Bet you know Nadine, Doc and Sven?”

“Yes, I know all of them. Gregory is new, so he hasn’t met them yet. Lena and I were trying to extract him when we were ambushed. Since then the Big Chair has been keeping us alive and, well, feeding off of us. Lena didn’t like him touching Gregory, so she fought and you can see how that went for her.”

“You must be Holga. The other witches have been worried sick about you. I’m Byron.” He looked at the dead figure. Her spiked hair was platinum and a sizable portion of her neck was missing. “And that must be Lena, huh?”

She nodded.

“Vic’s a real asshole. Let me get you both loose and we’ll get out of here.”

They walked out into the cool night air, and both Gregory and Holga gawked at the huge pile of dead Blueskins. A questioning look passed between the two and rested on Byron as he stepped over the decapitated blonde’s head. “Ignore them. They can’t hurt you.” He looked to the top of the hill and found the headless corpse still sitting atop the throne. A small laugh fell from his mouth. That’ll send a message.

* * *

Gregory’s ability of heightened senses eclipsed Byron’s own. Unfortunately, that made him an utter mess on the journey as the young man jumped at every unfamiliar sight and sound for miles. According to Gregory, his power kicked into high gear after he traveled in time. Still, he helped the group elude more than a couple roving Blueskins.

As they moved into the no-man's-land south of Mount Forlorn, Holga led the trio to a stash of supplies she’d buried with her partner Lena. She pulled out an old headset and a pillowcase, and before placing the items on Gregory’s head, she said, “These should help a little.” The young man sighed and smiled at her. With her hand in his, she guided him from there.

“So, what’s your special witch power?” Byron asked her.

“Nothing terribly impressive and I’m not sure if you could call it a power either, but I have a photographic memory. The supplies I found, Lena and I buried those years ago. But it’s beyond that. I can remember everything like a 3D movie with Smell-O-Vision playing back in my head. How long have you been a vampire?”

“What makes you think I’m a vampire?”

“Really? That pile of corpses, wasn’t you?”

“Let’s say it wasn’t, how then?”

She paused, and her eyes scanned every inch of his face. “I’ve seen you before with the rest of them. Approximately, two years, thirteen days, nine hours and twenty-seven minutes ago.”

He scoffed. “Sounds a little more exact than approximate.”

“Sorry, Lena always told me I was a know-it-all. I got used to adding indefinite words so I wouldn’t come off as stuck-up.” She looked down at her feet.

“You loved her, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“We should’ve buried her. Didn’t think about that.”

She shook her head. “No. It wasn’t practical. Lena would have wanted us to get back to Alma safely.”

“Oh, right. About that. I’m not sure you’ll be welcome there.”

“Alma’s my home. Why wouldn’t I be?” She scratched behind her ear.

“All the witches left Alma a while ago.”

“Why?”

Byron shook his head. “I’m not sure. They didn’t say much more than it was unexpected.”

“Forgive me if I don’t trust you, but I don’t.”

He pointed at his chest. “Because I’m a vampire, huh?”

“Not completely, but it certainly doesn’t help.”

“We could have Gregory run a sort of polygraph on me.”

“Do you have a pulse?”

“Well, no.” Byron threw up his hands. “Whatever. It’s fine. I’ll take you back to Alma. It just might not be the homecoming you’re looking forward to.”

“Fine. Look, I’m not ungrateful for your help, but obviously I’ve had enough of vampires for the rest of my life on account of the Big Chair.”

Vic, Vic, Vic. Even the thought of him made Byron tense. “Yeah, I think I’ve had enough of vampires for the rest of my life, too.”

* * *

A half mile out from Alma, they parted ways. Byron laid it on a little thick whether Holga would be okay, and she made it abundantly clear she could take care of herself. Finally, she bid him adieu and Gregory moaned his thanks on departure.

Byron watched them disappear behind the gates. Part of him suspected the Catherine was in on the whole thing with Vic. Yet the leader of Alma had a reputation for keeping her word and striking fair deals. That hadn’t always been the case with Catherines over the years as there’d been far worse. In time, the story of this Catherine would evolve to suit a narrative written by her successor, and twist her legacy as it would.

He walked along the crooked streets of the refugee camp for a time, and several sets of eyes glared in his direction. Ol’ Templeton’s informants. He bared his fangs at a few of the more focused looks. Let ‘em see me.

Around a bend, hands gripped his arms. “Well, well, well. Who could it be? The man himself,” Vic said.

Sharona hissed. “We’re too close to Alma. Let’s get out of here.”

“First, I’ll need a word with my old pal.”

With his fists up, Byron spun around. “This where you want to mix things up?”

Vic made a mock jump as if startled. “Why would I want that, friend? Sharona here just told me how you’ve been looking into me. Didn’t know you cared.”

Byron shot her a dirty look and grunted. He can’t know already about the mess I left him. Can he?

“Now, I don’t care about you checking up on me, but I do think you best apologize for how rude you were to our sister here. Going and making death threats like that… I do declare. You keep this up and there’ll be a reckoning. Maybe not today, with us being so close to Alma and all. That might make for some bad press. But let it be known—one more incident and I’m coming for you. Are we clear?”

I could end all of this today. Byron looked from Vic to Sharona and in back of him where several sets of red vampiric eyes leered. It wasn’t a fight he could win. Best-case scenario, he’d get the drop on Vic and put a hurt on Sharona too, but there were plenty more vampires to fight off after. Other than that, the Catherine might have a few surprises in store herself if word of a fight reached her. Byron shrugged and said, “Clear.”

“Good. Now don’t go expecting a seat at the next blood feast, you hear? Me and you are finished,” Vic said.

“Suits me just fine.”

“Oh, and by the way, we know about that girlfriend of yours—what’s her name—Rory? And the little farmhouse you’re all staying at. So nice of you to take Billie along. Mighty kind.” Vic pointed to his temple. “Fella won’t shut up about the new digs.”

Byron clenched his fist. “You leave them be.”

“Now, now. Don’t go getting vexed. Everything’s going to be just fine if you stick to your business and let me stick to mine. Last thing I want to do is make those relationship problems you’re having worse.” Vic looked around to Sharona and the other vampires. “We best get going.” Then at Byron. “Probably what you should be doing too, boy.”

As the brood ran off, Byron couldn’t help but grin. He’d seen blue paint underneath a few of Vic’s fingernails. Just as I thought, body paint.

* * *

With everything that happened, Byron realized he’d barely thought of Rory. The action and intrigue had spared him of the heavy feelings that he didn’t know what to do with. Alas, he was only delaying the inevitable. Soon enough he’d have to share the news of Lena, Holga and Gregory with the others. Soon enough, he’d have to see Rory and…

Mara. An image of the old sage popped into his head, and she waved him toward her. Finally, he thought. It’s my turn to talk with her. He ran to the farmhouse and went down into the root cellar, taking care to avoid anyone on his way in case he was no longer welcome. The door shown with light when he stood in front of it, and he entered the altar room.

“Take a seat,” she said and motioned to a stool.

As he sat down in the indicated spot, a deep indigo color from the sunset showed through the top grate and he watched her face ripple from old to young. Without the support of her staff, she stood tall and let her hood fall back, revealing a plume of red hair. The locks brightened and became blonde and then faded into black.

She beamed. “Do you think you could change if that was an option?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you could quit being a vampire, would you?”

“Never considered that, to be honest. Seemed impossible.”

A patch of white streaked through her hair. “Are you a vampire or are you a man?”

“Not sure where you’re going with that. I’ve lived longer as a vampire, but I can’t always say better. When Galena was still around things weren’t bad. I had fun with her, but she never really let me in. One thing about Rory: she has no filter. I know what’s on her mind whether I like it or not.”

“The beast inside you is strong and Aurora is right to fear that.”

“Sure, but it makes me strong too. How do I protect her? Or the rest of them without it? Vic will be on a warpath after he sees the mess I left him in Paradise.”

“We could make a deal. Your immortality for the power to defeat him.” The youthful face wrinkled and her shoulders slackened. “I could lift the curse on you, at least.”

Byron pictured himself growing old. His body weak and his senses decayed. He’d seen happy old men and wondered what their secret was. He’d also seen sadness and despair—and more of that, usually. “Do you know how it will end?”

She shrugged. “One way or another, you will be the end of him. But, does anything ever really end? You don’t have to give me an answer right now. In fact, it’s better that you don’t. Decide soon, eh?”

“Sure.”