Byron

The last miles dragged. Part of Byron wished he’d borrowed Betts, but then he’d be a two-bit horse thief. Kind of ridiculous to worry about my reputation when I’m heading out to kill Vic, he thought.

By the time he caught sight of the Big Chair’s hill, he felt drained. A creeping sense of guilt wore on his conscience when he found several sticks marking the pile of Blueskins he’d slaughtered. He’d murdered people with lives and families. People who were likely just protecting the little they had.

The fallen emerged from the ground and shot him fierce looks. With the power in his words, he said, “Be at peace. You fought bravely, I will no longer harm you or your people.” The spirits nodded their understanding and shot into the sky. Byron hoped a Valhalla awaited them—wherever they went.

He scanned the area around the hill's entrance and found no signs of life—or undeath, for that matter. What would be the point of guards with how well Vic’s barricaded in there? I should have come with the others. Nadine could put a hole in the hill and smoke his enemy out. Or Rory could’ve persuaded Vic to walk out into the open and Sven could’ve finished him with one of his crazy concoctions. Or, even Billie—assuming he hadn’t disappeared—could’ve distracted Vic while Byron came up behind the vampire with a stake. And then, Doc could see to anyone injured. While Holga…. Byron realized he wasn’t sure what she could do with her memory ability. Perhaps she’d read a book on martial arts and had a perfect recall on how to use the moves? What can I do anyway? See dead people? Have a little chat and help them on their way?

He steeled himself with the thought, Mara said, “You will be the end of him.” If death was his fate too, so be it. In absence of a good plan, he marched up to the door in the hill and banged loudly on it. “Let me in,” he said. “I need to talk to Vic.”

A long moment passed, and the door screeched open a crack. On the other side, Byron glimpsed a set of glowing eyes. “Are you alone?”

“Yes,” Byron replied.

Voices whispered sharply back-and-forth until finally a sickening squeak sounded and the round entryway opened.

“Such a fool,” A husky voice said and everything went black.

* * *

A throbbing headache woke Byron with its tenacious pulse and he was in the same room he’d found Holga, Gregory and Lena. This time it was him spread out on a table, restrained by belts with a gag in his mouth.

He jerked his head as far as he could to the side and discovered the Immaculate Daughters captured in the raid on Alma, bound similarly around him. The women lay soundless—not so much as a sharp breath passed from their lips.

In a nearby room, loud machinery crashed and artificial lights flickered on overhead, dazzling Byron’s eyes with their harsh brightness. Heeled feet clicked step-by-step and ever closer. The air chilled, and he felt someone looking down at him just out of his sight. “Vic?” he asked, but with his mouth gagged it came out more like: “Bmf?”

He heard a scratch of a pen on paper. The feet then walked away, and he nearly tore the muscles in his neck to see a female in a lab coat exiting through a rear door. She vanished with a loud slam. Later, the clack of her steps was accompanied by the sound of wheels trailing behind her. There was a sound of Velcro and the steady beep of a pulse played. She repeated this action a few times and left, ignoring Byron’s muffled calls to her once more.

Outside the room from the rough location Byron had entered, he heard the door open. A few loud voices echoed down the hall. The loudest of them all spoke, or rather, drawled. Right away, Byron knew who it was.

Vic said, “… and he just knocked on the door? Unbelievable. Saves us some trouble though. How do you figure he’s not a vampire, huh?”

A voice murmured back to which Vic replied, “We could always use another, I suppose. Might make a good stud for our little farm. Supposing I don’t kill….” His voice trailed off, and a door fell shut behind Vic and whoever he spoke with. Muffled gales of laughter were all Byron could make out.

It’s probably for the best that I can’t hear what they’re saying.

With no frame of reference for the passage of time, minutes or hours might have passed. The waiting was more torturous than death by a thousand cuts. He roused at the sound of a Daughter humming the melody of a hymn. Although the words weren’t known to him, he knew the title to be: We are the light in the dark. A few of her sisters provided harmony, and the otherwise cheerful tune took on a funerary aspect. The rear door swung open suddenly, and a foot thudded heavily on the floor. The song died.

Moments later, one of the Daughters rasped. She breathed in deeply over-and-over until a large sob sallied forth. Muffled disapproval sounded from the others, but it seemed the one who cried couldn’t contain herself.

A couple pairs of clunking boots entered, and the Daughter was pushed out by two large vampires and down the hall where Vic had disappeared. The remaining women sniffled and dared wordless cries of outrage before falling quiet.

Byron thought back to the blood feasts. How bravely the Daughters would walk up to the vampires. How they’d bare the bites at their necks with little complaint—as long as those who bit didn’t get out of hand. His face burned as he thought about how little concern he’d felt for their lives at the last feast he’d attended. Why, he’d even gone as far to consider killing one to show Vic his contempt. He’d lost more of his humanity than he realized.

* * *

However long passed before Vic strolled in. “Guess we’ve kept you waiting long enough,” he said and pulled the bindings away. With one arm, he lifted Byron off the table and deposited him on the ground. He motioned in the direction opposite the entryway and said, “Walk.”

Byron turned to speak, but was whirled around with a shove.

Outside the room, Vic said, “Down the hall, first door on the right.” The chamber they stopped at was empty save for a bare lightbulb that hung from a cable and a metal chair. Dried blood pockmarked the cement floor. Vic turned his back and kicked the door closed with a black cowboy boot. He pushed Byron’s shoulder. “Have a seat.” Once his order was followed, he said, “So why are you here? What’s the purpose of your visit? How did you think this was going to go?”

Byron rubbed at a spasm in his lower back. “Don’t know. I thought I’d be dead. As for your other questions, I’ve got my reasons.” He peered at the countless mass of spirits crowded around the vampire.

Vic paced for a moment. “Hmm, is that what you risked your life to tell me? Really? I think those witches you’ve taken up with are plotting something. Think somehow you all kept it a secret. May be why you all disappeared Billie…”

“That wasn’t you?”

“No, not you either, huh? Where did you all go? Mara?”

Byron scoffed. “You don’t know anything about her, do you? Just whatever you heard from the part of Billie that haunts you.”

“I know a little more than that.” Vic puffed out his chest and stretched. “She’s got a reputation among the tent people.”

“That refugee song doesn’t mean much if that’s what you’re talking about.”

“Could be. Could be something else, too. Why don’t you make another guess?”

“Nah, I’m not falling for the shakedown.”

Vic glided around the room. He whistled a few bars of some old tune and laughed. “Can’t blame a fellow for trying. Let’s talk about something else. Is Mara the one who changed you? Is that why I can hear your heart pounding in your chest? You aren’t like me—any of us vampires—anymore.”

Byron struggled with how to answer. Any way he could think of would be the same as affirming Vic’s question. “What can I say, but yeah. She changed me.”

“And I assume you did that for, uh, Rory. What’s so special to you about her? Now, I’ve heard tell of what she can do. But what does she mean to you? Seems like you’re giving up a lot for some girl. What’re you getting out of the arrangement that you can’t take for yourself?”

“You don’t expect me to answer that.” Byron folded his arms and leaned them against his knees. He gazed as an agonized spirit screamed soundlessly behind the vampire. “Ever think about how you lost your soul, Vic.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, Rory is part of the reason I gave up my immortality—not going to lie—but something else wasn’t right. My thoughts were so drowned out by ghosts… I guess I couldn’t hear myself think. The beast inside drives you then. Things you thought you’d never do become commonplace—hardly worth consideration. Then you get detached with every year you live past when you should’ve died. You get colder and deader on the inside until you are the living dead.”

The usual amused grin on Vic’s face turned into a frown. He paused and looked into a far corner, his eyes lacking focus. “There’s something to what you say. I’ll give you that. But what about folks like me, huh? This Mara won’t change all of us.”

“What do you think I’m some kind of saint? You could change yourself and who knows, she might meet you partway.”

“You’re living in a pipedream. You’ve always been the precious one. Galena chose you above all the rest of us, and I don’t know why. Not like you stepped up after she disappeared. Do you think I wanted this? At first, I did it as a favor to you.”

“Then what? You discovered you liked being in control? Or some part of you did. Look how corrupt that made you, attacking Alma and all. Hell, you just made off with a bunch of the Immaculate Daughters we swore to protect. Don’t you remember what happened to the old colony of Haven when vampires made moves like you’re now making?”

A low growl burst from Vic. “We don’t talk about Haven…”

“No, we don’t. But should we forget it? If not for Alma, the human race might have gone extinct—along with all vampires. We know better and we can be better.”

“What does it matter if the Catherine sends the girls to us to drink or if I do? They’re livestock either way,” Vic said. “And I’m going to call it what it is—a farm.”

Byron shook his head. “Whatever, man. You’re a real piece of work.”

“You should talk. Why do you want to be like them? In this world, you’re either predator or prey. Ain’t no in between. Can’t stand hearing you whine about losing your soul or being haunted by ghosts. You ever think you don’t have much strength of will? That you can’t hear your own thoughts on account of the fact you don’t think so well?” Vic smacked him then, and said, “Fuck you.”

Byron spat on the ground and stood. “C’mon then, get it over with. Kill me. That’s what you’ve wanted all along. Do it.”

Vic balled his fists and struck him hard in the chest.

His lungs emptied, and Byron forced a breath. “Is that the best you got?”

A cruel smile stretched over the vampire’s face. “I’ve got plenty more for you.” He took another shot and a wet crack sounded.

Dazed, Byron fell to the floor clutching his ribs and screaming.

Without warning, Trevor ran through the door and into Vic’s spine. A flurry of attacks from each followed until Vic managed to get the upper hand and incapacitate his attacker. “What the fuck is your problem, Trevor,” he said and pounded the unconscious vampire’s skull into the ground repeatedly, as if trying to cave his head in.

Byron tried to stand, but discovered he lacked the strength. He moaned and said, “You’re going to kill him.”

“Why do you care?” Vic said. With one hand he ripped Byron off the floor and with the other he slapped him hard against the cinderblock wall.

“Don’t do this. Fight it. The beast doesn’t have to control you.”

Vic’s eyes became tiny dots swimming in red under the ridge of his brow. He snarled and stepped closer. His arms caught Byron’s shoulders and his teeth caught his neck.

Up became down. Wooziness clouded his head. Nearly unable to hold his eyes open, Byron pushed out weakly. A specter with Billie’s face frowned from over Vic’s shoulder and the ghost shook its head at the scene. Several more faces emerged and with each new one, two more appeared. They howled and gnashed their teeth. Ghostly hands materialized and clawed into the vampire. By the time they were done, torn flesh and bone blanketed the room.

Byron nodded as the spirits vanished. And then…

Amid the pieces of Vic, two bodies lay sprawled. One, Trevor, moved and staggered away while the other remained motionless. Byron reached out. His hand pushed unfeeling through the fallen figure and even though he knew then who it was, he double-checked that the face was his own.

A whirling portal of light opened, and he walked through.