Red Awakening #5

Author's Note: Ahhhhh! More stuff very soon!

[story] [vampire type stuff]

_______________________________

“Have fun in there?” Jack arches a brow as I make my way out, wiping my lips. “You certainly look… healthier.”

“This is certainly a place I look forward to returning to,” I sigh. Things do seem clearer now, and I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve been chronically underfed since my awakening. “And I shall endeavor to do more hunting, in the future.”

“Be careful with that. The last thing we need is you getting caught.”

I let out a grumble. This charade of vulnerability, this hiding and skulking, grows on my nerves. “Remember that there is nothing I cannot elude or destroy. Even if I’m caught, I shall endure and escape.”

Jack pauses, looking pensive for a moment as we make our way out of Craving and back into the massive, gloomy city-mall that is Darkhaven. “I know this may come as a shock, but it’s not just about you. If you get caught, or observed, humans are gonna ask questions. If vampires are discovered, all of the Glaring is at risk – they’ll adapt, they’ll start hunting us, and our way of life will be at an end. No more free, easy meals. That’s part of why you needed to come to Darkhaven.”

“To witness the brittle infrastructure our kind has grown decadent within?”

“No.” Jack hesitates again. I don’t need to hear his heartbeat to see that he’s uneasy – he’s about to say something he doesn’t want to. “You have to meet with the Echelon.”

I narrow my eyes, teeth grinding. “You bring me here only to turn me in?”

“It’s not like that,” the warmblood shakes his head. “This should have been done a long time ago. I’ll be the one in trouble, not you.” He gestures onward, towards a flight of stairs heading downwards. “The Echelon are the three eldest vampires in a given community. They keep those under the Glaring secret and secure, but it does mean that new converts need to be registered. I should have registered you the moment you turned, but… well, I thought you were dead.”

“The more I learn about this place, the more I’m beginning to think you’ve all forgotten what it means to be predators.”

“Either that, or you’ve never learned what it means in the first place.” There’s an unexpected certainty in Jack’s voice that takes me aback, as it certainly doesn’t fit with his tone thus far. The confidence he speaks with is sufficient to make me wonder if he’s right – if I don’t know as much as I think I do. Even worse, I’m forced to wonder if it’s my bloodline that’s leading me towards hubris, rather than my own thoughts, my own mind.

I remain silent as Jack leads me onward, getting more strange side-glances from the other vampires as we make our way through Darkhaven. We go down, then down again, beyond the sewers and into the cold darkness of the earth, and we finally come to a door – one nearly identical to the one outside this sanctuary, and bearing the same symbol of a hanged man being bled out into a goblet. Flanking the door are two guards, but these are very different from Geno, the Totemic out front. These wear identical suits of sleek armor and hoods, colored solid white. Beneath the hoods are blank, featureless red masks, marred only by slits for those beneath to see through. They neither deter us, nor ask questions, but pivot sideways, opening the door via two identical levers that, presumably, must be pulled simultaneously.

We go through the door, and I find myself in what I can only describe as a throne room. The floors are dark, polished basalt, with enormous steps leading up higher and higher, to a raised dais nearly twenty feet in diameter. A blood-red carpet leads from the door to the dais, and at its peak are three seats, each bearing its respective ancient, powerful vampire. I swallow hard, and suddenly feel strangely small, my confidence wavering in the presence of these timeless beings.

“Don’t look directly at them,” Jack whispers to me, “follow my lead.” He continues onward up these wide, flat stairs, stopping three steps shy of the dais, and falling to one knee, head lowered. I, mostly, follow suit, however begrudgingly, but not before allowing myself one quick, solid look at this mysterious cabal I’m suppose to prostrate myself before.

To my left is a woman, and I would assume from her size that she’s Totemic. She looks to be seven feet in height at least, with pallid skin and a mane of wild raven hair, one eye blood-red, the other covered by a steel-plated patch. Black armor over dark leather covers a powerful, beautiful figure, and leaned against her throne is a massive, single-edged black sword.

To my right is a man, who I presume is one of those odd, deteriorating vampires I saw earlier. He is the woman’s opposite in every way – completely bald, his withered skin showing a dusky tint suggesting it had been much darker in life. He is slim and frail-looking, his hands bearing long, wicked claws, teeth twisted into rat-like fangs that he seems unable to retract. His eyes are pale and white, and he wears a long, ragged black robe. So much for ‘blending in.’

In the center is another man, though his vibe is less ‘timeless warrior-goddess’ or ‘medieval leper’ as it is ‘eccentric arms manufacturer.’ Despite his immense age, he appears to be perhaps in his late forties, his short hair solid white, a darkly handsome face clean-shaven. Dark circles enshroud deep red eyes, and his thick lips form a lopsided half-smile. He wears a well-fitted burgundy suit over a black silk shirt, and no tie. Something about his gaze frightens me, though I am unsure what – it’s a reflexive, primal thing, not based in logic, like the dread one feels at seeing a half-inch long spider scurry across the bathroom floor. He inspires fear because he simply Does.

“Honored, uh…” Jack begins, only to be immediately cut off by the vampire in the middle.

“That’s quite enough of that,” he says, his voice bearing a strange accent – vaguely eastern european, but different. Older. “From your stink, we already know you’ve born no offspring, so make your purpose known quickly, before–” he suddenly pauses, sniffing the air, his gaze growing more intense… then turning on me.

“He’s brought a Feral with him,” says the bald one, his voice like a heap of maggots made of sandpaper.

“A Feral that is unknown to us,” the man in the suit continues, licking his lips as he stares me down.

“That’s… what I’m here about,” Jack says hesitantly. “I did sire someone into the Glaring. This girl.”

“Girl?” I arch a brow at him.

“Uh, woman.”

“Absurd,” the armored woman scowls. “A warmblood has never sired anything but another warmblood, and even that is rare.” Clashing directly with her ancient, fantastical appearance, her accent is pure midwest.

“Assume that we were to believe you,” the man in the middle muses, finally turning his burning gaze back towards a visibly-trembling Jack. “She looks like she has her wits about her, very unlikely for a newborn Feral. How old is she?”

“About…” Jack swallows hard, squeezes his eyes shut. “A-about a week, my lord.”

“A week?!” the armored woman roars, standing up and out of her seat, though not approaching. The power of her voice alone makes my knees weak, like its sheer force and malice is draining the unlife from me. “You let a Feral prowl the streets for a week and said nothing of it? Did you think we would not care? Did you think we would not find out?!”

“Now, now, Anastasia, let us not be hasty,” the man in the suit says calmly. “Let the man explain himself. Why did you take so long in bringing this child to us?”

“I… thought she was dead,” Jack admits. “She insisted I try to turn her, but nothing went the way it was supposed to. She started running, and screaming, there was blood everywhere, and… and she died. I didn’t know she’d turned until earlier tonight.”

“Prompt, then, if sloppy,” the man in the robe muses, while Anastasia seats herself once more.

“Indeed,” says the man in the center. “If this were not a Feral, and such an unusual case, I’d be tempted to have her registered and dismiss the matter entirely.” I take note of how he says ‘I’ instead of ‘we,’ as if he is the only one with true authority here, the one who makes the real decisions. “Tell me, child, how did you survive on your own for a week? The last unregistered Feral was shot down by police helicopters after going berserk in a nightclub after two days. Yet I’ve heard of no significant disturbances over the last week.”

“I… work in a hospital,” I say hesitantly. I don’t feel terribly beholden to give these wannabe monarchs my life story, but something tells me I’m better off playing ball – for now, at least. “I was able to stay fed off of blood bags. It gave me time to adjust. The first couple days were… challenging.”

“Yes, I imagine they were.” The robed man hums.

“Well, while this little tale is certainly… inspiring,” the man in the middle says, “we still have the problem of a Feral out in the city. As much as we’d love to trust you–” Anastasia lets out a soft growl of disapproval, and the man changes his tone slightly, “–as much as I’d love to trust you, you’re a wild card. Without a sire that can control you, controlling you now becomes… our job.”

I turn an enraged side-eye towards Jack, who is visibly trying to ignore me. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him. I was better off on my own. Now, these ghouls expect me to play by their rules.

The three members of the Echelon murmur amongst each other for a moment. They’d likely be far too quiet for anyone to hear, even another vampire… but I am not just another vampire. In my ears, their words are clear as crystal, and unfortunately, they are also gibberish. The three of them share a language that I have no comprehension of, too exotic for me to even guess at, beyond it sounding vaguely cyrillic. The ability to hear them, sadly, does me no good.

The moment passes, and the robed man raises the rasp of his voice, words leaving dead, scarred lips like a river of cicada shells. “John Wood. For your negligence, you are sentenced to one week of Thirst.” There is a pause, as the man in the suit whispers something to him. Nodding, the bald man continues. “Correction. Given that you are a Warmblood, your sentence shall be one month.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Jack says, trying to still the waver in his voice, still not looking up.

“Feral, what is your name?” Anastasia barks. It’s a little embarrassing, but I think I enjoy being subjugated by her the most – it hits differently when it’s a seven-foot beautiful warrior woman.

“Zoey,” I respond, “Zoey Gataki.”

“We understand that you bear no fault in this situation,” says the white-haired man, “and to punish you for another’s negligence would not be reasonable. With that being said, we will be sending an agent of Darkhaven to… surveil you, until they are certain you are not a threat to those under the Glaring. This agent will make themselves known to you soon.”

A babysitter? Hrm. Nothing I shouldn’t be able to easily slip loose of. “Very well.”

“You are not to return to Darkhaven until you’ve met with this agent’s approval. Not even with your…” he tries not to twist his lips in disgust, “...sire. You will be informed, one way or the other, when a decision is reached.” I nod, looking back down at the cold, smooth basalt beneath me. There’s a long pause, and the man speaks once more. “You are both dismissed.”

The doors open behind us, and it’s clear that it is time to leave. I look to Jack and slowly stand, turning to leave, and he follows suit. There’s a long moment of silence as we both leave the sanctum of the Echelon, making out way past the guards and back up into the proper structure of Darkhaven. “That… was better than I’d hoped for,” Jack says once we’re safely out of earshot of the guards, though he still seems uneasy, and is clearly bee-lining his way towards the exit.

“He said you were sentenced to Thirst,” I reply. “What does that entail?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. I’m not permitted to drink blood – either in Darkhaven or in the wild – and if I’m caught doing so, it will mean execution. For most vamps, a week is long enough to bring them to the brink of madness or withering. Warmbloods are much less reliant on a daily intake, so for me, it’s a month. Lucky me.”

“What about for someone like me?”

“A Feral? Don’t think a Feral’s ever been subjected to Thirst before. Generally when a Feral starts acting up, they get put down right away. Not much room for second chances with something that powerful and unpredictable.” Not exactly what I was hoping to hear, but I’m glad he was honest. Jack’s overall demeanor seems a little colder now, in light of the judgement cast upon him, like he’s dwelling in a sort of emotional twilight between having just dodged a bullet, and looking onward at serving out his ‘sentence.’

I walk with him in silence a while longer before curiosity seizes me again. I know better than to ask about this ‘agent’ they’re sending after me, as Jack clearly has no way of having more information about them than I do. I opt for something he might actually know about. “So… the Echelon. Who are they? I mean, who are they individually?”

“Well…” Jack pauses, turning to look at me, a somewhat pensive look on pale features. As if weighing his responsibility to tell me against his general desire not to. Finally, the former seems to win out. “You heard the name Anastasia, of course. Some call her Lady of Graves, from the things she did during the American Civil War – just legends, of course, but many of us believe them. She’s Totemic, as you could probably tell.”

I consider asking whether she fought for the North or South, but decide I’d rather not know. “The one in the robe?”

“Devereaux, one of the Wretched.”

“The ones with the… skin and limbs falling off?” I confirm, lowering my voice a little.

“Like it or not, all of the Glaring are dead, even Warmbloods. The Wretched just… aren’t as good at hiding it. Still, Devereaux is known to be a shrewd tactician, the kind of person we need against that which would see us destroyed.”

“You mean humans.”

“Humans… and other things, things we can discuss another time.”

We’re finally almost back to the entrance, and I find myself wondering where, exactly, I’ll go from here – when the ‘agent’ will show up to start watching me. I have one last question, though. “And the one in the middle?”

“Dragunov. I’m… afraid I don’t know much about him beyond whispers, myths. He’s been here since before Darkhaven even came to be, and some say he’s one of the first vampires of all time, born from fallen drops of dragon’s blood. The last bit sounds a little silly to me, but there’s no doubt that he’s dangerous. If nothing else, he’s a Scion.” Jack glances back over to me, and continues before I have to prompt him. “Imagine the power of a full-strength vampire, with the lack of weaknesses that Warmbloods have. He’s basically playing with cheat codes enabled.”

“Alright, I get it. Real scary.” I furrow my brow. I’d sigh, if my lungs still held breath in them. Finally, we make our way out the main entryway and past Geno, who gives us a decently wide berth. “I guess I’m back on my own, then, since I can’t return here. Back to the hospital, back to… pretending to be what I’m not.”

“You’ve made it this far, Zoey.” Jack’s voice takes on an uncommon tone, that of genuine sympathy, and even nurturing. Like he’s finally coming to accept his nature as my ‘father’ and, for good or ill, my guide in this new world. “Most Ferals can’t. That makes you special. And you have my phone number, if you need it.”

“Right,” I grumble as we reenter the stench of the sewers. “I’ll call you, then, if I need you.” For a moment, I consider paying him genuine compliments or thanks. I can feel my very blood resisting the gesture, insisting that Jack is an inferior, piteous worm… but that’s the exact sort of impulse I’m supposed to be trying to overcome. “Thank you, Jack.”

Before he can reply, I slip into the darkness as if wearing it like a physical garment, and vanish into the sewers. It isn’t long, on my own, before I’m able to make my way back to my apartment, slithering in and clicking the door shut, locking it. It’s already growing close to dawn, but I have a few days off ahead of me. Enough time to get my bearings… to maybe talk to Nina. Fuck, I don’t want to think about her. Not right now. Not… yet.

I kick off my shoes, remove my top, toppling down onto the couch in my living room, light still switched off. I let my eyes slip shut – not to rest, but merely to think, to reflect on everything’s that happened, everything that’s changed. Only a moment passes, though, before I hear something… or, I think I do. But my senses are perfect. Nothing slips past me.

I sit up straight on the couch, looking for the source of the noise, less a sound than a… disturbance. Eyes flick towards the window, to the thin moonlight oozing across it, and I see something move, as if deliberately, into the light. Letting it cast them in silhouette. Not being discovered, but revealing itself to me.