make sure the one responsible was sorry for it!
Oren
January 10th
An old farm house
Somewhere in Northern Missouri
The house was old, empty and abandoned. With no electricity and no water. Truthfully, it was no worse than some of the dens Oren and his war coven had stayed in, but he’d been busy then; planning, arranging. He’d been occupied. Now all he had to do was sit and wait.
Oren stiffened as the sound of a car drew closer. He searched for a weapon and, finding nothing in the empty room, dropped into a defensive stance. The note Jorick left at the old den had been too obvious. The Executioners were coming.
The motor cut off and car doors opened. Oren narrowed his eyes and reached out with his mind to find three of them. He pressed further against their mental walls and one of them gave way. It was Loren. Through the teen’s thoughts he could see his companions: the bald, tattooed Micah and his own redheaded sister, Torina.
Oren relaxed. So the note had worked the way Jorick planned. Of course. Everything always worked the way Jorick planned it to.
His irritation disappeared when the door opened and Micah came through it, stomping dirty snow from his boots. Loren followed, and Torina inched her way in behind them, frowning and shaking the muck from her expensive heeled shoes.
Micah’s eyes landed on Oren and he bellowed, “Well look what we found, skulking in the middle of bum fuck nowhere.”
Torina was instantly animated. She pushed past her companions and stormed towards him, her manicured hands in fists. “Where the hell have you been? We thought you were dead!”
“Perhaps it would be better if I was,” Oren muttered, more from habit than conviction. He could see the tears that gathered in the corners of his sister’s eyes and thought about what Jorick had said.
“… Jesslynn is dead, your children are dead, but your sister is alive. If you don’t want to live for yourself then live for her. The time has come for you to pick yourself up from the ashes and start over. You have wallowed enough! Mourn Jesslynn, miss her, long for her even, but do not waste both my time and Torina’s by following her to the grave. Remember what you have left and be grateful for it!”
She raised a hand as though to slap him. Her fingers trembled and then she dropped her hand and shouted, “Don’t you ever do that again or I’ll kill you myself!”
She straightened her shoulders and spun away from him. Her eyes moved around the dark, empty rooms and she shuddered, “I’ve put up with some lousy dens, but this is ridiculous! The war is over! You can’t expect me to keep living in these rat holes! I’m used to better!”
“Who’s a spoiled princess?” Micah asked and snorted. She glared at him and he laughed. “We could go stay at pipsqueak’s house.”
Loren shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”
Oren debated on whether to include them in his plans or not. He’d planned to take Torina with him, but the other two… Why not? Who else was there? His previous coven, the one he’d managed for years with his wife, was disbanded and scattered. Those that weren’t dead had no intention of returning, and those who were couldn’t. Loren and Micah were idiots to be sure, but they were idiots who’d gleefully joined in the fight, even when those he relied on were less enthusiastic.
He cleared his throat loudly. “Actually, we have some where to go.”
Neil
January 10th,
The Guards’ Office
The Vampire Citadel
Iowa
Neil hurried down the corridor, fastening his gray coat as he went. He skidded around a corner and through the doorway of the guards’ office. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Again,” the vampire behind the desk snapped impatiently. “You shouldn’t have taken the extra shifts if it was too much for you.”
“It isn’t like I volunteered to take them forever,” Neil said. “It was just supposed to be while Gerard was on vacation.”
“Well he’s on a permanent vacation now – or a fifty year vacation at the very least.” He signed his name in the book and passed it to Neil. “If you don’t like it you could always put in to be a greater guard. There’s several slots open. Not that you’d get one.”
Neil ground his teeth and turned his attention to the sign in book. It was only when the other guard had left that he looked up. He wasn’t interested in being one of the greater guard and going out on missions with the Executioners. All he wanted to do was sign in for his regular shift, sit at his desk, sign out and collect his paycheck. He didn’t need excitement and adventure. Gerard was an example of someone who had wanted excitement. He’d wanted promotions; he’d wanted to do something. Well good going, Gerard, because now he had fifty years imprisonment for conspiring to commit multiple murders. That was the sort of thing that happened when you looked for excitement – that is if you lived through it.
Neil dropped into the chair and propped his feet up on the desk. It was getting late. The sun would be up in a few hours and he’d have to sit there, board off his butt, while everyone else slept. Though since the attack the night before last there were others who were stuck awake all night. Heightened security, they called it. As if Malick was going to come back in the daylight to destroy them.
He unconsciously rubbed his head. Thank God he’d missed most of the battle. He’d started out on the front lines with the other lesser guards. He remembered an explosion and pieces of metal and stone flying through the air and then nothing until he woke up in the infirmary. They told him that a piece of shrapnel had gone clear through his forehead, but since it hadn’t pierced his heart he was fine. Others weren’t so lucky. The debacle had cost too many lives, many killed by Malick himself.
Neil still didn’t understand why Malick had turned against his own Guild. He was the one in charge, so technically didn’t that mean he’d revolted against himself? Why? He’d tried to discuss it with his fellows, but their answer was, “He’s a master. What do you expect? Thinking like one of them is above our pay grade.”
But wouldn’t they all be masters someday, too? Assuming they lived long enough.
The door opened and Neil stiffened as the head of the Executioners walked in. Ark was tall, slender and terrifying. His cool green eyes and the medallion around his neck both said he’d happily squash anyone who got in his way.
Neil jumped to his feet and saluted. “Can-can I h-help you?”
“I’m here to collect the Executioner applications.”
Executioner applications? Neil had no idea what he was talking about. “Um, yes, right. Of course. Um, just let me, um, look for them.” He scrambled through the contents of the desk, praying that the papers would materialize.
Ark tapped his foot. “Should I find them myself?”
“N-No,” Neil stuttered. If he could sweat, it would have been pouring down him. They had to be there somewhere – didn’t they? He turned and brushed against a stack of papers. They scattered to the floor in a snow colored avalanche. He collected them hurriedly, but paused when he noticed the word “Executioner” printed on one. It was the applications!
He stacked them as neatly as he could and stood, holding them out like an offering. “Here you are, um, sir.”
Ark snatched them from him and flipped through them. “Yes.” He turned on his heel and strode from the room without so much as a thank you – but there was no reprimand, either.
Neil sank into the chair and glanced to the desk where another stack of paper sat. He picked it up absently and rifled through it. It was – “More applications!” He jumped to his feet, and then he imagined Ark’s cold face and angry eyes. He’d already handed over a pretty big stack. How many applications did they need, anyway?
He looked around the office quickly, checking for observers, and then sidled sideways to the trashcan. The papers slipped from his fingers and he carefully dropped a few blank sheets on top. He mopped his brow from habit rather than need and moved quickly back to the chair. It would all be okay. It wasn?
??t as if they’d be forced to settle on the wrong candidate or anything. There were probably perfectly good choices among the papers he’d already given them. He was just helping narrow it down a bit.
Right. Just narrowing it down.
Verchiel
January 10th
The High Council Chambers
The Vampire Citadel
Iowa
Verchiel whistled to himself as he walked through the empty audience chamber. It was getting late; the sun would be up soon, and he’d had a long day already. There were still a lot of repairs to make and the Executioners and Greater Guards had been put in charge of overseeing them. Though he had to admire Oren’s style – the explosions had created a brilliant distraction and plenty of damage – he didn’t have to enjoy cleaning up after it.
At the back of the room was a secret door, hidden in the paneling. He knocked and it opened to reveal a long table ringed in chairs. Eileifr, the new leader of The Guild, sat at the head of the table. His long blond hair fell around his shoulders, intermingled with braids. He had the air of a weary Nordic king.
Verchiel bowed. “You sent for me, Master?”
Eileifr nodded. Though he didn’t have the power to read thoughts, Verchiel could feel him scrutinizing him. He wondered if the silent inquiry came away with anything.
“We’ve been in contact with the True Council in Munich. They’ve asked us to send a pair of Executioners to testify about what happened here.”
Verchiel suppressed