BYRON

  Byron stared at the empty confines of his and Rory’s home, and it seemed so cold without the warmth of her smile. Haunted—except there weren’t any ghosts. A loud rap sounded at the door and he answered it, finding no one. At his foot, a skull-sized rock with the words: We’re coming for you next, written in charcoal.

  He fought an impulse to chuck the stone and run through the village, calling for the head of whoever made the threat. “Just add it to the evidence,” he said, and put it away on top of a nearby bookshelf before stepping out into the daylight to see if he could glimpse the messenger.

  To his left and across the street, a small group of Immaculate Daughters milled around each other, but none looked his way. To the right of them, townspeople busied themselves with keeping their grounds, but no faces leered. How many knew he’d been a vampire, anyway? As far as he could tell, only a select few of the Daughters would know. It was safe to assume they pegged him as a witch since he lived in the section of town reserved for them, but nothing more.

  He sighed uneasily. They’re after the witches.

  When Molly spoke of a witch hunt, a part of him hoped she meant something else. Vampires or unbelievers or… How could they be after his friends? All they’d ever done was try to contribute to the common good.

  An abrupt tightness pulled in his chest, and he gasped. His feet moved, seemingly of their own accord, and he found himself at the center of town.

  Summoned? But why and by who?

  The nameless servant of Mara, they called the Lady of the Black Heron for her shapeshifting abilities, approached him with a somber face. “It’s time,” she said.

  Byron’s heart dropped. He knew what she meant but couldn’t accept it. Not now. “Not sure what you mean,” he lied.

  The woman made a sharp noise at him in reproach. “Don’t lie to me. You’re well aware of what I’m talking about. All bargains have a price and you know yours.” The woman grew silent and held her head up. Her eyes closed and a small nod moved through her neck. Finally, she said, “Mara has given you until tonight. Finish your business and say your goodbyes.”

  “I’ll do that then.” Byron spun and turned away.

  Movement near a bronze sculpture of a tree caught his attention, as a group of ghosts flitted in sight and out. He approached one who stopped and gazed at a long branch. “What happened here?” he asked.

  She tore her eyes aside and cast them in his direction. “One night they stole us from our beds. A trial occurred in the morning, and by noon they hung us one-by-one. There,” she said, and pointed at a tarnished spot on the branch. “They bronzed the tree in commemoration. Why would anyone memorialize a tragedy?”

  “What was the charge?”

  She held out a palm, and a sphere of violet light bloomed from her spectral hand. “Witchcraft. Although, they didn’t call it that when we showed them how to purify their water. Or how to make crops grow in the tainted soil. They settled here to die.”

  “Must’ve been before we, er, the vampires found them.”

  She shook her head. “There were rumors of vampires, but no one saw any. You’re not one, are you? From your aura, you appear to be like me.”

  He looked to the ground and crossed his arms. “No. Not anymore, at least. You can tell that I’m a witch—or warlock?”

  A smile played at her mouth. “A witch, yes. Warlocks are a different thing entirely. Who are you? Why can you see and talk to me?”

  “Well, I’m Byron and it’s my ability.”

  “There’s more to it than that though, hm? You can make me leave this plane, can’t you?”

  He nodded. “Hey, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “It’s Gloria. Thanks for listening to me. I feel like a part of me is at peace,” she said. Her transparent form flickered out of his view. She moaned. “I’m being pulled-” And he felt her presence slip into the afterworld.

  “Come back to me, Gloria,” he called, and she blinked back into existence.

  She gasped and clutched at her head. “Purgatory?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s bad there, isn’t it?”

  Her eyes focused on him, and she nodded. “Thought it was bad enough here, bound to the injustice of this world. But it’s… it’s pure chaos there.”

  As he spoke with Gloria, a crowd of onlookers swarmed around him. From the few words he could gather, they thought he was talking to himself. They must think I’m crazy, he thought. “I need to get out of here, Gloria,” he whispered.

  She scanned the crowd and nodded.

  As he walked, she followed a few feet away from his back. “Are you going with me then?” he asked.

  “When you called me, I bonded to you. You know very little about your power, don’t you?”

  “Still trying to understand it. I’m used to the company of ghosts, though.” He thought about the others who haunted him as a vampire. A lump formed in his throat when he pictured them wandering through the afterworld. Have to see if I can bring them back too. For a moment, he considered attempting just that, but glimpsed the crowd stalking his path. Got to get out of here first.

  He jogged, but the group matched his pace. When he broke into a run, his pursuers sped up too. Between panted breaths, he wished for the old vampiric speed to ignite his stride. But the only spark was a pain in his all too mortal legs.

  His speed lessened when he passed his home. But he didn’t dare stop. The teeming crowd gained on him and with nowhere else to go, he pivoted toward the temple and the Catherine’s quarters where he burst into her chamber. Doubled over, air wheezed into his empty lungs.

  “Byron, what is the meaning of this intrusion,” the Catherine roared.

  His breathing normalized, and he said, “They chased me.” He looked back through the archway that sat at the entrance of her office and saw no one.

  Her eyes narrowed into sharp slits. “Were you?”

  “Despite how it looks—yes. I was.”

  “Close the doors,” she commanded. Once he did as she asked, her face softened. “So, they chased you.”

  He nodded.

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded again.

  “Just you?”

  “Just me. The others are gone. Well, Nadine and Holga stuck around.”

  She breathed in sharply and crossed her fingers. “Might be best if the three of you left too. Things are… crazy right now. They scrutinize everything you do. Can’t say I’ve ever dealt with so many complaints about witches as I have recently. I’m not exactly sure how we got here—but here we are.”

  “What are they rallying for? Another witch hunt?”

  A look of confusion washed over her face. “Another?”

Gloria appeared by Byron’s side, and asked, “Who is she? I recognize this place, but not her.”

To keep himself from appearing crazy—or crazier, at least. Byron shook his head at the ghost. To the Catherine, he said, “Ancient history, I guess.”

  “Perhaps. The annuls of past Catherine’s record nothing about witch hunts—that I can remember. But you were here long before I was, old man,” the Catherine said.

  “Yeah…” He’d heard nothing about witch hunts in his centuries alive until Gloria, anyway. Vampires allied themselves with Alman leadership, but they weren’t exactly welcome within the city’s walls. Not without repercussions, at least. Part of him still felt like an outsider.

  The Catherine tapped a knuckle against her desktop. “Come to think of it. Grace made mention awhile back of—no…” She paused and took a deep breath. “Byron, what’s going on is that some individuals have painted vampires as the cause of their problems around here. And still others have grouped witches with the brood and decided that all supernatural beings are bad.” She sighed. “It’s the same as it always is. When people aren’t willing to take responsibility for their own actions—they blame someone else. I’ve caught a piece of the blame myself.”

  “Seems like a power grab.”

  Her eyes misted over and she looked past him as she nodded slowly. “Isn’t the first time. Probably won’t be the last either.” She snapped back to attention. “But look, it’s Grace. Even from the limited time you’ve seen her, do you actually think I should be worried?”

  He shrugged. On the one hand, he could see her point. Grace didn’t seem to have many allies the day she walked out of court cursing everyone in her wake. But that solitary encounter was about the sum of his experience with the woman. He couldn’t judge. The customs of the Immaculate Daughters were no less mysterious to him once he moved into Alma. While efforts were made for greater transparency between the Catherine and her citizenry, her clergy remained enigmatic.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  As if she’d read his mind, the Catherine laughed, and said, “Guess there’s a lot about us you don’t understand. Anyways, Grace is a bitch. Pardon my language, but there really is no better way to describe her. I have a hard time believing any of my girls would break off to follow her. This will pass and things will calm down.”

  “If you say so.”

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  Back home, Byron gathered as much as he could in an old trunk while Gloria kept watch through a window. A sinking sensation filled his chest. He should have warned Rory that Mara would come calling for her payment, but he didn’t expect it so soon. He needed to get this finished so he could hold her and explain everything.

  Gloria stirred, and said, “You didn’t answer my question, who is the Catherine?”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. Didn’t want her thinking I was talking to myself. Anyways, the Catherine is kind of the pope around these parts. She’s chosen from among the Immaculate Daughters through some ritual they practice. And she has the final say on just about everything around here. Makes her kind of god of Alma, I guess. As long as I’ve been here there’s been a Catherine at the head. It surprises me you haven’t heard of the position.”

  Gloria peered at him and then away. “I remember there was a cult within the ranks of the early settlers. They spoke little of it to me or any of the other witches, but it was there.”

  It seemed like the ghost had more to say, but he went back to filling the chest. “Sorry, I don’t have more time to chat. There’s someone I need to see.”

  Gloria looked out the window and then back at Byron. “Something’s going on out there.”

  “Huh?”

  “There’s a group of women in white led by a tall gaunt lady. They’re drawing a sizeable crowd of onlookers to a large, covered box.”

  Without thinking, Byron walked through her ghostly form and up to the window. “Hey,” she shrieked.

  “Sorry about that. I didn’t know.”

  With a groan, she moved across the room and said, “It’s fine, but let’s not do that again, eh?”

  “Sure.” He peeked out the window and found Grace standing atop a raised platform. She pointed at a box draped in tarpaulin. Her face twisted with rage. She clutched the cover and pulled it away, exposing a cage that contained Trevor. The vampire lurched at the crowd and everyone jumped back. His normally pristine black fatigue pants and sleeveless shirt were torn and filthy. In fact, all of him was filthy.

  Maybe he really did go insane.

  “I’ve got to go,” Byron said. He grabbed a nearby cloak. After putting it on, he hid his face in its hood and walked to the edge of the assembly.

  “Look into the face of this demon. Breathe in its murderous intent,” Grace cried. “Know that he’s fed on your Daughters.” She exposed her neck and pointed at deep scars in her flesh, carved by two razor-sharp edges. “Like he fed on me. They have ways of healing the trauma they cause when they feed. Ways of concealing the memory of their foul acts. But there're festering wounds underneath it all. Ones that never heal.”

  Trevor thrashed against the bars of the cage and hissed with bared fangs. “I’ll take the lot of you. Open this door and I’ll put each one of you out of your misery.”

  Grace pulled a long knife from a leather sheath, displayed it over her head and slashed at Trevor. The vampire howled with each stab until finally he seized the blade in his hands and bent it around a bar. He swiped an arm out and caught the hair of a man whose only crime had been standing too close. The fellow cried out and squirmed the best he could to free himself, but it was no use.

  Trevor’s fangs sunk deeply into his prey’s wrist. The victim’s color whitened and lips blued before the shocked crowd could pull him away.

  At the spectacle, Grace shook her head. “There. That is what they do. This is what your Catherine has allowed to drink of our purest. Their taint is on the Immaculate. She says they protect us? She says they’ve always protected us? But now you’ve witnessed what they really do.”

  The crowd grumbled angrily and a petite woman wearing the raiment of the Immaculate Daughters, stepped out, and said, “Forgive me, Grace, but why didn’t you take care to keep Foster away from the vampire?”

  Grace narrowed her eyes until the slits blended with her many wrinkles. “Well, Harriet, Foster stood too close. It was up to the gods after that. Should we leave your fate up to the gods too?”

  Licking his chops, Trevor squeezed his face between the bars and said, “I think we should leave it up to the gods. Bring her here, it’s been too long since I’ve tasted the sweet blood of a Daughter.”

  The crowd pressed into Harriet, and she vanished among the swarm. Rocks like the one on Byron’s doorstep appeared in the hands of those around her. A sharp scream sounded and when the group cleared, she lay motionless on the ground.

  A satisfied smirk spread over Grace’s face, and she nodded her approval. “Better to take her out ourselves than feed another Daughter to fiends like this.” She touched her chin with a finger and stared skyward. “I wonder though… Should we let it feed on the Catherine?”

  Shouts of agreement rang out, and the assembly moved as one body towards the Catherine’s quarters. A group of Immaculate Daughters with interlocked arms barred the horde’s progress. In the middle, a squat woman held out a hand, and said, “Halt. The Catherine is in lockdown. There’s no way you’ll be able to get to her. You above all, should know that Grace.”

  Grace’s hands tore at her gray hair. She scanned the crowd and smiled. “Then we’ll wait, Indra, until she must leave—no matter how long it takes.”

  The crowd chanted, “NO MATTER HOW LONG IT TAKES.”

  Her white robe nearly translucent with sweat, Indra wiped her forehead with the back of a hand while still clutching the arm of another Daughter by her side. “The Catherine thought you might say that. So, to bring this mess to its inevitable conclusion, she’s agreed to allow a trial this very night. However, it must be by a jury of elder Daughters and held in front of all citizens of Alma. If you will agree to those terms, she’ll happily comply.”

  A frown edged Grace’s face, and she nodded. “Good enough. Bring the bitch out. We’ll give her justice.”

  At which the crowd echoed, “BRING THE BITCH OUT.”

  Byron had watched crowds spitting hatred and ignorance throughout history. Human malice never changed, even if the focus of their animosity did. This time, the result would be no different than the countless others.

  He followed the mob to the entrance of the temple with their screams for justice echoing in his ears. The great doors opened and the crowd fell silent as they parted.

  The Catherine walked forward with her head held high, her eyes fixed on Grace. Many of those present even bowed out of habit. Whispered voices carried, questioning themselves and each other. For a second, it seemed like the whole thing would end.

  At least, until a widow Byron recognized from the day the vampires attacked, stepped forward. Not so long ago, she’d been on her knees with heartache over the body of her husband, drained of blood and begging the witches for help. Now, she was upright and full of righteous fury.

  “You don’t deserve the robes of the pure. Not after you made your bed with all those unnatural creatures.” The widow spat at the Catherine; her fingers ripped the fabric of her vestments.

  But the Catherine only looked at her with pity and continued walking.

  Another wave of discontent surged through the crowd. As one body, they tore at her clothing, yelling of perversion and impurities.

  By the time the Catherine reached the place of trial, she wore nothing but rags.

  Gloria appeared at Byron’s side; her ghostly eyes wide in horror. “It’s too much like before. I don’t think she realizes how this is going to go.”

  “I don’t think so either,” he said under his breath and moved to put a stop to the madness.

  Before he could step one foot forward, a hand clamped down on his upper arm. The Lady of the Black Heron shook her head at him. In his ear, she whispered, “If you say a word, they’ll turn on you just as fast and they won’t be civil enough to give you a trial before they end you. Mara won’t let you off the hook that easily. You’ll watch and report to the other witches when this is over. Tell them what happened here and say your goodbyes.”

  Byron tried to pull his arm away, but his body no longer responded to his commands.

  “We could leave now if you’d rather. But that means you won’t get your one last kiss.”

  And so, through damp eyes, he watched.