Rory

Back in Alma, a city-wide ceremony for the dead began shortly after Rory and her group returned. In this time of mourning, everyone came together. From the tent people to the residents of Alma, and, of course, the witches.

The surviving Immaculate Daughters dyed their robes black for the occasion, while the clothes of their dead were bleached a more brilliant white. At their memorial, the Catherine held each fallen Daughter to her breast and kissed their foreheads. As was tradition, they were to be buried in the cemetery of the saints—where all fallen Daughters were interred from the beginning of their order.

The Catherine turned from her faithful, paused and called for attention with the clang of her dowsing rod struck against a large broken bell, which had fallen from its post during the raid. “On this day of commemoration, I think it’s important we break with an old tradition and allow all who died the honor of joining my Daughters in the consecrated earth of our cemetery. For you are all my daughters and all my sons. You are my brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers. You are all my people. From now, let us be one.”

The crowd melted in tears. Heads nodded and a few yelled, “Here, here.” One voice called, “We’re all in this together.” And another repeated the sentiment, and still another, until everyone called in unison. “We’re all in this together.”

She waited for the assembled mass to calm before continuing. “On the topic of unity, I’d like to take a moment to express my sincere gratitude to the witches. Without their help, this tragedy would be even more grim. I doubt anyone—including me—has any concept of all they’ve done for us while we sat idly by; neither recognizing nor appreciating their efforts. From this day forward, I hope they’ll forever have a home in Alma. That rather than fall back into old prejudicial thinking, we welcome them with open arms as esteemed members of our community.”

When the Catherine finished speaking, the Daughters laid the dead out on rows of pallet beds for viewing. Each received a whispered prayer and a token of who they once were. Favorite foods, pages of hymns, drawn portraits of family and more. Lives contrasted with deathly countenances.

Gossamer sheets were draped over the dead deemed unfit for public viewing. A lump formed in Rory’s throat as she passed this section. Clumsily, she stepped away and into Holga.

Holga adjusted her glasses, and asked, “Will you come with me to see Lena. I don’t want to be alone.”

No, Rory thought, but she sighed and said, “Okay.”

Lena’s shadow shown through her covering and a tingle ran down Rory’s spine. Her nose caught the smell of decay and she wobbled with the spin of her head. She breathed in sharply and wondered if slapping her own cheek would be too inappropriate. It is. Focus on something else. Her eyes fell on a halo of bright yellow and red flowers at the head of the pallet, and then a sketch of Holga and Lena tucked in the folds of the shroud.

Across the way, Holga pointed to where Gregory lay. At her first sight of the young man, she gasped. His face was so tragically young and gentle. It stunned her how one such as him could’ve been so brave. A pair of welding goggles and an oversized hat rested neatly on his chest. Holga explained how the Catherine had given him the items to make the world more bearable for the sensitive boy.

They turned a corner and passed yet another row of shrouds, Rory tried her best not to give into temptation and run away. Her mind projected an image of Byron’s lifeless body under wraps and she fell to her knees.

Holga blinked and helped her up. “You don’t want to be here anymore and I don’t blame you. Go ahead.”

With a nod, Rory mouthed, “Thank you,” and ran with all of her might outside the village where the suffocating unease in her chest passed into smooth, even breaths. They’d won—kind of—so why did she feel so terrible? The image of Byron flashed in her brain again and she clapped a palm to her forehead. “Stop obsessing about him,” she said under her breath—but it was no use. The programming in her mind was all booked up with his greatest hits.

She tore herself away from her thoughts at the sight of Holga looking bewildered among the crowd. Got to stay strong. She needs me. Rory slapped both hands against her cheeks a few times to snap out of it and then went back in. Near Holga she said, “Sorry, I just needed a breath of fresh air. What do you want to do now?”

Apparently, she wanted to watch the burial. Okay, Rory thought. Let’s get through this. For her. For her and not me. The graveyard filled, and the display of the dead thinned and then vanished. “I’m sorry,” Rory said. She pushed her arms around Holga and squeezed her tight.

Holga nodded and reciprocated in an awkward mechanical way. “I know.”

The soil topped the last grave. Sadness and despair fell over the city as it mourned in private.

* * *

Days passed and talk changed to how Alma could move forward. Some argued for expansion of the walls while others talked of doing away with them completely. And then there were those who wanted to burn it all down and rebuild from the ground up.

Unable to move forward with the rest of their friends, Rory and Holga made frequent trips to the graves of the lost. Side by side, they shared memories of heroism and took comfort in the other’s presence. They spoke with fellow mourners, listened to their stories and offered their condolences. Their lives became devoted to mourning.

A dark cloud grew large and ominous over Rory. Inside, she was numb. Her loss was deeper than Byron. There was also the past she’d been ripped away from. And silly as it seemed, even to her, she missed the hell out of her cat. What she wouldn’t give to hear his purr; feel his warm body pushed against her leg.

Eventually, Holga created a support group for the families of the lost, and Rory joined. While speaking she was careful to never say who she was mourning because she couldn’t say for certain herself. The only certainty she had was that she felt lost. Both inside and out.

* * *

One morning, Doc and Sven waited for her at the kitchen table as she shambled from her bedroom at Nadine’s house. She attempted a bright smile that failed to reach her eyes and joined them.

“Rory,” Doc said. “We’re worried about you.”

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“I’m fine.” She lied.

“You say that but maybe you should do something productive today. We could use your help.” He grinned at her, but his expression mirrored her own.

“So, let’s say I agree. Where can I help?”

Sven brightened. “I could use some help at the lab.”

“I’m not eating or drinking anything you give me.”

“That’s out then.” He sighed.

“I could use someone extra persuasive at the clinic. Between the people injured in the attack and the ones already sick, it gets out of hand.” Doc’s voice turned hopeful. “Someone who could help organize a waiting list and other front desk help would be amazing.”

“You mean a secretary?” Rory asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“There’re no phones so, no. Not really.”

She sighed. “Fine, but can I start tomorrow?”

“Nope. Need you today. I’m about to head that way now, but take your time. Sven can show you the way when you’re ready.”

“Go on. I’ll wait. What’s Sven doing besides savin’ the world these days? Plenty of time to be walkin’ about.”

Nadine appeared with a basket of produce from the garden and forced a mighty hug on Rory. “Sven, what have you been working on all secretively?”

“Still can’t really talk about it at the moment. Sorry, love. Don’t want to get hopes up in case it doesn’t work.” Sven helped himself to another cup of coffee and gestured at Rory. “Wash up, you smell like you ain’t had a bath in weeks. I’ll wait here.”

“If Sven is commenting on your hygiene…” Doc said with a playful gleam in his eye.

“Oh, man,” Rory said and sniffed. She found herself unable to disagree.

Rory got in the bath and felt her mood rise with the floral-scented steam. She dressed in a tattered pair of old jeans, black t-shirt and boots. It wasn’t medical scrubs, but those almost never came via Starfall delivery. She pulled her hair back and wound it into a tight bun. “We can do this,” she told herself in the cracked mirror hung above the washbasin.

Clean and feeling slightly more human, she told Sven, “Almost done.” She rushed up the stairs and there he was, Byron, unmoved from last she’d seen him.

“Are you there?” she asked.

But no word passed from his lips; no muscle moved; no small smile tugged at his cheeks.

Doc came up behind her and said, “Rory?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re going to need to talk about Byron. Thought I’d save it for another day, but it’s past time…” His head bowed and he avoided eye contact.

Her entire body shook, and she asked, “Am I going to need to sit down?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

She sat at the foot of the bed and beside herself with grief, tears streamed down her face. She cursed under her breath and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

Doc folded and then unfolded his arms. He opened his mouth to speak and snapped it shut. Finally, he said, “I don’t know if he’s in there.”

“Huh?”

“He might be brain dead, er, in a vegetative state.” Patiently, he waited for her to process the bad news. Then, he said, “Look, I never brought anyone in the shape we found him back before. His heart stopped and his brain may have passed in that time. I don’t have the equipment to properly assess if that’s the case or not. But given there’s been no improvement… well, it’s not a good sign.” He coughed and tried to clear his throat.

A tear trailed down her cheek. “Can you give us a minute alone?”

“Sure. Sure thing. I hate to ask, but are you still helping today?”

“Yeah, just need a moment.” She waited for the big fellow to disappear and traced a finger over the soft beard that had grown on Byron’s face as he slept. Probably the first growth of the type he’d had in centuries, or so she figured. She sat next to him, smoothed his hair and gave him a kiss. “I’ll be back later. Guess I’m getting sent to work. You’ll hear all about my day tonight.” The words ‘love you’ almost followed, but she held it in. That was something to say when he was awake to hear. She started to leave the room, but turned and said, “Come back to me, Byron. Come back.” The magic wove into her words.

* * *

The remainder of the week passed more quickly than the first. She had to admit working with her friends was better than moping around feeling bad about everything. Sven eventually let her in on his secret project. He was hard at work developing a blood alternative for vampires to drink. But it was missing a key ingredient and he couldn’t figure out what it was exactly.

That was until the key ingredient knocked on Sven’s door, dirty and hungry, but otherwise happy.

“Billie!” Rory hugged him. “Where have you been? We’ve been worried sick.”

He grinned. “You work for Mr. Sven now? That’s wonderful.”

“Just for the day. He needed help getting his lab cleaned. I’m so glad I was here to see you.”

His face reddened but the smile remained. “Really?” he asked, focusing his gaze on his beat-up sneakers.

“Billie, are you embarrassed? Since when do you get embarrassed?”

“Yeah, well, Mara said I’d be really feeling my feelings—whatever that means. She also said since Vic was dead, I’m not broken anymore and that made even less sense. Where’s Byron?”

Her eyes watered, and she fought for words. “He’s… not well…”

“I’ve known Byron for a long time. He’ll be okay, somehow. He’s just gotta.”

Nodding, Rory wiped her eyes and said, “Thank you, Billie.” She caught her breath and forced a smile. “Hey, Sven. Get out here and see who it is.”

“I can’t wait to see Mr. Sven.”

A mischievous glimmer took over Sven’s face after seeing his guest. “Just the bloke I’ve been wantin’ to see.” He wrapped his arms around Billie and fished in his pocket.

“Sven… What’re you about to do?” Rory asked.

With a speed Rory was unaware the Brit possessed; he jabbed a hypodermic into Billie’s arm.

“Oww. Warn me first, okay? Even the vampires let me know when they take my blood. Well, mostly.” Billie watched as Sven pulled a full syringe out of his arm. “Was that clean? The needle, I mean.”

“Not that it matters with your power—but yes. I’m hurt you’d expect less of me.” Sven eyed the blood and returned his focus to the two gawking at him.

“Well, you did stick me with a needle without asking Mr. Sven. So, tell me what am I supposed to expect out of you?”

“Yeah,” Rory said and crossed her arms. “What are you up to?”

Sven waved his hand dismissively at them as he turned to go into his lab. “Get out. Both of ya. Bout to make some magic happen.”

* * *

The next week, Rory’s mind was consumed with a recurring dream where Byron shadowed her, but would duck out of sight whenever she looked at him directly. At the end, Mara would appear with her face rotten and falling off—revealing a skull. With a bony finger, she’d point to one of her unnamed servants. She’d heard dreams meant nothing. That they were just the mind sort of vomiting out the waste it couldn’t process. Or, at least, studies had shown or some stuff like that. It was on one of those trash pretend news shows she’d fall asleep to after a hard night waitressing.

Oddly enough, Sven must have shared the dream. He came up to her, his eyes darting madly around and his hand clutching a pocket in his shirt. “Got something to show ya, love” he said. He produced a vial of a gold substance that sparkled like diamonds in the light and whispered conspiratorially, “A certain nameless who appears as a black heron from time to time’ll peer into the spirit world for a little nip of this. Don’t know if it’ll bring Byron back, but hope it’ll bring you closure at least.” He stepped back and deposited the vial in his pocket. “Don’t tell the others.”

Later that night, Sven, Rory and the unnamed woman crept into Byron’s room. “Is this going to work?” Rory asked.

Sven shrugged. “Don’t know, love. Do you?” he asked the lady of the black heron.

The woman pulled back her hood, her lines deepened in the dim light. “If the dream you described is true. Mara will look the other way tonight. Do you have it?”

“Just a taste first,” Sven said and threw her the vial.

The substance shimmered in the woman’s eyes and she smiled before opening the top and placing a small amount on her tongue. She sighed deeply. “It’s been so long since… I feel so… so full.” A frown worked across her face and she closed the container with its stopper.

“This is high power stuff. Cost me more than you know. I’ll hold on to it until you’re done. If you don’t mind.” Sven said and grabbed it out of her hand.

The woman shook her head and put a hand on Byron’s forehead. Her body jerked and stiffened. “Are you hiding?” She asked. “Where are you?”

Byron’s face muscles twitched and his eyes burst open. He rasped and Rory gave him a sip of water. “I got lost. It was too crowded,” he said. He rubbed his face. “Beard? How long was I away?”

Overjoyed, Rory moved to assail him with affection, but stopped short for fear of hurting him. She turned to Sven, eyes as wide as they could be, and said, “He’s back. Can you believe it? Thank you, thank you, thank you.” After that, she turned her full attention to Byron and barely heard anything from anybody else for a very long time.