There is not much that can physically exhaust a vampire, save for the mentality of prior muscle memory. This is the only reason I feel physically exhausted by the time my impromptu shift behind the bar is over, because I know as a human I would have collapsed into a booth and slept after the ceaseless serving of complicated drinks. That vampires expect these drinks in an instant only added to the pressure, and watching Cassandra’s hands moving in a blur while she rapidly explained what she was doing did not end favorably in my first dozen attempts to keep up. I managed to get a grasp of several drinks, however, and the last hour of work went by without Cassandra being visibly exasperated with my sloppy efforts. I think I did quite well, considering. After all, my area of study while human was towards becoming a school counselor, very far removed from my current employment.
It’s three hours until dawn, Vivienne prefers to give us enough time to get home safely – understandable, as few would risk their lives for a paycheck I would call average at best. I retrace my steps down main street, in the direction of the troll bridge. There is a lull in the Market at this time. It’s almost quiet, most of the shops are not open for business yet and as such there are not many wandering the winding roads. I see rarer creatures now, perhaps instilled with a sense of safety otherwise lacking when the Market is too full. The brilliant sheen of a unicorn’s coat is visible in an area of the Market that resembles Boston Common, and as much as I long to approach, I refrain. I would hate to scare it.
My pace is slow as I take in more details of the Market, from the unknown flowers in the boxes underneath windows, to the perplexing architecture of the buildings that appear as if built by hurried hands. It gives this place a level of charm lacking in Boston, which may be a nightmare to navigate its complicated roadways, but the overall structure is modern as any other city. Here is magic, that thing long forgotten in the mundane world.
I’m calm as I head down the stairs adjacent to the troll bridge, back to the corridor that will lead me to the museum basement. It feels good to be doing something, instead of waiting about in my room, and while I’ve long mastered my thoughts to keep them from racing, I have no desire to challenge the fortitude of this ability by remaining locked away overly long. Vivienne may not have given me a concrete time when she would speak to Charlemagne again, but I have no doubts that she will. In the meantime, I’ll have the opportunity to learn more about my kind, and perhaps to overhear details from patrons that would help me later on. If not for this, then for some mess Riley finds himself in as he’s wont to do.
I miss him, I realize, as I cautiously push open the hidden doorway despite the museum still being closed. It would be unfortunate to smack an incoming werewolf with the heavy brick due to a lack of attentiveness. It’s been too long since we’ve talked, let alone seen one another. I know he’s busier than ever with his promotion, and my disappearing act didn’t help. Knowing him, he’s disregarded my request and is looking for me by now, which means I must be vigilant in order to keep him out of it. It’s not only for his safety, but for mine. I did not like what I saw from the Order of Cerberus when dealing with Elena Silvyn. I hope to conclude this trial without their violent intervention.
The return trip to Castillo’s is uneventful. I quietly withdraw my key and unlock the front door, closing it gently behind me. It’s mostly silent in the pristine home, I still hear the hum of electricity, and the distant beating of Gianna’s heart. Castillo isn’t in then, no doubt working elsewhere. I decide not to ponder on what keeps him out at this time in the morning, and instead return to my room. My eyes catch on the decorative hall table that is near my door, and I retrieve the paper that’s been left there.
It’s a spreadsheet full of names, credit card numbers, phone numbers, and corresponding storage units; those renting from Castillo’s business in Mattapan. There’s a short note scrawled on the bottom from my host, stating as much and inviting me to see if I know any of the clients renting space here. I take the paper into the bedroom, flipping on the light due to habit, and sitting at the edge of the bed to read over the names.
At first I think it’s a dead end, a question that will never have an answer since the only one who had it is dead. Then, my eyes return to a name towards the top of the list. William Burke. I only ever knew him as Billy…but didn’t Riley once mock his name? I strive to remember: something about his name sounding like a superhero’s for the matching letters of first and last name. It has to be that Billy, but why would he rent a storage unit from Castillo? I look over the spreadsheet again, the name of the company reads Mattapan’s Maximum Storage…there’s a chance Billy did not know it belonged to the crime boss. I am certain this is the unit the would-be thief meant to break into, it’s far too much of a coincidence otherwise, and I’m beginning to believe very little is actual coincidence. I must look into this further, although it will have to wait for tonight as dawn will break across the city soon.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
I withdraw into the slumber that more resembles death. It is an elimination of all consciousness, and I do not dream during it. I have not dreamed once since the turn, and believe I will never dream again. There’s no moment of emerging to wakefulness, it’s more like closing my eyes and opening them again to darkness outside of my window instead of blossoming light. There’s no sense of the time that’s passed, it resumes as if I didn’t rest at all.
I hear Gianna cleaning the lounge across the hall from my bedroom, navigating the vacuum around the cushy chairs and ornate chess set that appears more decorative than one actually used. Beyond those sounds, I hear the rumble of Castillo’s voice and know if I concentrate hard enough I could hear not only him, but whoever he speaks to on the phone too. As I don’t wish to invade my host’s privacy, I refrain and take up the list he provided me. William Burke. Billy…He’s another who I miss. He was a good soul, and one of the few in the Order that seemed to believe in living in peace, rather than control.
Still aware of the proximity to Order HQ, I opt for a taxi to take me to Arbor Community Church and catch the nearby bus at Roseway and Centre Street. It takes about half an hour and a bus change to reach Mattapan. Right away I catch the scent of werewolves, something about their blood is distinctive. It’s not intoxicating the way Muir’s was, it’s more robust and strong than that of a mundane’s. I will have to proceed with caution, I do not know if Castillo’s alerted his pack to me, but I don’t want them to think I’m blatantly ignoring their territorial nature. This is something I should have asked before coming here. I’m not quite used to this investigative procedure, and while I already respected how difficult Riley’s job must be, I’m gaining a new appreciation of those difficulties now that I’m faced with them personally.
Fortunately, I have the address of the facility and I’m able to make my way directly there. There’s little activity here at the moment, and a quick perusal of their posted hours tells me I have an hour before they close for the night. At least for the public, I can see the appeal of doing shady after hours business dealings here already. The concrete building has no windows, and I see where heavy doors can be pulled down, then anchored and locked to the ground when it’s past closing time, shielding the less intimidating entrance customers can use throughout the day. There are cameras in plain sight, and I imagine state-of-the-art alarm systems which would explain how the thief was caught before making it to his unit of choice.
Cameras are visible near the ceiling when I step inside, but there’s no physical security – at least, not that I can see. There’s a strong smell of chemical cleaner in the air, but I think I catch the scent of wolves beneath it. No one confronts me, however, and I get my bearings as I walk down the narrow corridor flanked on either side by secure storage units. At the end of the hall, the path splits into a T, I refer to the print out once more then check the numbers painted on the doors and go left, towards Billy’s. The building’s layout is grid-like, small turns branch from the hall I’m walking down, leading to more storage units facing one another. There’s plenty of units, and I see how this is a lucrative business for Castillo, and one of the few legitimate ones the criminal runs. I find it odd to think of him as a criminal, perhaps because of his generosity not only towards me, but to South Boston and the restoration of what was lost.
Then again, I am only here because he killed the thief I would otherwise question.
I pause when I reach the row of units where Billy’s should be, keeping expectations in check as I turn down the side hall and go towards the middle, to number 19. Unfortunately, it’s at this moment I realize once again I should have asked Castillo about coming here. I do not have the key to the unit, and there’s a camera above me that will alert security if I attempt to break in. Castillo may be generous, I cannot know his whole pack will be the same.
Rather than tear the door open, I look directly at the camera and wave a hand to signal I need help. I only hope there is someone watching the feed who will come to my aid, but I decide if no one does within ten minutes, I’ll have to go in the less desirable way. Six minutes later I hear the sound of two sets of footsteps coming my way, and two werewolves turn the corner seconds later.
The one on the left, a short but muscular man, faces me with clear hostility. “You’re in the wrong neighborhood, bloodsucker,” he snarls.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
“Wait,” says the woman at his side. I recognize her from the docks, she was one Riley and I helped carry from the destruction. I later learned her name was Faith, and while we did not stay in touch after what happened, she had voiced her gratitude profusely for the help before we went our separate ways. “This is Castillo’s vampire.”
“Henry,” I correct her.
“Right,” she replies. Her companion remains poised for aggression, but he nods stiffly to acknowledge my identity. “What are you doing here?” she asks.
“Your boss gave me information about this place, I’m following up on the thief who tried breaking in not long ago.”
The man snorts in derisive amusement. “He sure regretted that decision.”
“Shut up, Roger,” Faith sighs. “Continue, Henry.”
“I know one of the names on this list, of one of your customers,” I reply. “I believe the thief was attempting to get to his unit, and I would like to look around…preferably without breaking the door.”
“As if you could,” Roger grumbles.
Faith gives him a stern look that he attempts to match, only to avert his gaze, kick a foot against the floor like a child, and stalk off to likely return to wherever they spent their shifts. She rolls her eyes. “Of the entire pack they stick me with him,” she mutters. She reaches for her belt where a large ring of keys hangs, unhooking it and flipping through the keys until she gets to the one she needs. She bends low to unlock the door, pulling it up as she straightens. “Take your time, leave the door open when you’re done so I remember to lock up before going home.”
“Of course, thank you, Faith.”
“It’s good to see you again, Henry. Stay out of trouble.”
“I am trying.”
She offers a wry smile and then follows after Roger. I do not envy her, the short time I knew Roger was more than enough to give an unfavorable impression. I wait until I no longer hear Faith before I step into the unit. It’s very…Billy. There’s clutter everywhere, most of it in bright, bold colors reminiscent of the 60’s and 70’s, and an assortment of items I could not name. Likely related to his work as a Sentinel with the Order. Risky to leave it here, even if he did not know this place is run by werewolves – which I suspect he did, they have their own way of detecting the supernatural – it would be safer to lock it away in headquarters I would think.
I make my way with caution around the piles of books, blankets, and boxes that litter the floor, looking for anything that stands out. So far, nothing. Most of the books are old, likely valuable but titles that I recognize. The same with the blankets and rugs, I sense nothing extraordinary from these items. It looks as though Billy mostly used this place exactly for its purpose, to store extra belongings that did not fit in his home. It looks this way…but I know it cannot be so simple, so I begin to go through the boxes. Photo albums, scrapbooks, magazines and comics, VHS tapes and a Walkman with accompanying cassettes…overall it is an eclectic collection of junk, but of the sort that obviously held sentimental value to its owner.
It must be two hours before I reach the back corner of the unit. I feel like I know Billy a little better from going through these memories, but I am losing hope of finding something pertinent to my task.
It’s not until I see the moldy, barely holding together book spine that I know I’ve found it after all. I stare at the title, scratched and faded but still visible, and reach for it with trepidation, as though I’m reaching for a cornered animal. The weight is familiar as I bring it close to me, the cracked leather similar but not the same as the leather I ran my fingers over as a child. I thought the book was one-of-a-kind, something only my parents possessed but this…this is not the same exact tome from my childhood, but another print. It’s filled with magic: rituals, concoctions and tinctures, ingredients for spells, potions and poisons. The language is archaic, the words are those I relied on for some means of escape, even if the thoughts it could inspire were of the sort I’m not proud of today.
I open the cover, and see scrawled handwriting there, a list of who the book was passed to. Percival Burke, Jacob Burke, Adam Burke, William Burke. Why did Billy’s family own this? Were they also warlocks? Did they conduct rituals under the light of the moon…attempting to earn favor from an unknowable force? I want to throw the book from my sight and leave, but it is the best clue I found here and reluctantly tuck it under my arm. I am about to depart when I see a glint, light reflecting off of a surface in the dark corner. I focus and see an object there, that I also retrieve. My eyes widen as I look at it, I know this object, but I know it from the book only.
The relic is about the size of a baseball, in the shape of a pyramid, composed of obsidian, or a stone which looks like obsidian. Fine white lines spread across the impenetrable black of the stone, like lightning tearing across the sky. At the peak of the pyramid, there’s a white pearl-like stone which seems to faintly glow, the reason I saw the relic in the first place. I stare at it and tenuous vibrations tickle my palm, though I am unsure if they are real or imagined. What is real, is the coiling unease I feel when I look at it. This is what the thief sought, I am sure of it, and if he worked on behalf of my parents then this is important to them. Which means I cannot leave it here, even if it would strengthen their resolve to find me. I cannot run from this, I cannot leave to chance that they will fail in whatever endeavor they pursue which brought them here.
I force resolve and keep both the relic and the book in my grasp as I leave the unit, intending to return to my temporary home. If there isn’t a secure enough safe in Castillo’s home, I’ll have to look elsewhere, but for the time being, I want to keep these things close.
I am on alert when I leave Mattapan Maximum Storage, so much so I dare not risk public transportation, as if my parents will somehow know I retrieved the relic and come after me. I do what I rarely do, and rely on my vampiric speed to carry me through Boston as a blur, all the way to Castillo’s home. When I enter, I hear music coming from the kitchen and smell a delicious blend of spices that tells me my host is once again preparing a gourmet dish. He has a passion for cooking, one developed by his mother as he told me when I asked about it, although he did not get into more details about the matter and I’m perceptive enough to know it’s a sore subject. I do not go to greet him, nor does he interrupt what he’s doing to greet me, and I go upstairs to my room, sitting at the small desk by the window and carefully opening the dilapidated copy of Magicks & Alchemy and seeking the page I knew from years ago, the one related to the relic.
To my dismay, water damage makes the pages I need all but unintelligible. I close my eyes, pushing away the creeping defeat, and compose myself anew as I scour the page again for whatever information is left. I have the relic, and I believe that is the most important thing as it means my parents do not.
Despite my deep concentration, the only substantial words I decipher are “Fair”, “North”, “in shadow.”
It’s not enough to move forward, so I take hold of the relic and leave the book on the desk, to interrupt my host after all.
The mood in the kitchen does not match my own. There is lively music playing, Gianna is here and smiling openly for a change, a large glass of red wine set before her. Castillo is at the stove, where rich smells are coming and filling the rest of the large kitchen. He glances over his shoulder at me when I enter, and gestures for me to join him. I do so, ignoring the way Gianna’s eyes follow me as if expecting me to suddenly lunge for Castillo’s neck, and peer into the large pan at the complicated assortment of ingredients simmering.
“Paella Valenciana,” he says, then perhaps sensing my mood he lofts a brow. “What?”
“Any chance you know what this may be?” I ask, holding up the relic.
Castillo looks it over and frowns. I can see the wolf in him, hackles raising and teeth bared. “Not specifically, no. But there is something…wrong about it, Santito.”
“I feel it too,” I sigh. “There is a book, but the pages are damaged. All I could make out about it were the words fair, north and in shadow.”
“Vague.”
“Unhelpfully so.”
“Did you have luck with that puta, Charlemagne?”
“The owner of the Sanguine Sweet is going to try and set up a meeting. Evidently, he did host my parents, but they are no longer with him. I work there now…come to think of it, I’m probably expected there,” it’s been long enough without employment that I didn’t think about my new job when my night started.
Castillo is looking at me oddly, and I realize he must know the bar’s reputation. “I’m a bartender.”
“Okay, Santito.”
“I am,” I insist as he chuckles and shakes his head.
“Get that fucking thing out of my kitchen, okay? I don’t want it to ruin this,” he gestures at the paella while eyeing the relic, then his gaze lifts to meet mine and he grins. “Have fun at work, estriptisero.”
“There will be no living with you now,” I sigh. He’s turning back to the paella and I don’t want to give him further ammunition, besides there may be someone at Sanguine Sweet who can help with my mystery. The relic is not ideal for keeping with me, it’s too large to slip into a pocket, but I return to my room to grab my laptop bag and put it there. Being behind the bar will give me some extra security, patrons won’t notice the bag and I do not think Cassandra will care enough to ask about it.
I put the book in there too, for good measure. If nothing else, I don’t feel comfortable leaving these things with Castillo while I’m gone. If they make anyone a target, it should be me.