Sounds. Scuffling. Breaths. Then came the quiet tap and shuffle of someone trying to move silently. But the efforts were in vain, for the sounds roused Layla from her slumber. She kept her eyes closed and feigned sleep, listening for whispers. None came. But she was certain she was their quarry. She could feel the beating hearts of perhaps two humans coming closer, singling them out from the chorus of rapid-fire heartbeats of the rats scurrying about.
Hands seized Layla and dragged her from her corner. Her eyes came open to see two hooded individuals, each handling one of her arms. Layla set her feet down on the ground and stood firm, not letting go of her knapsack. "The Boss wants to speak to you. It's not a request," one of them declared. Layla merely nodded and gave them no reason to handle her further. She followed them with poise and submission.
Layla arrived at a corner house, placed at the edge of a retaining wall that looked over the warehouses below. Her bookends were very silent, ready to grab her again if she made a run for it. But that was never her intention. She was brought into a room, feeling the embrace of indoor heating on her pale cheeks. It was like a breath of life after battling the cold winter in her arduous trek.
Through some doors, she came into a study of sorts, where a man sat in a wingback armchair. In the room was a cast iron wood stove, its crackling light visible through the glass paned door. The pale, well-groomed specimen of a man made a sweeping gesture with his hand. He had slicked back, pale hair, matched with a set of eyebrows that were barely visible against his white skin. His nose was vague and bulbous, and his mouth too small for his face. His broad cheekbones and spaced out, blue eyes seemed almost unfocused, and he squinted at her as if it was a strain to see. The thugs who had brought Layla nodded and filed out the door, leaving her to face her fate. Layla placed her bag down and stood at attention.
"You've hunted on my turf and I don't like that. So what shall we do about it?" He spoke in a fast-paced tone, reminiscent of a New York businessman, but without the accent.
Layla said nothing, searching the man to get a grasp of what she was dealing with.
"What you aren't going to try and justify yourself? What if I kill you, here and now? I could, you know." He straightened up in his chair, crossing one leg over the other.
"You could try." Layla finally spoke.
The man leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. "Well, not without introductions. If I'm going to execute you, I might as well know your name. For my records, of course." His muted eyebrows dug down over his squinty eyes. "I am Leonard Arkwright. And you are?"
"Layla Samara," Layla responded, keeping her hands by her side and in plain view.
"Layla Samara. Can't say I've heard of you." Leonard stood up, walked over to the woodstove and turned his back to Layla. "Well, decapitation, sun, or fire?" Leonard opened the stove and poked at its contents. When no answer came, he looked over his shoulder as if checking to make sure his prisoner was still present. "You don't say much do you? Well, maybe I will keep you around after all. Just don't bite my workers."
"She lived, didn't she?"
"That isn't the point! The point is she was scared, and I got a reputation to protect those that work for me. And all those warehouses? Mine. Everyone who works in them? Mine. That ship? Mine!" Lenard pivoted on his heel, gesturing out as if she could see through the walls and to the dockyard beyond.
"It got me here." Layla answered.
Leonard crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side, measuring Layla up with a new metric. This time Leonard was silent. Layla canted her head to the side and the two stared at each other. The wood stove crackled in the absence of speech. Layla remained still. Leonard was starting to break. He tilted his head the other direction, unfolding his hands and placing them on his hips. Layla only lifted her eyebrows. "Okay, I'll bite." A smile twitched on his lips at the unintentional pun. "Why are you here, Miss Samara?"
"I wish to barter passage on one of your ships. How far south do you go?" Layla asked. Leonard straightened up and eased into a smile, his body language immediately shifting to professional, yet approachable. Shoulders back, relaxed, chin high, and eyebrows pushed up but eyelids comfortably drooped.
"Well why didn't you say so? What do you think you can offer? We go as far south as Port Hardy. Mostly because they have some coal mines still in operation. From there you can catch ferries further south." Leonard brushed the back of his knuckles against his lapel. Layla didn't move a muscle, so he kept on talking. "Heading for the Bleak? Let me tell you, it's not the paradise vampires think it would be. No-sir-ee! If you thought this long winter was bad, the Bleak is worse. No sun, means no energy. Everything dies, including, you guessed it, people! So vampires either are moving with the edge of the Bleak or..." his voice lowered as he studied Layla carefully in anticipation, "...feeding on each other."
This held with what Layla had surmised and feared. She finally shifted her weight and crossed her arms. The fact she responded at all seemed to put a sparkle in Leonard's eye. "Are there ferries from there to the mainland? I am headed to southern Alberta."
Leonard blinked a few times, then he furrowed his eyebrows. "In that case, I'd suggest getting off at Prince Rupert. But why would you want to go to the prairies? They live like frostbitten cowboys out there. Except, without the cows because there's nothing for the poor beefers to eat. No, no, stick to the coast where most of the industry has survived."
All Layla responded with was an arched eyebrow, eliciting a heavy, expressive sigh from the shipping mogul. "Alright, well, what do you have to barter? Let's let that rolling. Come on. Time is money," Leonard said, snapping his fingers.
Layla picked up her bag, reaching to pull out something wrapped up in a cloth. She took two steps forward and placed it on a side table, then retreated two steps while never turning her back from Leonard. Watching her carefully, he walked over to the table and retrieved the bundle. He cautiously began unwrapping it. Leonard's eyebrows shot up and he focused back on Layla with a new intensity.
"You're gutsy. And my men didn't search you?" Leonard shook his head as he lifted the gun from the cloth. "And would this come with ammunition?" he asked, dataching the magazine and clipping it back on after a brief inspection. Layla tossed him another bag that clattered. He peered, drawing his eyebrows together. "Cyrillic? Did you get these from overseas?" Leonard waited for a response then rolled his eyes. "Right. You won't answer anything you don't want to."
Layla nodded.
"Well it's a nice firearm but I don't need a gun. You don't either, I imagine." Layla took out another cloth, unwrapping two more guns. "Now you're talking. This will help arm my staff... the ones competent enough to handle a gun, that is." Layla set the guns down and stepped back again. "You aren't a very good negotiator, are you? Because I might have settled for just two guns." Layla shrugged. "Fine, fine... this will do for a one way trip and an inside cabin. I'll let my crew know that you need, ah, special arrangements."
"It is appreciated," Layla said quietly. Leonard looked her up and down.
"Well at least you're polite, if tight lipped. Have you been a vampire long? Because you don't have much of an edge."
Yet another silence stretched between them. Visibly irked, Leonard lined up his newly obtained firearms, admiring them for a moment before looking back at Layla. "Next departure is in two days. Do you need a place to stay?" Layla nodded her head. "Well you might as well stay here. I have the space and it's optimised for avoiding sunlight. Though I doubt you'll be very interesting company."
"I won't," Layla responded dryly.
"Won't be good company?" She nodded. Leonard gave a small shake of his head. "I'll show you to my spare room." When his back was turned, Layla smiled. Her plans were finally back on track.
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Bang! Bang! Bang!
Rena awoke with a start as the sharp rap of knuckles on wood continued. She whipped off her covers and padded barefoot over to the door, glancing at Cyrus who was adamantly ignoring it by covering his head with a pillow.
When the door swung open, Rena was surprised to see Nel. Her eyes and nose were red while the rest of her skin was remarkably pale. Rena would have assumed it was from the cold if not for the glistening of her eyes.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
"Is Ash here?" Nel asked frantically. Rena shook her head, seeing Nel's eyes widen, then narrow. Getting her answer, she spun on her heel and began marching down the hall.
"Wait, Nel, what's wrong? Is Ash missing?" Rena asked, stepping out into the hallway, only to stop abruptly. It wasn't night, and at the end of a hall golden sunlight invaded. Rena felt a warm tingle all over her body, and her hair stood on end as her heart began racing.
"He is, but we'll find him," Nel said sternly before she turned the corner and began descending the stairs. Rena retreated back into her room, slamming the door. Seeing the frame shake, she winced. She had not meant to close the door that hard.
Why would she ask if Ash were here? Why come here herself? Why not send Peter? The thoughts raced through her mind as her feet conversed with the floor.
"You'll run a trench in the floor at that rate - then Siobhan might actually make us pay." Rena let out an uncharacteristic squeak, having forgotten Cyrus was there. The vertically challenged vampire stretched and sat up, peering wearily at Rena who resumed her pacing.
"It helps me think." Rena answered, clasping her hands behind her back to keep herself from wringing her wrists like a neurotic agony aunt.
"And what good is thinking going to do? Either they will find him, or they won't. A kid with his stumpy little legs can't have gone far." Cyrus flopped back down on his lumpy straw mattress. "Chill."
"Easy for you to say. He's like a little brother to me," Rena vented. She walked over to the window, hand reaching towards the blackout curtains.
"What are you doing?" Cyrus asked, an edge in his voice. Rena's hand withdrew and she shook her head.
"If I could just get the window open and call to my pack..." Rena said.
"Oh yes, and how would you do that without burning both of us?" Cyrus asked.
"I know I'm young... but if I drink enough blood before..."
"Stop. No. I'm sure half the town is looking for him, and the other half are getting dirty looks. That's what these little communities do, isn't it?" Cyrus asked snarkily.
Rena glared at Cyrus, but as he continued to smile at her, her glare softened and she looked away. Crossing her arms, she plunked down onto her pokey bed.
"Wait, are you actually sulking? Well that's just precious," Cyrus marvelled. His voice resurrected Rena's glare. "Anyway, you need to give up that saviour complex of yours."
"I don't have a saviour complex," Irene refuted.
"Then lie down and go back to sleep," Cyrus goaded. And Rena did just that. At least, the lying down part, and pointedly turned away from Cyrus. There was nothing Rena could do. And for a moment she almost wondered if the Cornerstones were real, and if they could allow her back into the sunlight. It might be worth believing for all that. But belief in miracles still felt too barbed, too dangerous for her to accept. There were no miracles, even among all the mighty powers. Just curses.
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It was a strange experience to feel the hot, albeit smelly, breath on one's face one moment, then have the cheeks freeze in the slimy residue of drool, only for it to be warmed again by a tongue. But Ash loved it. He loved dog kisses in the snow, how it awoke his senses with alternating hot and cool. He giggled as he heard the funny nose-whine and got a few more stinky face-licks.
"Awe, Blarney, why'd you stop?" Ash asked when the malamute-wolf mix perked up his large ears and looked away. Ash looked around, but didn't see anything. He wrapped his arms around the mutt's neck, burying his face in the thick, coarse fur. "Where's your Mum?"
Blarney's tail wagging eased as he let out a quiet noise that may have been a bark, if it wasn't quickly aborted before it got any significant volume. Ash stood up, again looking in the direction that the wolf-dog was staring at intently. "What is it boy? Is it a vamp?" Ash asked, fear and excitement tingling his little body. He shook his mitted hands in front of his chest and strained to see if there was anything coming. All he saw were the vague silhouettes of trees and a thick shower of lacey snow. "Oh. You're right, Blarney, it's not nighttime yet."
Blarney's ears swivelled back briefly, then perked forward again. He lowered his head, bringing his chest low into the snow for a moment, then made a quick hop to the side and back again. His tail stuck straight out behind him, giving just a quick swish before going still. Ash moved behind the dog, getting the sense maybe there was something other than vamp, but still dangerous. "You'll protect me boy, right?"
Blarney barked. Ash smiled. "Good boy!" He patted Blarney's flank, and the dog lunged forward. Just then there was a flurry of snow being kicked up. Ash looked over just in time to see another of the wolf-dogs bound out of a snow bank and tackle Blarney. Ash squealed surprise, and ended it with a giggle. The two dogs growled and played, and Ash relaxed. Once Blarney had asserted his dominance over his attacker, both of the dogs stood facing each other, panting heavily. Then the smaller of the two looked at Ash, who gave him all the pats and hugs he could want. "I know I shouldn't be out here, Fillie, but I want to prove to Maple I'm not scared of anything! She laughed at me when I had a nightmare, and now I'm gonna prove I'm braver than her!"
Ash continued to play with the two wolf-dogs. They were both only a year and a half old, and much more friendly than the full wolves. Rena always told Ash to never try and play with her pack when she wasn't there. But they were such good dogs, Ash didn't understand why. He often was allowed to go for walks with Kerfuffle unattended, but she was nowhere to be found. It was hard to see anything in this weather. Ash looked around and shivered, realising despite his many layers of animal hides, he was feeling the chill. And the snow was coming down so heavy he could barely see. "Uh oh... say, Fillie, think you could take me home? I think I proved my braveness enough."
Filibuster ignored him and instead hopped into a nearby snowbank and rolled around. Ash wondered why the wolves seemed to understand Rena, but not him. Maybe he needed to speak more like her. Ash straightened up, put on his most serious frown, and tried to speak commandingly. "Filibuster. Blarney. Take me home!" Blarney lifted his head and swivelled one ear, tongue lolling out of his mouth. At least that got Blarney to look at him, but Blarney was soon nipping at Filibuster. "Listen to me!" Ash whined. Once again, the dogs were trying to pin each other.
Ash brought his hands up to cup his face, breathing the warm air into them and tried to hold it against his cold cheeks. The residual drool was caked on and leaving him feeling cold and clammy. He glared at the dogs. "FINE! I'll find my OWN way home!" Ash yelled, stomping his feet ineffectually. With a high step to overcome the deep snow, he chose a direction he thought was the way he came and started walking. Behind him he heard barking, and thought they were laughing at him too. Ash was crushed. He thought they were his friends. Those kisses were all lies! Lies!
Ash had milled about in circles. Or he thought it was circles when he saw tracks. It took a while for his young mind to grasp that these tracks were too large to be his own. And there were too many of them. When it dawned on him, his eyes lit up! Surely, if he followed them, they would lead him home! Ash made a game of trying to place each foot in each print, but as these were left by an adult, it required him making larger steps than was efficient or comfortable. A few times he almost lost his balance doing this, but he persevered! Because he was going to be SO very grown up, and surpass his older sister. Take that Maple!
The blizzard was in full swing now, and Ash was beginning to worry. Even though there was no one to mock him, he tried very hard not to cry. But his eyes were watering, which just invited the cold into them. He kept blinking furiously, trying to warm up the moist orbs. But his eyelids provided very little protection, and he needed them out of his way to see. "I wish I could see through my eyelids..." he grumbled.
Crunch. Crunch. Ash suddenly stopped. Through the howling wind, he was sure he heard something coming closer. Ash looked around and only saw vague silhouettes in the dense, white haze. He ran towards them. Of course, it must be his family, they would be looking for him when they noticed he wasn't there. Ash was overjoyed, until he looked up at unfamiliar cloaked figures. He barely had a chance to utter a squeak before a pair of large hands descended upon him, seizing him by the shoulders. Ash screamed and fought with the stranger.
"Stop it boy!" an unfamiliar voice demanded. Ash continued to flail, but another form moved behind him, blocking his retreat. The hands that held him spun him around to face the other person, who knelt down.
"Where are you from?"
"Fisham!" Ash answered. He didn't know enough not to.
"How far is it?" the cloaked figure asked.
"I... I don't know! I'm lost!" Ash explained, unsure what else to say.
"Hmmmph." The person began to poke at him, patting his clothes and searching for pockets.
"Hey! Stop that!" He was ignored.
"Nothing except a bit of jerky."
"Oh I had some left?" Ash seemed surprised when a small twist of dried, fibrous meat was pulled out from one of his pockets.
"Useless," the man who was searching him stood up.
"Maybe not. This boy belongs to someone. They'll come looking."
"Y-yeah! So you better not try anything!" Ash postured, recovering the bravado that had momentarily shied away. "We've killed hordes of vamps! We're not scared of you!"
"Who said anything about 'scared'? We're just refugees, looking for shelter," said a third, feminine voice. "Now then, let's keep the boy safe. You got a name, boy?"
"Um..." Ash vaguely remembered he wasn't supposed to tell strangers who he was. Right? Maybe? But he didn't like being called 'boy' all of the time. "Ash."
"Ash? Alright, Ash, stay close. We'll help you find your home." A shorter figure emerged from the whiteness, cloak billowing in the wind. She extended a gloved hand, and the man who had been holding his shoulders let go. Ash hesitated, but finally took her hand. If they helped him get back home, they couldn't be too bad. Still, the way the big man grabbed him made him uneasy. "I'm Cat."