Masquerade

Something is off when Delilah wakes up, put she can’t put her finger on it. She walks cautiously from her room, peeking out the door. Her ears pick up voices from the living room, none familiar. From across the hall, Jameson opens his own door. Their eyes lock, both recognizing the trouble that could be waiting them in the next room. Simultaneously they shut their doors, and she rushes to the window sitting above her bed.

After a little persuasion it swings open, and she slides out the small space. Jameson walks around the corner, his own escape as successful as hers. They grin, glad that they escaped more unneeded problems. Both remain silent until they’re strolling down the cobbled path.

“We need food.” Jameson says, touching his gums softly.

“We’re going to have to hunt for it, its woodland creatures for breakfast today.”

“Can’t we just kill a couple people, worthless people; those who don’t matter much in society.” Jameson pleads.

“Normally I would agree to that, because I’ve tried woodland blood and it pales in comparison to human blood. But this is one of the good cities, and even if I’ll never see these people again I can’t stand to kill two more people on top of the one we already did.”

Jameson groans loudly, and a child carrying burned cat scurries away. Delilah would have to, had she been a passerby. The rest of the way out of the city, he remains quiet and sulking. When they’re feeding on their respective deer, Delilah wishes she could ignore herself and sulk too. She wishes she would’ve listened to Jameson and just killed two more people. What’s two added to the large, growing pile of people she’s killed in her lifetime?

When a horseman comes galloping their way, they fall into the old habit of hiding inside the tall grass and corn stalks. After they’ve passed, the pair emerges and continues towards the next evil city. She can’t help but wonder who or what is waiting for them at the next entrance. After all, the Devil got to them when they were headed to a good city. Jameson nods in agreement, and annoyance flits through her.

“Can you maybe not read my mind? Just for a day, or maybe the rest of ever?” she snaps.

“It’s not like I can turn it off, it just sort of happens. Maybe if I had more experience with it, but it’s a new thing to me, something that wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t killed me.”

“I didn’t kill you, I made you undead. And will you give it a rest with that already?”

A loud sucking noise erupts from behind them, and Delilah frowns at the city silhouetted before them. It takes only seconds for the hole to suck them up, and then they’re deposited somewhere even Jameson doesn’t seem to know about. Mr. Benedict chuckles from a dark corner.

“It’s so nice to see you again Delilah. Jameson.”

“Can you not let us get through one city without delaying us and torturing us?” Delilah demands, sitting on an empty metal chair.

“Of course not! You’re about to enter the fourth city, the last city before the one you’ve dubbed the city of angels.”

“Why are you trying to keep me from the city of angels?”

“There are things that you shouldn’t have access to there. And in a way we’re saving you from killing yourself. You haven’t avenged your death yet, but you want to go to the brightest place in existence.”

“Jameson told me I’d kill myself if I went up there. But that doesn’t mean I’ll kill myself simply by going to that city.”

Mr. Benedict chuckles darkly, stepping further into the light. “You don’t know the people within that city like all of us down here do, Delilah. Angels are not kind people. They’re tricky, and they hate the damned with every fiber of their being.”

“So why do they have a city in the underworld then?” she asks, staring hard at the fat man. He seems worn out and a gray hue seems to have coated his skin.

“To keep order of course. The only reason we all act as sophisticated and restrained as we do is because of the angels.”

Delilah snorts and it turns into a loud guffaw. “Sophisticated? Restrained?”

Jameson touches her shoulder, squeezing hard. “Shut up, Delilah. Don’t anger him.” He whispers.

“Best listen to my son Delilah dear.” Mr. Benedict chides.

“Can you just get on with what you want to do to us?” Jameson explodes.

“I don’t want to do anything to you; this is just a friendly drop in. I bet you’re thinking I dragged you to some dimension you were never taught about,” he guesses correctly. “But you’re really already in the city you were heading for. I’ll part with this warning, children. You’ll never make it to the city of angels alive.”

He fades into the shadows then, and after an extensive search they’re baffled to find him gone. Jameson confesses to never knowing his father possessed such a power, but Delilah hardly cares. She feels around the room they’re in, her hands brushing against spider webs and nails. A boarded up window lay on the far wall, and opposite it her blind hand discovers a door. A locked door, from the outside.

“He wasn’t kidding about us not making it out of here alive.” Delilah says, defeat in her voice. The door is cement and metal.

“I can always try that spell, the one that got us out of the Devil’s world.” Jameson suggest, walking to sit beside her on the ground.

She eyes him from her peripheral vision, notes his drawn eyes and his clenched jaw. He’s starving from lack of blood, but he wants to try magic to free them. Even if it worked, he would die instantaneously as soon as they were out. She rejects his suggestion, and he loops his fingers through hers.

“You’re starting to care about me.” He says with a childish lilt to his voice.

“I don’t know where you’re picking that up from, because it sure as hell isn’t my head. And I have no heart, as you’re well aware.”

“You don’t want me to die.”

“That’s for selfish reasons alone. I wouldn’t know what to do without you as guide.” She insists, scooting away from him.

“I don’t believe you, sweet Delilah.” He murmurs.

“Stop calling me that! You use it as if we’re more than friends. As if you love me and have gone to bed with me.”

“No, I use it simply to show my affection.” He clarifies.

“Affection isn’t going to get us out of this cement coffin.” She snaps.

Jameson retreats and stays quiet for awhile after that. They take turns searching the walls, feeling for an escape. An hour later, a happy sound explodes from him. Delilah hurries over, and he places her hand atop a loose latch. She’s so happy she could kiss him, but after their earlier discussion she refrains. Then wants to burn herself because she thought about it. Jameson eyes her slyly, his eyebrows wiggling up and down.

“Boost me up and out.” she says, ignoring his looks.

Once he has her pushed out, she turns and reaches her arms into the opening and yanks him out to join her. They sit on the grass outside the building and evaluate their surroundings. There are woods behind them, and loud noises travel to their ears from around the front of the building. It’s clear that the city they’re in is a busy one; probably the underworlds equivalent of New York.

They drag themselves quietly and slowly into the alley, approaching the light and noise with caution. One demon speaking on a cell phone wanders by and before Delilah can tell him not to, Jameson is grabbing his throat and tearing into it. She sighs and watches, her own fangs elongating at the smell of the coppery blood. She’s not even hungry, but just the sight of all the blood that the demon is producing gets her going. She captures a demon for herself, and they deposit the bodies in the woods.

“I suppose we have to go out there.” Jameson says slowly.

“Your pansy is showing,” Delilah replies, quirking a brow.

Much to her amusement he glances down before he registers what she really said. He scowls, and then laughs quietly. Even he has to give her credit for that one.

“How did you get so modern?” he wonders as they step into the light.

“I spent many years with the humans. It gave me a lot of time to study their habits and practice their vocabulary. After all, I couldn’t very well speak in out dated tongue when trying to appear normal at a masquerade ball now could I?”

“I suppose you have a point. Speaking of masquerade balls, do you miss it?” he asks, watching her face carefully.

“Miss what? The glorious masks and the beautiful gowns?” she touches the butterfly mask that she’d pushed into her hair. “I miss killing the men more than anything.”

“What makes you think your killers are going to be in the city of angels?” he asks quietly. “Surely they’ve fled by now. After all, my father did alert them to your intentions.”

“If they’re not in the city of angels, I’ll find them up above. I’ll do whatever the angels ask of me for them to grant me the ability to wander above ground once more. To sleep during the day without the sun scorching me through the tomb or earth I choose.”

Jameson nods, remaining quiet. A haggler steps out from an alleyway, holding a tin can towards them. He grins, and some teeth clatter to the ground. “Can you spare some – ”

“No, we can’t spare anything.” Delilah says, cutting the man off.

She watches him retreat before continuing on her way. A half mile later, she notices something that makes her giggle. Jameson eyes her warily. “What’s so funny?” he asks, glancing about. His long, unruly hair blows softly in the breeze.

“All of this is exactly like New York City!” she exclaims, watching a fallen soldier pass by with briefcase in hand. Even men shout from their carriages, making crude gestures at jaywalkers and other carriage drivers.

“I’ve never been to New York. You’ve really traveled the world haven’t you?” Jameson says with awe.

“I have, but only because of my extensive search for those men. But that’s enough about me Jameson. You practically know my whole life story, and I know barely anything about you.”

“That’s because I’m the one asking all the questions. You don’t care about me, remember sweet Delilah?”

Had she been a filthy dog, her hackles would’ve risen. “That was nice and endearing at first, but as I’ve most recently told you – I don’t care for your affectionate words.” Her words are stiff and to the point.

“There’s something we should do in this city, if you plan on evading the angels persuasive, treacherous ways.”

“You’re not coming with me?” she asks, picking up on the word you.

Jameson glances at the buildings and people around them, an exasperated and sad look on his face. For the first time she notices the spark is completely gone from his beautiful ice blue eyes. The eyes set into a face drawn so tight she can practically see his skeleton beneath the skin.

“I can’t, Delilah. As much as I’ve enjoyed going on this journey with you, this city is as far as I can go. I’m done running from my problems. You’ll find a way to earth, and you’ll avenge your death only to murder yourself. Where does that leave me but with a world full of enemies?”

Though truth rings through his words, she ignores it. “You can come with me, Jameson. You can kill yourself alongside me. I need your help; I can’t fight them on my own.”

He laughs then, and it’s a loud dark sound. “What makes you think I want to kill myself? Furthermore, what makes you think you need my help fighting them? Before you stumbled across me you were going to fight them on your own.”

“I was foolish in thinking that I could. They’ve been around centuries longer than I, and though you’re still considered a newborn you’ve got power unlike anybody’s.”

Jameson shakes his head, giving her a long look of sorrow. “I refuse to go further than this city, Delilah. But I’ll introduce you to a man who can help you. He’ll teach you how to handle the angel’s and he’ll show you fighting techniques only a select few know.”

Delilah glances at the ground while pain shakes her frame. If she had tear ducts, if it were possible, she would cry. She can’t help but feel he’s saying goodbye simply because of her refusal to love him.

“Will you stay with me?” she questions quietly. “Until I leave this city, will you stay with me?”

Jameson grabs her hands in his and squeezes tightly. When she lifts her head he smiles softly at her. “I’ll stay with you.”

Delilah grins before extracting her hands from his. His smile falters, but he turns before it drops from his face completely. “Introduce me to this man now.” She says, her voice regaining its strength.

He complies and leads her down a couple of streets, some deserted and some packed. At long last, they reach a large house that looks like it was built sometime in the Victorian era. While Jameson knocks, she glances at the shrubbery surrounding the base of the home. Unlike the previous ones they had traveled to, this home has character.

A man dressed in butler attire answers the door. After a slight hesitation, he invites them inside. The pair enters the foyer and Delilah has to keep her jaw from slipping open. It’s not just any old home that they have just stepped into. She crosses the room and lays her hand atop the stair banister, caressing the marble lightly. Throwing her manners away, she wanders into the sitting room and her eyes take in the familiar fireplace. The same rug from centuries ago lay in front of it, dark in spots where flames leapt from inside.

Footsteps approach her from behind but she ignores them, wandering into the dining room. Her eyes take in the crystal chandelier dangling above the table, cobwebs sprinkled between the beautiful lights and clear, if slightly yellowed, crystal. Familiar clanging and sizzling noises come from the swinging door and she pushes her way into the kitchen, smelling raw steak in the air. The workers eye her curiously, but she’s focused on exploring the house that bears so much resemblance to the one that she had lived in when she was completely alive. The one she had inhibited when she had a beating heart and purpose to her life.

Another pair of footsteps adds to the ones following her, and she glances up sharply when the new body lets out a startled sound. Her eyes connect with ones much like her own. Her lips open to mutter his name, but he scurries quickly from the room. The butler looks startled and after an inner battle he chases after his master. Jameson spins her round to face him, a question mark upon his handsome face.

Never in her undead life had she wished for the ability to cry as much as she does at that moment. “I know that man, Jameson.”

A startled look passes over his features. “How? How do you know that man, Delilah? He keeps his identity hidden. Hardly anybody knows him or even about him.”

Delilah blinks rapidly and chuckles like a mad woman. “It’s simple, Jameson. Quite simple.”

When she remains silent, simply staring into Jameson’s eyes, he growls. It’s a deep rumble, and it reaches his fingertips. The ones gripping her shoulders with such force it would hurt could she feel it. “Don’t leave me hanging out here in the dark, Delilah. Explain how you know him. I’m probably going to get into deep shit for bring you to him if you’re an enemy.”

She widens her eyes and laughs quietly. “I’m not an enemy to him, Jameson. That’s my father.”

This time its Jameson’s turn to look shocked. And though she didn’t think it possible for vampires to faint, he collapses to the floor beneath their feet, mouth stuck open.