Masquerade

Jameson is waiting outside the mausoleum when Delilah awakes, and she offers him a stiff smile. They way she figures it she has to make up for how over eager she was when they parted last night. Together they trek a few yards into the cemetery and when they reach a small creek Jameson halts. Delilah stares in the slow moving water, eyeing the dirty rocks beneath. It seems like an ordinary, nature made creek.

“It’s under here. It doesn’t look like it, of course. But if you jump in you’ll keep going.” Jameson mutters.

“Why don’t I believe you?” Delilah asks, sticking her toe inside the flowing water. She hardly wears shoes anymore and switched the delightful dress out for jeans and a sweater.

“Do you want me to jump first?”

Delilah nods and steps back, studying the man carefully. He glances back at her with that impish grin she’s grown to know in one mere night. Letting out a sort of battle cry, he hurls himself into the shallow creek, and disappears from sight. Baffled, she hurries close but nothing is lying inside the eroded pool of water. Inhaling deeply, she falls clumsily into the same spot Jameson had.

She emerges on her feet and perfectly dry. Next to her Jameson is conversing with a young boy. The child is missing an eye and part of his jaw. The exposed teeth grin happily at her, causing a shudder to ripple up her spine.

“Finally.” Jameson greets, laughing.

“Shut up and show me around.” Delilah snaps, flexing her toes against the dirt road.

Shaking his head, he leads the way. People mill about with their different shapes and races, eyeing the pair curiously. One man watching a television quickly changes the channel as they approach but not before she has a chance to recognize herself.

“Why was that man watching me on his television?” she whispers.

“You’re kind of a celebrity down here.” He admits, and she knows he’d be blushing if he had blood coursing through his veins.

“So you’re basically using me for brownie points.” she concludes.

If he expects her to be mad he’s wrong because she’s anything but. Instead she eyes the small shops and the people gawking shamelessly at them. She even offers up a fanged smile. Out of nowhere, Jameson taps the back pocket of her jeans. The one her mask is stuffed in.

“Put it on.” He encourages, offering up a small smile.

“You really want me to go all out don’t you.” She replies sourly, slipping the mask over her face.

Jameson shrugs without shame, leading her down the endless dirt road. In her mind she had envisioned everything to be red and black, flames leaping out of molten bodies of lava. Realistically, the underworld is exactly like the real world in structured appearances. It has a bright sky with a harmless sun, green grass and cobbled paths. The buildings are painted cheerful colors, and the inhabitants wear normal clothes. She’d imagined them in torn rags, slaves to the devil.

When they’ve walked a ways, Jameson leads her inside a small house a bit away from the town center. Inside, a family chatters happily across a dining room table. There’s food on the table but unlike everything else, the food is nothing like real world food. It’s blood, guts, road kill and insects. She wonders briefly who goes up above to collect the road kill, but then hunger instinct takes over and she struggles to not snag the cup full of blood sitting in front of a small girl.

“Hey guys, this is Delilah.” Jameson greets, ruffling the little girls hair. He hugs the older woman and for the first time she realizes that Jameson strikes a shocking resemblance.

“Hello,” Delilah mutters quietly.

When Jameson’s father speaks, it shakes the floor she’s standing on. “Jameson you really should warn us about when you’re going to bring beautiful women home.”

“Sorry, pops.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Benedict.” Delilah greets, sensing he holds some important role in the underworld.

“Have a seat young lady, I’d love to have a chat with you.”

“Oh, alright. But only for a little while, I must get up above before dawn you understand.” She replies, sitting across from the child and next to Jameson’s father.

“I understand perfectly well. Merril get this pretty lady some blood, will you?” his voice is loud and booming, echoing through the house.

Merril, whom Delilah takes to be Jameson’s mother, places a warm glass of blood before her and she drinks greedily while the eldest Mr. Benedict watches appreciatively. When she’s finished Jameson sits beside her, his arm offering a reassuring amount of pressure against her own. The questioning commences shortly after.

“Do you remember when you were turned? Could you tell me?”

“England in 1798, the exact date I cannot tell you. It was the night of my twenty-first birthday, and it was a masquerade themed party.”

“You don’t have an accent. You sound like a regular old yank. Do you remember who turned you?” Mr. Benedict inquires, leaning forward in his old wooden chair.

Delilah stiffens, eyeing the older man sharply. “I don’t know his name but I know his features well enough to ensure I don’t kill another vampire by accident.” She replies. “Because I will kill him Mr. Benedict, the moment we cross paths.”

She’s not sure why she clarifies the last part, but something about Jameson’s father makes her feel uncertain. There’s a horrible, vicious vibe radiating from him that she’s never felt from someone else. Then again, Jameson was the first supernatural being she ever came across after she was turned. And he did warn her that everyone down here was terrible, murderers in their own right; too horrible to be released into the world above.

“I’m sure you will.” Mr. Benedict murmurs. “That’s all I’m wondering for now. You come back tomorrow, you hear?”

Delilah nods stiffly and scoots back from the table with such violence that she bumps Mrs. Benedict, who spills blood down her apron. After apologizing profusely, she darts from the house and inhales sharply once outside. Jameson joins her quietly.

“He can be a bit overwhelming.” He begins his voice apologetic.

“Your father’s not right.” Delilah murmurs urgently, her eyes wild.

“I told you people are bad down here, Delilah. But that’s my father so watch what you say, huh?”

“I mean no disrespect towards your father but something inside me is telling me that he knows where my murderers are. And not only does he know, but he’s hiding their whereabouts.”

Jameson stares at her for a quiet second before bursting into laughter. “You honestly believe my father, that lazy fat bastard, knows where your murderers are? Wait, murderers? It was singular just a few minutes ago.”

She shakes her head sadly, staring off at the steadily lowering faux sun. “One vampire killed me, four vampires tortured me.” She clarifies, heading back the way they came.

“You must have been some woman if it took four vampires to restrain and torture you.” Jameson comments idly, hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

Delilah removes her mask, allowing it to hang limply around her throat. “I was beautiful and lively. I had a family of six, and too many suitors to count. The women all envied me, the men wanted to bed me. But I wasn’t strong enough to defend myself and my right to life.”

“Don’t blame yourself for that. No human can fight off four vampires.”

“I don’t blame myself.” She snaps, eyeing him with discontent.

They remain quiet for the rest of the walk, and even their fellow supernaturals give them a wide space to walk. If they bumped into any witches, well Delilah’s sure their aura’s combined would be radiating a deep, crimson red. A skeleton of a dog wanders by, fur struggling to remain attached to the little bit of skin it still has. Its tongue hangs from its mouth, dangling by a thin pink thread. Delilah turns the other way, and her eyes connect with a small frail woman.

Without realizing she’s halted in her movements and Jameson has to turn back. By the time he’s reached her again, the woman has escaped inside a small shop and people are eyeing her not with awe but concern and fear. Even Jameson is giving her a look like she’s gone completely bonkers.

“There’s an old woman who just went into that shop. I got a weird vibe from her.” Delilah informs as they resume their walking.

“She’s the head witch of the underworld. She knows all sorts of deadly spells and curses. But to equal it out she knows helpful ones as well.”

Delilah nods, satisfied to know she wasn’t imagining the weird feelings she got when their eyes connected. Sooner rather than later they arrive at the a creek that runs equivalent to the one up above, and the boy with half his jaw missing is still sitting there. This time he waves and loose, melted finger skin flaps against his palm.

“What happened to that little boy?”

“A group of men burned a small shack he was hiding in. They’d discovered that he had been killing the neighborhood animals. He even managed to kill a horse three times his size.” Jameson replies in awe, waving back to the boy.

“That’s awful. But if he was simply burned and not turned into anything, what’s he doing in the underworld?”

“It’s not all supernatural beings down here, Delilah. There’s vengeful spirits and ghosts. They’re just at harmful as those of us who can physical touch the humans. Some of these ghosts managed to escape but priests banished them down here once again. It’s a pity, really. They’re the lowest on the ladder down here.”

“What race, or being, ranks the top most on the ladder?” Delilah inquires, knowing there are things in this world more powerful than she’ll ever be.

“It’s an ongoing battle between Vampires and Witches. We both hold the same amount of power, but we also have enough respect for each other to not issue a legitimate battle. It’ll cause chaos and calamity, two things the underworld can’t handle. Not with our lack of guards. If a battle ever broke out, all the evil beings would be free to go as they please. Then not only would all hell break loose down here, but serial murders would erupt around the globe above.”

“This is a lot to handle in just one visit. And why do I get the feeling you haven’t shown me the entire area?” she asks, jabbing him in the shoulder.

“You’re right,” Jameson says, laughing. “I haven’t shown you the entire area. But you’re equally right in the fact that it’s a lot to handle in one visit. I promise you I’ll show you more tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day.”

“And the next day, and the next day.” Delilah continues, laughing. “Alright I’m holding you to that promise. Hey, why doesn’t that sun burn us?”

He glances at the aforementioned sun, squinting slightly. “The witches put some sort of magic on it; we’re not entirely sure what spell. They won’t tell us. We figure it’s their way of saying that they have an important power over us and that we need to watch ourselves, because with a simple chant we can burn into nothing.”

“Why don’t they put that spell on the sun above ground? Wouldn’t that make it easier for those of us who aren’t confined to roaming around down here all day?”

“There are few of us who can roam above, Delilah. Like I told you, everyone is terrible. At the slightest chance they’ll kill with everything they’ve got. Besides, this sun follows the moon above. Which means when it’s daytime above, it’s nighttime below. So the people down here have the same sleeping patterns as those they hate most.”

Delilah furrows her brows, all sorts of questions running through her brain. “So they get tired when the moon comes out, whereas I get tired when the sun comes out.”

Jameson nods, smiling slightly. “Speaking of we should go. Dawn is going to be here in less than an hour.”

Delilah frowns, upset that her visit to the underworld was so short. This time they jump into the creek together, and when they emerge the clouds are tinted pink. Panic floods her system as she races through the tombstones and trees, reaching her hidey-hole in just enough time to collapse in a heap. She lost track of Jameson somewhere in the middle of running, raising another question within. But like the other’s it’ll wait until the next moon.