Masquerade

The dirt around Delilah startles her, until she remembers she’d buried herself before dawn the night before. Well, she buried herself before dusk, rather. It was going to be difficult getting used to the changed sunshine and moon times down here. It takes a couple of minutes to dig out of her makeshift grave, but when she resurfaces she’s pleased to realize that nobody is waiting for her with sharpened stakes. She glances to the left and notices that Jameson’s body was never retrieved in the night.

What strikes her as odd is the slow rate at which he is decomposing. He doesn’t have a stench, and no flies are swarming around him. Perplexed, she approaches slowly. His chest remains still, eyes staring blankly and unseeing into the sky above. She listens hard for breath, for his heartbeat. No such sound greets her ears.

She realizes too late what’s wrong about him. The thin film a corpse acquires in death is missing from his irises. With speed a newborn unfed shouldn’t have, Jameson’s hand latches onto her ankle. He squeezes and twists until she’s landing face down on the ground. Irritated, she yanks her foot away and stands.

“Should have burned you.” She mutters, brushing the dirt from her shirt.

Jameson sits up slowly, a fire burning in his eyes. She has a feeling it’s only a glimpse at the fire within. The fire that fuels the hate he now has for her. Well, good. Now he’s completely aware of her need to find her murderers and avenge her death.

“You turned me! You actually turned me!” he shrieks finally, and all the wildlife is startled into motion.

“Shut up, they’ll hear you.” By ‘they’ she means his father and his minions. “And I know you don’t want them to find you, not when you’re like this. You’ve been downgraded, Jameson.”

“The hell I have! They’ll understand and they’ll sympathize.” He argues, his voice wavering uncertainly towards the end.

Delilah walks off, not really caring about the inner battle he’s waging within. It matters naught to her what he decides to do, whether he reveals to them all he’s been turned into a witchy vampire or not. Surely he can’t really blame her for his undeath. After all it was his father who had shoved him into the cage with her. It was his father who sent him into the woods, even in his weakened state. It was his father who signed his death wish.

After a good half hour, she approaches the edge of the woods. Outside the dark canopy of trees, the sun shines brightly. As far as she can see, it’s rolling hills and growing crops. A giggle bubbles up within. Demon farmers? She rolls her eyes before surveying the exit to the forest. There doesn’t seem to be anybody standing outside, but she listens hard for heartbeats. When nothing reaches her ears but the soft, urgent beating of the woodland creature’s hearts, she emerges into the sunlight.

Behind her, Jameson exclaims loudly; a pathetic ploy to get nonexistent guards to attack her. She spins slowly on her heels, turning to examine him. He looks a little less pale, clearly having fed on a squirrel or two. He darts from the woods, running towards her as fast as his wobbly legs can carry him. It’s like watching Bambi learning how to walk. When he reaches her, he scowls unhappily. Clearly he decided something back there inside that forest, and it apparently isn’t going to work out in her favor.

“I’m coming with you.” He says, staring hard into the distance.

“I can’t stop you, like you said some days ago. My words won’t halt your following me.”

Jameson laughs bitterly. “Yeah, I did say that. So let’s go. It’ll take us awhile to reach the last city. This sleeping at the moonlight thing is going to be a bitch.”

Delilah nods mutely and they continue on their trek through the pretty countryside. A couple of times on their way to the next city they have to hide away in tall corn husks, for men on horses approached with angry looks on their faces. A question mark paints itself across Delilah’s face as she glances towards her new companion.

“They’re from the two cities we’ve just vacated, don’t worry. We may have to lay low in this next city, depending on how willing the citizens are to hide stowaways for the evening.”

Disbelief flits across her features and her mouth hangs agape. “We’ve just woken, and I can see the city from atop this hill. Why would we stay there overnight? It will only delay our travels to the angel city.”

“No city down here will ever be called the angel city, sweet Delilah.”

Those familiar words, sweet Delilah, send a jolt through her system. It’s a feeling of warmth and familiarity. She shakes it off, shutting the emotion from her face. They remain silent the rest of the way, both wary of one another. She doesn’t know what he’s thinking, but she’s thinking he’s interesting. He’s an entirely different breed of both vampire and wizard. He possesses both supernatural powers, which makes him possibly the most powerful man in this world. She thinks briefly of mentioning this to him, but something stops her. Maybe it’s the angry looks he keeps sending her way, but perhaps it’s because the large entrance to the next town is looming before them.

Jameson yanks her to the side right before an inhabitant can get a glimpse of her. He holds her tight against him, a rock against a hard place. They don’t have to breathe, but Delilah had fallen into the habit when she’d lived amongst the humans. Her chest rises and falls against his, her breath flowing against his stone face. Huddled against the stone entrance, out of sight, they unwillingly hold each other.

“Why are we doing this?” Delilah murmurs, growing agitated.

“Shut up for a second, will you?” he snaps.

It pains her pride but she remains quiet, allowing him time and silence to do whatever it is he’s doing. After a couple of minutes, he releases her and nods with satisfaction. Before she can ask what he was doing, he pulls her along into the city. People eye them with innocent curiosity, none taking an interest in the fact that they match the posters scattered about any bare surface within the city.

“Are you hungry?” Delilah asks, though they have no money to purchase any blood.

“I know somebody who’ll give us some blood for free.” He informs, and she eyes him cautiously.

Somehow he’d known her thoughts, but as a galloping horse aims for their path it’s the last thing on her mind. They glance at each other with fear and uncertainty before diving down a deep, dark alley. A cat scurries away, out onto the busy cobbled street they’d just vacated. A high pitched mewl reaches their ears but they keep running, having no sympathy for the cat that was just broken by the horse’s hooves. Like Jameson had said, it is kill or be killed. If it wasn’t the horse that had killed the cat, it would’ve been a demon or perhaps a vampire. Maybe a witch looking for cat-something to put inside of a potion, if witches even really did potions.

They stumble down the long alley for awhile until Jameson halts beside a hidden door. He knocks swiftly, and they wait patiently for the person within to open it. When the door does swing open, they’re face to face with the same old lady that Delilah had seen on her first visit to the underworld. She bites back a gasp.

“Invite us in,” Jameson says urgently. “Please, madam.”

“Come in, then.” The woman murmurs. Her voice is scratchy like she’s smoked a hundred cigarettes too many.

When their hostess steps aside they dart inside the cozy room, and a feeling of calm overcomes Delilah. She can sense something powerful and heavy about the place, and she has no doubt there’s some heavy magic cast about the space. While Jameson rummages inside a yellowed fridge, Delilah gets her bearings. There are pictures and paintings hanging crooked on the cream walls, and modest furniture is scattered about the living room they’ve stepped into. The kitchen is separated by a small counter, and a short hallway has multiple doors leading from its walls.

Jameson hands her a warm glass and she drinks from it greedily. When she pulls her glass away Jameson cracks a smile. Probably she has a blood mustache, much like one gets when they drink a glass of milk. The old woman flutters about in the kitchen before entering the living room and taking a seat. Delilah follows suit, as does Jameson. All three regard each other for a good long while until the tea kettle screeches. While the witch tends to her tea, Delilah inquires to Jameson one very important question.

“What are we doing here? She’s from your city, surely she’ll tell on us?”

The voice that replies is not that of Jameson’s gravelly one, but the scratchy witch’s voice. “Silly child, do you not see me opening my door to you? Had you not heard me welcoming you into my home? Do you not notice me making myself tea, allowing Jameson to fetch some blood from the fridge? This is my home, young Delilah. And I will most certainly not tattle on you.”

Delilah is relieved only for a second, remembering how swiftly Jameson himself had deceived her just a night ago. Jameson gives her a sharp look then, allowing Delilah to put two and two together. He can read her thoughts as surely as if she were speaking them to the room at large. The older witch gives her a heavy look as well, and Delilah has the uncontrollable urge to slap a hand over her mouth. Both of them can hear everything she’s saying as if she were broadcasting it from a radio station.

“Both of you can read my thoughts then.” Delilah concludes, closing her eyes briefly.

When her lids flutter open they’re both looking at her with such heavy looks of concern she can’t help the laughter that shakes her frame. Jameson fetches another glass of blood, chalking it up to hungry insanity. She drinks the crimson liquid thankfully, delighting in the feel of liquid and chunks sliding down her throat. Whoever’s blood that was they’d had some clogged arteries in their lifetime. When the glass is empty she sets it on a coaster, turning her undivided attention to the woman who must be in her hundreds, drinking hot tea on the couch before her. Jameson speaks for the both of them.

“At what lengths is my father and his followers going to find Delilah?” he neglects to add himself.

The woman sips quietly, in no rush to answer any questions. “They’ve threatened torture and death to all who hoard her. But we’re not a city easily shaken, and we’re well aware of how unfair the government is ruled. We’re willing to stand up and fight for her cause need it be. We will not, however, go out of our way to wage war upon the two cities over the hills.”

“That’s perfectly understandable.” Jameson murmurs. “Can you tell us how far they’ve gotten, and where there are people stationed?”

The woman shakes her head sadly, frowning softly at Delilah. “I cannot tell you where they’re stationed, but they’ve reached the third city already. There are men on horseback riding between the cities at intervals. It’s best if you avoid the main roads and city squares if possible.”

“Thank you.” Delilah whispers, staring hard at the old woman.

“There’s no need to thank me young lady, I simply follow the ways of justice and fairness. You were tricked into being down here past dawn,” at this she looks pointedly at Jameson who has enough grace to look ashamed. “And for that those of us who understand the right way will help you on your way to the fifth city.”

“So you don’t deny something or someone in the fifth city can help me?” Delilah asks eagerly.

But the woman merely shrugs and stands, toting her cup to the kitchen. Over the running faucet she offers them a guest room for the night. They accept reluctantly, knowing they’ll have to share a bed. Knowing they’re taking unfair advantage of this kind woman. She bids them goodnight shortly after and it’s only then does Delilah realize her skin is tingling, signaling dusk. They wander to the guest bedroom slowly, each despising the inevitable. When the sun sets against the horizon they collapse into a jumbled mess atop the bed covers, falling into dead time.