Masquerade

Time seems to stand still after that, and no matter how much Delilah tries to move forward, to reach her murderers, she can’t. Beside her Jameson lets out a little yelp. She shifts her eyes to him. He seems to be struggling against something, the same something that’s restraining her.

“It’s pointless to struggle. Charles has you on a strong hold.” Mr. Benedict informs, a malicious grin spreading his lips tight.

“Ah Mr. Benedict, what have you brought me?” One of the men asks with curiosity in his voice.

“Lawson, it’s good to see you again. I must admit I’m surprised you don’t recognize this delectable young woman.”

The man – Lawson – saunters forward and furrows his brow. He touches the ridges beneath Delilah’s eyes and smiles with complete satisfaction. His teeth are longer and sharper than Delilah’s own. After a couple minutes of caressing the bumps, his hand darts to her stomach. Frowning, he pulls it away. The scars had healed from the cuts, unlike the burns.

“I remember her now, the jolie femme from that masquerade ball.” He murmurs, facing Mr. Benedict now.

Delilah’s fangs are elongated now, brushing her bottom lip. He’s nearly close enough for her to bite him. If her hands weren’t rendered useless by Charles’s magic, this man would be dead. And then Mr. Benedict could do what he pleased to her. Be it torture or death. She resorts for spitting, the glob landing square on the back of Lawson’s neck.

“Are you satisfied Delilah?” Jameson’s father asks. “You see your murderers; you see they’re alive and well. They’re still lurking around, waiting for your vengeance.”

“How can I be satisfied,” Delilah snarls. “When you’ve got Charles restraining me?”

The fat man lets out a deep, booming laugh. “This isn’t a murder meeting. We’re just here to show you that the men you’re looking for are still around. You wanted to know where they were, did you not?”

“So I could kill them!” she roars, growling in frustration. Charles falters in his chant, and she feels the spell loosen momentarily.

Mr. Benedict clucks his tongue, motioning for Lawson to back away from her. They converse silently and shortly after the four men leave. “We’re going to let you go now, so you can be on your merry hunting way. But have no doubt that we’ll be watching, and we’ll be waiting to make things a living, breathing hell on your journey.”

Delilah and Jameson watch mutely as Mr. Benedict and his gaggle of followers exit the building. After a couple of minutes, they can move again. Delilah paces in circles, her rage clouding any good judgment. Jameson slumps to the ground, his head in his hands. After awhile she can hear a sort of whimpering cry coming from him. She nudges him with her foot.

“It’s almost dawn and who knows what kind of creatures are in this city. Let’s go bury ourselves.”

Jameson gives her a startled look, standing from the filthy ground. “They just shoved your murderers in your face and they know we’re here. Why do we need to bury ourselves in the ground still?”

“Are you really such a pansy that you object to sleeping in dirt?”

“No,” he replies, his chest puffing out a little. “I just don’t see why it’s necessary.”

“Just because we’re undead doesn’t mean we can’t become dead.”

He shuts up after that and obliges when Delilah buries him in his own little hole. She herself stays above ground for just a little longer, eyeing the scenery around them. When dusk is seconds away, she buries herself.

The next morning they start off without a word and any hesitations. Jameson informs her happily that the next city is far less of a walk than the others have been. Delilah nods mutely. They had lost their blood bottles when his father and that gremlin captured them, and her gums are aching something fierce. When she expresses her discomfort, Jameson merely shrugs.

“I know somebody in this next city who will feed us. But he won’t house us, because it’s against everything he stands for. He doesn’t stand for much, mind you, he just hates vampires. Tolerates them, because we’re all around, but he hates them.”

“So is it a sort of pattern then? Good city, bad city, good city, bad city. Good city?”
“Yeah, I guess it does.” He replies. “Can I ask you something?”

Delilah stiffens and her eyes narrow. “I can’t stop you from asking.”

“Why are you so bent on killing these jokers? Normally someone would forget about it, relieved that they’re alive again after being killed. But you just go on and press your luck, getting stuck in situations all because of some stupid mindset that you have. I wasn’t lying before when I said that revenge is an ugly thing. Not even you can carry it with grace.”

“You asked me if you could ask a question,” Delilah say slowly, anger boiling beneath her words. “You didn’t ask if you could insult me.”

“Hey, look,” Jameson begins, but he’s cut off.

Delilah’s nails dig into his neck, the bottled blood dribbling down her fingers. When it reaches the crook of her elbow, she glances sharply into his bright blue eyes. He’s not as strong as he was when he first awoke. “No you look, Jameson.” And he does. He looks at the trail of blood and his adams apple bobs with a deep gulp. “I killed you before, and I can kill you again.”

“If you were going to kill me, you would have by now.” He snaps, and a force unknown knocks her clear across the way.

She stands slowly, brushing dust from her jeans and giving him a long, hard look. The sudden power came out of nowhere. This means he had concealed it perfectly, giving off the illusion of a weakened kitten, someone worthless in battle and defense. A new found feeling of awe radiates from her, and his expression softens slightly. He can feel her respect.

“So your witchy powers stayed intact when I turned you.” She muses, stepping closer.

“Is that some sort of weird turn on for you?” he asks warily, stepping back.

She has the good grace to look embarrassed and fixates her attention towards the horizon. The skyline of the next city contrasts against the light blue. “No, it’s just fascinating is all.”

Jameson laughs; a pathetic little sound. “So I’m some kind of supernatural crossbreed freak.”

Delilah remains quiet. She couldn’t have summed him up in any better terms, and she sure isn’t about to stroke his ego. Jameson takes the cue that his pity party is for one and shuts up completely. He gazes at the city in the distance, his eyes sweep across the plains and hills around them. Delilah does the same, and some kind of peace overcomes her. They continue slowly, neither wanting to apologize for the episode they had, neither wanting to leave this majestic feeling countryside. It’s unlike any of the countryside’s they had passed through before.

Then the scenery around them changes rapidly and suddenly they aren’t wandering the countryside anymore. All about them disgusting, evil looking creatures roam. They eye the pair with hunger and curiosity, and Jameson lets out a disgruntled shout.

“They sent us to the devil’s world!” he exclaims in an angry whisper.

Delilah spins in circles, the red and black scenery blurring before her eyes. The buildings are all crumbling, windows shattered and some boarded. The inhabitants, those ugly demons, are clad in tattered rags. Many of them are missing body pieces and large chunks of hair. Much to her distaste she notices fog rolling across the ground and breaking around their ankles. They share a heavy look before their attentions get dragged away.

Approaching from up ahead is a man cloaked in dark robes. He’s impossibly tall, and Delilah’s not unsurprised to notice a pointed tail swishing back and forth behind him. All the children’s tales and biblical stories were correct in their assumption that the Devil possesses a tail. However, it lacks in color. In fact it looks disgustingly human. The closer he gets, the bigger the urge she has to flee. Jameson goes rigid beside her, and she can tell he’s feeling the same way. This man is only Mr. Benedicts plan to delay their journey.

“Jameson Benedict and Delilah Reynolds welcome to my humble world.”

“It’s a disgrace of a world,” Jameson spits, his face contorted into an ugly snarl.

The Devil laughs, rejoicing in Jameson’s anger. He claps his hands gleefully. Delilah is captivated by the long, yellowed nails extending from his fingertips. The man notices her looking and steps closer, crooking a finger at her.

“Come beautiful Delilah, I have plans for you.” He rumbles, shaking the entire world with each syllable spoken.

“The hell you do!” Delilah says, stepping backwards. She bumps into a short little creature that snarls and snaps at her.

“Follow. Me.” The Devil says, patience leaking out of him.

She sighs heavily letting him know she’s unhappy but follows anyways. When Jameson makes to go as well, a couple of monsters hold him back. He struggles until the Devil commands him to still. Something tells her it’s the last she’ll see of him for awhile, so she drinks his image in. The Devil laughs happily, and they’re engulfed in tacky red smoke.

They poof into a small homey house with yellow walls and cream furniture. The Devil motions to a wooden chair and she sits down carefully, avoiding any loose splinters. He sits across from her, and a small woman scurries from the back of the house to make a boiling liquid. She sets a warm glass of blood in front of Delilah. The Devil watches intently while she sips from the glass.

“Can we make this quick? I’m kind of on a mission.” She says simply, pushing the empty glass aside.

“Darling I know you’re on a mission, but I require your help. You see the world above isn’t the only place to host masquerade balls. I need your assistance with an assassination.”

She stares at the man with the tail and horns, shock rippling through her system; shock and excitement at the prospect of donning a mask and murdering someone. It’s been far too long. The small woman reenters the room and places the liquid she was boiling before in front of the Devil, bowing slightly at the waist before rushing off again.

“I don’t do this alone. Jameson needs to be here if we’re going to discuss this. And I have a few favors I need myself.”

The Devil smiles and his pointed teeth shine against the light. Unlike her two simple points, his entire mouth is full of them. With one quick snap of his fingers, Jameson is collapsing into a heap on the floor next to the table. He rubs his head and glares at the Devil before sitting next to Delilah. The two of them fill him in on what they’ve discussed so far, and uncertainty colors Jameson’s face. After awhile, he accepts it. Delilah resists the urge to clap alongside the Devil.

“Will you provide masks and appropriate attire?” Jameson wonders.

“You each have your own rooms down the hall with tuxedos and dresses and masks to choose from.” He informs, pushing back from the table. “I’ll leave you two then to get dressed. The party is in two hours, I’ll escort you myself.”

Once he’s gone from the room, Delilah snatches Jameson’s hands up and squeezes them in excitement. He regards her with caution, carefully extracting his hands and standing. The smile on Delilah’s face falters but not even that can diminish the happiness she’s feeling. She hurries down the hall, pushing open a door with her name on it. Inside there are racks and racks upon dresses, all long gowns with assorted gems and sparkles. The masks in themselves are beauteous wonders, and a certain butterfly one captivates her attention.

She closes the door behind her, locking it tight with an impish grin spreading across her face. Perhaps this wasn’t Mr. Benedicts doing after all.