“It’s not smart to piss off a guy who thinks about killing for a living.”

- Will Graham in the Hannibal TV show.

(I think I might steal this line for the next person who annoys me.  If you haven’t seen this show….watch it!!!)

…Last time in When Skies are Gray…

Running, shifting at a speed only another fast vampire could match, possibly one only Benj could match, Crow crossed the roof tops.  He leapt the alley-ravines without slowing or recalculating his pace.  Soon the flat top roofs dotted with air conditioner units of the business district gave way to the pointed roofs of homes.  Crow raced up one side and down the other without a sound.  Not even the small animals, raccoons or squirrels, living in the dark attics heard him with their sensitive ears.  But they sensed him.  They smelled him.  Trembling, they curled deep in their insulation lined beds, and hid from the predator stalking the night.  Crow, uninterested in the warm blood of the small creatures, leapt up the side of a white gabled house.  A lighted window at the point stood open.  It spilled a song into the night along with a golden glow:

                And I’d give up forever to touch you

                Cause I know that you feel me somehow

                You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll every be

                And I don’t want to go home right now*

“Tough life, buddy,” Crow whispered to the singer.

A chill slithered up his spine – who but a vampire has forever to give up? Who?  The troublesome thought carried him onto the next roof, over that, and up the next.

His heart pounded against its cage of bone.  He reveled, relaxed, loosened up with the pumping of his blood and the swiftness of his run.  The last bit of his Olive-hangover slipped away like a few tendrils of fog dissipated in the night winds.  The shifting was mindless, emotionless.  It demanded nothing but greater speed and dexterity.  Something Crow could deliver.

“Wait!” Zephyr yanked on his ear.  Crow stopped.  He scented, his nostrils flaring to bring in more air to his lungs.

The demon….and something else, some trapped human….was near.  Crow continued south.  The homes returned to businesses  and shops, some still open even this late at night.  But the demon hunted in a place past them where businesses went bad or started that way on purpose.  Beyond honest men and women who shouldered the responsibility of employing others to places where employees were abused, underpaid, or even more like slaves.  Where lies and theft laid under the foundations of wealth instead of hard work and opportunity.  Beyond hope and dignity to despair and shame.  There, in that darkness, the inner darkness of any town or city, the demon hunted.

Staying on the rooftops, Crow shifted closer to the creature from hell and the human it possessed in order to walk this plane.  A gentle breeze blew in his face taking his sent away from his prey allowing him to slip in close.

There!

Slowing, stopping, Crow crept to the back edge of the roof of the adult video store.  Behind him, the giant yellow XXX of the large sign obnoxiously broke up the night sky.  Ignoring it, focused on his target, Crow leaned over the edge.  He groaned.  The large smoldering creature, wings spread, had his back to Crow.  He bent over something at the end of the alley.  The industrial dumpster turned to small cardboard box next to the massive muscular legs of the demon.  His wings could not open even in the alley designed to accommodate a semi filled with inventory.

“Aren’t Angels supposed to deal with these?” Crow growled to no one in particular.

“I thought you were looking forward to this after your last demon fight?  You know, the one you got pummeled in?”

Crow glared at her.

“Got any sign of the possessed?”

“Look down at the end of the alley.”  Zephyr tugged at his ear in that direction.

In the deepest shadow, oozing fear, hunched the demon’s prey and the demon’s possessed.  Crow squatted down on the roof to see through the monster’s legs.  A boy and a few animals cowered in the corner.  Beside him stood a wild woman with a ragged dress rippling in the heat waves of the demon’s fire.  How had a child crossed the demon’s path?  Then the scent hit him.  The child and the women were homeless, the pets as lost as they, but the smell that turned his stomach was the scent of family.  The woman, her eyes glowing with the power of the damned, was the boy’s mother.  Crow tensed, ready to pounce.  The woman flung her hand at her son, and offered him to the demon’s hunger.

Reaching under his coat, Crow palmed his two Glocks.

He leapt straight up gaining height and momentum, and then dropped.  As he control fell towards the creature from hell, Crow emptied both clips into its back.  The woman yelled.  Crow’s metal, wiznit blessed bullets did no more than irritate the demon and enrage the woman.  All Crow wanted was to distract them from the boy.  He dropped into the alley.  The asphalt cracked under his black boots.  The demon turned towards him with a snarl.

Mission accomplished.

Crow growled back, yanked up a smelly trashcan, and hurled it at the demon.  The bloody heat of battle drowned him.

Bring it on.

It ignored the trashcan as it thudded against his chest.  Rotten food and plastic DVD covers spilled all over the alley.  The demon lifted an industrial dumpster and chucked it at Crow.

“Not good.”

Crow lunged forward.  He dived under the airborne dumpster and pulled the Jade Gun from his holster.  He rolled.  Stopped.  And shifted to his feet just as the demon smashed into him.  It slammed him against the alley wall with one hand, and roared in his face covering him with burning spit.  Crow brought the Jade Gun under its chin and pulled the trigger.  A hollow-point erupted in the demon’s head.  Surprise flashed across its face as its lower jaw blew off and its tongue slapped down on its chest.  The demon jumped back.

“That’s right, show some respect.” Crow wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  He took a step towards the demon hoping it would back down.  Instead, it grabbed a large round trashcan lid and came for him tongue wiggling.

“Too much to hope for,” Crow sighed.  He rushed forward, swerved under, and side to side.  With a duck, he dodged the lid working to get inside the reach of the demon so he could shoot him in the head again.

“It’s not gonna work.  Gotta get the possessed!” Zephyr said.

Crunch.  A sickening sound.  Dodging one lid, Crow forgot to watch the demon’s other hand.  Out of nowhere, another lid sideswiped him across his right shoulder and slammed him into the wall.  The Jade Gun flew from his hand down into the alley, nine shots still in its magazine.

With a curse, Crow ducked.  The left trashcan lid took a bite out of the wall just over his head.  He glanced down the alley.  Where was his gun??  There!  The Jade Gun rest inches from the kid.

“My gun!” he yelled.  The kid did not budge, did not even look at him.

“Zephyr! Gun!”

The demon dropped a lid and grabbed Crow’s leg, yanking him off his feet.  Crow dangled upside down in the air, his body turned to come face to face with the jaw-less demon.

Crow yanked back and slugged the demon in the nose.

“Kill him, kill him,” the wild woman screamed.

Slobbering, the demon twisted his leg.  Another sickening crunch.  Pain swam down his body and clouded his vision.  He shook his head trying to clear his sight.  Fire burned through his jeans.  Like a rag dog, the demon swung him through the air by his broken leg.  Crow black out for a few seconds.  His eyes popped open just as he struck the back alley wall.

Crush.  Things splintered, cut and pierced.  Nerves sounded the alarm.  Vampire powers rose to the surface, trumping anything human to stay alive.

Next to the kid, Crow crumpled.  Pain from the three smashes and now the healing reverberated through his body.  Without waiting, Crow stood up and rolled his shoulders.  Broken bones connected and muscles regrouped.

“No?” the kid whispered.

Crow glanced down.  Two large eyes searched his face.  The kid held out the Jade Gun.  Zephyr hovered by his shoulder, two thumbs up.

“Thanks kid.”

“What are you?” another whisper.

“That monster’s worse nightmare.”

With a salute to the kid, Crow charged the demon, ducked under its fist, grabbed its slobbery tongue, and scaled its torso.  Jade Gun pressed to brain.  Pulled the trigger.  Turned, while its brain processed the bullet now flying through it, and Crow shot the woman.  She dropped.  A shell, bleeding into the street, empty and broken.

Demon brain and parts splattered the alley.  With a sizzling steam they disappeared.

The smell of ozone faded replaced by the stink of trash.

Crow groaned.  He slumped against a trashcan and gulped in air.  He wiped his hand on his jeans the demon spit burning his palm.  The skin healed.  He twisted his neck right, then left, and gathered his two other guns, reloaded them, and stuck them back in their holsters.  For a moment he stayed standing.  His eyes searched the night sky.  He had done it.  Without a drop of Olive’s blood he had taken care of the demon.  He listened for sirens, but in this part of town gunshots were ignored not challenged.

“You okay, Crow?” Zephyr fluttered to his shoulder.

“Yeah.  Never better.”

“What about the kid?”

Crow sighed.  He pulled himself together and turned to the child crouched in the dark, filthy back corner beside the body of his dead mother.

…Join me, next Friday, for the continuation of the tale…

*Song is not mine, it’s Iris by the GooGoo Dolls.  All rights belong to the GooGoo Dolls.  If at any point in time they wish it to be removed from this story, please contact me at worldsbeforethedoor@yahoo.com.  Please don’t post in the comments.  Thank you for your understanding, and thank you for this amazing song! It is used only because it is loved!

“It’s fear, Jack.  The man deals with a huge amount of fear.”

“Because he got hurt?”

“No, not entirely.  Fear comes with imagination, it’s a penalty, it’s the price of imagination.”

- Red Dragon by Thomas Harris

(I’ve been blessed with a pretty good imagination and memory at this stage of my life and I can tell you, fear is often the price of imagination.  You learn real quickly which paths to stay off of.  I think this is what makes Thomas Harris’ character Will Graham so appealing.  He walks those paths in the place of the rest of us. )

…Last time in When Skies are Gray…

A hangover with sharp claws dug into Crow’s brain with a force designed to separate it from his spine.

“Dove!” he yelled lurching to his feet.  His eyes flew open.  He clawed for the Jade Gun but his hand came up empty.  Where was she??  Where was his gun?

“Hey handsome.” Olive smiled at him as she threw her head back after wrapping her hair in a fluffy white towel.

Crow’s surroundings came into focus through the red haze of his blood-high leftovers.  Olive had changed.  A clean turquoise tank clung to her still damp skin.  She jerked the tag off the back pocket of a new pair of  jeans.  Crow winced at the sight of bandages on her neck and wrist.  The wrist being bigger.  Fresh blood stained the white gauze.  Like an alcoholic, Crow both wanted and hated the blood, needed and despised it.  The claws pounding on his head dug deeper.  He held his head in his hands, and dropped back down on the bed covered with dirt and dried blood.  He held back a groan.

“Are you okay?”

Beautiful ivy tattoos running up two arms came into view.  Images of Olive’s life carved on flower petals poked up through the vines.  She ran a hand through his hair.  The headache lessened, but the his teeth elongated.  Olive winced.  Crow took her hand.  He pressed his lips over his teeth.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Olive said.  She gently adjusted her bandaged wrist in his hand.

“I hurt you, didn’t I?”  Crow released her hand shocked at the size of the bandage around her wrist.

“It was kinda a do or die situation.  Don’t worry about it.  I’m a strong southern girl.”

“We’re up North.”

“I know we are, but I’m not from here.  I grew up in the south.”

The bandage wrist haunted him.  It taunted him.  It proclaimed he was willing to hurt anyone to satisfy the need for blood, even Olive.

“You listen to me,” Olive suddenly said.  “You listen up right now, mister.  You did what you had to do.  If you hadn’t drunk my blood again, Dove would have kidnapped and or killed us all.   Don’t you feel guilty for one moment.”

“Do you have mind reading abilities?”

She flashed him a huge smile.  “No.  But you’re kinda easy to read.”

“Bad poker face, huh?”

“Something like that.”

The claws dug back in.  Crow moaned convinced his head might have just split open.

“Crow?” Olive put her arm around his shoulders.

“I’m all right,” he muttered through his fingers.  His headache plateaued into a moment of peace.  The world settled in around him filled with Olive’s sweet scent.  To taste that sweetness….Crow shut down the surge of vampire desire so fast he almost threw up.

“How long have we been here?”  He tried to be a man.  He had to be a man.

“A few hours.  Stan dropped us off and left to pick up some clothes and stuff.  Aunt Rose and I have showered. Stan’s in this one, but the other one is free if you want.  Zephyr used the sink.  Umm….” Olive looked around the room with one finger on her chin.   If she guessed his internal struggle, she did not acknowledge it thank goodness.   “Let’s see.  Stan brought you clothes, too.  He said we should all rest up.  Dove destroyed your duster, and most of your special holster thing.  I did get the Jade Gun, your Glocks, and shotguns.  Stan said something about not leaving them around where they could be found by the police or something.  Oh! There are burgers.”

Olive jumped up to get them.

“Sorry.  They may be cold,” she said as she handed him three double-patty burgers.

He ripped the wrappers off and devoured all three in just a few swallows.  The greasy beef brought an uneasy truce between his human and vampire side.  The headache disengaged its claws.  Nausea and any lingering desire for Olive’s blood eased off enough for Crow to feel in control, sane, and less bipolar.

“Wow! Hungry?”

Crow licked his fingers.

“Should I get more?” Olive put her hands on her hips.

With the red meat toning down his magical side, Crow enjoyed the woman-ness of her as a man, just a man.  Her curves, her smile, her nurturing, all with a towel wrapped around her wet hair brought his humanity to the surface with a pure desire as a man for a woman instead of a monster for a maid.  He forgot for a moment, in the late afternoon soon peeking in the cracks of the hotel curtains, who he was and what he was.  His desire was to care for her not possess her.  Was it too much to ask for that right?

“Are there more here?”

“No.  That was the last few.  I can run out and get some more, the place is just around the corner.”

The answer was no.  He did not have the right to be a man.  She needed protecting and he, according to the servant tattoos on his hands, was the protector.  He was the one with the power and the experience to fight and fight he must.  But….something whispered….could he fight?  Twice he had faced the Gray, and twice only Olive’s blood had saved him.  Did he even have the ability to protect her?  Did he even have the strength to go up against Manson, the Gray and Fortunatus?

“You shouldn’t leave the room, so don’t worry about it right now.” Crow pushed the whisper of self-doubt away.  He stood and wrapped his arms around her in one swift shifting.

“Note to self …” Olive said, lifting her arms and linking her hands behind his neck.

“What?”

“Meat does wonders for your disposition, unlike my blood. That just makes you sad.”

“True for any man, but your blood’s amazing.   I feel unstoppable, aware, alive when I drink it.”  He touched his forehead to hers.  “The meat helped ground me a little.  It’s less rich.”

“Such nice things to say, kinda creepy they’re about my blood.”

Crow closed his eyes with a sigh and a shake of his head.  Again, the answer was no.  No moment of forgetting for the Dhampir son of Benj and Sophie.  He could not put the monster part aside for the mantel of humanity.  Olive gave him a little kiss and nudge with her nose.  He opened his eyes to her teasing grin.

Stan came out of the shower.

“How you feeling?”  He only raised one eyebrow at their embrace.

“Don’t ask and I won’t tell you.”  Crow stretched and groaned.  Olive turned away with a smile.

“What do we need to do?”

“Nothing till the sun sets.”

Crow headed for the other shower, something else that was good for a man’s disposition –scalding water, a shave, and clean clothes.  Dirty sweat and flecks of blood ran down the drain.  Steam surrounded him.  His mind drifted on the balmy waves of nothing until the water ran cold.

After the shower, changed into clean clothes, he dropped down on one of the queen beds with fresh sheets.  Rose nodded off in the puffy chair against the wall.  Stan snored on the other bed.  Olive danced around the room picking up trash, tiding towels, tucking a blanket around Rose.  She hummed to herself as she flitted.  Zephyr curled up on a pillow settled on the night stand.  Olive covered her with a white wash cloth.  The wiznit breathed softly, sound asleep.

“I’m going down to the gift shop.  Need anything?

“Olive?”  Crow cracked on eye.

“Don’t worry, I’m just going down stairs.  I’ll be fine.  Besides, I’m going crazy in here.  I saw some plants down there, so even if something happens I can protect myself until you can rescue me.”  She poked him in the chest with her finger and then bent down and kissed him.

Crow grimaced, too tired to argue.  Olive was the only one who had had any sleep, and she healed faster with plants around.  He could not bring himself to argue, so he pointed to the credit card in Stan’s wallet and closed his eyes.  Olive slipped quietly out the door.

“It’s good to see that look on your face,” Stain said.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I was.”

“What look?” Crow propped his hands behind his head not really listening.  The thought of a battle without Olive’s blood resurfaced.  Like some dumb teen, he felt the need to prove himself.

“The one that says there might be something worth living for in this life beyond Manson.”

Did he?  Was there?  The ghost of a kiss touched his lips in a silent yes.

“You may be right, but let’s not say anything.  I wouldn’t want to hurt my tough guy reputation.”

“Heaven forbid,” Stan chuckled.

“Watch out.  You may have already passed me up.” Crow glanced at Rose in the corner.

Stan did not answer.  He rolled to the far side of the bed and slipped his hand in hers.  She squeezed his fingers without waking up.  In a few moments, his gentle breathing joined Rose and Zephyr’s.  Crow lay in the bed, coiled to spring.  Stan and Rose.  Seemingly out of nowhere, these two women walked into their lives.  Who was the more damned, the hunters or the women who loved them?  Rose, cause Stan slept holding her hand, gave Crow even more reason to check his skills.  He would not let Stan lose another woman to Manson anymore than he planned to let Manson have Olive.  Never.  The door knob turned.  Olive tip-toed back into the room.  She locked the door behind her.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” she whispered.

“Waiting for you, beautiful,” he said, sitting up on one elbow.

Her whole face lit up.  She plopped into the bed at his feet with a blue plastic sack.

“Look.” She crossed her legs, and dumped several candy bars out on the duvet.  Crow picked up a Mars bar.  Chocolate and sugar?  Not as good as beef, not as good as blood, but a sufficient substitute for the moment.  Olive plucked a candle and a small ivy from the pile.

“A candle?”

“A witch needs a candle.”

Crow shook his head at her.  He turned in the bed and lay back down putting his head in Olive’s lap.  She ran her fingers through his hair and hummed.   He drifted off to sleep with the ivy reaching out to touch his arm.

The sun cast a veil of darkness over the earth as it sank below its curvature.  The moon, dressed in silver white, rose into the night sky.  Her weak light diffused the blackness in place of her more glorious sister.

                …in the beginning, a vision is always dark…Crow clenched his teeth, but could not suppress a growl.  Manson lounged on a couch with dramatic curved lines in a shadow-filled room.  Window-less walls hid any possible clues as to their location.  His recent struggle with the sun left a spatially disoriented feeling in his head.   No windows, and no sense of space meant no clue.  Manson for the win.  Crow should have had Stan bury him instead of just eating burgers.

                The only door in or out of the room opened and in came Fortunatus. 

                “You little piece….” Crow lost the sentence in a snarl.  Words left something to be desired when it came to Fortunatus.  “Someday, for Benj.” 

                Crow wished the visions let him project.  He wished he could fill the room with the hatred he felt for Fortunatus.  Just once, he would like to make that betraying piece of feces nervous.  Wait?  Crow glanced around the room.  Why was he here?  No one but Manson and his pet waited in the room.  There were no signs of tortured souls.  There were no mutilated victims.  Manson must have called him here cause it satisfied some sick whim.  Lovely. 

After straightening his cuffs and tie, Fortunatus opened the door to admit three outlandish vampires dressed in the latest distressed jeans and graphic tee trends with edgy, girly hairstyles, eyeliner, and sunglasses.

“You look like one of those idiotic rock bands dressed like that,” Manson sneered from the couch.  He crossed his legs not getting up to greet his guests.

“We may return to LeVidal, if you have no use for us.”  One of them stepped closer to Manson while gesturing back at the door.  Fortunatus closed it behind them.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Manson said studying his perfectly manicured nails.  “Besides you will want to see what I have created downstairs.  Even you, Kalogeros, will want to take off your silly sunglasses long enough to see this.”

“As you wish Manson, but remember we are doing this as a favor.  We feel no obligation to you.  Kaneís, allá tous eaf̱toús mas.”

Manson glanced at Fortunatus.

“No one but ourselves.”

Crow’s gut twisted.  How many years had it been since he last saw the Greeks?  Ten?  Fifteen?  Three of the oldest and most sadistic vampires indulging Manson did not come as a surprise, but it chilled him.  The Greeks with Manson made Crow’s burden bigger.  It changed the generational war from personal to planes.  All of LeVidal might join if promised the fun of human screams and blood.  Vampires, old, true not taken, flocking to Manson would bring him to the attention of the magical community.  But, he was still Crow’s problem.  The weight of what he witnessed pressed down on Crow’s shoulders.  No one.  No one would take out Manson but him.  And why was he seeing this?  Surely it was not to Manson’s benefit that he see an alliance with the Greeks?  Unless he wanted to taunt Crow with the inroads he had made with other magical creatures, like the demon he had joined with Dove.  Crow liked it better when Manson worked with only the Gray.  He liked it when Manson was too high and mighty, or ignorant, to work with anyone else.  This meeting was not a good sign.  It was dangerous.

“Fortunatus, take them down and show them our new toy shop?  And also the other room.” Manson waved them away.

Fortunatus hesitated.  Something new gleamed in his eye surprising Crow – weariness, disgust, and caution.  The vampire blinked and it was gone.  No way.  There was no way his soul, torn by murders, brought on this vision. Crow pushed the thought away.  Fortunatus had betrayed his father and had a hand in killing his mother.  That vampire deserved death more than anyone or anything except Manson.

With a bow, Fortunatus led the Greeks out the door…

Crow whispered a curse to the air of the hotel room filled with sleeping humans and witches.  Why had he surrounded himself with people he cared about?  People he cared about always died.  He and Stan must have been born under the worst set of stars.  The muscles in his back twitched with that ‘deck stacked against him’ feeling tightening them.

“Damn the Greeks, Fortunatus, and Manson all to hell.”

Crow’s skin crawled.   What if they came now?  What if he could not fight them without Olive’s blood?  He could not drink from her again.  Half damned he might be, but half damned could damn an innocent all the way.

He got out of bed and started pacing.  Everyone slept.  Their quiet, slightly off beat breathing grated on him.  He caught himself rubbing the back of his neck, and shifting from one end of the room to the other.  For fifty years, some of them with his Mom, most of them alone, he had never settled in one place for long.  The instinct bred in him since the beginning was to avoid Manson by staying right out of reach.  Never stay still.  Out of reach was where he wanted to be after that vision.  The walls of the hotel closed in around him.  His self-doubt filled him.  The night air sang a siren song to his vampire blood with sweet music.  And something else, something else…Someone or something out there.  Could he handle it without magical blood?

He needed to get out of this hotel room.  Now.  And he was hungry.  Again.  Hungry and not thinking about Olive’s blood.  He did not want that, not every again.  He could go for a steak.  Rare, bloody.  Crow picked up a napkin, wrote a quick note to Stan and shifted over to Zephyr’s pillow.  He poked her with a finger.  She ignored him.  He nudged her again.

She opened one eye at him.  Crow crooked his finger.

“When do I get my pocket back?” She picked herself up and fluttered to his shoulder.  She plopped down, stretched, and yawned.  Gathering two Glocks and his Jade Gun, Crow kissed Olive’s forehead and headed out.  Time to settle his gnawing fear once and for all.

The moon drew heavy clouds close, and wrapped them around herself.  The air, too warm for winter, was sticky with humidity.   Each droplet of invisible moisture was a vestiges of the storm Olive had called from the south.  A cool wind drove the clouds on.  The moonbeams illuminated their edges and turned them silver.  The moon called to him. She called to his vampire side, the side which had drunk Olive’s blood twice in 24 hours.  She sang a song of seduction.  She sang of the beauty of the night.

Crow soaked in the darkness.  It sat around him like a cloak, all grays and darker grays.  Zephyr rode his shoulder as he took the back exit from the hotel.  He rolled his neck loosening up.

“There is something out here.  In town and it is hunting.”

Zephyr turned her head this way and that scenting.

“It’s a demon hunting something, maybe us, maybe not.  With Dove being bound to that demon she has ties with them now.  She can probably call and control them.”

“Comforting thought.  It’s not her, though?”

“No.  It’s a different one.”

She was right.  Crow could smell it.  He could smell the ozone, fire, heat smell of the demon.  Unlike Angels which smelled of pure sunlight with a hint of rain, or flowers, leaves, living beautiful things depending on their type, demons smelled of ash, charred wood and burnt flesh.

This demon smelled like any demon, burnt, fried and crispy, yum.

“Great.  I was more in the mood for a vampire.  But, I guess a demon will have to do.”

He left the lighted exit of the hotel moving instinctively into the shadows along the unlit back alley.

“Got him?”

Zephyr scented again.

“There.” She pointed south into town.  “He seems distracted.”

Crow sensed it.  Whether the demon was hunting Olive or not he needed this fight.  Her blood still echoed in his veins, even with the little he had drunk, even with all it had to overcome, mildly diluted by burgers, candy bars, and sleep.  Her blood was some high, pounding, pounding, pounding.  The demon fight would rid him of her magical.  Plus, he could prove he did not need her what was in her veins.  If he did, she would not be there to save him.  Point proven either way.  He leapt onto the side of the building to his left and caught a window sill.  Lunged up and right to the hotel side, he caught a fire escape.  Back and forth up the four stories, he cleared the building and landed on the roof.

Leaping from wall to wall, tracking his prey over the roof tops proved easier than shifting through the streets, and more fun.  Crow took a last look back at the hotel.  A candle burned bright in the window of their room.

“A candle?” he whispered.

“To light the way back home,” Zephyr said.

“Just like Mom, but I’m coming home.”

The itchiness left Crow.  Calm settled between his shoulders like warm sun on his back.  For the first time in his life someone waited for him to come home.  He did not plan to disappoint her.

…Join me, next Friday, for the continuation of the tale…

Tandem

They say it’s risky
being on this road,
always exposed,
broken glass
and shards of pain
forever thrown
in the way.
But there’s also
risk in staying
home alone,
never rolling
down the canyon
at breakneck speed,
just sitting still,
heart locked up
in a cage, the key
tucked safe away
until a ripe old age,
untouched
by someone’s
idle hand.

- R.H. Mustard

(This was written by a friend and fellow blogger.  I discovered his poetry a few years ago via Twitter.  I love Mustard’s poems cause they are generally haunting, beautiful, longing and aged.  They are like a good story or a good wine.  Check out his blog!)

…Last time in When Skies are Gray…

He stumbled over the uneven, frozen ground.  His eyes flew open, but the world stayed dark.  Surprised and uneasy, Crow realized his eyes had been open all along.  He could not actually see anything.  His vision was gone.  A quick sniff and he knew he had not left this world.   He also was not in LeVidal – a city of eternal night.  The wind blew in his face, cold.  Another quick sniff and he smelled the sleeping grass, the few patches of snow, Olive in his arms – light as a flower, Zephyr holding to his ear, Stan with his guns, and Rose who smelled like lavender.  He turned his head up towards the warmth of the sun.  His skin stretched taut, the vampire cells ached.  No.  He still walked through the valley with Stan and Rose at his side under the damning sun.  He just could not see it anymore.

“Stan?” Did his voice tremble? Was he afraid? Yes! He could not see a thing.  One of his senses no longer functioned.  Afraid did not begin to describe what he felt.  What if they were attacked again?

“What?” Stan said, his voice sharp picking up on the oddness in Crow’s tone.

“I can’t see a bloody thing.”

“What?”

“I can’t see anything.  Everything’s black!” Crow practically shouted.

Stan pull up on his arm and Crow halted.

“You can’t see anything?”

“Are you listening?  Everything is black! Void.  Null.  Nada.  Gone.”

“Okay, okay.  Calm down.”

“How’s Olive?” Crow said.  Even though he could feel her slight weight in his arms, he could not tell if her skin was still pale, or if her darting eyes said she dreamed.  Crow listened.  He bent all his concentration on listening.  Her heart beat slow and regular, her breath came in and out.

“She’s still asleep.”

Crow adjusted his arms around her.  He pulled her protectively close.  Protecting her from what? He was the most dangerous thing here.  He was the one who could still smell her blood, magical and strong.  He could hear it rushing through her arteries.  Protecting her from himself?  Maybe.

“It’s the sun.” Zephyr said.  Her tiny hands press up and down the sides of his face where his several days old beard prickled.

“Are you sure?” Rose asked.

“It’s been a rough day, think about it,” Stan said.

Crow’s legs trembled.  He sat down before he fell down.  Sick sweat rolled over him, and strange images filled his head.  The world in his mind’s eye grew huge, until it towered over him, and then it shrank, shrank, shrank until he became a clumsy giant.  His head ballooned to an enormous size, like a silly cartoon character.

“Crow!” Stan barked. “Can you make it to town?  Do you remember how far it is?”

Crow squinted in his blackness – like that would help.  He lurched to his feet, but the ground rolled under them.  Crow swayed trying to keep his balance.  Too late, he dropped to his knees again.

“Rose, give me your coat,” Stan said.  “It is the longest and you can take mine.  I’ll be fine as long as we keep moving.”

A large coat fell over Crow’s head.  It smelled strongly of lavender and cat.  Crow breathed in through his mouth to keep from gagging on the old-lady smell.

Gradually, kneeling in the darkness of the heavy wool coat, focused on breathing, hidden from the righteous rays of the sun, the world stopped swaying.

“Stan?”

“Right here, Crow.”  Stan laid his hand on Crow’s shoulder.

“Help me up,” Crow said.

Stan took one arm and Rose took the other.  They pulled him to his feet.  Olive never even stirred.

“I think I can make it to town.  I still can’t see, but the world stopped spinning.”

“Okay, Zephyr was right.  It’s the sun.”

“The sun, the battle with the coven, a high from magical blood, which has me totally crashing now, fighting a vampire and mutant fey, oh, and let me not forget my fight with Mason and his new pet demon.”

“New pet demon?”

“Did I forget to tell you about that?”

“Sure did, kid.”

Crow smiled a half-smile under the coat.  It had been years since Stan had called him “kid”.  He used that name when he had attempted to provide some sort of father like guidance in the absence of Benj.  It was Stan’s way of saying he was worried about him – a comfort of sorts – or worried about what they had gotten themselves into – not a comfort.  Crow thought this might be the second time Stan had used the old nickname just in the last 24 hours, but he was not sure, could not really remember.

He took his time telling Stan about what he had seen in his vision.  It helped him to examine it from all angles, see if he missed any clues, and passed the time in their stumbling hike to town.  It helped him not think about the sun burning high over his head.

After the tale was told, they walked in silence each contemplating what Crow had seen.

“How far do we have?”

“We just got over the last of the hills so I think it will be about four more hours to get to town.”

“How much daylight?”

“Lots.”

Crow’s foot caught on a large tuff of dried grass.  He stumbled.  Exhaustion pushed, pulsed at the edge of his brain.  It dredged up a nauseous wave of blood lust from deep inside him.  Crow wished he had not drunk Olive’s blood back in the Gray’s basement.   All he wanted was more.  Crashing, burning, blood lust!  Beautiful, sweet, blood.  His human side recognized how close he was to the end of his rope.  Before he could do anything the vampire part surged.  It reminded him he had recently tasted some really sweet blood.  Some blood from the very beautiful creature sleeping in his arms.  Her blood, living, but not only living, brimmed with wonderful magic.  Her blood was like something you would get at Draught’s, Manhunter McGee’s bar in LeVidal: a dangerous concoction of magic and blood, a vampire’s high.  Only this would be unmixed with weak, human alcohol.

His father surfaced like a slap in the face.  Benj had felt this same way about Sophie and Cora’s mother.  Shame mocked Crow.  He had just raged at Stan about this same lust.  He had called his father the worst of beings, a creature without hope.  Crow did not want to feel this sick desire for Olive’s life.  He did not want this thing eating away at him, but how could he fight a whole half of who he was?  Why had he drunk her blood in the first place?  How could he have been so stupid?  Benj had known what drinking straight blood would do.  Benj had fought long and hard to avoid drinking the blood of the women he loved.  Benj had fought.  Crow jumped in head first and swam in a pool of it.

“Hold on Crow, we’re almost there,” Zephyr chanted from her perch on his head.

“Stop Crow.”  Stan pulled up on his arm.  “We’re on the outskirts of town.  I’m gonna go get us a hotel room and a car.  I’ll be back in two hours at the most.  Can you wait that long?”

“Do I have an option?” Crow muttered.

Stan squeezed his shoulder.  “I’ll hurry.”

Crow set Olive down by Rose, walked off a good fifty feet or so, and collapsed.  Space would give them time to run if lust for Olive’s magical blood overcame him.  Not that they would get away from him even in this state.

“Zeph?” he called.

“Yeah.”  Her little feet landed on his shoulder.

“If you sense any danger from me get Olive and Rose out of here.  I need you to stay awake and aware.”

“I’ll make sure you don’t hurt anyone.”

“Thanks.” Crow said.  His mind went as black as the world around him with Stan’s voice echoing through the darkness.

“Keep watch and keep that cell phone handy, Rose.”

“Just hurry, Stan.”

His labored breathing and pumping heart picked up pace as Stan jogged for town.  Crow hoped his legs held, and he didn’t have a heart attack.

“Just hurry, Stan,” he echoed.

The sun warmed the earth whispering of spring and life, but it damned the Dhampir.  Something smelled like fire.  Too far gone to do anything else, Crow wondered if he burned like any vampire should in the sunlight.  Damn him and his cursed family.  Good riddance….

The image of Olive surrounded by wild flowers, laughing and smiling,  flashed through him like the blade of a sharp sword.

Go away.  Let the fire come.

Olive’s green eyes and freckled nose close to him, her lips on his, her seasonal smell all around him….

Well played, mind.  Crow pulled himself together.  He strained against vampire morose and human laziness unwilling to die just yet.

“Zephyr?” he called.

His cloak stirred.  Zephyr’s honey smell sifted around him.

“Something’s coming.  Something bad.  Something joined,” she said.

“Dove.” Crow knew it.  “Well, that explains the burning smell.”

He lunged to his feet.

“Olive! Rose!” He yelled, lifting his head and scenting for them.  He oriented himself in their direction still unable to see.

“Get behind me!” Crow’s heart pounded.  Fighting a demon-witch without being able to see, and weakened by the sun was going to suck on every level, especially on the getting beaten level.

“What’s going on?” Olive sounded disoriented.  She grabbed his arm.

Crow pushed her behind himself away from the direction of the scent of fire.

“Can you see her, Zephyr?”

“Yeah, she’s coming from the west, to your left. And boy is she big.”

Crow pulled the Jade Gun from his back and aimed at the smell.  He fired.

“Close?”

“Nope,” Zephyr said.

“Done with that.”  Crow shifted in the direction of the scent.  When he closed in enough for her smell to be all he smelled, he fired again.  A loud growl rewarded him.  It came from almost on top of him.  He backed up a step.  A clawed, burning hand connected with his chest.  It flung him out across the dry winter grass.

With a painful crunch, he landed on his right arm.  His hand went limp.  He waited to heal.  It was awful slow in coming.  Too much of his vampire self concentrated on not giving in to the burning sun and lack of vision to heal.  A million foul words flew through his mind as the smell of Dove surrounded him again.  He crab crawled back, tried to get to his feet.  She dropped down on him crushing him into the earth.  His ribs splintered and his heart burst.

“I’m going to hurt you just enough.  I will get the reward no others, not even his vampire, has gotten when I return with you and the girl,”  Dove sang from over him.

Crow brought the Jade Gun up.  A small amount of feeling returned to his fingers.  He hoped he aimed at her leg.  Only one way to find out.  He fired.  The ground shook under him.  Olive, with her beautiful smell, called on the grass and weeds to grab at Dove.

Fire washed over them killing the plants.  Olive screamed.  Crow yelled for her, but Dove grabbed him up.  Blocking out everything, he concentrated on Dove’s smell.  In his mind, he saw her and fired the Jade Gun.

She dropped him with a yelp.  Crow shifted towards Olive’s voice.

“Olive?” He held out his hand groping like an old man.  She put her hand in his and he pulled her close.

“Drink!” she commanded.

“No, no.”

“Now!” She screamed in his ear.

He sank his teeth in her wrist.  Hot blood filled his mouth.  The magic raced through his dry veins.  Survival beat down the lust and took command.  Light refilled Crow’s eyes.  Healing surged through him.  His heart beat.  The world returned to him.

Crow dropped Olive’s hand.  Three swallows was all he need to regain his strength.  Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he turned to Dove with glowing red eyes.  She waited with her head cocked and her hands on her hips.

“Feeling better or just more damned?”

“I’ve killed you once and I can do it again.”

He shifted, charging across the field.  Bullets flew from the Jade Gun and then from his Glocks as he shifted in circles around her.  The demon-witch could not match his fighting power joined with Olive’s blood.  He riddled her body with hard, metal projectiles.  Each time she reached for him, he was gone.  Five guns empty, Crow pulled his shotgun.  Olive called a summer storm from the southern skies and struck her with lightning, wind, and rain.  Never before had Crow had a fighting partner with such power.

Dove fell to one knee.  Desperate, she cast a final spell at Crow.  A net dropped over him and pinned him to the ground.  Electricity burned his skin, inside and out.  He screamed.

“Manson or no, I will take your head, and eat your heart.”

“Not much of one there.”  Zephyr zipped by cutting the cords of the net.

Crow rolled away from Dove’s smashing fists, pulled his last shotgun from its leg holster and fired into her guts.  The witch howled in pain and disappeared in a cloud of noxious smoke.

The dark world crashed back in on Crow.  He had taken only enough blood to fight Dove off.   It had been just enough.  He could never, never have another drop.  One more bite would change Olive forever into one of the damned undead.  A cold chill spread through Crow’s guts.  He had bitten her twice.  Twice he had tasted her blood.  Could he really consider his father more damned then he?  Benj never considered, never threatened Sophie with turning, yet here was he with Olive twice bitten.  How’s that for irony?  As if his horror at what would happen spawned her, Olive dropped down beside him.  She put her arms around him.

“Are you okay?”

“No.  I need to get out of the sunlight.  I need to get some real human food in my system.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The more of my vampire powers I use the more I succumb to their curses.  The more human I stay the more curses I can resist.  Right now I need a really big hamburger.”

Olive laughed.  Crow smelled Zephyr come close.

“Everyone okay?”

“Everyone but you,” she said

Crow laid with his head in Olive’s lap.  He kept his thoughts on the hunger in his stomach instead of the hunger in his veins.  Slowly, fighting each step of the way, the lust faded.  Crow fell asleep.  They draped Rose’s coat over him again, and waited for Stan in the beaten down, burned out grass.

…Join me, next Friday, for the continuation of the tale…

I recently, as you know if you read Monday’s blog, finished reading Black Hawk Down only to follow it up with Terror at Beslan.  Let’s go from soldiers bleeding and dying to children.  Shudder.  Then I added in a little bit of Hannibal on Thursday nights.  Lovely.  But I’m not going to stop reading/watching these stories - even with troubled dreams.  I need to know.  I need to know what is going on in the world.  The dangers don’t go away if I ignore them, they get stronger.

From nonfiction to fiction, these are our warrior stories.  These are our Beowulf, or Odyssey.  I want to read and watch them.  I want to know about the boys who died in the sand.  I want to know about a whole town torn apart when it’s children were trapped in a school by murderers, and I want to watch Will Graham struggle with hunting the darkest of the dark without losing his own light.

All of this comes out in my writing.  I don’t just write about serial killers.  I write about the men and women who hunt them.  I write about people willing to give up life, love, family, and everything to hunt down the most vile of us and stop them.  I write about the dark alleys, the dark minds, the dark souls, but what moves me, what thrills me, and drives me is the solid anchors, the hope-filled minds, and the damaged souls of the hunters.  The hunters, the warriors, the willing sacrificers are what I want to know about.

I am a Rememberer – a holder of stories.  I will know and remember the sacrifice made on my behalf and I will honor it.

This is why I write what I write.  It may be fantasy.  It may be dark and grim. But it is for them.  I write it so they know that out there in the world there are people who pray for their safety, and who know what they have sacrificed.

That is why I put myself through this – it’s the least I can do for them!

Musical Muse: The Minstrel Boy by Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros.  The original version is 17 minutes long.  A lot of music for a $1.50!  I put this on my Battle Music playlist.  It’s not quite as heart thumping as the opening battle music for Gladiator, but the disjointed cords played over the words of the song and the military drums are very war like.  When the bullets start flying, battle becomes very disjointed, unearthly, and odd.

Also!!! Check out my video on my FaceBook page.  It was supposed to go on this Blog, but I couldn’t get it to work.  Thus, it’s on my FaceBook page until I can figure out how to upload videos.  Let me know what you think and any advice is welcome!

Some books just shouldn’t be read in succession.  It diminishes the effect of one of the books.  I found this out the hard way the week before last on a mini-vacation.  You may have noticed I didn’t have a Monday Movie/Book review or a Wednesday Writing Journal last week.  This was because I was on a mini-vacation/house sitting for my parents with my husband and was unable to write said blog posts.  I was able to fit in some nice reading time while my husband grinded his way through Dark Souls.  (Great game, btw)

The beautiful view from the front porch of my Parent’s House.

I first read 11/22/63, Stephen King’s latest novel and one which has been at the top of my list for almost 6 months.  I’m just gonna tell you straight up, I was a little disappointed.  First off, his liberal mindset comes out loud and proud in this book.  I have no problem with that even though I do disagree with him on a lot of things as a conservative person.  Generally, I can overlook these views and enjoy a rip-roaring story.  This time it came on fast and thick.  The now overly done idea of the 50s being darker than we like to admit and the 60s being not as bad as we thought filled the story.  Generally, if anyone could redo this story idea in a new and fresh way, King would be my pick.  He failed.  He also went on to make Texas look like the most bigoted place in the world you could possibly live.  Now….I’m from Fort Worth.  I don’t like Dallas.  No one in Fort Worth does.  Do you like your big sister?  No.  BUT, when someone picks on Dallas, I’m coming to the defense.  Same as you would for your big sister.  You may not like her, but you’re never going to let someone else pick on her.  That’s how I felt reading this book.  Again, I believe in Free Speech. I have no problem with King having and holding to these ideas, but a writer should always be aware that they will ostracize one group of readers or another if they start spouting off too many opinions instead of telling the story.  A story should engage the reader not preach at them.

On top of all that stuff, there was a huge error at the beginning of the book where a character literally gets her head caved in with a sledge-hammer, and then is talking two or three paragraphs later.  I reread the scene about five times.  Nope.  Her head really did get smashed.  Yes.  She is up and talking later.  There is no way she survived what happened to her the way King vividly describes it.  Someone missed it.  That really threw me for a loop.

The other things which made this book a hard read was the idea of time echoes – which was pretty cool – but that meant you had to keep up with a lot of characters so you could see the echoes.  Several times the main character, Jake, would notice an echo and I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out who he was talking about.  There are a lot of characters to keep up with in this book.  I think for me, the book didn’t get interesting until the last few chapters when Jake finds out what happens when you mess with time in a big way.  But, by then I was kinda bored and ready to go on with my life.  I really had a hard time getting into this book.  Compared to Under the Dome, which had me glued to my Kindle for a week, this book failed to live up to the normal King horror standard.

As soon as I finished 11/22/63, I picked up Black Hawk Down.  This amazing story about an epic battle fought by our boys made King’s book even less enjoyable.  It didn’t even have a good aftertaste.  Now,  I probably shouldn’t follow-up fiction that is supposed to be gripping with nonfictional books on battles.  It is very hard to view the other book as valuable when you’re reading a book about boys fighting for their lives.  So….lesson learned: be careful what you read and what order you read them in.

Black Hawk Down completely overshadowed 11/22/63.

If you’re interested in Military History, War, our Soldiers, or just want to get a feel for what our boys do, read Black Hawk Down!  I’m not real good at reading nonfiction, but this story was very well written.  Mark Bowden did his research.  He talked with the soldiers, hunted down files, talked to family members, and watched videos.  He went to Mogadishu and talked with the militia fighters who also participated in the battle.  When and where he could, he got three or four witnesses to collaborate stories.  What I think I learned the most from this story is that even though we lost about 19 men that day and had many men wounded in the battle, they completed their objective.  It is very easy to sit in my pretty little house, look at the loss life, and think of this engagement as a failure.  But to the men who fought and bled down on those dirty desert streets, they won.  They did what they were supposed to do and they brought their dead and wounded home.  Our boys rock!  The other thing it did was give me a real respect for our Delta forces and our Rangers.  Our military is amazing.  They value life, they try to fight as clean a war as they can, and they care deeply about one another.  They’re smart, courageous in the middle of great fear, and willing to sacrifice everything.

Reading 11/22/63 paled in comparison with real men bleeding and dying.  It pales in comparison to two Delta boys who willingly and knowingly gave their lives for the pilot of a downed chopper.  It pales in comparison to watching men fight and fight and fail and fight some more.  How many of us would willingly go back into that hell after we just escaped it?  The Rangers couldn’t get back in fast enough.  Even the cooks joined the fight to get their brothers out.

So….It may not be that 11/22/63 was really that bad, it may be that I just followed it up with something so much more amazing, I didn’t leave it a leg to stand on.  I’m not sure which, you read them and tell me what you think!

Connor: Now you will receive us.
Murphy: We do not ask for your poor or your hungry.
Connor: We do not want your tired and sick.
Murphy: It is your corrupt we claim.
Connor: It is your evil that will be sought by us.
Murphy: With every breath, we shall hunt them down.
Connor: Each day, we will spill their blood till it rains down from the skies.
Murphy: Do not kill. Do not rape. Do not steal. These are principles which every man of every faith can embrace.
Connor: These are not polite suggestions. These are codes of behavior, and those of you that ignore them will pay the dearest cost.
Murphy: There are varying degrees of evil. We urge you lesser forms of filth not to push the bounds and cross over into true corruption, into our domain.
Connor: For if you do, one day you will look behind you and you will see we three. And on that day, you will reap it.
Murphy: And we will send you to whatever god you wish.
Connor, Murphy, Il Duce: And shepherds we shall be, for Thee, my Lord, for Thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand.
Connor, Murphy, Il Duce: That our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command. So we shall flow a river forth to Thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be.
Il Duce: In nomine Patri.
Connor: Et Fili.
Murphy: Spiritus Sancti.

- Boondock Saints

(Need I say more?)

…Last time in When Skies are Gray…

The sun rose above the rocky elbows and knees of the mountains and lit up a bright, clear day.  The brilliant oriental blue sky, soft and clear, gathered shimmering clouds on its horizon. Far away, over distant lands they rose higher than the highest castle. They stole children’s imaginations and invited them to fly into their downy pillows.  The winter’s chill bite lessened under the bright sun.  It’s golden rays warmed their bodies even as the plants soaked the light deep into their sleeping roots.  Crow walked in the daylight, thanks to his mother’s human blood, but he weakened under its unbiased judgment, thanks to his father’s vampire blood.

He still led the way, but now he carried Olive.  Between her capture, rescue, blood giving, then chased by assassins, a vampire, and mutilated fey, followed up by a night trek across the valley, down the mountain, and to the next valley holding the spell of winter sleep on herself and company, Olive wilted unable to keep up.  Stan and Rose stayed just behind them, with Rose leaning heavily on Stan’s arm.

“How are you with the sunlight?” Stan asked.

“Fine.”

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Olive asked from his arms.  She opened her eyes to study his face.

“I’m fine.  The sun just came up.”

“I thought you where immune to normal vampire’s curses?”
“I am, but not indefinitely.  I’ll eventually have to get away from it.”

Olive looked ahead.  “Can you make it to the next town?”

“I’ll be fine,” Crow growled out each word through clenched teeth.

“What happens if you’re not?”

Crow raised his eyes to heaven.  Zephyr tugged on his ear hissing a laugh at him only he could hear.   “Stan can bury me like last time.”

“Last time?” Olive asked moving to a more comfortable position in his arms.

Behind them, Stan laughed.  “Wow.  That was some crazy sh-” Stan stopped, embarrassed. “Sorry ladies.”

“You can cuss in front of me,” Olive said.  “I’m one of those liberated woman who isn’t offended by bad language.”

Needing no further prompting, Crow lit off a slew of coarse words.

Olive glanced up at him and started giggling.

“I find your language revolting unlike my niece,” Rose said.  “No woman should be that liberated.”

Stan and Crow both stopped.  Olive snorted pressing her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.  Her shoulders shook.  Crow set her down, and they turned to look at Rose.  One glance at her serious face and Olive doubled over holding her sides.  She laughed harder and harder.  Her laughter infected everyone until tears ran from Stan’s eyes.  Rose joined in with the hysteria.  Giggling, she tumbled over a grassy hummock sending everyone into a new round of laugher.

Minutes passed before they all regained composure.

“That was healthy,” Zephyr said from the top of a tall weed.

“We needed that,” Olive agreed.

“The break, the laughing, or the cussing?” Stan asked.

“All of the above,” Olive and Zephyr said in unison.  It took a few more moments for the women to regain their composure.   Crow swept Olive up and headed south with the sun on his left.

“So,” Olive said once they were walking again.  “What’s the story of how the sun affected you?”

“We were on a job, transporting a prisoner,” Stan started.  “It was one of those dangerous sick guys who they transport by themselves via a company like ours.  That’s what we do now, or that’s our cover these days – criminal transport.  Anyway, we had him in the SUV when he escaped at a gas station.”

“Police didn’t know they had a witch on their hands,” Crow explained. “The town sheriff that caught him had no connection with our world.  In fact, the criminal was way out of their league.  He had just enough magic and just enough Manson to be a real sicko.  Most of the guys we transport have some of his taint on them.”

“When you can’t get to him, you try to stop his….children?” Olive asked.

“Something like that.”

“So this guy has sunshine as his power source,” Stan continued.  “I think he was the servant witch of a servant of Aurora.  A nice bright square of light shines in on him through a window.  Poof.  He’s gone like that.”

“We realize it, and Crow’s after him like a shot.”

“It’s not good for your reputation if your prisoner’s escape,” Crow said.  ”Contracts kinda stop pouring in.”

“Especially when they’re child eating . . .” Stan searched for the right word.

“All of the afore-mentioned cuss words,” Crow finished for him.

“Yeah.  Anyway,” Stan continued.  “Our guy here takes off thinking he used his little power to escape the police, little knowing we had a much bigger power of our own.”

“Crow!!” Olive said.  She flashed him a smile from his arms.

He smiled back, surprised.  Surprised at her excited smile, and surprised at himself for having one to return.

“Yes, Crow.  He took after the witch and caught up much faster than the guy expected.  Crow caught him, threw him across an empty lot, and was there to tackled him when he landed.

“The guy was stunned only long enough for Crow to get one of our special rune hand cuffs on him.  Smart witch realized what he thought Crow was – a vampire.  He goes and sucks all the sunshine he can down onto Crow.  You should have seen the look on the guys face when Crow didn’t immediately implode like a proper blood sucker.”

“Not real observant.  I was already in the sunlight,” Crow said.

“Crow just flipped him the bird, grabbed his other hand, and cuffed him.  The rune cuffs shut him down.  I got there just as Crow passed out.  After I threw that blithering psycho witch back to the SUV, I buried Crow up to his neck in dirt right then and there.”

“Wow, so all that sunshine at one time almost killed you?”

“Yep, concentrated sunshine is harmful even to me.  A normal vamp would have exploded.”

Something out across the valley caught Crow’s attention.  He tuned out Stan and Olive discussing the finer points of the story.  Something was out there. . .

“Down!” Crow yelled.  Stan yanked Rose down by his side as Crow dropped taking Olive and Zephyr with him.  He peered from side to side trying to see out of his peripheral vision what he had seen as he stood.  He sucked in large amounts of air through his nose hunting for a smell.

Nothing yet.

Silence waited.  Heavy on the valley, it pressed Crow down.   It pinned his legs and arms.  It compressed his lungs, and beating on the back of his skull.

Crow held his breath, not like he needed it, and waited, waited, waited….He hated waiting.

He looked down into two beautiful green eyes set into a small round face of alabaster skin and sprinkled with soft little freckles which suggested summer days of pools, creeks and old tire swings.  Crow flushed, embarrassed to find himself laying partially on top of Olive.  The force of the silence pressed him down on her.  He shifted up on his elbows.  She took a deep breath, her chest rising….stop thinking about it….

Olive smiled amused at their predicament.

Crow frowned and mouthed, “What?”   He tried to act unaffected even though he could feel every inch, smell every bit, want every part of her.  Olive shrugged and smiled more.

Zephyr hissed in his ear.  They both went still.

They stared into each other’s eyes.

Shallow breaths.

Olive’s face so close, so beautiful.  A serious look swept across it.  Crow sank deeper into the green depths of her eyes, captivated.  She filled his whole view.  She encompassed everything.

“That’s just perfect!” Stan yelled.  He jumped up.

Crow snapped back into himself, shifted to his feet, and groaned.

“Oops,” Olive giggled.  She stood up beside him, and took his hand.

All around him, encircling where they had laid, were wild flowers.  Pink, orange, yellow, red, blue, row upon row of bright wild flowers.

“Why don’t we just make them a sign?” Stan gestured behind them.

A black cloud of mutant fairies swarmed towards them.

“Stall them. I’ll fix this! Come back when I call.”  Olive squeezed his hand.

“Always.”

Crow shifted out of the circle of early wild flowers with Zephyr clinging to his ear, past Stan and Rose, and across the dead grass.  He sprang in the air, palmed the Jade Gun, and plunged into the storm of mutant fairies.   Zephyr screamed her battle cry in his ear.  Two quick shots did little stop them.  Crow reversed the grip on the Jade Gun.  He swung it in a huge arch using the butt of the gun to beat them out of the air in mass.  His vampire speed and coordination worked better as a bludgeoning weapon than his bullets.  Tiny claws cut at his skin and cloths.  Up and down, Crow cut through them with the Jade Gun as his scythe.

The more he killed the more came to join the battle.

He slew them left and right.  Zephyr’s battle cry turned to tears.  So many of her cousins fell, so many mutilated, now so many dead.  The ground around them turned black with the empty bodies.

“Crow!” Olive’s call broke through the battle, reminding Crow and Zephyr of another world, another life, outside their circle of death.  He leapt up and over the swarm, turning in mid-air towards Olive.

“Wow,” he said, distracted.  The ground reached up to get him and he stumbled as he landed.  Wild flowers filled the valley.  They were everywhere.  The whole field had woken up.  Seeds, long dormant, had woken for Olive.  Seeds, waiting for just the right amount of sun and rain, waiting sometimes for years, opened with joy for Olive.  They sang and swayed, flashing vibrant colors back and forth.

Gathering himself, Crow shifted through the flowers.  Petals of every color flew up behind him in a wild spray.  Olive’s winter sleep still hid their trail.  The mutilated fairies did not follow him.  They could not pick him out of the general vibrancy surrounding them, but they knew their prey was close.  They spread out in a circular swarm sweeping the valley of wild flowers.

Crow grabbed up Olive.

“I’ll be back,” he said to Stan.

Shifting faster and faster, Crow left the valley for the low hills in the distance and the last valley beyond.  He covered in a breath what would have taken them the whole day.

“Keep the flowers alive,” he told Olive as he placed her in the crook of a hillside.  “Stay with her, Zeph.”

Back, Crow shifted across the valley now blackened here and there with confused swarms of fey.  Stan crouched with Rose deep in the rainbow of photosynthetic life.

“Take her next.”

Crow scooped Rose up without a word.

Shifting, leaping, shifting, he dropped Rose next to Olive whose pressed her lips together.  She rubbed her temples with her eyes closed.

“Olive?” Crow leaned over her, worried.

“They’re very happy to be awake, but I’m losing my grip.  One or the other of the spells has to go.  Hurry,” she said without looking up.

Crow took a deep breath, one filled with all the season, filled with Olive, and shifted back across the field.

“Stan!”

“I want to make it plain that I protest being carried by you, even to save my skin.”

“Get on!”

Stan jumped on his back.

“I’d like to protest how heavy you are,” Crow said.

For the last time, Crow shifted across the field.  Not fast enough, the wild flowers around him fade and died.  The circle of color shrank returning to the spot where Crow and Olive had started it.  Crow smiled.

“You’re a genius.”

The black fey stayed in the circle of magically woken wild flowers.  They ignored the rest of the valley.   While this kept the others safe, they swarmed in a tighter and tighter circle around him and Stan.

He needed a hole in the chaotic mass.

There!

Crow shifted through and leapt into the hills.  Stan dismounted immediately.  Olive threw her arms around Crow’s neck.  He held her close, safe for a moment as his body healed all the little nicks and cuts from the fairies.  She trembled against him.  He cupped her face in his hands searching her eyes.  Her skin was pale and clammy.  Crow caught her as her legs gave way.

“Stan we need a place to rest up.  Olive’s done in.”

“You don’t look much better.  You look….” Stan hesitated, staring at Crow like he’d never seen him.

“What?” Crow said, unhappy with the faraway look in Stan’s eyes.

“You look like your father.”

“Pale and wasted like a druggy?” Crow said.  Not waiting for a response, he lifted Olive in his arms and set off down the hills towards the lowest valley in the mountain range where a good-sized town nestled in its center.  Zephyr returned to his shoulder.

“I don’t think he liked the comparison,” Rose mutter to Stan.

“He’s all the more a fool.  His father was the best man I ever knew.”

Crow stopped.  He turned.

“He wasn’t a man, Stan.  He was a vampire.  He ate and killed humans, humans like you.”

“He did early on, but he changed.”

Crow took a step towards Stan.  Long dormant wrath flooded past the dams in his heart worn down by exhaustion and sunlight.

Stan backed up.

“A vampire never changes.  I felt it.  In his heart of hearts he always wanted to drink your life away.  He loved my mother, but he also wanted to suck her dry.  And not just her!  He wanted that girl’s mother too!”

“He never acted on that lust.”

“Only cause Manson killed him.”

“Your Father had hope.  He held on to his changed heart to the end.”

“And when that end came he died full of lust for both of women.  He died a vampire.  There was no hope!  I know! I felt it all.  Remember?”

Crow watched Stan back down as he yelled.  It served him right for always bringing up their family, for being the only one to survive, for being the one there for Sophie instead of Benj.

“I kill vampires.  I’m feared as something unknown.  I’ve been called the VampireBane in LeVidal since I was 16.  I would have killed my father.”

Stan flinched, but said, “Your Father felt your hatred of him the minute he took the blood of Mrs. Beare and Sophie.  He did it cause he had to, and it almost destroyed him.  Something you should understand by now.  I know you went to LeVidal to run away from Sophie’s death.  I know you kill vampires because in some sick twisted way it soothes the hatred you have for Benj, but you’ve never killed one of the saved undead.”

“How do you know? I don’t ask.”

“Crow.  Stan, please.  Please stop fighting.” Olive opened her eyes just enough to peer at them.

Crow growled, but held his peace.  Anger throbbed in his veins.  The sun had burned all away.  The phrase, ‘I would have killed my father’ pounded in his head broken by the phrase, ‘there was, there is no hope’. Over and over the two lines chanted.  He turned away from Stan. ‘Killed my father, no hope’. ‘Killed my father, no hope’.

He stumbled to his knees.  The sunlight and the battles overcoming him.

Olive and Zephyr both cried out.  Before Crow could regain his footing, Stan was at his side.  He hauled Crow – Olive still in his arms – to his feet, supporting him.  Rose hurried over.  She slipped her frail arm around his waist.

“Come on, you big jerk.  Let’s get you out of the sun,” Stan said.

Crow cracked a wry smile.

“You have to hold onto hope.  You have to believe you can be saved,” Rose whispered to the air.

“Bull,” Crow whispered back.

“You think you can move forward without hope?” Rose asked.

“Looks like I am right now.”

Zephyr laughed, a tingling of magic bells. “You’re moving forward with two people helping you.”

Crow did not respond, not because a sarcastically, protective remark would not come to mind ,but because his world went black.  Comforting black.  The sun shone so bright and hot.  His sunglasses and hat had been lost in the SUV wreak.  Black was nice.  Down the feet of the mountains, heading for the valley, Crow walked in cool darkness – an emotionless, empty darkness.

…Join me, next Friday, for the continuation of the tale…