Outcast, page 11
“I’ll do my best,” Leif replied.
“A recurring theme with you, which I like,” Draven replied, then turned around and studied his collection of shifter prizes. “Take a look around this wall and tell me where you see a big, unfilled area.”
The task wasn’t difficult to do — Leif’s eyes centered on the empty space right above the door. “Right there,” he said as he pointed. “Above the doorway.”
Draven turned back around. “You’re exactly right. Do you know that for decades I have looked to fill that precious space?”
“I can imagine so,” Leif replied.
“I have looked and looked, but I’ve been unable to find the shifter trophy I’ve sought my entire vampire life.”
Leif was able to hide his disgust. “And what trophy is that?”
“The wings of a full-grown gryphon,” Draven said, widely extending his arms. “Strung out majestically, it would look like a crown above the door, don’t you think?”
“They would fit nicely there,” Leif replied, not directly answering Draven’s question.
“Indeed,” said the vampire leader, staring at the empty space, likely envisioning a set of massive wings mounted there, its wingspan as wide as his pride on display. Slowly, Draven turned back around, his arms dropping back down. “Your first mission is to find a gryphon and report back to me as soon as you do.”
Leif hesitated. “If you’ve struggled this long to find one yourself, what makes you think I can?”
Smiling wickedly, Draven said, “Because I know how terribly you want bloodmixes, and it’s not because of the status that comes with the drink.”
Glancing back at Beatrice, she raised her eyebrows and nodded once. “Go for it.”
“I don’t even know where to start,” Leif admitted. “But like I said before, I will do my best.”
“Wonderful,” Draven said, clapping his hands together as he walked to Leif. “We will make sure you are instructed on what we know of gryphons so you’re not completely in the dark. And we’ll also—”
A ringing came from the desk. Leif turned around and looked for where the sound was coming from, but it seemed to be among the smaller trophies on Draven’s desk.
Draven was at the desk in a blink of an eye, snatching one of the trophies and extending a long antenna that had been hidden within it.
Holding it up to his ear, Draven said in an oddly sweet-yet-dangerous voice, “This better be important.”
Leif couldn’t hear the voice on the other end of the phone, but Draven’s sudden scowl made it very apparent that whatever news was being relayed wasn’t good.
“How long ago?” Draven asked.
Another pause came as the vampire leader began pacing again.
“Why wasn’t I notified immediately? We have the emergency phones to account for these contingencies.”
Leif wondered how much stress the emergency phone could handle before breaking within Draven’s firm grasp.
“No, stay where you are,” Draven continued. “I will come personally and strip each mer of their tails, scale-by-scale.” Without saying a goodbye, he clicked one of the buttons, shoved the antenna back down, and cursed while slamming the device back down on his desk.
“What’s wrong?” Beatrice asked with worry.
“That was Florian,” Draven said. “His Florida escapade was ambushed.”
“Ambushed?” Beatrice gasped. “He had a team of one hundred vampires with him. What hit them?”
“Florian called it ‘a well-coordinated mer attack’,” Draven hissed. “Near Tampa.”
“Just mer?” Beatrice clarified. “No other shifters were involved?”
Leif wondered why Beatrice would ask such a question. He’d never actually met a mer before, but he remembered hearing Camilla retell a story of how she’d saved one from being put on display at a carnival long ago. The memory teetered back and forth in his mind, but Leif managed to push back against it. He couldn’t afford to lapse into it right in front of Draven. Still, the thought of his sister-by-choice caused a smile to spread on his face.
Draven shook his head. “Not this time. The slaughter was a coordinated mer attack. Florian was the only survivor.”
It seemed like the air was taken from Beatrice’s lungs as Leif looked at her. The story sounded odd to him, and he found himself gazing at the mounted scales on Draven’s wall of fame.
“How does an army of vampires get overpowered and killed by a bunch of merfolk?” asked Leif. “I thought they were a weaker species.”
Draven snorted. “They’ve always been a stubborn race, but I suppose compared to other shifters, their abilities aren’t quite as useful in a fight. But Florian said these mer were exceptionally skilled in their water manipulation abilities.”
Leif scratched at his cheek, then looked humorously at Beatrice. “They were able to use water to kill one hundred vampires?”
In a split second, Draven was at his side. The vampire leader’s arm was drawn back, prepared to backhand him with a staggering blow. His blue eyes were crazed, like those of an antagonized beast.
The blow didn’t come.
Instead, Draven slowly drew his arm forward and shoved his index finger in front of Leif’s face. Leif didn’t flinch, but locked eyes with the other vampire.
“The first lesson I will teach you,” Draven hissed, his jaw muscles tightening, “is to never underestimate your opponents. While water in its non-manipulated form is harmless to vampires, there are forms that can be devastating. I’ve witnessed human hunters behead other vampires with high pressure sprayers.”
The brutal imagery popped into Leif’s head, causing him to shudder.
Draven continued, withdrawing from the closeness between them. “Some mer have perfected their water manipulation in such a way that they can form liquid into something slimmer than a dagger. With enough velocity, such a weapon can easily dismember and kill.”
Leif hoped he’d never have any run-ins with such skilled mer.
“You plan to go to Tampa then?” Beatrice asked. Leif had momentarily forgotten she was right next to him.
“A victory among the mer cannot be tolerated,” replied Draven. “We have to show them that in attacking us, we will retaliate, and that such attacks will only increase our resolve for revenge.”
“But won’t they just kill you the same way they did one hundred other vampires?” Leif asked. “It seems like they are wanting to draw our attention, perhaps in an effort to kill even more vampires off.”
Draven shook his head. “Florian’s team wasn’t equipped to fight an army of mer. No, they were on a mission to find the school of shifters that has been so elusive.”
Leif should have known Draven would have the equipment necessary to fight mer. The wall of fame illustrated how capable he was.
“But these mer will take precedence,” Draven said. “I will go to Florida, and you two will come with me.”
He wanted Leif to go on this mission? Knowing that one hundred trained vampires were murdered by the very creatures Draven wanted to go looking for terrified him.
“I must remind you that I have no training and will be of little use to you on such a hunt,” he said quickly. “And besides, you want me to start looking for gryphons, don’t you?”
Draven walked back to the other side of his desk and sat down. “The gryphon mission can wait. As for your training, I think you’ll be surprised just how skillful you’ve become over the past century. Vampire instinct goes a long way when dealing with mortals. These mer think they have climbed so high, but we will show them a fall greater than they now can comprehend.”
Like the reverse turning of the pages of a book, Leif’s mind rushed backwards through memories.
Leaves brushed against his arms as a breeze blew through the branches of the tree he was picking apples from. The small gusts of wind whispered of autumn and the rainy season that would soon be upon the land.
Leif was on a steady ladder, picking the ripe apples away from one of the many bountiful trees in the orchard behind the Frost Boarding House. A burlap catcher was tied at his waist, sewed by the crafty hands of Mrs. Frost. The apron-like bag allowed him to hold half a bushel before he had to descend back down and empty it into a big pile that had been built up from the surrounding trees. Mr. Frost would be by soon to collect them in a cart pulled by Misty.
Plucking another ripe, red apple, he admired its shiny skin before gently placing it in the catcher. There was something so satisfying seeing the literal fruits of his labors throughout the year — tangibly holding it in his hands.
Setting his eyes on the next apple that was ready to be picked, Leif extended his hand, only stopping shortly as he heard a panicked scream being carried on the breeze.
Leif looked in the direction of the voice, but could see nothing through the thickness of apple trees. The voice faded almost immediately. He wondered if it was all in his head, that the wind was merely whistling.
The scream came again, but this time with a recognizable word. “Help!” The voice was even more recognizable to Leif than the word.
“Camilla?” he said, his blood running cold as he wondered what was wrong with his sister.
Taking the rungs of the ladder two at a time as he descended, he untied the burlap catcher upon reaching the orchard floor, throwing it in the nearest pile of apples. And then he ran as quickly as he could toward the distressed calls coming from another part of the orchard.
Passing trunk after trunk, he followed Camilla’s ever-growing voice until he found himself stopping in front of the tallest, oldest apple tree on the property. Stuck in the top branches was his sister. Leaning against the large trunk was a ladder, but it didn’t reach nearly high enough to get to where the harder-to-reach fruit rested, ready for picking. She was clinging to the highest branch with no way to get back down.
Leif cupped his hands over his mouth. “Camilla!”
She looked down at him with swollen, crying eyes. “Help me, Leif! I am stuck! I cannot hold on much longer.”
“Hold on, I will come to you!” Without a moment of hesitation, Leif sped up the ladder, then stepped onto the first thick branch, beginning his ascent to his sister.
She was crying above him ten feet up, and her tears sprinkled on him like raindrops.
“I’m slipping,” she wept with fear.
Running on straight adrenaline, Leif clambered up, his muscles straining at his rapid movements.
In what seemed to take hours, Leif finally got up to the branch directly under Camilla.
“Okay, I am here now,” he said, holding his arms out. “Let go and I will catch you.”
“No!” she cried out. “I will fall!”
“I promise you,” he said boldly, balancing his back against the remnants of the tree’s trunk and planting his feet as best he could. “I will catch you. I will always catch you if you fall.”
She looked at him, her brown eyes shifting from a look of fear to one of trust. And then she let go.
Camilla’s ten year-old body fell into his arms, and he kept his balance with ease.
Her wiry arms wrapped around his neck tightly as he brought her close. Her cheek, wet from so many tears, pressed against his.
“You caught me,” she whispered with gratitude.
He squeezed her, still holding her tightly under her knees and back. “I will always catch you,” he repeated. Looking down at the ground, he smirked as he spoke in a tone that resembled the illusionists’ that came to town during the carnival each year. “And for my next trick, watch as I, the Great Leif Villers, descend from a tree with a rescued princess upon my back!”
Young Camilla giggled for a few moments, then anxiety spread across her face once more. “But how will I get to your back?”
“You’ve already got your arms around my neck,” Leif explained. “Just keep holding on as I turn. I’ll need one hand to keep us balanced against the tree, but I’ll grab your right leg with the other. Ready?”
The anxiety fled away as quickly as it had come and she nodded with confidence.
Leif smiled and nodded once. “I will count to three, and we will move together, okay?”
Quickly, Camilla nodded again.
“One… two… three!” Their bodies worked in perfect synchronicity, as if they’d practiced the move dozens of times for the carnival, too.
She slid to his side as he turned, and he kept his grasp on her right leg as he steadied them with his left. In moments, Leif held Camilla as if he were about to give her a piggy-back ride.
“Good work, Camilla!” he praised.
“That was fun!” she said with a squeal.
“Perhaps so,” Leif said with a chuckle. “But that is only the beginning. Now, hold on tightly!”
She obeyed almost too much, her skinny arms nearly choking him in the process. But he didn’t care. She was safe with him, for these trees were like his home away from home. Heights had never scared him.
Leif was a lot more careful climbing down the tree. He took his time, testing his footing for balance as he descended branch-by-branch. In no time, they were back at the ladder, and he was able to make it to the ground with no issue at all. Once their feet touched the soft dirt, he placed Camilla safely on the orchard floor.
“What were you doing up there in the first place?” Leif asked, looking back up at the high branches. “Chasing a butterfly or a bird?”
Camilla shook her head. “I wanted to help you pick apples. There are so many trees in our orchard. It is unfair for you to have to go to each one and pick them all by yourself.”
Leif couldn’t help but smile. He crouched low so they matched each other’s height, then brought Camilla into an embrace. He kissed her lightly on the forehead, then said, “My sweet sister, always looking for ways to help. I love you dearly.”
The memory swept away like a voice on a breeze, and Leif found himself in the presence of Draven and Beatrice again.
Clearing his throat anxiously, he looked from one vampire to the other. Beatrice was looking at him with concern, her hand on his shoulder, while Draven had his arms folded across his chest, a single eyebrow raised with impatience.
“Another one of your memory episodes?” Draven said.
Leif inhaled quickly. “My apologies, sir. You mentioned climbing and falling and it… sent me back through time.”
Draven studied him for several moments, then said, “That doesn’t sound like a useful ability. Tell me, what was your memory about?”
Leif sighed, shrugging Beatrice’s hand off his shoulder. “It was about my sister.”
Draven grinned broadly. “You have a sister?”
“Had,” Beatrice grumbled. “If you can even call her that. That insensitive Frost girl was no blood-relative of yours.”
Leif whirled on her, rage filling his heart. “Don’t you speak about her like that. Camilla was my sister.”
She’s prodding you, Gemma warned. She wants to see your anger and how it fuels you. So does he.
Leif’s eyes went distant as he listened to Gemma’s words. He felt her serenity chip away at the rage that had come over him so swiftly.
“So you do have fight in you,” Draven said, letting his arms dangle to the sides. “We’ll help you learn to focus it. And even though you don’t come from vampire nobility, you have that air about you.” He breathed deeply. “I see a marvelous future ahead of you, Leif.”
Play their game, Gemma said. Do not give up. I am with you.
Leif gritted his teeth and got to his feet, stepping up to Draven until there were only six inches between them. “If I am to learn, teach me. When do we leave for Florida?”
CHAPTER NINE
LEIF HAD NEVER flown on an airplane before, and while he didn’t fear for his life, the experience brought on extremely uneasy feelings.
The flight had felt ridiculously slow, and Leif wondered if running from the middle of Washington State to Florida would have been faster. With superhuman speed, most vampires clocked in speeds well over one hundred miles per hour. Velocity was difficult to gauge from being stowed away in a giant piece of metal among the clouds, but Draven was adamant that planes regularly clocked at over five hundred miles per hour.
But at least this way Leif hadn’t had to bother with bugs getting into his eyes and mouth. Or human hunters waiting to ensnare him again. And although he would have been able to easily run both day and night, Beatrice and Draven would have had to find shelter in various vampire quarters along the way to wait out the sun. They still didn’t know about his secret.
Over the years, Draven had acquired a private jet and had the comfortable cabin outfitted to transport vampires even in broad daylight. There were no windows, except for the windshield in the cockpit, and the vampire leader made sure to keep a few well-trained pilots recruited as Initiates to man the helm.
They’d timed their landing in Tampa perfectly, and when they stepped off the plane, the sun had already been set for an hour.
“You can almost smell the merfolk on the salty air,” Draven said, breathing in as they walked down the loading stairs that a crew from the Tampa International Airport had brought out.
Leif smelled the Florida breeze, and its scent was different in comparison to the cooler air of the great northwest. Could a congregated group of merfolk really change how the air smelled?
They walked into the airport, which was thankfully relatively empty. Leif was trying his best to control his breathing — he’d been transported to the other side of the country without any preparation, and the last time he’d done any traveling had been in the late 1800s when he left his family in Santa Rosa.
He suddenly really missed his cabin on the outskirts of Washougal.
Beatrice nudged him. “You look like you’re about to bring down the entire airport. Lighten up a bit.”
“I can’t help it,” he mumbled.
“Well, start helping it. If airport security sees you, they’re going to wonder if you’re a potential threat.”
