[RiddleRose]: 298.Stories.Untitled- Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Close Encounters

The next night, Ali, almost frantic with frustration, took to the rooftops and fairly flew to the Murk. She spent three hours stalking the rooftops, and woe to any who attacked her. She visited Twig, who hadn't seen the man, then roamed for a little more.

It was about midnight when she dropped silently through a convenient skylight into Misty's house. Misty, who worked nights, was up, and was only a little surprised to see the black-clad figure falling from the ceiling. It happened frequently enough that she had gotten used to it. “Ali,” she said, “So nice of ye to, ahem, drop by.” she grinned, “No pun intended o' course.”

“Of course,” said Ali drily, “Heard anything else about your vampire?”

“My vampire, huh?” Misty raised a skeptical eyebrow, “I wouldn't go that far. But yes, I have. I did a bit o' asking around, and apparently, there've been two killings I hadn't heard about, spaced about a week apart, and both in the same way. No blood and all, ye ken. Smiling, both o' the poor buggers. I thought maybe he killed once a week, but there wasn't one last week....” she trailed off, because Ali was nodding.

“Yes there was, it just wasn't in the Murk. So let's assume that he kills once a week. That doesn't make sense for a vampire though, they have to feed every other day.”

“But the technique -”

“I know. It doesn't make sense!”

“Wait a minute!” Misty sat straight abruptly, “Once a week. What day is it?”

“Tuesday, why – oh.”

“Oh indeed. Ye up for a bit of a hunt Ali?”

Ali grinned a predator's grin. This was what she had been wanting to do all week. “You betcha!” she said, “Hope I'm not too late is all.”

Misty grinned in anticipation, “Don't forget to bring him back now...”

“Ha!” was Ali's only reply, before she fluttered her fingers and leaped up through the skylight and onto the roof. 

She went two blocks to the heart of the Murk. The heart was almost perfectly in the center of the Murk, and its pride and joy. It was a remnant of the Empire, a tall spire of pure, shimmering white stone, faceted like a gem and taller than any of the buildings in Corta, except perhaps the palace. It was harder than diamond, and smoother than glass.

No one knew what it had been for, but it was thought to have been some sort of magical enhancer, because if a mage or magic user touched it, their power was amplified, and increased dramatically. Ali wanted to use it now.

She put her back against the stone and closed her eyes. Besides the Sight, she had a strange power that she didn't entirely understand. She knew instinctively how to use it, but she was never entirely sure what she was doing. This power was tied to the night, shadows, and darkness. 

Casting her mind out, she somehow sensed currents of darkness in the air. It curved around buildings and people, so she could sense shapes and figures with uncanny accuracy. It was, she thought, something like a bat must see, but with darkness rather than echoes.

Wherever a torch or lamp burned, she was blind, for darkness flees before light. But a killer would keep to shadows where ordinary sight couldn't see him. He couldn't know her power. 

Her mind rode the darkness through the Murk, down alleys, and over rooftops, into houses and taverns, under blankets, and through the branches of a few stunted trees. She put her bare palms against the heart, and her range increased dramatically, flowing over the river, and into the streets of the Shartor district, the Fish district, and then beyond, searching for the tall man who moved like a snake.

She found him of course, walking with inhuman grace along an alley in the Murk, only a few blocks from where she was. The darkness bent strangely around him, flowing with unusual purpose over his body. She spared only a fraction of a second to ponder this, before she brought her mind back to her body with a snap and was off.

In less than two minutes she saw him. She had to sharpen her sight almost to the max to do so, for the darkness seemed to cling to him tenaciously, and blur his outline. She paced him along the rooftops, a little behind, and far above.

He was tall, very tall, with dark hair that fell straight to his shoulders. She only caught one quick glimpse of his face, but she saw that his skin was pale, and his eyes flashed – and here she hesitated – red? He was graceful the way a dancer was graceful, powerfully, but with an edge of danger. She was not surprised to find that where he walked, there were no people. She went completely unmolested, and so did he.

At random, it seemed, he turned down a wider street, that anywhere else might have been a boulevard. In the Murk it was merely a wider and slightly less dingy way to get from one place to another. At the end of it was an open place, with one of the few trees the Murk could boast. There were people there, but they melted away as the man appeared. Ali saw a few of them running full-tilt towards home.

The man went into the little square and stood beneath the tree. Ali hid herself behind a chimney on a roof. She could see him in profile, and she thought he might be handsome, but she couldn't quite tell. Then he spoke, and she suddenly had to clutch the chimney and sit down. He was calling, with a voice like dark chocolate and silk, calling with so much compulsion in his voice that she had to grit her teeth not to obey his summons.

He was calling for a murderer, a rapist, someone who wanted to die. Ali guessed that farther off the call would be subtle, a mere inclination to go that way, but this close, it was like a physical pull. Her body wanted to go down there. Her mind resisted. Gradually, she was able to push it off almost entirely, and pay attention again.

The call stopped. She almost gasped with relief. Then she saw why. There was a man looking at the tree, looking at the tall figure under the tree. He was perhaps thirty-five, his clothes rumpled, a look of confusion on his face. The figure under the tree did not move, but it spoke, “Come,” it said, a knife cutting silk.

The man moved like a sleepwalker, stumbling over a loose cobble, his face turning from side to side. And finally, the one under the tree moved. He moved so fast, Ali wasn't sure she had seen him. Suddenly the man was held still, his head tilted back to expose his throat. He froze, but the tall one was talking again, his voice rougher, furious, “How many? How many every night? You should die. You will die. I am the angel of death, come to carry you off...” then his voice became silk again, and compulsion laced it, “You want to die. Why live any longer? What is the point? To die will be bliss, ecstasy. Welcome death...”

Then his voice stopped, and he bit the man's neck. Every doubt Ali had had vanished. This was most definitely a vampire. She sat back, and thought what to do. To fight a vampire on her own would be folly, especially right after he had fed. He would be faster, stronger, and more merciless than she. And also, she must remember that he had a terrifying power with his voice. He could put doubt in her with a word, make her trip, stop, probably turn her own knife against her.

On the other hand, he only killed once a week, which was strange, and his call had included only those who killed wantonly, raped, or wanted to die. Most vampires enjoyed the fear of innocent victims, and they liked hunting for them, not calling them. And he hadn't wanted his victim to fear him, he had made the man welcome his imminent death. No wonder his victims died smiling. 

She peeped around the chimney again, just in time to see the vampire lay his smiling prey among the tree's roots. Another oddity. Most vampires just dropped their meals and left. This one now knelt next to the body, shrinking into himself, burying his head in his arms, presenting a picture of utter despair. She frowned in puzzlement. 

Then, suddenly decided, she stood up straight, in plain view, and called down, “Vampire!”

His head jerked up, and he was on his feet in one fluid movement. She swallowed, no longer quite as sure of herself. But he was just standing there, and she was no coward, so she went on, “Tell me why I shouldn't kill you where you stand!”

He snorted, then said, “I doubt you could,” his voice was still beautiful, but he had put no compulsion in it, “And you're wrong. I'm not a vampire, not completely. If you come down here, I promise not to move. We can talk.”

She noticed for the first time that he had an accent. He was apparently from Celian. She considered his offer, “Promise not to use your voice to bespell me, then I'll come down.”

“I promise,” he said, “but I can't always control it. Just warning you.”

She clambered down the side of the building, and turned to see that, true to his word, he hadn't moved. “Do you have a name, vampire?” she asked.

“Yes. Pahn. And I told you, I'm not completely a vampire.”

“What are you then?”

He grimaced, “As far as I can tell, I'm only about three-quarters vampire. I've got most of the powers, but they're all weaker in me. I only need to – feed – once a week.” his voice grew pained, “Do you know how horrible it is to know that the only reason you're alive is because you murder someone every week? Normal vampires don't care, they haven't got a shred of conscience left, I know. But me, me I'm stuck with all my human conscience, and this horrible bloody need to kill. It's hell.”

Ali wondered why he was blurting all this out to a complete stranger, then realised that if he had all of the vampire powers, he could read her mind. No wonder. He knew she was curious, and willing to give him a chance. She slammed her mind shut. “Why should I believe you?” she asked suspiciously.

He shrugged, “Out of the goodness of your heart? I don't know. You know I only kill people who want to die. And murderers and rapists of course. And it's not like I enjoy it. It's necessary for survival, like eating. You have to eat, I have to drink blood. I hate it.”

He seemed sincere. There was no compulsion in his voice. She motioned with her head, “Come out into more light so I can see you.”

He moved slowly, carefully, making sure she could see every movement. Shadows still bent around him, but he stood in the dim light of the half moon above. He turned his face toward her, with a resigned movement.

“But you're only young!” she said, before she could stop herself. It was true. He was no older than she. And, as she looked closer, he was also stunningly handsome. But his eyes weren't red, as she had thought before, they were brown, a very normal, mundane chocolate-y brown.

He sighed, “I'm older than I look. I age about one year in four as far as I can tell, so I look seventeen, but I'm actually twenty. What, did you expect some old geezer or something?”

“Gah,” she said, a bit embarrassed, “No. But yes, I did expect someone older. Never mind what I thought. What are you going to do now?”

He was instantly wary again, “Why should I tell you? It's none of your business what I do.”

“When you're in the Murk, it is everyone's business. Don't you know anything? You can't just go around killing people so ostentatiously you know. You'll get caught. You already got caught by me. I could have the entire Murk, plus the Assassins' Guild, plus the Thieves' Guild down on you tomorrow!”

“Ha. I doubt it,” but he looked a bit worried. He wasn't very good at hiding his expressions, or perhaps he just thought he didn't need to, “and what do you mean ostentatiously? I don't kill ostentatiously!”

She snorted, “Do you honestly think that?” he looked blank, “You do, don't you. I should just leave you here to rot. Ye gods! I can't believe you came to the Murk and expected to go unnoticed!”

Pahn was looking more puzzled by the minute, “What are you talking about?”

“Look,” she said, stomping over to the corpse under the tree, “you left him exactly the same as all the others. Smiling. In Corta, every professional assassin and thief has some sort of trademark, a symbol if you will, that they leave at the scene of the crime. It's a way for everyone to recognise who did it. Of course, the authorities know all the signs, but they don't know the people who go with them. For example, I leave the print of a cat's paw behind when I'm done with a job. That's because my professional name is the Cat. My friend Red leaves the print of a kiss in red lipstick. Like that. It's a question of style really.”

“Okay, I can see that. But what has this got to do with me?”

“Don't you see? You leave a mark too! Every one of your victims is smiling. The problem with that is that only professionals are allowed to leave trademark symbols. You're not a member of the thieves' or assassins' guild, so it's like a slap in the face of authority. That's why I can have them both down on you tomorrow. And I bet you're weaker in the sun, right? If you can go out in it at all.”

He sighed again, “Okay, I see the problem. Yes, I can go out in the sun. It hurts after a bit, but I won't go up in smoke like a full vampire, so don't bother trying to burn me up that way.”

Ali found herself liking this strange new acquaintance. It went against everything she had ever been taught about vampires, but she actually liked him. Caution, she told herself, you don't even know if he's telling the truth.

But there was an easy way to determine that. She looked at him with the Sight, the band around her eyes dilating until her pupils were mere pinpricks. She looked at every crevice of his being, using every power she had. She found that he was telling the truth. He was only three-quarters vampire, and he was an outcast from vampire society by choice and because they didn't like part-breeds. 

He hated most vampires, because they killed wantonly and without remorse. She could tell that he was feeling lost and very alone, and – frightened? That didn't really make sense, but he was frightened of something. She couldn't believe it was her. She left that alone. He was also holding himself with a sort of weary resignation. He obviously expected her to expose him. She could also tell that if she did, he might not even fight back.

She was brought back to earth by the realisation of what was frightening him. “What on earth is wrong with your eyes?” he said, his voice squeaking a little, and for the first time, not even remotely melodic.

She burst out laughing, much to his consternation. She laughed so much that she was forced to lean on the tree for support. It was the incongruity of the situation, the one she had been told to track was here, in front of her, having revealed himself as a vampire, or at least mostly one, and here she was scaring him witless with the use of a little bit of magical power.

Still chuckling, she said, “Don't worry about it, it happens all the time. Come on, I've got someone who wants to meet you.”