Chapter 77: Wilhelms Task (1/2)

The moon is exceptional tonight. It hangs there in all its gibbous glory, beautiful and luminous but otherwise useless. The contrast with the Watcher is fascinating. The moon changes and moves across the sky but as far as I know, it remains at the same distance and is boringly inanimate. The Watcher exists at a level where distance and size lose their meanings. Under its eldritch influence, lines become curves and curves, points. It is also sapient, after a fashion, and alien beyond anything that exists on this plane. Right now, the strange celestial body is quiescent, but not bored. Never bored.

Hesitant footsteps tread the loam at my back. I recline on a park bench and breathe in the scents of late summer. The grass under my feet is brittle and some of the growth around the small clearing is already starting to wilt despite the gardener’s efforts. The heavy smell of vegetation is only offset by that of the sea, more pungent. A faint breeze brings me the scent of pines and human sweat.

The woman stops at the edge of the clearing and her breath hitches in her chest. The park is deserted at this hour, so we do not risk being disturbed. Yet that same emptiness fills her with apprehension. I am intrigued by the source of light she is using though. It shines an unnatural pale blue, probably some sorcery. The newcomer’s aura shimmers and buckles wildly, signs that she is a barely trained mage and a strong one at that.

“Come closer,” I say.

For one moment, I think she will try to run. In the end, she chooses to walk to my side, but not too close. I turn to inspect her.

She is young, in her early twenties with a candid air that life has not robbed her of yet. She wears a dark dress with a cloak that has seen better days and holds in her hand a crystalline sphere from which escapes the strange radiance. The item is magical, a weak artefact. It reminds me of fireflies or luminescent flora with its organic glow, shining over her traits.

I find myself thinking of Constantine. They have in common to be more striking than beautiful, and her brown eyes express frustration as a tendril of essence quests towards me.

Rude.

“I cannot feel you at all,” she remarks in a soft voice. In order to cut that part of our meeting short, I calmly release my aura though I keep it subdued.

The woman shivers when she tastes it.

“Hum, you are not a mage? But where are my manners, sorry. My name is Vera Wild. I thought I was to meet a man named Wilhelm?”

“Wilhelm of the Erenwald is busy and asked me to assist you tonight in his stead. You may call me Ariane.”

“Nice to meet you Ariane. So, if I may ask, what are you? No offense.”

Curious, are we?

“A vampire.”

It strikes a bell. She mutters and takes a small tome bound in leather from one of her pockets. It looks well-used, and she turns its pages with familiarity.

“Hold on,” she says, “I think gran wrote something about your kind. Ah yes. Here.”

She reads slowly and carefully under the pale light of her orb, like someone a bit unused to the exercise. I can hear her mutter the words.

“Vampires… If you meet one of the de-denizens of the night… who call them-themselves vampires, do as instro… instructed. First, use your most po- hmmm potent! Potent fire spell…”

Her eyes widen in surprise.

“Hmmm…” she mutters.

I wait.

“Hm!”

I still wait.

“Firebolt!”

A pathetic gout of flame emerges from the half-ruined wand she just pulled from her handbag. I call the barest thread of the Herald’s essence and slap the spell away. It sputters and dies at my feet as silence once more fills the clearing.

The pathetic ring of blackened herb captures her attention and, apparently, her wit. She opens and closes her mouth like a beached fish.

“Why don’t you finish reading that text of yours?” I suggest as I stand and move closer.

The skittish dolt hesitates once more, then curiosity triumphs over common sense. A tragically common occurrence for young mages.

“That way if they lie you can… scare! Scare the pretenders away, and if they tell the truth…”

She stops and suddenly appears dismayed. I hear a few swear words.

“… then hopefully you angered them enough to die with dignity.”

Vera looks like the victim of a prank and holds her notebook with barely contained anger. Her tiny fingers grip it as if she wanted to tear it apart.

“Ooooo gran!!” she moans comically.

Only after that does she realize her predicament.

“Eerrr, please don’t kill me? I was tricked!”

Laughable. I wish I could at least give her a good scare. Unfortunately, I gave Wilhelm my word and my hands are thus tied. I am to assist the hapless thing for the night even if I do not accept her as a Supplicant.

“Does that book of yours mention our propensity for mercy?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t finished it. I’m not the fastest reader, you see?”

“Indeed.”

“So you’re not going to kill me?” she asks with a quivering voice.

I sigh.

“No Vera, I will not kill you. Now, why don’t you be a good girl and tell me why you would call upon us.”

“Good girl? You’re not much older than I am!” she protests.

Ah, a true neophyte.

“You don’t know the first thing about vampires, do you? We do not age.”

“You mean you can live for a very long time?”

“I meant exactly what I said.”

“But then…”

“Yes,” I answer with a mysterious smile, “I am considerably older than I look.”

She gulps and I find the situation amusing. I am indeed considerably older than I look, just not inhumanly so. No need to tell her though. Let me bask in the glory of my mysterious and intimidating persona.

I notice that she’s a bit gullible.

“The way Gran wrote it, you are more dangerous than a werewolf, haha.”

I cannot help but give her a grin, the toothy kind. She recoils in horror. I know I should not waste my time bullying the meek but she’s just too amusing. Nami was right, gloating is our guilty pleasure.

“We consider werewolves as delicacies,” I announce truthfully.

“Wow! But… I don’t want Opa to get hurt, that was not our agreement!”

“Enough child, if I were here to kill I would have no need of you. Wilhelm mentioned an inheritance. What is this about?”

“Right… Right. I’d better tell you the story from the beginning. It’s about my Opa, Mr. Schmidt. Mom’s dad. She… well, she didn’t marry the right person. She married my da and they stayed together until he died. He… was Irish.”

Absolutely scandalous. Seeing my lack of reaction, Vera continues with more confidence.

“She went against the entire family’s wishes and she was cast out for it. Only Opa took care of us behind their back. It changed recently though. He found out about what I could do. Also that my Gran, that’s my dad’s mom, she had been teaching me witch things. He got mad. Real mad. He told me bad things like I was Satan’s whore and got my powers from, hm, sinning with demons. I don’t do that, I haven’t even seen a demon ever! I haven’t even done anything more than kissing!”

Kissing huh? You shameless harlot.

“Anyway, he said that he was going to leave all his money with somebody called Gabriel who would punish me for my wicked ways. Have you heard of him?”

Oh, Gabriel you pitiless monster. I know thee well.

“I assume you are referring to the Order of Gabriel, a group dedicated to the extermination of any and all supernatural beings?”

“Ah, probably. That’s bad, right?”

“It does sound inconvenient. What do you want, exactly?”

Vera takes a deep breath then her lips shiver while her eyes turn liquid.

“I just want my Opa back…” she says. Fat tears roll down her pretty cheeks. She’s making me Thirsty with her amusing weakness. She just smells too much like prey.

Alright, Ari calm down this is not the time.

“I can make him love you.”

“Not like that! I want him to believe me when I say it’s not my fault, that I didn’t do anything bad with any demon or anyone really. I am not trying to deceive the hearts of men or some such nonsense, I’m just trying to learn how not to set the curtains on fire every time I’m upset! Is it so hard to understand?”

She pouts.

“I think I could convince him if we can have an adult conversation,” I reply, “where is he right now?”

“At the factory. He owns a printing press, the biggest one in the city.”

“Will he not be home at this late hour?”

“Nah. He always stays late. Not to work, mind you, he’s just avoiding my grandmother.”

That will be convenient. Vera takes my silence for doubt.

“No really, she’s an old harpy. She turns the milk sour by standing next to it.”

“I see. Now, show me to the printing press you mentioned.”

Vera leads me to the park’s exit and then through half-deserted streets. The difference between us is flagrant. We look the same age but while I walk as if I owned the street, she scurries around like a mouse, casting fearful glances all around. Her bent back, nervous hands and rapid head gestures scream weakness and “please mug me” to everyone around. I can see at least four groups of men stare at us like a pack of wolves. They do not act on it, however, and we leave a residential district behind us without me getting free snacks. Slowly, the modest houses with thatched roofs give way to small businesses and the occasional warehouse, all closed now. The gas lamps cast long shadows on the pavement as we walk by. We do not tarry, and it is not long before our destination comes in view. Vera was starting to forget to be scared and asking questions about what werewolves taste like so it is a relief when our journey ends at the gates of Schmidt’s Reliable Printing.