Dark Days

Asire.

I pulled my truck around Regalia Gallery’s back, and parked it under one of the security lights. There weren’t many people back there, but I still zipped up my oversized hoodie and popped the hood over my head. Only after dragging my hair around front, so that the sides of my face were covered. It might look suspicious, but the constant rain in Seattle kept me safe.

Just before getting out of the truck, I threw out my senses and relaxed when only two legion signatures came back at me. I couldn’t sense individual people, but someone’s race – vampire, werewolf, demon, legion, human etcetera, I could sense. If I were in danger, I’d sense way more than two signatures, so that allowed me to relax.

I popped the car handle and exited into the lazy, snowy slush that was falling. It was a good excuse to keep my head down as I made my way to the back door. The building was locked back there with a security code that I typed in quickly, and then I slipped into the warm, dry building. I traveled down a long hallway, took a turn to the left and I found myself in the lobby. It was five in the morning, so there wasn’t anybody there and the only light came from the displays around particularly good paintings and a handful of modern ‘art’ sculptures that were supposed to sell fast.

I hit the button on the elevator and it came quickly. I went inside and finally managed to bring the tension of my shoulders. There was nothing dangerous in here and if it crashed, I didn’t have to worry about surviving. I dropped my old backpack at my feet and unzipped my jacket, throwing the hood back. The lighting in the elevator brought my injuries out in stark relief, according to the mirrored doors.

My hair was dark brown and hung straight down to my hips and my eyes were black. My skin was extremely pale and popped greatly against my dark hair and eyes. The contrast that worked most days, but today was something different. There were cuts all over my left side. Small little scrapes that traveled from the crown of my head, down my neck and bare arm. They covered my shoulder and my entire side, down my leg and all the way to my foot. Most of the cuts were hidden by my t-shirt and jeans, thankfully. Some showed down my chest and curved over what little cleavage my shirt showed. If this was anywhere but Seattle, I’d be getting sideways glances. As it was, most people ducked their heads and kept moving.

The elevator dinged at the top floor and the mirrored doors slipped away, taking my injured image with them. I stuffed the hoodie into my bag and started walking down the hall at a brisk pace. There were two doors up there. One that led into the office and the other that led into an apartment occupied by the owner of the gallery. I went to the office, because there was no way she was sleeping right now.

I was right.

I didn’t bother knocking, but went right into the space. Reggie stood behind her desk with Henrik. They were both reviewing something, probably a visual of all the attacks we’ve had in the last week. She raised her head and her dark eyes tightened at my appearance.

“Asire? Jesus Christ, what happened to you?”

“Thrown through a window,” I said.

“When? Where?” Her voice was tighter than normal, but she wore the stress well. Her body was relaxed and she looked as put together as always. Her medium blonde curls were arranged to be aesthetically pleasing, even though they were untamable. Her chocolate colored eyes were clear and intelligent. She was dressed in a suit, skirt down to her knees, jacket carefully buttoned closed, heels high and matching, the whole outfit designed to complement her body, which I always described as being pinup worthy. Her nails were manicured and unbroken. Yep, she looked like she was keeping it together. It was only that tightness around her eyes and the way her dusky skin looked a little paler that gave it away.

“This morning,” I said. “Walking back to my truck after work.”

Reggie blinked. “Damn it.” She yanked out another pin and marked something on the map she had in front of her. Yeah, GPS was a wonderful thing, but sometimes paper maps were the only way to go. “That’s one a day,” she said. “And we haven’t even seen them.”

Henrik rubbed his eyes and didn’t say anything. He was a bear of a man. Broad shoulders and chest. Brown hair and eyes, with dark scruff along his jawline.

The phone on Reggie’s desk went off and she grabbed it and— out of habit —said, “This is Regalia Torres, how may I help you?”

I heard a familiar voice on the other end. “Everything seems calm tonight. Are you sure they’re going to try something again?”

I raised my eyebrows.

Reggie sighed. “They already did. With Asire. She seems fine. Superficial injuries.”

A curse. “What the hell are we supposed to do then?”

“Go home for now, stay by the phone. I might have instructions for later,” Reggie ordered, and then dumped the phone in the cradle without waiting for a reply. She stood to her full height, which was several inches shorter than my six feet and one inch, and put her hands on her hips. “This is getting ridiculous.” She turned to me and her dark eyes crinkled in worry. “You are okay, right?”

“Yeah,” I said without hesitation. “I’m fine. Just scrapes. Landed on a bunch of broken glass.”

“Did they get away?” she asked.

“Some of them,” I said darkly. “There were four of them, two who attacked and two who watched. They popped out of an alley and threw me through a shop window about a block from the pawnshop. Landed on some mannequins. That’s uncomfortable, by the way. For any future reference you might need.”

“How many escaped?” Reggie asked, grabbing different pins from a box by the map.

I walked closer and saw the basic streets of Seattle. There were about three dozen white thumbtacks around the map, four red ones, two yellow and eight black. The black ones were in an almost perfect circle around an orange one, placed at a familiar address. I racked my brain and realized which house it was.

“Two,” I said.

Reggie nodded and put a black thumbtack in. It was the only one that deviated from her others. The pawnshop I worked nights at was about as far from the ritzy neighborhood that Reggie’s gallery location as it could possibly be. That lone tack was far from its friends.

“Shit,” I groaned.

“Yep,” Reggie said.

“Have you called the others?” I asked. All the orange tacks were where the other legions in the city were living at the moment. The white were crimes committed by humans, spell-casters or soul-reapers. The red were vampires. Yellow, werewolves. Black were the recent attacks from outside legions.

“Not yet,” Reggie said, reaching for her phone already. She typed in a number and waited patiently while Henrik took the map and moved it to a side table. He examined it with his arms crossed over his chest. As Reggie started talking, I went to stand beside him.

“This the last week?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“Yes,” he said.

“I saw the two that escaped. They both had blond hair and blue eyes, so that’s not helpful… Have they been leaving behind any calling cards?” I asked.

Henrik sighed and a tiny line appeared between his brows. I left him to think while Reggie told the others not to go to our meeting space; a little house on the edge of town that we rented one week a month so all the legions could get together and talk.

Finally, Henrik said, “There has been one thing. They don’t clean after themselves. We haven’t lost any numbers, but there have been human and spell-caster deaths. And they leave the bodies.”

I stared at him for a second and then looked away. I pulled up my outdated mental list of Annihilists and thought hard. What Family didn’t have a cleaner? It took a second or two, but the information finally popped into my head. “The Martinson Family didn’t have a cleaner when I was younger.”

Reggie dropped the phone in its cradle again and approached me. “What’s their MO?” She slid in between Henrik and me to stare down at the map as well. In her hand was the box of tacks and she set it next to the map with a rattle. It was strangely ominous.

“They never did much when I was a kid,” I said. “They held a small town in Pennsylvania and kept to themselves. They weren’t very interested in fighting in the war as long as their city was clear of Open legions.”

Reggie snorted. “So they’re having their coming out party in Seattle. Great.” She rubbed her eyes. “All right… I have to open in five hours, which means I need to be up in three. Asire, head home, prepare for possible houseguests. Are you working tomorrow?” she asked before I could leave.

“Well, tomorrow’s Christmas, so no,” I said.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” she responded without missing a beat. “So you can patrol with me?”

“And Henrik?” I asked, having seen Reggie get into a fight before. She wasn’t terrible… But she was not great either.

Her hip cocked and she looked like she wanted to throw something at me. “Yes. And Henrik. Are you coming or not?”

“I’ll go,” I told her. I would have gone if Henrik wasn’t there, too, because I couldn’t let her get hurt or die. “I’ll try to get here by six, okay?” That was the time I usually started my shift at the pawnshop, Captain Awesome Pawn. That wasn’t a joke. The owner was somewhat…eccentric.

“Good,” Reggie said. “Now go away before I throw the stapler at you.”

“I’d just catch it,” I told her before turning my back and leaving.

“I’m tempted to do it!” she called after me, as the door was closing.

Outside, the rain had turned to snow that was just as lazily falling as the slush had. It wasn’t until I was in the cab of the truck that I realized my hoodie was still in my bag. I debated not putting it on, but the cops in the city had a tendency to pull people who look suspicious over. For no reason. So I yanked it on and left.

The drive home wasn’t long. The neighborhood I lived in was the kind that could afford to buy art from Reggie’s gallery. Thankfully, the roads were fairly clear, it being early in the morning, and there weren’t any policemen to pull me over. Most of the cuts were covered, but driving with a hood on looked more suspicious than being injured did. Things to watch out for in the City of Orphans.

I pulled up to the gate and rolled down my window. There was a small metal box with buttons and I typed in the code quickly. The gates swung open with the kind of slowness horror movies adored. And they closed behind me the same way. If something could move really quickly, they might be able to slip inside behind me. The gates were tall enough that climbing them wasn’t an option, and for those adventurous few that would try, we had metal spikes at the top.

Since I hadn’t been home while it snowed, the long driveway was covered in the fluffy stuff. My truck, a large beauty, didn’t have too much trouble with it, but I went slowly. Just in case. I didn’t feel safe until the garage door trundled down behind me and I was within the house.

Which was good, since this was the safe house for the city’s legions. I didn’t technically own it, but I maintained it for the day it might be used. There were about forty Orphan legions in the city and each one contributed money to the safe house. It was large and ritzy, but big enough to house everyone and it came with a security system and the gate. Whenever a new Orphan arrived, they stayed here until they could get a job and live on their own.

Seattle was unofficially known as The City of Orphans. A term adopted from legions. It’s where the world sent their unwanted people. It started with legions, a race that had been created when all the other races’ blood had been mixed. Legions were in a civil war with our own race and had been for our entire existence. Annihilists wanted to destroy all the other races, because they were inferior and didn’t deserve the land they walked on. Open legions didn’t agree and protected them. But some Open legions weren’t to be trusted. Like me. We were legally Orphaned. Basically, it was a document saying we couldn’t join a Family, which stripped us of all protection. It was how we grouped together. Vampires had clans. Werewolves had packs. Legions had Families.

When legions started this practice, other races followed suit. Sending their vampires who were too bloodthirsty, their werewolves who were too violent to allow into a pack and so on and so forth. All the misfits were in Seattle.

So the safe house was just good thinking on Reggie’s part. It seemed like a bad idea to assume everything would be okay, all the time.

Upstairs in my room, I dumped my bag and jacket in the closet, and pulled my phone out. The screen informed me I had missed a couple of calls. I switched over to voicemail and listened.

“Hi, Asire!” a chipper voice said. My cousin, Billy. “I know it’s not Christmas yet, but Merry Christmas. I sent you a package, have you gotten it yet? It’s not that big and they wouldn’t let me decorate it like the Hulk, but I’m sure you’ll know which one I mean. I’m watching The Nightmare Before Christmas right now, because I believe it’s a Christmas and a Halloween movie. I don’t care what anyone else says! Sally’s song is on right now and it made me think of you. You were always better at singing it than the Claymation character. I should let you go. Call me back! Bye!”

The next message started. It was another from Billy. “Done with The Nightmare Before Christmas and I got bored. I also just got your package! It’s big. I’m opening it now because I’m an adult and I don’t need to wait till morning,” she said. There was the sound of tearing paper and then a squeal loud enough that I had to pull the phone away from my ear and put it on speaker. “I love it, I love it, I love it!” she screamed.

I could picture her so clearly, ripping away the brown paper and revealing the original poster for one of the first super hero movies. I worked at a pawnshop. Sometimes interesting things came in.

“Oh my god, I have to put it up!” A brief pause. “I wonder if Regory will let me put it above our bed. Do you think—” She got cut off by the phone’s limit.

The third message. “Stupid fucking phone! The call is over when I say it’s over!” There was the briefest pause as she set something down on the other side, then, “I didn’t actually have anything to say. I just don’t like the way your phone booted me out. Call me. Love ya. Bye.”

I smiled and the last message started. This one wasn’t from Billy, but from her mate. Regory.

“Hey, Asire,” he said solemnly. “Just wanted to say Merry Christmas. I miss you. Call me back when you can. Bye.”

The call ended and I sat on my bed, staring at the other side of the room. Since I was the only one who lived here permanently, I got the master suite. There was the bathroom, the bedroom with the walk in closet and a sitting room that I used for my art supplies. I had canvas and paints and sketchpads, pens, ink and paintbrushes all over the place. Staring at it, I could practically see Regory moving around the space, trying to put some order to my chaos. I could hear Billy saying he was being silly. And this pained opened my chest up in a giant void.

How long had it been since I last saw them? Seven years… seven years. Billy, Regory and I had grown up together and splitting up had been hard. There were reasons to do it. Lots of really sound reasons. One of which being we didn’t think it’d be permanent. Neither of them suspected that I’d get Orphaned at sixteen and moved to Seattle.

I remembered standing on the side of the road, looking down at the paper my aunt had handed me. I read the words that told me I was to be a prisoner within this city. And none of it mattered except for one line: The subject of this Orphaning is not allowed to be in the presence with one Wilma Thomas or one Regory Pence. That one line had taken away my entire future.

Shaking off the dark feelings, I glanced at the clock. It was almost six here, which meant it’d be almost eight there. They’d both be getting into their Christmas celebrations right about now. Their phones would be off, but I didn’t want to risk not getting back to them. I called Regory first. His phone rang only twice before I was dumped into voicemail. “Hey, Regory,” I said, “It’s Asire. Merry Christmas to you, too. Sorry I didn’t back to you sooner. Busy at work.” My stomach hollowed out as I said the words. I loved my cousin and her mate, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell them when things were bad here. They’d only feel guilty for something they couldn’t stop. “You know, holiday season. Lotsa people need to pawn and buy and sell. I got a guy in the other day who, no joke, had a beard down to his belt buckle with a guitar. He wanted to sell it because he needed warm wine. I didn’t know what to say, so I just took the guitar and gave him the money.” I stopped talking because I felt like I was rambling. “Okay… Well… I miss you too. Talk to you later.”

I hung up quickly because my eyes stung and I couldn’t let those tears fall. I might be by myself, but if I let the dam crack, then everything would come out. It wouldn’t be pretty.

Next up, Billy.

Her phone took longer to go to voicemail, giving me some time to think of something to say. When I heard her recorded voice, I got up and went over to the foot-long package on my desk. “Hey, Billy. Got all your messages. Sorry I couldn’t watch Nightmare with you again. Getting off work was impossible. Maybe tonight, when you’re done? Unless you're tired of Jack. Anyway, I’m staring at your package right now and I think I’ll open it.” I switched the phone over to its speaker, gently set it down on the counter, and ripped carefully into the box. Inside I found wrapping paper with Santa’s elves all over it, only they had their heads crossed out.

I laughed. “Love the wrapping paper. Musta taken you forever,” I said, while tearing into it. Inside was a zombie doll dressed in workout gear. It was plush and had torn flesh on its head and knees and elbows. On his chest was a card that had, in Billy’s handwriting: You were right. Zombies can give head.

Another laugh escaped me and I said, “Oh, you remember the most random things I say. Thanks for the gift, Billy. I’ll try calling tonight. Bye.” I hung up before anything too serious could come out of my mouth. There was a chance Billy would notice anyway. We’ve known each other since she was four and I was three. We spent the next eleven years of our lives stuck to each other’s side. You learned someone’s tells when you spent that much time together. Of course, she hasn’t seen me since I was fourteen. Maybe she’d forgotten some of them.

I sat down on my bed and stared at the ceiling for ten minutes. When that got boring, I went into the bathroom to shower. The cuts were fewer and farther between underneath my torn clothes, which went straight into the trash. Bloodstains. The bane of legions’ wardrobes.

My ribs were bruised from landing on a mannequin the wrong way. Her plastic boob went straight into my side. Thankfully, the bruise was elongated and evenly colored. The last thing I wanted was a breast shaped discoloration on my body. If Reggie found out, I’d never hear the end of it.

After showering, I pulled on a pair of shorts and a tank top, and climbed into bed. To stare at the ceiling some more. After twenty minutes of that, I turned on the television and hoped that the noise would help me drift off.

At five thirty the next evening, I was out the door, after eating cold pizza and finishing off the rest of the coffee. Most of my cuts, having been shallow to begin with, were starting to fade. The smallest ones were only shadows and the deepest ones made me look like I got into a fight with a feral kitten. I was fairly confident that they’d all be gone by tomorrow.

I parked in front this time, and I went through the main entrance. The secretary was familiar with me, so she let me go past her desk without saying boo. I hopped into the elevator and rode it up to the top floor without any hassle.

Henrik was standing in the doorway of Reggie’s apartment. He had his massive arms crossed over his equally massive chest and he looked bored with life. He was only a couple of inches taller than me— which still put him three or four inches over six feet —but he always made me look small when I stood next to him.

“Everyone out,” Henrik said, waving toward the hallway.

As if on cue, two people burst out into the hallway. One, a girl, was clutching a ripped shirt to her chest and had cheeks redder than a fire engine. The other, a man, just looked proud of himself. He wasn’t frustrated at being hauled outside by a man twice his size or embarrassed that he got caught probably having sex.

Upon seeing me, his eyes travelled from my face to my chest to my hips and back up again. When our eyes met, I raised my eyebrow and said, “Try it and your face will get up close and personal with the stairs.”

He cleared his throat and started nudging his girlfriend along down the hall. He didn’t look at me again. Guess I gave off the right vibe.

Henrik didn’t look surprised or annoyed.

“You big lug!” Reggie yelled from inside. “You could have let me escort them out. I would have gotten their numbers that way.”

“Get dressed, Reggie,” he called back to her without acknowledging what she said.

“I’m working on it!” she screamed.

“Trouble?” I asked.

“None.”

“Good.”

“None!” Reggie hollered. She shoved past him and into the hallway. Her crazy curls were going every which way and her chocolate brown eyes smoldered in annoyance. “He barged in here, yanked them out of my bed when all we were doing was sleeping, then he says to them ‘get’. Like they’re animals.”

I nodded my head, not caring even for a second. Henrik did what he had to do.

“You two…” She shook her head. “Henrik, I don’t know why you insist on ruining my fun. And Asire, I can only hope that one day you’ll find the joys of sex.”

I shrugged. Being demi-sexual and distrusting of people in general meant that my sex life was more hypothetical than actual.

“Ya know,” she said, “I remember being twenty-one. It was a lot more fun than you make it look.”

I shrugged again, mostly to annoy her. “If you say so. Can we get going now?”

She rolled her eyes. “I love hanging out with you, Asire,” she said, “You make me feel young again.” Physically, Reggie looked to be in her early twenties and she always would. In reality, she was in her mid-fifties. Young for a legion, but old for one who’s lived in The City of Orphans most of her adult life.

“Let’s go,” Reggie said, striding down the hall like there were a hundred people watching her, instead of two who didn’t really care. To go out patrolling she wore designer jeans and a t-shirt that was pure white and looked brand new. It made my ratty black one look like it came out of a garbage pail. But see, if mine gets covered in blood and gunk, I lose like three dollars. If hers gets the same treatment? I didn’t even want to know how much money would go right down the drain.

Henrik and I exchanged a glance and then followed her.

She was holding the elevator by the time we caught up. We all piled into the car and rode it down. The secretary did a double take when she saw Reggie, but all she said was, “Going out, Ms. Torres?” She was smarter than to comment on Henrik, myself, or the two people that just left her apartment.

“Yes, Jen,” she said. “I trust that you and JR can close up?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

“Good.”

Then we were finally out the door. It was fairly dark out, even though it was barely after six. The number of people on the street had dwindled significantly. No one wanted to be out when the vampires started to play. That’s why I was the only one on shift at the pawnshop.

“We’re going to patrol—” Reggie began, but was cut off by her phone ringing shrilly. She paused and stared down at the thing, as if forgetting how to use it. Then she yanked it out of her pocket and swiped to accept. “Hello?” she asked cautiously.

“Reggie?” a male voice asked. “I tried your office first and didn’t get you.”

No shit. She’s here.

“Is something wrong?” Reggie asked.

“Yes,” Alain said. He spouted off an address that I filed away and followed that up with, “You need to get here. Like now.”

Reggie’s brow furrowed and she looked back at me. I could only shrug, seeing as how I didn’t know what was wrong. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.” She hung up and then said, “You brought your truck, right?”

I pointed to it and we trooped over. All of us climbed into the cab and I took off for the address. It was out in the warehouse district. Something all Open legions hated. It was too easy to rent one of those fuckers and do bad things in it. And we couldn’t constantly check up on the new owners.

I pulled up to the specific address. Alain and his mate, Ella, were out front. They were standing close to each other and they each had a severe look on their faces. It didn’t sit well with me. They had a two-year-old daughter and ever since her birth, they’d been all sunshine and baby talk. This sudden seriousness…

Reggie was the first out of the truck, but Henrik and I weren’t far behind her.

“What happened?” Reggie demanded.

Alain pointed toward the warehouse. “I left Lixa in there.” They stayed outside as the rest of us went in. Lixa, a tiny girl with electric blue hair with blonde roots showing, was standing beside a dark pile. I was only two steps into the building before I knew what it was. The entire room smelled of blood and werewolf. And I only heard Lixa’s heartbeat, so I knew the wolf was dead, even before taking another step and smelling the beginnings of decay.

Reggie’s hands went up to her nose and mouth. “Oh, shit,” she said. She couldn’t have covered this situation with two better words.

We all stopped when we were close enough to see.

Lixa’s face was as grim as our people outside.

The werewolf couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. He had started to shift when he was struck down, so his facial features were half human and half canine. His eyes, once brown, were now a glossy, gross gray. The pool of blood around his body was wider than just a death required, so he’d been deliberately drained. Hung upside down and drained until he was nothing but a sack of skin and bones. There was fur on the backs of his arms and hands and his teeth were elongated. He’d tried to fight.

He’d tried and failed.

“Could this be anything but the Annihilists?” Reggie asked, no hope in her face. She already knew the answer.

Lixa shook her head. “We found them in the process of preparing the body for dismemberment. When we rushed in, they just laughed and ran away. Alain chased them, but there were too many, so he came back to help us guard the body.”

“Shit,” Reggie said again.