Negotiations

A good compromise is better than two stubborn armies battling over a single sandcastle.

Negotiations

As originally planned, we entered the lounge and took a seat in one of the corners. Although the hunters showed no sign of it, they certainly hadn't failed to notice our arrival. I remained silent for a moment. Although no one but me could see him, Simon stood behind me and slid his hand over my shoulder. His touch was weightless, yet I felt it immediately. I closed my eyes for a moment.

The stranger came to Jo again and again. Every mealtime he would open the cell door and enter in utmost silence.

"I brought food," the monster said and handed Jo a loaf of bread and some water.

She nodded. That was the first time, Jo reacted. That was the first time her gaze lost a bit of its sharpness. 

This time the boy stayed and watched her with interest. Jo didn't retreat to the back of the cell, but let the monster survey her from head to toe. She ate the loaf of bread with the same serenity as if she were in the company of a mere human. I wanted to shake my head. You let your guard down too soon!

But deep in my heart, I was happy for this change. This meant that the Jo I knew was still deep inside of her. This meant hope that she won't hate me forever.

"Will you tell me your name?" asked Jo suddenly.

The boy looked at her puzzled, then spoke. "Poisonfang."

Jo was surprised. "What?"

I myself watched the boy shrugging his shoulders in silence. "I am a nobody, and a nobody doesn't deserve a name. I've never been called anything but the poisonfang vampire."

After that, the boy left quickly, as if he had just realized that he had committed some irrevocable sin. This boy was different from the monsters who had kidnapped Jo. There was something quite pitiful about him, something that made Jo feel sorry for him, though I don't think she herself could have quite put her finger on what it was. Anyway, I saw the way she looked at the boy. The same way she looked at those injured pets she used to bring home from the roadside.

I sat down next to her.

"Don't do this," I whispered to myself, "Don't trust him!"

Jo didn't reply, just kept eating that tasteless and dry-looking loaf. I sighed deeply.

"I will come for you soon and make everyone pay for your suffering! I'll make it all right, I'll make it all right, trust me!"

Jo smiled slowly, slightly, and for a moment I thought she had heard my words. Then her tears fell and she sobbed silently, without a sound. Then she gulped down her sorrow and stood up. She walked to the other side of the cell and picked up the necklace from the floor.

For a moment, she was just looking at it. Then a couple of tears landed on the pendant.

"I hated you so much," she whispered, and my heart trembled. "I wanted you to suffer, just like I suffered... I blamed you for everything that happened. I hated you and every monster."

"I know."

"He is not a bad person, right?" she asked, maybe a bit me and a bit herself. "Not all monsters are bad, right?"

I didn't know what I could reply to that and it really didn't matter as Jo wouldn't hear it anyway. So I stayed silent.

She crouched down and pressed the pendant to her heart. She was shaking slightly. I pressed my lips together in a sharp line and, even though I knew it was just a small piece of the past, an illusion, I embraced Jo's trembling form. Then, after a moment, the trembling ceased and her figure dissolved into a colourful smoke between my arms.

I opened my eyes and came back to reality. I nodded a barely perceptible greeting.

I started explaining to Alex and Rolo. I whispered, but I was still sure that even though the hunters couldn't, Alex and the kid could hear my words clearly.

The door was kicked in, and at the same time all eyes flickered to the newcomer.

"Killey Axl Hornsby," I announced quietly, "Right after Des, the biggest troublemaker in the family."

The second half of what I said was unnecessary, as anyone who looked at him could tell at once. He was a bad boy with a dangerous smile, lip piercings, and a motorbike. He flashed a grin at the assembled hunters, then plopped down in one of the armchairs with complete homeliness. After all this, he put his booted feet up on the expensive antique glass table.

Teeth gnashed, fingers clenched, and many snarled, but Killey was unimpressed — he looked over his comrades with a defiant smile. His eyes stopped on my face as he smiled. With that one superior grin, he let me know that I owed him. The debt he will one day collect from me.

Samuel Guintoli stood up and swept the boy's feet off the table. Killey looked up slowly at the Italian, who was watching him with a piercing gaze.

"Behave," hissed Guintoli.

Killey didn't argue with him, he just turned his head away in annoyance and grumbled something unintelligible under his breath.

Samuel Guintoli was a handsome, lean man, with tanned skin and dark hair and the almost palpable elegance of a nobleman. He had no tolerance for insolence, as he had made clear a thousand times, but Hornsby kept trying anyway — and the man was running out of patience.

After the hunters had calmed down, I quietly introduced them to my friends. There were so many hunters in this organization, which operated in total secrecy, that I was getting tired of the names. Fortunately, the endless stream of words was interrupted by someone, who announced that dinner was ready.

Instead of the usual dining room number one, we were ushered into room two, where the strategic planning was usually held. The room was much smaller than the other, and admittedly more richly decorated. There was a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and a green tablecloth on the table that was more expensive than all my previous salaries put together.

Surrounding the oval table were velvet-covered chairs, each with a carving of a different beast carved into the backrest. At the head of the table sat my grandfather — his privilege only indicated by the larger size of his chair. Behind him were huge windows, now covered by a poison green curtain.

Only the hunters, who had some part to play in devising the strategy, were gathered in the room, so we just fit: to the old man's right sat George Willingham, and next to him his adopted children, the Fiore twins. There were all sorts of rumours about them among the hunters, ranging from the fact that they were serial killers at the age of eight, or victims of human experimentation, to the fact that they were Willingham's illegitimate children.

In any case, no one knows the real story, and I have a feeling it will remain a secret forever.

The two children could not have been older than Rolo, although they were very different from him. Their eyes stared blankly into space, as if they saw nothing, their faces were expressionless, as if they felt nothing, and they acted only when ordered to by George. They were like puppets. Behind the man's back, everyone called them Willingham's 'killer puppets'. Number III and IV, the youngest ever paladins, Nina and Gregory Fiore.

Next to the twins sat Samuel Guintoli with Roiz. They were followed by Vincent Asaro, Willingham's butler, personal secretary, and old friend — if you can call him a friend.

The Japanese looked like a real yakuza, by the way. His body was covered with a multitude of colourful tattoos, but these were usually hidden by his tuxedo. His bald head glistened with a light that made you want to slap his head, but that was not recommended if you wanted to survive an encounter with him.

His battered sunglasses, which had become so much a part of his face that it felt unusual to see him without them, were now placed beside his plate, but only out of consideration that it would be inappropriate to wear them at a family dinner of this kind.

They were followed by Killey, then Naren Litwack and Stefan, who were so preoccupied with each other that I thought no one would be able to drag them back into the real world. Then the Wick family settled down at the table, followed by Mica, then Alex, myself, and finally Rolo.

There was a tinkling of bells, and then a horde of waiters came in, and they filled the table with all sorts of delicacies, most of which I couldn't quite tell what they were — they were so expensive I could never afford them.

The young chef wished us bon appétit, bowed, and disappeared with the waiters. Dinner was tense, and although the food was heavenly, I could barely keep a few bites down my throat. Alex, by contrast, tried three courses, which I acknowledged with a deep sigh.

When everyone had finished, the waiters cleared the table and poured some of the finest wines into glasses.

The insufferable old man finally raised his piercing eyes to me.

"So, what are we up against?"

"Vampires," I replied, "Four hundred and seventy at the last count, though I think we can count five hundred. Their numbers are growing."

"Tell me about the Fifth," he ordered.

I twirled the wine glass between my fingers, the garnet juice curling silky.

"No one knows much about him," I replied, "Half-blood, the child of a vampire and fae. He has vampire venom, if I may put it that way, he makes his own army, so all newborns owe him their full obedience. They are expendable pawns only, so if we attack directly, he will surely flee while we fight his army."

The old man clenched his hands into fists under the table. He gathered his information in the meantime and now I confirmed it. If the vote hadn't gone my way, I would have just told him there and then that we were fighting the monster who forcibly sired me. The fewer know, the better so I am happy I could avoid making it public knowledge.

I exchanged a look with Rolo. He nodded, then stood up to draw attention to himself.

To be honest, I never would have thought he could give such an accurate description of the Redchild villa. After all, who would note that it has seventy-two rooms, eleven corridors, and a map of almost the entire ventilation system? Then, when he was done, he simply sat back down.

Willingham, who until now had occasionally scribbled something on his page, now slid the paper in front of the head of the family. The old man glanced at the strategist's notes, then ran his gaze around the hunters.

"We use misdirection," he declared, "and attack in teams. Alpha Team, led by Dénes Roubál, attacks from the front, drawing out most of the vampires defending the house."

I stood up, and the chair creaked at the sudden movement.

"I object. How could a single team hold off the bulk of the vampire army?"

The old man raised his piercing eyes to me.

"Of course, after the lure has proved successful, they will be supported on both sides by the pair of Hornsby and Wick, and George and Stefan with their troops."

It was then that I understood the real plan: Willingham would try to get rid of my brother, and the old man would not stop him. After all, what happens if the supporting troops are delayed for some reason?

"And how will they survive until then?" I snapped.

"If they can't handle it, I'll find someone else for the job," the old man said.

"Enough," said Des, "I obey your command."

"No, you don't," I protested.

"Yes, I do."

"Fine, then I'll sign up for the Alpha team too," I stubbornly persisted.

"No, you don't!" Des stood up.

"I can make my own decisions, thank you very much!", I folded my arms in front of my chest and looked at the old man, who would make the final decision anyway. "Well?"

"Do you think that if you join them alone, they can handle the job better?" the old man mocked.

Some of my haters even chuckled.

I smiled. "I am never alone."

At my statement, the room was filled with translucent figures, the air oppressive with unearthly whispers.

"What in the wrath of the Eternal God?" cried Wick.

"I don't think the Night God has anything to do about this now," interjected Stefan.

The head of the table remained calm, though the question that was on everyone's minds flashed in his eyes.

"I was saving them in case you didn't vote for the fight," I stated, "They are my army. Of vengeful spirits."

"How could they help you?" asked Hornsby, trying to poke one of the ghosts.

The next moment his head landed on the table.

"What happened?" jumped up Stefan and started to wake the boy, who opened his eyes almost immediately.

"One of the abilities of vengeful spirits is to drain the life force of others," I explained, "Those who aren't used to it can faint... or worse. They can also immobilize an opponent for a few moments."

When the explanation was over, the figures disappeared again, but sometimes you could still hear a faint unearthly whisper. The old man and Willingham exchanged a quick glance, and then the head of the table nodded his agreement.

"I'll join you," said Mica, followed by another nod of assent.

Finally, I took my seat with a triumphant grin — even though I knew it wouldn't be easy to fight off the vampires, I knew we had a much better chance.

Des continued to stand in stunned anger, and only after a dissatisfied grunt did he take a seat.

"The bait must succeed in luring out most of the vampires," my grandfather declared, his piercing gaze boring into mine, and I immediately grasped the unspoken command, "I think everyone understands the importance of this."

"In the meantime," he continued, "Samuel on the right, Asaro on the left, and Grimme and Blanche at the back are securing the house and standing by. When they receive the order, they will move in and clear the hideout. Any objections?"

No one spoke, so the meeting ended and the room slowly began to empty.

"You know I won't forgive that for a long time, don't you?" growled Des.

"I know."

"I could have sorted it out!"

"I know."

"At least you didn't have to get Willingham angry with you," he snarled.

"I know."

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" he growled.

"Yes," I grinned.

"Stubborn, thoughtless rookie!" he growled.

"Ferocious fuckboy!" I retorted.

"Antisocial!"

"Hypocrite!", I replied.

"Let's stop now, though..." he suggested.

"Coward."

"What? Me a coward?" he asked utterly offended. "I'll give you one, insolent brat!"

He tried to tangle my hair to such an extent that only clippers would be able to comb it. So I turned into the next corridor in a slightly disheveled state and paused for a moment.