Between Past and Present

The past cannot be changed, but the future is yet in your power.

Between Past and Present

I did not sleep a wink. Simon arrived just after the others had fallen asleep from exhaustion. Alex cried out once in his sleep, and Rolo fell off his chair bed. Then he said nothing, just grumbled, and climbed back to sleep. Rolo himself mumbled occasionally, and Des teared up. I'd never seen my brother cry before in my life. I was sure he was dreaming about Alice.

Simon walked over to me and sat down next to me on my makeshift bed. For a long moment, we both just sat there, silent. Then he gently slid his hand over mine and I let him pull my consciousness with him.

My heart shrunk into a tiny ball deep in my chest. I wanted to run over and pick Jo's limp body up off the floor, but I just stood in the corner of the cell, invisible to everyone, helpless. The minutes seemed like hours until Jo woke up in a daze.

She looked around the cold cell. When her eyes slid to my figure, my heart leaped. For a moment I wanted to believe that she had seen me and that I could talk to her. Yet her gaze finally fell unchanged, and I had to realise again that this was just a small piece of the past. She moved her numb limbs and pulled her clothes closer together.

A dark figure, as if waiting for her to wake up, stepped to the cell door and opened it with a soft movement. He pushed the door open and entered. Jo looked up at the cloaked man in terror. But when the newcomer pulled down his hood, she screamed. He immediately put his hand over her mouth.

 "Shh!" he said, "Be quiet, or they'll find out I'm here!"

Jo struggled and tried to shout again.

"I'm not Cain!" said the other quickly, "I'm not him! Look at me, I'm not him!"

Jo looked at her visitor again and perhaps she could see something in his face, for she was no longer trying to fight the other so fiercely. Finally, she nodded slowly as his visitor let her go.

"Who are you?" she asked.

The boy shook his head.

"I have brought you food," he said rather than answering and handed her the bread and the bottle of water."

Jo eyed him suspiciously but accepted the goods.

The boy nodded slowly and stepped out of the cell, locking it behind him. He glanced around nervously, then returned his eyes to her.

"I'll be back," he assured Jo, then hurried away.

I allowed myself to step up to her. Jo looked past me, beyond the bars of the cell. Her gaze was like broken glass and for a moment I was thinking that she was an entirely different person from the Jo I knew before. 

She did not eat the bread in the end. Maybe she did not trust that it wasn't poisoned somehow. She threw it to the other part of the cell and hugged her knees. That was the moment I saw something shiny there as well. When I moved closer I realized that it was the necklace I had given to her.

For a moment I was just standing there. For a moment, I thought that I would crumble. I did not anticipate the outcome that Jo might hate me. As if even the thought of that possibility was impossible. I realized at that moment that I had been kidding myself up to that point. I was confident that if I could get Jo back, everything would be as it was before all this mess.

Nothing would ever be the same.

It's a perfectly normal reaction for Jo to hate me. Her whole life is upside down because of me, her father is dead and she's been kidnapped and locked up.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, "I'll come and get you, just wait a little longer."

After that, you can take revenge on me or do anything you want. I won't stop you, I promise.

I smiled bitterly. If you like, I'll give you my heart. I'll carve it out of my chest and place it in your hand to soothe the rage and vengeance in your heart. It's yours anyway, deep down, I always meant it for you. So just wait a little while.

Yet the girl could not hear my words. Even though I knew it wasn't real, I wanted to touch her. I gently stroked her cheek — or at least I wanted to. As soon as I touched her, her body dissipated like colored smoke along with the cell.

Simon then showed me another memory, this time of Coffee. The vampire girl was locked in a simple room with no windows. The walls were covered with tiny little craters and claw marks, yet I thought there must be some kind of magic protecting the place if a vampire's wrath couldn't destroy it.

"Let us go," Coffee demanded quietly, "Both of us."

But the ruler sitting opposite of her only smiled slightly and took a sip from his cup of blood. Coffee herself had not touched the drink offered to her. I was sure that the half-breed king had done something to force her to sit at the table with him.

"Unfortunately, I can't."

"Why?" Coffee snarled, and for the first time in my life, I saw mad rage in her eyes.

The whites of her eyes blackened for a moment and her pupils flashed red and I thought she was losing control. Still, the vampire girl was able to restrain herself and merely tried to throw her cup at the half-blooded monarch.

Ephraim simply ducked the clumsy attack and didn't look back even when the loud clanging sound signaled the cup's meeting the wall. All the while he watched Coffee as if unable to take his eyes off her.

 "This red colour is my favourite," the half-blooded monarch remarked, "It reminds me of my mother's eyes."

Coffee hissed, and I was really sure by then that she will attack the half-breed king. Ephraim must have sensed it too, because he answered the question.

"I can't let you go yet," he replied, and calmly took another sip, "If I let you go now, my son would have no reason to come to me."

Coffee was so surprised that, unworthy of the noble vampire, her eyes widened. Efraim merely smiled indulgently.

"Yes, your friend is my son."

"This... this..."

I never thought I'd see Coffee so confused. I think her whole world was crushed then and there. And I stood there and watched her helplessly. I wanted to lie to her, to scream that none of the half-breed's words were true, just so I wouldn't have to see the vampire princess like that.

Efraim grinned. "I hope you don't mind enjoying my hospitality for a while."

Coffee gave him a hateful look. I stepped over to Efraim. Though he didn't look at me, his gaze was fixed on Coffee, my claws burrowed into his essence in an instant. His form dissolved into a mirage. I glanced towards Coffee before I was engulfed in a colourful cavalcade of memories.

"I'm sorry."

Even though she couldn't hear my voice, I felt I had to say it. Then the next moment I opened my eyes and found myself in reality. Simon had let go of my hand.

"Thank you," I breathed, and the boy nodded.

"Can I ask you one more favour?" I asked suddenly.

Simon raised his lightless, dead eyes to me.

"Can you help me sleep?"

"Sure," the ghost agreed, and I went to bed.

We just looked at each other for a moment. Although Simon's face remained expressionless, and there was no compassion or sympathy in his eyes, I knew I must look like shit. I knew because when Simon brushed his hand across my forehead, his touch was incredibly thoughtful and gentle. And I felt, for a dangerous moment, that I wouldn't have minded if he'd sucked all the life force out of my body.

(...)

In the morning Des set off to find the rest of the family to whom he had not been able to send the news of the afternoon's meeting.

Rolo sat sleepily over his half-cold cocoa, and one could occasionally see him nodding off in a doze.

Alex didn't look any better, and when I tried to wake him in the morning, it seemed that he couldn't be pried out from under the covers even with dynamite — until, of course, Hajnal arrived and knocked him out of bed.

The wolf was still standing by the wall about half an hour after she had screamed his head off, completely blending into his surroundings, lest he should again incur the wrath of the boss lady. Finally, when Hajnal decided to make a few phone calls, the wolf sighed as deeply as if he had been holding his breath for centuries.

He then fed the cat, and when he was done he decided to make it love him a little — much to the poor cat's annoyance. For the wolf would not let it go, even though the demon cat would have preferred the cold, damp darkness of the chamber to the company of a werewolf.

Seeing that fierce resistance wouldn't help it, it changed tactics: it pretended to be dead in Alex's arms, but so skillfully that I seriously thought it had gone into rigor mortis. Sadly, when it finally managed to escape in a careless moment from the wolf, I had to realize it was alive.

With that, the cat ran into the liquor chamber, not forgetting its usual snorting and snarling tantrum. Alex stared after it with sorrowful eyes, a world-wearied expression on his face that made me think I was going to vomit — luckily I hadn't had breakfast at the time.

And me? Well, I was actually hating the world out of the heart of my bottom. And then I decided it was time to change and turn that moonstruck bastard, who was grumpily rolling around in the chair that had been made for a bed, into a Shay of some sort.

Luna merely said a quiet hello. She made no attempt to hug or comfort. I nodded without words, then motioned toward the office, and Luna disappeared the next moment behind a dark wooden panel.

Des wanted to visit Alice several times, but Hajnal wouldn't let him. None of us asked why, we just resigned ourselves to the fact that it was better not to see him now. Hajnal's skin was pale, her face haggard, dark circles under her tired eyes — I'd never seen her so haggard. If Alice could make such an impression on someone who didn't even know him, what would happen to us?

We'd probably rush straight to the Fifth's lair to tear him to pieces with our own hands — rush to our deaths. We all knew this, which is why we accepted Hajnal's verdict.

What do you wear when you are about to enter the most intense mental battle in your life? I rummaged through the suitcase and managed to spill the contents of the shoebox that held our documents. A good start to the day. Great.

Birth certificates, and report cards from primary school, I tossed everything carelessly into the box until I came across a crumpled envelope. The red wax seal, depicting the crest of a lesser-known hunting family, had long since been broken. My hand shook. Thanks to some unearthly impulse, I opened the letter again, which I had kept for seven years in the dark oblivion of the box. There were only two lines:

"The Crosspherat wants to capture your son and execute him after their tests. You are accused of blood treason, flee, Lorett, while you still can."

The letters were left by sloppy, trembling hands, showing that someone had written them in haste. This letter was given to my mother on the day it all ended.

Some of the paper was missing, the fire had left a black lace around the edges of the page, reminding me of the day when after my mother ran out of the living room, I picked up her letter from the flames. My mother didn't know I was hiding under the tablecloth of one of the tables — Des and I were playing hide and seek. I immediately sensed something important, the letter simply drew my eye and I knew I had to see it.

The next thing I remembered was a woman screaming. I ran down the stairs, my nose filled with the metallic smell of blood. I did not dare to enter the kitchen. Des grabbed me and ran out of the house with me — I just froze, my brain had given up. After that, our house burnt down, and as there wasn't a soul living around us in a twenty-kilometer radius, it didn't cause too much of a stir.

After that, none of us stayed the same. We hardly spoke, and Des avoided me like the fae avoid iron. He didn't used to mind sleeping in the same bed, but now he preferred the floor just so he wouldn't have to touch me.

I knew it was time. When Des closed his eyes that night, I got out of bed and stepped up beside him. The monster inside me just looked at the face he knew so well as his own, yet it was as if he was trying to figure out who this man was. I knelt beside him and leaned close to his shoulder.

I breathed his scent deep into my lungs. The smell that had been home to me since I was a little boy. I tried to etch that smell deep in my chest so that I would never forget it. Then I carefully moved up his shirt to look at the inflamed wound on his side.

The beast inside me almost shuddered at the smell of his blood, which was quite spicy, and tempting even when mixed with the smell of sickness and decay. Saliva ran down my chin and my throat scraped dry. I stroked the red and purple skin, almost not touching it. It was the first time I recognized the feeling that had been lurking in the depths of my chest for so long: the monster was thirsting for Des's blood. The monster inside me knew exactly how unchangeably human Des was.

Yet, the monster did nothing but sniff in that savory aroma deep, never to forget it — because that monster was me. I raised my finger to my lips and pressed it hard against my teeth. The skin cracked and a droplet of liquid similar in colour to that of humans, yet perhaps a little thicker and more fragrant, escaped from beneath my skin. I simply dragged my finger along the wound. This was my parting gift.

I knew from the smell of it that even though Des would not have died from the injury, it might have taken him many years to heal. I wasn't sure why he refused to take elixirs or even treat the wound. I now think that wound was a reminder of the night our mother died. That wound was a reminder that nothing could ever be the same.

I licked along my finger, where our blood was now mixed together in a delightful and intoxicating mixture. I looked up at the shining full moon, determined to decide both our fates the next day. I knew Des wouldn't be able to make the decision on his own, so it was up to me.

That night I merely watched my brother's sleeping face, as if afraid that if I closed my eyes he would disappear. Then, when he began to wake at dawn, I crawled into bed as one who sleeps the sleep of the just.

Des stepped to the bedside and watched my steadily rising chest and closed eyes for a long time. Finally, he sat down on the edge of the bed and caressed my hair gently, as if he himself were about to say goodbye. Perhaps in his heart, he felt that morning would be the last he could ever do this. The beast inside me was almost purring by Des's touch. That touch was painfully warm and tender.

Then Des stood up and left the room. I opened my eyes and lay in bed for hours just looking at the smooth wooden door. Finally, I sighed deeply and made up my mind.

When Des re-entered the room, he was confronted in an instant by the fact that I held the fading life of a hunter in my hands. The man's lips parted, and he gaped silently like a beached fish, his hands frantically tearing and gripping the tiny fingers around his throat. Des paused for a very long moment.

Then the next moment he was ripping my fingers from the man's throat and screaming orders for him to run. And when the man stumbled away, he even slammed the door behind him, as if that would stop the demon child in the room. Silence fell over the room. We both just stood there, motionless, and perhaps a little crushed. Des had killed many monsters by then, but he had never taken a single human life.

"Why..." Des began, almost inaudibly, "Why did you do this?"

I looked up at my brother, and maybe there was something in my face or in my eyes that he had never seen before because Des's eyes had darkened. That's right, I think that was the first time he saw the monster in me.

"I chose," I said lightly.

I chose that day to be a monster.

Des' hand clenched into a fist at his side. He made a face as if he had long dreaded that single sentence. Yet, perhaps deep down, we both felt this day would come. Des always knew of the darkness within me, he just refused to accept its existence.

We didn't speak for days after that. Des didn't spend much time in the hotel room, his arrival only hinted at by the food left behind. Soon Des himself made his choice. One day he returned with a dark mage, and I knew it would be goodbye.

And when my brother left, he paused for a moment in the doorway. Maybe he wanted to say something, maybe not. Finally, without a word, he stepped out the door, leaving me alone in the dark room.

I should have been deeply disturbed by the turn of events, yet the monster inside me was unusually calm. For as long as I could remember, I had dreaded that Des would one day leave me. I secretly dreaded that moment, yet the monster inside me remained dangerously calm at the time. I was not upset, angry, or desperate. For I no longer had to fear that Des would leave me — it was as if the weight of a thousand years had been lifted from my shoulders.

The beast always knew this day would come. I clenched my jaw. But even though I knew it, my chest had never hurt so much before. I always thought that as long as Des was by my side, I could survive anything. I realized at that moment that I'd also survive him leaving me. I had no hope of him coming back, but I stayed in the hotel room until I was thrown out.

The following week, I read an article on the Kaleidoscope in which the whole hunting community expressed its deep condolences to the paladin Dénes Roubál, who lost his mother in an unfortunate fire.

When the young hunter returned home from his latest mission, all he found were the ruins and a burnt body where his home and family had been. The Crosspherat made an identification from the bones and laid the mother to rest.

Everyone knew that our mother had in fact been killed by the Crosspherat, just as everyone knew that Des could have offered only one thing to redeem his life: mine. Everyone believed it, no one suspected a thing. Why would they? It was a brilliant plan. They merely silently cursed the hunter who would sacrifice his family for his own life.