Camdeboo Nights (14 page)

He almost felt alive. Trystan smiled, licked blood-smeared lips, and reveled in the metallic taste coating his tongue which offered the illusion of well-being. Vampires’ blood could be compared to the difference between surviving on tea, or truly living on a heady liquor. Above, the stars spun and pulsated in a dizzying explosion of light.

Gradually, the need to breathe left him. He lay still, simply enjoying the warmth suffusing him. How he’d managed to hold himself back, walking with Helen the other night... His actions had been foolhardy, but he’d gone for so long convincing himself that Essence wasn’t the be-all and end-all of his existence.

Who was he kidding? Mantis was right. Junkie.

He rose, hunching by the drained corpse, about to search its pockets, when he realized he’d made a worse miscalculation. Filled with so much stolen Essence, he’d likely glow like a flaming beacon for months on end.

“Stupid git,” he muttered. He’d not be pulling stunts like the one with Mantis the previous week. He was almost as loud as...as Helen.

He rifled through the corpse’s pockets. An inventory of his finds included three razor-sharp throwing knives, a needle-thin stiletto, a wad of cash and a drivers’ licence issued in Gauteng, in the name of Brent East.

None of this helped much, save for alerting him that it was the elders in Jozi who were curious enough to send one of their
jagters
to the middle of nowhere to investigate a disturbance.

There has been a disturbance in the Force
, mocked the line from some science fiction movie he’d once seen.

A dozen expletives leapt to his tongue but he stifled them. He’d have to do something about the body.

“You!” a man exclaimed not far behind him.

Trystan wheeled around with a hiss, canines extended, crouching low to strike.

Szandor regarded him with icy eyes, hair wild and a sword leveled at him. Flickerings of light along its blade told him this was no ordinary weapon but he doubted it could do any real damage. At least it wasn’t a fucking shotgun.

“I wouldn’t do anything stupid if I were you,” the human said.

A low growl escaped Trystan’s lips. All his muscles bunched. Years of careful deceit had been blown in less than a month. He stared back at the witch, fixing the man with the kind of glare that would make lesser vampires flinch. Szandor gave no sign of discomfort, however, and maintained eye contact.

Trystan had been monitoring the Wareing clan for years now. He’d even turned it into something of a hobby. He had never revealed himself, had never given these magic-sensitive humans any cause to suspect they were not alone out here in the middle of the country.

The game was up but he did not want to kill them. They were too familiar–not that he could consider them friends, though. They had been a constant for him, although he had never imagined talking to them.

“Are you trying to stab me with that?” Trystan relaxed his stance and straightened. He allowed his hands to fall to his sides. Let the man see he bore him no ill will.

Szandor frowned, took a step back, and lowered his blade, although his knuckles were still white. He mimicked Trystan’s posture. Good.

“It’s better than trying to beat you off with my bare hands,” the human said. “I never thought to meet one of your kind out here.”

“Neither did I.”

“What about him?” Szandor pointed at the fallen
jagter
. Already the body was putrefying–definitely a young one, then.

Trystan crinkled his nose at the ripe stench. “The others know about us, suspect something. There will be more, thanks to the other night.”

The man stiffened and brushed a trembling hand through his hair, which stood out in wild pale tufts.

“Don’t tell me that you don’t know anything about the other night.”

“Fuck it,” Szandor said quietly.

“You could say that. No ceremonial sword will stop them when they come. None of your moonlight rituals will prevent the
jagters
from tearing your precious family to bloody ribbons.

“The elders won’t suffer a witch to live, Szandor, not when you witches have access to real Essence, and I don’t mean the paltry flickerings you manage to raise during your sabbats.”

A lost look entered Szandor’s eyes. “We’re tired of running. Mother was tired already when she came back. It wasn’t like that two hundred years ago. Your kind are parasites who suck all the Essence out of the world.”

“We just want to live, like you do.”

“Well, standing here debating unnatural history isn’t going to help one whit. What are we going to do about that?” Szandor inclined his head at the body.

“Drag him up one of the ravines, I suppose. The sun will finish the job.”

Szandor raised a brow. “Then what about us?”

“In case you’re wondering, I’m not at all keen for more of these fellows to start appearing on our doorstep. Much like you, I also prefer keeping below the radar.”

“How do I know that you’re telling the truth?”

“The fact that I’ve been living here for more than a century without interfering in your affairs.”

“You’re lying.”

A small smile tugged at Trystan’s lips. “Remember that night of the lunar eclipse, seventeen years ago? You and your sweet sisters stole away to your secret place where the San rock paintings are. You three were a lot closer than a brother and his two sisters should be, weren’t you?

“When Caitlin came back from Cape Town, her heart broken after her boyfriend’s suicide, you were there to console her, weren’t you? And, now, we have little Glory, who’s not quite right in her head. Poor little dear, and her mother died not long after her birth. And it was from loss of blood, only she had the help of a nice, sharp...”

Szandor growled, and took a step forward.

“Hit a nerve, have I?” Trystan had to think quickly. He had Szandor at a disadvantage, which was a good thing. Now that the witches knew of Trystan’s existence, this was knowledge that could be used to his advantage. Or else...or else he’d have to hightail it out of Nieu Bethesda while praying the fall-out wouldn’t follow him wherever he next sought sanctuary.

The renegades were always an option... Trystan shuddered, suppressing that train of thought. The Black Pope would welcome him with open arms.

“I should kill you now.” Szandor’s his hand trembled.

“Don’t fool yourself, human. What good would that do? They’ll be here within a week. It won’t take them long to send someone down from Joburg. News travels fast. Next, you’ll have the elders from Cape Town also poking their noses in, not to mention the others...” He didn’t need to elaborate.

Szandor gripped the sword, his lips pulled back in a snarl.

Trystan smiled at him. “I don’t know what will make bigger ripples–that they’ve found the last of the remaining witch clans in the world, hiding out among the dust and windmills of the Camdeboo or that they’ve found...”

He didn’t reveal Helen. Not yet. Trystan relaxed, leaning against a headstone.

“My daughters,” Szandor said, his shoulders slumping.

Trystan smirked.

Szandor swallowed hard, his heartbeat loud enough for Trystan to hear without
reaching
.

“My younger daughter has gotten mixed up in something she should have left alone, with the Ashfield girl who’s... Oh my gods. Sweet Hecate.”

Trystan’s momentary triumph folded in on itself, leaving a hollow spot in his gut. Got to give the human that much, he wasn’t entirely stupid to have figured it out, against Trystan’s hopes.

“I’ve got a plan.” Trystan tried to sound more hopeful than he felt. His wasn’t a very good plan but he wasn’t about to admit it. “Or, rather, let’s make a deal, all right? No one gets hurt. You help me remove this carcass, keep tabs on all the suspicious folks taking a sudden interest in spiritual matters here in Nieu Bethesda and I’ll do my damnedest to help prevent all of us from getting killed by things that hunt during the night.” Might as well have a verbal agreement in place to support their already unofficial arrangement.

“Are you insane? Team up with you?” The way Szandor spoke those words invested them with the full measure of the man’s disgust.

“Or, I could kill you now?” Trystan offered, his smile revealing two-inch canines that slid from his gums.

Chapter 16

Watch the Muscles Twitch

On their way back from art class, while they made their way to the nook by the music studios, Etienne found his chance to speak to Arwen.

“You’ve been sitting with a mouth full of teeth since yesterday. What’s eating you?”

“I’ve told you, Etienne, it’s none of your business.”

A day’s worth of annoyance spilled over and Etienne planted himself in front of his friend, folded his arms, and glared up at Arwen.

“Do you mind?” she asked.

“Yes, I do mind. You’re carrying on as if no one else exists and I’m your friend. I won’t stand for it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Etienne sucked in his breath. “You will talk about it. It had something to do with this past weekend. Something happened, and no one is telling me a thing. You’re avoiding everyone. Helen is walking around like a love-struck fool and Damon only has reptiles on his brain. What’s up?”

“Maybe if you’d come with us last weekend, none of this would have happened,” Arwen said with bitterness, for once looking him in the eye. She flicked a persistent lock of hair out of her face.

“Well, it’s no use bitching about something we can’t do anything about.”

“My dad changed his plans. He’s not going away this weekend, so it doesn’t look like you’ll be coming through, will you? And, things have gotten complicated.” She sighed, all the fight out of her.

“Maybe I should ask Helen and Damon. Damon hinted that he’d like me to come over.”

“To catch snakes.”

Etienne nodded, a silly grin plastered to his features. Arwen’s lip twitched. She didn’t want to smile.

“I’ll help you dye your hair. Your roots are showing.”

“You little rat!” Arwen laughed, lunging at him.

“That’s better. Now, let’s go meet the others.”

They rounded the corner, ready to cut through the gap between the science labs and the mathematics block, when they stumbled onto Jean-Pierre and Johan. The pair had cornered Timothy, one of the grade eights.

“C’mon, Timmy, give us the money.”

Etienne grabbed Arwen’s wrist, forcing her to stop. The grade ten boys had the smaller kid backed up against the wall. Jean-Pierre gripped him by the upper arm, his fingers biting in so hard Timothy’s skin turned white.

What could they do? The sensible thing would be to back off but Damon and Helen’s abrupt arrival from around the opposite corner robbed them of the opportunity to make that decision.

“Whoops! Sorry!” Damon exclaimed, almost bumping into Johann.

“Oh, look, it’s the spaz gang,” Johan drawled, as both boys turned to face the additional interruption.

“Leave him alone!” Helen shouted.

Etienne cringed.
Don’t, Helen
.

She stepped forward. “I saw what you did to my brother last week and I’m not going to let you carry on getting up to this kind of shit.”

Don’t, Helen.

Much to Etienne’s surprise, Jean-Pierre let go of Timothy.

Then Arwen joined them to stand next to Helen. “Yeah, bozos, not so tough now that there are more of us.”

“Ooh, the witch has PMS.” Johan sneered. “What are you going to do, Arwen, curse me?”

“I may just.” Arwen narrowed her eyes.

Emboldened by his friends’ pluck, Etienne waddled to the front, standing hands akimbo.

“I still have a bone to pick with some of your friends,” Etienne said, thinking of the weekend’s incident involving the dustbin.

Jean-Pierre and Johan shared a look. Clearly they were no longer as sure of themselves as they had been moments earlier. Timothy stood frozen, pressed to the wall, his face white.