“Something has changed in our city,” Dior stated something that they had all observed.
The vampires were searching for something, and the humans and minor Other groups were behaving oddly – evading the vampires rather than aiding them.
“Trouble,” Etienne decided.
“Let us go see what sort,” Blaise replied.
They winged down to their building, landing upon the balcony and shifting into man-form as they walked to the entrance of their apartment.
The living area was large and the furniture robust, as suited them. Their clothing from that morning had been discarded on the couch, and over the backs of the dining chairs, and they dressed together, used to each other’s nudity.
“What is it that you think the vampires seek?” Blaise wondered as they claimed their shoes from the stand near the front door.
“More interesting,” Etienne commented. “Is why they have not asked our assistance in seeking it.”
“Elior is a smart man,” Dior opened the door. “But his moral compass often leads him astray.”
“Vampires,” Etienne sneered as they entered the elevator and selected the ground floor.
The foyer of their building was empty as always, and their footsteps echoed off the marble. They pushed open the heavy glass doors and stepped out into the shadows of the taller buildings. Once, their building had been the tallest in the city, but humankind always sought to build higher and higher, until their buildings rose so high that they blocked the sun from the streets below.
They paused a moment, taking in the pedestrian movements. Elior’s black-armoured soldiers dominated the street, overseeing delivery of supplies and weaponry, and maintaining barricades that kept their selected strongholds clear of foot traffic.
“People are angry,” Etienne murmured. “At the vampires.”
It was true. Normally the human and Others viewed the vampire soldiers are heroes, their protection against the winged hellions, and would call out greetings and pass what little they had to give to the cause over the barricades. There was a blood collection point on the corner, and the queue usually curled along the street, but today the phlebotomists stood idle, looking around the streets for their customers with an air of confusion.
The humans and Other pedestrians who passed by did so with their heads down, their hands in their pockets, ignoring the vampires, or glaring at them with hostility.
“What has happened?” Dior wondered a feeling of foreboding in the pit of his stomach. “And does Elior know?”
“Let’s find out,” Blaise walked across the empty street. They followed him through the barricade, and fell in with the pedestrian foot traffic, not really blending due to their size, drawing stares and caution.
“We will have to split up,” Dior decided. “Together we are obvious.”
They broke apart, each trailing a different human, listening to conversations, and observing behaviours.
An elderly woman before Dior staggered on an uneven piece of pavement and dropped the bag she carried, scattering fresh vegetables. She immediately began gathering it up, casting furtive looks around her.
Several hands grabbed stray pieces and she called out angrily. “These are for the healer!”
“Here, let me help you,” Dior scooped up a bushel of carrots and helped the woman to get the bag under control. “I can carry this for you.”
She regarded him for a long moment through narrowed eyes. “And steal it?”
“No.” He met her eyes. “I do not steal, you can trust me,” he used his power to emphasize the words, and saw her react to it, believing him.
“Very well. Come along then, young man,” she got her walking stick under her. They wove their way down an alley and across a street, away from the vampire’s blockades. As they crossed the path of a vampire patrol, she stopped and muttered under her breath.
“What was that?” Dior asked her.
“Keep those vegetables hidden, or the vampires will take them,” she told him. “To feed their blood slaves with. They care not about the starving of the city, as long as their harems are provided for.”
“You do not think kindly about vampires,” he prompted.
“Rapists and murderers,” she told him. “They take people over petty things, and they are never seen again. They take them down into the bowels of their buildings and torture them, drain them dry of blood.”
“That is not true,” Dior was surprised by the vehemence in her voice.
She stopped and looked up at him, her dark eyes searching his face keenly. “Where are you from? If you were local, you would know that I spoke the truth.”
“I am from here,” Dior felt his mouth go dry. She believed what she said. Could the vampires be doing such things in his city, to his people, beneath his triad’s nose, without them knowing?
“There are always supplies coming in from the country for them, but those supplies are not shared. They have stripped the warehouses, stripped the supermarkets. We have very little left for us. Our people are growing desperate.”
“You have fresh vegetables in this bag,” he pointed out.
“I have a rooftop garden,” she replied. “It produces well. My excess I bring to the healer. She will use it to feed the sick. Come, you will see.”
They continued through a market, the vendors calling out their wares and trades. A fight broke out over a can of corn. Children ran up to the woman pleading for food. She produced a head of cabbage from within another bag that she carried.
“Take this home to your mother, quickly before anyone sees,” she told them covering it in a dirty cloth.
The children scattered back into the crowd.
“The people are starving,” Dior realized looking at the gaunt and desperate people, breathing in the stench of unwashed bodies scented with fear and desperation.
The woman frowned up at him. “Where in this city are you from, young man, not to know this?” She demanded irritably. “You are not a vampire, I have a keen eye for them, but you must be Other to be so privileged not to know how the lesser people suffer.”
“I am Other,” Dior agreed, humbled by the truth in her words.
“Wolf, maybe,” she decided. “Well, you come and see, and then go back to your pack and tell them what you have seen. The vampires say they fight for us, but we are nothing but fodder to them. They tell us to share with our neighbours, whilst they hoard all there is. They tell us to give blood to the vampires, whilst we starve.”
She took him between two buildings, dodging the washing strung between, and into a obscure doorway.
The doorway opened into a foyer that was not bare in its opulence like his home, but raw and unfinished, and busy with people. The atmosphere was vastly different to the grubby desperation of the market outside, and the chill hostility of the barricades around the vampire strongholds.
Tables were lined against one side, with signs spray painted on the walls: Donations, Hand-outs. A group of people supervised both points, greeting new arrivals warmly. On the other side was spray painted: Hospital. A second group of people triaged arrivals, shepherding them into the staircase.
“Over here, son,” the woman told him crisply, and directed him to the Donations queue.
“Are you sure you can spare this?” The woman accepting handouts said to the man ahead of them. “We appreciate all donations, but ensure your family is fed first.”
“I found a crate,” the man said. “We have enough to spare for once. We have taken often enough and will probably need to again. This time we have something to contribute.”
“Thank you, then, James. Stay safe and bring Chloe in if she gets any worse.”
“I will. See you, Sasha.”
“Mary,” Sasha greeted the old woman. “It is lovely to see you.”
“Sasha,” Mary emptied her bag onto the table, producing a second cabbage head, and some broccoli. “Young man,” she gestured for him to place the bag he carried before her. “Thank you. Wander around,” she told him. “See what there is to see and take the news back to the pack.”
“I will, thank you,” he acknowledged and left her to sort through the produce.
He observed the hand-outs queue, much longer than the donations, but no one left without something, before turning to the staircase. No one challenged him as he approached. There were no painted signs within, and he looked up speculatively.
“You look lost,” a young woman came up from behind him. She was using a rough crutch, and he could see that her foot was bandaged.
“You look like you need help up the stairs,” he said in reply.
“I wouldn’t say no,” she agreed. “But I can manage if you are in a hurry.”
He scooped her up, causing her to exclaim in surprise. “Where are you going?”
“Second level,” she told him with a laugh. “Thanks for the lift.”
“What is on first level?” He wondered as he passed it.
“Worst injured I think, poor suckers,” she said grimly. “But then, that is where the healer is, so they might be okay.”
“The healer?” He used his shoulder to open the door to the second level. It had been an office building, he observed, and had been converted by this group into a make-shift hospital. The foyer they had entered was lined with chairs, and people moved between the seated injured, pinning numbers to their tops.
Dior set the girl onto a seat.
“Thanks. Yeah, she is for real,” she told him. “In the same attack that I was injured, there was this kid that got shot in the face. She came running in, and put her hands on him, and by the time she was done, you’d never have known. He was really f-ked up from the wound but was perfect after. Took it out of her, though, they had to carry her out.”
One of the people with numbers paused to allocate her one, and Dior slipped back into the staircase whilst they were talking. He went down to the first floor and pushed open the door. The foyer here only held a few chairs, and a woman, who turned to look at him as he entered.
“Can I help you?” She asked him.
“I was just… curious,” he said. “About what is happening here.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “What is happening here?”
“Who is in charge of all this,” he gestured around them.
“On this floor, I am in charge,” the woman moved closer to him. “Show me your teeth.”
Dior bared his teeth. “I am not a vampire.”
“No, but you are some type of predatory species of Other,” she replied relaxing. “Your canine and pre-molars are longer and sharper than normal. Not as long or as sharp as a vampire’s however. We don’t like vampires around here. Werewolf?”
“Yes,” he decided that was good enough cover.
“I thought the pack left the area,” she put her hands on her hips. “The Grenmeyer pack.”
“The pack relocated to the country,” he confirmed. “Though they continue to assist the vampire army against the winged attackers, they prefer to stay out of the city.”
“Wish the vampires had done the same,” she told him, taking one of the seats.
“There is a lot of ill-feeling for the vampires that has suddenly arisen amongst the city populace,” Dior sat across from her.
“The healer freed the people the vampires were holding prisoner. Before, people just disappeared, and no one really knew where. Now people know that the vampires have been taking them, and why. Once that got around, people began to speak of vampires clearing out warehouses and supermarkets, and they began to get angry.”
“The vampires would not just take people without cause.”
“Oh, no one is innocent,” she agreed. “But that does not make what the vampires are doing okay.”
“The healer freed them?”
“Yes, she was taken prisoner.”
“So, she is a criminal?”
“She says that she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I believe her. She is not that sort of person,” the woman replied. “When she escaped the vampires, she freed everyone else.”
“Impressive,” he was dubious. “How did she escape the vampires?”
“You would have to ask her,” the woman turned her head as the stairwell door opened.
“Hey, I am going down for lunch. Do you want me to bring some up?” The man in the doorway asked.
“Nah, I am off in half an hour,” the woman replied. “But thanks.”
The door closed again.
“Is the healer here? I would like to speak to her,” Dior asked. “For the pack.”
“Oh no, she is not here,” the woman told him. “At least, not on this floor at the moment. We are empty on this floor. She has healed all the critical patients and gone off to where-ever she and Charon go when they are not needed. Maybe higher in the building?”
“Thank you for your help. I will look on the other floors.” Dior stood.
“Be careful,” she cautioned him. “Charon is very protective.”