The Circle City

This story hasn't really got a title. So, for now, maybe even permanently, I'll call it "The Circle City".

~

In a building far south of the first mayor's statue, past the box-like necessity stores crammed like sardines in a can, around the tight corners of Candlelight Avenue, a boy stands wide-eyed at the topmost window of his father's dusty home. He uses his hands to push himself higher, the gears in his head turning, comprehending the sight before him.

Half of Nable is burning.

Bright orange flames rise high into the sky--high enough to lick at the airships--bright as the stars. He can hear the fire eating the houses. He imagines the screams of the people as they flee in terror to the half that doesn't burn.

Down below, steam-powered worker drones roll as fast as they can towards Northern Nable, mounted tanks filled with water. He drops himself from the windowsill and walks downstairs to tell his father.

His father isn't there.

The boy realises he's supposed to be working for the wordsmith today.

Elias' Gift

Anna placed the phone down gently, and, turning from the desk, swept up her handbag. She checked the watch on her wrist for the time as the door shut behind her, the bell above ringing gently to her ears. Anna’s boots clacked on the concrete steps as she jumped down them, her long, pale pink dress flowing behind her. Anna was nineteen and owned a small puzzle-rental shop in the heart of New York City. She was tall and slender with curly brown hair and steel-blue eyes. And today, her package had arrived, a puzzle she had ordered online.

The sounds of the city were loud—horns honking and the chatter of adults and children growing as she passed them. She pushed open the glass door of the post office and smiled at the clerk as she signed for the package and slipped it under her arm. The pieces inside rattled as she walked back, eager to be seen. When she returned, she dropped her bag by the door and headed into the back room.

A window high on the wall let light shine in to reveal a large, round, glass table and a couch in the corner. Anna eagerly tore open the box and poured out the puzzle pieces. She could see all kinds of shapes in front of her. Not only the immaculate, hand-sawn pieces, but also the images on them. Eyes. Hundreds of eyes staring at her. And black hair, pale skin, tree branches. Anna almost shivered, but it was only a puzzle. She spread all of them wide, but stopped when two pieces connected. A face full of despair, sunken eyes and cheekbones.

She grabbed the box. No image of the finished product, but inside there was a message:

Enjoy,

R., Elias

She put it down and looked back to the puzzle. It seemed to want her to finish it… So Anna went to work. She sifted through hundreds of shapes, twisted and different images passing her vision. An ostrich, witches and a cauldron, and an hourglass—there seemed to be extra pieces. Anna worked for days and days, the sign on her door permanently set to “Closed” and blankets left untouched on her couch. In the back of her mind, she heard the phone ringing, but chose to ignore it.

Days later—days end-on-end—Anna finished the puzzle. The completion of it felt grand, but was stolen from her when she saw the picture she had formed. The hundreds of eyes were set between the foreboding branches of scraggly trees looming over a cauldron, wispy smoke rising above to a naked body restrained in the air. Ropes bound around his arms and legs were tangled in the branches, his eyes closed and body torn. A pair of blood red eyes stared down at him, taking at least three pieces each. Anna stepped back in fright. Although the puzzle was a picture itself, there was another hidden inside.

The separate elements formed a face. Twisted and deformed, the face drew all of Anna’s attention and wouldn’t let her go. She hadn’t the faintest idea what it meant, but Anna wanted to find R., Elias and what the puzzle meant.

The back of the box had nothing on it. The inside held nothing save the message. She stared at the puzzle until she got an idea. Sifting through the bin, Anna pulled out the brown paper used to wrap the box. A return address was printed neatly next to the stamp. Anna read it several times before she decided what she had to do. Locking the door behind her, Anna slipped her keys into her bag before heading home.

...Anna threw the match onto the puzzle, the pieces burning, and bright red fire shining in her eyes.

Adrian

Adrian was seventeen when he was frozen; left at an age where his eyes are soft, and his skin is smooth. His hair is wild and black, his eyes are clear and blue; he wonders why he was chosen to work for his Master. Then, he thinks, It's because I wouldn't step out of line.

He's sitting on the peak of a building, hugging his knees and looking down on the high, diamond wire fences. Barbed wire loops in perfect circles along the top, just to make sure nobody escapes. When the wind blows, it's cold as ice. So, he stands from his place at the edge and leaves.

He's been sent to bring his Master another girl. He's sent out regularly--almost three times a week. When they leave his Master's chambers, they're always quiet; they do what they're told. Adrian can tell they've been broken. When he was young, lying on the cold, hard ground holding the device tightly in his hands, he froze all the girls he loved, so they couldn't leave him. Then he wondered, What happens now?

There was no specific place from where he took the girls. They were always young; they had friends. These were the girls that would be missed. When his Master finished with them, Adrian would take the girls away, and care for them. He would try to make them talk again. After doing it for so long, he wouldn't bother anymore, knowing so well that they wouldn't ever wake up like they had before.

Sometimes, though very rarely, he would find a girl he liked. He would see her beauty, and want her for his own. "Master," he would plead, "please, let me take this one. Please... I can bring you another!" But the man would just turn away, back to the flaming logs in his fireplace and say, "No, Adrian." He wouldn't give a reason. Adrian would just have to accept it.

But when the girl came out with empty eyes, a blank expression, stumbling over the stairs that led down to his Master's lair, he would take the girl away, and lay with her on the hard bed and crisp white sheets, whispering in her ear what he wanted her to think. Always, their eyes were unblinking, mouths agape. They would still breathe, but their breaths were empty and haggard.

On some nights, he would climb to the top of the building, and stare out at the fence. He would cry, but not for himself. If he had stayed inside, he would have heard the screams of the girls as they were taken into the chamber.

He had served his Master for years. Seeing so many girls broke his spirit, and Adrian went along with his duties. He had brought so many of them that he no longer cared what happened to the families after their daughter was kidnapped. There wasn't any specific place for him to go. All he knew was that he was sent--sometimes near, sometimes far--to find someone for the man.

Then, one night, he had brought back a pretty, young girl. She was everything that he had wanted for himself, and as he placed her asleep on the thick, violet carpet, he asked his master for her. "Master," he said, "I've brought you girls over and over, and I've cared for them with their broken spirits. But, please, Master, let me take this one..."

His master looked at Adrian with hardened eyes. He didn't say a thing, just waved his hand to send Adrian off with the girl. He smiled boyishly, and lifted the girl from the ground. "Thank you, Master."

The girl still slept when Adrian lay her down on a bed near the other girls. He lay down beside her, his eyes half-lidded, and watched her sleep. She wouldn't move yet, because Adrian had made sure that when they were taken, they would sleep at least a while until his Master needed them. Then Adrian would wake them up, and walk away as they screamed for their families.

By the next morning, he was atop the building again.

The Life and Death of Blaine E'claire Vedoir - Chapter 1

Heavy fur coats were bound tight around shoulders and the lights of boutiques burnt the night away in the low Voittona streets. The women fluttered lacy fans, wore tight gowns and glided past on thin heels. Their money would be wasted tonight; perfume lasting only minutes in their eager hands. She could smell the scent even from where they sat. She was slender and delicate, cunning and shadowy. 

Her sharp eyes watched the insects fly around the lamps, buzzing with excitement. A cold breeze picked up and washed her dark hair into her face, her beautiful feminine form highlighted by the glowing faces of the clock tower. Darius took his place behind Blaine, his brown eyes watching her minute movements.

She turned backed to him with a smile, her lips shining deliciously. Darius could smell the faint steely odour of blood radiating from her. Then she stood and stepped off of the ledge, plummeting to the ground. He followed her down.

They moved quickly across the courtyard, seeking the solace of a darkened alleyway. Ragged and mouldy bricks were imprinted with the ink of discarded newspapers; a musky, oldness filled Blaine’s nose.

She nearly fell on the cobbles but corrected herself, taking a step forward from the alleyway. Darius immediately looped an arm around her neck and tore her out of the street. She struggled in his grasp, trying to remove herself from his hold. Darius hushed her, placing a finger on his lips. She looked back to the end of the alley, only to have her heart peak into chaos from the sight of him.

He, in question, was Orlando Lacey; a feared hunter. Humans believed that they were the dominant race. The wealthy ones would send many, many hunters throughout the land to purge it of their werewolf counterparts. Now the numbers were declining, and others skilled enough were sent to dispatch of vampires. The young man at the end of the alley was apparently deemed strong enough to hunt the vampires alone.

Some of the older vampires met their death at his hands. His shiny white hair, grey eyes, and pale skin meant that he could’ve passed off as one of them. But as soon as they got closer, they found he wasn’t a vampire and died in a close battle. He wore a dark brown cloak and held a crossbow limply at his side. In their current day and age, nobody shied away from his weapon, knowing that he wouldn’t dare consider pointing it at one of them.

Children weren’t brought up only to hate the dark--they were brought up to force it back.

He pulled Blaine further into the shadows of the alley. “You ought to be more careful,” he whispered into her ear. She hoped that the hunter wouldn’t hear them.

She trembled, her heart beating a rhythm in her chest. Orlando’s eyes shot down the passage and he ceased moving. He stared through the space. Something he could see, but not quite make out.

“Orlando?” ventured the young woman’s voice. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” he said; more to himself than her. He kept his gaze fixed to the darkness.

“Then, shall we make our leave?” He nodded and continued through the mass of people. But she stayed behind. If there was something there, then she should be just as able as him to find out what it is. She stepped determinedly into the darkness. But suddenly she stopped.

What if it was something that could kill her?  

Orlando placed a hand on her shoulder, spooking the young woman. “I…I thought you had left.”

“We should leave, Adelle, as you suggested.” He gave a small smile. She retreated back with him, glancing once through the night at the vampires as they huddled in the gloom.

~

Night was bordering and all the humans started returning home. Businesses closing for the night, their young apprentices sweeping tiled floors, polishing wooden boards. The women dumped bags on the men, sweeping ahead with scurrying feet and a flick of their fan. The newly purchased goods would surely be forgotten as the same thing happened the next night; money from their labours going to waste so quickly.

Blaine was relieved that he hadn’t shown his face that night. Otherwise, those humans would have had a reason to fear the dark. Memories of her family prodded her mind, e her to fall to the ground and wallow in self-pity.

It has happened to others, she thought hopelessly. I have to be stronger than this.

As the last of the chattering people left the lane, Blaine and Darius stepped out of the cold alley. A young man turned the corner out of the street, carrying a heavy bundle of newspapers, and leaving the vampires to take the title of the only ones left behind.

But somebody was watching from the end of the road. Watching and waiting for them to walk by; waiting for them to die.