Chapter Nine: Meet Miles and Schuyler

Miles and Schuyler.

I've spoken of these characters before, here and here, and they are two of my favorites.  The two are a natural pair, but not like peas and carrots, peanut butter and jelly or Dr. Pepper and Evil.  They go together more like oil and water, fire and ice, cops and robbers, bare walls and graffiti or vampire goths and sci-fi geeks at a comic con.  Their innate qualities make them pair up, or throw them together, but not in a good way.  There is friction to say the least.  To say more, they loathe each other, yet inevitably, like washed-out pop stars and bad mug shots, you can't separate them.

Schuyler is, outwardly at least, the stereotypical teenage vampire: gorgeous, talented, charismatic, distant, romantic, but it's all an act.  Inwardly he's conniving, vicious, vain, self-absorbed and cruel.  Miles, is everything Schuyler is not.

If Nephys and Lucy are the main characters, Miles and Schuyler are their principle foils, the characters that reflect their inner desires, fears, doubts and motivations.  That makes them a bit more stereotypical, a bit cruder caricature of a person than an actual character, but it works, and you'll see why. 

(Oh, and as a side note, when you are more or less writing a parody of the stereotypical teenage vampire, you can't help but mention the elephant in the room.  This is the most direct jab in the whole book that I take at a certain sparkling elephant that will remained unmentioned for the rest of the novel.  It's a gentle poke really.  I had to do it, just to get it out of the way and get on with the story I wanted to tell.  I imagined that in my fictional universe, books about sparkling elephants exist, just as they do in our world, and of course if there were any actual real elephants they would read about the sparkling elephants too.  It says nothing more about my opinion of novels about sparkling elephants than that.  In fact, my whole family has read the entire series of sparkling elephant novels and quite enjoyed it, although to be honest we are on team "shirtless non-sparkling furry elephant."  So to all you sparkling elephant lovers out there, please don't stampede me!  I'm one of your tribe!  Honest!)

Chapter Nine
Miles and Schuyler

From there I got away, My spirits never failin'
Landed on the quay As the ship was sailin';

Miles Killam sang idly beneath his breath and kicked a can down an alley in the early morning hours, somewhere in the dark streets of Chester, Pennsylvania. He was looking for something to eat, a passed-out drunk or addict would do.

When I jumped aboard, a cabin found for Paddy.
Down among the pigs, played some hearty rigs,

He wasn’t having any luck tonight however, or on many nights lately. Widener University often had a few drunken frat boys passed out on weekends, you could always count on that, but some dumb girl had passed out at a frat party and nearly died of alcohol poisoning a few weeks back, so everyone had assumed a greater measure of self-imposed austerity. Fine for co-eds, lousy for vampires though.

The murder rate in the Philly area was high enough to mask a few unusual deaths here and there, but you couldn’t just run up to a drive-by victim and suck him dry before the cops showed up. So you took opportunities where you could, taking a little here, and a little there, the odd drunk or runaway, someone who wouldn’t be missed or noticed. You could get by quite well that way without killing too. Killing was just too messy. It drew too much attention. Any second-rate vampire could dodge a wooden stake, but twelve-gauge buckshot from a shotgun was another matter, and everybody seemed to have one these days. Vampires were fast healers, but they weren’t as fast as they were in the movies. Even if it didn’t tear your head clean off you couldn’t walk around with gaping holes in you. Even in the middle of the night, a walking piece of human Swiss cheese would be noticed. South Street was pretty wild, but it wasn’t that wild.

For all the vaunted advantages of being a vampire – greater speed, strength, agility – you just couldn’t beat the law of averages or dodge bullets forever. Sure, living people were scared of vampires, but they were also bloody crazy, and tended to run in mobs with torches and pitchforks. You can step on a single ant, but you can’t stomp out a million. And today the ants didn’t just have torches and pitchforks; they had shotguns and four ton Escalades. No, it was better just to lay low.

It was easy to lay low for a good vampire, an ancient vampire that knew all the dark arts and tricks. He could take a life, be stealthy, hide in the shadows and disappear into the night like a dream disappearing from memory when one wakes at dawn, but Miles wasn’t exactly a good vampire. He’d been at it more than a hundred years and he still tripped over garbage in dark alleys. Miles was lucky if he could stumble upon a heroin addict passed out in the alley, take a quick nip and be away. No addict ever noticed another couple of extra holes when they woke up anyway.

Tonight was different though. Wallach wanted fresh meat. Wallach was Miles’ bloody aster. Nearly all vampires had clans, safety in numbers you know, but democracy hadn’t exactly penetrated vampire society. They were all ruled by ancient and imperious masters – aristocratic, terrifying and barking nuts. Miles had been slacking of late, so tonight Wallach had up and demanded a token of Miles’ loyalty. He wanted him to pick up some take out and bring it back alive. Miles had been out all night and found nothing promising, and dawn was coming. So he was shuffling down his last favorite hunting ground hoping for a lucky break before daylight.

Danced some hearty jigs, the water round me bubbling;
When off Holyhead I wished meself was dead,

Miles stopped singing and looked around. He was sure he had heard something, but the alley was dead silent, not even a stray rat. Vampires had more enemies than humans, usually other vampires, who were as good at killing bloodsuckers as they were people, but there hadn’t been a turf war in Philly in decades. Miles paused and looked up and down the alley but saw nothing. He went back to idly kicking at the rubbish.

Or better for instead on the rocky road to…

WHAM! Something from above knocked Miles hard to the ground and then swept him aside as if he were an empty jacket. Miles scrambled to find the wall and pull himself up in the narrow alley, blindly swinging, but hit nothing. He stood up and looked around, but saw nothing, and heard only laughter.

“You stupid mick. You never look up, do you, Killam?”

Miles just sighed and leaned back against the alley wall, closed his eyes and thumped the back of his head on the wall in frustration.

“Schuyler!! Saints and angels!! Ya scared the livin’ piss outta me!” He looked all around and up this time but still saw no one. “C’mon out for cryin’ out loud!”

Instantly, a tall, thin and handsome boy dropped out of the early morning sky right in front of him. He had windblown, shoulder-length blond hair and a handsome, boyish face, aged permanently seventeen years. He wore crisp white jeans that never seemed to get dirty, checkered Vans sneakers (no socks) and a black silk blazer over his otherwise naked torso. He never wore a shirt. He liked to show off his lean and toned hairless physique at all times.

“Geez Miles, you’d think you’d learn something about being a vampire in what…a hundred years?” the vampire sneered around a large sucker. Schuyler always had a large lollipop everywhere he went, but he never put it in his mouth the regular way. Instead, he reached around the back of his head and stuck it in the side of his mouth. He had a lot of weird affectations like that. He thought it made him look cool or something.

“Hundred and two,” Miles said flatly, “And what in the blue blazes are ya doin’ here?! This ain’t your huntin’ ground!”

“No, I don’t usually go slumming it, it’s true,” Schuyler snidely remarked, “But luckily I wasn’t far. I got this honey up at Swarthmore College. Y’know, the lonely bookish type? Freshmen get real homesick, just dying for someone to listen.” Schuyler thought of himself as quite a ladies’ man. Miles just sighed and endured the tedious monologue of Schuyler’s exploits. “…I tell you, every teenage girl out there today has daddy issues. My dad used to beat me every night as a matter of routine, but one of these rich brats doesn’t get a pony on their sixth birthday and they have to spend the rest of their lives as grad students in Gender Studies to work it out in their head.”

Ugh. This was going to be a long one. Schuyler went on and on. Miles ignored most of the recitation until he heard something new.

“So after I give her the story of how my dad disowned me because I wanted to go to art school…”

“Art school?!” Miles interrupted. “You never went to art school!”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t know that.”

“But you can’t even bloody draw, Schuyler!”

“So what?! Neither can anyone else these days. Besides it’s not about rote mechanical draftsmanship anymore but inner expression.” Schuyler had spent a lot of time around Logan Square and the all-girl’s art college near there so Miles figured that’s where he had picked up that meaningless bit of lingo.

“Anywho, so after the sob story I give her the quiet far off stare.” He pursed his lips and widened his eyes to model the stare for Miles, then he went back to his banal smirk. “It totally sold her. I’m telling ya, I’m gonna be milking her for months.” He took the lollipop out of his mouth in his usual backwards way and passed it under his nose like smelling a fine wine.

Miles nearly retched. Schuyler always had some girl on the hook, but it never seemed to come to much. Still Schuyler wasn’t drudging around alleys for passed out addicts. Schuyler didn’t play as well as he talked, but he was rarely on the outs with Wallach and Miles had to admit, even though Schuyler was more than fifty years younger than him, he was a much better vampire than he was.

“And you just happened by my alley, did ya?”

Schuyler put the lollipop back in his mouth in an equally odd fashion and spoke around it. “Actually, truth is, Wallach told me to check up on you.”

Miles shoulders just slumped. In the clan hierarchy, Schuyler wasn’t exactly an A-lister, but he at least had proper vampire pride and ambition. Still, to have to be checked up on by Schuyler was pretty low.

Schuyler took out the lollipop and pointed it sternly at Miles, “Frankly you’re lucky he didn’t send Ulami or Forzgrim after you. They’d just as soon tear you apart as babysit you.”

“I don’t need anyone to babysit me,” Miles said sullenly.

“Really?” Schuyler put the lollipop back in his mouth, raised his shoulders and turned slowly from side to side. “Well excuse me, I guess I had a hard time seeing that through the enormous pile of victims at your feet.” And with that, he did a graceful back flip landing perfectly on the edge of the dumpster across the alley and looked down on Miles like a smirking cat. Miles had to admit it was an impressive move.

“Shut up,” Miles muttered.

“No you shut up. I’m not the one schlepping around alleyways at three in the morning, trying to sneak a bite out of passed-out junkies. I mean…come on! What’s the matter with you Killam?! You’ve been at this fifty years longer than me and you still don’t know the first thing about being a vampire. If you come back to Wallach empty-handed he’s going to stake you out ‘til dawn and use your charred corpse to roast marshmallows.”

Schuyler was right. Miles was almost out of time, and if he didn’t come back with something…someone…then he might as well be dead…well…dead again. Wallach didn’t take kindly to disobedience. Running wasn’t an option either. Wallach and his goons, Ulami and Forzgrim, had run down every vampire in the Mid-Atlantic from Baltimore to Newark and inland as far as Pittsburgh. Those that didn’t fall in line, he had staked out ‘til sunrise or worse. There just weren’t that many vampires anymore, and Wallach was the oldest and scariest on the east coast. Most vampires could expect to someday master stealth, mind hazing and enhanced strength and agility – well, most vampires other than Miles – but he’d seen Wallach inflict pain on a minion with a glance, enthrall a victim from across a crowded room with just his voice and leap so far he could practically fly. It was rumored that Wallach could even change forms. Wallach scared the living heck out of Miles and everyone else in the clan, including Schuyler. It was Schuyler’s dearest wish to reach the upper echelons of Wallach’s lackeys. He’d make it, thought Miles. He had the looks, the natural grace. Plus, he was a royal suck-up.

Schuyler hopped down from the edge of the dumpster quietly and crossed over to Miles. “Look…you need help, that much is obvious, but it doesn’t have to be a drag. I know you and I haven’t exactly been friends, but we’re in the same boat.”

Miles narrowed his eyes. “Really?”

“Really!” Schuyler said enthusiastically, “You think I want to come back to Wallach and tell him I couldn’t help you?”

Miles wasn’t so sure about that. He thought Schuyler would push you in front of a trolley if he thought you were between him and moving up the vampire hierarchy. Still, Schuyler had nothing to fear from Miles. Miles wasn’t exactly on the ladder ahead of him. Miles wasn’t even on the ladder at all.

“Look man” Schuyler began again. “Whatever it is that’s holding you back, we can work on it together.” His tone got soft and quiet, and he placed a hand on Miles’ shoulder and looked right into his eyes. “I want you to know I’m here for you, guy.” He took the lollipop out of his mouth, without any of the usual gymnastics, and gave Miles a friendly smile.

Was Schuyler serious? Miles let down his guard and decided to open up to him, “Ok, thanks brother… I really…” but before he even got two more words out, the friendly face turned into a smirk and Schuyler contorted with restrained laughter.

“You don’t think I really care do you?” Schuyler snorted.

“Bloody idiot!” Miles pushed Schuyler away from him in disgust and Schuyler laughed uncontrollably for a second. Miles started skulking off down towards the exit of the trash-strewn alley. Schuyler caught up with him and tried to put his arm around Miles’ shoulders.

“Now, now, now, don’t be that way!” Miles pushed Schuyler’s arm off and kept walking. “See! This is exactly what I’m talking about. Just then I totally played you. You’re so naïve, you dumb mick! You let everyone play you, even the dumb drunks, but here in this world WE are the players.”

Miles just rolled his eyes, not this speech again, but Schuyler kept right on going.

“You always have to have an angle see? You have to work these people, and then they will come to you.” Schuyler put his arm back around Miles as they were walking and stabbed the lollipop into Miles chest to emphasize the word “you.” Miles just ignored him. “True, we can’t all be blessed with good looks and natural grace. I mean…look at you. You’re short, dark, pimply, and you look like you’re thirteen.”

Miles turned angrily on Schuyler. “I was sixteen!! Sixteen when I got…” Miles paused and then whispered the word “turned” as if he were ashamed of it.

“Yeah, yeah…boyish good looks I’m sure, but see, that’s what I’m talking about. You have to work with what you’ve got…let’s take your hair, Americans like gingers.”

“Americans like red haired women, you dolt, not boys.”

“Hang on. Hear me out,” Schuyler sounded genuinely offended, “You have red hair, a temper and you’re Irish. Now you’re not much to look at, it’s true, but an angry, short-tempered, possibly alcoholic, sulky, Irish teenager? Oh…we can work with that.”

“Really?”

“Sure!”

“How?” Miles was genuinely curious now.

“All you have to do is go to an Irish pub, pretend to get drunk and start a fight. Win or lose, just make it about the honor of good ol’ Erin’s Isle. Afterwards, you find a lonely corner and sulk for a bit, and then, sure as anything, some Irish-American mick-ette or wannabe will come around to help you cry into your pint of Guinness.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Bad boys!! My friend. BAD boys.” And he thumped the lollipop hard into Miles’ chest. “Women love ‘em!”

“Really?” Miles was confused.

“Yep.”

“But…why?”

“Don’t know really,” Schuyler picked the lint off his lollipop it had picked up from Miles sweater. It wasn’t a real lollipop anyway, but a plastic one. Vampires couldn’t taste much more than blood anyhow and had precious little saliva. This one was one of Schuyler’s many props. He had them color-coded to match his outfits and moods. Today’s color was “saffron.”

“But I suspect women aren’t happy unless they’re meddling, fixing things, it’s the maternal instinct, and nothing’s a better project than fixing some broken boy. Plus, it gives them a little shot of adrenaline. They can stand close to the fire and try to see how close they can get and not to get burned. This is where you spring your secret weapon.”

“My secret weapon?”

“Yeah! You flash them the fangs, reveal your secret.”

“Tell them I’m a vampire?!”

“Of course! Just a taste mind you, just enough to let them know they are standing close to the fire.”

“Why?!”

“Don you get it?! Vampires are the ultimate bad boys!! You’d be an Irish Vampire! That’s like a double bad boy!! A bad boy squared. They’ll be all over you.” Miles looked at him incredulously. “Serious, dude. I’m telling you, it’ll be great. It’s a new era! The ground space has already been prepped for you by a thousand novels and TV shows. It’s all they read or watch anymore!! These girls would willingly give up buckets of their own blood for the chance to meet a real vampire. We just have to give them what they want, do the lonely moody shtick: brooding teenager with overpowering demons and secrets.” He said the last part with a wavering melodramatic vibrato. “Honestly, how do you think I manage to score so many victims?”

Miles narrowed his eyes at Schuyler. He couldn’t tell if he was being serious or if he was just messing with him again. “I dunno, sounds iffy,” Miles replied nervously. He had always been more of a scavenger and not a player, but Schuyler rarely looked hungry or haggard, and he never had to get a victim for Wallach.

“Dude. Ya gotta trust me,” Schuyler finally said.

“Yeah…like I trusted you the time you convinced me we should go back to high school?”

“Dude, that was a great idea.”

“It was bloody bollocks! That’s what it was.”

“I was just thinking it would be a great way to meet chicks.”

“Chicks? It was bloody night school! All we met were a bunch of middle-aged drop-outs trying to get their G.E.D.s!!”

“Ok, perhaps it was a bit poor in execution… but it was still a good idea.” Schuyler paused and looked down, “Still not giving up on that one. We just have to find the right venue.” Miles just rolled his eyes again and kept on walking. Their long, slow stroll had led them to near where the alley exited out onto a street corner.

“Hey. Listen to me.” Schuyler stopped and grabbed Miles lightly by the shoulder and turned to face him. Miles stopped and looked at Schuyler. “All I’m saying is that you have to be more flexible…change with the times, cause it sure doesn’t look like trolling for junkies is working out for you that well.”

Miles looked down slightly ashamed. He didn’t know what was worse, that deep down he knew Schuyler was right, or that in this messed up world, Schuyler was the closest thing he had to a friend.

“So, are you ready to let me help you yet?” Schuyler sounded like he was trying to sell Miles a used car. “Are you ready for help from the master?” And with the word “master,” Schuyler made a flourish with his lollipop hand over his naked chest. Ugh.

Miles sighed and put his hands dejectedly into his jeans pockets. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Good. Now I doubt we will find any honeys out her tonight, we’ll have to work on that later, so first thing’s first.” He clapped and rubbed his hands together. “Tonight we’ve got to find you an easy mark before Wallach turns your hide into a lampshade. It’s getting close to dawn, so let’s go.” Schuyler stepped back, reached into his pocket and took out a small aerosol can. He closed his eyes and sprayed the can generously over his naked chest, neck and face.

Miles wrinkled his nose. “What in the bloody heck was that?”

“Hmm? Oh that? Nothing…just y’know, some body spray. I want to stay fresh in case I run into any ladies. Just in case.”

“Ladies?”

“Yeah, so what?”

Miles quickly snatched the can from Schuyler’s hand and read the label. “Sparkleshot. Cologne with body glitter. Musk.”

“Gimme that!” Schuyler grabbed the can back and looked hurt for a moment before he put it away.

Miles looked up at Schuyler. “Body glitter? Seriously? You’re wearin’ bloomin’ body spray with glitter?”

“Well, y’know…girls today have…certain…” Schuyler looked up as if he were searching for the right word, “expectations.” And then he waggled his eyebrows at Miles.

Miles squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. However much he hated the situation, he was desperate. Schuyler was a much better vampire than he was and right now he needed Schuyler or Wallach was going to use him for a throw rug. “Can ya just get on with this please?”

“Alright, Alright.” Schuyler shook his arms loosely and then craned his neck from side to side. “First we gotta get loosened and up and get in tune with the inner sight, feel the victim’s pain.”

“Really? Ya can do that?” Miles had heard of vampires that could sense victims’ pain and suffering and hone in on it like a bloodhound following a wounded criminal or a shark following blood in the water. They had never said so, but he was certain Ulami, Forzgrim and Wallach could do it. However, he never expected that Schuyler could. He regarded Schuyler closely. Schuyler was stretching, rolling his head around on his shoulders.

“Oh, yeah. Just clear your head and get all the distractions out.” Schuyler shook his whole body and Miles tried to follow along but he felt silly. “Now take a deep breath.” Schuyler got very still and calm and held out his hands, palms up. Miles tried to ape Schuyler’s actions. “Now close your eyes and look into the darkness.”

Miles closed his eyes and saw nothing. “Bloody heck, I don’t see nothin’!”

“Ya gotta give it time, dude, just wait a minute,” came Schuyler’s reassuring reply.

Miles looked inward and saw only darkness, but the darkness turned into a fog…and then in the fog…something…a pig…a duck…what was it? He shook his head. It was nothing, he was imagining things…then something else, a girl in a hospital bed? No…a boy…with a yo-yo. He was seeing something…wasn’t he?”

Schuyler snorted.

Miles opened one eye. Schuyler’s smirk could hardly contain his laughter.

“Schulyer!! Ya bloody prick!!” Miles shouted.

“DUDE! You are SO gullible! I can’t believe I got you twice in like fifteen minutes!” Schuyler burst out laughing.

“You don’ actually have the sight, do ya?”

“Nah man, I’m just messing with you. I keep trying but I ain’t got nothing yet.”

“So ya don’t know where any potential victims are, do ya?” Miles asked.

Schuyler composed himself and wiped a tear of laughter from his eye, or at least pretended to – vampires couldn’t actually cry. Everything was an act with Schuyler. “Actually, it’s your lucky day. I saw someone from the rooftop before I jumped down and scared you out of your shorts.” Schuyler put his arm around Miles and dragged him to the edge of the alley. “C’mon let’s take a look.”

Schuyler walked to the edge of the alley and leaned against the corner of the building. Miles held back and peeked around Schuyler’s shoulders. There, across the street, underneath a dim yellow streetlight hanging from a dilapidated telephone pole, was a thin young man leaning against the fender of a 1970’s land yacht parked in front of a vacant lot.

“There you are, Miles. Whadiddisay? Easy pickings, huh?”

Miles looked over the man. He was wiping his palms over and over again on his pants as if they were sweating profusely. “I don’t like it.”

“Well woo-hoo. When did we get so high and mighty? Dude, you haven’t got time to be picky.” Schuyler was utterly too carefree and far too noisy for Miles’ taste.

“It’s not that,” Miles said hoarsely, afraid they were going to be overheard, “Sometin’s not right. I don’t like it.”

“Don’t like it?”

“Yeah, sometin’s fishy. C’mon let’s go find someone else.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Schuyler spat back at him. “We get lucky enough to have someone drop right into our laps and you want to keep looking?!”

“Yeah…there’s sometin’ up with him. We should go.” Miles began tugging on Schuyler’s arm.

“UP with him? C’mon, he’s just a junkie out looking for a hit to take the edge off before he has to go to work, I mean…Just look at the guy.”

Miles did look. The young man did look awfully nervous and edgy like a junkie. Still, it didn’t make any sense. Miles knew most of the regulars in this neighborhood and he had never seen this guy before. On top of that, there weren’t any dealers out this time of the day, so why was he here?

“I’ve never seen him before.”

“So you know every junkie in the greater Philly area now?”

“No, but I still don’t like it.”

Schuyler sighed.

“Look!” Miles said a bit too emphatically. He tried to calm himself. “I know junkies, and sometin’s wrong with this guy. Addicts are creatures of habit, they have their favorite suppliers and they just don’t change for no reason. This guy’s odd. Sometin’s wrong. I dunno, maybe he’s a cop or sometin’.”

“OR… maybe his pusher got pinched and he’s desperately looking for a pop before the early shift. Don’t people come to this neighborhood to buy dope all the time?”

That was true, but there was still something off about the guy.

“So what’d he do? Come out here, park his car in the middle of nowhere, git out to wait and just hope a pusher would come by? It doesn’t make any sense, ya blighter. Addicts don’t park the car and wait for sellers to come to dem, ya bloody idiot. They drive around and don’ stop ‘til they find someone! It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Dude, what doesn’t make any sense is that you are passing up an opportunity to keep Wallach from having Forzgrim turn you into his own personal doormat. He could have set up a meeting with his supplier and the guy is late, that’s all.”

“So what if his pusher shows up?” Miles was nervous.

“Big deal, so we bring two bloodbags back to Wallach – the horror,” Schuyler remarked sarcastically. Miles wasn’t buying it. It all seemed wrong.

“I’m telling you it’s just not right.”

“And I’m telling you, you think too much.” And with that, Schuyler put the lollipop prop back into his mouth and started walking casually out into the street.

“Schuyler, you bloody idiot, come back!!” Miles whispered hoarsely. Schuyler just nonchalantly turned around and kept walking backwards away from him while talking.

“REE-lax will ya?” Schuyler replied, “I’ll just go over…”

“No, don’t!”

“And have a little chat with our friend here…”

“Schuyler!”

“And bring him back over here to the alley where you can jump him, ok? I’ll even help you soften him up a bit before you have to bring him back to Wallach, have a little snack to tide us over. Ok?”

“No…don’t go…Schuyler? I’m serious! Git back here!”

“Dude, you owe me for this one, big time. Don’t worry, you’ll thank me later.”

And with that, Schuyler strolled out into the street and called out to the man leaning against the car.

“WASSUP!! Bro…you looking for a hit? Maybe a date? ‘Cuz, if so, we can set you up proper!” The young man hadn’t noticed Schuyler before this. His gaze instantly turned their way, his body stiffened. Miles ducked back into the alley out of sight. Something was wrong, very, very wrong, but he couldn’t tell what. He couldn’t make out the conversation, but he could tell Schuyler was already well into one of his monologues. He peeked around the corner of the building. Schuyler hadn’t been talking to the guy for more than a minute and he already had his arm around the guy’s shoulders. A minute or two later the man was even laughing, albeit a little nervously, as Schuyler gestured widely with his lollipop as if he was telling some fantastic story. At the climax, both he and Schuyler laughed enthusiastically.

A minute later Schuyler gestured with the lollipop towards the alley. Miles winced and ducked down a little. The guy didn’t seem so certain at first and kept looking over his shoulder. Schuyler just shrugged, said goodbye and started walking away, but the guy didn’t follow. Just when Miles was certain Schuyler had blown the sale, the guy called out to Schuyler and ran to catch up with him, shook his hand and followed him across the street towards the alley. Schuyler looked Miles’ way and winked. Sure enough, Miles had to admit, Schuyler was good at this.

Schuyler entered the alley first. Miles pressed himself against the wall and tried to disappear. Schuyler didn’t even acknowledge Miles as he passed him. The hapless guy followed him in, passed Miles and didn’t even see him. Schuyler was setting this up perfectly. Miles could jump him from behind and bleed him just enough to make him pass out. Clean and easy. Maybe Schuyler knew what he was doing all along after all. Miles wasn’t so nervous anymore; Schuyler seemed to have the whole situation under control.

Miles crept forward for the kill slowly, silently closing in to strike…and slipped and stumbled on a pile of loose newspapers.

“Bloody heck!!” thought Miles, couldn’t he do anything right? The man instantly turned around at the sound and looked terrified. Beyond him Miles could see Schuyler’s blonde head shaking in disbelief, the palm of his hand on his forehead. The man exchanged nervous looks between him and Schuyler and for a moment it looked like he was going to bolt. Fortunately, Schuyler stepped in to save the situation.

“No, no, no!! It’s okay, that’s just my associate, Miles.” He said the word “associate” with particular venom. “Miles, here, is my lookout, see, so we’ll take care of business down here, while Miles keeps a lookout down THERE.” Schuyler’s eyeballs frantically pointed towards the end of the alley. His look was enough to let Miles know he didn’t want his help anymore.

The victim’s face relaxed a little and Miles awkwardly nodded, turned around and walked over to watch the empty street and feel worthless. Miles folded his arms and leaned despondently on the corner of the building. As he did, he heard Schuyler behind him finish the sale.

“Right over here, we can hook you up…”

“Here it comes,” thought Miles, “Schuyler’s moment of glory where he pulls out one of his patented, corny catch phrases, gets the victim and then rubs it in my face for the next three weeks.” All that was left after that was the muffled scream, the sound of frantic thrashing cut short and the long haul back to Wallach with the comatose body.

Schuyler started up again, “Before we do business, my friend, are you hungry? Because if you are, I could always go for a quick…”

Miles groaned. Not that one. “Bite,” Miles completed in his mind. How corny. Only the awful pun never came. In fact, there was no muffled scream or thrashing either. Just silence. Miles was getting nervous again, but then remembered how Schuyler had played him twice already.

“I’m not fallin’ for it, Schuyler! If ya tink ya can trick me again, ya can haul the body back to Wallach by yerself.” He it said without turning around, but there was no response. He shifted uncomfortably. Sky was sure dragging this prank out. After a while he began to wonder if it was a prank, so he took a quick peek over his shoulder, just in case it was a prank he could shrug it off, but what he saw didn’t look like one of Schuyler’s jokes. The victim was crouched, sheltered against the close side of the dumpster nearest Miles, his hands over his head muttering “Man oh, oh man, oh man, oh man,” over and over again, but Schuyler was nowhere near him.

Instead, Schuyler was suspended in mid air by…nothing…or at least something Miles couldn’t see, like a black cloud holding Schuyler up by his throat. Miles was flabbergasted and didn’t know what to do.

He stood there dumbstruck for a while and then, somehow, found the strength to rush to Schuyler’s aid, but he didn’t get far. Before he had taken half a step, a huge hand came down, grabbed him by the neck, lifted him a foot off the ground and held him there, his legs running on air. He twisted around to look at who had him. It was an enormous man in a grubby sweatshirt with a ski cap pulled down over his eyes, but there were no eyeholes. He tried to flail and punch and kick the man, but his blows just bounced off him like he was concrete. “Oy! Sweet Brigid!” Miles cried out. It hurt! A lot. The thing didn’t even act like it had noticed.

He wrenched back around to see how Schuyler was faring. The smoke was gone, or rather it was coalescing into a man, a tall thin man wearing blue-green scrubs and a leather jacket. Schuyler was struggling to free himself with no avail.

“SCHUYLER!!” Miles screamed. The thin man turned his attention to Miles for a moment. Schuyler saw the momentary distraction as an opportunity. He swung his body around ‘til his feet touched the alley wall. In a blindingly fast instant, he ran up the wall to build up momentum and flipped his whole body around to bring both of his feet crashing down onto the thin man’s head. It was an amazing move, the kind that would have floored any mortal and most vampires. Unfortunately, the thin man obviously wasn’t just any mortal or vampire. He bent over backward, nearly in half, avoided the feet and then slammed Schuyler to the floor of the alley so hard it made the dumpster jump. Schuyler, without hesitation, then whipped one leg around in a spinning motion in an attempt to sweep his attacker’s legs out from underneath him.

It was a great move, and Schuyler doubled down on it by using the momentum to spin himself up and land on his feet. However, the man just jumped the leg sweep like an expert double-dutch jump roper, bent Schuyler over and rammed his head into the alley wall hard enough to break the bricks and scatter dust everywhere. But, Schuyler wasn’t done yet. He tried another move, and then another, and then another. Each full of unbelievable back-flips and incredible jackknife twists and helicopter kicks that came out of nowhere – each move more impressive than the last. Miles had no idea Schuyler was so good at this. He had always thought of him as a lover and not a fighter.

Of course, the other guy was still much better. He never let Schuyler land a blow and deftly stepped out of the way of each attack, only to redirect Schuyler’s momentum against him and slam him into another hard surface in the alley. On any other day, with any other opponent, Schuyler’s moves would have been as devastating as a wrecking ball, but today it didn’t look so much like some awesome fight scene in a kung-fu movie as an annoyed man holding an angry and snappy puppy safely away at arm’s length.

Schuyler’s last move was an incredible back flip over the top of his opponent’s head, only to be dropped to the alley floor face first and wind up with the other guy’s foot planted firmly between his shoulder blades. Schuyler lay there panting for a moment before Miles said anything.

“Ya finished Schuyler?” Miles said from his suspended position, feet still dangling.

Between breaths Schuyler forced out “Yeah…I think…I think I’m done now.”

“Ya sure yer ok?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Good,” said Miles. “Because if we ever get out of this bloody mess I’M GONNA KILL YA, YA BLOODY IDIOT!!!!”

“Look, how was I supposed to know the guy was a Renfield!! HUH?!!”

A “Renfield,” in vampire speak, was a human toady, a vampire groupie sent out to do tasks for them that they couldn’t do for themselves, usually during daylight business hours. They were a lot more common in the days before ATM banking and twenty-four hour drive-thru dry cleaning, but they still had their purposes. Every clan had one or two, but they usually didn’t last long. This one had obviously just been used as bait by these two vampires to set a trap for Miles and Schuyler.

“I TRIED TO WARN YA, YA IDIOT!! I KNEW SOMETIN’ WAS UP!! WHY DIDNA YA LISTEN TO ME?!! YA NEVER LISTEN!!” Miles screamed and flailed at his captor, but his moves were even more ineffectual than Schuyler’s had been. The young man crouching behind the dumpster stopped muttering and stood up and walked over to the man standing on Schuyler’s back.

“Hey don’t give me that, this…this is YOUR fault.” From underneath the foot of his victorious opponent Schuyler jabbed his plastic lollipop angrily at Miles. At least he hadn’t dropped that. The eyes of the thin man standing on top of Schuyler concentrated on Miles.

“My fault?!!! I’m the one dat told ya that sometin’ was fishy with this guy!! How in the bloody heck is this MY fault?!!!”

The eyes of the thin man in scrubs and the young man turned back to Schuyler.

“It’s your bloody fault BECAUSE I NEVER SHOULD HAVE BEEN HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE!!”

The eyes turned back to face Miles to see how he would reply.

“Oh yeah?! How ya figger dat?!”

The eyes turned back to face Schuyler.

“YEAH!! If you weren’t such a piss-poor vampire WE WOULDN’T BE IN THIS POSITION!!”

The eyes turned back to face Miles.

“YA STUPID GIT!! YA DUMB, ARROGANT PRICK!! I told ya not to do it, I told ya NOT to do it, if we had just done what I wanted…”

“If we had just done what you wanted WALLACH WOULD HAVE HAD OUR EYEBALLS FOR CUE BALLS, you stupid Mick!!”

The eyes turned quickly back and forth between Miles and Schuyler as they continued to trade insults and accusations.

“Ya right VAIN, POMPOUS SUCK-UP…”

“You worthless JUNKIE-SUCKING WANNABE…”

“STUPID GIT!”

“Pimple faced, spud-sucking LOSER!!”
“Manure’s got more brains than you!!”

“ALLEY LEECH!!”

Hokharty tried to take in the situation as the insults flew from one to the other. The one under his foot had given him more sport than he had expected. That was good, and the other short, dark one with the thick accent had senses of which he wasn’t yet aware. Both would make good hunters. Tim had played his part well, Hokharty thought. He had obviously underestimated the young man’s resolve.

From Tim’s perspective, it wasn’t resolve. He was just numb. Getting kidnapped by two re-animated corpses had pretty much buried the needle on his weird-o-meter hours ago, so he wasn’t about to get more upset over a couple of vampires. At this point, he wouldn’t even be fazed if a cat strolled into the alley and started bolting out show tunes. Graber just smiled that dumb smile of his and seemed to be happy. Tim was content that, for the moment, Graber’s huge paw wasn’t on his neck, so that was good.

“GODLESS SON OF A…”

“Blood-sucking REJECT!!”

“CONCEITED, BRAINLESS, STRUTTING PEACOCK…”

“IRISH EUROTRASH!!”

They seemed to have an indefatigable hatred of each other and an endless imagination for invective. Well, that could be made useful too. “Tell me, Tim,” Hokharty began in his usual calm, polite tone, “Is everyone in your time like…this?”

“Well…” Tim shrugged and waggled his head back and forth, “Pretty much, yeah.”

“DIRTY BLIGHTER!”

“Low-rent GUTTER PARASITE!”

This just wouldn’t do. The Necromancer would expect results in a matter of hours, not days, and Hokharty needed their full cooperation if this was going to work. “Gentlemen…” he tried to interrupt them.

“Filthy, Irish, acne-ridden, half-pint…”

“Shirtless emo-freak!!”

“Gentlemen, we have very little time…”

“Ugly, sawed-off, zit-covered, ginger, addict leech…”

“Blow-dried, goth-baiting, eighties-retro wannabe pig…”

“Gentlemen if I could have your attention please…”

“Rotten, mickey, methhead-sucking monkey…”

“Shove it up your arse…Edward.”

“Stinking, Irish…hey? WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?!!”

“KNOCK IT OFF ALREADY!! CRIMINY!!” Tim finally yelled in frustration.

Everyone fell silent. Of all the things that had happened in the alley that early morning, Miles thought this was the weirdest yet. It was really odd to see a Renfield lash out like that. Usually, they were submissive, whiny, little toadies that clung to the shadows and didn’t dare utter anything more than a “yes, master,” before skulking off to do some dirty work. And Tim wasn’t finished yet; he had a lot to say and was going to get it off his chest.

“Cheese and crackers!! I don’t give a rat’s if you’re zombies or vampires or demons or Amway salesmen!! JUST SHUT UP!! I’ve been kidnapped by dead guys, locked in a morgue and jumped by a couple of teenage emo-freaks and I’ve about had it with all of you!! No one is going to believe what I’ve been through tonight – heck, I’m not sure I believe it!! So, I’ll be lucky to get through this without getting killed or stuck in a mental institution!!! I’ve almost certainly lost my job, or any chance at getting accepted to any Physician’s Assistant degree program, let alone I’ll probably have to sleep with the lights on from now on and for the rest of my life, so I’m not in the mood to put up with any more crap!! I just want this day to get over as soon as possible so I can go curl up in the fetal position in my hovel of an apartment with a copy of Ultimate Avengers…and whimper for ten hours straight!! Now SHUT UP and listen! OK??!!”

Tim’s bellow reverberated down the encroaching silence of the alleyway. Miles meekly nodded his consent. Now he was even more scared. If the Renfield was this crazy, how hardcore were the vampires he was hanging out with? Who were these guys?!!

“Chillax, dude, it’s cool…” Schuyler began. Schuyler never did know when to shut up.

“DID I TELL YOU YOU COULD TALK?!! DID I?” The Renfield bent down to scream directly into Schuyler’s ear. “It is NOT ‘cool, dude.’ It is about as far from ‘cool’ as you can get!! Now SHUT UP!!” Schuyler put his plastic lollipop back in his mouth, folded his hands and twiddled his thumbs.

Hokharty regarded Tim with a faint air of admiration. “Thank you, Tim.”

“Yeah…well…you’re welcome,” Tim said angrily and rubbed his palms on his pants some more.

Hokharty spoke again, “And I promise you, Tim, that all that you have lost this day will be restored to you a hundredfold.”

“Yeah, how ya gonna do that? How ya gonna get my job back and convince them I didn’t steal three bodies or that I’m not crazy, huh?”

Schuyler and Miles raised their eyebrows. They had never heard a Renfield take a mocking tone with his master before. If the tall vampire in the leather jacket and scrubs was offended, he didn’t show it.

“Simple,” Hokharty replied, “I’ll tell them the truth. That you were acting under duress.”

Tim snorted. Miles and Schuyler exchanged glances again. A snort was enough to get a Renfield sucked dry in their clan. These were not your ordinary vampires.

“Trust me, Tim,” Hokharty continued, “I can be very persuasive. I can get your old life back…if that is what you want.”

Tim didn’t actually respond. He just kinda “hmmphed,” but Hokharty didn’t seem upset or anything. He just turned his attention to Miles and Schuyler. “Gentlemen,” he said crisply, “Now that I have your full attention, allow me to introduce myself. I am Hokharty, this is my associate, Graber.” Graber gave Miles a little shake at the back of his neck to let him know he was talking about him. “And, of course, you’ve met my friend, Tim.”

Tim nodded meekly. “Friend” was an odd word to use for a Renfield, thought Miles.

“But, of course, I don’t know your names. You are?” and he gestured to Miles. Graber gave him a little shake to prompt him.

Miles glanced nervously from side to side but eventually just blurted out “Miles.”

Hokharty nodded and then looked down at Schuyler underfoot.

“And your name is what? Edward, I believe?”

Schuyler groaned. “Actually, it’s Schuyler,” he mumbled around the fake plastic lollipop.

“From the Dutch for ‘Scholar?’ How interesting.” Schuyler wrinkled his forehead…was that an insult?

“Schuyler and Miles then. Now gentlemen, I think we’ve established that if we wanted to hurt you we would have done so by now. Agreed?”

Both nodded mute agreement.

“Very good,” Hokharty continued, “We have need of your talents and the talents of others such as yourself.” Hokharty paused to read their expressions carefully. “We mean you no harm, we just want to meet the rest of your,” he paused and chose the next word carefully, “family.”

“Family?” Tim said puzzled.

“Yes Tim. Every vampire has a clan, every clan has a master, and every master has a master, until there is, at last, a master who is master of all.” After this odd piece of exposition Hokharty turned his attention back to Miles. “We just want to talk to yours.”

Wallach? They wanted to meet Wallach? This was bad. Miles must have unknowingly given too much away with his panicked look towards Schuyler because Hokharty didn’t hesitate to follow up.

“You know where their keep is? Are they close?” Hokharty’s gaze was trained solely on Miles, and Graber gave Miles another little shake to prompt him. “Crap!” thought Miles. They’d marked him as the most likely snitch.

They wanted to meet Wallach, but that was impossible. There hadn’t been a vampire turf war in ages and Wallach was not one to be trifled with. Once, a rival clan had moved in to the Kingsessing area thirty years back. They didn’t last long. Wallach had made trophies of their master and heavies. Their skins were strung up as drapes. The underlings didn’t fare any better. They were staked out in the yard to await the sunrise. Real vampires didn’t just explode into clouds of ash when they were hit by sunlight like they did in the movies. It was more like putting a piece of overcooked meat under a heat lamp for too long. It started like a sunburn from hell­ – skin festering and peeling. Then the body dried up and began to smolder like a piece of fine, dry kindling under a magnifying glass. Eventually, it would ignite and burst into flames, but that was no relief. A mortal burned alive would succumb pretty quickly to smoke and heat, but this was one of the cases where a vampire’s added strength and endurance were a genuine disadvantage. A mortal would pass out and lose consciousness before too long, but a vampire felt the burn until it reached the bone and boiled its brains. It could take thirty minutes to die that way, and that wasn’t even the worst that Wallach’s twisted imagination could muster. And now Miles was being asked to reveal the clan’s secret keep to outsiders. Miles had seen many vampires die under Wallach’s hand for far less.

Miles looked to Schuyler who was chewing so far up the stick on his plastic lollipop that he nearly swallowed it. Schuyler almost imperceptibly mouthed the word, “No.”

Hokharty didn’t move his gaze from Miles once. “Or perhaps you would rather wait a few hours until the sun rises?”

Miles gulped. They couldn’t possibly be serious. If they did that they would burn up too, wouldn’t they? They were vampires just like them after all. No, they had to be bluffing, but then Miles took another hard look at Tim, their Renfield, and felt a twinge of doubt. These guys weren’t your typical vampires. He just knew that somehow, these guys had a plan that did not involve them getting burnt to a crisp. So, the choice wasn’t death or not death, but death now or death later. Wallach terrified Miles, but in the question of timing, later always seemed better when one was talking about painful, agonizing death. Who knows? Maybe he would get lucky and Wallach would be so disgusted by him, he would think it was beneath him to dispense with him himself and he’d have Ulami or Forzgrim just quickly tear him to pieces. Yeah, there was always that faint hope.

Miles swallowed hard, but it got stuck mid-swallow from lack of saliva; his mouth was so dry. “Y-yeah…yeah, I know where they are.”

Miles looked at Schuyler. Schuyler twisted up his face into a contortion of pure agony, and then thudded his head against the pavement several times. Hokharty smiled a faint smile.

“I can take ya there…but,” Miles hesitated, “they’re not goin’ to be happy about it.”

“They never are,” said Hokharty, matter-of-factly. He paused to look around and then spoke plainly. “Miles, Schuyler. I’m going to let you go now. Please don’t try to escape.”

Tim snorted a little and broke in and interrupted Hokharty very uncharacteristically for a Renfield. “He ain’t kiddng about that, dudes.”

Hokharty continued unfazed by the interjection. “I am on a mission of the most grave importance. I have much to do and no time for distractions. Just believe me when I tell you that if you attempt escape, it will be futile.” He paused and then tilted his head slightly as if thinking. “If you promise to do all that you are told, I can guarantee you that no harm will come to either of you and that you both be rewarded richly for your service.”

He sounded awfully certain of himself, but what were his promises where Wallach was concerned? As it was, it didn’t much matter. Even if they bolted, Wallach would hunt them down just for failing to bring in a victim for tribute. Either way, Miles’ long, slow, miserable slog as a vampire would soon be over. He honestly could say he had hated every minute of it. It was a fitting end to a lousy career.

Both Schuyler and Miles nodded in silence; what else could they do? Hokharty stepped off of Schuyler’s back unceremoniously. Schuyler laid there for a while, like a whipped dog, uncertain if he should get up or not. Then he performed an action like that dance move called ‘the worm,’ and worked the momentum forward into a handstand, and then, finally, a forward flip onto his feet. He didn’t quite stick the landing; he was still sore and put out from the lesson he had received from Hokharty. It was ridiculously over the top, but Miles didn’t blame him. He was trying his best to recover what was left of his dignity. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck from side to side just as if he were flexing before a workout.

“Vain prick,” though Miles, just before Graber dropped him hard on his backside. Miles’ recovery was far less showy. He brushed off his jeans and got up slowly. Graber stepped to the side and gestured out of the alley towards the street like a gruesome doorman. Schuyler followed with Tim and Hokharty taking up the rear. As they exited the alley, Schuyler’s eyes darted quickly down the street. He was contemplating making a run for it.

Tim caught the sideward glance and said, “Dude…don’t bother. Graber is faster than he looks, and the other one has eyes in the back of his head, plus he can turn into snake made of smoke and chase you down if he wants.” Schuyler raised an eyebrow at this as if he didn’t really believe it, but said nothing and continued his somber, casual saunter across the street.

Hokharty stepped into the lead, somehow confident his charges would not try to flee. He walked across the street to the car on the passenger side and motioned for Tim to follow. Tim fumbled in his pocket for the keys and went to the driver’s seat. Graber held the door open and practically shoved Miles into the back, but he waited for Schuyler. From inside the car, Miles could see Schuyler hesitating. All at once Schuyler’s shoulders slumped. The lollipop practically fell from his mouth. On his face was a look of utter disgust and resignation, as if he had finally been delivered the ultimate insult.

“An Impala? Seriously?”

Chapter 8: The Bark of Nephys

One of the iconic moments of Dante's Inferno is a scene where he and his guide, the Roman poet Virgil, embark across an ocean of damned souls in a small boat.

When I knew that I would be writing a story set in the afterlife, I decided I had to put my characters in a small boat, and that the voyage would have to deal with the doubt and peril of the afterlife.

Don't try to look for too close of literary parallels.  I'm not sure that the characters of Maggie, Nephys are in any way analogous to Virgil and Dante (to say nothing of Hiero!), just try to enjoy the little nod to one of my favorite pieces of literature.

(As always, the previous seven chapters are available.  Here are the links for the previous excerpts: The New Prologue, Chapter One – which was the old prologue – Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six & Chapter Seven.  And you can download the whole book for FREE, this week only.  Details here.)

Chapter Eight
The Bark of Nephys

After all that screaming, the trip back to the necropolis in the skiff seemed eerily silent. The air was still and stagnant, and even the movement of the boat could not seem to stir it. Nephys was in the back, tired, and poling the boat forward. The woman sat dejectedly in the middle, her palms in her lap, her eyes vacant, near catatonic. Her head hung limply to one side, without focus. She had passed from panic, to despair to outright horror in the space of half an hour. Now she was just numb. Nephys felt it too. Only Hiero seemed to be happy, bouncing lightly on his mismatched feet in the prow. It had been a veritable smorgasbord of negative emotions. Nephys figured Hiero had been well fed on the outburst. It had been a lot of screaming.

“Vicious little imp,” thought Nephys. No wonder he went looking for these souls.

And it was a bit of luck too. Horror was an entirely different feeling than despair. The sound of her screaming had cleared away the approaching shades like a foghorn. Then there was the wreck. Ten minutes into the screaming fit, the tree and wreck had sprung to life. It pulled up its roots, which turned into a giant chicken leg, grew batwing ears and hopped around on the single appendage, a grotesque, metal, tree monster clanging its hood and trunk like a mouth on either end. All that horror had given birth to a monstrous new imp. The sight of that had guaranteed another ten minutes of screaming alone. For a moment, it looked like it might turn on the three of them, but Hiero brandished his knife at it ferociously with honks that sounded suspiciously like “Mine! Mine!” It stormed off and was probably halfway to the wastes on the other side of the swamp by now.

The silence after the screaming was so profound that when she finally spoke it surprised both Nephys and Hiero.

“I had hoped someone would be waiting for me,” she said quietly.

Hiero turned to look back at Nephys and then just snorted dismissively. Nephys grimaced at him, but said nothing.

“It’s not like I was expecting a whole big family reunion or anything,” she said after a while longer.

“Fhwerpan?” Hiero tooted querulously. She paid him no mind.

“…or checkered tablecloths spread on the grass…and water fights…and grandparents, or noodle salad, but you would think there would be someone waiting for me.”

She breathed in slowly and took a pause. She drew her knees up and hugged them to her chest, resting her chin on them.

“Verroooont?” Hiero gave Nephys an odd look. Nephys just shrugged and pushed the skiff forward a little faster.

“I guess I was really naïve.”

There was another long pause. Nephys said nothing.

“Is this…I mean…is this where…bad…people…go?”

Nephys had been dreading this question. Sooner or later any spirit that made it this far asked that question. People in the living world were obsessed with judgment and validation. Nephys’ grandmother had told him that his heart would be weighed against the feather of truth and that if his heart wasn’t lighter than the feather, it would be eaten by a monster. Nephys’ uncle had told him that was nonsense. He was a soldier and had survived many battles. He believed that Mithras, who had slain the Bull of Heaven, had protected him, and that he would not abandon him at the end, but there was no Mithras here.

Whatever Nephys had believed in life, he couldn’t remember exactly, he just knew it wasn’t this. There was no judgment, no condemnation or sermons when souls passed through the gates of Erebus. Kings, paupers, saints and sinners; they were all the same. They were only catalogued and measured and passed on – they weren’t even told where to go. A few asked directions, which the Children of Limbo would be happy to give them, if they had any, but it didn’t matter anyway because all paths led to equally displeasing places. Once catalogued, the souls were not anyone’s concern. Some lingered, others wandered. Some went to the pits of punishment to the South, some disappeared into the wastes to the West and became shades or lost souls. Others just ceased to be at all. Most faded away or disappeared eventually, to where exactly, no one really knew. Nowhere, probably, Nephys guessed.

Nephys realized he should say something to her.

“No,” he began sympathetically, “this is where everyone goes.”

“Everyone?” she said gingerly.

“Everyone,” Nephys replied.

Her face tightened as if suppressing a sob, but then she remained silent for a long while as Nephys directed the skiff across a rare section of open water. Black lotus blossoms floated beside the boat and the way became easier. They were getting closer to the edges of the city.

After a long while she spoke again softly.

“Is it all like this? I mean…isn’t there anywhere…with any warmth or light…it’s just that…after all the stories…” she trailed off.

Nephys understood how she felt. Expectations for the afterlife were very high; it was hard not to be disappointed.

“Well…” Nephys began trying to say something positive about his home, but couldn’t think of anything, “Yes, it’s mostly all like this,” Nephys gulped. It hadn’t seemed quite so bad yesterday, but after this morning, the weight felt heavier than it had in centuries. He started again…“Once there were nicer places. Not as nice as you imagine, but …nicer.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“How so?”

Nephys sighed, “Well, once…long ago…the city was much bigger and brighter. There were orchards and springs. There was even a school of philosophers.”

“Philosophers? Really?”

“Oh yes, some of the greats: Aristotle, Menephis, Nasruddin, they all organized it.”

“They were here?”

“Oh yes, they were all here. Epicurus was the most disappointed by the existence of the afterlife, but Diogenes thought it was the perfect ending to a cruel joke.”

“You met Epicurus?” she asked incredulously. She was distracted now, which was better, so Nephys continued.

“Yes.”

“You took lessons from him?”

Nephys sighed through his nose, which was the closest he could come to laughing anymore. “No…not really. I heard Seneca give a few lessons, he lasted longer than most, but I mostly stayed away.” Nephys paused. “Our kind, I mean the Children of Limbo, weren’t supposed to mix with the others.” The woman didn’t answer, so he continued.

“Well, in their day…they piled the ruins of the old city up higher until it made a hill, an acropolis, and there they built their temples and stoas, gathered the people, shared ideas, even played music, but that’s all gone now. Some even managed to grow trees and plant fields, and for a while, there were farms all around the city and laughing and pleasure, at least of a sort, here in the afterlife, but it was only a pale echo of the world above. They gave it a name…they called it…”

“Elysium,” the woman whispered.

Nephys almost smiled. Not many souls knew the old names anymore. “If there were ever a golden age here…below…that was it.”

“What happened to it?” she said softly.

“It fell apart.”

“Why?”

“Everything falls apart,” Nephys said flatly, “That’s just the way things are.”

“Yes, but what about all those great thinkers? Where did they all go?”

“They’re still here…out there…somewhere. Maybe.” He shrugged. He didn’t really know. He just knew that no one had seen them in ages.

She huffed an angry sigh. “And the fields? What happened to the fields, the gardens; where are they now? The Plains of Asphodel should at least have asphodel flowers shouldn’t they?”

There once had been fields of flowers, asphodel and narcissa and daffodils, the flowers of forgetfulness. Nephys looked around, he wasn’t certain exactly where the old gardens and fields had been, they were all flooded now. “Somewhere around here I guess.”

“Here?” She said quizzically. “Under the water?”

“Yes.”

“Well, …I mean…how did that happen, what of the river Acheron…I mean the stories, is that all true?”

Nephys was impressed. This woman knew more about the underworld than most spirits these days.

“The Acheron is gone,” Nephys said flatly, “Once it ringed all of Limbo, but it over-flooded its banks long ago. This marsh is what’s left of the fields of Asphodel and Elysium, other than the small part surrounding the city and the ruins of the acropolis.”

“But…” she began then stopped. Nephys could tell she was confused. To be honest, it didn’t make much sense to him either, so he gave the pole a strong push that set the bark on a long glide that would give him time to contemplate without working.

“The people on your side…” he began, “There must be quite a lot of them now.”

“Billions,” she said.

“We could tell. An awful lot of them have been coming down. More people on Earth, means more dead down here…only things here work differently than things up there.”

“How so?”

“Up there, dreams, memories, hopes and feelings, they all seem real, but you can’t touch them, they’re not…real, not really there…but down here…” Nephys paused, he needed to give the bark another push through the brackish water.

“Down here?” she prompted him.

“Down here…those are the only things that are real.”

She was silent, but Nephys went on.

“When you die, all those dreams, feelings, emotions; where do you suppose they go?”

“Down here I guess.”

She was starting to understand.

“The River Acheron, its water, it was the well of those feelings, those dreams. That was the source of its waters…but…”

“But?” she interrupted.

“But…” Nephys continued, “More people means more dead, more dead means more departed dreams and feelings, more departed dreams mean…”

“More water.”

“Exactly. The River Acheron overflowed its banks long ago, sometime after the Black Death, and it hasn’t receded much since. Oh, the tide of the river had always ebbed and flowed, but from that time on, it just kept encroaching on the land.” Nephys pushed the bark and paused again. After a while the woman started again.

“What about the Ferryman, what’s his name…Chiron? Is that real too? I mean…you’re not him…are you?” She turned around to look at him, then turned back to look at Hiero, who was wheezing faintly in smug laughter. Whatever her vision of the ferryman, it must not have been a thirteen-year-old boy and a possessed bagpipe.

“Him? Oh, he left long ago. Couldn’t keep up with the traffic. To make the passing easier, we knocked over the remains of the city and filled in the gap between the city and the gates of Erebus. Now, instead of a ferryman, there is a broad path of rubble…oh, and the charge is free now, so I guess that’s an improvement.”

He tried to smile at her, but she wasn’t looking. That was fine because he was certain he hadn’t done it right. There was another long pause, and Nephys could start to see the faint, dim outline of the tombs and docks on the edge of the city which, with his poor eyesight, must mean they were getting close.

“So, that’s your job down here…recovering lost souls in the marshes?”

Hiero made a series of panting, punting sounds that sounded like chortling. Vicious ol’ windbag.

“Um…no…not really,” Nephys stated nervously, “This is more of a hobby…really.”

“A hobby?!” she sounded a little indignant, but it subsided. “So, what do you do down here?”

“I’m a scribe,” Nephys stated with some pride.

“A scribe? What do you scribble?”

Nephys was a little insulted by the word “scribble,” but let it go.

“Everything. The underworld is more than just the well of human souls.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes,” Nephys explained, “Books, works of art, treasures of knowledge, when it passes out of human sight, it comes here and is made real, just like your…” he was about to say “car,” but decided not to for fear it would remind her of unpleasant things. “Well, any book or piece of writing. But it doesn’t last forever, it fades over time, just like the…”

“People?” she said suddenly interrupting him. Then she got very still. Nephys hadn’t meant to say people, but it was true enough, so he let it slide past him. He gave a few vigorous prods on the long pole and guided the bark towards the docks.

“Well, someone has to record it permanently, in indelible ink, forever in the houses of the Great Master.”

“Great Master?” she asked querulously, but there was something odd in her voice, as if she already knew the answer to her question.

“Yes, the only deathless one here. Death himself.”

“Hmmph.” She snorted. “So no noodle salad or picnics, but Death is real? That’s just great.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I suppose he’s a fright, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know.” Nephys looked for a good spot to dock. The dock was cluttered with broken and half-sunken vessels, and he didn’t want to lose this one after having taken care of it for so long. “Almost, no one ever sees him. He lives deep in a sanctuary in the center of the city, and even then he is always covered in shrouds – at least that’s what they say.” Nephys pushed further down the docks; he was too far from his house here and needed a closer spot to moor the little boat.

“So, just you?”

“Excuse me?” Nephys was having a hard time squinting and talking at the same time and he wasn’t about to use his Death Sight again today.

“Are you the only scribe?”

“Oh no, there are thousands.”

Another awkward silence filled the small boat punctuated only by the bored “pharnt” of Hiero.

“Do you like it?”

“Like?” thought Nephys. “Like” was not a word he would use to describe anything in the afterlife, but it was better than a lot of jobs. He hated greeting new souls, which made him wonder how he kept letting Hiero drag him off on these trips, but now that he came to think of it, he did like it, it was interesting.

“Well…I get to read a lot, and I learn a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“Well, languages…”

“Which ones?”

“All of them, I guess…”

“All of them?”

“Well not all of them, there are a few dialects that have no scripts, so I guess not those, but certainly all the others.”

“Really? You know every written language there is…on Earth?”

“Well, I can’t speak them all, but I can read pretty much all of them. That’s how I learned how to speak English.”

“You don’t just come by that naturally being dead?”

“Oh no, being dead doesn’t teach you anything.”

The woman “hmmph’d” again. She was certainly coming to believe from experience that death taught you nothing. Nephys continued. “Learning is pretty much the same here as it is on Earth, but of course, you do have more time on your hands, so there’s that.”

The woman looked at Nephys over her shoulder, then faced front again. Nephys could tell she was trying to place Nephys’ country of origin by his features and dress.

“Well you speak English very well.”

Nephys wanted to say “Thank you,” but it felt awkward.

“Where did you learn to speak it?”

“Excuse me?”

“What book? What book taught you to speak English?”

“Well, there was Samuel Johnson’s dictionary, Shakespeare of course, Heller, Salinger, Judy Bloom, all the greats, but my favorite was Huckleberry Finn.”

“Really?!” She turned around to face him and he nodded at her in confirmation.

“So there is a copy of Huck Finn in the library of Death himself?” she asked.

“In indelible ink that will still be vibrant when we are all forgotten shades.” Nephys said somewhat proudly. Then he adopted a formal air, cleared his throat and looked up at the vast, empty overhang of clouds or cavern roof.

“ ’We had the sky up there, all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and discuss about whether they was made or only just happened.’ ”

He looked up at her and tried to smile again. It wasn’t the best recitation, but she smiled a little and turned back around. That seemed to cheer her up some.

“We had a hard enough time getting the school library to stock them,” she said, and then under her breath, “Rotten fascist censors,” before starting up again, “Maybe this place won’t be so bad after all.”

She let her knees relax and stretched her shoulders, but then held the pose as if a thought had just dawned on her mid-stretch.

“And if everyone’s here, maybe I can find…,” She paused. Hiero traded nervous glances with Nephys, “maybe I can find my mother.” She said it in a hushed tone.

She paused for a moment and wrapped her arms tighter around her shoulders as if to comfort herself with the possibility. Hiero turned around and uttered up a “BARNT puuuuTHANNTARF!” Hiero was right. He had to stop this.

“Um. You…you shouldn’t do that…”

“What?”

“You shouldn’t go looking for your dead relations.”

“Why?” she spat out.

“It never works out like you think…”

“Never works OUT?” she was yelling now, “What do you mean?! If they’re here I can see them, right?”

“Yes, but…”

“Does someone prevent you from looking for them?”

“No…but…”

“Then why can’t I…”

He cut her off short this time, “Because they won’t recognize you!!” he finally yelled at her. Then he got near deadly silent and whispered hoarsely as if trying not to be overheard, “No one recognizes each other down here. It’s this place…it makes you…forget…after a while…the only thing you can hold onto anymore is yourself… it’s the only thing you have the strength for…and when the ones who are still alive come after you…you…well you won’t recognize them either.”

She went silent and turned around slowly and drew her knees up and hugged them to her chest tightly. Nephys saw an empty dock not far ahead and pushed the bark towards it. Then she started sobbing softly.

“Fwheen! Markan FWhooooping FWHEEN!” Hiero bleated out exasperatedly.

This was going from bad to worse. The shades were not as common here near the edges of the city, but they were still not safe yet. Hiero turned around and began bleating angrily at her, but it made no difference; her crying went from low sobbing to uncontrollable heaving. Hiero brandished his butcher knife near her, but it had no effect. She ignored it and went on crying.

“Please!” Nephys implored, “you can’t…you really have to stop…not here!” He tried to interrupt her sobbing with no luck. Hiero was banging his head against the bottom of the boat, droning out a “PORNT!” with each hit. Instead of trying to stop her, Nephys decided to get the boat to the dock as soon as possible.

Just then, a mist erupted from the black water. In less than a second, it formed into a shade, an indistinct shape of a human, grasping; it reached out for the woman. It was between them and the dock, blocking their way, but Nephys decided to make a run for it.

“BUUUUFFFARNT!!” bellowed Hiero.

Nephys pushed hard on the pole and aimed for the dock. The shade drifted right toward them, the woman stopped sobbing and looked out in sudden shock as the thing reached for her. Nephys managed to narrowly miss most of the shade as the little bark sped on by, but it still reached out and grazed the arm of the woman who immediately fell down in the bottom of the boat shivering in a state of shock.

Hiero was there on the edge of the boat letting out a stream of minor chord profanities that blasted most of the remaining mist away, but the second the woman fell silent the mist had lost its hold on her sorrow and began to dissipate on its own.

The bark was heading fast towards the rotten dock. “Hold on!” Nephys yelled. The bark hit the dock hard. The bow cracked and the little boat immediately began taking on icy, black water. Hiero stabbed the dock with the knife-wielding hand and its three black, spidery fingers, and used the other three limbs to hold onto the prow and keep it steady while Nephys dragged the woman out of the sinking boat onto the crumbling dock and then, finally, the shore.

It was a hard struggle, but Nephys managed. He looked around. There were no shades. The one that had lunged for them had dissipated once the sobbing stopped. Nephys looked back just in time to see the little bark slip beneath the shallow water.

“No more adventures for a while, Hiero.”

“Flubbit.” The little bagpipe uttered dejectedly, then flopped down on the ground and deflated almost entirely.

Nephys jerked the woman up to her feet and shook her. Fortunately, she wasn’t too much taller or heavier than him. Her eyes rolled back into her head and, for a moment, she looked like she had been in Limbo forever and gone blind herself, but she slowly came to and blinked.

“Ungh,” she said, agonizing, and raised her left arm gingerly to look at it. It obviously ached her terribly. Nephys had been touched by a shade once. It was like plunging an arm into ice water for minutes and it felt numb and tingly for hours afterwards. Where the shade had touched her, the arm was deathly pale and the fingertips were even shiny, blue-black, like Hiero’s. Already, however, the color was starting to return.

“What happened?” she said.

“You touched a shade.”

“A shade?”

“Yes!” Nephys stated impatiently. “A walking husk of a soul that feeds on pain, misery and bitterness. It came because of YOU! It came because of your crying. You only just survived because your light is strong.”

“My light?”

“Yes…YOUR…” Nephys stopped. He was becoming angry. This was not helping things. Even though he desperately didn’t want to, he closed his eyes and gazed at the crystalline world for just a moment. He opened his dim eyes and began calmly.

“Look around you. There is no sun, no moon, no stars, only faint fire and lanterns. Most of the light you see here comes from other souls. When that light goes out, you become one of them.” Nephys gestured back towards the swamp. She looked shamefaced, like a little child, and Nephys went on.

“Emotions here are real, more real than we are sometimes. The Greeks called it the psyche. The Romans called it the Anima. My people called it the yib, but whatever you call it, it’s the heart flame, the soul, the spark of life. It powers everything. Anger, Hate, Fear, Sadness, they all feed off the heart flame. They are real. More real here than in the world above. And if you don’t control them, then bad things happen.”

“Bad things?” she said flatly.

“Sadness, bitterness, misery, all of that… attracts the shades.”

“Shades,” she said, but it wasn’t a question, “Living shadows.” She said it like retrieving a faded memory.
            “Um…yes,” Nephys said a bit surprised by her reaction. “The Greeks called it the skia, my people called it the sheunt, but whatever you call it, the shadow is whatever’s left after the heart light has gone out, they lose their akh.”

She looked up at him.
            “You know, their higher selves?”

She said nothing. He could tell she still didn’t understand. He tried again.

“They lose their nous, their sense of self. Once the flame is gone, the shadow is the only thing left. It consumes them. They’ve lost their minds, their very essence. All they are is sadness and misery. Those lost souls are consumed by their final moments until that’s all they are anymore. That’s why they are attracted to sadness and despair.” Nephys looked out over the swamp and shuddered. The shades terrified him.

“What about anger?” she asked in a distant voice.
            “Anger?…Well, anger attracts worse things,” Nephys replied.

“Worse things?”

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“Like him.” Nephys pointed to Hiero who was sitting in the dust repeatedly stabbing his knife into the ground dejectedly. “Only they won’t be content just to suck you dry until you’re an empty shell. No, they’ll leave you conscious enough so that they can extract their daily full measure of pain out of you.” She looked at Hiero and he flicked his barbed little tongue at her and hissed like a cat that had been stepped on. “That thing, that crazy, bat-eared, giant-chicken-leg tree, metal death-cart monster, out in the swamps, remember that? YOU made that happen. It probably took a small part of you when it left. Your horror brought it to life, and if we hadn’t taken you away, it would have been after you for all eternity.”

She looked down like a whipped dog, but Nephys had to finish.

“So, if you want to go on, if you want to hold on to your flame as long as possible, hold on to what little is left of you, then emotions are forbidden. You can’t be angry, or sad, or happy…”

“Happy?!” she interrupted at last, somewhat indignant at this new restriction, “Why can’t I be happy?!”

“Gwarnt,” snooted Hiero in derision. She really was clueless.

Nephys thought for a moment then it struck him, “Do you remember what I told you about Elysium?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to know why it fell apart?”

She nodded meekly.

“It’s because they burned themselves out. We only have a little flame left here and anything out of the ordinary burns it up faster. They wasted their afterlives building, thinking, working out the perfect formula for a three-act comedy long after everyone had forgotten how to laugh. Some come here and try to live like they used to, but it doesn’t work down here. They burn up their lights creating things, making things happen, and soon they’re just a shade or worse. If you want to last…if you want to make it…you have to control yourself. Make the light last as long as possible. Remember who you are and say your name to yourself 10,000 times a day…because without that, you just won’t be you anymore.”

There was a deep stillness and even Hiero fell silent. Then she nodded weakly once.

It had been an eventful morning. It was already getting late, not that there was any objective way to tell time, but the streets of Limbo were already empty; the children had passed up to the scriptorium to begin the day’s work and to the gates of Erebus to relieve those who had catalogued the thousands that arrived by night.

“I have to go to work. You should stay here. I will come back for you tonight. You can stay at my tomb…I mean house.” He didn’t want to panic her. “Hiero, here, will show you the way and look after you.”

“BUH-PlaaaaaarrGANTKPH!!” Hiero almost dropped his knife.

“No arguments, Hiero.” And, for once, the diseased sheep’s bladder stopped it’s bleating. Nephys turned back to the woman.

“I have to go, but I will return, I promise, just go to the house and try…” he chose his words carefully, “to stay calm.”

Nephys got only five steps away when the woman called out after him.

“What’s your name?”

He stopped and turned around slowly. “Nephys,” he replied.

“Neth puss?” she tried to pronounce it.

“No, Neph-ys,” he tried to say more didactically. He was well aware his name hardly existed amongst the living, and no one spoke his language anymore. No one ever got the “pf” sound right.

“Nep-fus?” she tried again.

“Close enough,” Nephys replied.

She paused and looked away and then looked directly at him. “My name is Maggie. Maggie Miller.”

He nodded and almost turned to go when she called out again.

“If you hadn’t come out there to get me, I would have turned into…into one of them, one of those shades, wouldn’t I?”

Nephys shrugged and then nodded yes.

“Thank you,” she replied.

Nephys felt flushed for a moment. No one said “thank you” here. Things were what they were and that was that. Nephys glanced nervously from side to side and didn’t know what to do or say. The woman shifted her position and straightened her back, raising her chin a little, and stuck her hands into her back pockets. Suddenly, a subtle transformation came over Maggie Miller. She looked sterner, and if there were any trace of sadness in her left, Nephys couldn’t see it. She suddenly reminded him of what he hoped his mother must have looked like – dark-haired, beautiful but mature, resolute yet comforting all at once.

“Well, you best get along, Neppy,” she said suddenly, “I’d hate to think we’d lose some timeless classic because you didn’t get to work in time to copy it.” When she said that, Nephys suddenly wanted to stay, but he turned and walked down the dim, grey, sepulchral street. As he turned the corner, he heard Maggie Miller talk to Hiero, “Well, you bloated, little sack of nightmare fuel and flat notes, let’s see how bad this place really is, shall we?” The frustrated little bleat that came from Hiero after that was the most priceless sound Nephys had ever heard the evil instrument play and it buoyed up Nephys all the way to work.

Character Playlist: Hiero

How do you describe a character like Hiero?

He's a homicidal psychopathic bagpipe with a giant butcher knife. 

And the "bagpipe" part above?  That's not a metaphor.  He's an actual bagpipe, a monstrous imp from the lower hells that popped out of the psychic trauma of hell fully formed, or rather fully malformed, with one pig leg, one goose leg, a bloody tongue and a huge butcher knife made of the sharpest thing in the afterlife...pain.

He feeds on humiliation and suffering and boy can he milk it from you for a very, very, long time.

And...he's one of the good guys. 

I know.  It's complicated.  You really need to read the book.  (Which is still available FREE btw.)

Yes, Hiero is an odd imp.  For one, he doesn't live in Hell anymore, and there's a lot more to his story than anyone could ever guess.  You wouldn't imagine you could make a thing that spits blood and that likes to stab people for pleasure into an endearing puppy-like thing, but I think I managed to do it Ok.

He's based, loosely, on the abominations of the famous Flemish Painter Hieronymous Bosch, who is also his namesake.  Just google any of Bosch's famous scenes of hell and you'll get where I'm getting this thing from.  Sick stuff.

But his inspiration is found in many places.  Here is one courtesy of AC/DC.  There's not many rock anthems that can pull of a bagpipe solo.  I can't imagine Hiero ever playing Amazing Grace, but this?  Oh yeah, I can see him playing this.

Enjoy.

J.