Sanctuary - 3. Chapter 3 - Ishca

There’s a lot that goes on under the surface of normal society. In towns and cities, and private tracts of land across the countryside, there are clubs and parties which only those attending know about. High society functions in swanky private hotels, mafia porn parties in unknown underground rooms, and shooting galleries where even the police would be surprised at the accuracy and variety of those professionals honing their skills for the very highest international bidder. But all of them were easier to find than a supernatural club, even if you had no idea of what you were looking for. Things such as vampire bars and wolf-pubs did exist, but they were for the tourists, the humans who wanted the potential threat of danger, and no supernatural had ever set foot in one – it was just humans playing dress up. Real supernatural clubs were never advertised, never spoken of, but they could be found if you had the right senses; and those were not senses that could be faked by technology and clever lying.

It was dark, because as far as Ishca had been concerned, it had always been dark in his world, at least for the last eleven months, and there were expensive cars coming up the long gravel driveway towards the mansion even as he was trudging in the opposite direction. Vampire run clubs were considered to be by far the best, and Tideway Mansion was the cream of the bunch. Clever vampires had invested in land in the eighteen hundreds and paid good money to smart architects to design them mansions with all the best secrets built right in. as far as the rest of the world was concerned, the same family had owned Tideway house for generations, but in truth there hadn’t been a new permanent inhabitant for years, not unless one counted Seraiah’s long string of live in boyfriends, of which Ishca was the latest. He was sure however there would be someone in one of the swish cars that passed who would be only too happy to replace him as concubine to the vampire: power, money, and a suave aspect so polished it was practically chromed, made his ex an enticing prospect. Ishca had arrived in much the same way, brought as the date of a wealthy mage to a party. Seraiah had tempted him away, and Ishca had settled into the luxuriant surroundings like a pampered house pet.

Now he walked towards the main road with his one change of clothes and a fistful of cash, and wondered if there even was a bus service in this part of the world that ran this late at night. He had no phone to call for a taxi, no other contacts he could reach, and as he walked Ishca felt very much alone. His friends might not have even remembered him, because it had been many months since Ishca had seen any of them – he had been too consumed with pleasing Seraiah and living the soft and comfortable life to which he had very quickly allowed himself to acclimatise. And even though Ishca knew the vampire had been lying to him for months, it still hurt to turn his back and walk away.

“You fucked somebody else,” Ishca had scrambled out of the enormous four poster bed with its giant floor to ceiling drapes. Seraiah had followed him, kneeling on the mattress, naked and aroused, and sexy as hell. “Don’t even try it Sera! I can feel him on you!” The haptic wiped his hands together, wishing he could dispel the sticky feeling of there being a third person in the room with them, and watched his long term lover grin lazily. “You said it was the last time!”

“And you shouldn’t be swooning over the boy Jaone brought with him either, but you were,” Seraiah shot back, “I could smell the arousal on you from across the room.”

Ishca had blushed hard, because that too was true. Jaone had brought with him an incredibly beautiful young man dressed all in black with pinstripe-polished fingernails and vibrantly red hair. They hadn’t left each other’s side all night, but that didn’t mean Ishca hadn’t fancied him rotten. Ishca hadn’t introduced himself, because he did not want to shake the young man’s hand and feel nothing but the absolute love he obviously felt for his vampiric partner. It was a love Ishca had always wanted to feel from Seraiah, but when he’d touched the vampire all he’d sensed was the greasy pride of conquest.

“You said that it would be the last time,” Ishca had muttered. He’d felt pathetic even as he’d said it: vampires in general and Seraiah specifically, were known for their general lack of commitment as a species. He had always known that when he’d walked in on Seraiah in their bed with some tow-headed kid, it wouldn’t be the last time. Every time he’d touched his lover and felt nothing but desire for himself, Ishca had breathed a sigh of relief.

“You were always too trusting Ish.” Seraiah reached out for him, grabbed his wrist and pulled him close with hidden strength. “Just let it go babe.”

“Don’t…” Ishca pulled back. His skin crawled, suddenly repulsed by Seraiah’s chill flesh, the sudden acrid taste of someone else’s seed that flooded his tongue as he maintained contact with the vampire. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Ish… don’t be so melodramatic.”

“Let go of me!”

“Fine,” Seraiah dropped his wrist and sighed. It was an empty gesture, because vampires didn’t actually need to breathe. “Be that way. No one is making you stay Ish.”

Ishca blinked at him. Seraiah still knelt there, completely naked and otherwise deeply inviting, but his tone was like iron.

“Where am I supposed to go?”

“Like I care? There are an hundred other pretty boys like you that can suck cock – and they aren’t nearly as judgemental. I’m going to go sleep in my parlour.” Seraiah got up and swept past him, “be gone before tomorrow evening. I don’t want you moping around while the guests are coming in.”

“Sera…” Ishca gaped at him, “can’t I…?”

“Tomorrow evening. And don’t think you’re packing any bags; I’ve kept you in finery kid, but it stays here.”

As he reached the road, just an empty country lane, unlit and in the back end of nowhere, Ishca tried to feel glad he’d gotten out of a relationship which was going nowhere. He should have felt good, should have been vindicated that leaving Seraiah was the right thing to do, but instead he wanted to burst into tears and collapse at the side of the road. It was a problem, one of many, with being a haptic empathic, because there were no emotions for Ishca to feel apart from his own, and he felt lost. He turned in the direction he associated with being the direction in which the nearest village lay, and had a conversation with his brother in his head.

“Lying to an empath?” Ig scoffed, “that guy is too stupid to live.”

“I swear there must be a line in the sand around here somewhere,” Ishca replied, “you’re always so black and white.”

“And you’re a pushover Ish,” Ig would have jabbed him in the shoulder as they walked. “You realise you’re having this whole discussion with yourself?”

“Shh…” Ishca sighed. “Just tell me what to do.”

“You got a phone?”

“No.”

“So you can’t call me. Not that I’d be much help, me and the kids are skiing in the French Alps.”

“Fuck you Ignatius.”

“Well do you want my help, or not?”

Ishca sighed.

“Yes...”

“You remember what mom used to say about the children of God?”

“Ig…” Ishca sighed. He had hoped the apparition of his brother wasn’t going to try and make him think for himself. “Can you imagine what she’d say now? If she knew I’d been dating a vampire?”

“A vampire? Jesus Christ, Ishca! Mom would flip if she knew you’d been dating a vampire.”

“Oh, leave off Ig. It wasn’t all bad.”

“Which is why you are running away at nine o’clock at night with one change of clothes and not enough money to get a cab?”

“Fine; I fucked up.” Admitting he’d been wrong was painful, even if he was only really admitting it to himself. “Help me, Ig.”

“Alright, you remember what mom used to say when we were younger, about the children of God?” Ig arched an eyebrow, “I remember you having a row about it at the time.”

“She said a child of God could seek sanctuary with the church.”

“But that avenue wasn’t open to us,” Ishca sighed, “I remember. I was taking that Theology class at the time: we had a fight about the validity of the concept of ‘God’, and I was horrified that mom said he existed.”

“What was it?” Ig laughed with his head back, the way he always did. “‘I don’t need to believe in him, because I know he’s there.’ So what did she tell us; about if we ever found ourselves in trouble?”

“You go to the Rectory.”

“That’s right little brother,” Ig would have ruffled his hair, “The Rectory gives us sanctuary.”

“But how will I find one?”

“You’ll just have to follow the road.”

When Ishca blinked again, the image of his brother was gone. He didn’t know how true the things Ig had said were, being the whole thing was imagined, but Ishca liked to think that somewhere on the ski slopes of Southern France, his brother was sitting staring up at the mountain, and thinking of him.

*

It had been a long time since Ishca had slept in a doorway, but he did. The tiny town nearest to the Tideway mansion was too small to have a phone box, not that Ishca knew who he would have called anyway. Ishca had wrapped himself and his spare change of clothes up in his long coat and hunkered down to spend the night on the stone step of the church. The porch was wide, and it kept off the worst of the chill wind, but Ishca couldn’t sleep. It was not the best idea to rest on sacred ground, and though it wasn’t forbidden to him, like it would have been to Seraiah, it was still a stupid idea. Ishca wished there had been somewhere better to rest for the night, but he'd been shit out of luck. Considering he'd lost himself his home, all 'his' possessions, and his lover all in one fell swoop, it wasn’t exactly surprising that the universe had decide to forsake him, even if just for now. But he also didn't fancy trying to hitch hike in the dark, because empath and haptic he might be, but he also had a rubbish track record when it came to winning fights; skinny five foot nothing twenty-something’s were not known for their resilience against murderous psychopaths. Sometimes Ishca wished he could swap his haptic abilities for his brother's strength and stature, but since he had spent the last six years trading on his appearance and charm, and not inconsiderable skills in bed, he knew it was an empty sort of wish.

Morning came before sleep, and Ishca got up as the first light of dawn began to show the definition between the land and sky on the horizon. He was stiff and cold, but technically none the worse for wear, and already his mind felt better for having been given a break from the constant melodrama of vampire society. Other supernaturals associated with Tideway Mansion, but the majority were the same species: not being surrounded by insidious lies and long running incestuous relationships was like the pressure being released on his squeezed mind.

On his way through the church yard, Ishca let his fingers run over a gravestone, and from that contact felt a deep sense of calm. It washed through him like liquid, and he was a vessel filled by the sea as the emotion overtook his own lingering worry and doubt. The grave was so old that the name was indistinguishable, but Ishca stopped to stare at it anyway, committing to memory instead the patterns of the lichen and the rooted sense of peace he felt as he stood there. Whoever had been buried there had no anger or resentment; harboured no bitterness for lost love. There was simply peace, and calm.

He left the cemetery and the tiny town behind via the main road, and stuck out his thumb into the chill morning air. The countryside was full of the sounds of waking, and Ishca was glad that he was awake to hear it, rather than beginning to fall asleep. He’d spent a long time being practically nocturnal, and whilst most supernaturals were in some way, Ishca had missed the sun. Two minutes later there was a long bass honk and the rumble of an engine, and Ishca turned to find a very muddy four by four waiting for him. He walked back to the passenger side door, to be greeted by a black and white collie dog with a very wet pink tongue.

“Sorry, she does that to everyone,” the owner of the collie, whose distinguishing features were tweed and a flat cap smiled at him, “you need a lift? Where are you off to?”

Ishca petted the dog and grinned broadly.

“I’m just following the road.”