Black Blood - 8. Chapter 8

8

Despite clearly having a headache from being thrown roughly against the bar counter, Viko carried Micah all the way to Blake’s car outside. Micah wanted to tell him that he could probably walk, but he still had tape on his lips, which made it difficult. The car was a black BMW M6, no less – stolen of course. They drove to Fifth Avenue, Micah feeling dizzy from the pain in his arm. His wrists were still tied behind his back, too, so that restricted his movements and made it even worst.

Next thing he knew, Micah was in Viko’s messy bedroom, with the boa constrictor in the huge terrarium, the wrought iron chandelier at the ceiling and the black bedding on which he lay. The door was closed. Viko had untied him and taken off that annoying tape, and now he was sitting by his side on the bed, bandaging his arm in thick layers of white elastic cotton.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” said Micah softly.

Viko gave a tired smile, looking at him with gleaming yellow eyes. He had dark circles under them, like he hadn’t been sleeping in a while.

“That’s because I gave you some narcotics earlier. You don’t remember?”

Micah shook his head dizzily. Well, that would explain why he felt so good despite everything that had happened.

“You were barely conscious.”

“You guys are fully equipped, aren’t you? It’s like a hospital in here.”

“This,” he indicated the bandage he was still working on, “is just something I’m used to. Where I’m from there were no hospitals, just some healers but they weren’t really good. When you’re a warrior you have to learn to take care of your own wounds. And the narcotics, I stole from Blake’s stash.”

“Why does Blake have them?”

Viko shrugged. He didn’t know.

“Don’t you hate me, Micah?” he asked when he was done with the bandage. He really did look exhausted. His hair was tangled as it fell on his shoulders, and his black shirt was wrinkled.

“No.” He glanced away, closing his eyes. “When you came to pick me up at school I was happy. I went with you without a question, even though I could tell that something was off. You’re not a very good liar, Viko.” He looked at him again, lips twitching into a small smile. “You probably wouldn’t be a very good actor. But I went with you anyway, so it’s my own stupid fault. Skylar always tells me that I’m way too naive.”

Viko blinked and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He spoke in a very low voice, anger laced within. “He wasn’t supposed to hurt you.”

“I know. So… why do you work for him? Why are they forcing you? What do they have on you?”

While waiting for his answer Micah made to reach for the glass of water on the night table, next to the black and blue candles. Viko helped him to sit against the pillows, and then he gave him the water.

“It’s complicated.”

“I want to know,” said Micah stubbornly. “You can tell me. I already know there are other dimensions. That blonde girl that was with Skylar, Mayrin, she told us. I wasn’t sure I believed it at first, but,” he chuckled, “you being from another world would explain a lot.”

Viko leaned closer and brushed aside some strands of dark blonde hair that had fallen in Micah’s eyes. He seemed to be pondering what to tell him exactly. Glancing down, he clutched the claw pendant in his fist, against his chest.

“Where I’m from we call the world Efreyse instead of Earth, and my people are called many names. The most common are nomads and dragon folk. Where New York is are only small towns and villages. The nearest big city is a little more to the South. We nomads travel south in the winter, and north in the summer. We never stay more than a week or two at the same place. People expect us to leave, too. They think we hunt and camp on their territory, and they hate us. It’s silly though. The land should belong to every living being. But mostly we are hated because we protect the dragons.” Viko looked up and their eyes met.

“Dragons?”

“I told you this was a real dragon claw,” a weak smile spread his lips, but there was pain in his eyes, “but you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Well it is hard to believe.”

Viko’s fist opened, and Micah reached out to touch the necklace. Viko flinched, but he let him. The claw felt cold to the touch. It was two inches long, and a bluish metallic color.

“Whoa, it’s amazing. So they’re real? And you took this claw from…?”

Viko swallowed hard. “My dragon. I was a dragon rider. The best. And my dragon was the biggest, and fiercest. But one day I found her dead. This claw is the only thing I have left. Charisma and Blake told me they knew who had killed her, and they would tell me, and even help me find them and get my revenge. But first they needed help with a quest of their own. I decided to go with them, because I had nothing to lose. To my people, even my family, I was nothing without my dragon. I had never been a good hunter, because my focus was always to develop the best complicity with my dragon and to train to fight. She’d been by my side ever since I was eight years old. We grew up together. We fought together. The townspeople and villages would come to try to beat us so they could slay the dragons. But with Fraya we won every battle. We were finally starting to be respected.”

His voice was shaking with emotion. Micah sighed. It was indeed hard to believe, but everything that had happened in the past three days made it easier. Fraya. He had come to Earth and gotten a pet snake so he could name it that. And he had gotten an enormous tattoo on his back.

“You’re so messed up,” he said without thinking. The drugs were probably making him even more honest than he normally was.

But Viko just nodded. “Yeah.”

He crawled to Micah’s good side and curled up against him. Micah put his arm around him. Viko wasn’t crying, but he was on the verge of it. He closed his eyes, and clung to Micah’s shirt, burying his face in the crook of his neck. They stayed like this a bit.

***

Around an hour later, Micah woke up. His arm was numb from having Viko sleeping on his shoulder, and his other arm was, well, broken. It hurt now, too. The narcotics were wearing off. It wasn’t ideal. On top of that, he was having some trouble breathing. There was probably too much dust in this room. It was obvious Viko never cleaned up, considering the mess on the floor making it hard to walk without bumping into a pile of clothes and accessories or some empty pizza boxes.

His asthma could be from the stress, too. Actually, he was surprised it hadn’t been triggered until now. Unfortunately, his inhaler was still at home. He never usually forgot it. Of course, the one time that he forgot it, he got captured by crazy people from another dimension. It wasn’t so bad now, but his chest wheezed a bit and he needed some air, at least. Or black coffee. Micah figured that was a good excuse to try to sneak out.

He slid out of the bed. Viko’s arms closed on a black pillow to replace Micah. Tiptoeing out of the room while holding his injured arm, he made it to the hall, with its polished wood tiled floors and gothic renaissance paintings lining the walls. Some of those paintings really freaked him out. Religious stuff had always made him uneasy.

The full floor residence was so big that Micah had forgotten the way out. The pain in his arms was becoming really intense, almost unbearable. He walked toward what he thought might be the kitchen, to see if he could make that coffee, but he stopped short when he heard voices. Standing near the doorframe, he peered inside what actually was the dining room. There were no lights, only lit candles placed at intervals across the ridiculously long dark wood table. Thick red velvet curtains were pushed aside to let the moonlight in through the wide window. Here, too, the walls were lined with tapestries from another era, some of them depicting sacrificial rituals. What a knack for decoration. Between two of those tapestries stood a metallic wine rack filled with only red bottles. In each corner was a small iron table holding a variety of plants. The plants were droopy and sickly. Maybe these people were giving them blood instead of water, and wondering why it wasn’t working.

Xievon and Jacy sat in the center of the table, in front of each other. At the end of the table was a girl Micah didn’t recognize. But he had a feeling he knew who that was. There was a bottle of what looked like pinot noir on the table in front of her, and she was pouring it in a wine glass and taking small sips elegantly.

“There’s also Rob,” Xievon was saying, putting up a fourth finger in the air. He had his curly black locks in a tight ponytail, and he wore simple jeans and loose white shirt, which made his dark brown skin stand out. Across from him, Jacy sported knee-length leggings with a ripped skirt, and this time she wore a tank top over her bra, though it was a bit see-through so there wasn’t much of a difference. Even though she was rather small she gave off a really scary vibe, maybe from the way her jaw was tightened, and her hands were clenched into fists.

“Oh, who cares?” said the girl at the end of the table. She brushed it off dramatically with a hand, her wrist adorned with sparkly silver bracelets that would make Skylar jealous. “He served his purpose. My English is flawless by now anyway. I don’t need a stupid teacher.”

She looked young, and she had the smoothest white skin Micah had ever seen – excluding computer modified pictures in magazines of course. Her sleek long hair was dyed an almost bluish raven black. Micah assumed it was dyed, because a girl of her complexion couldn’t possibly have such dark hair. She had blood red lipsticks on, and her blue eyes were lined with black.

“Honestly,” she went on, “as long as you two are safe.” She sipped at her wine, her lipstick leaving a trace on the clear glass. She had a white orchid clipped in her hair, and she wore a blue silk dress with a plunging neckline.

Jacy’s fists were clenched so tight on the table that Micah feared her palms would start bleeding. “But she needs to be stopped! We need to kill her. Please let me go after her. Please, Charisma…”

Xievon stared. “You should call her my Queen, Jacy.”

But Charisma tilted her head and said, “I don’t mind.” Her voice was deep for a girl, almost sensual. She played with a strand of long black hair, twisting it between her fingers as she glanced down and smiled, as though pleasantly surprised by the color. Her canines were a bit longer than normal. “Blake doesn’t want to kill her yet, for some unfathomable reason. For now he’s managed to slow her down, at least.” She looked up, slowly darting her big blue eyes from Jacy to Xievon. “So all we have to do is to create as many of us as possible to make up for the losses. Let’s get to work, shall we? Go forth and multiply, my lovelies!” She laughed musically.

Her minions rose from their chairs, ready to obey her every command. But Charisma stood as well, walking across the room while raising a hand to stop their movements.

“In fact,” she said, “why don’t we start right now?”

Before Micah could run, she had already grabbed his shoulder and yanked him inside the dining room. She pinned him against one of the ancient tapestries on the wall and he yelped in pain, nursing his injured arm against his chest. Charisma held his shoulder so tight, her black painted nails digging into his skin. Surely he would have another bruise there. She looked into his eyes. He realized hers weren’t quite blue, but rather they tinted violet, kind of like Elizabeth Taylor. Also they were the same height. She was tall for a girl – as tall as Skylar, he realized.

She was studying him, intrigued. “Do you have trouble breathing? Does your arm hurt? You know that would all be cured with just a tinge of my blood. Or even better, I could drink yours, and then give you mine, to make you immortal.”

“I don’t want it,” said Micah, his voice sounding more vulnerable than he would’ve liked.

She was leaning so close now. Her scent was akin to wild roses. She was making him uncomfortable, her lips so close like she was going to kiss him. But then she pulled back teasingly.

“Would that have been your first with a girl?”

“No.” He wondered why he sounded so shy and embarrassed. It wasn’t even a lie. He had kissed two girls in high school; one for a play, and one during a party because they were drunk and silly.

Behind Charisma, Jacy interjected, “Is that the witch’s friend? We should kill him. If we keep him alive he might escape. He was already out of Viko’s bedroom.”

“Viko’s not reliable.” Xievon shook his head in disapproval.

Jacy went on frantically, her tawny eyes looking at him like she wanted to crush him to pieces, the way Blake had done with Skylar’s lighter, “I mean it! We should kill him. The witch won’t know that he’s dead.”

“Oh, she’ll know,” Micah said, still breathing with difficulty. “She’ll feel it.” He had no idea if that was true, but he ran with it.

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” Xievon said, “she can’t hurt us. Our Queen gives us her blood every night to shield us against magic.”

Jacy looked to the side, like she was remembering something embarrassing.

“But Skylar hurt you, didn’t she?” said Micah, looking past Charisma at the small girl with rebellious brown hair. “She almost burned you, she told me.”

“That’s enough!” Jacy shouted. “Charisma, I swear, if you don’t kill him, I’ll—”

All Charisma had to do was raise a finger and she went quiet. She kept her eyes all over Micah. “I’m not like you, Jacy. You’re adorable, and I love you, but darling, I’ve seen you feed; you really don’t know how to enjoy your food. I’ll show you…”

Slowly, her fangs became longer, so much longer and sharp. Micah struggled but she held him in an iron grip, and every time he moved she held his injured arm tighter, hurting him. He couldn’t escape. Silence filled the room, the flickering flames of the candles casting a weak glow. Charisma sure was taking her time.

She licked his neck first, making him shiver. She was just about to sink her fangs in his flesh, when she gasped loudly. A flash of pain crossed her eyes as she pulled away from Micah, freeing him. Immediately he stumbled more than walked toward the doorway, only to be steadied by Viko’s strong arm. He had flung a long and sharp blue hilted dagger and it had struck Charisma’s ribs. She slid it out firmly, but she was hurt, blood the same color as her lipstick staining the blue silk of her dress.

Xievon’s eyes were wide in horror as he rushed to Charisma’s side, getting a hold of the dagger. “No! That’s mine! Why did you…?” He glared at Viko.

“You shouldn’t leave your things unattended.”

With a roar Jacy launched at them, baring her fangs, now as long as Charisma’s had been. Viko pushed Micah to the side a bit just so she wouldn’t hit him. Viko was thrown across the floor with the force of the impact, but he leaped back up in less than a second. He parried and ducked Jacy’s blows one after the other, but they came so quick that he didn’t have time to attack, he could only defend himself. Micah leaned against the wall, watching as they clashed with each other across the hallway, making the floors and walls tremble. Jacy was both faster and stronger. Viko was a hell of a fighter, but he was already strained under the effort. Each blow had his defenses weakening.

“You think you can win against me?” Jacy snarled. “I was a slave for years, and they made me fight in the arenas for the public’s entertainment. They thought it was amusing that a little girl could fend off opponents twice her size. And I have Charisma’s blood thriving in my veins. You think being a good dragon rider is going to help you now?”

That little speech was fierce and heart-felt, but Viko wasn’t her therapist. He was fighting her. And she was momentarily distracted by her own words, so he took the opportunity to attack for the first time. Clearly, his years of training hadn’t only been to ride a dragon. He struck her throat with his fist and while she choked he grabbed her head and smashed it so hard against the wall that it cracked. She staggered back to face him, growling, blood trickling down her forehead, blinding one eye. She looked mad, and Micah feared for Viko. His forearms were raw, scratched and bruised all over where she had struck with punches and kicks. If this went on…

But Charisma stopped it. She wasn’t in pain anymore. Her wound was healed already, the blood on her dress the only proof that there had even been one.

“It’s all right, Jacy. Leave it.”

She gingerly backed off, going to stand next to Xievon, behind Charisma.

“Viko, you’re a little bit irritating, you know that?” Charisma licked her lips. “But, I kind of like you. This was fun, actually.” She smiled, spreading her arms. “It was entertaining. You can leave and take your friend with you if you want. I don’t mind.”

“But,” Xievon said, “my Queen, the witch… Blake said—”

Her smile faded slightly. “If Blake wanted to stop her, he should’ve killed her when he had the chance. Now he wants me to babysit the dragon prince and his lover? That was never part of the plan. If Viko wants to call off our deal, that’s his problem.”

Viko flinched at that. He stepped closer to Micah but made no move to leave the apartment. While he hesitated, Charisma whispered something in Xievon’s ear, and that seemed to reassure him.

“Let me tell you something Viko, before you leave. We felt like we might need your help so we made a deal with you, but if you want to call it off… The one who killed your dragon,” she lowered her sultry voice, savoring the suspense, “was none other than your very own little brother.”

“You’re lying,” he said automatically, but he wavered.

She gave a humorless laugh. “I am not. I saw him with my own eyes. He drove a spear through her heart while she was resting on the shore, right where you found her in the morning, lifeless.” She was dragging out every word, enjoying the pain straining Viko’s features. “You think you don’t need our help to retaliate? Think again. I had a little encounter with Liam myself. I thought he had potential, so I gave him a taste of immortality.”

Viko stepped back, bumping into Micah. It was Micah now who was holding him steady.

But Charisma was already closing the distance between them, her heels clapping the polished wood.

“He seemed quite keen on sharing his newfound powers with his family and friends, and maybe the entire dragon folk population. Or was it really his idea?” She pretended to think, eyes gazing in the distance. “No, actually, I might’ve suggested it to him.” She slapped her own wrist. “I’m so bad.”

Viko was livid. Micah had to drag him toward his bedroom. “Come on, we need to get out of here.”

“Listen to him, Viko!” Charisma chimed pleasantly from the hallway. “Get out while you can, before my whims change.”

Micah just needed to grab his sneakers, and he also picked up the roll of cotton bandages and the first jacket he could find from the messy bedroom.

“Did you need anything else?” asked Micah.

Viko seemed to wake from his lethargy.

“No. Let’s go.”

This time Viko led the way and they were soon engulfed in the safety of the elevator. Viko had already been wearing his usual combat boots; apparently he had been ready to make his grand escape with Micah. He wore tight ripped jeans and a wide neck black shirt, the sleeves now as ripped as his pants from the fight. Outside, Viko helped him to put on the jacket. It was nice, all in black wool and leather. It smelled like Viko and it was comforting. Micah’s own jacket was probably still somewhere in the mess of Skylar’s wardrobe. It didn’t matter. He liked this one better. They walked close to each other, along the trees of Central Park. The avenue was still lively even in the middle of the night.

They hailed a cab. The driver didn’t even look at them funny. Surely he was used to picking up trashed looking kids in the middle of the night. Micah indicated the address of a friend that lived close by.

“Don’t you want to go to a hospital?” asked Viko quietly.

He shook his head. “It hurts but I’ll be fine, right? You said you know how to take care of it yourself. Besides I’m sure Mayrin will give me blood when I see her.”

“What about going to Skylar’s place now?”

Micah hesitated. “They know where it is though. Blake knows, anyway. I just don’t want to risk it.”

They went to his friend Jackie’s place. She was a friend from the conservatory, and they got along pretty well. Also she lived alone, no parents, no roommates to ask questions. She let them in right away, like Micah had hoped.

“Hey, did you text me? Cause I think my phone’s dead…” She looked like she had smoked at least three joints. Micah wasn’t surprised. She had told him in class that she liked to get a bit messed up before practicing her lines, because she felt like it made her a better actress.

“Nah, I lost my phone.”

“Then we’re in this together.” She had straight bangs with long-ish black hair that she put up in a ponytail. She wore silk black pajamas with a pink tank top. She walked them to the living room of the small apartment. The TV was on and American Dad was playing. “Hey, are you guys okay?”

“Just give us a moment,” Micah said.

They excused themselves to the bathroom so that they could clean and patch up the scratches on Viko’s arms. It didn’t take too long. Then Viko took out a small plastic bag from his jeans pocket. It had some powder in it.

“Are those drugs?”

“For the pain.”

“But I don’t want to become a drug addict or anything.”

Viko smiled fondly. “It’s fine if you just take a little bit for the pain, silly. I can tell you’re about to pass out.”

Micah shook his head though. He felt uneasy. “I think I’d rather just pass out.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Hey Viko?” He leaned against the small white sink counter, indeed feeling weak. “At that dinner party, before all of this happened, Blake said you were the one taking drugs.”

“He lied. That’s from his stash.”

“Just like he lied about everything else.”

“We both did.”

“Yeah well, I forgive you but I don’t forgive him.”

Viko’s gaze softened. “Come on. I want to ask her if she has some food.”

Typical.

A few minutes later Micah sat on the worn couch next to Jackie, watching some cartoons, while Viko sat in a creaking chair with a plate of four hot pockets in his lap. He devoured the first three like his pet boa constrictor would a mouse. Then he hesitated, and gave the last one to Micah.

“Thank you,” he smiled, realizing he was actually very hungry underneath all that pain and stress.

After that Jackie made some coffee, black for Micah, just to get rid of the wheezing of his chest completely. It really wasn’t so bad now though. He felt safe here, even though some wood tiles were missing on the floor, the paint was cracked on the walls, and they could hear the people on the top floor walking so loudly that it seemed they would stomp right through it and fall onto their heads. Funny how a ten minutes drive had taken them from a luxury residence to a cheap student apartment.

“How’s the screenplay coming along?” asked Jackie between two whiffs of her joint. She tapped it against the overflowing ashtray.

“Oh, wow, um,” Micah had almost forgotten about that, “Skylar’s writing it whenever she has time, you know? It’s just that we change our minds often, so she keeps rewriting.”

“What was it about again?”

“Well I’m supposed to play the main character. Right now our idea is he’s dating this girl, but he’s really in love with her twin brother, drama ensues, that sort of thing.”

“That’s cool. I could play the girlfriend if you guys are looking for an actress. I don’t care if I’m not paid.” She folded her legs on the couch.

Micah smiled but the pain was starting to catch up, and even talking was difficult. “Sure, we’ll consider it.”

“I could play the twin brother.” Viko took his hand, laying it on the couch’s armrest.

“No offense but I don’t think you’d be a really good actor Vik.” He could just picture Viko jumping on him to kiss him in the middle of shooting just because he felt like it, and Skylar shouting ‘Cut!’ repeatedly.

“None taken.” Viko smiled like he could read his mind.

Micah just wished that short film was still the only thing he needed to worry about.

“Thanks for letting us crash, Jackie,” said Micah.

“Yeah no problem. Is the couch fine, cause I’m not homophobic or anything, but I just don’t want any couple, gay or straight, fu—”

“The couch’s fine.”