35. Niamh

Ican't interpret violence. It is inherent disorder. It goes against the very laws and nature of the fae. It is violence.

The vamryre's realm of expertise, not my own...

No.I have left that world of old rules behind, and now I must plunge into another. I must weigh the pros and cons of the violence inflicted before me in the same way I would weigh the risks of reading a book in secret or begging for help from a vamryre.

He helped me.

He needs me now.

He needs me now to take his hand gently in my own. He needs me to lead him away. Away from his crouched position on the floor, holding broken limbs like the remains of four broken dolls. He gapes at them. Talks to them. Shouts at them.

"Why can't I hear you? Answer me! ANSWER ME!"

"Caspian," I whisper to him. But he doesn't hear. He can't hear me beyond the realm of his shattered, fractured mind. He can't hear me.

So I touch him. I stroke the blood-soaked hair from his face and crouch down, my voice gentle and broken. Tears fall from my eyes and spill and spill. They're falling from his too. Beautiful, lost, broken tears of a poor, broken, shattered mind.

"Caspian. Oh, Caspian." I stroke him. Pet him. I try to meet those wide, empty, red eyes. He stares right through me. "Come with me. Come with me."

Somewhere safe. Away. We can't stay here.

Because they will come for him again.

They will try to take him from me again.

"Caspian," I tell him. "Come with me please."

He looks up at me, but he isn't here. His eyes are far, far away, pursuing the twisted wreckage of his mind. His poor, broken mind.

"We need to leave," I whisper, tugging him upright. He follows me, but not with the assured, confident steps I am used to. He is weak and tired like a lost lamb, following the first shepherd to come across it.

And I am worried. So very worried.

I have seen the violence he is capable of. Heard it: he drained ten people dry one after the other. He just ripped four vamryre apart, one after the other.

He could rip me apart. Good. I don't care. I would rather he rip into me. Feed from me. Devour me.

Anything to keep him safe. Anything to make him whole again.

So I tug him out into the street and away from that horrible place. I tug him into an alley, my lost, poor one. My Caspian.

I spin around to face him and offer my throat. "You are weak." I tug on his limp, lifeless hand. Somehow, after being so very strong just minutes earlier, he is so very weak. He'll fade to dust before me if I am not careful. He will fade away and leave me in another, more permanent way than he has before.

"Feed from me," I tell him, throat bared, veins straining. "Bite me!"

He doesn't. He can't.

He is too far away to hear me. Lost inside his own head, he is so very far away. Too lost to ever return. Come back to me.

If I don't help him, he will never come back to me.

So I take his hand and pull him along. I race. I run. I go to the only place I can think of to help him.

Not back to the portal. Not back to our realm.

I take him to a dank place on the other side of the city. I drag him—suddenly so very heavy—into a black building with rusted letters spelling out a name and number. A silly name I don't bother to read.

I'm too busy running, panting, and pulling Caspian along to a door with a golden metal eye.

I pound on it. I beg.

"Please! Please help me! Please!"

Silence answers back. Silence and a weighty presence tinged with sweet perfume who hisses at me in utter disgust. "Go away," he commands from behind the closed door. "You aren't welcome here. Go!"

Go.

"No!" I form a fist and bang and bang like Caspian did upon the same door earlier. I pound and pound and pound away. I beg. I scream.

"Help me! PLEASE! Please help me!"

Because I can feel him slipping away. I can feel his mind shattering and hear the pieces scattering all around us. I will never find them all if I don't help him. I can never put him back together again.

"Help me!" I pound and pound and pound.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Finally, the door opens, and the strange male vamryre appears. "Will you stop with the ruckus? What on earth is wrong with you?"

"Caspian is wrong with me," I blurt out, my hands sore and throbbing. Bleeding. I've left bloody marks on his door. Bloody marks he eyes in disgust. "He's dying. Help me help him!"

He's standing behind me in the shadow of the hall. His head is bowed, his expression vacant, pink lips silent, eyes far away. Gone. He is nearly gone.

"I can't help him," I sob. Tears spill down my face, but they don't affect this vamryre the way they do Caspian. He is unmoved, watching me with cold, unfeeling eyes. "Please help me help him. I can't lose him. I can't."

Because whatever Caspian is suffering from now, this vamryre has at one point. An affliction that must affect them all—those who dare to run away to the mortal realm.

The man looks at the vamryre behind me and sniffs. "Oh dear. Did you really walk all this way looking like that? Bloody hell! If the boneys aren't on your tail already, they're probably about to bust in my goddamn door. Poppy! Scythe!"

Two figures appear as if from nowhere behind him. But not nowhere. Somewhere deeper in this home, this huge, winding home. I can sense them all. Others, some awake and some not, lurking out of sight and out of reach. In fear, they hide behind this tall, dark-haired monster, only emerging when he calls them.

But now two snap to attention: a girl with bright red hair and a boy with blue.

"Yes?" they question in a disjointed unison. Not quite the way the other vamryre in the motel spoke. As though they have practiced to stay in sync but can't. Not quite. They are the same yet apart. Not one and the same as they should be.

"Scythe, you take this one inside. Show him to a room." He points to Caspian. My Caspian. "Poppy, you take this one—" He grimaces at me. "Take this one and clean up their mess. They tracked blood and gore all the way here, to our door. Ruffians! Clean their messes up, my darling. With gentle words and kind smiles, before the boneys come a calling. Go."

Poppy, the red-haired one, steps forward, her smile sickeningly sweet. "Come with me, dear one," she trills, a hand outstretched.

Any other time, I would. I'd rush to grab her hand. I would relish any hint of kindness.

But now…

They aim to take my Caspian away. Away from me. To help him. Heal him.

But I can't. I can't…

"I can't leave him," I rasp. "I won't leave him alone."

The tall one scoffs, his irritation exaggerated. "Well, you should have thought of that before, darling. Before you cut a bloody fucking trail to my door. Go with Poppy to clean up your mess while I take care of the other one. Go!"

I stare at Poppy's outstretched hand.

"I can't leave him," I croak. "I can't." Then. "What's happening to him? What is wrong with him?"

"Wrong?" The man frowns as if offended by my term. "Nothing is wrong. He has been severed from the collective is all. His mind has been made whole again."

Made whole. A good thing. A good thing?

But then why is he staring so blankly and empty? Why is he so far beyond my reach? Why doesn't he look at me when I say his name?

"Caspian? Caspian?"

Nothing.

"His mind is in shock," the man explains, his tone irritated. "He needs rest and quiet. He needs to repair his thoughts without your wailing and whining. Leave him to us. You leave."

With Poppy. Who will lead me away somewhere and never let me find my way back. They will hide him from me. Shield him from me.

Protect him from me.

"I can't leave him," I rasp. "I need him."

And he needs me.

"Oh, damn you! We've wasted too much time with this already. Poppy, go. Use your senses to track their trail and clean it up the best you can. Scythe, help this one to a room."

Scythe steps forward, tall and wiry. He reaches for Caspian. Touches him.

I wince. "Don't hurt him."

"We won't, darling," the tall one hisses. "But if you want him to get through this with some semblance of his psyche intact, you must let him go to a quiet space, away from this racket. Understood?"

I do. Deep down in the pit of my stomach, I do. My voice alone isn't enough to bring him back from that lost place inside of him. No matter how much I beg or plead it will never be enough.

I can't help him here.

I can only be patient and wait.

"Okay."

I watch Scythe take Caspian and lead his shell to some hidden, quiet room. This house must be full of them, some locked and boarded up. Some are open. There are many creatures living here. Dwelling here. Hiding here.

They trust him, the tall vamryre with dark hair and flashing green eyes.

"Do you call yourself something?" he wonders, an eyebrow raised. "Something other than ‘it.'"

"I am Niamh," I snap. The air is different here. Frustrating and charged. I can't focus. I can't be nice, sweet, demure Niamh. I need my Caspian. I need to see him. Save him.

I need to protect him.

"Niamh, I am Altaris," the tall man explains. "This here is my domain. Our domain. The Safe House."

A safe house. But not safe for all creatures, just for them. A safe house for vamryre.

Because they lied to us in the other realm. Their rules claimed that a vamryre can never leave their collective. That a fae can never be born as one of three. That unwanted creatures are dirty and corrupted. That our laws are the only laws worth heeding.

Altaris has created his own realm here, in this house. What are his rules I wonder? Will he bully and command like Caspian's old master? Will he take him away from me?

"We choose to be here," he says, as if reading my mind. Has he? "All vamryre are welcome here. All shapes and forms. You are not—but," he adds before I can throw myself at him with grasping hands, nails drawn.

"But you may stay if you earn your keep. This isn't a hotel like that horrible place. I assume that's where you've come from. Where the cause of this took place…" He wiggles his slim fingers in my direction, his eyes on my chest, on my borrowed mortal clothes.

Clothing that is now red with blood. Vamryre blood.

"The Bleeding Heart Motel," I choke out.

Altaris sighs. "That place. Always causing trouble. A den of sin, it is. In any case, come closer, you. Come in."

He sniffs as I inch forward, leaving the narrow hall by the doorway for a wider room packed to the brim with shiny, dusty, gleaming things.

"You can stay here, for a price," Altaris repeats, eyeing me warily.

I just nod.

Any price, I will pay it. Anything.

For Caspian, I will give anything.