Chapter 16 – Lamia
LAMIA
Ishift to make it easier for Vincent to carry me. We’ve shot back through the broken glass ceiling, and now we’re tearing through the sky. The black birds are everywhere, but they don’t touch me. And yet, they tear at the gargoyles.
My heart races as I watch them peck through the gargoyles’ stone flesh, until I want to scream with rage. And then, the birds are suddenly gone. I watch as they fly back to the lighthouse, and I know they’ve been tasked with remaining there, just as the manticore was.
In my hand, I glance at the cup. It’s almost sad. They’ll be there for an eternity guarding something that no longer exists. And yet, it was necessary. To take the cup, and to kill the creature that would have never rested until he got it back.
We continue flying for a while longer, and I can sense that Vincent is struggling, but neither of us speak.
At last, they circle and fly lower until we reach a massive patio on a home beside the beach.
I glance inside the window and get the general sense that no one has been in the home for a while, despite it being neatly decorated and clean.
On the door is a box with a code to type in.
Vincent moves to the door, snaps the handle, and opens it.
We move inside, and Ryker lays Darius on the table. Darius is covered in bloody wounds. Ryker and Vincent stagger into the chairs beside the table and shift into their human forms. Suddenly, I can see that every place the birds chipped away at their stone flesh is now a gaping wound.
I act without thinking, racing through the house, grabbing towels, going through the bathrooms in search of medical supplies. When I have everything, I dump it on the counter.
“You guys are going to be okay,” I tell them.
Their eyes are closed.
Fuck. I have no idea how gargoyles work. I know that they, like the manticore, are only supposed to be able to die if beheaded. Just like me. But I’ve already killed them once. What will wounds like this do to them?
“I’m going to wet the towels and start cleaning your wounds,” I tell them.
Then I run to the kitchen sink. In the cabinet below it I find a bucket that I rinse out thoroughly then fill with water.
Hurrying back to the table, I start with Ryker, who looks to be in the worst shape.
I wash away the blood that covers him. I remove his shirt, and I help him struggle out of his pants.
I wash him, changing the water over and over again, until his wounds look clean.
Like most semi-immortals, I can see that his body is already working to heal him.
His injuries are still open, but they’ve stopped bleeding.
I go to Vincent next and do the same, stripping him of his clothes and cleaning his wounds.
Then I work on Darius. When I’m done, I go to the medical supplies I found.
I use the disinfectant, gritting my teeth when the men hiss.
Even our kind can get infections. If their bodies try to heal, I want them to heal clean wounds.
“I’m going to wrap the worst of your injuries, and then you guys need to lie down and rest.”
“We’re fine,” Ryker says, through gritted teeth.
“You’re not,” I tell him, using my no-nonsense voice.
I grab the bandages and start on him.
He snags my wrist and his eyes fly open. “We’re gargoyles. We don’t need medical care.”
I pull my wrist away. “Humor me.”
The fight in his gaze dies, and his eyes close once more.
I wrap the worst of his injuries. Then I search the rooms in the home. One is set up for visitors, with four small beds occupying most of the room. I return to the gargoyles.
“I’m going to help you lie down now.” Putting an arm under Ryker’s shoulder, I try to lift him and can’t.
“Ryker? Can you help?”
He grunts and struggles to his feet, with my help. I drag him through the house, and he drops into the bed.
I return to the kitchen and do the same for Vincent and Darius. With all three men lying down, I go to each one and draw the covers over their wounded bodies. I sit on the edge of the remaining bed and watch them for a time, until all of them are breathing deeply.
Sleep. That’s exactly what their bodies need to heal.
And yet, as I stare at them, a wave of something familiar moves through me.
Memories come back of the times I cared for my children.
When they were hurt, I’d hold them, clean their injuries, and wrap them, just as I did for these men.
At night, I would put them into bed, cover them up, and give them kisses.
My heart aches at the memories. But differently than it has in the past. Usually I have nothing to comfort myself with, but now I have these three men to care for. Feeling useful…it lifts a little bit of the shadows that have haunted me for so long.
Glancing down at myself, I see my torn and tattered dress, now stained with blood. What I wore has never mattered. How I looked has never mattered. It was simply…necessary.
And yet, I rise and move through the house, searching the closets until I find one with women’s clothes.
I’ve never been one to take that which doesn’t belong to me, and so I make a promise to return to this home in the future and make up for anything we take now.
I move through the rows upon rows of clothes, most with a small layer of dust on the top.
I don’t select anything that looks expensive.
I move to the end of the row where I find simple dresses.
I select three off the hangers and lay them on the bed.
Then I go to the bathroom decorated with little delicate white seashells, and I start the water in the tub. When it’s full, I throw my tattered dress in a little trash can, and I sink into the warm water.
It’s a shock to feel the warmth sinking so deeply into my flesh. Such a shock that I lay for a long time, unmoving. Is this what it is to feel…good?
I duck under the water and start to wash myself of blood and grime.
When I surface, I select shampoo, conditioner, and a liquid soap that smells like vanilla.
I wash myself in a way I haven’t for more years than I can count.
When I’m done, I know I must go and check on the men.
I drain the water, grab a towel, dry myself, put it back, and head for the bed with the new clothes.
Then I freeze. In the doorway is Darius.
“You can move again?” I say
His gaze roves over my body, and I feel strangely exposed, naked before him.
“I wanted to make sure you were here.” His words are slow, and I know the manticore’s sting hasn’t entirely worn off.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him, holding his gaze.
He nods, clinging to the doorframe.
“We need to get you back into bed,” I say.
I move past him, and he watches my every move as I go to the bed and pull on the scarlet colored dress. When I turn back to him, I’m surprised by his expression.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “You just look…different.”
“I feel different,” I say, as I move to him and wrap his arm around my shoulder.
But he doesn’t step forward.
I look up at him. “Is something wrong?”
“Are we…vampires now?” His blue eyes hold a wealth of emotions.
“I don’t know exactly. Do you guys crave blood?”
He takes a long minute to answer. “I think so. We’ve felt different since we came back. Hungry and weak.”
My entire stomach twists, and I step back from him in shock. I never thought…never imagined. I actually made them into monsters like me.
“I’m so sorry!”
“It’s why we need to become what we were before.”
I nod, trying to hold myself together. “We’ll get you back into bed.”
This time when he puts his arm around my shoulders, he lets me lead him back into his bed. Almost the instant that his head hits the pillow, he seems to fall back into sleep.
I cover him up once more, then go to the living room and sink onto the couch. The implications of what I’ve done aren’t lost on me. Not only did I kill them and take their lives away, I’ve changed them into something like me.
Never have I imagined that I could hate myself more than I did. But I do.
I think of them lying in their beds trying to heal. If they’re like me now, they need blood if they have any hope of truly healing. But I can’t imagine them willingly taking my blood.
So what can I do?
A solution blossoms into my mind. I could give them my blood without them knowing. But would that be wrong? Would that help them or hurt them?
I stare at my wrist.
What should I do?