The Revelation

Condensation dripped down the thick concrete walls, and the rush of water sounded somewhere in the distance. It was humid and damp, like trying to breathe right before a rainstorm in South Florida. Jacob’s chest begged for air that wasn’t so heavy with moisture, and he wiped his forehead with a handkerchief that was getting soaked with perspiration.

It was the only place anyone in Miami could go to get away. Deep underground, in a place created many years ago. They defied the odds of nature, building a concrete structure that stood up to Florida’s water table. It wasn’t perfect. Water seeped in through the cracks and some walls swelled, threatening to burst open at any moment.

Agents came in every week to repair the issues. Some of the East Coast’s most precious secrets were kept in that place. Two metal shelves were lined with old documents and pages of records, keeping the Iron Oath’s results in Jacob’s hands.

He sighed, throwing himself into an old rolling chair. The cushion had long lost its filling, and it was a hard reminder of the life of Jacob had to live from then on out. He stared at a page on the metal desk, glaring at the names attached to it. Wren Hoffman. Oliver Faulkner. Kerri Fuller. Three Agents who made his life a royal pain in the ass.

Someone rapped on the door, saying his name with a muffled voice. Jacob called for them to come in, sliding away from the desk to greet another Agent in hiding. She was an older woman with caramel skin and large brown eyes. Her hair fell around her shoulders in bronze waves, and when she gave him a forced smile, her mouth seemed too large for her narrow face.

“Jacob. I was just seeing to…”

“I know where you were.” Jacob said. “How is he, Kristin?”

“He’s fine. Happy. He doesn’t know what’s going on.” She said.

Jacob nodded. “Did it work?”

Kristin wrung her hands together. “He’s a kid Jacob. Please. I don’t want to…”

“Shut up.” Jacob snapped. “Yes, he’s a child. He’s my child, remember? You’re not going to hurt him! We need to know if it works, Kristin. It’s been a century in the making, and he’s the only option.”

“What if it does hurt him?” She asked.

Jacob rolled his eyes. “Kristin. I won’t let my son be hurt. You know that. I need you to think. Think of what we’re accomplishing here. We are so close to finally harnessing the power of The Others. So close to giving it to every human being. They won’t rule over us anymore. We will rule over them! As it always should have been.”

Kristin nodded. Ever since she became an Agent, she had hoped for access to the most secret parts of the Iron Oath. When she proved her worth in the late eighties, the higher-ranking officers approached her with an offer she could not refuse. Help them take what’s theirs.

For the next two years, they convinced her that The Others had a magic belonging to everyone. When the world was ancient and shrouded in mystery, the first Others stole the magic. A magic that they took back in the Dark Ages. Since then, the Iron Oath worked tirelessly to take it from them.

Their zeal grew stronger with technology, using their political pawns to ensure that they always had a supply of Others to work with and watch. It was perfect. Until it wasn’t. As the few Agents left were driven into hiding, their work was taken with them, pushed into secret places that were deep underground and hidden from sight.

“Don’t worry about it right now.” Jacob sighed. “We have more pressing matters. Find Oliver Faulkner.”

“Isn’t he dead?” Kristin asked.

“If he is, you’ll find his ashes. But he’s not dead. He’s alive, and probably lurking near Florian Di Votti’s home. Get him. Bring him back.” Jacob said.

Kristin didn’t know what to expect from the home of a prominent Vampire. She imagined a veritable fortress with a large wrought-iron gate, but found a stately Miami Beach mansion, with no gates and white stucco walls instead of gray stone, with turrets and flying buttresses. The yard was manicured to perfection. Every blade of grass was cut to the same height, making her ascent on the house as silent as any Vampire or prowling Werewolf.

Near the back, lights flickered in the windows and shadows moved around. A large fan palm settled by the house, surrounding by waving ornamental grasses. If she was going to find anyone, it would be where the action is.

Though she knew the Vampire would find her first. As she crept through the side yard, a strong hand rested on her shoulder. Kristin’s hair stood up on the back of her neck, and her pulse was so rapid that the Vampire himself was tempted to dig in for an evening snack.

“What are you doing here, Kristin?” Oliver asked.

“To find you.” She said.

“I suppose Jacob sent you.”

“He did. He said you need to come with me.”

Oliver chuckled. “Did he, now? And that’s all? I just follow his orders.”

“Oliver.” Kristin said. “He has it. You do have to come back.”

Oliver bristled at her words, taking his hand away from her shoulder like the sun itself rose from it. His face contorted in anger, twisting his mouth until an almost feral sneer formed. He shuddered, pulling away from the woman as if he were struggling against her, but she hadn’t touched him.

“And if I don’t? What then? Bring Agents after me. I don’t think that’s going to work.” Oliver said.

“Oliver, you don’t have a choice. Come with me now and talk to Jacob. Don’t make him force you.” She sighed.

Kristin did not hear, and Oliver would not or could not say a word about the eyes watching them from around the corner. The Iron Oath Agent thought she was stealthy, but her shoes crunching on the grass weren’t unnoticed by the keen ears of a dog near the window. Their conversation was being relayed by Brutus, while two others made their way outside.

By the time they were aware of the company, a gust of wind blew past both of them. Florian’s thin arm wrapped around Oliver’s neck like a rope and Anika held Kristin by the shoulders, flashing her white fangs at the woman. Kristin’s veins swelled under her skin, begging to be bitten and drained of the precious lifeblood that could sustain the Vampire for a night.

When Kristin’s throat squeezed tight from a fearful gulp, Anika ran her fingers over the soft flesh. “What a lovely neck. I can see how much you want it, dear. I’ll make it quick.”

“No!” Oliver stretched his hand out. “I can’t…!”

Anika’s fangs only scratched the surface of Kristin’s skin. The moment they penetrated the soft top layer, Oliver broke free of Florian’s grasp, tossing Kristin away from the Vampire, and stood in front of her like a bear guarding their cubs.

“Don’t!” He pleaded. “I don’t want to do it. You have to leave her alone.”

“You took my meal from me.” Anika pouted. “That was a dirty move, Oliver.”

“Anika, I can’t stop this!” Oliver’s eyes were wild, as if he were waging a fight inside of his own mind and losing quickly.

His mouth opened to speak, but the words were caught by a gurgle of blood. The sweet metallic scent filled the air around them as a wooden stake jutted out from Oliver’s chest. Florian leaned over Oliver’s shoulder, narrowing his eyes at the old rival. He opened his mouth into a grin, and the other Vampire lurched forward as Florian pushed the stake further through his heart.

In seconds, Oliver’s face turned to bone white stone and his hands stiffened over the stake. Cracks formed on his skin, breaking apart like a shattered glass. The blood turned black, congealing and drying into a dark crust on his clothes. Sulfur and flames burned Florian’s nose as Oliver’s body sloughed into a pile of ashes.

Kristin lay on the ground, staring at the crumpled pile of clothes covered in white dust. Her ears rang from the overwhelming silence that settled over her. It was a heavy sac, covering her body until the darkness clouded her vision. With Oliver dead, no one would save her from the wrath of Anika Hernandez and Florian Di Votti.

Florian doubled over, sucking in a deep breath of air. He laughed with relief, shaking his head back and forth as he watched the ashes roll over the small hill of leather that was Oliver’s jacket. After so long, Oliver Faulkner was finally gone. But the relief came with a pang of guilt, and the grief of memories from ages past. A time when he and Oliver were once brothers.

Anika turned her gaze to Kristin. “Go. Tell them their attack dog is dead, and we are coming for them.”

“I…” Kristin’s eyes darted back and forth.

“Go before I change my mind!” Anika yelled.

She scraped her shoe against the ground, using it as leverage to pull herself up. Anika put an arm around Florian, speaking in words Kristin could not hear. She turned toward the dark road, rushing to her hidden car.

Florian kneeled next to the ashes, using his hand to scrape them into a pile. Killing Oliver Faulkner was not the sweet revenge he hoped for. A bitter rivalry had ended, and with it went years of happy memories. It didn’t stop the pain of regret, nor did it take away the grief he still felt for his late wife and son.

“Find a box for me.” Florian said. “He deserves it.”

“After everything he’s done?” Anika frowned.

“He was my brother for a long time, Anika. I won’t leave him to fly away in the wind. I’ll put him to rest once and for all.” He said.

Anika nodded, looking at the man she loved bending over what seemed to be dust covered clothes. He seemed old and frail, clutching at the ashes of a life long past its prime. Florian’s need for revenge was satisfied, but there was so much more retribution to dole out. Oliver Faulkner was only the beginning. It was the Iron Oath who took his life from him nearly three hundred years ago. He wouldn’t stop until they were all dead.

Inside the house, Wren’s back was pressed against the wall. The moment Oliver crumbled, she felt the stings of tears welling up in her eyes. When he became nothing but ashes, a knot tightened in her chest and a sob escaped her throat. Kerri put an arm around her to offer some comfort, but it did no good. Nor did Brutus’ nuzzle against her hand.

Over the last few months, she and Oliver shared a bond stemming from their common ground. They were the only Other Agents in the Iron Oath. He’d protected her, talked with her, and offered friendship in a strange way. Wren refused to accept it, but she looked forward to his most inopportune timing and their talks.

She ran her fingers over something in her pocket. It was still smooth and perfect, swirling with the colors of various deserts and beaches around the world. He said he would die for what he’d done, but she didn’t want to believe it. Now, the only person who truly understood her was gone.