The Revelation

It wasn’t exactly her evening trip to the beach, but Wren and Brutus had full use of Florian’s property. Once a person moved past the Olympic sized swimming pool with a full outdoor kitchen, the shows of wealth ended, and a swath of vibrant green expanded to a retaining wall holding back the intra-coastal waterway. Water lapped against the concrete bricks, and the breeze moved over the water with the same quiet verse it sang over the ocean every night.

Brutus chased a stick until he almost bumped his head into the heavy trunk of a palm. Then the dog barked out a laugh, pawing at the ground to see what might be hidden beneath the soil. Wren joined him in the laughter, warning the dog not to dig up Florian’s yard or he’d toss them both out. The dog’s ears perked up, and his head jerked to the side, staring at something in the darkness. Brutus’ snout went in the air, and his dark eyes went contemplative.

“What’s wrong?” Wren asked.

“I know that smell, but…” Brutus whined. “I think I know.”

As her dog spoke, the silhouette came into view. The bright moonlight washed over him from behind, making the broad figure seem ghostly against the illumination of string lights and yard lanterns. It was unmistakable. Wren knew the shadow by heart. Broad and stocky, what her Grandfather would refer to as a “brick shit house”, wearing a pair of sunglasses reflecting her own shocked face back at her.

“No…” Wren whispered. “You can’t… I saw you! How?”

Oliver grasped her hand, proving it was him without saying a word. His skin was thick and calloused over the knuckles, like someone who had been in too many fist fights. He seemed drawn and tired, as if he’d not slept or fed for days. But it was him. Somehow.

“I know.” Oliver’s voice was hoarse.

“It can’t…!” Wren tried to pull away, but he held her in place.

“Wren, don’t!”

“I’ve lost it!” She pushed him back, covering both of her eyes with one hand. “I’ve finally gone crazy. Now I’m seeing ghosts. My God, are there Banshees in Florida? Is that what this is?”

“Banshees don’t make ghosts, and there are none in Florida.” Brutus sat on his haunches, seeming very calm considering he, too, saw Oliver Faulkner turn to ashes.

“Brutus! You aren’t helping!” Wren said.

The dog pushed on Oliver’s jeans with his nose, huffing a blast of air. “Smells like bad water. Still smells like him. It’s him.”

“How?! You were a pile of ashes! I saw it! We buried you! We…”

Wren’s long legs carried her to the twin palms where Florian buried Oliver’s box. Before she got to the small grave, she skidded to a stop. The soil was disturbed, and a poorly filled hole was left where Oliver’s ashen coffin had rested.

“I want to tell you.” He said. “I will. I promise. I want to tell Florian at the same time. Everyone.”

“Are you alive?” She asked, flicking her finger across the dark beard.

“I haven’t been truly alive for a few centuries.” He shrugged.

Wren rolled her eyes. “If you aren’t Oliver, you’re as much as a smart ass as he is.”

“I am. I can prove it.” He said.

“How?”

Oliver stepped forward until he could wrap his arms around Wren, hugging her close to him. So close she could feel the shallow breathing in his chest and lack of a heartbeat. His warmth radiated through the clothes, followed by a smell of a damp basement and the hair oil that was too heavy with frankincense.

One finger tucked under her chin, tilting it until his lips met with hers. They were dry and cracked. It was clear he hadn’t fed properly in a few days. Yet Wren closed her eyes, drinking in every word he said through the kiss. So many things he could never say out loud, and so many things left unsaid between them during the many nights they’d spent together since he came to Florida a few months ago.Somehow, they had formed a bond.

Then Wren remembered Oliver was the reason for everything that had been happening. He may have tried to apologize, but he was a cocky, over sized thug of a Vampire. She broke away from him, pushing on his chest. When he stumbled backwards, Wren realized he wasn’t only hungry, he was starving and weak.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t want that.” He said.

“No!” Wren threw her arms in the air. “Yes! I’m a little confused right now!”

“I’m sure you are.” He said. “I need your help, Wren. Before you say anything, I want you to take this.”

He handed her something wrapped in a tattered piece of black fabric. At one time, it was a satin or silk, smooth and shiny. It had worn away with age, losing the sheen and growing threadbare in some places. Something glinted under the fabric, like a night light struggling to shine in the darkest of rooms.

She unwrapped it, revealing a glass rose in full bloom. Whoever made it had taken care to hand place each delicate petal and put it together in a way where one could not see any seams at all. The petals were almost alive, stretching toward her under the glass. It was like a real plant encased in its pristine state, never to die or wilt. Wren could even smell the scent of a fresh rose wafting toward her.

“What is this?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” He said. “It was left for me with a note saying I should give it to someone who must be protected.”

“It’s alive.” She said, running her finger over the smooth glass petal. “But it’s glass.”

“I don’t know what it is. It’s yours if you want it.” He said.

“You think I need to be protected?” She asked.

Oliver shook his head. “I can’t protect you.”

“I can.” Wren said.

She moved to hand the rose back to him, but something about it stopped her. There was a curious call from the glass, like a live plant that needed her help. She couldn’t water it or make this one grow, but it needed her just the same.

“Do you want it?” He asked. “Or not?”

“I’ll keep it.” Wren said. “What do you want me to do?”

Twenty minutes later, Wren was inside the house where Florian paced across the floor, yelling obscenities in Italian, Spanish, and French. Anika stood near the kitchen, holding a full glass of wine in her hands as if she were about to gulp the entire thing down at any moment. Wren stood bewildered, sighing every time he yelled something she couldn’t understand.

“Florian, please!” Wren insisted.

“No! This is a sick joke, and I will not listen to it! I don’t know where you got that flower, and I am not sure I care anymore. To think you’d like me to believe Oliver is alive. I staked him. I saw him crumble. So did you!”

While Florian yelled and ranted, Sandy and Kerri both stood in the doorway. Anika jerked her head toward them, nearly spitting out the wine she finally took a long drink of. Kerri’s once blond hair had become a deep rusty brown. The wisps of bangs clinging to her forehead framed the heart-shaped face perfectly, making the woman look even more like the girl next door with a smile worth a million dollars.

Sandy had her hands on her hips and Spock padded in behind her. The reaction of wide eyes and dropped jaws from the other three made Sandy and her cat feel quite satisfied with their handiwork.

“She looks good, doesn’t she?” Sandy smiled.

“You dyed her hair?” Anika asked. “That blond was so lovely.”

Kerri ran her hands through the new color. “So is this. I like it.”

“Self-discovery sometimes needs a makeover.” Sandy smiled. “What was that we heard? Yelling?”

Florian pointed accusingly. “You would not believe what Wren told me. Oliver Faulkner is supposedly alive.”

“Wren, come on.” Kerri frowned. “He can’t be.”

Spock’s tail puffed up, and the cat hopped on Florian’s window sill. She stared in the dark, narrowing her eyes until Brutus came over to see what she was looking at. Both animals shared a conversation that was a chorus of growls and meows to anyone but the Druids.

“I’ll check.” Sandy said, walking over to the window. The moment she got there, the woman jumped backward, flailing her arms in all different ways, as if she were fighting off an invisible attacker. “Oh, holy shit!”

“What?” Florian and Anika were both at the window in a blur of color.

“Behind you.” The smooth Irish dialect was barely above a whisper. Florian and Anika both turned around and stared at the living ghost of Oliver Faulkner.

After the initial shock wore off, and Oliver proved he was no ghost, everyone finally settled down. Though Florian did threaten to stake Oliver a second time and scatter his ashes into the water. That was after he asked Oliver a question about a woman named “Sophia” and didn’t seem to like the answer.

The small group sat in Florian’s living room, no longer noticing the luxury they were surrounded by. As Oliver’s explanation continued, the pulse of those with beating hearts was so loud that the Vampires had to curb their temptations. Their fear and anticipation became palpable, like a sweet pastry dangling in front of their faces. But they ignored it, focusing on the explanation. Something that would have been unbelievable just a few months ago. Now that they knew what the Iron Oath had done, they believed every word.

Oliver called it The Hook. A device created by ancient alchemists of the Iron Oath. Something used over the years to control Vampires. In fact, the first experiment was on a Vampire so powerful that the alchemists could barely hold him inside of the glass. Through years and years of research, they tapped into the essence of the Vampire, able to animate their ashes through an agonizing rebirth.

The one who held the device controlled the Vampire once they were animated. A way to link and bond with them through the very essences of life they used to bring them back to life. For centuries, the Iron Oath had been trying to replicate and re-create the few Hooks they had, hoping to hold the entire populace of the world’s Vampires in their control. But something had gotten lost a very long time ago, a piece of the construction that was not perfect. There were only two of them in existence, and Oliver was the unfortunate recipient of one.

Zealots, the lot of them. Cult members that hid under the guise of a helpful organization, pretending to love The Others. But the organization harmed them in order to experiment, control and harness them in any way possible. Jacob Stuart was one of those people. He believes The Others have an ancient magic they can harness. A deep-seated jealousy was drilled into them from a young and tender age, telling them stories of legends and myths mixed with truth until they no longer knew what was and was not.

An ancient legend told over and over, passing through oral traditions and into different languages, claimed that once, a mist existed in the world. A mist that the humans were afraid of. Something they could not venture in to for fear it would harm them. Someone did once venture in to that mist and emerged as The First. Every one of The Others came from this fabled First. To the Iron Oath, all The Others had the power of this mist. A magic of creation meant for every person on the face of the earth. Yet, humans rejected it and built their tribes, civilizations, and empires until the mist itself dissolved away, only giving its magic to the ones who embraced it.

Oliver leaned back, placing one hand on his knee and the other over Wren’s. She glanced at it, wanting to jerk away and sit in another chair. Yet, she found some comfort in the touch, and felt Oliver needed it as well.

“How long have you been controlled by them?” Florian asked.

“Since we came to the colonies.” Oliver said. “Florian, Constance and…”

“Don’t say her name!” Florian interrupted. “Do not say it.”

“One day you’ll hear it.” He said.

Wren shifted in her seat. “That’s why you’ve been collecting information. You wanted someone to discover this Hook.”

“I was hoping so.” He nodded. “I thought I’d die and rest. I knew Florian was behind me some days ago. I let it happen, because I hoped that would be it. I didn’t realize Jacob still had The Hook. It should have been far away from Florida by now. But, with everyone scrambling, it’s not in the right hands.”

“Who normally has it?” Wren asked.

“It depends on who wants me.” He said. “Something’s changed in the last few months. Before I came to Florida. That rose started it.”

Wren held the glass rose as if it were a fragile infant, treating the stem like delicate feathers. “How long have you had it?”

“For six months.” He said. “I still don’t know what it is or where it’s from. But it started the change. Not just with The Hook, but the Iron Oath. They were getting sloppy and scared. Of what, I don’t know.”

“You are saying you can fight the control?” Florian asked.

Oliver nodded. “A little. Yes. I won’t be able to hold out much longer. I’ll have to leave soon.”

“Why?” Asked Anika.

“I was sent here to kill Wren.”

“That does not make our kiss very special.” Every eye turned on her, causing a pink flush to rise to her cheeks.

“I start with Wren and work my way through the rest of you.” Oliver said. “I can keep Jacob fooled for tonight, but he’ll find out soon enough.”

“Then what?” Sandy asked.

Oliver scoffed. “He’ll stake me. Bring me back. And do it again and again until I can’t take the pain anymore.”

“It’s torture.” Anika said softly. “They torture you into submission.”

“Not for long. Not if you lot keep it up.” Oliver stood up, stuffing trembling hands in his pocket. “If you’re going to kill me again, Florian, do it now. And make sure to scatter my ashes to the wind and the sea.”

Florian sat still, looking like a stone sculpture placed on the couch. His arm stayed stiff behind Anika, and not a single muscle twitched. He set his jaw, finally moving his eyes to Oliver. The slightest of movements showed he was going to do nothing. At least, not that night. Oliver nodded, walking out the door with a stiff gait, as if he were fighting the urge to go somewhere else.

“Welcome back, Oliver.”

Jacob turned in a rickety office chair, trying to look like some villainous overlord with his two mastiffs on either side. He made himself look comical, with a threadbare chair cushion, cracked concrete, a dust covered polo shirt, and two dogs who looked more bored than menacing.

Somewhere in that cavern was Kristin, toiling away in hiding and shipping the most important pieces of information the Iron Oath had. Oliver noticed the boxes at the entrance. They were labeled with a popular clothing line, and he was certain the contents were well hidden among discarded shirts and pants from thrift stores. It was a gamble for the Iron Oath to take, but one they had to risk.

“It’s done.” Oliver said.

Jacob steepled his fingers in front of the gleeful smile. “Is that her blood on your hands?”

“Yes.” Oliver closed his eyes.

“Good. Good. We’ve got work to do, and traveling. Make yourself ready for it. The drive’s long.” He said.

“Where are we going?”

“We’ve got a meetup in Denver, Colorado.” Jacob said.

“Denver?” Oliver asked.

“Yes, Denver. We’ve got contacts there who will help. It’s time to work from the inside out, Oliver. Dismantle The Others one by one. Starting with their councils.”

“Jacob, I don’t think…”

Jacob interrupted him with a wave of his hand. “One last job for you. There’s a loose end left after Hoffman. Your favorite little partner, Kerri Fuller. Make sure she’s gone.”

“I suppose after that we’re leaving?” He asked.

“Yes.” Jacob turned in his chair. “And Oliver?”

“Yes?”

“All those things you stole? You are aware we have copies. You didn’t stop us. I don’t know what you were trying to accomplish, but you’ll be punished accordingly. In due time.” Jacob said.

Oliver did not answer him. He slipped through the door as quiet as the still air itself, standing in the hallway while he wrung his hands together. Jacob ordered him to kill Kerri, and he has The Hook. And whatever thing links them together. He must get The Hook away from Jacob and somehow fight the order to kill a woman who is fighting for him. Not against him.

He let out a shuddering sigh, running a hand across a sweaty forehead. It was going to take every ounce of willpower to fight this one. He’d have to tap in to the depths of his humanity. Something he feared he lost a long time ago.

Until he met Wren. Something about her made him want to be human again. To live, and to help her.