Flesh and Bone chap 1

[biofreak659]

Rifle fire cracked the air.

"What was that?" Shanoa asked mildly, looking up from her dinner. It was evening, late in the evening. Albus used his heel to push the brazier under the table closer to her, and pushed his spoon around the thin broth he'd been given, trying to catch the ghost of an onion.

Only early winter, and it was already this cold. Albus made a mental note to start hoarding blanket scraps to stuff into the lining of his and Shanoa's coats. Discomfort kept the mind from becoming complacent, Barlowe said, but there was a difference between discomfort and hypothermia. There was a difference between discomfort and starvation, too.

The rifle fired again. Albus cocked his head.

"Mauser. Service model. Maybe someone home from Serbia?"

Shanoa shook her head, laughing quietly. "Some hearing you have. You're like a dog, Albus."

Albus glared flatly at her.

"Wonder what they're firing at." She mused, finishing her bite and pushing the bowl over to Albus, simultaneously pushing the brazier back towards him.

"Shanoa…"

"Master Barlowe is in Ruvas, getting supplies for the ritual. Eat."

"He has eyes everywhere." Albus firmly pushed the bowl back to Shanoa. The last scabs from the switch had finally peeled away, leaving behind only shiny new skin, fresh and pink across the pale canvas of his boney back.

"Not here." Shanoa insisted. Lucila could walk in at any second. Adolphus, Barlowe’s second, was standing across the room. There were eyes everywhere.

The rifle fired.

"They're getting closer." Albus said. "They must be hunting something."

"A bear, maybe?" Shanoa nodded at the sun, just barely peeking out from the dense treeline. "It's the right time for it."

"They wouldn't have gone after a bear unless it attacked someone." Albus stood, Shanoa rising a second behind him. "We should see if the others know anything about it."

They made their way down to the main hall, shivering along the way, and found that they weren't the only curious bystanders come to gossip.

"Brother, sister." One of the researchers nodded absently to them, pushing for space around the barred window.

"What's going on?" Shanoa stood on her toes, then stepped out of the way for Albus and his gangly legs to look over everyone's head.

"There was an attack." Pollyanna informed them, looking over her shoulder at Albus. "Wolves. Three sheep in as many days. They must have set a trap."

Another shot fired.

"That was closer." Shanoa peered around Albus. 

"They must be chasing it up the mountain."

"We should help." Shanoa tugged Albus' sleeve. Albus frowned.

"We—"

"We should." Pollyanna said. "We ought to let them know they can rely on us."

Albus glanced sidelong at Shanoa. The mayor of the town down the mountain was in contention with Barlowe. He'd threatened to have them arrested if they came into town to buy supplies. Called them a cult.

"I don't know if that's the best idea." Albus said, hesitantly.

"Nonsense—"

There was a pounding at the door. One of the senior brothers frowned, then went to peer out of the eyeslot. He pulled back, then retrieved a key from his robes and unlocked the door.

A woman stood in the doorway, pale with worry.

"How may we help you?" The senior asked tonelessly. Adolphus—he was tall and lean, and very humorless.

"The animal in the woods," she said quickly, looking behind herself, "you have gunmen here, yes?"

"We do." Adolphus said archly, staring down his nose.

"Please—it was shot four times yet it still runs. It is a demon." She quickly crossed herself, shivering in terror. "We can pay you. Anything you ask! Please, it's going to kill someone."

The senior brother considered for a moment, while the woman looked behind herself and jumped at every noise. He glanced momentarily to one of the senior sisters, Lucila, who nodded.

"Albus." He finally said. "You and Beatrice. Bring the hunting rifles."

"Argatha—" Albus began.

"Not useful for this kind of task."

Albus' mouth flattened in a frown, but he unholstered his pistol and handed it carefully to Shanoa. "Put this back in the safe for me, please. And don't wait up. This should be over quickly, and Master Barlowe is arriving home with news tomorrow morning."

"Stay safe." Shanoa's hands curled over his own, and took Argatha away. "And good luck."

"We won't see anything," Albus assured her. "You know animals stay away from the Order."

Something about the energies given off by their research into Glyphs. Albus suspected it was related to some animal sense, long deadened in humans, but Barlowe wouldn't entertain it. His job was to research Glyphs, not the local fauna.

"Stay safe." Shanoa insisted. Albus waved as Adolphus led them to the armory. It always smelled of black powder and cordite, and Albus had to admit he found the smell quite comfortable. The Order's weapons master was there, carefully checking the firearms.

"Beatrice, you take the shotgun." Brother Janus instructed. "Albus, the rifle."

It was a breech loading carbine, something from America, and it was very fine. One of the hunters, one of Barlowe's original fellows, who had been expelled from the Order years ago now, one of them must have brought it overseas and left it among the dozens of vampire killing equipment when he left. It was handsome, with a smooth and plainly carved butt. The barrel was dark, and whistle dusty, it was clear that whoever had last used it had at least some passing knowledge about firearm maintenance. Albus pressed both trigger guards and opened the breech block. He assured himself that there was no cartridge loaded, then ran his gloves fingers around the lip of the barrel.

Ash, but not the grime he'd anticipated. Passable. Good, even.

It wasn't Argatha though.

Albus took it and slung it over his shoulder, then broke open a box of cartridges on the edge of the table and slotted them in the bandolier on the strap. He stuck an extra in his breast pocket, for luck.

Beatrice rolled her eyes at him. "Do you have to be so dramatic?"

She was a homely older woman, who knew more about the physiology of vampires than anyone Albus could name. She had the shorn hair of a former sister of the cloth, but Albus had never cared to press her on the matter.

"I'm just being prepared." Albus prepared an additional bandolier of shells and held it out to name. She sighed, but took it regardless. 

"If you see anything, raise a signal." Lucila instructed them. "And don't let the villagers get you alone. You know they don't like us."

"You don't mean…" Beatrice said.

That they'd hurt you if they had the chance. You're in danger out there, and safe in here. They don't understand us, and they don't want to. They want you dead. 

It's very easy for a shot to go stray in the dark.

She didn't have to say it out loud. The memory of Barlowe's warning rang out in Albus' memory, as clear as the day he'd first heard it.

"Albus?" 

"Right. I'll keep away from them. They don't like us."

Adolphus eyed him for a moment longer, and Albus tried to feel like he wasn't being judged and found wanting.

Shanoa caught him by the sleeve. "Promise me you'll come home safely."

 

 

"I promise." He tapped her forehead. Her eyes crossed and she swatted at him.

"Get out of here, you."

Albus waved genially and turned to Beatrice.

"Let's go."