Bright Eyes

9. Like Wine, Like Blood

Author's Note: This novel is set in 2018, around the time I started writing the first few chapters of Bright Eyes. (I didn't get to write much back then, though. I was majoring in Accountancy, and uni wasn't easy.) There'll be chapters that are set in the past and in other places outside of Ravenwood as well, like this one. Headers at the beginning of certain chapters will indicate where and when the events occurred. No header means 2018 or "present day" in this story. Enjoy! xx

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Somewhere in Florida
June 22, 2018, 11:26 P.M.

There were two men outside, both tall and pale and dressed in black clothing. In the dead of night, away from the touch of dim streetlights (for they wished no eye to catch sight of them), they said nothing, and looked up at the structure before them—a dilapidated building, once a hotel, left abandoned decades long ago. Abandoned—that was what the humans thought. That was what the humans were told. But the men knew better.

One of the men nodded to his companion. His companion smiled, flashing his crooked teeth. Then they moved noiselessly to the front door, ready to meet an old friend.

A man with brown skin and dark hair lay across a threadbare couch. In hand was a bottle of wine. On the floor sat several others, drained from prior nights.

"Mourning, I presume," said a voice in the shadows.

The man sprang to his feet in a heartbeat, toppling a few bottles on the filthy, carpeted floor. One hand still held a bottle; the other now held a dagger.

"There is no need to fear, brother," said one of the pale men, stepping out into the light.

"Valdemar," muttered the brown-skinned man.

"And must I request you put that dagger away," said a voice close to the man's ear. A pale hand touched the blade, pushed it down. "Tsk, tsk. I certainly believe you must never greet a guest, more so a brother, in such an awful, threatening fashion."

The brown man smiled. "Tell me, Claus," he said, "shall I regard you and your brother as guests when you come uninvited?"

"Uninvited?" questioned the man named Claus. He stepped back, ran a hand over his smooth, light blond hair, then he smiled, brandishing his crooked teeth. "Oh, how foolish of me to call ourselves guests. No, no. The Master has assigned us—"

"—as your temporary partners," said Valdemar, handing the man a piece of parchment, "whilst he searches for someone"—he paused a moment, searching for the right word—"more compatible."

"And by your words 'more compatible', you mean someone of my own tribe?" said the brown-skinned man, putting the dagger back into its sheath. He pulled the parchment out of Valdemar's grasp, and began to read.

"Precisely," said Claus.

The man slumped back down onto the couch, and read the rest of the letter. Then he took a swig of wine, looked back down at the bottle in his hand, and said, "The wine here—not as strong, not as potent as the ones in our tribe. My sorrow still remains, not washed out."

"Our deepest condolences, brother," said Valdemar.

"He was a good brother," said the brown-skinned man. "Reckless, but good and loyal." He shook his head in grief memory. "We should have known."

"Pardon my curiosity, brother," said Claus, "but I wish to know what transpired in the event, what caused such a disaster, what your very eyes have witnessed."

The man glared at him for a moment, looked back down at the bottle, then he said, pointing at something in the shadows, "There is a table over there. Chairs also. Turn the light on. Take your seats. I shall get us more wine." The man stood. "Then we shall talk."