Filthy, Impetuous Soul

I DON’T KNOW if it’s normal to hate the friends of your friends, but I do.

After spending an hour or so tapping the back of my head against the wall, bored out of my mind, Sasha and Brad — currently the only friends I have — called to ask me if I wanted to come down with them to the cemetery. So I shrugged my shoulders and dressed up in casual clothing. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do.

Nobody was expressly prohibited from going down to the cemetery, but for obvious reason, it was heavily frowned upon to be caught just hanging out there the way we often did. It’s part of the appeal of going anyway.

Then I saw the sleek black SUV parked by the curb outside my apartment, with the aforementioned friends of my friends — London and Draik — inside, and I started to turn around.

Sasha grabs me by the shoulder and starts to drag me to the car anyways. “Julien, please,” she huffs.

Sasha and Brad, despite my every wish, are good friends with London, an entitled vampire with platinum blonde hair and an extremely punchable face. He’s the progeny of one rather prestigious Lord Idris — if I didn’t know exactly what he was like, I would wonder what in that man’s right mind made him change him — and my arch nemesis at the moment. And it isn’t for the sole reason that he broke Sasha’s heart and that she’s still friends with him; London and I have had a long-standing opposition, pretty much since I was brought to Lucia, a North American city in the most northern country of the French Date.

As far as I’m concerned, my friends don’t associate with Draik nearly as much as they do London, but since he and London are best mates, he comes as part of the package.

Draik’s an orphan of sorts — his maker had been killed years ago, but he was adopted by Lady Claudia Lukas, who was good friends with his late maker, and kept around anyways for...

Well, I’m not sure why — he doesn’t bring anything to the table but drama and STIs — but unfortunately he’s still around.

London, in the passenger seat, tilts his head and drags his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. “So this is where Julien lives… Interesting…”

The corner of my lip curls involuntarily in disgust as I plant my boots into the sidewalk. “I don’t want to go in there with them.”

Standing at my other side, Brad comes to assist Sasha, sandwiching me between them. Being that he is a weight trainer, and a bounty hunter himself — like me — it isn’t such a strenuous task for him. “They’re not that bad. Really, Julien, you’re just so dramatic,” he tells me, in his low, husky voice.

“You two don’t see them the way I see them, which is mighty unfortunate, and I’m not entirely sure for who.”

London once caught me using a spirit board with some of my biology classmates and had rattled off to Rhain, Brad’s older vampire brother, about it. It was, and still is, forbidden to invite or play with spirits of any sort in Lucia, considering how dangerous they can be, even to vampires.

He’d never really liked me, not since I arrived, but he hadn’t given me any sort of break since then.

Honestly, I think Brad’s only friends with him because his brother and Lord Idris are. It’s the only logical explanation I can think of.

My best friend opens the door and gestures for me to get in first. Kissing my teeth, I hop in and head straight to the back, next to the left-hand window, as far away as possible from London. The car smells as new as if it’s just been bought, and somehow I doubt Draik has ever driven it before, where London is too prissy to do something so subservient as to drive others and himself.

“If it isn’t the witch herself,” the blond sneers, glaring with his creepy light blue eyes in the rear view, black shades parked at the tip of his nose.

My only two friends hop into the second row behind him and the driver, Draik, who in turn starts the car. He and London are as annoying as their constant conversations about the political differences between car brands like Audi and Toyota. If I have to hear the same argument again, I might reach forward and wring one of their necks against the headrest with my lanyard just to get them to stop talking.

Even if I couldn’t do that, I’d go so far even to open the door and toss myself out into the street as the spiky-haired brunette cruises well above the speed limit.

I sneer back at him, “Well if it isn’t the God of Cat Piss himself.”

“Oh god, please don’t start,” whimpers Sasha, slamming the cafr door behind her.

“That was one time!”

“So he didn’t just call me a witch?”

He spins abruptly in his seat as he lights up, straining against his seatbelt as he screams, “And I didn’t know it was cat urine! I would’ve never drank it!”

Both Brad and Sasha exchange glances, the former running his hands over his ponytail.

"Aw, but you did, Pissy.”

His fangs click into place. “You’re lucky your friends are here.”

“I wouldn’t be here if they weren’t,” I murmur back in a mocking tone. “So you’re absolutely wrong about that.” I could be petty and mention how he wouldn’t risk the wrath of Deidre, who was at one point technically my guardian for a time. He would never touch me, despite the numerous threats he dishes out. “Not like I want to see that ugly mug of yours anyway.”

“Ugly mug?! Why you little —!”

“We’ve gotta make a stop by Erin’s place,” Brad cuts in, and that’s the end of that confrontation.

“Erin?” I ask, eyebrows furrowed in a notch. “Erin Cartír?”

“You know him?”

Of course I do. Awkward guy with no social skills whatsoever. He’d be cute if he didn’t always look like he was tied to the rails of a train coming for him at top speed.

“I do. He was trying to talk to me at Sasha’s party. He couldn’t find the words he was looking for” — I shrug, propping my elbow against the armrest panel and planting my fist into my cheek — “so I told him I’d go get him a glass of water.”

“And did you?” He sounds surprised.

“No. He was trying to do small talk with me.” I wrinkled my nose. “I can’t stand it.”

“There are few things you can.”

I sigh, sitting up and draping my head against the back of my seat, before exhaling deeply. “Think you may have a point,” I murmur.

“And you invited Erin Cartír for what purpose exactly?” London asks, probably speaking all our exact thoughts. “We hardly know him.”

“I only invited him because he’s on the list of suspects for Detective Hautch.”

Prissy — London ripostes, “And you wanted to prove that he didn’t kill those kids?”

I’m more worried that he was even on the list in the first place. I’ve never liked Detective Hautch — which isn’t really news; he didn’t like me when I got here either. I always thought he was too detective-y, always suspecting everyone of everything, aside from those whose asses he was always kissing.

I’m also surprised Draik hasn’t said anything. Then again, I figure he’s probably too focused on the road to even think about siding with his boyfriend.

Soon enough, we come to a stop outside a modest, two-floor home with a wide patio. There’s a frail old woman sitting out front in a hazy green rocking chair, knitting a long black scarf with silver needles. Or, that’s what I assume it must be.

Rhain’s brother gets out of the car and heads up the driveway, the old woman watching him with an unbelievable calm all the way up. He talks to her, and she responds with a polite smile and gestures with one elbow to the bright blue door.

At least a minute passes by before there’s any answer at the door, and first it’s another woman, at least half the patio woman’s age. She comes away from the door and a few moments later, there’s Erin — in a double-layered jacket and a white uniform sweater, jeans rolled up for his long socks and faded green sneakers.

He comes in through Brad’s side, and upon seeing me is completely thrown off, but quietly climbs into the back seat next to me. He’s got thick, curly brown hair and dark brown eyes. He used to wear glasses, but I’m assuming he’s made an investment in contacts instead. He’s got a nervous dart of the eyes whenever he realises someone is staring at him, whereas most people, including myself, would just stare right back.

Erin isn’t exactly killer material, and even I can clearly see that.

The Epson Kids — the ones he’s suspected to have murdered — were a group of teenagers who’d been killed near the Epson Falls. They’d been camping there in one of the four-room cabins when it happened. It had been staged to look like they’d all commit a group suicide, and it was good work — the entire case was almost overruled as such — but it was nothing of the sort. All the bodies had been drained of blood. And one was missing, though a hacked leg was left behind in its place.

I wonder if Erin knows why Brad invited him, or if he just politely accepted the offer.

“Why do you always wear a corset?” he asks me. The question is fine; what’s wrong with asking that? I think it’s bizarre that a 19-year-old fighter would wear a corset everyday as well.

I just can’t help myself.

“Because I want my lungs to shrivel up until they’re raisin size.”

He recoils ever so slightly, eyes going wide as if not only does he find it absurd, but he also believes it. So I smile and return my gaze to the window. I’ve been told my temper is unmatched, so really the corset is a reminder of that every time I think I might get into it with someone. That, and I have terrible posture, even as a Blood-Drinker.

Eventually, the city melts away into pinewood forest and a worn down, barely paved road in the middle hardly big enough for two cars to pass on either side. Its familiarity isn’t one I’m too keen on, although I was found at the edge of these trees some years ago, but sometimes I wish I’d just been left to die.

I close my eyes for a brief moment, overwhelmed by the drowning feeling of grief that always comes from thinking about those days, yet I can never remember why any emotion is there at all. Perhaps because a fat chunk of my memory is nowhere to be found — I don’t know how I got here or what led me here in the first place.

When I look up again, we’re passing by the cemetery. Nobody else even blinks. “Um, I think you missed a stop,” I call to the front of the Suburban.

“And it was intentional,” London and Draik call back at once, London’s voice drenched in spite and disdain of course.

Sasha spares me a look, and it reminds me of my mother turning to me with tired eyes and pleading for me to just sit back. But why do I feel like I’ve been left out of the loop — where exactly are we going?

I clench my jaw and fold my arms over my chest just as I’m about to slouch in my seat, though the constriction around my stomach and spine forces me back up.

We keep driving. The sun fades behind the clouds to cast a dreadful shadow. The air conditioning isn’t on, but I could swear it became a little cooler in the car.

Draik takes a right and pulls us into a dirt path. It’s thirty or forty more minutes of complete and utter silence before we slow to a complete stop, and in front of us are ruins, though not in such a condition that a few young people would be discouraged from discovery. The stones are clung to with moss and an unnatural green from mould. Even the slabs of what used to be a part of the actual structure itself are fallen into one side of the ground where part of it’s drooped through because of the weight.

Everyone exits the car, even Erin goes before me, but I find myself stuck, unable to move and unable to unbuckle myself from the car. My muscles are as stiff as bone, my fingers latching to the armrest and my stomach pitted with unrefined dread.

Even the slamming of the doors doesn’t faze me and I almost don’t notice them. All the sound has gone to the back of my head, like congested ears during allergy season. Why is my head swimming and why is the blood rushing to my far away ears?

I feel like I’m in another world all of a sudden, and I can’t figure out how I got here.

“Julien.”

I spin around to stare behind me. Brad is behind the car, the trunk latch propped up, eyes expectant as he slings a duffle tube bag across his shoulder.

Suddenly I’m aware of how I must appear to him, shoulders stuck to the sides of my neck, jaw clenched and a distant varnish over my eyes.

“You alright?” he asks me, and for some reason I can’t detect that he’s asking me and me alone. Everything still sounds underwater. “Come on.”

He slams the back latch and walks around my side of the car again, opening the door for me as he waves me forward. “Come on,” he says again, this time much softer. When I don’t move, he sighs. “Please?”

My expression is suspicious at best, and he recognises it. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” I murmur, dragging myself up and stumbling out of the car. The blood rushes from my head again, swelling in my arms and legs. I stumble. “Don’t lock your knees,” I tell myself.

Taking a deep breath, I swallow and look away from the concern etched on his face as he slams the door shut behind me. “I’m fine,” I assure him, though my voice breaks in comparison with my words.

In all truth, I don’t know what’s come over me.

“Okay,” he whispers back. I trail behind him as we join the rest of the group.

Just look at your feet; watch where you’re stepping.

“Oh my goodness! What is that?” Draik laughs with his whole body, snorting and holding his stomach. “Is Julien afraid of the Catacombs, or are you just too chicken because you’ll get in trouble?”

He quickly shuts up when I stare at him. “How old are we, Draik — five?”

The top of the cleared entrance is hatted with a skeletal white tree, roots driven into the foundation and around the sides and the back like the teeth of a virus. There are dancing, child sized ladies and unnamed design patterns carved into the slanted corners of the outer walls. No doors and some of the windows are stoned up. Old spantile slanted roof on the left, which grows into a tall geometrical structure, and a crumbling square archway opposite that.

Erin surveys our surroundings with wonder as he asks, “Where are we?”

I don’t need to ask. I know exactly where we are and that we aren’t supposed to be here at all.

“The Catacombs,” Sasha answers.

He stares at her with as much horror as I want to experience. “But... But...the Catacombs are —”

Twisting his neck, London rolls his eyes at the boy. He groans, heavy with impatience, “Off limits — yes, yes. We’re all well-aware, Cartír.”

“There’s probably a reason it’s off limits, you small sack of balls,” I snarl back. He huffs and rolls his eyes, starting toward the entrance, Draik trailing close behind.

Still, Erin’s expression is grateful.

Sasha turns to me with a disappointed glare. “You don’t have to fight him every time, you know.”

“And he doesn’t have to be such a smartass every time, y’know?”

Her face changes, but I can’t tell if it’s pity or empathy now. “Julien, please —”

“Guys, we’re not even supposed to be here. Nobody is supposed to be here.”

“I know you’re afraid we’ll get caught and then we’ll get in trouble.”

“Not to mention the fact that I will be in the most fucking trouble...” I don’t wanna say that Rhain has it out for me — he’s like a big brother to me, and he cares; I understand that much — but I’ll definitely be doing the most laps at practice, and I’ll certainly be the embarrassed one every time he outplays me during training in front of everyone and in private. I blink rapidly and shake my head, looking past both of them. “It’s not even about that. They don’t just say the things they say for no reason — why do you think this area is forbidden in the first place? There’s probably something down there that we shouldn’t be fucking with.”

“We’re counting on it,” Brad ripostes, tightening his grip on the bag strap.

“Why are we here? Really?”

Brad’s green eyes dart from one side of my face to the other, as if searching my face for something. What, though? Faith? Credence? I’ve known him for years; he grew to become my best friend when I never thought I needed it. Do I really still trust in him and he just feels he can’t confide in me anymore?

“So is London forcing you to do this? Or this about proving something to Rhain?”

His jaw ticks as he looks away.

“Really, Julien —”

She starts to say something else but I instantly cut her off with a sharp look. “Sasha. Don’t.”

I revert my gaze back to him. “Please don’t play with me right now, Brad. Please, don’t. What is it?”

He makes a shrugging suggestion, flexing his thumbs and forefingers. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.”