Jasper ran his fingers over a drawing in the book he had been glancing through for the past half-hour. He couldn't read – had never had to learn – so whatever was written meant nothing to him, but the pictures were such that he had never seen before. Beneath his hand were two figures outlined sharply in ink, locked in bitter combat. One of them was pale-white and robed, hands with uncut nails like wicked claws swinging a sword at his foe; a bald plated-up man with a vicious scowl of fiery hatred, brandishing a Warhammer. He tore the page out and added it to his pile. The pictures would be a good distraction; colour against the scary, dank world outside this little library.
He closed the book and looked about. It was too dark and too quiet for him to want to wander when he had first arrived, ushered in hastily by the ghost-man with an order to behave and be quiet. But his eyes had adjusted, and he had nothing better to do. He approached the closest bookshelf and began following the shelves around the room. Oddly he noticed they all looked full, or thereabouts. The backs of the books were coated in so thick a layer of dust that even if he knew how to read he couldn't make out what they were called.
So where were all of these from? He looked back at the three piles of discarded books, and pamphlets, and scrolls. A cursory glance at the top item in each case showed some little insignia of a skull wearing a wreath. Or, at least, the outline of it – Whoever made this place their home had torn them away wherever they were found. Jasper didn't know the significance, but remembered seeing them on the walls of the local chapel and carved into the doorframes of particularly superstitious households.
All the pictures were of monsters and heroes, of brave knights against brutish bat-creatures with wide leathery wings and stained yellow fangs.
What if… ?
He shivered, even though the room was lukewarm and stuffy. He didn't care where the mystery writings came from anymore. He wasn't going to be food for any monster.
So he drew his handgun off the round oak table, drew it close to him, and looked around. The ghostly woman had disappeared up the winding stairwell opposite the entrance. He squatted in the corner of the room next to the door and aimed his rifle that way.
He waited for so long his feet were burning, and nothing happened. The entire place was silent, except for a faint sound on the floor above. He listened closely. It got louder. He followed the noise towards the staircase, his curiosity getting the better of his nerves. He was right beneath the noise now, an arm's length from some gothic statue of a skeleton in worn bronze armour. He froze beside it. There was the whine of a door-hinge up above, and the voices became clear.
"Just a boy!" it mocked. "An Imperial, isn't he? A state-trooper! How could you bring him here? Do you want me to die!?" It was a woman, but it didn't sound soft and warm like the women he had seen on the street. It was harsh and angry and unstable, drowning out the other voice of the ghost-lady who was trying to calm her down.
"He's just a child! What happened to the Sisters of Sigmar, and caring for the weak and needy? Is there anyone weaker than a lonely, scared boy – and is there ever a time when one would need you more?"
The voices died down. The stairs were thudding; the woman was coming down. In the darkness as he was, he figured, she wouldn't see him.
"I am not a Sister of Sigmar. I am a vampire. I am a monster."
"All your reading and you didn't learn. It's not a disease, it's not a mutation – it's merely a condition. You can still be the light this city needs, with his help." She added; "I've not let you down yet."
"No, you haven't." The voice was right above him now. He sank down the wall. The pair passed into the room ahead of him. The woman turned her head. She sniffed the air and raised her hand, and in an instant the statue came to life, a flare of green-blue light in its eyes, grabbing the boy with a vice-grip on either shoulder and dragging him forward. The woman turned around, her eyes narrow and full of rage.
"Try scheming one more time, Imperial, and I'll tear off your arms and-" She lit a nearby wall-lantern to see the boy more clearly and when she did she paused, dumbstruck.
He really was just a boy. He had curly short hair, his cheeks still plump with youth and his thin pink lips trembling. It seemed to take all his strength and pride not to cry, because the rest of him was frozen still while he watched her. Sofie felt an instinct overtake the bitterness and loathing and the horrible lust for blood that made her salivate like a dog. She felt the urge to grab this boy and hug him tightly until he calmed.
She wasn't sure if it was her maternal instincts or some last vestige of the teachings of the Sisterhood, but either way it was humanity, and with it sanity.
And with this clarity I can save this city, and all of us. She thought. With him, she could save all of them. Her scowl faded and she smiled with pursed lips. Jasper couldn't track her movements, but she seemed to twitch and then her armour fell away, neatly piled on the floor, and in her robes she hugged him tightly.
"My dear, you look so cold and hungry. Come with me – I can help. And don't cry, you're safer here than you were out there, I assure you."
The boy was confused; dazed. His mouth flopped open like a fish, trying to force out words but not knowing at all what to say. He just looked at the Banshee, who was idly circling the room. She nodded. "You can trust her. She's not a monster – Yes, I know what she looks like." There was a grunt of annoyance. "Don't be so uptight, Sofie, you're scaring him."
Biting her lip, Sofie turned to the boy again. "Well? Come on, dear. There's a mattress for you too. My friend tells me you had to sleep in a sewer, and that you did it often. Why I can't imagine!" She paused, and grabbed his hand slowly. Her iron grip was frosty, but she seemed to exude kindness all the same, and he finally let her guide him up the stairs.
She led him to the top of the building – the third floor – and through a narrow hallway. The door at the end had been torn off and neatly placed against the inside wall, and he saw that the shelves were almost entirely depleted. There was a long rectangle table dominating the room with a purple-and-white checked rug, caked In dust. The woman rushed off to cater to their guest, and the banshee lowered herself onto the chair opposite Jasper.
"What do you think of her?" She asked.
"Scary." He looked down. There was a chuckle.
"Oh, she even scares me – and she can't even touch me. But she's kind, really. Just don't bring up her…"
"Vampirism?"
"Clever boy." She seemed to smile, but in the glum and dusty room Jasper couldn't be sure.
The moments until Sofie returned past in silence. She laid a steaming cup on the table, and a plat with ham, bread and cheese.
"Enjoy, please." She smiled. The boy shivered. Oh. "Sorry! Sorry, I'm still not used to all of this… Enjoy, my dear." The boy set to work on his food and tea and the vampire seated herself quietly, watching him.
The hunger voided any nerves he had, so Jasper spoke with his mouth half-full: "So why'm I here?"
"Well, you know the tunnels underground?"
"What?"
"The Sewers. Can you find your way through them?" She rubbed her aquiline nose and lay her hands down to her lap.
"Oh! Yeah, for definite I can!" He grinned proudly.
"Can you take me?"
He paused. "Why?"
"I need to get to the Chapel." He groaned. She felt the rage she had grown used to flare up, but suppressed it. "Please, dear. There's something there – we need to destroy."
The boy looked at her.
"Rocks. Bad rocks – nasty, magical, green rocks. You must have seen them?" He nodded. "Good. Take me, please. I'll protect you; you guide me. Then we can fix this… and you'll be a hero."
The boy was shocked. He dropped a piece of ham to the floor with a thump. "Me? A hero? Are you sure."
"Of course, my dear. You can save this city – or what's left of it."
"I don't know… I don't want to go back. Not with the rats down there."
Sofie looked about. She had heard the rumours, but didn't believe them. After all, with all the zombies and ghouls and heretics in the open, if there were any more dangers they would have shown themselves.
No doubt aware of the stance of loyal Imperials on this matter, or otherwise not wanting to see her plan brought low, the Banshee chimed in. "There are rat-men down there, Sofie. I've seen them; we barely escaped them."
"I'll protect you from all of them, okay? While we're working together your well-being is my top priority."
The boy had finished, clattering the plate down triumphantly and belching with a giggle. "Sure! First plan I ever heard to fix this place. I'm in, miss Sofie!"
"Good. Now rest; we can't be getting lost in some tunnel, there's too much at stake. So you need to be switched-on."
The boy nodded diligently and jumped up. He left through the door, following the banshee's direction, but popped his head back round seconds later.
"Miss Sofie?"
"Yes?" The woman asked, patting her fingers against the corner of the table. This boy was talkative when he wasn't so afraid.
"That stuff you said about protecting me?" He began, blushed and paused.
"Out with it, boy!" The boy squealed. "…Please… I'm sorry. Please, speak." Sofie smiled sheepishly.
"Is that what a Mummy does?"
The question cracked her façade like a bolt through a gambeson. She almost felt herself tear up, the poor thing. This type of vulnerable was what the Sisterhood had sworn to protect. Sofie couldn't tell if the Banshee wanted to redeem or manipulate her, but either way she had a knack for it in this boy.
"Yes, my dear." She mumbled. He cocked his head. "Yes it is."
Jasper grinned and ran out of the room.