Chapter 169
VOLUME FOUR: CHRISTIAN
Near Philadelphia, 1755
The light of a full moon fell over the log cabin, casting shadows of tree branches across the rugged exterior. One candle burned on a small table near the window, the wax dripping down the side creating waves that reminded Christian of the time he’d gone fishing with his father and the water had been stirred by a great wind. He imagined that might be what the ocean waves looked like, wild, free, with no rhyme or reason. He wouldn’t know. He’d never seen the ocean.
He had seen a Vampire though. A few nights ago. When his father had taken him out on his first hunt. His mother had protested as she was doing now, saying he was too young, that his father, Peter, was ridiculous to take an eight-year-old boy on a hunt, particularly since this team was so thin now that her mentor, Culpepper, had returned to Boston. There were just a handful of the Goodies left now, that’s what she called their side--the Goodies--and with the Baddies moving into their territory more and more each day, it was just a matter of time before they lost one of their two children to the bloodsucking abominations.
“Horsefeathers!” Peter Henry had declared, shouting at his wife, Elizabeth. “He needs to learn!”
“He needs to grow up!” she’d countered, never one to back down, even when her husband raised his hand to her. He couldn’t hurt her, not really. She was a Guardian, a superhuman being that would live forever, so long as a Hunter didn’t accidentally put a bullet in her back during an operation. Hunters were the only creatures on Earth that could kill Guardians. Not even the Vampires could take out a Guardian. Someday, Christian would be a Guardian, too, so long as his mother was wrong, and he didn’t end up getting killed or turned before that happened. When they were at home, back in their own log cabin, just a bit bigger than this one, and she said such things, it made him shudder with fear. Now, standing outside in the shade of the large cedar trees that parted only slightly to make way for the dwelling, he didn’t have time to be scared. If he was going to stay alive, he’d have to listen carefully to what his father and the other Hunter who was along with them, Jessup White, had to say. Just like the other night, when he’d watched his father fire a silver musket shot right through a woman with ivory skin and blood dripping down her chin, he knew there was no room for mistakes.
“It’s in there all right,” Jessup whispered in his husky voice. The Hunter was a mess and had been since before he’d come to be part of the Henrys’ association. Christian had overheard his parents talking one night about Jess, as they often called him, how he drank enough to kill a regular man and not enough to numb a Hunter. There was no numbing, not in their state, no drinks strong enough, no drugs potent enough, to alter their mental state more than just a smidge. That didn’t stop Jess from trying.
“Too late for Caleb Richter, God bless his soul,” Elizabeth said, crossing herself. Christian might’ve thought that odd since she wasn’t Catholic, but he’d seen her do it enough times before to understand that was just part of who his mother was. She wasn’t like other women in many ways. Not only was she a highly skilled killing machine that could rip the head off of a feral Vampire in one stroke, she wore pants to do it. Sometimes, she wore pants to do her chores around the house. It bothered Peter to no end. Christian had seen his father backhand her across the room once when he’d come in from the field to see her wearing a pair of his pantaloons to do her outside chores. Elizabeth had gotten up, swiped at her face, and went on about her chores, waiting until Peter left again to go put on a skirt. It hadn’t seemed right to Christian at the time, that his father just knocked his mother around, but whenever he’d asked her about it later, she’d said, “The Bible teaches a woman to submit to her husband. I should’ve asked permission first.”
His sister, Abigail, who was home with their grandmother now, got lots of swats on her backside from her father, but he never put his hands on Christian. He said he would, if ever his son did anything to deserve it, so Christian always tried to abide by his father’s rules. Peter said he had to live up to his biblical name, that he had been named for the Almighty, which meant he needed to keep himself pure and above abomination. That meant following his father’s instruction without asking questions.
That last part was difficult for Christian. Even now, standing in the shadows alongside his parents, listening to Jess and Thomas Newcomber discuss what should be done, he had so many inquiries in his head. Thomas was a Guardian, like Christian’s mother. Since Culpepper had left, he had sort of appointed himself as the new leader, but Christian could see it bothered Peter. He didn’t like being told what to do.
Neither did Christian, which made it all the harder not to ask questions when he was given the instructions his father barked at him without explanation. Curious, he always wanted to know how everything worked. Sometimes, when his father was out tending to crops, mostly a cover, though his family did have to eat, Christian would take household items apart and put them back together. They didn’t have too many gadgets, but the small ones they did have, the tools his father used to fix the carriage, farming equipment, even the carriage itself… if his father knew how many times Christian had taken those items apart and put them back together, well, Christian would find out what it felt like to be backhanded across the room quickly enough. Since he had yet to Transform and was still a human, something told him it would hurt him more than it hurt his mother.
“I’ll go in from the right with Jess,” Thomas was saying to Peter and Elizabeth. “The two of you go round back.” His eyes went to Christian and he sighed, shaking his head. He’d made it clear earlier that he agreed with Elizabeth that the child shouldn’t be there. “Can the boy stay here by himself this time?”
“Don’t be absurd,” Peter replied, his whispering voice the same as what everyone else would consider normal talking. “He’ll go with us.”
“What if….” Thomas shook his head again, knowing it would do no good. “Be careful, son,” he said, putting his large, rough hand on Christian’s shoulder. “These monsters are dangerous.”
Looking up at him, Christian nodded, swallowing hard. He could already feel the perspiration springing up along his hairline and behind his ears. He didn’t want to be here either, but his father thought it was important for him to witness as many slayings as possible so that, when he was able to Transform at seventeen, killing would come naturally. He hoped by then Christian would have learned so much from watching him and his mother in action that he’d be some sort of super-Guardian, an unstoppable machine that could take out bloodsuckers by the dozen and rid the Pennsylvania farmland of them for good.
Christian just wanted to go home and curl up next to his sister in the loft, say his prayers, and go to sleep, dreaming of open fields, wild horses, and his brown hound dog, Tipper. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was stand there in the dark by himself while his parents went to slay the beast. Strike that--the second last thing he wanted to do was stand there. The last thing he wanted to do was be involved in said slaying. He swallowed hard again, staring up at Mr. Thomas wide-eyed. Internally, he was begging the man to insist that his parents take him home, or that his mother stay there and guard him while his father moved in and helped destroy the creature. But Christian could never say those words aloud. His father would be embarrassed and angry. There was a new last thing on earth added to the list. The last thing on earth he truly wanted to do was make Peter Henry angry.
