How bizarre it was. To humans, they were monsters that came from the shadows or other worlds. But what Myra had seen and experienced before the veil fell...
No, people didn't need creatures from myths, legends, fairy tales, and stories. There were many more terrible things, far from humanity, long before the veil fell. Who or what was a monster?
It was easy to hate. No matter who or what you were.
She saw that kind of hatred in Zane's glowing blue eyes. Staring at her in the darkness, he refused her help and preferred to drag himself further through the darkness.
Myra knew what it was like to be on fire and then go cold. She also knew the hot burning that drove you on like black coal drives a railway. But one day, even this coal burned out, and only ashes remained.
Silently, Myra followed the stubborn cat a short distance and, shortly after him, stepped into the embrace of darkness under the star-studded night sky. Against the sky with its drifting clouds, treetops of maple and beech trees stood out, and even some rock formations rose on this wild patch. In the distance, she could hear the sound of water.
"That's the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont..." Myreille murmured, her gaze following the cat's to the remains of an old Junkers Ju 88.
The wreckage had been partially burnt out, leaving only the charred remains of the metal structures and scattered debris. Large pieces of metal had broken off; some were lying around, and some were already overgrown with moss or vines. The aircraft's characteristic shape, with its twin-engine wings and fuselage, was still recognizable, but it was badly damaged and deformed. It was like the time of man: forgotten and already in the process of disappearing.
A gust of wind came up, rustling the leaves and bending the stalks under its invisible fingers. A few crickets chirped, and somewhere in the distance, a shapeshifter howled towards the moon. And then a growl sounded just a few steps ahead of her in the night—Zane, whose fiery anger would have been enough to light up the night brighter than the moon.
"Isn't it beautiful?" whispered a voice far from fear. "Evidence of a great time."
Myreille watched Casimir move like a shadow, past the cat, towards the figures emerging from the wreckage and the rustling hiding places in the thicket.
"A great time?" Myreille repeated. Piece by piece, parts that had previously made no sense came together.
The large body next to her shook, trembled, and rumbled. Its roar echoed through the darkness like a lion while its gaze glided silently and coldly over the figures.
The cat saw well in the darkness, his eyes shimmering golden like a cat's. Hers, on the other hand, were as white as fresh snow but just as good, perhaps even better. The humans had once called them 'children of the night' for a reason.
"A time that should never have ended. One full of great, marvelous plans," Casimir continued, joining the other men.
Wide cloaks fell around their bodies, concealing almost everything at first glance. The hoods pulled down over their faces were reminiscent of medieval cloaks or bandits on remote roads. But the fabrics were different. Some were once noble, though now damaged, perhaps by Sidhe, fairies, or even fallen Tuatha De Dannan.
Others were no more than cloth and looked like rags, hastily wrapped around the body like blankets. What they all had in common, however, was the color she recognized underneath—the brown color of the uniforms.
Then the hawk's eyes fell on the emblem—a dagger that crossed a rounded sun wheel with four arms. It was not without reason that it was reminiscent of a completely different symbol.
This time, even Myra couldn't stop her lips curling and her pointed teeth baring.
"You're one of them." Her voice had an undertone that didn't try to hide the sharply honed blade underneath. A promise of death, even if it was wrapped in black silk.
Those filthy bastards ... they were the root of all evil.
"You're a cultist of Thule." She had to pull herself together so as not to spit out from the vile taste in her mouth.
"Oh?" Casimir, on the other hand, actually lifted his chin proudly. "Have I disappointed you, mademoiselle? My fair mistress?" he buzzed like a hornet ready to sting. "I'm almost sorry, I really am," and he curled his lips into a feigned grimace of regret. It was almost reminiscent of one of the grotesque masks of the Venetian carnival. "It's not our plan to ruin such a promising relationship," he snarled and even reached out his hand. "It's not about you, Myreille. Together, we can achieve a lot. Your connection to the Master ... can open ... can open doors for us."
But Myreille didn't move a meter. On the contrary, she looked at the pale fingers in disgust. So that was the point. Her connection to the master. But that couldn't be all. He said it himself ... She wasn't part of the plan.
"It was about him," she concluded. "It was about Zane. Why?"
Gears rattled inside her, making her ears roar. Though she hadn't moved a muscle, almost like one of the marble statues in the palace, her instincts were taut as a bowstring. Her eyes, fixed on Casimir, perceived the movements of the other figures. A step here, a rustle there.
The dark growl of Zane, who crept back and forth behind her like a predator on a leash, waiting for the right moment. She knew she was the only thing holding him back. The last little thread that kept him from immediately pouncing on those murderers ... and oh, how she longed for that too. However, the advantage of arrogance is the weakness of thinking oneself invincible. And she would exploit that before she tore Casimir's throat apart.
Casimir laughed so loudly that he threw his head back on his neck.
"As if we cared about one dirty Sidhe or another!2 he laughed, shaking his head. 'It was about false hope!' he explained with a broad grin. "We could no longer tolerate humans putting their trust in filthy fairy blood."
"You killed Kaye ... and wanted to do the same to Zane ... because they are otherworlders who help humans? Because they contradict your enemy image?"
"I hate to burst your little bubble, but have you looked in the mirror lately?" Zane growled behind her and took a step forward, bringing movement to the tense ranks of the other cultists. "You're not human anymore! You're a vampire, an undead, a filthy, stinking revenant!"
"SHUT UP!" Casimir's arrogant face twisted into a pale, distorted grimace, revealing red eyes and long fangs. Then, he regained his composure and ran his fingers through his greasy blond hair. "Sometimes ... great sacrifices are necessary to achieve even greater goals," he hissed coldly. Then he reached into the inside pocket of his suit.
As his pale fingers pulled out the dagger that had cost Kaye his life, Myra felt the glowing coals inside her catch fire.
"Sacrifices ... and scapegoats," Casimir's gaze now fixed on Zane. "You were and are nothing more than pawns in our plan. And even now, you dance like the good puppets you are."
"You slipped me the dagger. Down at the opera," Zane pressed out between his teeth.
Myra felt the air crackle. She could hear in Zane's voice that he had reached his limits. Slowly, she flexed her slender fingers and tensed them, ready for the fight that was to come. The gunpowder was already crackling, the sparks flying...
"Yes, I did," the vampire purred, and Casimir's lips curled into a smile. "And I took down that filthy cat in the catacombs, too."