The Revelation
Telling Secrets

Why? Why? Why?

Those words echoed in Oliver’s mind when he approached the home near Miami Beach. Two windows were open, letting the soft ocean breeze flow through the house. A light turned off close to the front door and a tall shadow moved past the window.

The shadow was unmistakable. A thin man with shoulders that perfectly aligned with his hips, making him look much taller than he was. Oliver remembered his face the last time they saw each other. It was nearly sixty years ago. Fashions had changed since. Time had changed, but neither of them would.

He closed his eyes when his hand rested on the doorknob. There was no need to knock. He already knew Oliver was there. The door flew open, but no one stood in the entry to greet him.

Oliver stepped inside, shuffling his feet on the marble tile. The only light came from a fireplace in the open living room. The hall was like a museum after hours, immaculate except for the expensive modern paintings hung on the wall. Shadows of the paintings stretched out to take hold of Oliver, growing limbs and eyes where none existed before.

This must be Anika’s touch, he thought to himself. Florian hated modern art.

“Close the door.” A voice called from somewhere in the house.

“Are we doing this now, Florian?” Oliver asked, shutting the door behind him.

“I told you if I ever saw you again, I’d kill you.” Florian answered.

He was closer that time, but the quiet gust of air blowing past Oliver told him Florian had moved again. Younger Vampires were easier to deal with. They hadn’t gotten a good handle on their abilities. Their movements were quick, but the naked eye could still see them. Someone the same age as Florian or Oliver moved like the wind itself, becoming a blur of color depending on what they were wearing.

It was exhausting to move so quick. Even at Oliver’s age, he could only do it for a few minutes at a time. Florian was younger by half a century. He could move, but he didn’t have the stamina Oliver did. And Oliver was betting on that.

“I would wait.” Oliver said. “Until I tell you…”

The first hit was like a thick slab of meat hitting the marble floor. Oliver crashed against the wall, sending one of the paintings to the ground. Something shattered in a nearby room, falling from a shelf when the impact rumbled through the house. Every costly vase and picture in a frame would be in shambles if Florian continued the assault.

Oliver stood firm on the floor, bracing himself for the next attack. Florian would come from the darkest part of the room. It would be more difficult for Oliver to see him in the shadows. Some humans swore Elders could move through shadows. It wasn’t true. They made it up because they didn’t understand how fast an old Vampire moved. One moment they were there, and the next, they had faded away.

The flash of gold hair turned Oliver’s body toward the man, rushing toward him like a charging bull. They both clashed in a tangled mess of arms and legs, skidding across the tiles until the wall broke the momentum. A quiet hum moved through the house as the support beams strained to hold up to the strength of the two men.

Florian grunted when Oliver’s fangs dug into his shoulder and gagged on the chunk of flesh he’d ripped away. It tasted metallic and old. A rotting body that wasted away with each minute Florian didn’t feed. Oliver’s shirt tore in half, hanging off of his arms by the sleeves. Florian grasped his arms, pulling him closer. Oliver saw the white fangs reflecting the flickering fire. They were moving right for his chest.

He had fed recently, but Florian was hungry. And Florian had been playing his disappearing act for the last few minutes. He would tire soon. Oliver only needed to survive until then.

It was a grappling match on the ground. One man wrenching free of the other. Every time Oliver could move, Florian pinned him again. Eventually, he could dig his fangs into the man’s heart. It would be a slow and painful death with no stake. Only his own hands and teeth clawing Oliver’s heart to shreds.

He closed his eyes, feeling his own blood running down his throat. There wasn’t enough of it yet. If he lost much more, he would lose and be ash in moments. As they rolled closer to the fireplace, Florian remembered a night where the fire blistered his skin. He stood there, not caring about the flames of a home that was once his. All he cared about were the two bodies inside that could no longer be saved.

“Why?!” Florian screamed.

Oliver’s head slammed on the tile, bouncing off of the marble with a disturbing slap. Blood splattered against the gray and white floor. Oliver gasped and shook off the daze of a head injury. He stared at Florian as if he were a ghost. A ghost from long ago. One that never stopped haunting his dreams.

“I warned you, Florian!” Oliver stammered. “You didn’t listen.”

Florian’s vision spun around in circles along with the room. The dizzying speed they were moving at caught up with him, and his hands seized over Oliver’s throat. He sucked in a deep breath and then a second, begging his body to keep moving.

“I want an answer before I kill you!” He said.

Oliver sighed, flipping Florian off of him as if he were a cushion on the couch. He slid across the floor until the area rug caught him. Florian laid against the plush fibers, spreading his arms out over the warmth of it. He could barely breathe any more.

“You idiot.” Oliver said. “You tried to fight me while you were starving. Haven’t you fed yet?”

“No.” Florian wheezed. “I knew you were here. I waited.”

“How long have you waited at home?”

“Since I found out four days ago.” Florian said.

Oliver rolled his eyes. “You are stupid. I could stake you right now and that would be it.”

“If you were going to kill me, you would have. Why aren’t you?”

Oliver grasped his head, doubling over like Florian punched him in the gut. He screamed at the floor. “Stop asking me that! I hate it! I hate the word! I don’t know! I don’t!”

The outburst was enough to confuse Florian. A moment ago, Oliver Faulkner was a modern version of the monster who betrayed him. Within seconds, he became a timid young Vampire, not understanding the new found abilities that ran through his veins. It drove them crazy for a few days, prompting odd outbursts like the one Oliver had.

“What are you doing here if you aren’t here to kill me?” Florian said.

“I have something for you. A gift.” Oliver sighed. “Something you have wanted for a long time.”

“Your ashes.”

“Not exactly. But it might come later. The end of the Iron Oath.” Oliver said.

Florian struggled to lift his head. “You must be lying.”

“No.” Oliver shook his head. “I am not. I have everything. Not here. I know you’re about to ask. It’s all safe. For now.”

Florian closed his eyes, struggling to stay awake. The slumber that came after exhausting every drop of blood was a dangerous one. A Vampire could sleep for weeks or months if no one found them, putting themselves in danger of being exposed to the sun sickness or a wayward stake.

He had made a mistake waiting on Oliver for so long. The need for a final act of revenge was so strong that he forgot the most important thing. No donors came by, because Florian was concerned they’d be caught in the crossfire. Anika went to the Bahamas for a little while so she would be safe. He sat alone and waited, slowly starving.

“What do you have?” He asked.

Oliver shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll replace out soon.”

“Did you come here to tell me this?”

“To prepare you.” Oliver said. “I was ready for one of us to die, but I didn’t know you’d be so stupid and starve yourself.”

“What is your plan, Oliver?” Florian asked.

“You know me, Florian. My plans are always my own. Call a donor before you die like this.”

Oliver glanced around the room, noticing Florian’s phone was on a small side table that hadn’t been touched by their little scuffle. Part of the entry hall would need a contractor to fix, and Anika was going to kill him for ruining her art. The blood on the tile would clean up with little effort, but Florian couldn’t do anything except lie there until someone helped him.

He dropped the phone on Florian’s chest. “I don’t envy you when Anika returns.”

Florian didn’t answer him. He scowled at the phone, struggling to make the urgent call to one of his donors. Oliver added insult to the injury, moving so quick that the only thing left was the front door swinging in the breeze.

Two women were talking on the television, sitting in front of a rack full of mixing bowls and bright pink and blue cupcakes. Their voices were low, saying how frantic they were to finish their cakes in time. Oliver rolled his eyes at the idea of this show. It was one of the most mindless and stupid things humans ever created. Yet Wren was watching it and laughing at the mess created by the two women competing for a cash prize.

He watched her through the window, taking a mental inventory of everything around the condo before knocking on the door. It was sparsely furnished, but the amount of thriving plants made up for any lack of decoration. Wren was in the narrow living room with one leg draped over a footstool.

Oliver noticed a bottle of medicine sitting on the kitchen island. He strained in the low light to see what it was. It was something he didn’t recognize. Then again, he was not a Doctor of any sort.

For the first time, he saw undeniable proof of who Wren is. The few times they saw each other, she wore longer sleeves, covering the mark that told everyone she was a Druid. At home, she had a tank top on, showing off the lean muscle on her arms and the dark birthmark in the shape of a tree.

The dog was stretched out on the couch next to his person. His head lulled against Wren’s leg and he let out a content sigh. Brutus’ eyes snapped open and he sniffed the air. The dog knew that scent. It was like burning roses, sweet and ashy all at the same time. People couldn’t smell a Vampire, but dogs could. So could Werewolves.

Oliver cursed under his breath, moving to the front door and putting his hand up as if he were about to knock. For the second time that night, someone opened it before he could. This time, a rather annoyed woman stood with her arms crossed.

“Do you need something?” Wren asked.

“Yes.” Oliver nodded.

Wren nearly gagged when she saw streams of dried blood encrusted on his neck. His shirt was ripped in two, opening up like a jacket. Splatters of blood dotted his face and chest, and two large gashes were already healing along his abdomen. He held something in his arm. It was a brown paper package tied with twine, but Oliver protected it like it was a priceless piece of art.

“Jesus! What happened to you?” Wren held the door open for him.

“I saw an old friend.” He answered. “Could I use your washroom?”

“Yes?” Wren let him walk past without another word, pointing toward the small bathroom downstairs.

Once Oliver cleaned himself up, he emerged in the living room with the ripped shirt now wadded in his hand. “Bin?”

“In the kitchen under the sink.” Wren said. “Are you in some sort of trouble, Oliver?”

“No.” He said. “But I will be.”

She smirked. “Because you’re trying to seduce Kerri.”

“I seduce women in every office. It keeps me entertained.” Oliver slammed the top of the trash can, throwing away much more than the torn shirt. He slapped the package on Wren’s counter, right next to the pill bottle. “Are you sick?”

“I have Chron’s disease.” Wren said, changing the subject before she had to explain more. “Wait. Did Jacob do this to you?”

“Jacob?” Oliver laughed. “Why would he do this?”

“Kerri has gotten to be a favorite. I thought he got angry over that.”

“Jacob doesn’t care who I sleep with. As long as I don’t harm them.”

Wren shrugged. “Oliver, Kerri doesn’t like men. You’re barking up the wrong tree with her. Sorry Brutus.”

The dog panted with a big smile. “It’s alright.”

“Ah. That explains a few things.” Oliver chuckled.

He tried to smile, but it was as if he didn’t know how. Centuries of being part of the Iron Oath took a toll on him, and all he could manage was to turn up the corners of his mouth. Like his body didn’t remember what it really meant to smile.

“Did Brian Neason do this?”

“No.” Oliver said. “I haven’t seen him since Kerri and I met with him. I saw Florian.”

Wren made an o with her mouth. “You’re lucky he didn’t kill you.”

“He made a stupid mistake. It turned out the way it should have. No one died, and he got the message.” Oliver said.

“Why did you come here? On second thought, how do you know where I live? Are you stalking me?” Wren asked.

Oliver rolled his eyes. “You’re an Iron Oath Agent, Wren. Your address is in our database.”

“Oh. That’s right.”

“I’ll leave soon. I wanted to give you something.”

“Whatever is in that package.” Wren said.

Both of them stared at the lumpy brown paper on the counter. To Wren, it looked like he’d brought her something from a butcher. If he did, it was a thoughtful but poorly executed gift. All Druids were vegetarians. They couldn’t bring themselves to eat something they can talk to.

“Yes. What’s in this package. Before I give it to you, I need to ask a question. I know we don’t know each other well, and I doubt you like me now that you know who I am.” Oliver said.

Wren crossed her arms, keeping Brutus against one leg in a protective stance. “I can’t figure you out. I don’t like what you’ve done. I don’t like the fact you’ve killed so many Others. But you seem like you regret it.”

“Maybe I do.” Oliver said. “What about you? Do you regret it?”

“I haven’t killed anyone.” Said Wren.

“Oh, but you have, Agent.” Oliver said, sliding the paper package across the island. “You just don’t know it. You are responsible for many deaths. We all are.”

“What are you saying?”

“The Iron Oath is.” Oliver said. “That trail of bodies isn’t all my doing. Did I do some of it? Yes, I did. I’ve killed, and I’ll keep killing.”

“It’s nice to know a serial killer is standing shirtless in my kitchen.” Wren sighed.

“It isn’t what you think, Wren. I’m going to give this to you, but I need to know something first. I saw you looking at Isaac Carillo’s records.”

“It’s Car-ee-yo.” Wren corrected him.

Oliver repeated the name with a correct pronunciation. “I heard you telling Kerri the records in our database were wrong.”

“She’s mad at me now.” Wren said. “I showed her Isaac’s birth certificate and his son’s. I proved I know his birthday and that some of those arrests never happened. I’m not sure if any of them did. He’s been arrested, but I remember when he was. He was never arrested for an attempted illegal turning.”

“Why did this make Kerri angry?” Oliver asked.

“I don’t know.” Wren shrugged. “She left the office and said she had more work to do. I haven’t talked to her since. We’re not exactly friends.”

“No.” Oliver said. “She doesn’t want to work with The Others. I have the same problem. I learned a long time ago to use it to my advantage and make Agents fear me. You could do the same. If you want to stay an Agent.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wren frowned. “I’m not quitting.”

“I didn’t ask if you wanted to quit. Do you trust the Iron Oath, Wren? Do you truly think they can help The Others?”

He was staring at her again. The same stare Florian gave her. It was like he knew what she had been thinking all this time. He looked right through her into her mind and saw every fear possible, and every doubt of the past. Somehow, he knew.

Wren rubbed her lips together, staring at a plant hanging from the ceiling. She took hold of the rubbery leaf, sliding it through her fingers as if she were inspecting it. Oliver waited for her answer, standing inside the kitchen with one hand still on the top of the trash can.

“No.” Wren said. “No, I don’t. Why am I telling you this? Of all people. I had to tell our attack dog that I don’t trust the Iron Oath.”

Oliver looked hurt. “The attack dog. That’s still around, is it?”

“Isn’t that what you are?” She asked.

“I suppose that’s what they’ve turned me into.” Oliver said. “Just like they turned you into Jacob’s little project. His pawn.”

“That’s not fair.”

“That’s what we are, Wren. Like it or not. We are the only Others in the Iron Oath, and we are strategic pieces of a much bigger puzzle.”

Wren crossed her arms over her chest. “There are three, remember? Everyone says that.”

“Maybe there are.” Oliver said.

“What?” Wren raised her eyebrows.

“Take some time and look through all of this.” Oliver tapped the brown package. “I have some work to do.”

“Without a shirt?”

“I’ll replace one.” Oliver said, leaving the condo so quick that Wren wasn’t able to say goodnight.

She rolled her eyes, taking the package in both hands and tearing into it like someone had given her a present. Three thumb drives slid off of a stack of papers, varying in color from white to aged yellow and brown. At the bottom were pieces that seemed almost ancient. Thick paper with a leathery feel to it, and the smell of a musty old library.

As Wren thumbed through the papers, a numbness settled on her body, washing over it from head to toe. Her mouth went dry and her stomach turned in circles, threatening to expel what she’d eaten for dinner. She could not take her eyes off of the words and diagrams on the pages, but every new letter spelled out her worst fears imaginable.