Three Immortals Walk Into A Bar...
Refuge

Clyde

Having everything physically prepared for a disaster doesn’t mean that you are emotionally prepared for it. The basement is sturdy and sound, equipped with chairs and cots and food and water and first aid kits. It is equipped with drainage pumps and air filtration systems. There are bathrooms, one for each gender, each with two stalls. There is an emergency backup generator in case the power goes out. There are banks of phone chargers, with cords sufficient for any device that is likely to be in a guest’s possession.

We are ready. But yet, having to wait here underground while a monster storm rages overhead still makes the guests anxious, the staff anxious, even me anxious. I do not like to feel that something is so entirely out of my control as the weather. It normally does not concern me at all, but if it damages my beloved Adabelle I would be affected. This structure is designed to emulate my childhood home, was built to my specifications, and it is very dear to me.

And of course, I wouldn’t want any guests to be harmed. Imagine the negative online reviews if my preparations were inadequate.

Several dozen humans, two werewolves, a vampire, and a creature apparently called a Seer sit together here in the basement, the thick ceiling and walls unable to block the sounds of the howling gale outside. Another vampire apparently is sleeping like a baby in the vault just on the other side of the wall at the back of the room, lucky bastard. Our wifi router is down here, so everybody has service, and most people are glued to their phones, scrolling through every news and social media site, trying to stay current on the events.

Apparently this is a monster storm, some sites are referring to it as a derecho, and it is spawning a sequence of tornadoes which are touching down in random places with no detectable pattern. The entire region is at risk.

There are a few children here, guests with their parents in the hotel, and Gregor seems enchanted with them. He has managed to get hold of somebody’s baby, and is holding the infant with one arm, while the child clings to him and stares around the basement with enormous eyes. A few other children have clustered around him as well, and he is leading them on what appears to be some kind of scavenger hunt, looking through the shelves along the walls as though they are searching for buried treasure. I’m sure their parents are pleased to have their kids entertained while they stare tensely at their phone screens.

To all appearances he is doing nothing but frolicking with them, but I certainly hope that his guardian angel is keeping him posted about what is happening outside, and that he’ll tell me if anything happens that I need to know about. I could become mist and go out and check for myself, but I have a feeling that his guardian’s range is probably larger than mine would be.

I hear the children erupt in cheers, and I briefly wonder what they have located, when one of them yells, “Cookies!” Well, good, that should keep them happy for a while.

Then, though, the power flickers, steadies for a moment, flickers again, and goes entirely out, the lights dying, the sounds of the air conditioner and buzzing of electric devices falling silent. In the few seconds of utter dark and quiet before the backup generator kicks on, the sound of the storm outside is deafening, sounding like a damn freight train is rattling past right outside. I hear a child whimper, and Gregor say reassuringly, “It’s okay, wait just a second,” and then the dim emergency lights come on.

Gregor guides the children back to their parents, the baby in one arm and a box of cookies in the other, and deposits them with their families.

Then he heads straight over to me, standing closer than is comfortable, but I need to hear what he has to say. “It’s getting worse out there,” he murmurs. “There have been a couple of tornadoes already, spawning within a couple of miles of here, but they went past without getting too close. There is already a lot of damage in the surrounding area, and Wolk thinks more tornadoes are likely to arise.”

I look down at my phone, to see if I can replace any updated news reports, and I realize that I have lost service. The cell towers must have gone down with the power.

I meet Gregor’s eyes. “Wolk will keep me informed,” he whispers. “He can sense everything within a radius of about two miles. So we’ll have a few minutes’ warning if a new tornado is approaching.” He looks around the room, up at the ceiling, into the corners. “Is the basement sturdy enough to survive a direct hit?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I hope so.” I imagine the beautiful Adabelle being ripped to shreds over our heads as we crouch in the basement, and am filled with dismay.

He lifts his hand, as though to clasp my shoulder comfortingly, and I hiss a warning.

“Oh!” he gasps, and quickly retracts his hand. “I’m so sorry. Old habits die hard.”

Gregor

I can’t believe I just did that. The last thing that Clyde would need would be for me to knock him to the ground again. I have to be more mindful.

“I’m sorry,” Wolk says, “I should have reminded you.”

“No,” I assure him silently, “you’re keeping track of enough right now without needing to watch out for my blunders.”

Wolk is intensely focused on the surrounding area, and he is relaying information to me continuously. There are swaths of destruction just outside the grounds of this hotel, streets where roofs have been torn from homes, cars overturned, trees fallen into power lines. Injured people are awaiting rescue that will probably be some time in coming. It is far too dangerous even for emergency vehicles to be venturing out right now. It grieves me to think of it.

The cacophony of destruction outside is becoming louder by the minute, a constant crash of thunder together with a booming sound of the hurricane force winds. The people are becoming more and more alarmed, as the eerie emergency lights cast only a dim glow, and the sounds of the storm grow ever more dire.

One of the men, presumably one of the guests, asks, “Is there a more secure area? Further back from the stairs?”

Clyde looks around, and my eyes go to the very back of the room, where the vault lies hidden behind a door.

Another guests asks, “What’s back there?” and I glance around to see that she is gesturing towards that door.

“Um,” Clyde says, “storage.”

“Is it more sheltered?” asks the first man.

“It isn’t accessible,” Clyde replies.

Some of the people start moving their chairs closer to the back, right up against the wall where the vault is hidden.

“It’s true,” I murmur to Clyde, “probably the greatest risk would be towards the front, since the stairwell isn’t protected.”

He nods, and watches the general movement towards the back. “Damn Levant,” he says, scowling, “selfish vampire. The vault is the only truly secure room, and he’s locked in there.”

“It’s not his fault,” I remind him. “We couldn’t have predicted this.”

“Too bad cell service is down,” Clyde says. “I could try to call him if I had his number, tell him to unlock the vault.”

I shrug. “I already texted him to let him know we were all coming down here. He didn’t respond.”

He asks incredulously, “Levant gave you his number?”

I roll my eyes. Obviously not. “Wolk did.”

“Ah, of course,” he says. “Maybe he didn’t get your message?”

“No, he did. He went back to sleep.”

“Jerk,” Clyde huffs.

“Darling, a new tornado seems to be spinning itself into existence.”

“Wolk says another tornado is forming. He’ll track it, and tell me if it is growing closer.”

Clyde is feeling anxious, I can sense his tension and aggravation and concern. And annoyance. It is interesting how even this vampire, this creature who I suppose is technically undead, has emotions that feel every bit as human as those of any of the other people around us. I wish very much that I could calm him with my touch. My long-held instinct is the opposite of useful in this circumstance, though.

It is also admirable that he is so concerned with the humans in the room with us. Presumably Clyde is not personally at risk of harm from the weather. I would have to assume that he could simply turn into mist, and nothing that a storm could do would have any ability to harm him. He obviously genuinely cares for the well-being of these people.

Apparently that is not a trait shared by all vampires, I think, knowing that Levant was fully aware of the danger, of the evacuation, and that he chose to return to his dreams.