Sepia Lines

 

  The iron weight smashed into his lower stomach. His upper half tipped over it. 

  There was a scream somewhere behind Varjak. 

  He sucked in a breath and tipped himself backwards before whirling round. 

  He had landed on someone’s balcony. 

  In the threshold of a sliding door was a young Italian woman, dressed in a stringed bikini and strappy wedges.  

  “Hellohigoodbye,” he garbled, jumping onto the railing. 

  He paused, then looked over his shoulder. 

  “Er, hey, have you seen a girl called Kate? She should have appeared beside me.”

  The woman turned to the kitchen table just behind her, and held up a long, thick blade.

  “Whoa okay, time to go.”

  He jumped off the railing. 

  There was another scream above him. 

  Halfway down he became invisible and began to float in mid-air. 

  “What a babe,” he remarked to himself, and started to glide along the busy boulevard. 

  The heat was stronger up here - he found a market stall halfway along and stole a pair of sunglasses.

  If I could become visible right now, I would look such a superhero, he thought. 

  Flying through the air with my cop shades on!

  He pushed a fist in front of him as he flew. 

  He just resisted the urge to sing his own superhero theme song. 

  Eventually he reeled his hand away and found the empty rooftop of an apartment block. He landed there, hiding behind a vent and becoming visible. 

  “Okay, so Kate’s not here,” he said to himself. “Can I be certain of that?” 

  He took a deep breath. 

  “I can’t identify any nearby undead. Definitely not here.”

  He kicked a piece of rubble he found in front of his foot. 

  “What other Verona could there possibly be?” 

  He grinded the rubble with his shoe. 

  “Well, I’m not going to find out soaking up the rays here. Hey, I wonder if the undead can tan?”

  He became invisible again. 

  Then, he began to think.

  He needed access to a computer to find out about other Veronas. He could get that quite easily.  

  Another thought caught him. 

  Arnaud’s brother, and Ben’s uncle, lived in Milan. It was in the same country at least, and it was possible that he knew something about the undead. 

  Perhaps even the Necrosis Stone. 

  While doing that, he could also find out about other Veronas Kate could have landed in. 

  Last time he spoke to Arnaud’s brother was when they were all teenagers. 

  Julien was three years younger than them, and only spoke to Varjak when he was round at Arnaud’s. 

  He never got involved with the undead hunting, or, to Varjak’s knowledge at least, knew about it. 

  Maybe as they got older, Arnaud let him in on it a bit more.

  At that age, they were typical siblings and Arnaud didn’t want to let Julien in on their big secret. 

  Perhaps though, before Arnaud’s death three years ago, he told Julien about the undead.

  At any rate, seeing a member of the Lambert family was bound to raise Varjak’s spirits, after seeing two of them die. 

  He realized that he didn’t have Julien’s address. He’d been to Milan and Verona before (a spring vacation in college going around Italy), but never Julien’s house. 

  He stepped off the edge of the building, suspended in mid-air again. 

  It was probably best he found a computer here before he went off to Milan. 

  He glided into one of the apartments near to him. It appeared no one was home. 

  He searched each room before concluding that it was clear. 

  A black Notebook was on the coffee table in the main lounge. 

  Varjak went to it, cautious that the owners could return.

  It was on some sort of standby, so Varjak only had to press enter to be allowed access to the person’s account.

  Good thing I learned about computers in the facility, he thought. He clicked a browser icon and was lead to a search engine. 

  The surrounding adverts and links were all in Italian.

  “Goddamn,” he muttered. 

  He typed ‘address directory Milan’ into the search bar. 

  It gave him the option to translate the results, which he clicked yes to. Then he clicked on the most promising result  - the White Pages.

  “Okay, Julien Lambert,” he said, typing the same. 

  Five results appeared. It was a French name in Italy, so it wasn’t too popular. 

  Varjak looked at the addresses and thought hard. 

  He had to narrow down the list somehow. 

  “View social network profile?” he said aloud. “Oh this could help actually.”

  He readily clicked. 

  He was brought to some blue and white page, with a picture in the top left corner. 

  “Nah, not him,” he said, scanning his information. 

  He clicked on two other results, to no avail.

  He clicked for a fourth time.

  “That’s him!” 

  Varjak went back to the White Pages to get the address. 

  12 Via Passione. He had it.

  Now to discover Kate’s whereabouts.

  Upon searching for Verona, he found there were several different ones in the USA. 

  He growled, but continued to scroll through the different Veronas regardless. 

  He noticed one was in Wisconsin, a place Kate told him she went every year and hated. 

  Perhaps this was where she’d gone? It was his only chance. 

  But right now, finding Julien beckoned. 

  After he’d got the information he needed, he would go straight to the States to find Kate.

  Varjak put the lid of the Notebook down and instantly disappeared, leaving nothing but a dent in the sofa. 

                                                            ***

  Varjak arrived in a shopping district of Milan. 

  He’d never been to 12 Via Passione, so this was as close as he could get. 

  He stole an unsupervised map from a tourist’s backpack as they walked by. Being invisible sure had it’s plusses. 

  At first, it was a jumble of Italian. On closer inspection, he matched his current location to the one on the map - Corso Vittorio Emmanuelle. 

  Just round the corner, he thought. 

  He flitted there, zipping in between unsuspecting humans. 

  He found himself in a narrow street. Dozens of scooters whizzed past, and it was full of people. The apartment blocks were crusted with ancient cracks and sepia walls. 

  He made himself visible within the crowd of people. 

  As suspected, no one noticed. 

  Varjak saw the numbers for the apartments on the wall - 10 to 14.

  He flitted up to number 12. He had no time to waste on intercoms. 

  Varjak knocked on the door, as he had decided it was best not to scare the life out of Julien by appearing out of thin air in his apartment twenty years later. 

  The door opened. 

  Julien smiled - it dropped upon seeing Varjak.

  “Uh, happy birthday!” Varjak exclaimed, having nothing better come to mind. 

  “By all the saints, Jack Swinton!” Julien gasped, then laughed breathlessly. “That is what you go by, isn’t it? Or is it Varjak, now?”

  Varjak stared, then promptly shoved Julien inside. 

  He slammed the door shut behind them.

  “How the crap did you know about my name?” he asked. 

  Julien blinked. 

  “Sorry, shouldn’t have said that out in the open. My God, it’s been such a long time - ”

  “No seriously, how?”

  “Arnaud told me, of course.”

  Varjak sucked in a breath. 

  “Arnaud…knew about me? Knew I survived the attack?”

  Julien nodded. 

  “He surmised you were undead when your body was nowhere to be seen and the rest of your team had been killed. You didn’t go back out of shame, didn’t you?”

  Varjak hung his head. 

  “Yeah, yeah I did. I didn’t know whether Arnaud would kill me or not. I just went into hiding.”

  “For twenty-one years…Christ, where did you hide?”

  “The ladies bathroom of my stepfather’s hotel.”

  Julien stared. 

  “No one would look for you there, for sure. It’s a bit creepy though. And not like you at all.”

  “No?” said Varjak. “Hey, should we sit? I think we have a lot to talk about.”

  Julien led Varjak to the lounge and a suede green settee. He was offered tea, which he refused. 

  This apartment was far smaller than the one he’d just been in, with an electric fire opposite him imprisoned by unattractive copper guarding. 

  Julien sat in a similarly green armchair, turned so it directly faced Varjak. 

  He was an attractive thirty -six year old man, tanned with wrinkled rust brown eyes, like his brother. 

  His hair was short and grey-light brown. He wore rounded, brittle glasses on a long, lined face. 

  “I agree we have much to talk about,” said Julien, accent a faded French. “Where shall we start? Ah yes, Arnaud knew about you from a couple of days after you were transformed. He didn’t hunt you down, he didn’t feel the need to, and had no leads on where you may have gone.”

  “Makes sense,” said Varjak. 

  “That was when he told me about the undead,” Julien continued. “He explained to me you were one. Although he didn’t hunt you down, through his research of the undead he managed to discover that you had become something of a legend among them. That’s how he knew about your new name.”

  “Oh,” said Varjak. He was humbled by this new information. 

  “Arnaud was diagnosed with lung cancer eight years ago. He spent many years fighting it but died three years ago. Because he knew he might die one day, he bequeathed the responsibilities of researching the undead to me and Ben.

  For safety reasons, Ben and I are no longer in contact. We do our own thing when it comes to the research.”

  Varjak hung his head, again. 

  “Julien, Ben is dead. We found him, like I found you, and he came with us to help, but the undead killed him.”

  Julien was silent for a long moment. 

  His eyes were half-mooned over his circular spectacles. 

  “That’s, that’s terrible,” hissed Julien, slamming a fist into his knee. His weary eyes settled on the window. “If Arnaud knew…oh, he would be devastated.”

  “I know he would,” said Varjak. “But Julien, let’s not let the sacrifices of Ben and the others go to waste. Considering what they died for, we must focus on defeating the undead for good.”

  Julien’s eyes went back to Varjak. 

  “And that’s why you came here? For my help in defeating them?”

  Varjak looked back up. 

  “You don’t need to come with me. But I need to know what you’ve discovered in your research, else it will go to waste. Me and my team will need it to defeat them.”

  “Brave,” Julien remarked. “Okay, what do you need information on the most?”

  Varjak took a breath. 

  “The Necrosis Stone.”

  Julien considered. 

  “Yes, that. I must say you couldn’t have gone to a better person in the world on that.”

  “Oh?”

  “Simply because I’m probably the only person in the world to extensively research it.”

  “Oh.”

  Julien grinned. “I presume you know of it’s origins. That’s unimportant anyway, if you’re looking to find the stone. It wasn’t easy or cheap, but upon realizing the capability of the stone to kill off the undead, I travelled the world mapping ley lines to discover the most likely locations for the stone.

  And I have narrowed it down to three.”

  Varjak’s eyes were wild. 

  “Just three locales? How did you manage that?”

  “With some calculation and logic, mostly. Places I ruled out were ones not directly place on a ley line, just very near one. For it to be a powerhouse directly connecting the undead to the ley current, it needed to be directly on top of a ley line. 

  I took other factors into account, and used a few gadgets and gizmos of my own design to detect unusual power readings in the area. Only three places displayed mass waves of ley current, and were directly on top of a ley line.”

  “So they’re all potential power houses?”

  “Correct.”

  “But the Necrosis Stone is the only power house that the undead need to stay alive?”

  “Correct.”

  “Gee whiz,” said Varjak, sinking into the sofa. “That’s incredibly useful, thank you Julien. What are the locations?”

  “The Temple of Poseidon in Athens, the Glastonbury Tor in England, and the Catacombs of Paris,” said Julien, taking a sip from his lukewarm tea. 

  “Our hideout was underground, just down from the Tor,” said Varjak quietly. 

  Julien raised his eyebrows. 

  “I think that’s more than a coincidence, Jack. Whoever decided to set up there obviously felt the pull of the power without realizing it. 

  Whether the Necrosis is there is another matter, however. You can feel the power of the current through any power house.”

  “So there isn’t a way to figure out the exact locale of the Necrosis itself?”

  Julien shook his head. 

  “All three locales measure within five percent of each other in terms of power readings. There is virtually no difference between them, nothing that suggests it is the Necrosis.

  If I were undead, I would have felt the pull of the Necrosis in one of the locales. Since I’m not, I must base my findings on scientific fact.”

  I’ll have to tell Kate about this, whenever I manage to find her, thought Varjak. 

  There was a few moments contemplation between the pair, Julien gulping the last of his overly milked tea. 

  “I think I have…other questions,” said Varjak. “I dunno if you’ll be able to answer them.”

  “Nothing wrong with trying,” said Julien, picking up a bourbon biscuit.

  “A year ago…I mean, um, yes, basically I’m supposed to have powers beyond the norm,” said Varjak.

  Julien munched. 

  “Who told you that?”

  “James Stokes.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “The leader of the undead.”

  Julien stopped crunching and stared. 

  “Oh? That’s one large failure in my research. Mind you, I’ve focused more on the stone and the biology of the undead than the undead culture.”

  “Right,” said Varjak, feeling mild disappointment. “Well anyway, he and I both seem to have powers.”

  “Describe them to me.”

  “I can defy gravity. Sit on ceilings, fly, the lot. Totally at my choosing too. He seems to be able to…I don’t know.” 

  Varjak had to think for a moment. 

  How exactly could James’ ability be described? 

  “I couldn’t tell he was an undead. I don’t know why, and I can normally sense them from a good way off. But when we were confronted by him, I could definitely tell.”

  “Tell me the nature of your transformation,” said Julien.

  “Huh what? What do you mean?” asked Varjak, taking a biscuit for good measure.

  “How did it go for you?”

  “Well I was…It was disgusting.” Varjak breathed. “The most hideous sensation, my blood slipping away from me through my own skin, squeezing out of my veins…all I could think about was wanting my death to be easy, to just feel my soul float away from my body with no pain -”

  “Stop,” said Julien, raising a palm. “Specifically you thought to float away?”

  Varjak blinked. 

  “Er, maybe, I don’t really remember.”

  Julien considered. 

  “You don’t know anything about James’ transformation, do you?”

  “No.”

  “But his ability is something that allows him to conceal his undead DNA?”

  “Er, I guess so.”

  “I have a theory, then,” said Julien, sitting forward. Varjak lent forwards too, eyes trained on Julien. “Would you agree, that when faced with death, it might be plausible that someone with knowledge of the undead might wish to have a way to be human again once transformed?”

  Varjak’s face fell. 

  “You lost me. Right, you mean, instead of James concealing his DNA, he’s actually able to, what? Turn human?”

  Julien nodded. 

  “Most likely only temporarily. My theory is that your power links to your transformation. A body change like that is so powerful, so emotional, I wouldn’t be surprised if your thoughts and trauma combined gave you both some related power.

  If James already knew about the undead, then got attacked by one, it would be reasonable to assume that, once he knew there was no hope, he would wish that he could turn human again once he’d been transformed. 

  He was given that ability, but primarily he is still undead.”

  Varjak started to laugh. 

  “And none of the undead know. That’s priceless, that is.”

  “It is a bit ironic, yes,” agreed Julien, with a smirk. “Well, I’m glad to have eased your concerns. Any other questions?”

  “Not so much of a question as asking for a final favour,” said Varjak. “My friend, Kate, well she’s also my team mate, is stuck in the States somewhere and I think she might be in Verona Wisconsin. You don’t need to, but I’d be grateful if you’d help me find her.”

  “I’ve not been to the States since we were teenagers,” said Julien, wistfully. “Sure I’ll go, I have a week’s paid holiday I can take.”

  Varjak smiled. 

  “Hey, looks like you’ll be part of the team at long last.”

  Julien smiled back as he stood. “Yes, that is good. I’ll go grab my laptop and we can book flights. Oh, I forget you won’t need a ticket.”

  “Cheap date, that’s me all over,” Varjak winked. “I’ll be here.”

  Julien gave a nervous smile, then strode off. 

  Varjak was alone for a minute or two. 

  He felt a buzz at the thought of telling Kate. They’d been so directionless for months, finally they could get back out on the road again.

Reviews

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It seems that more undead would have obscure abilities if the influence was simply a dramatic transformation. I mean, what's not traumatic about having your blood sucked clean from your veins?
I'm surprised of how easily Varjak is taking his separation with Kate. He's even willing to take a long flight instead of flit to someplace closer.
The likely places for the stone seem very promising and interesting. I can't wait to visit them.
You just had to put the Italian girl in a bikini with a blade, didn't you? So hot.
Julien is an alright guy. I don't see why he would do readily agree to go to Verona Wisconsin, though. I mean, wouldn't he be a bit cautious with his life seeing as Ben died doing this exact same thing?
I don't think the chapter recap at the end was mandatory, but oh well.
Nice concluding sentence, haha. More Varjak love-life, fun, fun.