The Dragon's Bane

V

Évrard D'Aboville-The Creature

I can read and or control minds of animals and humans alike. Are you paying attention dear reader? Are you ready for my thoughts on this ability? To that I say, this ability can fuck all the way off!

It is the one I use the least. I have no desire to be Grizzly Adams or a horse whisperer. Yes, speaking to an animal can be useful in some instances. It can be impressive to calm an uncooperative horse while on a riding date. Or helpful to make day-one friends with her favorite corgi. It can be convenient to curse a flock of space-hogging pigeons so you can enjoy your park bench in peace. If you were a born-again vegan you, could I suppose apologize to all the mommy and daddy cows you chewed up in your previous life of meat-filled sin.

I am not a vegan. Upon this I think we are clear. I don't much like talking to you hyperverbal apes either. So why do I need to go spelunking deep into the little witch's mind cave? Curiosity, I suppose. I've never met a witch who could sense me at such great distances, nor one who could fend me off physically. I had never met anyone witch or mortal whose blood called so keenly to me.

I leapt into the mind of a dog sitting on the street corner observing as she passed chattering away on her mobile. I bid it to follow her. Animals are easy to speak to. Humans think them inferior in intellectual capacity but there is nothing dopey about the inner workings of most animals.

They are not dumb. They are neat. They can want sex, food, shelter, or a good fight. They may even want quality time with you or their young. But they don't want these things all at once. Everything in its proper place at the proper time. Everything based on the hierarchy of needs. Nothing based on pure carnal feeling.

Emotional decision-making based on short-term hopes and long-term traumas and exactly the right balance of nature versus nurture. The human element of humanity. It's what makes you a poorly functioning piece of chaos. Humans! I suppressed a scoff. Your damn fickle emotions constantly crying out for undeserved self-actualization. Your aggressive need for love and fun new or perfect old memories.

Animals have such a lighter better parked memory. They dump almost everything extraneous. It's not that they cannot accurately remember things in their past. They simply don't choose to and live life forward.

To read a human mind is to agree to sit in the middle of an eight-direction subway station while conducting an Opus played by several bands, blasting several obnoxiously different brands of music. Confident, not confident. Analytical or brash. Pessimist or optimist. Do-gooder or anarchist.

Whether you know you or not, I can promise, from the inside you are very unpleasant. In the human brain, the imbecilic commercial jingles sit side by side with your doctor's appointments, inherited phobias, abandonment issues, unrequited rages, your desire for your own game show version of God and nudity. So much nudity. I wish you all could just strip down to the skin and be done with it.

Don't want for nude. Don't imagine nude. Don't fill your browser with nude. Can we all just agree to be fucking nude. It would be cheaper and more efficient.

I don't care for human memories either. You edit too much. You apologize too little. You flatter yourself and you obsess. Like the midlife bastard I passed sitting on the park bench staring blankly into the void. He amusingly recalled he and his wife's favorite cousin semen-glued to the pleather, hot hump sweat.

That was not two people sharing an immortal moment of passion. It was not the cause of his self-destructive nature. It was not love. It was her divorce. It was his always wondering why? It was 292 seconds in an Arby's parking lot that should have been forgotten as it was forgettable. But for some reason they both just held on.

I can't minimize the endless combinations of random that comes through. The controlling of a mind was an even dicer process. I can only liken it to putting together a puzzle board where the pieces are all little bits of mashed potatoes.

Maybe I am making it sound impossible. It is not. Inside of five minutes, I could have you bleaching your gums with a pound of pure lye whilst reciting the Nigerian national anthem. Backwards.

But it took centuries to perfect something that I now realize can honestly be achieved in a few minutes of conversation and studying of body language. Ideomotor suggestion, cognitive psychology, cold reading and neuro-linguistic programing makes manipulation so much cleaner from the outside.

Before I start to bore myself, the least of my talents are as follows. Endurance of fire. I can't stand the sun for too long but direct inferno? Not a problem. I have no limits underwater.

Superior strength, speed, agility, flexibility, instincts and senses that are all markedly above average. And more and more...blah, blah, blah. You get the idea, right? I am not to be trifled with.

Not even by others of my own kind because even amongst them I am superior. For I am the first of the Black Knights and their commander. The only other whose power may overshadow mine is Sabien. However, since becoming king several centuries back he no longer gets his hands dirty.

My attention was suddenly demanded when I watched well styled afro-puffs disappear into a bookstore. Yes, if you must know I am still following her. How long was it now? Time is different for me so what had been a week to you humans felt like the blink of an eye to me.

I followed her closely enough that I now knew her established pattern. She worked two jobs, had a side business sowing clothes and baking pastries. She lived with a lover called Amélie. Some mule-faced shrew with a penchant for narcissism and verbal abuse.

Amélie's mind was easy enough to read. Her thoughts were practically shouting. The little witch had become an albatross round her neck. She felt held back by the simple uncomplicated life that the witch wanted to lead. She planned to leave her though she knew it would place her in a difficult financial position.

My knee jerk reaction to Amélie came as quite the surprise. I found that my instinctual response was a blind rage that begged to tear her limb from limb. I imagined my clean-up crew would probably happen on a mess when they came to scrape bits of her off the carpet, ceiling fan, bathroom sink, etc.

The longer I watched the angrier I got. I stood atop a building several blocks away with a clear view into their apartment window. The little witch sat alone on the staircase; eyes beset with tears. She dialed furiously on her mobile phone before beginning to speak. Once again dying of curiosity, I tried tuning into her mind when once again she surprised me. I heard nothing but static...