A Sanguinary Rose

Red Tower

AS THE CLOCK struck the chime atop Farpoint's town hall, the chilly night wind picked up in strength. An uncanny stillness reigned over the center downtown, usually the most bustling district.

An unofficial curfew had been set up by the population, wherein people agreed to avoid outdoors after nightfall. I wasn't prone to bump into anyone in the streets.

It dawned on me that I hadn't thought out how I'd get to Salem from here. Farpoint's Bureau now closed earlier after the vampire's attack months ago.

The near full moon gleamed above like a beacon amidst a sea of clouds and mist. If all lights went out, I'd still be able to see everything as clear as midday. As I looked down toward the square's center before the Bureau, I realized the Great Oak of Farpoint was going through an anomaly. Despite the lights of the lampposts and the silver of the moon, it stood bent, twisted, and wreathed in shadow.

Two figures watched me from under it. Their coats blended well in the dark and against the thick tree. Right away I could tell they were neither human nor vampire. The streetlights seemed unable to penetrate the darkness that permeated them as though it were solid and palpable.

"Rosenbaum," one of them said as I approached. They hid half their face against the collars of their raincoats, their menacing eyes under the wide brims of their hats.

They were devils. I was getting better at identifying types.

"The Heir Prince thought you'd need a hand. We'll take you to where the warlock will strike next."

I looked over my shoulder at the dark, empty windows of the building staring out at us. This was it: The point of no return.

"All right then. Let's go."

Both stood at each side of me, shoulder to shoulder. Runic marks shimmered a faint crimson under our feet. The wind picked up in a gale around us, mussing my hair and flapping at their coats. A burst of light hit my eyes, leaving dark spots swimming in my retina. When my feet touched ground, there was no more Farpoint around me.

The devils were gone. They left me in the middle of a street before an archaic-looking building, the one I knew would become Mandala's next target in a matter of hours. Beyond it sprawled a cemetery, scores of tombstones rising behind rusted gates and pikes. Above the branches of twisting trees loomed the white spire of a church.

Unlike Farpoint's Bureau, this one was much larger, covering the entire block and standing four stories tall. Its pitched gable roofs connected to the eaves on each corner where gargoyles made their watch night and day from mystical and ethereal threats. Paned windows faced out the street in rows of seven on each floor. This building rose from the ground up with brick-and-mortar, and its window and door frames were bordered with timber. If not for the cars parked at the curb, I would've thought we had traveled back in time.

I had to keep moving though. I couldn't stop. Otherwise, I feared I'd see common sense in the face and regret how close I've come. My emotions would catch up and make me weak. The more I tried to keep thoughts of my parents and friends out of my mind, the more they kept on dogging me—unsaid goodbyes, unspoken frustrations, the lies, the truths.

Would Mom still love me? If I went back, once everything finished sinking in, how would she treat me now? Understanding the tacit danger that lies under the superficial veneer of my controlled impulses, would she turn me away like Dad would want to?

No, only by stopping this madness would things go back to normal, to an extent. If I succeeded, and the veil wasn't lifted, I'd tell Mom I was only joking, I was playing pretend. That is, if I returned.