Branded

“Tell me truly, why are you here?”

The young man had not caught his breath. His need for air competed with his need for silence as he sat behind the shelves in the second story of the warehouse, his leg bleeding, his gun almost empty.

“Why do you carry the tools of a Tinker?”

The voice was coming from every direction and no direction. It was almost as if it was in his own head, but that would mean-no, no. Could let that thought in. The young man grabbed at the pack on his hip for the last loader of blessed bullets for his six-gun.

“You are no Tinker.”

The young man froze halfway through reloading, the gaze of the vampire heavy on his forehead. He slowly looked up to see the shadowy figure of a thin man with glowing eyes hovering before him with its feet off the ground.

“Tell me, are you here to kill me?”

The figure did not speak, but the young man still heard the mocking words. He snapped back to his gun and fumbled the action closed as he was swept up in a rush of shadow and pinned to the wall opposite his shelves. He had pulled the trigger reflexively, a puff of shadow had blown off, but the figure seemed unhurt.

“No, no, the Tinkers do not send such clumsy ones as you.”

“I am here to save my sister.” The young man could do nothing in the demon’s embrace.

“Your sister? You thought I had her, and you came to get her back? How little do you know!” The shadows whisked around the pack that bore the imprint of a hammer and anvil. “Or have the Tinkers learned nothing in all the years we have let them live?”

“They told me enough,” the young man was sure he was going to die, “they told me that you had some sort of Dream that I needed to end.”

The shadows receded, the young man fell gasping to the floor, his gun was gone. “Dream? Dream. Oh yes, that is what you mortals call...yes. My ways are far more elegant than such Wizard’s metaphors, and my power is decidedly not yellow.” A chuckle could be heard in the young man’s head, it was painful but short lived. “You think I took slaves, like your Yellow Kings of generations past, how quaint. No, the people in my company are with me because they will it so. My kind are a solitary sort any way.” The young man tried to stand but could not. “No, soon I will have what I need from this place, and then I will leave.”

“What happens to the people?”

“What people?”

“The people who have gone missing, the people you have under a spell.”

“You can have them. In fact, you can have them now.” An arm extended from the figure and a hand gestured as if to wave the young man and all his concerns away. He stood, finally, and retreated slowly before the voice was heard in his mind once more. “You are no Tinker. Your mind is not filled with hate or fear. Neither are you Wizard or Priest. No, you are here because of your conviction. You would bear the brand well, young one.”

The young man felt the door jam with his hand he had outstretched behind him and he bolted through it. Down the stairs. His leg made him fall down the last flight. He burst out the door to the street. It was midday, there were people about, he drew looks but he knew the monster would not follow him. He ducked into an alleyway to finally take a moment to catch his breath. There was a burning in his chest, and he unbuttoned his shirt to let the air cool his skin. “I have got to find the Wizard,” he said aloud, “I need another plan.” He walked away resolutely, having not noticed the fresh red-and-black tattoo on his chest that slowly faded away as it cooled.