Vespertine

“You know you shouldn’t eat cake with your bare hands,” Scarlett scolded, wiping frosting off of Caiden’s mouth and small, chubby fingers. “And you can’t walk off! I’m supposed to be watching you.”

He giggled happily at her, and she felt her heart soften as his big hazel eyes coaxed her into forgiving him, the way only 2-year-olds could.

Earlier she had insisted to her parents that she was mature enough to watch Caiden by herself, as the rest of the adults drifted around the party, clinking delicate glasses of champagne and exchanging soft pleasantries. The orchestra played harmoniously in the corner, and the large hall was filled with sweeping gowns and finely pressed suits. They had given her an amused look, and then exchanged glances with Caiden’s parents. His father had shrugged, and his mother, a beautiful woman with cornsilk locks and eyes just like his, had bent over and cheerfully handed Scarlett a piece of candy. “Give this to him if he whines, and make sure he doesn’t eat too much cake, okay?”

Delighted, Scarlett had accepted the candy and gripped it tightly in her small palm, then extended a hand towards the little Caiden, who had been watching her curiously. As his parents left, he turned his head to Scarlett almost quizzically, as if he couldn’t believe his parents had actually left him.

“Come on, Caiden,” Scarlett said happily, tugging his hand a little bit. “We can get some cupcakes.”

He beamed at her, parents all but forgotten. Then, in between all of the guests and tablecloths and a string of rowdy children weaving in between legs and chairs, she had accidentally lost her grip on Caiden’s hand and he had slipped away faster than she could catch him.

She adjusted his endearingly miniature bowtie now, admiring the lovely blue of the fabric. She patted his head affectionately and took his hand as he began to curiously look around again, searching for the next item of interest.

She had just begun contemplating whether or not she should find her parents when the alarm rang.

The shrill sound startled her, and she unintentionally tightened her grip on Caiden’s hand until he protested and she apologized quickly, attempting to relax her grip.

All around her, people began to look around, not yet registering what was happening. Then there was a shout, loud yelling of things Scarlett didn’t quite understand, and she drew Caiden closer to her, feeling her heartbeat beginning to accelerate.

“Come here!” Someone said urgently, and she felt a pair of rough hands on her back, shoving her towards a sheltered cove in the hall that led to a quiet library.

“My parents,” she tried to tell him, but he just shook his head and ushered the two of them in, motioning for them to go under the desk.

She reluctantly obeyed, more for Caiden’s sake than her own. He squirmed in the tight space next to her, pouting as his pretty eyes narrowed, trying to discern what was happening in the dimly lit room. She put a finger to her lips as he opened his mouth, but he spoke anyways.

“Mama,” he said, tugging at Scarlett’s sleeve. She shook her head.

“Your mama isn’t here,” she whispered. “She’ll come back for you soon.”

“Papa?” He questioned, eyes widening hopefully. She gave him the same answer and adjusted herself so that she could wrap her arms around his back, burying his face into the dark red velvet of her dress. He protested, but she didn’t relent, for she had a feeling that something horrible was happening out in the hall.

She barely noticed the alarm anymore, having gotten used to the incessant bursts of sound. She strained to make out what was happening, but all she could hear was shouting and screaming and the sound of furniture being flung, of glasses shattering as the party descended into chaos. She wanted to cry, and her heart was beating so fast she thought it might burst, but she stayed silent, clutching Caiden’s hair.

At some point, smoke began to enter the room.

She raised her head above the desk warily and saw that the man who had pushed them in had locked the glass doors, but there was a gray haze seeping under them, rising as it gleefully made its way into the room. She didn’t know how long they had been in there, but she knew they wouldn’t be much longer if the smoke continued. She accidentally inhaled a wisp and coughed violently, and retreated under the desk again.

Caiden tugged at her in concern. She blinked as the acrid smell drew tears to her eyes and he began to shake his head.

“No cry,” he said to her, in a mildly scolding tone he had probably learned from his mother. “It’s okay,” he patted her cheek and then moved his little hand to her neck. “It’s okay,” he repeated soothingly.

All of sudden, her lungs no longer burned, and her eyes widened in shock as Caiden took away his hand, looking at her innocently.

“You’re a healer,” she whispered, and he cocked his head, uncomprehending. But she had no time to dwell on Caiden’s newly discovered powers— a particularly loud shout arose as the smoke thickened and she quickly used her dress to cover Caiden’s face as they huddled under the desk and the noise continued to get louder, as if it were approaching them.

Her suspicion was proven right as the glass doors shattered and there was a scream, so horrible that she wished she could rewind time to un-hear it. Only later did she realize its awful quality was derived from the fact that it was her own mother’s voice.

Yet even then, she knew, she knew something had gone terribly wrong and she could sense that even if she survived this, she would never be the same again. There was silence all of a sudden, and the smoke was all around them, filling up any empty gap it could and bringing on a slew of tears that she could not hold back.

And with the deep sense of loss hitting her, she began to bawl, crying from more than just the burning haze of gray. Caiden clenched his tiny fist in the fabric of her dress, his head still buried in her chest. She could feel his tears, too, warm on her neck.

Her parents always warned her to never approach situations angry. Anger was bad for people like them, they had told her. People like them should never overdose on emotion, for it made them far too unpredictable.

Scarlett had never thought it would be a problem, until now. Now, she felt as though there was a massive wave cresting right in her ribcage, an outpouring of grief and fear and yes, anger, in the form of sobs.

There was noise again, but this time it was quiet, and more methodical. Footsteps that scurried around outside, and soft voices that muttered hurriedly to one another.

“Here,” someone said sharply, and then Scarlett heard the sound of the glass doors breaking open. She didn’t care. She kept crying, her arms wrapped tight around Caiden, and when she heard two people enter the room she sniffled and took a deep breath, then began crying with renewed vigor, squeezing her eyes shut for lengthy intervals, only opening them whenever she took a breath.

One of the men had rounded the corner of the desk and spotted them. He had on a black uniform that must have once been crisp, but was now dirtied by soot and hard to make out in the haze. But his silver badge was unmistakable. The second person, a woman clad in the same uniform, now stood behind him, peering down at them.

“We’re here to help,” he said, in a calming tone that Scarlett instantly trusted, though the man himself possessed no special trait or feature that Scarlett was inclined towards. “My name is Astor. I’m a member of the police department here in Incantare. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

She attempted to swallow the thick feeling in her throat and pried open her eyes, staring defiantly at him.

He moved back ever so slightly, thrown off by the color of her irises. They were crimson, glowing orbs that didn’t look right on a child so young. “Jesus,” he said softly. “She’s a Hellhound.”

Scarlett knew the term. It was what people called sorcerers like her and her family. Her parents didn’t like repeating it around her: they always said it made them sound like monsters, when in truth no one is predisposed to anything. She also knew that Hellhounds didn’t naturally have red eyes— the color only shifted when they were using their powers. As Hellhounds grew older, they could choose to use their powers at will, but when they were young it would come out in uncontrollable bursts as their emotions ran high.

She forced herself to stay still and keep her arms gentle as Caiden lifted his head to peer over at the policeman. She neither spoke nor lashed out, instead opting to watch him carefully.

He held up his hands. “I know you’re confused and I know you’re scared, but don’t worry. We won’t hurt you, I promise. We just want to help. Could you please come with us?”

He extended a hand towards her and she took it cautiously, but when the policewoman tried to pick Caiden up, Scarlett glared at her until she let go.

They walked out of the smoke filled room and into the hall. The marble floors were slick with blood and champagne and frosting, with scattered fragments of what had once been tables and chairs and tablecloths.

And there were bodies. Scarlett only caught a glimpse as Astor shielded her eyes, but she knew it was something she would never, ever forget. She hugged Caiden close, hoping he hadn’t seen anything. Yet he was young, and even something as horrific as this would slip his mind before too long. She wasn’t so lucky.

Scarlett knew somewhere deep inside that her parents were gone, as were Caiden’s. The hall that had been so joyful and serene a few hours ago now had no signs of life, and the somber stench of fire and flesh made her stomach churn. But she couldn’t quite comprehend it just yet, and sat down blankly in the ambulance that Astor led her to, outside.

“What’s your name?” He asked gently, kneeling so that their eyes were level.

“Scarlett Rowan,” she answered, almost automatically. “And this is Caiden Riis.”

“And how old are you, Scarlett?”

“I’m seven. Caiden is two.” She felt obligated to speak for the confused blonde boy beside her, for his hands were clutching her arm tightly as he stared in confusion at the scene outside, composed of flashing lights and frantic scrambling as authorities tried to make sense and order of it all.

He nodded, and then gestured for a paramedic, mumbling something to her before he swept out of sight.

A few minutes later, he came back just as the paramedic left, having checked both her and Caiden for signs of damage from smoke inhalation, leaving her wrapped in a shock blanket.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, kneeling once more. “Your parents didn’t make it.”

Her head spun.

“Normally, you and Caiden would be taken to the Community Children Center, where you would be taken care of until you two can find another home. But I’ve decided that the two of you should live with me, at least for now. Is that alright?”

The red had faded from her eyes, leaving them a sad green that reflected the various lights in the background as she gazed at Astor. Somehow, she could not find the energy to cry. Later. Later she would fully realize the magnitude of death, later she would finally understand that her parents were never coming back.

Caiden tugged on her dress. “Scar,” he said, his uncoordinated tongue mangling her name a bit.

She automatically put a hand on his head, patting it soothingly. She didn’t look away from Astor. Their new guardian, the strange policeman they had just met. The one that had saved them.

“Okay,” she said.