This Side of the Grave (#5 Night Huntress)

he wanted to deliver in person.
“The meeting I went to last night was more like a rally and a seminar combined,” Dave started without preamble. “Apollyon wasn’t there, but the
keynote speaker was a ghoul named Scythe who sounded just as fanatic. Preached about how vampires have been holding ghouls down for
millennia, blah, vamps are evil, blah. Then he started on how you changed over but still had an occasional heartbeat, so you could still turn into a
vamp-ghoul hybrid. And once that happened, you’d be leading the vampire charge to subject ghouls to slavery.”
“That’s such bullshit!” I snapped, unable to stuff it back. Then I got ahold of myself. Everyone here already knew that.
“Go on,” I said to Dave, in a less strident tone than before.
“I’m not sure how true this is, but Scythe said that the ghoul movement to ‘take back their rightful place’ was gaining ground all over America. That
they’d start the war here, because vampires had a weaker hold here than in Europe. Then, once they’d thrown off the vampire shackles in the
States, they’d move on to the rest of the world.”
“If Cat is still being used as the focal point behind this fang oppression rhetoric, you’d think more of his followers would question why Apollyon
doesn’t just unite them together to kill her,” Vlad noted, as if he were discussing squashing a bug. If he hadn’t proved himself to be a good friend
many times over, I’d be insulted.
“Oh, they have an answer for that,” Dave said dryly. “Scythe’s stating that if anyone kills Cat, then the vampire nation will know ghouls are on to
them. Which is why ghouls have to rise up now, while the vampires least expect it and the scales are tipped in our favor. Then, Apollyon’s first act
once he wins the war will be to kill Cat publicly. That way, it will have the maximum crushing effect on the surviving vampires’ psyche.”
Scheming murderous pricks, I thought in disgusted fury, but kept it to myself this time.
A low growl sounded to my right. I turned, surprised to see it was coming from Fabian.
“Not once did the question of what my people would do during all this come up for discussion, did it?” Fabian asked, his voice sharp.
Dave looked as surprised as I felt at that. “Uh, no, no one mentioned ghosts,” he answered, sounding both uncomfortable and apologetic.
Fabian’s transparent features were as angry as I had ever seen them. “We might not have the same abilities as the rest of you, but ghosts are
not without power, and we. Are. Many,” he said, emphasizing the last three words.
“Remnants and wraiths I can see being able to tip the scales in battle, but what can the average spectre do?” Vlad asked, sounding a bit
impatient. “Your species can provide valuable intelligence and carry messages before a conflict starts, true, but once the fighting begins, your
usefulness ends.”
Part of me wanted to chastise Vlad for being so cold in his assessment of ghosts, but the other part guiltily agreed with him. Remnants? Scary.
Wraiths? Scary. Ghosts? Not scary, unless maybe you were a human and you happened to glimpse one in a graveyard. Or you were a kid and one
screamed, “Boogie woogie woogie!” while popping up from under your bed.
“There are those of my kind that are more powerful than others,” Fabian insisted. “Why do you think humans who aren’t psychic have been able
to see ghosts? Why some are caught on film or voice recorder? Why some have even attacked people, leaving visible scratches and other
injuries? Some ghosts are strong enough to manifest themselves into solid form, sometimes for several hours. Aside from that, when you have
enough of my people united in a common purpose, we can manifest enough energy to turn it into an effective weapon.”
I was startled. Dave pursed his lips in thought. Mencheres’s expression was its usual hooded mask, but Vlad eyed Fabian with open challenge.
“If ghosts can do all that, why do you waste your time haunting old homes and cemeteries, or scaring humans with random strange noises and
useless cold spots? You’re squandering your worth.”
“Vlad, enough,” I said shortly. Whatever his thoughts on ghosts’ peculiar habits, Fabian was still my friend. I wouldn’t just stand there while his
whole race was being put down.
Fabian didn’t flinch under Vlad’s harsh analysis. “You have no idea what it’s like, existing between worlds,” he said, floating closer instead of
backing away. “We are neither the living nor the undead. It takes years to cope with the fact that even though over ninety-nine percent of everyone
who dies crosses over to the next place, you are left behind. Years to accept that everything you worked for in your life is gone, and the shell of
memory is all that remains. Years to recover from hopelessly trying to communicate with loved ones, only to fail time and again because no one
except the crazed, psychics, the undead, or other ghosts can see you. Years to accept—even if you don’t understand why—that vampires and
ghouls will treat you worse than they do vermin, even though they are no more human than you are.”
Fabian advanced again, until his finger disappeared into Vlad’s chest. “I’d dare the strongest of your race or any other to say that they’ve
conquered the same hardships my people have overcome. So think again before you question a ghost’s worth, or judge those younger ones who
are still in the process of becoming tougher than anyone tied to flesh will ever be!”
Stunned silence filled the air once Fabian was finished. I wanted to break out into apologies and applause all at the same time, but I was still
recovering from my shock at how my mild-mannered, Casper-esque friend had just unloaded a truck full of I-dare-yous onto one of the scariest
vampires in existence. Damned if I would ever underestimate a ghost’s chutzpah again, or question their fortitude. Being noncorporeal clearly didn’t
equate to lacking a pair of balls.
I wasn’t the only one taken aback. Dave’s mouth hung open, and Mencheres gave Fabian a once-over that showed he was considering him in a