Moss and Mabry

Story copyright June 2024 by Hollis Shiloh.  All rights reserved.  Do not reproduce without written permission from the author.  All characters and events are fictitious, and any similarity to real people or events is coincidental.  Image content is being used for illustrative purposes only and any people depicted in the content are models. 

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Moss and Mabry

by Hollis Shiloh

About the story:

John Moss is a land healer first and foremost, even though he's part of the guardians and supposedly a warrior.  His main helper is the vampire Mabry.  Mabry fills a difficult role.  As a peace-treaty sacrifice from the vampires, he answers to the guardian council instead of the vampires, and he receives little to no respect from anyone.  He and John are friends, but they can't be more when Mabry isn't truly free to say yes or no. 

Facing a difficult job healing a cemetery with deeply negative energy around it, John and Mabry might be out of their depths.  At the same time, Mabry is facing another difficulty as well—one that's more personal and dangerous.  They need all their skills, cleverness, and bravery if they're going to work together to free the land—and to free Mabry, too.

fantasy – LGBT

43,000 words

Moss and Mabry

by Hollis Shiloh

Are you still using that vampire to help you? asked Bradford Christensen, the sneer clear in his voice.

He's helpful, said John J. Moss, with as much dignity as he could manage.  He'd always had a sense of fair play, and it seemed unjust for Mabry to be treated with disdain both by his own kind and by the guardians.  He took a breath to keep himself from going on a tangent.  This graveyard has some dangerous energies.  It would be very wise to have help if I'd like to come back alive.  Which I would.

It's kept to its role so far, said Christensen, waving him on.  Go and do what you need to do.  And the vampire king will see to things if it ever tries to break its block.

John hummed noncommittally.  He hated the reminder that Mabry had a mental block in his brain so he could be trusted by the guardian council.  It was a concession for a peace treaty, no doubt quite important, but Mabry was the sacrificial lamb, which John objected to because he didn't like the idea of anyone having a mental governor. 

Perhaps it was worst of all that the council hadn't even appreciated this gesture.  They had more or less ignored the vampire.  John was the only one who bothered about him most of the time.  Even if someone else wanted information or help, they'd get John to act as the go-between, as if it would dirty them to interact with Mabry themselves.

John felt his work was more important than some of the things the council got up to.  Clearing and cleansing dark and damaged areas to make them safer and more habitable, to heal the unwellness of the land, was surely more important than political wrangling with the vampires, leading to the occasional skirmish, negotiation, or assassination attempt.  He was, however, more tolerated than respected, and knew it. 

Mabry was more use than many of John's peers, frankly.

With his mission updated and approved, John packed his gear.  No weaponry for this, he thought, only the spiritual kit.  He was better with that, anyway.  Sacred swords and blessed weaponry were all very well in the more fleshy sort of conflicts, and no doubt very useful, but didn't wield the sort of scalpel precision and nuance for things like land healing and negotiation with wounded spirits.

The difference between a happy, healthy place to exist, and a spooky, unproductive, out-of-tune piece of land was often something like a past bad event the land and whatever dwelled there still remembered.  Those sorts of wounds needed to be healed before the area could begin to function in a happier way.

John was good at that.  He'd learned a lot from his priest mentor, who had been something of a heretic if you actually listened to his beliefs about things.  He'd had little respect for the council and the church itself, and often more sympathy for and in common with the lower creatures.  He was good at bargaining, at finding solutions outside the usual banishments and blandishments. 

The truth was, if a land had been damaged, or an injustice done, it was not enough to simply paper over the damage done without addressing it.  John believed that, and following those methods, as well as painfully and slowly learning others on his own, led to much better results.  The council might have little interest in his skills, but even they had to admit he got results, even if they weren't the vampire slaying sort.

And he had.  Obviously.  They'd all killed vampires in their day, in those dark days of conflict before a ceasefire and then a treaty enshrined in careful rules and balances.

Now there was a part of the city where they didn't go.  The vampire area.  Non-vampires who chose to align and associate with vampires could travel there freely, to engage with them in various ways, but John could not cross the threshold of that part of the city without official permission, and would be violating a lot of treaties if he did so, even accidentally.

Fortunately, John had a great sense of direction and was not likely to accidentally go anywhere he did not precisely mean to go.

Technically, he had only to summon  Mabry by text or call; he was meant to be available at any time.  But it seemed rude, presumptuous.  He preferred to go in person.

Mabry lived in a single room in a rundown apartment building right up against the vampire border (on the non vampire side).  John drove the closest he could get, since it was a part of town without car access, and went the rest of the way on foot. 

There were shuttles and taxis he could get, but it was hardly worth the effort when it wasn't very far to walk.  He kept his eyes open, assessing the other people he saw moving in this direction.  Some were here for a night on the town.  Some were clearly headed for the Vampire Village, hoping for a nice, fun night.

He reached the building Mabry lived in and climbed the steps to the third floor.  The elevator was, as usual, out of order.  He went to Mabry's door and knocked, feeling self conscious.  He should have brought something, but what?  It always felt rude to show up empty-handed and ask for help that he knew very well Mabry couldn't refuse. 

But he had nothing to bring, nothing to offer besides the work, so he just waited, trying not to look as uncomfortable as he felt.  The building wasn't exactly clean and welcoming.  Thin walls and fighting neighbors, the weird smells in the stairwell, and the graffiti in the hall didn't help the ambiance any.  It just wasn't a peaceful place.  He always felt like he needed to take a bath after darkening these doors.  He hated that he thought of Mabry's home like that, but Mabry didn't seem very fond of it, either.

The door opened slowly, and there stood Mabry, looking dull-eyed, having shuffled to the door wearing nothing but shorts and a dirty white tee shirt.  He looked pitiful and unwell. 

Then he saw who it was.  It happened slowly, first in his eyes, then in the rest of him, brightening, looking more alert, more alive, standing up straighter, holding the door open like he wanted to be here now, instead of literally anywhere else.

John, he said.

May I come in? asked John, because you always, always asked.

Best not, it's a mess.  I'll get dressed and come out to you.  He shut the door with a quick smile and left John standing there, not knowing what to do with his hands.

A few moments later, Mabry emerged, dressed in a trim, tidy black waistcoat, neat and precise in his vintage-looking attire.  It all fitted him well and made him look less sickly and thin.  Now he just looked like a cute twink, which John felt like a pervert for noticing every time.  And he still noticed it—every time.

Mabry straightened his waistcoat and gave John a prim little smile.  Shall we go?

Sure, said John.  They didn't bother trying to talk.  John led the way, and Mabry followed, until they reached his car.  He opened the passenger side door for Mabry and waited while he tucked himself into the seat.  Then he went around the car and got in behind the wheel.

Mabry was still watching him with a polite, slightly pleased look to him.  He had his hands folded on his lap.  What's the mission today? he asked.

He had a hint of an accent that John had never been able to place.  He didn't know how old Mabry was—and there were plenty of hints that he might be really rather old—but he always seemed young to John, not just because of how he looked, but something else, something not quite definable.

John never quite knew how he ought to feel about Mabry.  But he always seemed to feel some way about him.  Heaven help him, he liked Mabry.  He was much better company than many of John's peers.  They always seemed to get along well.  He didn't think it was just because of the blocks in Mabry's head to keep him from hurting guardians.  He'd seen him interact with other guardians and there was none of that friendly warmth underlying his formal politeness. 

It didn't help that John was one of the few gay guardians, and the only one locally.  He was already a bit of an odd duck to his fellows, accepted in the careless it takes all sorts way without really being understood or liked, and, well, Mabry was cute, and friendly, and that had more of an effect on John than he ever liked to admit, even to himself. 

It was nothing he couldn't control, of course.  But he was attracted to the vampire, and that sometimes troubled his mind a little.  He might tread the line between spiritual and physical, between warrior and poet-healer, but he should not be affected by a vampire, no matter what.  It did not fit with any part of his identity, except perhaps the gay part, and he certainly wasn't going to let base physical attraction influence his choices or his life.

But he still liked spending time with Mabry, even though there was always that undercurrent of guilt, knowing that Mabry didn't have a choice in the matter. 

What must it be like to know you were basically a sacrifice to maintain the peace? 

I'm hoping to do land healing work at an old graveyard.  I need your consulting skills—warnings, as needed, about the things you can see that I can't.  He always got a bit more formal than he liked during these times.  Telling Mabry about the work ahead felt awkward, insensitive.  He supposed he should get over that.  And he would.  After a bit, they'd settle into a comfortable rhythm.  Just.  Not yet.  Not at first.

#

He thought about the first time he'd seen Mabry, looking scared and sick, his wrists bound, his face bloody, his eyes wild.  He'd been forced to his knees, between the impassive head councilman and the king vampire, who had then put a hand on his head and—and Mabry had screamed.

It hurt to watch.  He hadn't even realized he'd rushed forward, hand on his blessed knife, before someone put a hand on his arm and stopped him.  It was over by then, anyway.  Mabry was standing, head down in humiliation, unbound and pushed towards the guardians.  They'd given way before him with a mix of disgusted and fear.  After all, nobody had a chance to test the block yet. 

But they did.  They tested it by taunting him, giving him a chance to hurt one of them, to at least try.

And he hadn't.  He hadn't been able to attempt it, even when his eyes burned with hatred at being left to this fate, this cruel mockery of what he'd been before, a vampire with the free will to do as he wished.  Now, he was bound to be an ally—or at least harmless—towards the guardians.  A sort of go-between, a sort of gift.  A sort of slave.

John had stood up for him, as much as he could, and tried to be considerate while Mabry found his feet in this new, awkward role.  At first Mabry had hung around the guardians' headquarters, looking like he didn't know what to do with himself and would rather be anywhere else. 

John had helped get Mabry's food supply