"Alliances - Part One"
Introducing - Victor Garber as Jack Archer
Apartment #301, New York City
Monday, 5th September 2005
9:30am
The mangled body of a woman lay in a pool of her own blood.
Jack Archer coughed, covering his mouth with his handkerchief as the putrid stench of death permeated his nostrils. “How long has she been here?” he choked, having to leave the confinement of the small room as the smell of decaying flesh became overwhelming.
The aide followed him out and into the hallway. “About a week. She was supposed to be on vacation. The building super found her after the neighbours complained of the smell.” The aide handed Jack an envelope containing a series of photographs depicting similar scenes of violence and death.
“In total there’s been thirteen deaths like this one in the past month. The police have no leads yet except that it looks like a serial killer. Each victim had their limbs either dismembered or mangled and their heart cut out. They also had similar flesh wounds like these…” the aide directed Jack to a specific photo.
“This looks like Belzar’s work all right,” said Jack, his face turning more rigid than usual in an effort to fight down the nausea. “He must be a fool, defying the treaty like this; he knows civilian territory is strictly out of bounds. Alert Beta section immediately, tell them I’ll be in Virginia by 10pm tonight.”
******
The Alliance Headquarters, Virginia
Monday, 5th September 2005
10:00pm
Jack Archer paced the length of the vast boardroom with haste. He was anxious to meet with the head of Security section. If Belzar had already left New York there was no telling where he might have taken his brand of wholesale carnage by now.
Suddenly the door opened and two middle aged men entered followed by a short Marakka demon.
“Ah Jack, please, sit down,” said the first man, gesturing towards a seat.
“Lothar, Samir, thank you for meeting me so urgently,” said Jack formally as he seated himself.
“We have some good news for you,” continued Lothar as they settled at the desk, “We located the subject you requested. He’s currently in Los Angeles.”
*Anywhere but there!* Jack thought dismally. He had avoided LA like it were a leper colony for the past twenty years and he didn’t have any desire to return. Outwardly he kept his expression as blank and tight lipped as usual. “Are you sure?” he asked flatly.
“Very sure Sir,” said the Marakka demon turning to face Jack, “I’ve been tracking Belzar for sometime. After the series of murders in Washington DC and New York he appeared to have vanished, then I found him again in Las Vegas.”
The demon pulled a file out from under his jacket and tossed it across the table towards Jack. “I received Intel earlier this morning. This time it was a Russian Diplomat, they found his dismembered corpse in the restroom at Caesar’s Palace. Not only that but his heart had been cut out, just like all the others.”
“This demon is one sick son of a bitch,” muttered Jack under his breath.
“Well, yeah, so I got one of my best trackers to follow the target from Vegas and that’s how we know he’s in LA. No doubt The Order will protect him.”
“You must be careful Jack,” warned Samir. He carefully removed his glasses and cleaned them thoroughly before replacing them on his face.
Jack rose from his chair in surprise. “Me? You want me to go to LA and eliminate Belzar? Why not just get one of our Californian agents to make the hit?”
“He’s your case subject Jack,” Lothar reminded him, “You know more about his moves and the way he thinks than anyone else in the Alliance. Belzar defied the treaty, that makes him a target now. Think you can handle it?”
Jack’s face became immovable again and he pursed his lips together in an expression of repressed contempt. "Of course,” Jack pushed his chair back noisily, “I’ll set out to Los Angeles as soon as I can.” He lowered his head respectfully and then turned to leave the room.
“And Jack?” called out Lothar, turning in his chair to face him, “Be careful. Belzar may very well be an irrational fool but he’s also one of the Five. The Order may be prepared to kill to defend one of their own.”
Jack nodded in understanding and quietly closed the door behind him.
“What’s his problem?” mumbled Samir in irritation.
Lothar still continued to stare at the door long after Jack had passed through it. “Old ghosts,” he replied.
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bringing in new recruits
***Monday, September 26 to Friday, September 30, 2005, evenings***
After Sam and Mariah worked out a plan for the ritual, Mariah knew she had to quickly recruit those people they did not already have in The Brotherhood. She set about accomplishing the task immediately.
***
Dr. Gene Wells sat in bed, reading over a report on advances in ultrasound technology. He tried to focus on the words before him, and not on the grandfather clock by the bedroom door as the hour grew later and later. Mrs. Wells, his wife Lena, was still not back from her “dance class”. She took ballroom dancing lessons from a private instructor downtown. At least that’s what she claimed she was doing until 11 pm three nights a week.
Unfortunately, Gene knew better. He’d found out, through some unintentional snooping, that Lena was learning more than the Cha-Cha from her dance instructor. For at least three months she had been sleeping with the man, a young Latino with the perfect dancer’s build and an apparent penchant for older women. In her earlier forties, Lena Wells was still as beautiful as the day Gene had met her at a charity function at the hospital 25 years earlier. Her long, black hair was almost always loose, hanging down her back and around her unlined face. Despite her age Lena could still pass for a woman in her late 20’s. Gene knew this well. He’d taken pride in his wife’s timeless beauty. Until, that is, he found out she was screwing some young stud and then coming home to him, always claiming exhaustion from her hours of “dancing”.
Gene gave up any pretense of reading and set the journal down, turning his gaze on the clock. He watched the hands slowly move, the second hand ticking away, the sound filling the otherwise silent house. Gene and Lena had lived in this house for 20 years. They’d raised twin daughters here, now both away at college. In this bedroom they’d fought and loved and lived together. Now, Gene sat alone in it and his heart was broken. Fury and sorrow battled for supremacy in his breast as he watched the clock hands and began to drift. He fell asleep, sitting up; his glasses still perched on the bridge of his nose.
***
Gene walked through the empty corridors of a dark, silent dance studio. He carried something, something important, but he didn’t know what it was. He couldn’t glance down to find out. Instead he was drawn forward, ever forward.
The sounds of tapping feet, the strains of softly played music; these were not present. But as he moved further into the building Gene did hear something. A sound came to his ears that tore into his heart. He recognized the low, guttural moans that coasted down the hall, coming from behind the door at the end. He wanted to stop walking, to turn and run the other way. He wanted to raise his hands and cover his ears, to block off the sound of his wife on the other side of that door. He didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to know, without a doubt, that the woman he loved, the woman he’d always loved, was writhing in the arms of another man. But Gene couldn’t stop. He couldn’t turn. He couldn’t even block out the horrifying sounds. He continued to move to the door, not of his own volition. Inside he recoiled as his hand reached out and took hold of the doorknob. He cringed inside as he turned the knob and threw the door open. He knew before he saw it. He knew what he would find behind that door.
Knowing and seeing are not the same thing. One is in your head alone. One you can still deny if you want to. The other is proof. The other is truth. Gene saw that now. He saw so much.
Lena was on the floor of the empty room. The windows flooded the hardwood floor with just enough light so that Gene could make out every detail of the tableau before him. His beautiful wife lay on top of her dance instructor. Her long, toned legs were wrapped around the man’s waist. Her head was thrown back and from her parted lips moans of pleasure issued forth. Intermixed in her sounds of lust, Lena spoke. In a hoarse whisper she said dirty, nasty things to her lover. She made demands, sang praises, aroused with her words as well as her body. And somehow, it was the words, the sounds he heard, that drove Gene over the edge. He heard his wife’s voice, her passion slurred speech, and he lost control. Without realizing it, he charged into the room, bellowing.
Now, as he raised his hand high in the air, he recognized that which he held. It was shiny steel scalpel. He raised it high over his head, screaming and crying as he came to his wife and her lover. He slashed out and down, slitting her throat easily, the sharp, surgical implement slicing through her skin and bone and sinew with ease. As she fell away from her lover, shock and embarrassment etched on her face, Gene turned to the man on the floor. He stared at Gene, showing no fear. The man rose slowly, ignoring Gene and the deadly instrument he held. Gene made to rush forward, to kill the lover as he had killed the betrayer. He wanted to listen to the silent song of his blade slicing this man’s throat as well. But something stopped him.
Gene was thrown back by some unseen force to sprawl on the hardwood floor. He gazed up in horror as the man before him began to change. His young, dark skinned body seemed to melt, his grinning face to morph before Gene’s eyes. In moments, Lena’ lover was gone, replaced by some reject from a cheap Hollywood horror movie. The creature glanced from the dead woman on the floor, to Gene, and back again. Then he began to chortle; a deep, low, terrible sound. He laughed.
“Wha…?” Gene tried to speak, but he couldn’t form a thought, let alone a word.
“Foolish man,” the beast before him spoke. “You can’t get her back. Not even that way. She belongs to me now. Only in dreams can you win.”
The creature bent and picked up Lena’s body, leaving the room without a backwards glance. Gene watched him go. He was lost, terrified and so alone. Before him on the floor, Lena’s blood pooled. But his wife was gone, gone with that monster. Gene was defeated. He was utterly destroyed. Dropping his head to the floor, he began to sob, to wail in anguish. He lay there forever, for a moment. Suddenly, Gene felt a soft hand on his head, stroking his hair. He glanced up and saw a beautiful young girl, dressed in a red robe, her head covered by a hood. Her face was angelic, beautiful, with shining blue eyes and perfect, luminescent skin. She smiled at Gene and he felt a great relief. He felt as if the weight of his sorrow and his guilt, his anger and his grief, were lifted from him.
“Who…?” Gene began, but the girl raised a finger to his lips.
“I am Mother, and you, dear boy, are lost,” the girl’s voice was innocent and compelling. “Come to me and you will be found. Come to me and all will be well. Fear not, Gene, for Mother will guide you. Mother will find you.”
Gene smiled. He was unafraid. When Mother disappeared, she left his sense of peace.
***
Gene awoke in his bed. Lena had come in while he slept. She lay beside him, sound asleep. Gene could smell the soft, flowery scent of her freshly washed skin. He inhaled deeply and slid from the bed. Lena awoke to the sound of the car pulling out of the garage. She was confused. Gene was gone. She would never see him alive again.
***
“There,” Anne Lynch set down the test tube in her hand and turned to the computer beside her. She made another entry, pleased with how close she was to completing this gene mapping project. She ran a hand through her short cropped blonde hair, mussing it even more. As Anne yawned, she drew off her glasses. The clock on the computer read well past midnight, and Anne sighed. Her partner, Sarah, would be angry again. Every time she worked late, Anne had to spend the better part of a week making it up to Sarah. Oh well, at least it was worth it. When they finally made up, the sex would be incredible. Sarah knew just what to do. She was a wild lover, and Anne appreciated the hell out of that.
Sarah and Anne had been together for almost two years. No one was more surprised by that than Anne herself. Sarah was hot. She was talented, but she wasn’t bright. Sarah didn’t understand a damn thing about Anne’s work. She was an artist. She sculpted, and she was good. But Sarah was simple. She didn’t care a lick about science or politics or philosophy for that matter. Sarah liked to have fun. She liked to party. She loved to dance. And Sarah lived for sex. She was a wildcat, and Anne couldn’t get enough. She found something new and exciting with Sarah every time. Even after nearly two years, Sarah was full of surprises.
Anne rolled her shoulders, smiling as she thought of Sarah waiting at home. She’d be dressed in some bit of lace and silk, pouting prettily on their big four poster bed. “Man, what am I doing here?” Anne asked herself, hurrying to close everything down. She could be home in ten minutes, and if she played it right she and Sarah could begin “making up” right away.
Anne was in her car in less than 15 minutes, heading away from the research center and out into Alhambra. The house she and Sarah shared was a couple of miles away from the center. There was no traffic that late at night, but there were plenty of lights. Anne sat stopped at one of them, her exhaustion catching up with her as she waited for the light to change. She listened to soft jazz spilling out of the car’s speakers as her eyes drifted shut.
***
Anne laid spread out on a bed in a strange room. The walls were red, covered with evenly spaced mirrors. Anne turned her head and saw her reflection. She was naked on the bed, her hands and feet tied to low posts surrounding the circular bed. The bed itself was black and piled with pillows. Anne felt surprisingly unafraid.
“Sarah,” she whispered. This was just like her lover, to plan something so unexpected. *Guess she’s not mad after all,* Anne thought.
Anne let her eyes drift closed as she waited. Moments later, she felt the bed dip and heard a strange chanting all around. She opened her eyes and found herself face to face with a beautiful young girl. The girl wore a filmy, red dress. As she moved, Anne could glimpse her lush, young body. Despite herself, Anne became aroused. The chanting seemed to pulse to the beat of her body, and although Anne couldn’t understand the words, the sound made her whole body tingle.
Anne felt the girl’s hands gently stroking her body. She had never been touched in such a way. Every caress sent heat and electricity coursing along her nerve endings. Anne was enthralled, completely enchanted. Wave after wave of ecstasy washed over her as the girl continued her ministrations. In the end, Anne passed out from the pleasure. When she awoke moments later, the girl was gone, but her whispered words echoed in Anne’s ears.
“Come to me,” the girl had said, and Anne knew she must go.
***
Anne Lynch awoke to the sound of a car horn. She glanced up and saw that the light had turned green. Looking around, she saw the only car was the one behind her. Without hesitation, she made a U-turn, and headed away from Sarah, away from her life. She was going to Mariah.
***
Others dreamed as well. Some awoke and shook off the dreams, returning to their lives. But some, many really, awoke and walked away from their lives. They went in search of Mariah and the Brotherhood. She’d offered them their darkest needs, their deepest desires in their dreams, and they gave up everything to seek what she offered. The ranks of the Brotherhood swelled, and many of the new Brothers were scientists and doctors; men of science serving the will of an arcane mistress.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Tuesday 17th January 2006 – 4:30am
Victor sat down the last of the diaries of the Circle of Osiris. It had taken him months of reading to absorb them all. Glancing at the clock he noted it was much later than usual for Tash to be out. Her arm had been healing nicely. She had been spending more and more hours hunting just recently as she began to really push the healed bones.
*Wish she'd check in, it’s odd for her to go so long without calling. Hope she's okay.* The regular check-ins had been Victor's idea. He could call Sorrow or Reah and alert them to real problems or as backup if needed. It wasn’t like Victor was sleeping after all. Besides, he just liked talking to Tash even if she was all business out on the hunt.
Tash burst through the door, her eyes wild with excitement. "Victor, he's alive! I saw him! But he disappeared and I searched for ages but couldn't find him. And that new demon guy was there, attacking him! I didn't get to kill it, though. But he's alive!" Tash kept moving as she was talking and when she reached Victor she grabbed his arms. "He's alive!" she repeated.
He looked at her and slowly blinked a few times to make sure she was done otherwise she would never hear him. "Who? What demon? Glad you are okay," he said in steady monotones.
Tash elbowed him in the ribs and Victor laughed at her excitement, "Hold still, is that blood? Hold still!" She squirmed away from his concerned touch and dabbed a paper towel at the blood from her rapidly swelling lip.
Her eyes still alight, Tash bounced on the balls of her feet, unable to stay still. "Pat. Patrick. My brother. I saw him tonight. Somehow he projected himself to tell me he was in trouble, and he was. There was a demon the other night, attacking a girl. Tonight it was the same demon, but he was attacking Pat. But Pat ran off during the fight and I had to go follow him. Didn't get to kill the demon."
She paced back and forth in the confined space of her living room. "I can't believe he's alive! Victor, it's like a miracle." She looked at her lover, a grin splitting her face - and opening up her cut lip further, but she didn't care.
Victor smiled and gave her a big hug, trying hard to hold down the doubts in his mind that were boiling under the surface. "That’s great, Tash. He may be alive."
He could see that the hope of having her brother alive was a blind spot in her generally untrusting hunter's instinct. Something within Victor leapt on that hope as well, however, a remainder of a feeling of family. Victor's voice cracked a little as he spoke, "Don't get your hopes up too fast. Let’s get you cleaned up while you tell me what you know. Maybe we can identify the demon or spells and prepare you for the next encounter."
"Of course he's alive. I saw him with my own two eyes. He's exactly as I remember him." Tash grinned, "My little brother's back - don't you see what this means? I have a family again."
Victor cocked his head to one side, "Exactly? He's not any older?"
Tash's grin faded marginally and a look of confusion spread over her features. "No, he's not... but isn't that expected...? Hmm. No, not older at all." She looked up at Victor, a puzzled frown in place of her smile. "He still looks twelve. But - it was definitely Pat! He wasn't a vampire or anything - I'd have seen the aura if he was. It was him," she finished defensively.
Victor echoed her concern, "What kind of aura did he have?"
The puzzled look intensified, "I don't remember... I didn't really pay attention, I guess. But I'd have known if he was evil. Oh, Victor, you should have seen him with blood running down his face. That demon was just beating up on him. A poor defenceless boy!"
Victor could not believe what he was hearing, he was already suspicious and he had not even been there. "What did this demon look like? Did it have horns or claws? Did you recognise its species? How about its aura?"
As Victor asked questions, he could see Tash's look of confusion deepening. *Take a deep breath,* he thought at her, *Set aside the excitement a second. Concentrate.* Engaging her telepathy seemed to focus her some.
"No, no horns or claws. But I saw its aura the other night, when it was attacking the girl. It was sort of humanish, but had those dark bits you demon types get. Tonight... I didn't really notice its aura either." Tash rolled her neck. "I dunno, my mental faculties seemed a bit dull tonight - maybe I'm coming down with something. But that's beside the point, Victor. Aren't you happy for me? I've found Pat. You should be happy."
"I am happy. I can feel those same sorts of feelings about Pat that you do. They are your feelings after all." Victor poked her chest over her heart, then tapped her forehead, "But never forget that in our world Occam's Razor is especially sharp. Has your brother miraculously come back from the death he suffered 14 years ago? Or is it you seeing what you want to see?"
Tash looked at Victor in exasperation. "No, it's him. He just didn't die after all, obviously. Or maybe someone brought him back, which is why he still looks the same. You'll know it's ok when you meet him, I'm sure of it."
Victor kissed her and went to get the bandages without replying. When he sat back down he gently cleansed her cuts and scrapes, and then he dressed them. When he was done he looked at her and chuckled. "I trust you, Tash, but I think you might have had your brain rattled by the punch that gave you that fat lip."
Tash stuck out her tongue playfully. "I'll go looking for him tomorrow and bring him here. You'll see he's fine." She kissed Victor fervently, "I'm just so happy to know he's not dead after all." Despite the late hour and all her aches and bruises, Tash couldn't keep the grin off her face. Later, when she finally drifted off to sleep, for the first time in years she didn't dream of her brother's bloody corpse.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Saturday 21st January 2006 - 10:30pm
Deon sat back on the leather armchair and grinned at the handsome fae sitting opposite. “I think tonight would be good for the next phase of our little game. I’m sure big sis’ is stewing nicely about now. And your boy seems to be reaching a nice, unstable frame of mind too.”
Loki grinned and took another sip of the finely aged wine Deon so graciously provided. "With any luck, tonight's fiasco will push them closer to the edge. We do however, have to make sure your cute lil' sister doesn’t kill my target. I’ve spent too long in LA prepping Mr. Pretty Boy for what I have planned, and I sure as hell won’t let him have any fatal accident if you catch my point," he said as he got up and walked towards the blackened glass window.
"No problem there," Deon said smoothly in his piping voice, "Tash will be too distracted by me to finish him off. Besides, she only has human abilities, especially when this," he stroked the amulet he wore around his neck, "is close by to shut down her telepathy."
Deon rose and laid a hand on Loki's shoulder as he gazed at the unseeing window. "You'll have plenty of time to kill Darian yourself, just as I'll have time to kill my sister. But driving them insane first - that's the fun part."
*****
11:45 pm
Tash left Poplar Avenue, kitted up for the night's hunt. She'd tried for the past three nights to find Patrick again, but had found nothing. Still she hadn't lost hope. She knew he was out there somewhere. And she had to answer the questions Victor had raised. She was barely down the steps when she felt a brief wave of dizziness pass over her, but it quickly faded. Then a figure detached itself from the shadows and approached.
"Pat!" she cried in joy. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
Deon stayed where he was and endured the hug his dead host's sister inflicted upon him. "It's so good to see you, Tash," he gushed, "but I need you to help me."
Tash stood back and looked at Pat. Victor had said something about how Pat looked - but she couldn't quite put her finger on it now. Shouldn't he be taller by now? "Pat, you don't seem to have changed a bit... at all." Tash's voice was slow and confused.
"That's why I need your help, Tash." Deon put on his best hurt-little-boy look. "That man you rescued me from the other night - he's actually a wizard of some sort. He has me under a spell to make me do whatever he wants. And he won't let me age - he says he prefers me young and sweet." Deon faked a disgusted look, "But I'm starting to break free a little, though not enough to do anything much myself. But I can show you where he lives. If you killed him, I'd be free."
"Oh god," Tash blanched, "Pat, how horrible." A terrible rage burst inside her at the thought of what that demon was doing to her baby brother. Her face set in a mask, "Show me. I'll free you; don't worry about that. I’ll make him pay for what he's done."
*****
Deon pointed out the balcony that belonged to Darian's apartment, despising Tash's arm around his shoulders but leaning into the embrace to keep up the appearance of the long-lost brother. "He lives up there," he said with a tremble in his voice.
Tash gave Pat one last encouraging squeeze. "Ok, you stay here Pat. I don't want you in danger. Let me take care of this monster for you." She reached out and tousled his hair before planting a kiss on his cheek. "You need to rug up more, too. You're so cold," she said. "I love you, Pat." Then she clambered up the fire escape to the balcony to see a demon about a spell.
Seeing Deon's "sister" make her way into position, it was time for Loki to play his part. Slowly he shifted his appearance to match that of Sebastian's and walked out from the shadows in which he was hiding. Quickly and quietly, the dark fae made his way just beneath Darian's balcony that lay four stories above his head. *The bitch better not hit hard,* he thought, knowing that he would have to take a few blows for the team.
Without wasting any more time, Loki leaped inhumanly high in the air and landed silently on the ledge above. The woman was already in Darian's apartment, looking around, no doubt in search of the "Evil Wizard". *For one of the good guys, she sure has no qualms about breaking and entering,* he mused as he stepped inside the apartment.
Using his faery grace, Loki made his way closer to Tash without alerting her to his presence. Finally, when he was sufficiently close to really scare the girl he spoke up, breaking the silence. "And who invited you in here?"
Tash's heart leapt into her throat at the sudden sound, but she whirled ready for action. The man she faced wasn't the demon, but being in the flat maybe he worked for the demon - or was another victim. *He's a bit older than Pat but he's pretty enough. This demon really does like them sweet,* she thought in disgust. Still, she maintained her fighting stance. "I'm looking for the guy who lives here. Who are you?"
"What do you want with the guy who lives here?" Loki asked coolly, ignoring Tash's inquisition.
"If you must know, he's a demon that's done something nasty to my little brother, so I'm going to kill him. Got a problem with that?"
Loki quickly gazed at a wall clock hanging just behind Tash. *Perfect, Darian should be home any second.*
Taking another step closer Loki replied, "Actually, I’d rather you didn't." In a swift movement he jabbed at her face, taking heed not to use all his strength. *Got to make this look convincing.*
The blow caught Tash right on the spot where her lip had just healed, causing it to start bleeding again. *Fine - lackey, then.* Licking up the blood, she ducked under the next blow and jabbed upwards, catching the young man under the chin, snapping his head back violently. He countered with a flurry of blows, some of which Tash blocked. She retaliated with her own assault, sending her attacker reeling. A door slammed at the front of the apartment, followed by the sound of pounding footsteps.
Darian entered his apartment and was stunned by what he found. Fighting right in front of him, in his very home, was the femme fatale vamp and what must be an astral projection of Sebastian. His mind and heart flooded with torrents of thoughts and emotions. *What the hell is going on!??* Without wasting any more time deliberating he jumped into action, charging the woman who threatened his best friend.
"Trying to make me your midnight snack was one thing, but coming into MY home and attacking my friend...!" Darian couldn't even finish his threat. Rage consumed him. His purple eyes began to lose their purple lustre, replaced by shades of black. He attacked the vamp with such fury that he took no notice of anything else around him.
Tash staggered under the force of the attack from behind, whirling to face this new threat. Half an eye stayed on her original attacker, but he seemed willing to step back and let the demon take care of things. She spat out a fresh mouthful of blood as she dodged blows and looked for an opening.
“What about you, you filthy fiend? What the hell did you do to my baby brother?” she roared at the demon.
Her words caught the fae off guard. *Baby brother?* The whole situation was beginning to seem surreal: two encounters with the same vampire, than her attacking him in his own apartment. The final thought caused Darian to suddenly stop his attack, taking a few steps away from the woman. *If she's a vampire, how did she get into my apartment?* Darian was struck with the sneaking suspicion that the events of late were not all as simple as he had once thought.
“I don’t know what your deal is vampire, and I don’t know what you mean about your blood-sucking little brother, but I want to know how you got in here without being invited?"
Hearing Darian, Loki realized that the plan was definitely not going as it should have. If he was not careful, all the time and effort he had invested in preparing Darian these last months would be wasted. Carefully, the dark fae cornered himself in an unlit corner of the apartment and, summoning his magic once more, melted into the darkness, becoming invisible. *Let’s see how this unfolds.*
Tash poised, on guard but not actively attacking… and neither was the demon for now, while he asked his questions. She frowned, “Vampire? What the hell are you on about? I’m one of the good guys… fighting you, you evil, magic-wielding, sodomising demon! I'll give you vampire. Look!" She tugged on the chain around her neck and exposed her cross. She placed it against her cheek. "See? No smoke, okay? Now," she growled, "undo whatever the hell it is you did to Pat."
Darian was utterly and totally perplexed. The vampiress was not even an undead, she was a plain and simple human. And to top things off, she was under the impression that Darian was some sort of pervert wizard. "For one, I am not a sorcerer of any kind, and I am sure as hell not a sodomist. *I really wonder where she got that idea.*
Darian continued, trying to make some sense of what was going on, "You may not be a vampire, but if that young boy who I was fighting the other night is your brother, than he is part of the daytime challenged. I saw him vamp out with my own eyes. So if you aren't a nightcrawling fiend, then why did you throw that knife in my shoulder when I was trying to save that girl from being hunted down by the vamps? That is of course unless YOU'RE the demon?"
Tash blinked in confusion, her brain crawling away from what he’d said about Pat and latching onto safer ground. “Ok,” she said, lowering her guard the merest fraction, “Time out. You were the one attacking the girl. I didn’t see any vamps there, just you - and I didn’t throw any knife. I can tell you’re not entirely human, so I figured demon of some kind.”
Her accuser backed off a little, so she eased up somewhat too, though both remained wary. She wasn’t picking up much from his thoughts, and frowned in frustration. Just what the hell was wrong with her faculties these days?
“And then there’s Pat – he told me himself that you had cast some sort of spell so he wouldn’t age…” Victor’s words came back to her; ”… in our world Occam’s Razor is especially sharp…”. She lifted hollow eyes to the… demon? Man? What? “No, he can’t be a vampire. I’d have felt it…” she murmured. Her voice rose and she repeated, staring her opponent down, "No! He's not! It's a lie!"
"Look around here," Darian replied pointing to the apartment. "Does it look like I’m some sort of wizard? The only time I have ever run into your brother was the night in the alleyway. And whether you want to believe it or not, he was a vampire." Darian paused, trying to soak up all the truths that were coming to light. "And I wasn’t attacking that blonde girl that night. I went out and risked my neck to save her. I dusted the two leeches seconds before you arrived."
Through the fog that seemed to be enveloping her head, Tash could at least discern no blatant lie in what the man said. Her spirit felt crushed. “But Pat told me you were attacking him… and that you had him under a spell…” She was finding it hard to think straight. She needed to be sure that this man was telling her the truth. And she could think of only one way, given her failure to read him.
She advanced, pulling off a glove. “I need to know the truth,” she said, “I need to see. Let me touch you and I’ll see.”
Darian stepped back momentarily, worried by what might happen. Yet something in the woman's saddened eyes compelled him to move closer. Taking a deep breath, he nodded to her. *Let’s see what happens.*
Tash knew she was being horribly unfair – she’d not explained this process at all to the being whose mind she was about to violate. But her need to know about Pat overrode all sense of decency. She delicately reached out and touched his cheek, sliding her hand around to grasp him firmly around the side of the neck as the visions began to flow. They were more feeble than usual, for which she was really quite thankful, but powerful enough nonetheless.
”Noooooo…” Darian’s scream dopplered off into sobs as he clutched the amethyst, realising what had become of his best friend….
Seb standing before him, telling him how much pain he was in, trapped in the crystal…
Now Pat stood before him, the boy’s vampire features melting back into those of human just as the black vampiress rounded the corner and attacked…
The same evil vampire attacking his beloved Seb in his own home, of all places…
Tash fell back with a gasp and stared at Darian. *Darian,* she thought distractedly as the emotions of the visions played out inside her, *Nice name.* And the man who’d attacked her here initially must have been just protecting his friend. Then reality struck her. Pat was a vampire. He’d fooled her into attacking this…
“Oh, my God!” she exclaimed, “You’re Fae!”
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Saturday, 21st January, 2006 - 11:55pm
Tash and Darian stared at each other in the gloom of Darian’s apartment. Loki – still disguised as Sebastian – waited in the shadows to see just how much these two might figure out. With luck, he could still come out of this on top. His gaze settled on Darian. The look of horror and anguish on Darian’s face was a delight to behold.
Somehow, the girl's touch invoked a flash of painful memories in Darian's mind. Accompanying the flash backs were also all the emotions that he had experienced at the moment of those events; mostly sadness. Finally her last remark just added even more confusion to the maelstrom going on in his mind and heart. *She knows I’m Fae.*
Darian's breaths were coming in short jolts, and massive amounts of blood seemed to rush to his head. The vertigo of the whole experience threatened to make him sick. Finally he was able to utter, "What did you do to me?" His voice was filled with a mix of emotions: Fear, Grief, Wonder.
Tash had the good grace to look somewhat abashed, though she knew she’d have done it again in a heartbeat. “Look, it’s a long story, Darian,” she said. She looked around, wondering what had happened to Darian’s friend, but there was no sign of him. And Pat was downstairs. Pat… No, he couldn’t be a vampire. There must have been some mistake about that part.
“I can see things from objects, if I touch them with bare hands,” she began, “and if it’s a person I touch – well, the experience becomes very intense.” She stopped and looked at him, trying to discern his aura more fully. She was sure it had been stronger when she’d first seen him, but now it was dulled. She sighed. Something was definitely up with her abilities at the moment. Still, she remembered his initial aura – how had she not seen that it was like Matthias’? But not quite – Matthias had had no dark in his aura.
She decided to bite the bullet, “I used to know a Fae – he stayed with me for many years, taught me a lot. He was like a father to me…”
Darian mulled over the scenario unfolding, trying to make some sense of it. *She saw my past, knew my name, knows I’m not human; quite the power she has.* The previous tension had all but left. By now it had become apparent to both combatants that they had been mutually set up. But by who, and even more importantly why?
"I’m not a complete fae, I’m only half. And that wasn’t by choice," he said, finally breaking the silence that had fallen. "Although you probably know that, seeing as how that little skin contact played my memories for you like a movie."
The idea of having his inner mind invaded disturbed him, caused him to feel violated. Yet there was a silver lining to that dark cloud. If she knew about him, and if she really had been with a fae for many years, she may know something about faery magic; maybe she knew how to break the curse of his amethyst. Even if she didn’t, perhaps the woman still had contact with the pure faery; undoubtedly he would have some answers. "This fae you knew, what happened to him, is he here in LA?"
Memories of Matthias welled up in Tash, especially that last, all-too-brief meeting they’d had last June. She still cried when she thought about that note he’d left. “No,” she said sadly, “the Sidhe forced him to go back. He wasn’t allowed to stay here. And I didn’t get all your life story, if that’s what you’re wondering. I only got flashes – you’d have seen them too. That and the fact that…” her voice grew distance as she recalled details, “your mother – no, not yours, but she felt like your mother – used to sing a lullaby to you.” She hummed a snatch of tune that came to her but quickly stopped herself when she saw the look on Darian’s face.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said with genuine distress, “my control seems to be shaky recently.”
Darian's mind drifted back a little over 200 years. Sebastian's mother used to hum the same tune to put Darian to sleep when he was scared. The memory was both comforting and distressing. But the fae could not dwell on those events that transpired so long before. Snapping back to the reality at hand, he was extremely disappointed to hear that the other faery would not be possible to contact. However, things were not all lost.
"Before this other faery left, did he teach you anything about fae magic, anything at all?" He knew the woman would understand where he was going with this line of questioning since she had just got a first hand view of Darian's memories.
Tash shook her head slowly, “I’m afraid not, Darian.” She reached out a hand towards the amethyst he wore around his neck, but dropped it when she realised it was still gloveless. Quickly she pulled her glove back on.
“He hid his origins from me for years – it was only a few months before he left that I learned he was Fae. I can’t do anything about freeing your friend. But I do know a couple of fairly powerful witches who might be able to help.” She smiled at Darian, “God knows you deserve a break after all this mix-up. I’m glad neither of us hurt the other too badly. I wanted to kill you when I saw you attacking Pat…”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Pat! I have to find him – I have to find out what’s going on.” Her eyes grew cloudy again, “He just can’t be a vampire… but,” she struggled out of the morass a little, “for some reason it looks like he wanted us to fight each other. Why?”
She turned to Darian. “I’ll be in touch, I promise. I’ll do whatever I can to help you free Sebastian. But I must go.” Without even thinking, she returned the way she had come – out to the balcony. Just before she disappeared over the edge she called, “I’m Tash, by the way – pleased to meet you.” She grinned cheekily then vanished from Darian’s sight.
Loki watched as the two parted company, the woman making her way back down the outside of the building. *Wouldn’t it have been easier if she used the stairs? Bah! Stupid, stupid people here in LA. Luckily, things didn’t turn out so bad. Deon seems to be screwed, but I on the other hand am still in the clear. Still, I’ve got a little damage control to do.*
With that last thought Loki, still in the form of Sebastian, broke away from his shadow veil and walked back into view of Darian. "Interesting night, isn’t it?"
Damage Control.
Saturday, 15th October 2005, 5.30am
It was almost dawn. The night sky was still a bluish black, but one could almost feel the heat of the sun rising in the distance, clawing to chase away the dark and eat away the shadows, causing demons and vampires alike to slink back out of sight.
The approaching light, however, did little to fight the demons Jade battled within. Yet another nightmare had her choking and flailing around helplessly, small mewling sounds trapped in her throat as she fought her way towards consciousness.
Gasping, Jade sat up in bed, her body trembling uncontrollably as her shaking hands sought the switch for the bedside lamp. Since her imprisonment within the tank she had developed an intense phobia of the dark and of being left alone. Wherever she was in the house, no matter the time of day, she'd insisted that Sorrow leave the light on and the radio playing. Even with the sedatives the doctors had prescribed, sleep had been elusive. When she did drift off from sheer exhaustion, she found herself unable to sleep for more than an hour before a nightmare jerked her awake.
Running her hands through her hair, Jade picked up her cigarettes and made her way silently across the room to stand at the window where a soft breeze fluttered across her face. Dragging deeply, she relaxed slightly, leaning against the cool pane and staring out onto the still quiet street.
It had happened again. He's lost count of the number of nights he'd seen the flash of fear in Jade's eyes as she'd left their bed. He glanced at the clock and then rose from the bed. It was later than it had been. Maybe they were making progress. He shook his head. He wasn't that naive. Maybe Jade was starting to sleep a little better, but the demons that tank had placed within her weren't so easily defeated.
Slipping from the bed, he padded across the room and gently enfolded Jade in his arms. He said nothing; just let her feel his presence, hoping it would offer some measure of comfort.
Jade shuddered slightly and gave an inward sigh as she leaned into Sorrow's embrace. Tendrils of smoke wove themselves up her wrist and around her body before dissipating in the October air. Jade watched them, silently wishing that the crushing weight she felt inside could vanish as easily as those curls of smoke disappeared.
So many weeks had passed since Sorrow and Tash had rescued her from that dank, foetid, black hole where she had been held captive. Over a month and she was still at a loss for words when it came to describing the terror she had felt within the tank.
Jade knew her prolonged stretches of silence worried Sorrow, especially since she had always been the more expressive between the two of them, but just the thought of putting her experiences and emotions into words had an icy cold fear clogging up her throat. The panic attacks didn't come as often, nor were they as intense as they had been intially, but Jade found herself constantly on-the-edge, even though she knew she was back home, surrounded by the people who cared for her. Unexpected noises startled her. Even the shadows within her own home seemed vaguely threatening.
Jade had been down to XY only once since her return. She was just thankful that she had Julian to run the store and come by with weekly reports on how they were doing. Since she felt like they owed him an explanation of some sort on her disappearance, Sorrow had told him that she'd been kidnapped, leaving out the reasons as to why as well as the details of what she'd been through. JC had been frantic with worry and had been more than happy for Jade to take some time off and rest at home.
*But for how long?! How much longer can I avoid going out and getting on with my life?! Damn it!* Jade crushed out the cigarette viciously. She knew she was being overtly paranoid but she couldn't seem to help it. *They took me... Just like that!* They had plucked her off the street as easily as taking candy from a baby. *How am I supposed to feel safe anywhere?*
Sorrow watched silently as Jade ground out the cigarette. He could feel the tension thrumming through Jade's body and felt helpless. He didn't know what to do. Rescuing Jade physically was the easy part, but it seemed something of her remained in that darkness and he didn't know how to draw her out.
"I'm here and I love..."
"I know," Jade spoke softly and turned around to lay a hand gently on Sorrow's face. "And I love you too Tris..." For the first time, she saw that he had lost weight in the last few of weeks. The hollows of his cheeks had deepened and there was a new tiredness in his bearing that bespoke volumes. Jade saw her torment mirrored in the emerald green of Sorrow's eyes and strangely, the tears she had been unable to shed since her return to LA welled up at the realisation of how much her lover had suffered.
"Tris... I'm so, so sorr..." Her voice broke.
"Shhhh, you've nothing to be sorry for." Sorrow reached down and lifted Jade into his arms, trying not to worry at how light and fragile she felt in his arms, almost like a child. He walked back to the bed and lay down, cradling Jade against him "Whatever you need..." He reached up and kissed her gently on the forehead. "Sleep. Let me protect you from the demons for tonight."
Jade curled herself deeper into the warmth of Sorrow's body and said nothing. Since the "demons" she'd been struggling with were nowhere to be found except within her own mind, she knew that Sorrow's assurances were pointless. Sleep would not come. The thought of deliberately closing her eyes to rest terrified her. Every time she tried, Jade felt like it was going to happen again - she was going re-open her eyes and see nothing but absolute black.
No, sleep would not come...
Jade watched as the sky continued to lighten, relaxing a little more with each graduation. Daylight meant extra protection against another one of her "demons", only the danger this particular one posed was all too real.
Valerian.
Neither Sorrow or Tash had mentioned his name since their return from Europe but Jade sensed that he weighed as heavily on their minds as he did on hers.
Strangely, although she remembered little about her actual rescue, Jade clearly recalled what happened after. The sudden surge of heat that seemed to burn away her skin, the way that heat suddenly changed and became this all-engulfing fury inside her. The words she had uttered as Sorrow had carried her out of the building where she had been imprisoned.
He lives. And he'll kill you both. He'll kill you both and make me watch. His anger, I feel it inside me. It's almost as if I can feel him burn..."
**********
Somewhere across town.
Reintroducing Johnny Depp as Valerian and Zhang Ziyi as Samantha.
Valerian opened his eyes and looked up as Samantha sauntered across the room. Despite the darkness of the room - heavy drapes obscured all the windows and blocked out any trace of light - he could see that she looked as perfect as she'd one looked. The smooth white skin that had been horrendously charred from the fire was now flushed and glowing, her ebony hair had grown back to its full lushness.
He smiled indulgently; he'd been right in assuming that the little "snack" he'd brought earlier would fully restore her. Glancing carelessly towards what remained of the two teenage boys, Valerian shook his head and said ruefully, "Really, my dear. I understand that you've been in somewhat of a bad state and need the nourishment. But there's something to be said about finesse. Have I taught you nothing in these past few months?"
Samantha trailed a hand across her collarbone and looked at her sire through lowered lashs. “Oh you’ve taught me a great deal I was just,” she took a deep unnecessary breath, “impatient.”
Valerian's eyes followed her as she crossed the room and settled against him. She rubbed a cheek that until recently had borne fire-caused scars against Valerian. “When?”
Valerian smiled and slipped his arm around his childe. “Soon. There are things to be taken care of first.”
“But…” Sam tried to move back but was prevented by Valerian’s suddenly tensed arm.
“Don’t forgot the club in Bremen, my dear fledgling.”
“That was Sorrow! If it hadn’t been…”
“You think so? Natasha has killed enough of our kind to defeat you rather easily. No, let others fight her while you grow strong. She may gain an ally but it will cost her much.” As he spoke, Valerian’s hand reached up to rub a finger across Sam’s lips. “When I have made you my Hand…”
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Monday 22nd October 2005
"Take some time off. Go on, it will do you good."
"John, you have got to believe me, he moved with the darkness, and he was strong, really strong. C’mon, you know I’m not crazy…John?" The silence answered the question.
"Clara, why don’t you go see your parents in Boston? They will be glad to see you or you could go…"
"You think I am crazy or I imagined it? After everything, all the stories we did together. You're meant to be my editor, John!"
"With the stories you’ve been trying to print about this… man of darkness, your work has been plummeting for the last two months. You were mugged - nothing more. You're probably in shock."
The normal clatter of printing office, then deep breaths which brought her back in to the conversation.
"Clara? Take a few days off and get some rest, OK?"
"The way he moved, he glided, it was like he was the darkness…" She muttered on until she realised that John had gone. "He was real, he was…I will find him."
If she wanted to find him she would have to go to where she first met him. L.A.
*****
As night fell, Clara was on the flight to L.A. The fateful night replayed in her head. Every detail was clear except the man of darkness; she could not see his face. That was, if he did have one. She had decided to call him the man of darkness - well, it was a pretty good headline.
All the questions she wanted to ask him were running through her head. She wondered if he was even human.
Since Clara was young she often wondered if there was something more like aliens or U.F.O’s. Sure she saw the documentaries, but were they real? It was partly the reason she had become a journalist to find out more. Was this finally her big story?
She was so deep in thought that she found herself calling a taxi. "Where do ya wanna go?" a gruff man turned and eyed her up.
"Inglewood?" It was the only word she spoke throughout the whole journey.
She looked for the same bus stop that she had been at two months ago. She found it and waited. Two hours went by and Clara wandered into thought once more. It was dusk and the sun ceased to shine.
"I call myself the protector of beings."
A dark figure stood before her. Though she was close she could not make out his face. It was like a black blur, like in her thoughts.
"Why were you there on that night? Why did you save me?"
The dark figure sat down next to her and bent close to her ear. He whispered, "I was looking for you!"
Clara leaned towards him and felt his breath on her skin.
"Lady! Are you getting on this bus or not!?’ She was pulled back to reality, still in a daze.
"Damn druggies!" The bus doors hissed closed and it roared out of sight. She pushed herself off the bus seat.
"I’m not a druggie," she whispered as she made her way back to the hotel.
The Entrance
25th October, 2005
11:34
*Consider the scene,* Chance mused idly to himself. *It’s dark, it’s late, it’s the part of town the tourists try their hardest not to see and, if they did, wouldn’t take pictures to show the folks back home. And, to top it all off, it’s bloody cold.*
It was a fair summarisation. The clouds were thick and low, with no stars out to shine and twinkle. Not that they would otherwise be seen anyway. The nearby lights of LA city-centre certainly took care of that. Only the moon could be glimpsed really, and only then briefly in breaks between the clouds. *Ah, the splendour of LA by night.*
As for this particular part of LA, well, there wasn’t too much light here even during the day. It was run-down, dirty and, for the most part, abandoned. A place Chance wouldn’t usually dream of going by accident, let alone deliberately.
Then again, his life was more of a nightmare than a dream.
He sat now on his motorcycle; a jet-black 2002 Harley Classic. The engine was off for now, the rumble of it would only give away his position, but his right hand gripped the acceleration hard. If he needed to go, he could and would go. Absently, Chance pulled his jacket tighter around him in a futile gesture to get warmer. But he wasn’t really bothered about, or paying attention to, the cold. He had other things on his mind.
Things that were about to leap from his mind and into reality.
Footsteps, hurried, pounded the concrete. Off to his left. *Ah,* Chance thought, *cue fleeing victim. Right on time.* The left side of his mouth twitched slightly. *I’ve been doing this far too long.*
Parked neatly in the shadows of a bridge pillar, he was obscured from view. But the position also gave him a pretty good outlook. Away before him an old fence that ran parallel to the bridge defiantly remaining standing, more or less, and behind that a dilapidated street. Between there and him it was mostly open ground, an open ground that stretched away to his left and right, running under the bridge.
The pounding drew nearer. Chance tensed on the bike.
A figure ran into view, slipping and tripping. It stumbled on past him, every now and again throwing a glance across its shoulder. As it did, the moonlight gave Chance a glimpse of long, fiery red hair, of bright red lipstick, and then it retreated back into the shadows. Worn trainers slapped the ground.
Then the girl was out of his field of vision. There was a barest pause, perhaps not even a second, and two more figures came into view. They were not hurried, but Chance could tell they were methodically chasing the girl, who ran as if the Lord himself was about to righteously strike her down. Which, all things considered, wasn’t far from the truth. These two, though, they carried themselves confidently and purposefully. They continued after her at a walking pace.
Chance waited. They passed directly in front of him and soon they too were gone. Still he waited, counting under his breath. He reached ten.
*Show time! Cue dramatic music.*
Chance gunned the engine and the bike leapt forward out his hiding space, then he pulled it into a sharp right turn. The two figures turned in surprise and shock to see the bike bearing down on them. The girl kept on running.
Using one hand to control the motorcycle, Chance reached back with the other. When he brought his left hand forward again there was small but modern crossbow in it, already loaded with a bolt and ready to go. In one fluid motion that barely lasted a few seconds he had reached back, brought the weapon forward, and then fired.
Snap! -Hiss- Thunk!
The bolt whistled threw the air, crossing the ever-narrowing gap between him and the figures at an alarming rate, then buried itself in the left-most one. He grunted as it lodged itself in his shoulder and took a step back, but remained alive and kicking. Figuratively speaking, of course. For during the grunt the man slipped into his game face, and when he looked back at Chance it was with that of the feral eyes, sloped forehead and sharp teeth of a vampire. His companion quickly followed suit. Chance’s target plucked the bolt from his chest and snapped it in one hand.
*Shit!* cursed Chance. *Close, but no heart.*
Then he was past them and careening down the open ground. With a screech, Chance brought the bike to a stop ahead of the still running girl. She stared up at him with wide, frightened eyes. “Help me!” she whispered, seemingly way past panic and into the realms of hysteria.
Chance raised himself on the bike and placed a hand on her shoulder, pointing at another bridge support with the other, crossbow still in hand. “Go there. I’ll take care of this.” The bravado and confidence, combined with the reassuring hand, seemed to do the job, for the girl calmed enough to nod at him. She scurried off to hide behind the pillar he had indicated.
He dropped back down into the seat. The two vampires had used the time to advance on him. Still they walked as if they were in no hurry, as if they were in control of the situation. Chance smiled grimly as he reloaded the crossbow. Nobody was in control here, let alone them. The only person who had any say at all was Lady Luck herself.
He started the engine again and accelerated towards the vampires, crossbow held ready. The fools didn’t even bother to protect themselves, believing him to miss again or convinced of their own immortality. *Is it denial they suffer from? Or ignorance? Let's not rule out stupidity, here.*
Chance settled for door number three, but there wasn’t really much point thinking about it for too long. Soon, it wouldn’t matter. He fired the crossbow.
Snap! -Hiss- Thunk!
This time his aiming was dead on. The bolt flew straight and true, plunging into Dumb Vamp No. 1 even as it and Dumb Vamp 2 began to pick up speed and charge at him. It exploded into dust. Dumb Vamp 2 looked across in shock and paused in his advance for a moment, but the pause gave Chance ample time to return the crossbow to its holster and withdraw a crucifix. He held it back, half turning in the saddle, and didn’t bother to swerve past the vamp, but instead came by almost right next to him. *Jousting, New World style!*
Chance smacked the creature with the item right in the face. Dumb Vamp 2 screamed as its warped features sizzled under the touch of the holy item and went flying onto its back from the force of the blow. Chance braked hard, coming round for another pass, stood up in the seat again and pulled out the crossbow once more whilst the vamp got to its feet. Crying a string of curses through its burnt mouth, Dumb Vamp 2 barely noticed the weapon pointed its way.
With the bike rumbling between his legs Chance took his time steadying his aim, letting the vampire realise that its existence was at in end.
He squeezed the trigger.
The bolt slammed into the vampire. It looked down at the wood protruding from its chest then back up at Chance. *Bugger,* he thought, *musta missed again. What’s wrong with me tonight? Am I getting cocky?*
Calmly, he pulled another bolt from the quiver on the back of the bike, reloaded and took aim again, but there was no need. In the few seconds it took for Chance to reload, the vampire had already turned to dust. It was odd, that. The inevitable explosion was something he had come to expect, but Chance had noticed that the time between a vampire heart’s contact with wood and its actual dusting varied in length. There was probably an explanation behind it somewhere, but he didn’t care. As long as the creature bit the dust before it bit him, he was perfectly happy not knowing.
He cruised slowly to the girl’s hiding place. She sat backed up against the pillar, her arms around her knees. When he approached, she turned and looked up at him, her lipstick smudged and tears cascading down her face.
“You… you saved my life!” she managed to stutter.
Chance sighed and turned off the engine. Getting off the bike, he pulled down on the stands and walked over to her. He squatted down before her and looked right into her eyes, his gaze unflinching.
“You could say that,” Chance said in a neutral tone.
She flung his arms around him. “Thank you! Thank you!” the girl cried into his shoulder. Chance remained as compassionate as a statue. “What, what were they?”
“They were vampires,” he said, “And you knew that bloody full well.”
The crying stopped and she leant back away from him, a look of shock and incomprehension etched upon her pretty features. Chance had to admit she was a damn good actor. “What? No I don’t. What are you talking about?”
In reply, he only smiled and raised the crucifix. She leapt back as if hit and slipped into vamp mode. “Yes you do. Because you’re one yourself.” *Bingo,* he thought. Although he had guessed the girl was a vampire, his sixth sense failed to register it. Again. *A gift from the Powers That Be, that priest in Spain told me. Some gift. I wonder if I can take it back and exchange it for the newer version? Like PTB’s Sixth Sense Version 2.0? … Nah.*
The vampire snarled and tried to spring at him, but he raised the crucifix to ward her off. With his other hand he waved a finger at her. “Now, now, now. Play nice. I’m going to ask you a few questions. And you’re going to tell me the answers.”
A pause. “What if I don’t know the answer?”
“Then I’ll stake you,” Chance said bluntly.
She smiled. It was not with any humour of any kind. “And how are you going to make me tell you anything?”
Chance returned the smile with an equally cold one. He fondled the crucifix. “Oh, I have my ways. Now, I’m the one asking the questions here. Why were those other two chasing you?”
“I’m not telling you a thing, so you might as well stake me now and get it over with.”
“I’ll stake you when you’re of no more use to me. Now answer the damned question.” He raised the crucifix threateningly. The vampiress tried to move away but she was already backed up against the support with nowhere to go.
“Fine! Fine! Put that away and I’ll tell you!” Chance lowered the object. “They sired me a couple nights back, wanted me to kill and drink. But I didn’t want to, it’s wrong! But they tried to force me to, so I ran-"
Chance bounded foreword before she had finished talking, shoving the crucifix right in her face and pushing it against the pillar with all his strength. Pinned, the vampire shrieked. He held it there for about three seconds then withdrew and crouched back down again. Her right cheek was completely disfigured, crisp flesh dropping off it and wisps of smoke trailing into the air. A truly gruesome sight.
“I knew you were lying when you tried to pull off the damsel-in-distress act. Don’t you think I know you’re lying now?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Next time, it’ll be there for four seconds, then five, and an extra second each time you lie. And I should let you know that I don’t count well. Usually I just skip the even numbers and go up by odds. Now, the truth. Talk.”
*****
Less than twenty minutes later, Chance was done with her. She had at least been telling part of the truth earlier, she really had only been sired a couple of nights ago. Her sire and his pal had been her friends till they went missing a week or so before that. Chance had guessed they were new-borns. They had been weak, and they had been stupid. Had they been at all clever, he might have actually been in for a real struggle. Not that he looked forward to that kind of thing. Far from it. Tangling with clever vampires was not fun, and usually meant losing far too much blood and breaking something.
The vampiress had only been running from them because they wanted to kill her for trying to stake her sire. Which was understandable considering the mistrust and ambitiousness of vampires. It was trivial, really.
Other than that, she didn’t know anything else. Didn’t know who her sire’s sire was, where he hung out, who his ‘associates’ were. That was one of the reasons she had tried to stake him, he had never told her anything.
Quite frankly, Chance was disgusted he had wasted time, effort and bolts on it. He had learnt nothing of any real value. She was of no more use to him. But the night was still young, well, say middle-aged, and he could at least try and get something productive done. He had other things to look into. Once he had finished with her, of course.
He stood up and reached into a pocket of his jacket, taking out a stake. The vampire’s eyes opened wide when she saw it.
“Hey! Hey!” she cried, “I told you everything I know! I answered all your questions! You said if I did you wouldn’t stake me.”
Struck with an odd feeling of déjà vu, Chance paused to remember that night with Pete all those months ago. “No I didn’t. I said if you didn’t answer my questions I would stake you.” He began to advance on her. Again she scuttled back, and again found herself trapped against the pillar.
“But I did answer them! I did!” She sounded desperate. Now her hysteria was becoming real.
He cocked his head and gave a lop-sided grin. “What’s my name?” She started to open her mouth, then stopped and closed it, went to open it again, but stopped. She cast her eyes down, defeated. “I’ll tell you. It’s Chance. And the chances of you surviving the next few seconds are slim to none.”
The vampire didn’t even look up, didn’t even blink as he rammed the weapon in her chest. She collapsed into a pile of dust that began blowing away even before it hit the ground.
Chance turned around, re-pocketed the stake and walked to his bike. Then stopped. A vision came to him… one that he saw through his own eyes and yet had never seen. But it was more of a memory than a vision. He could hear and feel and smell as well as see…
He was running, running like he never thought he could. He tripped and fell, rolled and got up and ran on. His cloak blew out like wings behind him, and he would have been shivering from the cold had he not turned his thoughts totally to getting to the small village.
Slumbering creatures awoke with his passing and some cried with annoyance. Nocturnal animals looked on curiously. Owls followed his movements, their eyes glowing.
He pushed himself to run faster and faster, to ignore the pain that was forming in his chest or the ache in his legs. His thoughts were filled with only concerns for the villagers.
But when he arrived, he wanted no more than to run away again as fast as possible…
Chance looked around. What was he still doing here? He had other things that needed doing tonight. Had he just blacked out for a moment? He shrugged and reached for his bike.
*Cue exit music,* Chance thought as he swung one leg over the motorcycle, started the engine and took off into the night. *Exit Chance. And fade to black…now!*
Words of the Weasel
Later that night
Chance pushed his way into Bob’s Bar. It was, to be blunt, a dive. A dump of a dive, if you will. Probably one of the worst he had ever been in. Although he kept one hand in his pocket on a stake, Chance’s real worry was for his bike outside. Hidden or not, he would be really pissed off if someone stole it. He didn’t want to have to go and kill another biker-demon for one.
Barely half a foot into the place, his sixth sense went into overdrive. He gave a quick glance round to take the place in, and gave a mental sigh. *Demons, vampires AND humans?* he thought. *Boy, this place goes the whole nine yards.* But the night was almost over and the bar was, for the most part, empty, most of the vamps having left to avoid being caught in the bar at day break.
Chance headed over to the bar, rewarding any who met his eye with an equally icy glare that was somewhat enhanced by a large, fresh, ugly bruise that was blooming on his left cheek. He had picked that up from a vampire that was somewhat reluctant to talk to him. Then Chance had been forced to dust the bloodsucker without even finding out anything of interest. Apart from the fact that a vampire punch can be painful. But he already knew that.
One or two vamps bared their fangs at him, a demon gave him an obscene gesture, but that was the worst of it. He got to a barstool without hassle and collapsed into it. The bar tender, an ugly weasel of a man who Chance guessed was the famous - or should that be, infamous, ‘Bob’ - was, for some unknown reason, polishing the bar top even though all it did was spread the grease around a bit. Bob began moving in his direction.
“What’ll you have?” Bob asked him.
“I’ll have a beer.”
“Blood beer?” Chance gave him a look. It wasn’t a friendly one. “Okay, Bud it is.”
The weasel moved off, then came back a few minutes later to plonk a bottle down in front of him. Chance gave a word of thanks and took a gulp from it. A vampire sitting a few seats down gave him a sneer that he returned with one of his own but, despite the bruise, was nowhere near as good as the vamp’s due to his own lack of fangs. And he wasn’t getting all vampirised just to sneer impressively.
“So, haven’t seen you around before. New in town?” The weasel was talking to him.
Chance took his time in answering. “Yeah.” He took another swig from the bottle. “I hear you know things.”
Bob seemed to shrink back and take on an even more weaselly nature. Chance wondered how much pressure he would have to put on him till he actually became a weasel. It was worth finding out. “Naw, dunno where you heard that, mister, but I don’t know nothing.”
“Okay.” He nodded and settled the bottle down on the bar top. Bob relaxed. Then Chance leapt out of his seat and grabbed the owner by the collar, pulling his head close to his own face. “Liar.” He slammed Bob’s head down on the bar top, sat back down, and took another swig of beer.
“All right! All right!” Bob screamed. “I was lying! I’m sorry! Please, let go of me and I’ll tell you what you want to know!” The other patrons turned in their direction. A few of them began to chuckle at Bob’s discomfort but the two vampires that treated him with hostility on the way in remained silent and impassive.
Chance turned back to Bob. “You promise?”
“Yeah. Yeah! I promise! Jeez.” Chance let go of his head. Bob seemed to rub at it as if to check it was still there and fairly intact. It would never be completely intact. A face like that never could be. “Whadda you want to know?”
He hesitated again. “I’m looking for a vampire..."
“Vampire, eh? Well I know loads of them, sorry, can’t help you unless you’re more specific.” Bob began edging out of Chance’s arm’s reach whilst he was speaking.
“Take another step and you're dead,” Chance threatened without even looking up. Bob halted immediately. *God, how does a guy like this even survive dealing with vampires?* “Now, let me finish. I’m looking for a vampire. Female. Goes by the name Oblique or something. Heard she’s passed through recently.” He studied Bob’s face carefully. At the mention of Oblique there was a flicker of recognition, then it quickly passed. But that was all Chance needed.
“Sorry pal, never heard of her. Oblique, did you say? I’ll be sure to keep an ear out..."
“Are you lying to me, Bob?” he growled, “What did I say about lying?”
“Well, my memory’s a bit hazy, I might remember something if I had some… motivation?”
Chance sighed. “What’s your price?”
“How much you got?” The reply came quick, and was well used.
“How much do you value your life?” The blood drained from Bob’s face. Chance pressed on. “Tell me about Oblique, and I’ll let you live. That enough for you?”
“Yeah, yeah, that should be fine.” It had better be bloody fine. It had taken Chance years to get this far, and now he was so close, so close, he could feel it…
"Yeah, she’s a vampire. Came past here couple of months ago.” Chance knew that already. A vampire in New York had told him as much. “Nice girl. In a blood-thirsting kind of way. No offence.” Bob shouted at the other vampires, who by now weren’t even bothering to pretend not to be eavesdropping. “Heard she got dusted a couple of weeks ago.”
*Bugger! There goes half a year.* Despite the thoughts running through his head, Chance managed to retain his poker face. “Who?”
“Local vampire hunter, I heard.” Maybe he could get something else from them. Probably wouldn’t, though. They would’ve staked her and that was that. Wouldn’t have bothered to stop and ask questions…
“Where they live?”
“Uhh… Not too sure.” Chance gave him a stern look. “Honestly, I don’t pal! C’mon! If I knew, I’d tell ya.”
“Right, sure. Anything else about Oblique?”
“Nah, she was a quiet one. Kept herself to herself, you know? Rarely came in here. Don’t think she even had a gang or nothing.” From what he heard, that sounded like Oblique. He wondered where Darrel was though… might be worth looking into.
“Where was her lair?”
“Y’know, she never told no-one. Probably been moved into now, anyway.” From the sounds of it, Bob didn’t care either.
“Know anything about a vamp named Darrel? Bout yay high, Spanish eyes? Most likely with Oblique?”
“Nah, sorry. Like I said, she was a loner.” *Ah well,* he thought, *worth a try.*
“What about an old, powerful vampire? Heard about one of them passing through?” Chance hoped this would be worth it. He’d been asking about powerful vampires everywhere and the last thing he needed was one knowing he was being followed.
Bob’s face paled and he involuntarily took a step back, mouth taut. It looked like Chance had struck a nerve.
“I wouldn’t go round asking questions like that if I were you. You don’t want to mess with the older ones,” said the vamp further down the bar in a gravelly voice, keeping his eyes on his drink. Both Bob and Chance turned to look at him.
“Well, last time I checked, you weren’t me,” Chance growled, “So are you saying there’s one here, then?”
In reply the vamp grunted then finished his drink in one gulp and left. Without paying. *Yep, that’s the normal response.*
“Yeah, whatever.” Chance turned back to the owner. “You remember anything else, and I mean anything, let me know.” He scribbled down an address on a piece of paper. It was fake, of course, but was across the street from Chance’s place where he could keep an eye on it. He guessed that, five minutes after he left the bar, Bob would have been on the phone and sold the address to at least ten people. “Just drop by and let me know. I’ll make it worth your while.” *Yeah… by not ending your measly existence.*
Nevertheless, Bob’s eyes lit up. “Sure thing, Mister…”
“Chance. Name's Chance. Anybody asks for me, tell ‘em to come here.” He tapped the paper.
“Will do, Mister Chance.” Bob seemed to make a point of shouting Chance’s name out loud so everyone could hear, even if they weren’t listening in. He got up to leave, pretending to ignore the evil looks from the two vampires but keeping them under close scrutiny at the same time. They did not look happy.
“Hey,” Bob shouted at him, “you didn’t pay.”
Chance turned and chucked a twenty on the bar. Bob quickly pocketed the money.
“Keep the change,” he murmured, smiling inwardly. He guessed it would be many hours before Bob realised the twenty was his own, that Chance had taken form his top pocket when he had smashed his head on the bar.
“Uhh… thanks. And thanks for, y’know, not killing me.”
“Whatever.” Chance was already halfway to the exit. As he left, he stole another quick glance. The two vampires were quickly finishing their drinks and making to leave. *Uh-oh,* he thought, *looks like there might be some fun later.*
For now, though, Chance was disappointed. Again. Oblique hadn’t been the one he was searching for, but she was close to him. Really close. She might’ve known something. *Bugger,* he cursed. *Back to the drawing board. Unless that vampire hunter knows anything. Unlikely, but I might as well take a look. After that… well, not too far from Las Vegas. Didn’t the dude in Venice say something about Las Vegas?*
For years he had been searching now. *You would’ve thought I’d get use to being disappointed, but no.* He had been led astray, betrayed, sold-out and beaten to a pulp many times. But spending time on a dead-end… that sucked. It was pretty amazing that there was a trail to follow at all, really, considering the time gap. But he had got lucky in February. He remembered it clearly. It was, after all, perhaps his biggest break so far.
Chance was almost lost in memory, but forced himself out of it. He had to get to his bike and out of here before the vampires caught up with them. The sun was almost up, so he prayed they wouldn’t bother. Wouldn’t stop 'em gathering a welcoming party for him and jumping him tomorrow night, of course. That had happened before. With a wince, Chance remembered Brazil.
Breathing a heartfelt sigh of relief, he found his bike just where he left it. Swinging himself on top, he started it and headed for home. He needed to think things through, decide where to go next. Looking for that vampire hunter seemed like a good idea, he did have nothing better to do after all. That would mean patrolling at nights trying for a chance meeting, looking round for a name… the usual stuff. But later. Right now he wanted a shower. He felt as if Bob’s Bar had left a taint on him that he desperately wanted to wash off.
With the promises of a shower on his mind, he smiled as he drove through the back streets to his current accommodation.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Previously on LA By Night
Darian is transformed into a Fae, and Sebastian is trapped inside a gem
Darian arrives in LA in search of a way to free his friend
Loki follows his enemy to LA, and spends months preparing him for
what is to come.
Masquerade’s End: Part 1
January 22nd, 2006 - 12:10am
Darian whirled around, startled by the presence of his friend. “Sebastian! I thought you left, errr... Well, you know what I mean, cut the link to your astral projection.” The fae breathed a sigh of relief, *At least Tash didn’t do to much damage to him before I got here.*
Loki smirked behind his guise. tomorrow night he would finally execute his long, meticulously thought-out plan. “Well I guess I took a tumble before you charged that girl. I must have blacked out for a few minutes. Speaking of, where is she?” Loki replied, playing dumb to the events which had just transpired.
“It’s a long story, and one hell of a big misunderstanding.” Darian was about to explain how he and Tash had been set up by the vampire-kid, when he was interrupted by Sebastian alarmingly keeling over, clutching at his chest. “Seb, What’s wrong!?”
Trying to sound as in pain as he could, Loki continued prepping Darian for the following night. “It's these Astral travels. I think they’re doing something to me.” The trickster reveled in the look of concern that was plastered across his enemy's face. “But don’t worry, I’ve finally found a way to free myself from here. Tomorrow night, stay at your work and wait for me. You’ll understand tomorrow.” Before Darian could question Sebastian further, Loki stumbled back into a shadowy corner of the apartment and used his magic to phase out of sight.
Darian stood dumbfounded. “He found a way to free himself,” the words didn’t seem real. After 200 years of searching, his quest would finally be over. He could go back to trying to live a normal life, and, god-willing, maybe even find a way to extract the dark faery from his being. Darian realized that trying to sleep tonight would be fruitless, so instead he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. “Finally.”
****
January 22nd, 2006 - 11:40pm
Darian stood waiting inside the upstream fish factory in such anticipation that he did not take notice of the rotten putrid smell. Small lights overhead left a strange glow over the empty warehouse, and the complete silence only added to the eerie mood. Had he not been in such a surreal state of mind, he probably would have laughed at how much the setting resembled something out of a cheap B-class horror movie: A dark, empty factory, filled with crates and fish processors (essentially bins with large blades used to chop the fish up so as to better can it).
On the other side of the factory, Loki watched quietly as Darian seemed to grow more and more nervous. *What a shame that it ends tonight. I could watch this guy squirm a lot longer.* As much as he enjoyed tormenting his victims, especially Darian, he had already wasted too much time in LA, and any longer delay would assuredly upset the Order’s elders. *Lights, Camera, Action.*
Loki’s appearance washed away, leaving once again Sebastian’s. But, the dark fae was not done summoning his magic. As he walked into the open, he silently began humming a hypnotic melody.
Finally Sebastian came into sight, materializing out of the shadows from across the room. Although his instincts were to run over to his friend, something unnatural kept him in place. Slowly the interior of the factory began to blur; the lush green landscape of Scotland appearing to take its place. Darian knew something wasn’t right, but his mind began reassuring him that everything was normal. Within moments, a complete sense of tranquility washed over him. Everything was as it should be.
“Isn’t this great?” Sebastian said comfortingly as he stepped out from behind a tree. “Darian, do you want this? Do you want to be back in Scotland, go back to the way things were? I can make it so I was never trapped, so you were never turned into the monster you became; I can make it all go away. You want that, right?”
Loki’s magic had wholly mesmerized Darian, leaving him totally unaware of what was really happening. The Fantasy world he was now part of was so enticing, and Darian craved it with all his heart. “I do want it.”
Sebastian smiled. “If you want it, then you have to trust me. Do you trust me?”
“I do.”
“Everything you’ve done in the last 200 years, all the striving, the searching, it’s been all a waste. You see Darian, you have the power to make this real,” Loki continued, drawing out a small knife from his belt. “You can use the magic in your blood. All you have to do is slit your wrists and let your life’s blood flow onto the ground.”
“Slit my wrists?” Darian answered, confused. Although he somehow knew there was no logic behind Sebastian’s plan, he found himself reaching for the knife. Slowly he fell to his knees and began to roll up his sleeves.
“Don’t worry Darian, everything is going to be all right,” Loki urged. *Come on come on, just a little slicey and it's over.*
“Are… are you sure there isn’t another way? You sure this is going to work?” Although every muscle in his body urged him to make the cut, his mind forced him to ask once more.
Loki was growing very impatient. Had Darian not been half fae, the evil faery’s hypnotic song would have totally rendered him entranced , but because of his supernatural side, his mind was still trying to resist the command. “There is no other way,” Loki said smoothly, “just let go and give up trying."
The words raced through Darian’s mind. Suddenly the scene of his near death experience came flashing back to him. There was Sebastian reaching out for him several feet above. “…Don’t give up…” his friend had said. *He never lost faith in me, why would he now?* Looking back up at 'Sebastian', he noticed as the greenery of Scotland lost its vivacious colours and slowly decomposed back into the dim, badly-lit fish warehouse.
Loki knew that his game was up. Somehow, some way, Darian had managed to break free of the spell, and within seconds would probably see through the glamour he was wearing. *Ah, bloody hell. So much for style and finesse.*
*What is going on?* Darian thought as he blinked, realizing where he was once more. “Seb, wha…?” The question was cut short when he lifted his head and realized his friend was no longer there. Instead, gazing back at him was a young man, roughly the same age as Darian. His short curly blonde hair and distinguishing features gave him the appearance of a grown-up cherub. Yet there was something wild and fierce in the man’s eyes, and the sinister smile he sported was definitely not angelic.
“Wakey wakey. I want you nice and alert when I’m beating you to death.”
Death of a Slayer – Part 1: "One Girl in all the world
*** April 2003 – Sunnydale, California. ***
The yawning mouth of Hell crawled with the Turok-han and the potentials were running back up through the Hellmouth. There were fewer than she had entered with. Willow was struggling to get down to Buffy’s side. Her smile illuminated the gloom as she reached Buffy. The spell had worked but it was already beginning to fade. Buffy could see it in the eyes of the potentials.
*You can only try to change the world; if the world does not want to change, then you are screwed,* the true Slayer thought.
“Robin is taking them out to the bus, you have to leave!” Willow was shouting over the howls of the ubervamps. Willow was shoved rudely aside as Faith intercepted an attack. Willow muttered a word of power and hundred of turok-han exploded into dust around them. The two slayers, Faith and Buffy, and the witch Willow gathered hands for a brief moment.
“What about me?” a voice came from near the Hellmouth. Spike levered the body of a potential off him with an almost tender look. She had given her life to save his. And he had been unable to get up long enough to save any others.
“Get over here, now!” barked Willow. Spike raised an eyebrow but hurried to obey. He grabbed the amulet and held it up, “”Does this thing actually do any… Bloody Hell!” he exclaimed as the amulet ignited in white fire and began to bathe the chamber in pure sunlight.
The women surrounded him and hugged him tight. Buffy moved her mouth close to his ear. “I love you,” she said, trying not to gag on the smell of burning flesh as Spike’s skin began to smoulder. He smiled at her thinking, *No you don’t, but thanks for saying it.*
Faith began to break first. “B! How long to we have to hold him here? I am getting burned!”
Willow answered, “Until he’s gone; the amulet would have burned him out, we are holding him together long enough for…”
The Hellmouth began to collapse. The chamber fell in on itself, the accursed rock disintegrating in the pure light emanating from the amulet.
Outside, the school bus raced to the edge of the city limits. Once it arrived there the occupants stepped off and looked at each other. They had all felt the call, they had all felt the wave of selection pass through them. The Vampire Slayers had fallen. But none of them had been called.
2003 May – Oloirien, Kenya, East Africa (Enkop Enkiteng or "the land of cattle" in Maa)
Naasha was cooking with her mother. She was considered Esipolioi but did not feel it. Even though her circumcision had only been a week ago, she did not feel pain or discomfort. She was to see the western doctor tomorrow and get herself inspected. She did not like him to look at her because he was not Maasai, but the Oloiboni had said it was okay.
When he had inspected her after the ceremony he had clucked with his tongue like a beetle and had appeared perplexed when she had laughed at him. “Why did you let them do this to you girl?”
“It is what we do,” she had said to him. She did not know how to tell him that she had felt a wave of power when the knife had cut her. She had been stronger and more graceful since that day. She had not told anyone except the Oloiboni.
The Oloboni had patted her on the head and told her that many women felt the power of creation when they were circumcised. He said that was the way they were made ready to bear many warriors to the tribe. Naasha did not feel that way. She felt rage and strength. She wanted very badly to throw a spear to see how far it would go, or to run in the plains to see how fast she could run. She felt like she was a weapon ready to kill. But she did not say these things.
The next day as she and her mother walked back from the western doctor her mother had tears running down her face. “Why are you crying, mother? He is a doctor, and the Oloboni said it was okay for him to see. There is no sin here.”
Her mother said to her, “My dear daughter, you are healed. It is as if the emurratta has never happened. Look, my daughter, this will show you.”
Her mother took her into the inkajijik, lifted her robe and pulled aside the cloths that covered her. Her vagina was a scarred and twisted slash, angry and irritated-looking. She was scarred and the flesh puckered around leaving only a tiny opening for her to urinate.
Naasha cried. She knew that she healed quickly but all the tissue that the Oloboni had cut away had returned. Looking at her mother she now knew that was not normal. She had just assumed everyone healed this way.
She was not a woman any more. God had rejected her and sent her back to being just a girl. She would never be engaged or married. She would be an outcast. Doomed to die unfulfilled by a man. She would never bear a warrior to the tribe.
Her mother cautioned her to hide her shame. No-one would know her sin. Her husband would likely not care since men did not concern themselves with women’s rituals. “But, Mama,” Naasha pleaded, “I will know.”
Naasha went to the Oloiboni and showed him as she had shown the doctor how she had healed. He looked as if he might grab a spear and impale her right there as an affront to God. But he did not. He sat down and prayed. He asked Naasha to pray with him. Naasha was scared; what use would God have for the prayers of a woman? But she did as she was told.
*God, I do not know why you have done this to me but if it is what must be then it shall be. If you have done this for malice then I still love you but am very angry with you. If you have done this as a sign then I still love you but tell me why. If you have done this as a gift, I do not want it and please put me back the way I was.*
The Ooloboni suddenly grabbed her and looked at her wound again. He poked her with a finger (to determine if it was an illusion, no doubt). Then he sat back. “It is true you are no longer circumcised as a woman, Naasha. God has decreed that is not your role in the tribe. But God has also not healed you completely. There are scars still on you marking your emurratta. You are therefore an Osipolioi. Because no-one can argue that you did not complete the ritual and that you have no foreskin.”
“But only boys can become Osipolioi,” said Naasha.
“No, child, the old ways do not say that. They say that warriors start as Osipolioi. And we just assume warriors are men. The ritual determines if you are Osipolioi and it can only be performed on boys. God has made you Osipolioi, not me, and not our tradition. He is a higher wisdom than am I.”
*** 2004 – November ***
Naasha stood with her back to her orporror as the Eokoto e-kule was being done. She was an Olotonu and had been made to find the right bull and bleed it into the milk. But she could not watch them drink since she was a woman. She would drink afterwards, as a warrior should, but alone. There had been many rituals like this one where she was there and not there. Part and not part.
It was allowed because she was clearly chosen by God to be a warrior. None of the others in her orporror could match her speed or her strength. There was no shame however, because it was understood that she had to be better than the others to be accepted. But she knew they were jealous.
H!aka - their guide tonight - was to show them how to stalk a lion as part of their training. She did not like him; he looked at her with hatred. He would comply because the Oloiboni had told him to, but he would find any failure among them to punish her with. It was her fate as Olopolosi orkiteng to receive all the punishment.
But it was more than his hatred, it was something about him. It made her body feel strange as if she could get no rest as long as he was around. So she watched H!aka closely to make sure he did not do anything to get her in trouble.
Oloepo was her only friend in the orporror. He had when they were children told her she would be his senior wife. Since then however, he had admitted he liked her more as a Warrior since he had only wanted her as a wife because she could cook. He told her she was so ugly she made a better man. And he told her that it didn’t matter that she could beat him up because he could give warriors to the tribe and she could not.
She loved him for all of that, and more. Oloepo was her friend because he said these things to her face with a smile rather than whispered like gossiping engoku in the emmanyatta. And he also stood up for her among the orporror. He alone defended her abilities as a warrior.
Oloepo came over and put his arm around her. He breathed in her face so that the bloody milk smell wafted past her nose. Her mouth watered to taste it again. Something about the Eokoto e-kule that made her come alive. “Good cow, Naasha, young and strong. No problem getting it to bleed. You have the best eye for cattle.”
He punched her in the arm, then shook his hand with the pain of her rock solid muscles not giving an inch. Naasha smiled at the little revenge, “Too bad we only get to stalk the lion and not hunt them, Opoelo. You would make the best bait.”
He smirked at her, “Warriors. Give,” he said making a thrusting gesture with his hips and sauntered away. She hooked her staff under his foot and tripped him. Something made her look back at H!aka at just that moment. She saw his eyes fade from bright yellow to the pitch black they had been before. “Wachawi” she whispered under her breath.
There was no red powder to rub on her face or hands to protect her. They were all in danger and she felt it in her bones that this was why God had chosen her. Of course no-one would believe her, an ‘hysterical woman’, but perhaps Oloepo would help her spread the word. Together they might be able to stop it.
Oloepo was not being very helpful, “Are you sure you did not see a glint of moonlight in his eye? That could seem yellow.”
“Listen to me Oloepo, his eyes were like a lion’s eyes. An animal. You know from the stories that there are wachawi everywhere these days. Why not in our orporror? He demanded a hunt at night. Why is that? Because the sun would bun him to ash, that’s why.” She was feeling like she would have to beat him until he agreed with her.
“Or because we are stalking lions who sleep all day and are only out hunting at night,” he countered.
“Oloepo, stay near me and keep your eyes open. If anything happens I will protect you.” She looked at the expression on his face, “Okay, you can protect me.”
Oloepo’s voice had a slight tremor in it, “That’s more like it.”
Death of a Slayer -- Part 2: "She alone..."
*** 2004 – November - The same night ***
The orporror stood at the edge of the trees looking out over the savannah. They could see the lions in the distance. All females. Naasha smiled to herself at that. The male was out there too. The lionesses did the hard work pushing the herd, guiding the herd. When the herd broke and ran they would run directly at the male. He would use his powerful claws and jaws to quickly drop the prey. It was all very beautiful like esulusulu. Co-ordinated and orderly.
But as she observed she saw that the herd was facing her. The wind was coming at them and she could smell the nervousness of the herd. If they broke now and ran they’d be running right for them. But that would mean that the lion was very near where they were. She walked to where H!aka was standing poised on a single foot propped against his spear.
“H!aka, if the herd breaks towards us what should we do? We do not want to alert the lion. Someone could get hurt,” Naasha kept her eyes down and was respectful like a woman. What she wanted to do was knock him over and stab him through the heart with his own spear. *Not yet.*
He grinned at her. His white teeth showed in the moonlight, “Yes that would be a shame, wouldn’t it? Things happen and warriors die. It is not good but it happens. Someone died on my first hunt, you know. It was a night hunt like this one. The beast was not where we were looking - it was much, much closer.” He leaned forward and lifted her chin so that they were eye to eye.
His face changed. His white teeth crew into pointy fangs and his eyes glowed an evil yellow. His face grew bestial and gnarled, “But the good news is my death wasn’t permanent.”
Naasha shoved the wacha away from her and did a back handspring to get some more distance. The wacha hissed at her, startling the others and even the herd, which turned like one unit and ran the opposite direction.
Oloepo proved his bravery and ran in front of her with his spear held steady. The wacha batted him aside like a woman and charged at Naasha. Naasha hopped up and kicked her feet straight out into its chest and it flew backwards and landed many feet away. Oloepo was rubbing his head and she snatched his spear as she ran past and dove on the monster. The beast rolled but the spear had buried itself in his leg. Naasha stood over it as it thrashed and using her own spear buried the shaft into its heart.
Oloepo almost missed the final blow. If he had not seen it he would have never believed it. H!aka turned to dust and blew away in the wind. “Naasha, what did you do to him?” he asked
“I told you he was wachawi. Didn’t you listen to the Engoko around the fire? Don’t you know that a spear in the heart will make them return to the Earth forever?”
She walked over and placed her arm around him and hugged him tight, “Oloepo, you know I love you and would never lie to you. What happened tonight was why God made me a Warrior. I know it in my blood. Do not tell anyone else because they would cast me out and make me pay for being different. Do you swear to keep this secret?”
Oloepo shrugged off her arm and walked over to his spear, buried half its length in the earth. He struggled but finally pulled it free. The rest of the orporror was coming over to find out what had happened. Oloepo whispered in her ear, “I will keep your secret for fear you will do that to me if I don’t.”
She heard the darkness in his voice and turned to see his face. He wasn’t smiling.
*** July 2005 ***
Oloepo was running across the plains. At his heels were ten wachawi. They were fast but Olepo was known to be the fastest of any tribe. His long legs pumped faster as the wachawi leapt and sprinted only to fall behind.
The wachawi started to laugh evilly. Ahead, Oloepo could see the watering hole. The wachawi were sure to catch him when he slowed down in the water. *Yes, you evil beasts - catch me if you can.*
Oloepo hit the water at a full sprint. He made a few ungainly leaps through the water before falling and flailing in the water and started to swim. The monsters all plowed into the water after him. Affixed on the kill they did not notice that a red powder, a holy red powder blessed by the Oloiboni, was floating on the surface.
They noticed when the first of them burst into flames. His body illuminated the surface like a torch. The others ignited even as they scrambled to flee the water. Oloepo laughed at them, “Even you are color-blind at night, wachawi!” as he splashed water and powder mix on them.
Naasha and the rest of the orporror ran forward and shoved the few remaining monsters into the water and watched them dissolve into ash. Oloepo walked out of the water coated in the red powder that they all wore these days.
He patted Naasha on the back and jumped in celebration whooping into the night. “Wonderful plan, Naasha! They dissolved like mud in the water! Let us do it again!”
Naasha laughed along with her friends. They had lost many hunting the wachawi. She had led them as an army to cleanse the Maasai. After she killed H!aka her Oloiboni had told her the plight of the Maasai was grim. The segregation of warriors, the night hunting and the drinking of blood had allowed the wachawi to infiltrate their society.
Now few villages did not have at least one wacha hiding among them. She was Olopolosi orkiteng. It was her responsibility to lead the orporror. He gave her the knot and gave her a cow. She would serve as Oloboru enkeene and Olaiguanani lenkashe as well. All the burden of the oroporror would be hers.
The Oloiboni gathered them around that night and told them that they were the sacred warriors of the Maasai: All pure human and all pure from evil. Naasha would bear their sins and they could do no wrong. But she also held their fate. From that night their lives were bound to hers. From that night to now they hunted every night and the tribes who heard them coming fed them and treated them as heroes.
Except for Naasha. She slept outside the villages. She slept in the open daring the washawi to attack her. She made no secret of her location. She boldly wore the red powder all over her body (as did they all).
Each morning piles of acrid dust surrounded her camp. The other warriors rarely had to fight unless they encountered many of the bloodsucking beasts as they had tonight. They learned the weaknesses of the beasts well but sometimes the numbers were great. There had been losses. Now, barely twenty-nine warriors remained of the forty-eight boys they had started with.
As they walked back through the night towards the village to finish off any remaining monsters, Oloepo jogged to Naasha’s side. In a few weeks he and the others would graduate to Mzee. He would likely be the first. Several of the Elders had noted his skill and strength. Naasha thought they were giving him credit for her kills. But it did not matter. This was God’s mission, not hers.
Some nights as she struggled and sweated to stay alive she wondered at God’s wisdom. When the silence of the night replaced the howls of death she prayed to Him: “Meishoo iyiook enkai inkishu o-nkera." Lord give me a normal life.
*** January 2006 ****
Naasha stood on one leg and propped against her spear. She had been standing here since sunset. She counted the names of her friends who had fallen in the stars as they appeared with the darkness. Forty dead. Only eight of them remained. And her. She never counted her life. It was already gone. She would fight the wachai with her last breath. They would never allow her to become Mzee. She would fight until there was no-one left.
Even her.
Footsteps came from the village and she turned to see Oloepo coming out to her. He had a small bucket with him and he stood next to her offering her a straw to suck down the nutritious milk and blood mixture. She elbowed him when he kept moving the bucket away from her lips so he would hold it steady.
“Oloepo, what is it like to be Mzee?” she asked him.
He seemed thoughtful, “Remember the night you told me never to reveal your secret? Then when we got back to the village, the Oloiboni told us all what you were here for?”
She nodded.
“I think it will be like that,,” he said, “It was scary being the only one who knew but as my friends leaned the secret it was not so scary any more. You will always be the only one, Naasha. I know that, too. So do not be so much afraid any more.”
She sniffled and wiped a tear. Oloepo laughed and called her a girl. But he did not punch her. Instead he kissed her cheek and left the bucket as he walked back to the village.
That night Naasha had terrible dreams. She saw all the Maasai like stars in the desert. They fell to Earth and burned there helplessly. God did not pick them up and place them back in the sky. Instead, he placed a mighty cow in the desert to hurl the lights back into heaven. But a lion came and stalked the cow. She woke as the lion’s claws were closing on the cow’s flanks.
“My child, please wake up.”
Naasha did not understand the man’s language. He was a white man and dressed as Osipolioi, “How silly of me. You don’t speak English at all, do you?” he said in Maa.
Naasha pulled her spear and rammed it through his chest in one smooth motion. He backed up and pulled the spear from his chest. He looked almost amused, “How violent! I will have to turn the other cheek this time.”
He spoke in even tones, forming the Maa words carefully like white men do. He drew the spear from his chest and tossed it on the ground with contempt, “That won’t work, my dear. I gave my heart to Jesus centuries ago.”
Naasha could feel his evil rolling off of him like ripples in a pool. She charged and beat him and kicked him and he merely deflected her blows and pushed her away. Finally he threw her down into the dirt and stomped her chest, driving the wind from her lungs.
She gasped like a fish while he looked down on her and gloated, “Yes, wallow in the dust you dirty, savage girl; a mudperson fit for feeding upon. You have a lot to atone for. You need to come into the church and ask Jesus for forgiveness. Eat his flesh and Drink his blood… oh wait, that’s what I am going to do to you!”
He grabbed her by her arm and began to drag her towards the mission at the edge of the town. She screamed for her warriors. “Not them, they won’t come to you after that soup I served tonight. They are sound asleep.” This white man was very annoying and his Maa was even worse.
“You will die, evil thing,” she cursed it.
“I’ve been told that before, savage. But it's not going to happen. Jesus loves me, and has granted me eternal life. You are the lamb that must die for my sins. I have been here for thirty years. Thirty years converting these savages. And you have ruined it all in just two years. My flock is dying out because of you!”
Naasha had been baptized as was the custom in most villages and knew of the Bible. But she preferred the old ways. She knew of the Oloiboni Jesus and how he claimed that love of God would let you live forever in the great Irmolelian in Heaven. She knew she was not going to be allowed into heaven. She had failed God and her orporror. They would all die and this corpse that walked like a man would begin again.
She struggled but his grip was like iron. She could not get her legs under her because of the way he jerked her around. He slammed her into the stone sides of the church and her vision blurred. He thrashed her like a gazelle in a lion’s mouth. She was stunned and he kept her that way by pounding her relentlessly.
In the church he tossed her onto the altar. The white linens folded neatly off to the side so as not to stain them with blood. The altar, bared now, was cut with a bleeding groove such as the women used to butcher meat. Over her head the image of Jesus holding a heart aflame looked down on her with pity.
Jesus. Heart. She had an idea. “In the name of God unhand me!” she shouted at him.
He paused, “What did you say to me, savage?”
“I am God’s warrior, stand back and let me be!” She felt bolder now.
It was obvious that the name this beast used as ‘god’ was not the 'God' who had placed her here.
While she glared into his eyes she reached a hand under her scarlet robe. There the blood from her scrapes was running with the red powder that covered her every inch of skin. Smearing it on her hand she lashed out and spread it on his face.
“You will not talk to me like that, you nig…,” the blood reacted immediately. His face smoldered and sputtered with tiny flames. He released her immediately.
She rolled off the altar and sprung straight into the air. She kicked the heart from Jesus' hands and caught it in her own as she landed.
It was a wooden box in two halves. She opened the box and inside was a dried piece of meat. A dead heart[i].
The beast looked at her with fear with its remaining eye. “You can’t hurt me, God will protect me.”
Naasha felt cocky, “The [I]illusion of God has protected you. God sent me to tell you he’s sick of you using his name. You are done now.”
She ran towards the doorway. The priest leapt towards her. She stopped short and he crashed in front of her. She kicked him and he rolled out of the church in front of her. He spun to kick her and she pounced just past him and rolled on her shoulder. The wacha stood and bared its fangs at her.
Naasha just laughed and hopped backwards over her small campfire and dropped the heart into the flames. The monster was fast. It caught the heart just above the embers but it was too late, the heart burst into flame followed quickly by the rest of the fiend.
The Death of a Slayer - Part 3: "She is the Slayer"
*** The next morning – January 2006 ***
The sun was high in the sky and Naasha stayed laying on the ground next to the last few coals of her fire. She was wrapped in her cloak and could feel the aches and bruises she had gotten last night from the priest.
A long shadow crept past her and a voice came down to her, “Another fun filled night, it looks like. I could have stayed with you last night.”
“Oloepo, if you had you’d be dead. I was almost dead myself,” she said.
Oloepo sat next to her and placed his hand on her smooth-shaven head. “It doesn’t matter. We would all give our lives for you. We know what the fight is all about. God sent you to train us to kill the enemies of his people.”
She rolled over and looked up from his lap and into his eyes. A tear rolled down her cheek. Oloepo smiled at her, “Besides, He knew you would need backup because you are a woman.”
She punched him hard enough to make him gasp for air. And he opened his bag and gave her some smoked beef and a raw egg. He had a small paper cup with milk. She looked at the paper cup oddly. “Don’t worry,” he said, “It's clean. I checked. After the drug in the soup wore off we washed everything twice to make sure all the poison was gone. It would not have been so bad if the soup had been better.”
Naasha sipped the milk and chewed her beef. “You will think twice about taking food from white priests now, won’t you?” she mumbled through her food, “Did you see the Oloiboni?”
He nodded but did not elaborate. *Typical man,* she thought, *Talking when he should be quiet and quiet when he should be talking.*
“And? Are you going to make Mzee?” she pressed.
He shook his head sadly but again did not elaborate. She started to get mad at him; what wasn’t he telling her? “Batian, Nelion or Lenana? Did they graduate?”
His voice was solemn and she could hear him keeping back the quiver of sadness in his voice, “No. None of us will become Mzee this year. Nor the next, likely.”
She stood up and looked down on Oloepo sitting there in the dirt, “Why not? I would not trade twenty Mzee for any one of you! You are all brave, battle hardened and fearless. You are all warriors of the highest skill. Why are you not Mzee? Did he tell you that?”
Oloepo nodded his head and tried to remain silent. Naasha had other ideas, however, and she stomped the dirt in front of him. He did not flinch until she tried to stomp her foot on his groin. He rolled backwards and stood to face her.
He was tall, well over six feet and she was small by comparison. He looked into her eyes and saw her anger at his silence. “Naasha, you know you can beat me until I tell you or you can leave it be and keep the peace. Which shall it be, Naasha?”
Oloepo stood his ground and faced her, prepared to fight if he had to. Of all the orporror he alone would dare confront her like this. He was her best friend and ally. *What have they done to him? What is he hiding?* she wondered.
Naasha turned on her heel and strode into the village. She would talk to the Oloiboni about this. If Oloepo would not tell she would beat up the Oloiboni until he told her. She had a small chuckle at that picture.
She found him, and the other seven members of her orporror were with him as well. Batian was the youngest member who had survived. He was only now developing the hard muscles of a man, but the flexibility that he had as a boy had helped him survive. He stepped forward and held his spear at her chest.
She stopped, “What are you doing, Batian? All of you? We are not done yet. There are still many villages that have wachawi infesting them. We travel by day and hunt by night, remember? Go! get out there!”
They exchanged glances and looked back at the Oloiboni who spoke to them, “She is your Olotuno, boys. Aren’t you going to follow her?”
His contemptuous laughter filled her with rage. “Naasha, God called you and the people are grateful, but the danger has passed. These warriors can finish the remaining few wachawi that are running and and hiding. You have become an embarrassment.”
She lunged at him and it took all seven of them to take her down and four of the boys to hold her down once they finally managed to get a solid grip on her. Lenana made her stop when he spoke in her ear while she struggled, “Do not give him an excuse to punish you, Naasha.”
Naasha let her warriors lead her out of the Irmolelian where Oloepo waited for them. He had already selected a bull for the Eokoto e-kule and was bleeding it into the gourd. When they gathered around she began to turn her back to them as she had always done.
They gently spun her back to face them. Oloepo handed the gourd to her and she drank first. She passed the gourd to the next warrior and watched all eight of them as they all sipped the milk and blood mixture. Each whispered a prayer to under their breath before turning and starting the long jog to the next village.
Naasha held Oloepo before he could leave. “What happened in there, Oloepo?”
Oloepo was silent for a long time. Finally he sighed. She was his friend and he loved her too much to hide the truth from her. “Naasha, the Oloiboni told us we could all become Mzee if we would abandon you. Kill you or let you be killed. We all refused. We would rather die unfulfilled as men with no wives and no cattle than to turn our backs on you. You are Olotonu because God made you Olotonu. We do not bargain with that prophet because he is not God.”
Naasha had to force herself to close her mouth from the shock. These warriors had effectively turned their back on the tribe and the people and the traditions of the Maasai to follow her. For her they had chosen exile from the Maasai.
As Oloepo started running in the hot sun towards the next village, she looked down at the knot that bound these few remaining warriors to her. She could release them. She would release them because she could not bear to think that the only reward they would ever know was death. *That reward is mine alone.*
*** May 13, 2006 ***
The six warriors and the Olotonu stood and faced the huge serpent. Its flanged neck spread four feet out and it rose ten feet or more above them. Its unblinking yellow eyes stared into hers. They had been standing here for hours and there was nothing they could do. Batian had stayed behind in the village to evacuate the women and children. Oloepo and the remaining five warriors (Ngai had fallen to a wacha in battle) had come with her to face this serpent-spirit.
She had affixed it with her gaze and now both she and the spirit were waiting for the other to blink. Or flinch. Around her the other warriors stood frozen in the sand unwilling to move for fear of being stung by those massive fangs that visibly dripped venom.
Oloepo had over the last five minutes slowly raised his spear to a point where he could throw it at the serpent. He was focused on the huge yellow eye. Naasha had in a low voice told them all to stand still and wait. But Oloepo’s arm was beginning to cramp and if he did not hurl his spear right away he might spasm and ruin the standoff or worse, get killed.
He winked across the semicircle at Bisanadi who had been watching Oloepo for a sign to try to distract the serpent as he threw the spear. Oloepo blinked his right eye. Once. Twice. Thrice. *Snap.*
To Oloepo it looked like a blur. His vision cleared and he was on the ground while his spear was sticking out of the serpent’s cowl. The others were poking at the creature's neck and head and Naasha was hanging from the creature’s mouth. Her right hand was completely inside its mouth. She was shouting to them all to keep attacking it.
Naasha had thrown her arm over its head and was holding its mouth closed. It thrashed its head from side to side and she desperately clung onto it. It tried to snap at her again and when it pulled free Oloepo saw her hand grasping its forked tongue. It clamped down on her arm closer to the shoulder. And she wrapped her arms and legs around its head to hold its mouth shut.
The beast was bleeding profusely but the six of them had surrounded it and it could not escape… every turn it made brought it face to face with a spear-tip. Oloepo pulled out his knife and leapt towards it. He grasped the edge of its cowl and flipped on to its head and stabbed at that accursed yellow eye. He was still stabbing it as the head sank slowly to the ground.
The others ran forward to pry open the mouth of the monster to pull Naasha’s arm free. She was shaking and her eyes had rolled back into her head. When they got it open they saw why. Her arm had been completely impaled by a fang. Milky toxins dripped from the tip of the hollow tooth that stuck out of the other side of her arm.
Oloepo tied a cord above the puncture and cinched it tight. They broke off the tooth and took off their cloaks to keep her warm. “Oloepo,” she said between clenched teeth. Her muscles spasmed and jerked as the toxin coursed through her system despite the tourniquet.
He nodded. They had talked about this day. The day that she got her reward and they got theirs. He pulled out the knot the chief had given her. Her hands were balled into fists and she could not hold still so Oloepo held her up in one hand and passed the knot to Nelion. “Un-untie,” Naasha gasped.
Nelion’s fingers wasted no time untying the elaborate knotted leather thong. He held it up for all of then to see. “Oloepo… n-now... F-f-fast. D-d-dying.” Naasha said, her convulsions still racking her but weaker, more tired now.
Oloepo opened the tourniquet and blood poured out of the angry wound. He used the gourd they had always drunk from and bled her into it. He added milk from the bladder he carried and plugged it with a wad of mud. He shook it and said the prayers that they had said together every day.
He passed it to Nelion who took a deep draught. Each of them took a deep drink as Naasha’s life slowly ebbed away. Her breathing was shallow and her heartbeat was barely perceptible when they finished the Eokoto e-kule.
They stood around her and watched as God took back the gift he had given them. They returned to the village in silence. The only burial ritual she was given was a kiss from Oloepo while the others were no longer looking before he too returned to the village. When the warriors returned to the Oloiboni they were all made Mzee without question. They never spoke of her but they never forgot her, and in time many girls were born and named Naasha. And a few warriors too.
*** May 13, 2006 various timezones around the world ***
Many women remembered that day that everything was different for one short hour. “I remember,” they would tell their daughters, “when I was a hero.”
Girls would play in their backyards and they would be powerful and unstoppable as an echo of that day. Oh, these women and girls were still stronger than girls their own age. Some of them were fast healers and others were faster and more agile than their playmates. They remembered that feeling and thought how wonderful it would be to have it happen again.
Until it happened again. Little girls began to bleed menstrual blood for the first time in their lives. Grown women stopped talking about shoes and boyfriends and started to cry. Elsewhere a mother delivering a girl child felt the baby clear the birth canal with no pain. All over the world those slayers who never were and those slayers that still might be all felt their sister fall.
And for a while they felt her power. They touched that majestic and mighty force that rang out through them as it had since the very beginning of humanity. Only one of them kept feeling it afterwards.
*** May 13, 2006 4am – Los Angeles California ***
Ellie sat bolt upright in bed. *No fuckin’ way!* she thought to herself. She could taste blood in her mouth. Had she bitten her tongue? She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure how, and she wasn’t sure why, but she was the Slayer. The Big ‘S’. She just made the big-time.
She tried to sit there but she kept starting to fidget with excitement. She felt powerful like thousands of years of women powerful. Like The Incredible Hulk powerful. She checked herself in the mirror: same dishwater blonde hair, same too-small breasts and the same skinny kid that always looked back at her.
She did a back handspring and landed on her left palm in a perfect balancing act. She spread her legs and executed a perfect scissor maneuver to end up crouched in front of the mirror. She was well into a truly into a kata where her arms moved like a blur of speed when Jess threw open the door to her room. Jess had felt it too but Ellie was still feeling it. Ellie--The Vampire Slayer--had been Chosen.
Death of a Slayer Glossary and Notes
Glossary of Maa Terms
Emmanyatta – A morrani camp. Woman allowed in a emmanyatta are ‘free’ or unassigned to a male.
Engoko – (Female) Elder.
Entomononi – A woman who has given birth.
Eokoto e-kule – Milk ceremony in which milk is mixed with cows’ blood and drunk by the warriors. This is only done in the presence of elders and never in the presence of women. It is how the Maasai start and end their hunt.
Esipolioi – Circumcised girl (only applies the 15-20 weeks or so after circumcision while they dress all in black and paint their faces white).
Esulusulu – Celebration.
Mzee – (Male) Elder.
Inkajijik – Hut, house.
Maasi – Also Masai (Maasai is preferred) from Maa, which means Man.
“Meishoo iyiook enkai inkishu o-nkera"- Maasai prayer, Literal Translation: "May Creator give us cattle and children.” I have adapted this prayer to a slightly different meaning in the story.
Morran (pl. Morrani) – (Male) Warrior.
Olaiguanani lenkashe – Special leaders within the Orporror. Not necessarily an honor. The herdmaster. Is responsible for all of the tribes herds and can be punished if game is bad.
Oloboru enkeene --.Special leaders within the Orporror. Not necessarily an honor. The keeper of the sign. He is given a special “knot” that represents the orporror and when they are all elders ceremoniously unties the knot ‘freeing’ the warriors to do as they will. Can be punished for failures of the orporror to succeed.
Oloiboni – Tribal priest or prophet.
Olopolosi orkiteng – The boy’s chief. His the the leader and token representative of the orporror. All punishment is levied on him.
Olotuno – Special leaders within the Orporror. Not necessarily an honor. The Chosen ones. They bear all the sins of his Orporror and are punished for any sin of the orporror.
Orporror – Warrior age group (sort of like a graduating class).
Osinkira – the Oloiboni inkajiiik.
Osipolioi – Circumcised boy (only applies the 12-15 weeks after circumcision where they dress in black and paint their faces white).
Wacha (pl. Wachawi) – Demon.
Cultural Notes:
Much of this information is from the site: http://www.maasai-infoline.org/ a fascinating personal glimpse into Maasai culture written by a young Maasai Mzee.
The Maasai are a highly segregated and highly structured society that is one of the few tribal warrior cultures still practicing its original lifestyle. They receive a lot of pressure from outside influences (both western and local) to conform to less “primitive” practices. They have managed to persevere, however. Maasai have no (or little) concept of personal property since they live in a communal society.
The core of the Maasai society is the Orporror or “Warrior Age Group”. Warriors are trained in classes and grow up together take wives together and basically stay together as a tribe. They are initiated into a Orporror at the age of puberty when they are circumcised (which is performed without any anesthetic or soporific). They spend a few months together learning names, and bonding while they heal, then they are trained as warriors by an “elder” warrior (Mzee).
Once they are trained they can choose wives from among the circumcised girls (Esipolioi) of their orporror. Since massai are polygamous their first wife becomes the senior wife of the household and subsequent wives are subservient to her.
When their orporror reaches 49 huts (Inkajijik) they can have a Oloiboni (chosen from among the elders) and usually one of the special leaders chosen at the time of the formation of the orporror. He lives in the 49th Inkajijik called the Osinkir.
The oloiboni is the spiritual leader of the Maasai tribe and the arbiter of things spiritual and cultural. He is both advisor and priest. The Maasai are monotheist (and always have been) and many tribes now practice Christianity in a form that is more in keeping with their traditional values.
Most of the day-to-day operations of cooking and gathering firewood and raising children is handled by the Entomononi (mothers) and Engoko (senior wives). During tough times the male and female children are allowed to help. Males are responsible for hunting, trade, and tending the herds of cattle.
There are several types of clan/villages. From warrior only (emanyatta), to woman only (Ilaiserr). The most common type of camp is the Irmolelian, sort of a communal camp. The other kinds of camps are mostly for ceremonial or initiation rituals.
The Maasai have a fascinating culture and a noble spirit that is struggling against outside influences. They are very polite and intelligent people who only wish to be perceived as an alternative lifestyle steeped in tradition rather than a primitive society.
I hope that “Death of a Slayer” portrays them not as strange savages but as a tradition that has no place for a Slayer (much as a lot of more ‘modern” cultures exemplified by the Inquisition, the Salem witch trials and the burning of Joan d’Arc have demonstrated). The Maasai have a saying that exemplifies the wisdom of preserving their culture: “It takes one day to destroy a house but to build a new one will take months, perhaps years. If we destroy our way of life to construct a new one, it will take thousands of years.”
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Jessy was pacing around in her make-shift living place. She was tired of waiting, tired of having to just sit around while Tarix gained her memory. She kept telling herself that any day now her beloved sister will soon remember it all. *And when she does she’ll probably want to kill me too. That will make my task a hell of a lot easier.*
She stopped pacing about, grabbed her binoculars and looked for the hundredth time into Tarix’s window, her impatience growing every minute. Even though Jessy had easily memorised Tarix’s schedule, it wasn’t like Tarix to be punctual. Jessy was also aware of how much Thule wanted to protect Tarix. *Pretty soon you won’t have much to protect, dear mentor of mine.* Jessy put the binoculars down after she had convinced herself that the occupant of the apartment still hadn’t returned yet. *Perhaps, Thule, we shall meet once again.* Jessy was aware of how much Thule had hated her now, and she seriously concluded that she didn’t care.
She stared pacing around. After an hour when Tarix still hadn’t returned Jessy angrily threw her binoculars which went skittering on the edge of the building and then fell over. Jessy immediately went to the same edge and looked down to see that her most used possession had finally met its end. *Ok, now I’m mad. I don’t care whether she remembers or not, I am so kicking her ass now.*
She took the masculine clothes that she had worn many times, and decided to change into them. The jeans and the loose blouse fitted her almost perfectly. She knew that it would fit the guy she had met in one of the LA bars nearby just a few days ago. *That’s a good thing, don’t want these ripping now. I wonder if I can find that drunk in the bar tonight?*
When she was finished dressing, she put took her jacket, and was soon on her way. *Mom always said I should be patient, but what the hell, she’s dead, not much logic in that.* She thought about finally coming face to face with her sister and the thought made her smile.
*****
Tarix had retired from work exactly at 9:00pm, when her job finished, but she was tempted to having a good strong cup of coffee at the store opposite. She left Jonny to turn the lights off in the Laughing Dogs and headed straight for the coffee shop. Once she was in, the atmosphere of the soft music playing in the background, which the owners must have paid a lot for, and the sweet aroma of the coffee drifted over her. Soon the waitress came, and Tarix was glad to finally be served rather than to serve. She ordered a nice cold cup of strong café mocha and a nice hot chocolate muffin.
She thought of her meeting with Darian in the same place a few months ago and started to smile and then blushed. *God, I was crying like a hopeless person that day. What would he have thought of me?* She then remembered her latest meeting with him. She had been very scared when she had first seen him on the floor. And later once he had told her the truth about himself, she had felt better, knowing that he was ok. She had to admit she also liked the idea of having someone else she knew to be as different as she was.
Finally, at 10:30pm, when most of the customers from the shop had left, Tarix decided to leave too. She finished her last sip of mocha that was still in the cup and picked up the last crumbs of the muffin that had been long devoured and ate them. She strode out of the café and started walking to her apartment building. She soon reached the very familiar gates and as usual pushed her way through them and started to walk towards the building. She had soon climbed the stairs and reached her apartment. She fumbled with her keys, then she heard a sound. She quickly turned around and looked both ways up and down the hallway. It was lighted but not that well and there were still areas of the hallway that were in complete darkness.
Tarix shrugged, looked once again up and down the hall and then checked up on Darian’s door. All seemed to be quite. *I must have imagined it.* She unlocked the door and went in. She flung her purse on to the floor and kicked the door close behind her. She heard the door bang, as if it had hit something soft. She turned around to see a foot sticking into her apartment. Before Tarix could do something the door flew open. In the doorway stood a man, about 5'6" in height, average in weight. He had a sinister grin on his face that made Tarix’s skin crawl.
Tarix froze in horror. She had read a lot about the rape stories that were published in the newspaper almost daily. She realised that she had pepper spray, but unfortunately it was in her bag that she had so carelessly thrown away. She started to step back as the man came into the apartment. Tarix tried to think clearly of what she had been told by Thule. Shakily, she put up her fists, not ready to give up without a fight.
“Well what have we here?” the man said in a raspy voice, “The chicken that clucked?” He laughed a most dreadful laugh at a joke that Tarix didn’t much understand.
She tried to feel more courage. “What, you going to pun me to death?” After she had said it, she realised how much courage she lacked and glancing at her fists saw that they were shaking.
“Aww, Sweety. Who says I’m going to kill ya? I’m just here for some fun.” The man moved in further and Tarix noticed that the man was drunk. *I’m sure that I can take care of a drunk.* Before she had time to finish that thought, the man charged at her.
He might have been a drunk, but he was quite fast. He knocked Tarix down. She frantically tried to punch him off, but he was too strong. He had pinned her to the floor. Suddenly Tarix’s leg shot up and soon the man was in great agony. Tarix rolled him away from him and quickly stood up.
“Bitch!” the man screamed, still rolling in agony. Tarix quickly took her purse laying nearby and found the pepper spray and held it menacingly at her adversary. “I want you to get out of my house,” she said, her voice stronger now with more courage, but still a little shaky. The man stood up, ready to charge her. She took a step forward “Now!”
Tarix could almost hear the man think. “Oh, come on baby. I won’t hurt ya I promise. Just wanted to have some fun.” As he tried to advance, she quickly sidestepped him and punched him as hard as she could in his stomach. The man bent in pain but quickly regained himself and punched a stunned Tarix in the face. She was pushed back with the force. *Ok, courage fading…* The man punched her in the face again. *…fast!* She could feel her upper lip bleeding and her cheek was feeling very sore.
She brought her hands up as if ready to defend herself, as Thule had taught her, and she seemed to duck a few drunken punches. She tried to jab him back, but he had predicted the move and easily ducked it, and attacked her with a powerful uppercut to the jaw. That made Tarix fly two feet in the air and land with a big painful thud next to her couch. “Oww….” she uttered a painful moan.
“Well now, aren’t we enjoying ourselves?” the thug said, before slowly walking towards her. Tarix, with the power she had left, sat up.
*Ok, now I’m mad!* she thought, and gathered the wave of energy, like Thule had told her, and then released it towards the advancing man. The guy seemed surprised as he was thrown back in the air towards the door. Tarix used another ounce of energy and opened the door wide enough. And before the thug could get back up, she repeated the move, only this time the energy was greater. She released the energy as hard as she could and the man skidded out the apartment. The door closed in front of him, and the lock turned.
“And stay out!” called out a wary Tarix, before she collapsed on the couch. She closed her eyes as if to relax. But again she felt something. Like as if some force or energy was near her. *Oh please no, I couldn’t take another one of them.* She opened her eyes, hoping to see the apartment empty but came face to face with the same thug she had met just moments before, only he seemed to be sober and fresh. He also had a black jacket on.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Tarix stared into the eyes of man and froze all over again. “What the hell do you want?” she said, almost hesitating to ask, and very scared now.
The man got up still facing her. “Isn’t it surprising how easily you can just hire someone off the streets and bribe them to break and enter? LA is more fun then I ever remember it to be.”
And it hit Tarix. “Jessamine!” she gasped. She wanted to say so much more, to talk about herself, to ask her why she murdered her parents, to tell her she didn’t have to kill her sister, but not a word would come out.
He smiled, “Yes, but you always called me Jessy.” He looked down at himself. “Looking at your performance today I don’t think I’ll be needing a strong body. Slowly the man changed into a woman, the black hair turning blonde and growing, the arms becoming slightly less muscular, the clothes starting to loosen, slightly. Soon Tarix felt that she was looking at a mirror image of herself.
“Now, that’s better. So where were we?” She seemed to think this simple question over, then with an evil grin in her eyes said, “Oh yes,” and before Tarix could react she quickly punched Tarix in the stomach, hard, and she toppled back on the couch. She rolled out of the couch, gasping for breath, holding her stomach, her bruised cheek rubbing on the floor. Jessy kneeled down beside Tarix.
“Poor Jazz, always getting hurt. You should be put out of your misery.” Jessy grabbed her and brought her on her feet. “What? Didn’t Thule teach you how to defend yourself?” Tarix just stood there, still gasping for breath, slightly bent, holding her stomach. “Fine, have it your way.” Another uppercut was received on the jaw, which had her head snap back and she fell hard on her back, again. Tarix winced as Jessy came right over her.
Before Tarix could do anything, Jessy brought her hand down to strangle her. She choked Tarix as hard as she could, while Tarix tried to pry her hands open and kicked her legs at nothing. Jessy loosened her grip slightly. “Come on Jazz, you’re more powerful then that. Come, give me what you got.” Once again Tarix was yanked on her feet again.
She gasped, breathing more violently then before and she seemed to feel lighter, as if she was losing energy, and her eyes started to see everything more brightly, like she’d fall unconscious any minute now. “Why are… why are you doing this?” she asked Jessy with what breath she had left in her lungs. “You kill our parents and now you want to kill me? Why so much hate?” she added before Jessy could answer.
Jessy’s evil grin started to fade and her eyes turned cold. “Well, I am the evil one, right? The false flower?” she lifted her hand, as if she was about to punch her again. “Looks like I can wait. Perhaps you should get all your memory back.” And then she punched Tarix once again.
Tarix fell over, and Jessy came down face to face with her again. “That’s what you want right? Your memory. Well you can have it.” She looked down at the codex and grabbed it. “You won’t be needing this any more.” She yanked it off. “Once you have what you want, you can find me at an abandoned building, corner of market block. I’m sure when you have seen what you see, you would want to kill me. I’ll be waiting.”
Rather then going out she pressed her palm to Tarix’s forehead. “Sweet dreams.” And with that Tarix felt as if a jolt of voltage went through her. The image of Jessy melted and all she felt was great pain in her head. She couldn’t see anything thing but a bright light, increasing in intensity. The pain was unbearable and she started to scream.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Jessy looked down at Tarix, who was shaking with her eyes rolled up, as if she was having a seizure. Jessy stayed by her side for a few seconds, observing her condition. Tarix helplessly kicked and screamed and tried to scratch something as though trying to pinpoint the source of the pain. Jessy got up, took one last look at her sister’s trembling body, and decided to leave her.
*****
Slowly the pain started to fade away, but the bright white light remained for a while. Slowly even that began to fade away, until Tarix saw only darkness all around her. Then images started to hit her, like ice cold water in the chill of the winter. She heard a sound, but it was very faint, almost like a buzz.
All of the images, the memories, were changing quite fast, as if in a flash.
Darkness and bright light, followed by two hands right in front of her face. Then a face of a doctor, wearing a blue gown.
*flash*
Another man with brown hair holding her and another baby girl. Then handing them to a perspiring, happy woman.
*flash*
The woman lovingly looking at them and making baby noises.
*flash*
“They are like flowers. I’ll name them Jasmine and Jessamine. Jasmine and Jessamine Honey.”
Tarix realised her memories were returning, but she still continously heard the same buzz. However it was growing louder to a whisper now, and she could distinctly make out the words.
doo moo
And then before she could concentrate on that, the memories returned faster then before.
She was getting off a bus, kids pushing past her.
*flash*
She was sitting on the bench, all alone, looking at a blonde girl in the same dress as she wore surrounded by many kids.
*flash*
The girl enthusiastically talking to the kids about a frog she was holding.
*flash*
She was now in a class, with a teacher at the front desk asking questions and the same blonde girl raising her hand, while she started down at her desk.
*flash*
This time she was peeking at the same girl, but in her teens, kissing a boy of the similar age, through her window.
Tarix gasped as more and more images of their childhood started to come to her, faster. The pain in her head was returning again, and increasing with each and every memory that passed through her mind.
The whisper was becoming even louder and more clear.
Tuu Nhoe.
She started to see other images even faster, and had no clue what they meant. And then suddenly she saw what she wanted to see. The death of her parents. This time the images started to slow down.
She walked into her house.
*flash*
She walked towards the kitchen.
*flash*
Her father was cheerfully talking to her mother. Her mother turned around to welcome her.
*flash*
She kissed her mother on the cheek and hugged her father, as they welcomed her back.
*flash*
“Your sister should be here soon too.”
*flash*
“Sure mom, I’ll be upstairs freshening up.”
*flash* of white light.
She looked over the stairs, saw Jessy coming in.
*flash*
She came down to follow Jessy, just in time to see her enter the kitchen and grab a knife.
*flash*
She backed as she saw Jessy come out of the kitchen, knife high in hand.
*flash*
She turned around and fled out the door, Jessy in pursuit.
*flash*
She came to a stop at a dead end.
*flash*
Jessy taking out a jar and unleashing a ball of fire from it towards Tarix.
*flash*
Tarix regaining herself, and attacking Jessy with her telekinetic power.
*flash*
Jessy falling back, and then quickly jumping to her feet.
*flash*
Tarix advancing on Jessy, punching her.
*flash*
Jessy avoiding the punches, and kicking Tarix in the stomach.
*flash*
Tarix punching Jessy in the face, feeling very bruised.
*flash*
Jessy, looking more bruised, kicks at Tarix’s leg to make her stumble and then elbows her in the face.
*flash*
Jessy punching Tarix as hard as she could, almost knocking her out.
*flash*
Tarix lying on her back, seeing Jessy’s face come in front of her.
*flash*
“You shall not remember.”
*flash*
Jessy putting the codex in Tarix’s pocket.
*flash*
“You shall not remember.”
*flash*
Jessy putting her hand on Tarix’ forehead, and Tarix blacks out.
The memories seemed to end there, but there was still something that seemed wrong to Tarix. Something seemed to bug her like a cockroach scratching in her ear. Then questions started to echo all around her, almost like the whisper she couldn’t understand.
Why did she want to kill you?
What are you avoiding?
What are you afraid of?
What don’t you know?
What are you hiding?
And suddenly, it all seemed very clear to her. And the buzz she was hearing before came to her, loud and clear.
You know.
And the pain exploded in her head.
*****
“Tarix? Tarix, wake up?” She was being shaken. She opened her eyes and saw a blurred image.
“Wha..?” The image soon cleared to show an extremely worried Thule. “What happened, Tarix? You were screaming your head off. What happened to you? Jessy?”
It was too much of an effort to reply. Tarix now knew everything, and the weight of her memories were killing her. She started to say something but only uttered a sound that even she couldn’t make out. She then started to cry. Her tears came like a wave, streaming down her face. She sobbed and Thule took her in his arms. She started to sob even more as Thule tried to comfort her, then suddenly she pushed Thule away as hard as she could.
“GET AWAY FROM ME!!!” she shouted out and sobbed even louder, starting to curl on the floor.
Thule seemed stunned. “Tarix, what is the matter? What did she do to you?” He tried for a long time to get her to say something, but she remained, sobbing. Soon she stopped, but stared blankly at the floor. Thule was on the floor, by her side, thinking it would be wiser to wait for Tarix to regain herself.
Then Tarix broke the silence, and spoke. “You were wrong, Thule,” was all she said. Thule remained quite, but grew more puzzled. *I must call an ambulance.* “Wrong about what?” he finally replied, trying to get her to continue.
“About everything.” There was a moment of reticence. “About me, about her. I now know.” She got up into a sitting position, still staring at the floor. “I always thought you knew everything and you were hiding it from me. But you weren’t.” She looked into his eyes, and Thule was taken back with the amount of pain he saw in them. Tarix’s appearance was a lot different then it was before. Her hair was a mess, her face was bruised and blood had dried on her upper lip.
“Jessy didn’t kill them, Thule. My parents. I killed them.” She almost choked on the last few words, and even she could see the shock on Thule’s face.
“How….?” Thule gasped, unable to move, or say anything further.
“You described to me that Jessy came into our home, grabbed a knife, the rest was a blank. Let me tell it to you from the beginning. I came home first, I kissed my mom, I hugged my dad.” And in her mind's eye she saw herself doing it again. “Then I told them I was going to get fresh. But before I did, I followed my dad to his study and stabbed him in the throat with letter opener.” She saw him holding his throat, his eyes dilating. He fell onto the floor, trying to get to the kitchen.
“I watched him as he desperately tried to get back to warn his wife.” He reached the kitchen, but before he could do much, Tarix stabbed him in the chest from behind. “My mom heard the second stab and she turned around. But I stabbed her too.” Kathaleen, horrified at what had happened, had touched her wound with her hand, looking at the blood before being stabbed again.
“Thule, Jessy wasn’t there to kill them, she was there to save them, but she was too late.” Jessy comes into the house and sneaks around to grab a knife set nearby. She comes into the kitchen and stares, with great pain, at the bodies of her parents. She stands there for a few more moments, when she hears the sound of a creaking stairs. “I came down, after I washed up. She tried to kill me but I ran away.” Tarix runs with Jessy behind her, in close pursuit.
“I reached a dead end, and that’s where we started to fight. Somehow she had predicted I was going to kill them and she had come prepared.” Jessy taking out a jar and opening it to unleash a fire ball at Tarix. “She won the fight.” Tarix lays in a crumpled mess beside the trash can. “She couldn’t kill me. She knew she couldn’t. So instead she put an amnesia spell on the codex, and linked it to me, making me forget.” Jessy putting the codex in her pocket and saying ‘You shall not remember.’ “She didn’t leave me there to die. She left me there to have a whole new life.” Tarix getting up, bruised and beaten, not knowing who she is.
“But when she realised my memories were returning, she knew I had to be put to a stop. To be killed. That’s why she returned after so many years.” She became silent. Thule remained blank and was staring at something and at nothing. It was hard to make out his emotions from his face, but Tarix knew that he must be going through hell.
Tarix slowly got up, but jolts of pain racked her body, and she winced. “I have to go now. Jessy awaits for me. She wants a final fight before she can kill me.” Tarix knew that she should expect no reply from Thule, so she started to stumble to the door, very painfully. Before she had exited she heard Thule call out to her, in his monotonous voice. “Jasmine, I really hope you get what you deserve today.”
She winced at the power of his words, and walked out the door.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
The streets, almost empty at night. From time to time, she’d pass a man or a woman also walking. She looked around and found a few cars passing her too. Yet she continued to drag herself, and the more she walked, the more she started to remember other moments of her childhood, but something was still missing, and she couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
She stopped at a street lamp, and gripped it to catch her breath. She looked up to see the abandoned building looming in front of her. It was a greyish-maroon, three stories building, where the paint was peeling away. The windows were either broken or boarded up. She made her way to the broken down place and wondered whether she should knock. She hesitated and then decided to just go in. She pushed open the door and closed it behind her.
The inside was pretty much like the outside, only more dreary and dead looking. She dragged herself further in, not knowing where to go, when a faintest beam of light caught her eye at the right side. She turned around and squinted to make out the source of the light. It wasn’t until she took a few more steps further that she realised that the light was coming from a few candles. In front of the candles, she could make out the figure of Jessy, her back to her, sitting peacefully.
“I’m sure Thule must have taught you that,” she spoke, after great hesitation.
“Yes, as a matter of fact he did,” came Tarix's reply, and slowly Jessy got up and turned around to face her. Tarix could now make out a long pole in Jessy's hand, as a weapon.
“So how did you find the great memory train experience?” Jessy said as she advanced forward. Tarix stood her ground, bravely.
“I, I don’t know. It’s like, like I don’t want to know who I am any more…” She broke off there, unable to continue.
“I gave you that chance, but you had go ruin it for yourself. Now you should be prepared to face the consequences.” Jessy paused to look back at Tarix. “Sometimes some people you know and love change so much, that they lose touch with the good and evil prospect of things.” Jessy looked at her, bitterness in her voice. “Do you know that I had come, prepared to kill you that day? It took me the whole day to find out you were going to kill them.” Tarix could feel tears welling in her eyes, but Jessy continued.
“You were collaborating with the Macabres. Every day you used to go to them for training. Only I didn’t find out until it was too late. Thule still didn’t know, as by that time we were in New York, and he was here. I wasn’t sure whether my hunch was correct. One day I followed you to their lair, and heard the training procedures, how they were turning you against us. When you came home I tried to talk you out of it, but you denied everything. There was a time when even I was in complete denial, thinking I might have hallucinated or something... That is until you proved me wrong.”
That was what Tarix didn’t remember. She still couldn’t picture herself with the Macabres, she wanted to say something, but she remained quiet.
“One day I penetrated your dreams and saw what you had planned on doing. It was at that time I knew you were not to be trusted. I also knew if I tried to tell anyone, they wouldn’t believe me. So I went to the nearest magic shop, that I visited regularly. I had taken dad’s codex with me and asked for a memory spell to be put on it, only to be activated by a few words. I also armed myself with anything I could.” Jessy’s eyes were also starting to water up.
“I came to beat the hell out of you and put the memory hex on you, so that you would forget everything, and we could be one safe happy family. But you were too quick for me. When I saw their bodies I wanted to kill you, with all my heart, but I couldn’t. So I put the hex on you. Leaving you so you could start another life. I knew I should have warned my parents, and for some time I even blamed myself for their deaths, but I knew that the real blame should go to you.” Her eyes stone cold, she turned to Tarix, weapon ready to attack. “And finally I am ready for it.”
Tarix didn’t move. “You do what you must. I will probably deserve it. However I have come unarmed.”
“Since when have you been such a compromising person, Jazz? You were always selfish, counting the things you didn’t have and ignoring what you did,” Jessy tauntingly replied back.
“I am not that person I used to be. I am not Jasmine, or Jazz, anymore. What I did, I am even ashamed of. I still don’t remember why I did, or how I did. I will not try to fight back, or try to defend my case, it is up to you to decide.” And with that Tarix bowed her head in defeat, tears streaming down her face.
Jessy remained quiet, as if contemplating what to do next. She took her pole and used its edge to push Tarix’s head up. “You don’t know how much I loved you, sister. How much I tried to get you to follow the right path. But you were just so full of hate.”
“I, I,” Tarix stuttered, not knowing what to say. The grief was growing inside her; she was a murderer. A cold blooded murderer. She fell to her knees, the burden of her being becoming too much for her. “Please, please… kill me. Please…” she begged, “Please, I don’t want to live.”
Jessy just looked down at her, and then slowly dropped the stick. “Guess this is what you deserve. The pain and suffering. What I felt. Our parents always thought I was the ‘bad seed’, the false flower. But I guessed they named us wrong.” She started to walk away, with Tarix still weeping.
“Please. Jessy, don’t do this to me. Please.”
Jessy stopped. “Did you listen to the begging of our parents when you killed them?” And with that she disappeared out the door of the deserted warehouse.
*****
Tarix cried there the entire night, not moving from the building. In the morning, she didn’t know how, or where she got the energy from, but dazed she got up and headed to her apartment. She came and found it as she had left it, the couch upturned, the signs of the fight still there. She ignored it and closed the door behind her. She found that Thule had left, and felt relieved, as she didn’t want to face him again. Trying her best not to cry, she went to one of her kitchen cupboards and took out candles, feeling she may try to meditate.
She lit the candles and closed her eyes, but every time she did, the painful memories of her sin returned to her. Her eyes flew open and she uttered a cry as loud as she could. And suddenly brought her hand over one of the lighted candles. She felt the pain of the fire burning and her skin sizzling. The pain was great but she felt as if she was welcoming it. Rather then removing her hand away, she brought her second hand over the other candles and felt greater pain. And she screamed.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Previously on LA By Night
Disguised as Sebastian, Loki attempted to convince Darian to kill
himself. Darian however, broke free of the evil Fae's spell, and is now
beginning to learn the truth of what has been happening.
Masquerade’s End: Part II (The Conclusion)
January 22nd, 2006 - 11:54 PM
Guest Appearance: Ryan Phillippe as Loki
WHAP!!
Still groggy from the effects of the stranger’s spell, Darian was unable to avoid the fist that was hurtling towards his face. The force of the impact was incredible and knocked Darian from his knees flat onto his back. Mere moments before, Darian had been so close to concluding his long, arduous quest, and now - now things weren’t going so well.
“Who are you?” Darian mumbled, as he desperately rolled onto his hands and knees trying to get some distance between him and his attacker. Blood trickled from his nose, staining the floor with tiny crimson puddles.
Loki was merciless in his attack. Moving at inhuman speeds, he advanced on Darian and planted a well-placed kick right to his midsection.
“Oh where are my manners?” Loki laughed, as he watched Darian keel over in pain. “The name’s Loki, it’s a pleasure to beat, I mean meet you.”
Darian wasn’t sure what was worse. The total and utter confusion he was in or the throbbing aches in his chest. *What the hell is going on? How the hell does this guy know me and my past?* Mustering up his energy, Darian forced himself to his feet. *Bloody hell, where did he go?*
Appearing out of the shadows behind him, Loki rewarded Darian’s effort by firmly kicking him in the small of his back, propelling him once again roughly to the ground. “Surprised to find that you’re not the only one with special gifts?” WHACK – another kick to the fae’s side - “Well after the Order of the Fae fucked up with you, they tried again. The second time, they got it right with me. And unlike you, I’m not some ungrateful little shit who spits on their gift. Did you honestly think they would simply forget about you? Let you go off on your merry way after you’ve killed so many of our members?” Loki calmly walked over to where Darian was struggling to get up, grabbed him by the back of his jacket, and effortlessly tossed him twenty feet across the factory.
*The Order? He’s… like me!* Things were beginning to make sense. His assailant was so powerful and quick because he shared the same mystical blood as Darian. Realizing that it was definitely not the time to sit and ponder what was going on, he forced his bruised and bloody body to get up. Loki had slowed his attack, and was simply advancing nonchalantly forward. *Arrogant bastard.*
“The Order deserved everything I did to them,” Darian spat, blood now flowing from his mouth as well as his nose. “They took everything away from me. They took my friend, they stripped me of my humanity; they ruined my life!”
Loki stopped his progression forward. “Ruined your life? They offered you everything; power, prestige, but you turned your back on them. Why? Just because you lost a friend along the way? Sacrifices have to be made along the path to greatness. Lucky for me you were too much of a coward to walk that path.” Loki once again charged ahead, leaping high into the air in hopes of landing a jump-kick to his enemy’s head.
Darian, however, was now prepared for an attack and ducked out of the way of the skull crushing blow. “Coward? I’ve spent over 200 years wrestling with the darkness inside me,” he said, avoiding a series of punches. “I have the courage to keep fighting it. It’s obvious that you however simply gave into it and let the evil take you.” Darian finally found the opening he was waiting for and brought his fist abruptly up, hitting Loki square in the jaw. The dark fae reeled back, caught off-guard by the first offensive move of his opponent.
“Oh that’s right,” Loki hissed, his appearance once more blurring into the guise of Sebastian. “I forgot that you’re the big hero, selflessly living your life in a vain attempt of freeing your friend. Well it must be pretty heart breaking to know that these last few months have been all a lie,” he taunted in the voice of Sebastian. “Did you honestly think your friend was astral projecting? God what a retard you are. All of it, every meeting you’ve had with him, every time you thought you were getting closer - it was me. You fell for it every time. And let's not forget the big fiasco with that girl… what was her name, Tash? Yeah that was me also. Well, I guess I shouldn’t take all the credit, I had a bit of help. Wouldn’t it have been an awful shame had you killed her, an innocent woman?” Loki laughed, changing back to his regular form.
Darian had heard enough of Loki’s mocking bravado. Full of rage and hatred, he rushed towards the evil fae and unleashed a torrent of lighting quick attacks.
The factory, once a fish processing plant, now acted as a colosseum for the two gladiators. The two battled for several minutes, neither one gaining the upper hand for very long. Eventually the two found themselves on a conveyer belt leading towards the gruesome blades of one of the many processing bins. It was then that Loki once again gained control. Dodging a punch, Loki did a back handspring and used his outstretched foot to hit Darian painfully in the face. As the good fae fell dizzyingly to the ground, the dark one leaped backward to where the power switch was located, and proceeded to put it in the on position. Like a beast waking from slumber, the plant sprung into life. Gears began turning, the conveyor belt began moving, but worst of all the processing blades began spinning.
“This is the end, Darian. It’s a shame you didn’t forget about your friend and choose our side; things could have turned out differently.” Intending to knock his enemy into the fatal blades, thus finishing him off once and for all, Loki jumped toward Darian, a look of sick glee in his eyes. To Loki’s horror however, Darian had played possum, and was not as dizzy as he appeared to be.
In one swift movement Darian sidestepped the attack and grabbed onto Loki’s shoulder and arm. Using his enhanced strength he forced them in opposing directions. The SNAP of Loki’s arm indicated that he had managed to break it. The evil fae howled in pain as he broke free from Darian’s grip. Unfortunately for him, he had not taken into account the moving conveyor belt they were fighting on, and the ever shortening distance to large cylindrical bin which contained the spinning, razor sharp blades. Even with his faery abilities, Loki did not manage to react in time. As he backed away from Darian, his foot slipped on the end of the belt and he stumbled backwards into the bin. Instinctively, his non-broken arm shot out, luckily grasping the edge of the container. Darian rushed forward, gracefully balancing on the ledge Loki was holding onto.
“Please, please help me!” Loki screamed, the sadistic gleam of his eyes replaced with terror.
Darian looked down at his helpless opponent. He was the only thing that stood between Loki and certain death at the hands of the blades below. “After what you’ve done to me, why should I?”
“You…I…” Loki could think of nothing to say. *Why should he help me?* “I… I don’t want to die,” he pleaded.
After a brief moment, Loki was utterly bewildered when Darian reached down and pulled him up to safety.
In the early years of being a faery, Darian had killed many of the Order for what they had done to him. He had wanted revenge, and he had planned to take it out on each and everyone of them. Yet over time, he had realized that his urges for vengeance did not validate murder. It was his dark faery side that had been in control when he was killing, and he had vowed never to let that happen again. Even after the torment Loki had put him through, he could not simply stand by and watch him die. *Who knows, maybe he just wasn’t strong enough to fight the darkness inside.*
"Get out of LA." And with that Darian turned from Loki, and within seconds vanished from the factory into the darkness of the night.
The dark fae painfully clutched his dangling broken limb, gazing in amazement as the man he had spent so long torturing simply left. *He saved me. Not only that, he just leaves? He doesn’t even worry about me coming back to finish what I had started?*
“Boy, he really is a retar...” Loki cut himself off. Darian's mercy had sparked a twinge of humanity in his black soul. "He really is something."
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Previously on LABN…
*Kate meets Jack Archer, a man who claims to be her father
*Kate agrees to meet with Jack for a second time
Kate’s House – Birch Street; Los Angeles
Saturday, 24th September 2005
12:55am
The bedroom was in complete darkness as Kate carefully drew back the bedsheets and climbed into bed. It was really late and Galen was already asleep, his night shift at the station having ended over an hour ago. Kate was glad that she wouldn’t have to explain all about Jack that night. She wasn’t even sure what she would have said. Part of her was excited at the prospect of getting to know her father, yet, although she knew in her heart that his words were true, another part of her was urging her to be cautious. Sighing, Kate pulled the blankets under her chin and closed her eyes.
Suddenly, Galen roused in his sleep. He rolled over to Kate’s side of the bed and gently wrapped his arms around Kate’s body. “Hmm, where have you been?” he whispered as he brushed her hair aside and softly kissed the back of her neck. Kate smiled and leaned back into his embrace. “I missed you…” he continued. Slowly he opened his eyes and glanced at the bedside clock. Suddenly he sat up straight and looked at the clock again. “Kate? It’s almost 1am! Where on Earth have you been all this time?”
Kate grimaced and rolled over to face him, “Um… we had a few late-nighters who wouldn’t leave, just kept ordering cappuccinos. In the end Joshua had to throw them out.”
Galen frowned in concern. “You should have called, I was worried about you.”
“You were asleep more like!” Kate laughed in an effort to change the subject.
“That too,” smiled Galen contentedly.
“Well it was nothing, and… I’m here now” Kate smiled, brushing Galen’s sleep-ruffled hair from his face.
“Oh I see, like that is it? You come home late and expect me to be ready and waiting so you can have your wicked way with me?”
“Do you have a problem with that?”
Galen grinned and moved in closer to kiss her deeply on the lips. “None that I can think of.”
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Part II
Inferno
Palos Verdes Shore
2: 29 AM
The waves began to rise slowly in the night air. It wasn’t warm anymore. An unpleasant dampness struck the air. The moon calmly disappeared, abandoning its pulling effect on the tide. The darkness enveloped Kieran and Léon tightly. They continued circling each other, their plans of attack interrupted by the sonic waves emitted from the crashing water.
“Let us not do this,” Léon tried to reason. It was his last effort, he figured. *Perhaps he’ll sympathize…*
Kieran simply stared at the wounded Legionnaire standing proudly not clutching his broken arm. *I’m giving you the first move, laddie. Take it!*
*There is not much sympathy left in this man. It must be done. We must reach our fates. One of us will tilt the balance.* For a second, the waves stopped. Léon sensed Kieran’s fist piercing the air towards him. He shifted sideways and blocked it with his left palm. It hurt him as much as did Kieran. Léon pursued with a knee deep into Kieran’s lower left rib cage, immobilizing his left lung. “Ack,” he sputtered.
The vampiresses were surprised by Léon’s attack. Devilish joy now turned to fear for Estella. Another mate would be lost.
LAPD
2: 30 AM
Keane sat alone in Thurman’s office sipping a cup of coffee. He studied the walls, admiring Thurman’s numerous awards. He smiled, knowing that his friend hadn’t changed a bit since they last saw each other. *Ed always liked the spotlight. Dedicated. Talented. But a showman nonetheless.*
The door swung open and Thurman burst in with a fax. Dumbfounded, he looked at Keane. “Your friend here has a pretty thin file. It’s as if he was a ghost. No employment. No credit cards. Hell, not even a jaywalking ticket.”
“All I need is an address,” replied Keane.
“He must be there if he ain’t doing anything else.” *This has got to be the most boring guy in the world. Do all Irishmen lead simple lives?* He smirked at his own question. “He’s got a place on La Brea. 6678. Apartment 39. You planning on going?”
“Yep.” Keane grabbed his coat and laid down his mug on Thurman’s desk. “When do you finish?”
“Do I ever?”
“Hahaha,” they both laughed.
“I’m stayin’ at the Ramada in Downtown. Ring me up. We’ll go for a drink.”
“Most definitely.”
They nodded at each other before Keane left. Thurman sighed and went back to his stack of papers.
Liquid
2: 31 AM
“What have we on Mr. Harte?” asked one of the three Management members, otherwise known as the Lady.
“Nothing significant other than an address. He’s avoided all of our tails,” replied a second member, Pusher.
“He has a place at 6678 La Brea,” spoke Tao.
“And the vampiress? What is she to him?” asked the Lady.
“She is equally as fleeting as Harte. We don’t even know where she lives,” replied Pusher. The Lady didn’t have a pleasing look on her face.
“This will be difficult then,” she commented.
“Not quite,” said Tao. He showed her Kieran’s cross. “He dropped this the other night. Here. Near the Solitude Bar. Notice here,” he pointed to the blood stains. “And here,” he pointed to the bottom corner of the cross which was split in a serpent-tongued manner. “He’ll want this. It gives him some semblance of any answer he’s looking for.”
A small smile formed across the Lady’s mouth. Pusher was getting anxious. He was bored at the moment. He lit a cigarette. “Great. I’m going then.”
“In due time,” cautioned the Lady. Pusher stopped, cigarette in his mouth. Quizzical look on his face.
“We need some more villains around here,” he said.
“Not yet. The time is not right. Establish contact. But do not let on about anything,” said the Lady.
Pusher rolled his eyes and exhaled successive smoke rings. Admiring each one of them. He winked at the Lady and left the penthouse office. The Lady faced Tao. “Pusher is getting much too anxious. Serenity is not one of his gifts. He worries me.”
“Right. I wouldn’t. He has other gifts. We’ve been orchestrating this for a long time. This is as much his brainchild as it is ours.”
The Lady nodded. She didn’t have to ask before Tao replied, “Executed.”
Palos Verdes Shore
2: 33 AM
Léon was surprised by Kieran’s lack of defense. Foolishly, he felt one step ahead. *Bloke took it…* Despite his difficulty in breathing for the instant, Kieran smiled crookedly. Léon was a lamb’s neck exposed before a lion’s eyes. He let Léon land in a few punches to the face before he regained his composure.
Estella looked on. Kieran’s attack finally dawned on her. The other vampiresses were getting bored at the fight. Selina stared into the waves. *Fuck. Kick his ass already, I’m hungry.* Estella was puzzled, yet enjoyed the fact that Kieran was playing the Legionnaire’s head, giving him false hope.
Léon paused for a second to think about Kieran. He'd had totally smashed Léon's arm, yet was fighting with his guard down. *It is too late - I must finish him now.*
“It is a pity that two humans must fight each other when there are forces we should unite against. Tell me, ami, have you seen the horrors?”
“I’ve seen more than you can imagine.”
Knives extended from under Léon’s shirt around his forearms. He lunged at Kieran. Kieran dodged to Léon’s right and kicked him across the jaw. Upon contact, he kicked Léon in the opposite direction with the same foot. Blood spewed from Léon’s chin and his neck hurt from the impacts. He knew he was defeated. He had played into Kieran’s hands. He didn’t have time to speak his last words before Kieran lodged a knife in his midsection and twisted it. His left hand reached for another knife under his sweater and brought his hand under Léon’s chin and lodged the knife there, not allowing Léon to scream in pain. Kieran let Léon fall to the sand.
He turned away and approached the vampiresses. Estella stayed as the others hurried to the body. She looked at him questioningly. He looked at the stars. What few there were on that night. The waves had ceased crashing on the shore and resumed their peaceful ebb.
Léon’s body twitched as the vampiresses fed through his wounds. Kieran turned his back to Estella and went to the limp mass. He pulled out his knives. Selina went to grab one to lick the blood off, but Kieran shoved her back, hard. He didn’t even look at her, just stared straight on, emotionless, indifferent.
6678 La Brea Avenue
3: 04 AM
Keane got out of his cab as he paid the driver. He gazed up at the complex. It was a nice site in the darkness of night. The moon’s rays reflected off the glass and onto the surrounding buildings. It wasn’t bright, yet, the glow was intoxicating. He went in, looking at the surroundings. Despite its brightness outside, the inside was obscure, cold, uninviting. Portraits of melancholy people hung on the walls. The carpeting was nice, Keane thought, but dark and deathly. Crimson. *It looks like blood.* It wasn’t a bad place he thought. It looked plush enough and exuded that lonesome sentiment. *Rather fitting for a lad such as he.* He called the elevator and signaled the third floor.
The elevators opened and Keane walked out into the corridor whose walls were grey. The floors were covered by the same carpeting as the lobby. A chandelier hung from the ceiling every so often. He saw a tall man standing at a door writing a note. Keane just walked by. As he passed him, the man turned his head and took a brief notice of Keane’s face. Keane, head down, peered from the corner of his eyes. The apartment the man stood at was 39. As the man finished, he lit a cigarette. When he disappeared into the elevator, Keane returned to room 39. He knocked a few times. No answer. He unfolded the note and read it. If You’re Interested: 555 – 6989.
_______________________
Featuring:
Lucy Liu as The Lady:
George Clooney as Pusher; Quentin Tarantino as Tao
Spectre of the Past
28th October, 2005
Chance tossed and turned in his sleep. Images came to him; pictures, words, and sometimes whole sequences lasting a few seconds. None of them had he ever experienced before, though he knew he had. Each so foreign, yet so vaguely familiar.
He was running - running in a forest he had never been in. A bright full moon stared down at him, and he tore off armour plates, tossing them to the ground to allow better movement…
A face, one he knew and cared for deeply. A girl. She looked at him with full, trusting eyes, the sort of look a daughter would give a father…
Vampires, dressed up as knights, beating him without remorse…
His sister’s body, lying battered, bloody and abused on the floor, staring up with vacant eyes as all around her…
Calmly nibbling away at an acorn sat a squirrel. Silently, he drew his sword; poised ready to strike, but a flock of birds taking flight distracted him. Odd, birds didn’t fly at night…
Holding the neck of a young boy, half-dead with fear. Around them lay the bodies of two dozen people, their blood covering the ground and his own hands…
His sister stood before him, gazing adoringly at him despite his situation. But, no, that couldn’t be right, she was dead…
A voice, one he knew he should remember but couldn’t place, spoke to him in a caring, fatherly tone; “Come now, my boy, we are too close for such formalities. I have spoken with Archembaud, and he tells me you never shirked from any duty expected of you…”
He stood in a blazing inferno, somewhere deep under ground, a sword in his hand, cutting through the vampire-knights like a…
A single word, a name, repeated over and over; Miriam…
Pain, pain. A blazing kind that filled his entire body and racked every nerve. He felt impure, dirty, tainted. He could scream but not be heard, could see but not intervene. Could only watch helpless as the…
Then pleasure, pleasure as he tore her throat out and ripped into her chest…
Chance awoke with a start and a groan. The sun was shining through the curtainless window in his eyes as he lay on his bed. That always made him feel uncomfortable. That and the fact he was still wearing the clothes from the night before. Absently, Chance raised his arm in an effort to wave off the sun, but it hurt too much so he laid it back down.
Half an hour later, he woke again. He rolled over and checked his watch. The digital display read 2:34. Chance had slept through the entire morning and most of the afternoon. *Ah well, not like I had a lot to do today anyway. Besides, I needed to heal.* He remembered the previous night. *Shit, what was I thinking? Eight vampires? Was I stoned or drunk? No, just stupid. Hanging out in a graveyard like that…you would’ve thought I’ve only been doing this a few months, not years!*
In an attempt to run into that vampire hunter whilst he/she/it(?) was patrolling, Chance had decided to frequent the areas one might be found; cemeteries, alleys, etc. Naturally they were the places he tended to visit anyway, but Chance had made a habit of staying away from large graveyards. More often than not there were tombs and crypts occupied by any number of vampire gangs that, based on first-hand experience, he didn’t want to mess with.
*But no, I let curiosity get the better of me. And it nearly killed the cat. *
As he waited, he had been caught out by eight of them leaving a crypt. Eight. Chance had never taken on that many on foot before, and now he knew why. Although the first couple went down easily enough, newbies that they were, the others put up a bit of a stronger fight. He had managed to get at least six of them before one had run back inside the tomb for reinforcements. Then Chance had run. Or at least hobbled away. The bruise on his face had just gone down as well.
He peeled off the clothes, noting the patches of dried blood, and stepped into the shower in the corner of the room. Chance felt like he should remember something. A dream? No, he hadn’t dreamt anything. He shrugged; stepping into the shower and letting the water wash the blood away and forgot all about it.
When he stepped out, he again wondered at the luck that got him this place. An abandoned room at the top of an abandoned building. It was small and had been dirty, but the treasure was the shower in the corner. One that worked, well, most of the time.
The furniture was long gone, Chance’s ‘bed’ was just a mattress on the floor, but there was clean running water and, from the looks of it, no one else dwelt in the building. Plus it gave a good overview of the street so Chance could see trouble coming, and had a fire escape that’d make a decent escape route out the back down to the hiding place for his motorcycle. At first he had been worried someone would discover it, but this street seemed truly abandoned. Not that Chance was complaining, of course.
He took a towel off a chair and dried himself off. What had he planned to do today?
Not a lot really. He’d have to wait until sunset for a chance to run into that vamp hunter again, even if they were still in town. But this time, he’d stay away from graveyards.
Dressed only in an old threadbare towel he inspected his wounds. Purple and blue bruises blossomed on his chest. Chance winced as he prodded one on his side, trying to discern whether a rib had been hurt badly. He didn’t think so. Probably just sore and would ache for a while. He had looked a hell of a lot worse last night. At least his split lip had healed fine. Although it was good to know he still had the whole healing business down, Chance just didn’t want to find out the hard way again.
Ignoring the dirty, bloody pile of clothes, Chance turned to the just dirty pile and quickly dressed in a worn but less bloody pair of jeans, a shirt with a small stain on that would probably go unnoticed and his jacket, which, miraculously managed to survive unscathed. Again. *Perhaps it’s blessed…? Hasn’t ever seemed to rip or tear. Hmm…* He slipped into a pair of battered military-style boots.
Checking himself over once, Chance decided the clothes would just about get by without making him look like a dirt-poor bum. Just. He would have to steal some new ones sometime soon, or at least steal money to wash them. Spraying on a near-empty bottle of deodorant he pocketed a stake and crucifix and threw a quick glance out the window down the street. There had been the odd few pedestrians passing by, checking in on the address Chance had given Bob. None of them looked particularly friendly or forthcoming, so he had ignored them and let them go when they had finished searching the empty building across the road.
This one, though, this one was different, Chance could tell. Rather than a causal and menacing gait used by the others, his walk was hurried and nervous, looking hastily up every now and again before quickly looking down at the floor again. His hair was long, sweaty, and unkempt. Dressed in, well, rags really, he did not give the image of the sort of - using the term loosely - person that would come after Chance to rip his throat out. For all Chance knew it could be just another homeless fella bumbling on through.
And yet, the tramp caught his interest. Appearances could be deceiving, a fact of life Chance had been exposed to time after time. For though the man did turn occasionally turn to look up at the address undoubtedly sold to him by Bob the Weasel, he was heading for the main entrance to Chance’s building.
With a start, Chance leapt back from the window as the vagabond crossed the road and looked up at him. His gaze was scrutinising, one hundred times more than Peter’s had been, but also his eyes were old. Incredibly so. Chance could see a wealth of knowledge and wisdom there, and the prospects were frightening.
*Nothing human could live so long and stay sane. Must be a demon! *
Not bothering with the stake as the man couldn’t be a vamp unless he had invested heavily in suntan cream, it being the middle of the afternoon after all, he grabbed his crossbow and a knife and left through the back door, climbing down the fire escape. Before he went, Chance stole another quick look outside, enough to see the man before he disappeared out of his sight to enter the building.
Dropping the final few feet off the rusted ladder, Chance hit the old ground, knees bending with impact but not enough to hurt. His bike was hidden under a dusty old sheet near the ladder. Unless one was actually looking for the motorcycle and knew it was there it would be difficult to spot, but was still accessible enough to make for a quick getaway.
He headed to the corner of the building and peeked round into the street. No sign of the old man. Or demon, he should be saying. He, it, must have entered the place already and be climbing the stairs to Chance’s room.
Chance paused for a moment. How did he know the demon was after him? *Well, let’s rephrase that. How do I know the demon isn’t after me?* That settled it. Tightening his grip on the knife and making sure the crossbow was loaded with a bolt, as it always was, he headed for the main entrance.
At one time it had a door that opened right out onto the pavement. That was gone now, and there was nothing barring the way in. The building was three stories high, redbrick, with a width of two rooms and a length of three. Chance’s was on the top right floor, the rest now housed an army of rats.
Picking his way carefully across the portal into the decaying hallway with peeling wallpaper, Chance checked the dust on the floor. He had only come in this way once, when he first discovered the building, and the dust he had disturbed then had quickly returned. But it lay dormant now, no footprints or sign of trespassing. Keeping his crossbow raised ahead of him, a frown slipped across Chance’s face as he climbed the creaky stairs.
Chance had practised coming up and down the wooden staircase. He knew exactly which boards creaked and which didn’t. The thing that disturbed him was that the demon, who surely couldn’t have got that far ahead of him, hadn’t made a sound.
Was he a demon, though? He hadn’t carried himself like a demon would but that wasn’t saying much. Chance had seen many wolves in sheep’s clothing. So what was he? Couldn’t be a vampire. What, then?
When he reached the top floor, Chance still didn’t know the answers. He danced across the hallway to his room, jumping from floorboard to floorboard, skipping over the ones that creaked.
But his door was still shut; a small hair was still in the doorway. Pulling it out and pushing the woodworm infested door open, Chance quickly checked out his room, revealing it to be empty. Replacing the hair again he closed the door silently and turned around.
Standing before him, a calm almost amused expression on his face, was the tramp!
The Vagabond
Recovering from the shock of seeing the man suddenly standing just a few feet away, Chance brought up his crossbow fast, aiming it squarely at his left eye. To his credit, the man didn’t even blink. Rather he kept looking straight ahead, in no worry about his own personal health.
They remained that way for several minutes. The silence grew heavy. Finally it was too much for Chance to bear and he had to break it.
“So, left eye or right eye? It makes no real difference, as you’ll lose the other soon enough.”
A pause. A long pause, so long Chance didn’t think the man heard him. What if he was deaf? Then the man spoke, and the voice was calm with the words chosen carefully. “I am not going to choose, because you will not shoot me.”
“Really? Well my friend Mister Crossbow here disagrees with you,” he said, nodding at the weapon held at arm's length.
“What crossbow?” the man asked, and for a moment Chance was confused and hesitated. The tramp used the time to good effect. Chance felt a sharp pain in his arm and his grip on the crossbow relax, then the next thing he knew the weapon was pointed back at him.
He stared, wide-eyed. He had seen vamps move fast, but nobody moved that fast.
“I knew it. You’re a demon.”
Evidently, the comment struck a sore point. In a raised voice that was a complete opposite of the way he spoke earlier, the man replied, “For pity’s sake! No such names!”
It came across almost like a plea of innocence. It didn’t convince Chance. “So, if you’re not a demon, what are you?”
But the question was ignored. Now in possession of the crossbow, the tramp went on to take a closer inspection and his voice returned to normal. “A fine weapon. Modern. Well looked after.” He took it by the point and handed it back to Chance.
“Uhh… thanks. I think,” he said, taking it and pointing it once more at the man.
“Oh come now, Felix. That won’t work so you might as well put it away.”
Chance’s brow deepened and his eyes lit with anger. *How did he know my name?* “How did you know that’s my name? Have you been following me or something?”
“Put the crossbow away, and I’ll tell you. Please, I can take it off you before the thought of firing ever crosses your mind, after all.” Well, he probably was right about that if the earlier demonstration was anything to go by. With great reluctance, Chance lowered it. “Good, good. Now come, we will talk, I promise, but not here. Are you hungry?”
*****
A few minutes later, Chance found himself sitting in a café/bookstore a few blocks away. Bibliophile, it was called. They had come on foot, in silence, and ordered without saying a word to each other. Chance hadn’t even known where he was going, and so kept half a foot behind with a firm grip on the knife all the way. Just in case.
But they arrived without trouble, and now sat across a table out on the pavement. They had a few minutes till their food arrived, and Chance wanted to get straight down to business.
“Right, so, who are you?”
“Who am I?” said the man, leaning back in his chair and twiddling with his beard. The fact he was dressed in rags did not seem to register with the other patrons and staff. “Who am I? Should not the question be ‘who are you’?”
*What the…? Does this guy ever answer a question? And what does that mean 'who am I'?* “I can tell you one thing. I’m not Felix.” For a moment there, the man’s eyes lit up fractionally. “I’m Chance.” Oddly, Chance noticed the eyes then dulled, equally slightly. “Now, for once, answer my damned question.”
“Of course… Chance. You may call me the Vagabond.”
Chance wanted to ask why he would choose to be called such a name, but any attempts at conversation was thwarted by the arrival of their food. He had gone for a ham sandwich and Coke, the Vagabond for a small salad and water. When the waitress finished fussing around them and busied off, Chance took a bite then gave voice to his questions.
“Why the Vagabond?”
“Why Chance?” Taking a moment to think about his answer, Chance noticed he had avoided answering the question again.
“Because chance seems to be the only thing that has affect on my life. Chance, luck, fate. Not God or the Devil; chance.”
“Interesting,” he mused. “Well, I must be honest with you. The Vagabond is not my only name nor is it my real name. But it will do, for now. Don’t ask why.”
He couldn’t help himself. “Why?”
“I said not to ask.” And he seemed determined not to answer.
Chance took another bite, munched it a bit, and then swallowed it down with some Coke. “Okay, I’m going to ask you some stuff. And I want an answer, a straight answer. If I don’t get one, I get up and walk away, leaving you with the bill. Think you can do it?” In reply, the Vagabond just nodded. “Right. If you’re not a,” he lowered his voice, “demon, then what are you exactly?”
“I am… I am…” The Vagabond appeared really stuck for an answer. He muttered to himself for a while before replying. Chance couldn’t pick up on most of it, but that that he did get sounded either incoherent ramblings or a language he didn’t know. Both were highly possible. “I am the Vagabond.”
“Yes, I know. You told me. What does that mean?”
“I’m afraid even I cannot answer that.” Chance lowered his half-eaten meal and made to get up. “No, don’t go. I’m being honest. I really can’t answer that.”
He sat back down again, taking another bite. “Fine. How do you know me and have you been following me?”
“I friend told me of you.” Chance noticed the Vagabond hadn’t eaten any more of his salad. Nor drunk any more water. One bite and a sip was all.
“Who?”
“You would not know her,” the Vagabond said, dismissing it.
Chance repeated the question. “Who?”
The tramp sighed. “She calls herself Pandora. Is that helpful?”
“Yes, actually. Names always are.” He should know, after all… Not that that particular name meant anything right now. In fact, that she called herself 'Pandora' was slightly worrying. "What do you want with me?"
“I want to help you.”
Chance snorted, leaning forward on the table. “Listen, Vagabond, pal. I don’t need your help.”
The Vagabond grew grave and too leaned forward, speaking in hushed tones. He cast a glance around every now and again. “Yes you do, Chance. You are becoming involved in forces you cannot contend with. To continue on this course will lead to great peril.”
“I hunt vampires. I’m already in ‘great peril’.” Chance punctuated these words with air quotations.
“No, you don’t understand. You must stop what you’re doing and return.” The Vagabond reached out, imploring Chance by placing a hand upon his arm. He looked down at it, and when he looked up again he gasped. The Vagabond had changed. Clad in elegant clothing with glittering rings on his fingers he no longer looked dirty but clean and fair. The suit he wore was both expensive and old. His beard was longer, washed and well looked after.
Chance stood up so fast the chair he was sitting on fell over backwards. “What the fuck? What the fuck are you?” he asked, yanking his hand out of the Vagabond’s grip to reach into his pocket for the knife.
The image of the Vagabond flickered, and then the tramp one returned. “I am who I said I am and cannot say no more. You are attracting far too much attention. Please, sit down.” He, it, whatever, waved at the discarded chair.
Chance looked around. People were looking at him, smiling and frowning. He picked up the chair and sat half-on half-off so as to get away quickly and easily if necessary. “What the hell did you do just there?” he asked in a harsh whisper.
The Vagabond replied equally quiet. “A glamour has been cast upon me. You just saw my true image. I’m trying to be honest with you.”
That caused Chance to snigger slightly. “Oh, let me tell you. You’re doing a fine job of it.”
“This is no time to laugh. I’m being serious.” Again, grave. “You will shortly be in great danger. You must leave. Now.” There was a great force behind that last word, and Chance found himself going to get up before he even realised it.
Losing all traces of humour, Chance came in right up to the Vagabond’s face. “Look. So far you’ve hardly given me a decent answer to anything. I’ve only known you five minutes, and it turns out you’ve been casting spells,” he almost spat the word out. If there was one thing he hated, beside vampires, it was magic, “on yourself to deceive me. And now you’re telling me I’m in ‘great danger’. How do I know you're not it? It’d be better if you could tell me what danger I’m in.”
Once more, the Vagabond gave a look around, as if trying to see if anyone was watching them. “I… can’t. I can’t, I’m sorry. I’ve already told you far too much. I’m sorry. You must believe me.” He looked up at Chance; eyes wide, flickering from side to side looking for a way to convince him. He failed.
Chance looked around himself, if only to escape that gaze. “Is there somebody here who might be following you? No, screw it. I don’t care.” He stood up, tucking the chair away. “Last chance, then I’m gone.”
The Vagabond looked away. “You’ll just have to trust me on this.”
“When you give me a reason to. Which, so far, you haven’t. Hey, look on the bright side. I didn’t kill you. Keep following me, and you might not be so lucky next time.” He took another bite of the sandwich and dropped it back on the table. “Thanks for the meal.” Chance turned and walked away, crossing the streets and heading back to his place. Whilst he remained in sight of the café, Chance could feel the Vagabond’s eyes boring into his back.
When he rounded a corner into an alley and out of view, Chance leaned against a manky wall and let out a shudder. That guy had given him the creeps, big time. He felt like he should trust the man, but it didn’t come from him. It was some outside force, magic perhaps. And he didn’t hand out trust to people that went about trying to cast spells on him. It had to be earned, in his view.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to know what the ‘Vagabond’ meant by ‘great danger’. *What did he want with me? What is this all about? If only he could have actually told me something worthwhile. If wishes were fishes,* Chance thought, heading back to his building, *we’d all be living near the sea.*
When he got back, after facing no trouble on the streets, he checked once on his bike and, seeing it was fine, returned to room. Removing the hair and looking out on the hallway, he again studied the floor. There was still no signs of trespassing. How the Vagabond got in was still a mystery.
Sighing, Chance collapsed on his mattress. There he mused further on the Vagabond and waited for night to fall.
Sam's concerns
***Tuesday, October 4, 2005***
Sam sat in his small room in the Crimson Brotherhood’s temple. Actually, temple was an odd word to describe the building that housed the Brotherhood. It was an old apartment building, a slum really, in a bad part of the city. Brother Phillip, the owner of the building, had explained to Sam that it was because they wanted anonymity that they used such a disreputable place to serve as Home. Sam thought he could understand that, or at least he felt it was best not to ask any more questions about it. Sure, he thought Mother Mariah deserved to be honored with a grand temple, like the one he trained in sometimes, the one with the statues, the terrible, angry statues. Sam shivered as he thought of the marble bulls, rearing up beside the giant columns. Sometimes he was afraid when Mother took him to that place, but afterwards he always felt different, better somehow. Mother had called the temple city by name once, a lovely name, Atlantis. Sam thought he’d heard that before, and he was curious, so he’d gone to the library to look it up.
Sam didn’t like the library. It scared him. There were so many books, so many people, and they all seemed cross. Everyone was shooshing him, and they had annoyed looks on their faces. Finally, though, a pretty librarian helped him. She was sort of familiar, reminded Sam of his sister, Amanda. Sam had wondered where Amanda had gone, why she hadn’t come Home yet. He had wondered and worried about this as the young librarian helped him, leading him to books about Atlantis. Sam had taken a few of them and sat at a small table to read. The books were about myths. That’s what people thought - Atlantis was a myth. Sam thought that was funny, because he knew better. Sam wasn’t used to knowing things other people didn’t know. It made him feel good, like he had a secret, and that secret made him special.
According to the myths Sam had read, Atlantis was “the lost continent.” It may or may not have existed at some point in the early history of the world. The scientific research suggested that at one point a continent may have existed which was lost to the ocean due to possible earthquakes or some other cataclysmic event. Sam had read some scientific reports on Atlantis, but mostly he’d focused on the myths that abounded about this “lost continent.” According to what he had read, Atlantis was often associated with magic and an advanced civilization years ahead of anything else at the time. Many of the stories about the Fae, about Merlin and Arthur and the times of magic long gone related to the tales of Atlantis. From what Sam could tell Atlantis was a once great city, a civilization of science and magic that fell long ago into the sea. What worried Sam though was why had Atlantis fallen. From the little Mother had told him, Atlantis had succumbed to its own greed and lack of faith. Atlantis had been a once great land which had fallen when the people had lacked the faith, the hope to believe in the Mother, and now, in Sam’s home, the same thing could happen.
Sam worried that the people he cared about were in grave danger. Mother had told him that very few people were ready to accept her, and that her coming rebirth would be a time of great sorrow for the nonbelievers. Sam wished that everyone could accept the love of Mother and know her. But even more than that, he wished the people who had become his friends here in Los Angeles could be spared. Sam thought of Tash, Victor, and Reah (especially Reah) and he despaired. Was there some way he could help them? Was there something he could do to protect them from the pain that was soon to follow? He didn’t dare ask Mariah. He didn’t want to anger Mother with his doubts.
So, he spent a lot of time alone, time when he was studying and practicing the magic Mariah had taught him. Sam was much stronger than he had once been. He now held the secrets of Atlantis. Could he use those secrets to help his friends? Could he do that without betraying Mother? Sam worried about these things, but he didn’t know the answers. As his power grew, as time grew shorter, Sam wished more than anything that there was someone he could talk to.
daye and ryan have a moment
*** Sunday, October 2, 2005 9 pm***
Daye sat on the sofa in her apartment, her laptop open before her as she finished the books for the shop. It was a quiet Sunday evening, and she’d only been up for about an hour. Going to bed early the night before and sleeping in this morning, Daye should have felt rested and refreshed, but she had not, so she’d gone down for a nap late this afternoon and just awoken. The strange thing was she still was feeling worn down. Not for the first time in the last few weeks, Daye wondered if there wasn’t something physically wrong with her. The more she slept, the worse she felt. There were dreams, she thought, maybe. Dreams that she was having that were disturbing and somehow restless. Daye was unable to recall them, though, and that bothered her too. She had always been one of those people who remembered her dreams. Always, until now, that is.
Daye had noticed other things which were beginning to worry her. She was again feeling distant from Drew. She’d sent him home early the night before pleading a headache and he’d willingly gone, but she’d been less than honest with him. It was more than just the fact that she didn’t feel well. Daye was more and more aggravated with Drew. His concern and affection were beginning to make Daye’s skin crawl. It was like the time he spent with her left her feeling smothered. Daye just wanted him to go away for awhile. She realized this feeling had been growing more and more in the last few weeks. Whenever they were alone, she almost wanted to snap at him, to yell or start throwing things. What made even less sense was the fact that when they were working with Chinaka on the whole “missing vampire aunt” thing, Daye felt jealousy and rage percolating within her. She didn’t want to be with Drew, but she didn’t want him with anyone else either.
Daye sighed and slid the laptop shut. A headache was once again pounding at her temples and she was feeling slightly nauseous. She was also noticing a dizzy weakness that overcame her more and more as time went by. Daye suspected the time had come to seriously consider going to see a physician. As a normal rule, she avoided modern medicine like the plague, but none of her usual herbal or holistic methods seemed to be working out.
“Maybe I’ve contracted some sort of rare disease,” Daye muttered, rising to head into the kitchen and prepare herself another medicinal tea. She’d been using so many lately that her stores of herbs were becoming quite depleted. As Daye put the kettle on and mixed the herbs she needed, she ran through a mental list of things she was going to have to go out and pick up to replenish her supplies. As she poured her tea and moved into the living room to settle down and relax, the doorbell rang.
Daye considered letting it ring, pretending she wasn’t in. If it was Drew, which it probably was, she didn’t think she could handle his concerned hovering without having a total meltdown. Finally, though, Daye decided whoever it was would probably not just go away. Setting her coffee mug down on the table, she went to open the front door.
Expecting Drew, Daye forced a smile as she swung the door open, saying, “Hi, sweetie, I thought I told you to call if you were going to come over today. I really am not feeling well, and I thought we might just see each other tomorrow.”
“I don’t think you did tell me to call, no, Aghra,” a familiar lilt came from before her and Daye was surprised to find Ryan on her doorstep. “Sorry, I will next time.”
Daye blinked at him, taken aback for a moment. Then she recovered herself, surprised at the rush of warmth and delight that filled her upon seeing her ex-lover. “What are you doing here, Ryan?” she asked, stepping aside to let him in without even thinking about it.
“I’ve been worried about you, love,” he replied, taking her hand and guiding her back into the living room. “You’ve been feeling under the weather.”
“How do you know about that?” Daye asked warily.
“Don’t be angry,” Ryan began, “but I’ve been keeping an eye on you, from a distance. I know you said to leave you alone, that we were through, but I can’t seem to stay away. I love you so much and I just want to make sure you’re all right.” *To make sure you were still vulnerable to my power.*
Daye knew somehow that she should be angry at Ryan for spying on her, but he seemed so sincere, and her thoughts were clouded with memories of their love, her feelings tangled with the past. She couldn’t bring herself to berate him.
“It’s all right, Ryan,” Daye reached out to stroke his cheek, feeling comforted by the act of comforting him. “I understand. I’m sure I couldn’t just walk away if I was you either. We had a very special bond. It’s hard for me to push aside as well.”
“Then why are you?” Ryan’s voice was anguished. He hungered so for this woman. He gripped Daye’s hand, holding it tightly to his chest, crowding her with his body. Ryan let his power flow out of his touch into her, clouding her mind and her judgment. He could feel her weakness, the result of Mariah’s influence. Daye was nearly his. He could very easily push her over the edge. This was not the right time, but it was nearly the right time. Ryan could barely conceal his delight, as Daye sat quietly, puzzling over his question.
“I… I don’t know,” she finally admitted, her gaze dropping to the floor. Ryan was filled with a sense of triumph. He could have her, here and now. He could take this woman who plagued him.
The lust and hunger within Ryan burned to the surface. He knew that Mariah wanted him to wait, that she didn’t think Daye was ready, but he could feel it, almost taste her surrender. Mariah didn’t know. She didn’t understand his power, his strength. The time for waiting was over. The time for action had at last come.
Ryan reached out and took hold of Daye’s chin firmly, bringing her eyes back up. “You need to stop running from me, from us,” he said softly. Daye nodded ever so slightly, her gaze locked on his. Ryan drew her closer to him, stopping when her mouth was nearly touching his. He spoke, his words feathering her lips. “You belong with me. You always have. You’re mine, Amanda. It’s time you stopped fighting that.” *It's time you paid for your betrayal.*
Ryan brought his mouth to hers, his lips hard and cruel. He kissed her, ravaged her. The blazing hunger within him had taken control. His power raged, drawing forth from Daye the essence of her being. Her bright energy flowed into him like lava, filling him with power and need. Ryan couldn’t stop the madness of this embrace. He had drawn Daye onto his lap, cradling her against his body as his kiss devoured her. He could feel her growing weaker in his arms. This was the taste, the touch he longed for in his very soul. He could have her, all of her, right now.
Daye was lost in Ryan’s arms. He held her tight, too tight. There was pain in this embrace, but she couldn’t seem to move away, couldn’t seem to even think. There was something wrong with this; some reason why she shouldn’t be with Ryan, but she couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t recall it. Daye felt herself spiraling towards some dangerous, dark place, tumbling towards some precipice. A part of her recognized that this was a terrible thing that she was becoming lost in Ryan but she couldn’t stop him, didn’t want to stop him.
As Daye sank into the punishing kiss, she heard, faintly, bells. At first the sound was distant and soft, but it was distracting. She found her focus drifting to it, and as it did, she found control. The bells drew her back into herself and finally, she was able to think, to remember.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, Daye pushed Ryan away, leaping off the sofa. “No!” she shouted, moving quickly away from him. Ryan looked up at her with glazed eyes. He was lost in whatever they had been doing. Daye could see that his skin and eyes had changed. He had become the demon she knew existed inside of him. He watched her move, but did not seem fully aware of himself.
Daye went quickly to the door. The bells she’d heard, the doorbell ringing, combined with pounding and shouts. Drew had come. He’d heard her shout and now he was panicking. For once, Daye was glad for his concern. She felt strangely not herself, and Ryan was scaring her, just sitting there, and tracking her moves like a hungry animal.
Daye threw open the door, and Drew stood on the other side, breathing harshly, his face a mask of fear. “Are you all right?” he asked, pushing past her. Daye nodded slowly, following him into the living room. Ryan still sat on the sofa, he still wore his demon face. His eyes still followed Daye. He seemed unaware that Drew had come in.
“What are you doing here?!” Drew demanded, his body tensed with anger. Daye stood beside him, looking scared and lost. Drew glanced at her, then back at Ryan. Finally he moved to the sofa, grabbing a hold of the other man and dragging him to his feet. Ryan growled, low and deep, shrugging off Drew’s hand.
“Get the hell out of here!” Drew shouted, pushing Ryan away, towards the door. “Leave her alone! Do you hear me?! Leave! Now!”
Ryan glided around the sofa, came up to Daye, who now stood back against the wall, cringing, shying away from him. Ryan reached out a hand, as if to touch her, and Drew let out a bellow, rushing the other man. He charged, shoving Ryan down the hall and out of the apartment. Ryan stared at Drew, hatred in his strange eyes.
“You stay the hell away from her!” Drew snarled. “Just stay away!”
Drew slammed the door and turned back towards the living room. He was still drawing deep, ragged breaths. Fury burned through him. Drew slowly came back to where Daye still stood against the wall. She looked terrified and confused. Drew reached out to take her hand, to draw her close and she flinched.
“Damn it!” Drew cursed. “Did he hurt you, baby?”
Daye shook her head slowly. “No… I don’t know,” her words were disjointed. “I can’t… I don’t think…”
Daye began to cry, deep, heart-wrenching sobs tore through her. Drew sighed, carefully taking hold of her and pulling her close. He rocked her while she cried, unsure what had happened, and scared by what it might mean.
Kate Encounters Ryan
*** Sunday 2nd October, 2005 10:30pm***
Ryan strode out of Daye’s apartment building, his mind clouded with the taste and feel of her powerful life force. He was unaware that his demon face was showing, and was very lucky that the city had grown dark. He stalked the shadowed streets, heading for the bookshop. Although he didn’t realise it his subconscious was driving him there (with some assistance from Mariah, who wanted to try and salvage things). Ryan wasn’t thinking clearly. He wasn’t really thinking at all. He was going on pure, savage instinct; his need to consume Amanda a burning fire within him. The one small taste he’d had at the apartment had sent him into a sort of bloodlust. Ryan walked the few blocks to The Bibliophile without even being aware he had done so. He arrived at the shop, demon face in full view, just as Kate was about to close up for the night.
Kate pulled the shutter down, covering the front windows of Bibliophile and bent down to secure the lock. As she straightened up she looked at her watch anxiously. She was supposed to be meeting with Jack again; she’d asked him to meet her after closing time. There were still so many unanswered questions, despite their having met almost every day since their initial encounter.
Suddenly Kate felt a cold chill run through her body and she hugged her bare arms in an attempt to warm herself. She was just about to begin to walk when she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. She turned, breathing a sigh of relief. “Finally, I thought you weren’t coming Jack…” The words suddenly froze in her throat as she beheld the sight of Ryan in his demonic form. For a moment she didn’t recognise him; his eyes seemed to glow with a supernatural force and his skin shone like polished bronze.
“Ryan?” she breathed warily, “My god, what happened to you?”
Ryan took a step forward and took hold of Kate by her arms. She jumped back in surprise but he held on tightly. “Daye, I have come for you at last. This time you will not refuse me.”
Kate’s expression turned to one of horror as Ryan held her closer, pressing his firm, muscular body against her own. She tried to push him back but the look in his eyes made her powerless to resist.
Ryan pulled Kate’s lithe body into his own, holding her tight with one arm while he traced his fingertips against the curve of her cheek. “So… fragile. Who would have though such delicate beauty would be capable of such depravity. You took something from me, Daye. All those month that you tortured me and enjoyed it. I’ve waited a long time to get my revenge.”
At Ryan’s words Kate felt her own will pull her out of Ryan’s spell. “Ryan, what are you doing? I’m Kate, not Daye…”
Ryan paused for a moment, his eyes glowing deeply. “You do look different… one of your little Wicca spells no doubt. You won’t trick me this time!”
Kate screamed aloud as Ryan dragged her from the brightly-lit sidewalk into the darkness of the alley behind Bibliophile. She struggled to free herself, to use her magic against him, but the sheer strength of his hold on her made it impossible. Ryan held her tighter, a look of mirth washing his face.
“I’ve waited a long time to hear your screams of anguish.” With a supernatural strength he threw her on to the cold, concrete floor.
“Please Ryan, you don’t know what you’re doing!” pleaded Kate breathlessly. She felt so weak and powerless. She concentrate hard to repel her attacker but her attempts barely slowed his advance.
“Is that the best you can do? Pathetic! I do like your cries of mercy though.” Ryan pulled Kate from the floor and pushed her against the wall. “Should I show you mercy? The same kind of mercy you showed me all those years ago?!”
Kate just watched Ryan with a mixture of horror and fear. For a moment his demonic face faded and he seemed to grow sad.
“I loved you Daye! I would have done anything for you! I would have died for you! Why did you have to betray me!?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” sobbed Kate helplessly, “Please, just let me go…”
“Oh I can’t do that,” he said smiling, delighting in the young girl’s fear. “To think all this time I let that upstart Mariah dictate how I should handle this when all I had to do was take you.”
Surrounded by darkness Ryan pushed Kate harder against the wall and held her struggling limbs tightly. He leaned in closer, his lips hovering only inches from her own. "It's time to take back what’s rightfully mine," he growled hungrily.
Kate cried out one last time before his lips touched hers. As their flesh made contact she could feel her strength, her will being drained from her body like juice from an orange. Every second that passed she could feel Ryan grow stronger on her life force. Suddenly Ryan pulled back and laid a hand over Kate’s abdomen.
“What’s this?” he asked with a slight smile appearing in the corner of his lips. “Someone has been a bad girl. So now I get both you and your child…”
Suddenly Ryan dropped Kate to the floor as a pair of strong hands grabbed him by the shirt and flung him across the alley. Kate looked up to see Jack stood over her. “Kate, my god, are you okay?” Jack slowly helped Kate to her feet and held her comfortingly. He turned to where he had thrown Ryan, who was nowhere to be seen.
“What the…?” he began, looking around. After a moment he turned to Kate. “What’s going on? I was coming to meet you when I heard you screaming. He didn’t…?”
“No,” said Kate hastily. “He, he… I feel so weak.”
“Come on,” said Jack leading Kate towards where his cab was waiting. “I’ll take you home. We can deal with this later.”
the first 3 are taken
*** Monday, October 3, 2005 early evening ***
Nina, Saree, and Micha were best friends. They were all nine years old and were in the same class at Emery Park Elementary School in Alhambra, California. The girls had grown up on the same street, a few doors down from each other. They were practically inseparable.
Nina was the eldest by three months. She was an olive skinned Hispanic girl, whose mother and father worked for local hotels. Nina had two older brothers and a younger sister. She was sort of bossy, but real smart. She was the leader of the group.
Saree was the next oldest, being a full week older than Micha, the youngest. Her parents had immigrated to Los Angeles from Palestine when Saree was only a few weeks old. They had been seeking a better life for their children, after their oldest son, Talit, had been killed in a skirmish between warring factions. Talit had been a student, preparing to enter the University. Saree had no memory of him. Saree was very American. She was loud and fun. She liked to dance and sing, and dreamed of being the first Arabic Britney Spears.
Micha was the baby of the group. She was a short, plump blonde girl. She had been born in New York City, but her single mom had moved them across the country when she got a good position in a movie company. Micha was the quiet but loyal one. She never suggested anything that got the girls into trouble and she was always the voice of reason. That’s why it came as such a surprise when she suggested that the girls explore the abandoned building out behind the park.
The building was the last remaining monument to a once popular American fad, the commune. During the 1960’s a group of hippies had dropped out of society and dropped into a zoned out lifestyle in the Alhambra area. They had built a number of 'homes' and lived there for years. Eventually, everyone moved on and the ‘commune' was abandoned. Finally only one dilapidated, old house still stood. As with most places like this, the house had taken on a life of its own in the intervening years. The children from nearby schools told stories about it, sometimes silly and sometimes scary. Still, they never went near it. There is something inherently creepy about an abandoned building, even kids know that.
Micha wouldn’t be able to say what drew her to the house. She’d always known it was there and she’d never really given it much thought. But lately, she thought maybe she’d dreamed about it. In her dreams someone, maybe another little girl, called for her to come to the house, to come and play. Micha had friends, really good ones, but the other girl (if she was even there) seemed so lonely, and so pretty. Micha really wanted to know the girl, to play with her. So, finally, just around dark on a pretty autumn night, Micha asked her friends to go with her to the house. They were surprised by the request, but they were all nine year old girls, and they really wanted to know. They wanted bragging rights too.
So, Nina, Saree, and Micha made their way to the house that night. They weren’t missed for over an hour, when the sun was gone down and dinner had been set on the table in three cozy houses in the same quiet neighborhood. A search was begun. The seekers went into the abandoned house, but obviously no one had been there. The decades old layers of dust had not even been disturbed.
drew frets over daye
*** Tuesday, October 4, 2005 early evening ***
Drew set a bowl of soup and some whole wheat crackers on a tray and carried it into Daye’s bedroom, where she was resting. Ever since Sunday, when he’d shown up at the apartment and found her with her ex-boyfriend, Daye had been feeling poorly. She’d broken down when he’d driven Ryan away, but she’d been unable to explain what had happened. It was as if, after the incident, her memory of events was unclear and worse yet, when he tried to talk to her about it, Daye grew quickly angry. Actually, under her exhaustion and sorrow, there was a deep fury, one that almost seemed to be aimed at him. If Drew didn’t know better, he would think Daye was angry at him for sending Ryan packing. It really made no sense. Then again, a lot of what was going on made no sense.
Daye had been sleeping so much lately, but each day, no matter how long she slept, she seemed no better rested when she awoke than she had before she closed her eyes. There were dark, bruised circles under her usually bright green eyes, and her eyes themselves were clouded. Daye’s normally light complexion had taken on a grayish pallor and she seemed to have no energy at all. She still went to work every morning, trying to pretend that she was all right, but Drew could see this was taking a toll on her. Whatever this was, that is. It was like she was suffering from some illness whose only symptom was a lack of sleep. She was growing increasingly irritable and distracted as well. Frankly, Drew was really scared.
When Drew came into the bedroom, Daye’s eyes were closed and she apparently was sleeping. He set the tray down on the dresser and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. Daye stirred and murmured in her sleep. Her words were unrecognizable, but Drew thought it sounded as if she spoke in some foreign language. He was reminded of the incident at her party a few weeks back.
“Oh, please, don’t let that start again,” Drew murmured, brushing her hair away from her cheek. He watched her sleep, unwilling to wake her even for food. As he sat there, he began to consider. Maybe it was time to talk to someone about all of this. Maybe he should go to Kate. She had been a help in the past. Maybe this was some sort of recurrence or relapse of what had happened in Ireland.
Daye moaned fitfully and flailed around on the bed. She sounded as if she was in pain or distress. Drew’s heart lurched. It was time to do something. Before the end of the week, he would go see Kate. He would find some way to help the woman he loved.
daye and drew fall apart
*** Wednesday October 5, 2005 early evening***
Daye stood at the counter of her shop, ringing up a sale. The place was bustling with the usual college crowd, discussing books and classes over coffee. Daye stifled a yawn and struggled to focus despite the horrid pounding in her head. Between customers she sipped slowly from a mug of hot, herbal tea beside the register. It was one of her strongest remedies for headaches, but it was having very little effect. To be honest, Daye wasn’t surprised by that. She knew the headache was just another symptom of whatever it was that was wrong with her. She was tired and distracted. Lately, she was having trouble concentrating and she was forgetting things she should have remembered. She knew she was irritable and short tempered too. Daye recognized how unlike herself she was feeling, but she couldn’t figure out why.
The worst of it was what had been happening with Drew. Since he’d come upon her and Ryan the other night, he’d been solicitous and concerned. He’d tried so hard to make her feel comforted, but all she’d felt was smothered. Daye wanted to run or scream whenever he was around. Her skin crawled when he touched her and she felt like pushing him away whenever he tried to get close. Drew wasn’t dumb. He could see something was wrong. He’d been asking, but Daye didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t understand it herself. Why was she feeling this way? Physically and emotionally she was a wreck, and Daye didn’t know what to do. She needed help, needed something, but what? If she didn’t find relief soon, something bad was going to happen.
“Daye?” Alicia Wyldling’s voice pulled her out of her musings, and brought Daye’s attention back to the here and now, where a customer waited patiently to pay for her book.
“Oh, sorry,” Daye smiled at the young woman, ringing up her sale. “That’ll be $12.67.”
The customer paid and Daye sent her on her way before turning her attention back to Alicia. “Is there something wrong?”
“I thought maybe you needed a break,” Alicia suggested, taking Daye’s place at the register. “You’re looking a little peaked.”
Daye nodded. “I guess I could sit down for a minute or two,” she said. “I’m a bit tired.”
Alicia smiled noncommittally. She knew Daye was tired. She also knew Daye was not herself. The younger woman was off, way off, and Alicia was worried. Daye had been acting this way before Alicia went to England earlier in the year, but the other woman had seemed to be doing better when Alicia returned. Over the last couple of weeks, whatever had been troubling her before had reoccurred, only it was much worse than before. Alicia knew that this was the kind of behavior that she had been warned to watch out for. She just wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do now. She couldn’t decide how to approach Daye and she wasn’t sure that doing so would even be the right thing to do.
Alicia was frustrated. Not only was she concerned because of the things she had learned from Ariel, but she truly had grown to admire and care for Amanda Blaise. She didn’t want to see anything bad happen to her young friend. The difficult thing was, she really had no idea what was going on, so she couldn’t begin to come up with a plan to help. The best she could do was keep an eye on things and try to get Amanda to rest. Between that and watching for anything new, Alicia was doing the best she could do.
“Maybe you should go ahead and head home early tonight,” Alicia suggested. “You’ve put in so much time this last two weeks. You could use the time off, I bet.”
Daye looked around the shop at the early afternoon crowd, and sighed. “I don’t think I should,” she said wistfully. “It’s already really busy in here, and the dinner crowd hasn’t even started to arrive. I wouldn’t feel right leaving you in the lurch.”
“Kate is coming in shortly,” Alicia replied. “I’m sure we can handle things without you. One of us could lock up.”
Daye frowned. “I don’t know,” she said. “Kate’s got enough on her shoulders without having to cover for me.”
Daye honestly felt bad about the idea of leaving Kate to cover her shift. The other woman was pregnant, for goodness sake. She didn’t need any more responsibility. She needed to take care of herself and her baby. Still, Daye was dead on her feet. She just didn’t know what to do.
Alicia didn’t say anything more. She let Daye think about what she wanted to do, while Alicia served the steady stream of customers coming up to the counter.
Daye stood, thinking, and was brought up short when Drew came into the shop and made a beeline for her. Daye couldn’t keep the surprise off her face when he came up and pulled her into his arms. Daye had to fight down the urge to push him away. She accepted his embrace, barely reciprocating.
“What are you doing here?” Daye asked when he pulled away. “I didn’t expect you tonight.”
“I just missed you,” Drew said. He took hold of her hand, tracing circles on her palm. “I thought maybe we could go get something to eat. I know you haven’t eaten since you’ve been working all day and you never do when you work.”
Daye sighed. She’d been thinking of leaving, but now she couldn’t. If she did, she’d have to spend the evening with Drew and the idea left her cold. Part of her wondered at that, and she wanted to examine those feelings, but she was afraid to as well. Where was all the love she’d so recently felt for this man? Now she was just exhausted and she had no patience for him at all.
“I really can’t get away,” she began, but was cut off by Alicia.
“Nonsense, Amanda,” the older woman said. “You should go. We can handle things here.”
Daye had to fight down the urge to yell at the older woman. She didn’t want to go with him.
“See there, love?” Drew teased. “They don’t need you as much as you think they do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Daye snapped.
Drew pulled back from her, looking puzzled and hurt. “I was just…”
“Look, my job is important,” Daye was angry and fed up. “It’s not a professorship, true, but my customers depend on me as much as your students depend on you.”
“Honey, I didn’t mean…” Drew tried to cut in, to pacify her.
“I know what you think, but I don’t have the inclination to blow off my responsibilities just to satisfy your ego,” Daye continued unabated. “You knew how important the shop was to me when we met, so I don’t know why you have to act this way.”
Drew didn’t know how to respond. He couldn’t figure out where this anger was coming from. He always tried to be understanding about Daye’s work and he tried to be supportive too. Why was she so upset?
Daye continued to rant. “I don’t need added pressure from you, Andrew,” she was nearly shouting. She wasn’t aware that people were starting to stare, or that Alicia was looking at her in concern and confusion. Daye was building up a real head of steam though.
“What is it you expect from me, anyway?” she yelled. “Can’t you see how tired I am already? Do you really think I have the energy to go out and entertain you? Can’t you just give me some space?”
Drew was staring at her in shock and growing anger. This attack was completely unjustified. “Space?!” he shot back. “Is that it?! Is that what you want from me?! I guess I didn’t realize how needy and suffocating I was being! Sorry, baby! Let me just give you some SPACE!!!”
Daye watched in horror as this usually so laid back man blew up in a fantastic fury. He pushed away from her, gave her one last look, and then turned and rushed out of the shop. As soon as he was gone, the wind went out of Daye’s sails. She noticed the people who were staring at her and the look on Alicia’s face. Suddenly, it was all too much for her.
“I… I have to go,” she stammered to Alicia. “I’m sorry. I need to get out of here. I’ll be back in the morning.”
Alicia nodded slowly, but didn’t get a chance to say anything as Daye all but ran from the shop.
***
Daye sat on the beach, watching the waves crash against the shore. When she’d left Bibliophile, she’d known she couldn’t just go home. Somehow, coming to the beach had seemed like a great idea. Now she sat in the sand and fought down the urge to cry. Why had she lashed out at Drew that way? It hadn’t been at all deserved. Still, she also felt torn, because a part of her was relieved. It felt good to let loose with all the anger and frustration that had become a constant part of her relationship with Drew.
“What’s wrong with me?” Daye whispered plaintively.
“Now, Aghra, what could be wrong with you?” a familiar voice replied.
Daye glanced up, not really surprised to find Ryan standing beside her, gazing down. She smiled weakly at him, gesturing for him to sit beside her. Just knowing he was there made her feel better somehow.
Ryan slipped to the sand beside Daye and took her hands gently in his own. “Why are you so sad, my love?”
Daye didn’t protest the endearment because it felt right. Having Ryan touch her so tenderly felt so right. “I’m confused, Ryan,” she said. “I fought with Drew and I don’t know what’s going on. I’m so angry and tired and confused.”
Ryan nodded knowingly. “I know how you feel,” his voice dripped sympathy while inside he was chortling with glee. The time was right, he could feel it. Tonight, he would take Daye completely and nothing would stop him. She was completely in his thrall. “I’ve been trying so hard to stay away from you. I know you’ve got a new life now, and that I’m not part of it, but…”
Daye listened to Ryan’s words and felt a rush of sadness, of longing. “No,” she protested. “That’s wrong. You’ll always be a part of my life.”
Ryan smiled sadly. *Until I end your life,* he thought. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “It’s not enough to sit outside and watch. I can’t help it, Daye, I still love you. Thoughts of you kept me going all those years.” *Thoughts of destroying you.*
Daye couldn’t respond to his words, but she felt a rush of warmth when Ryan spoke of love.
“I can’t stay away from you,” he said. “I don’t want to. I’m sorry, Daye, but we belong together. I know you feel it too. We were meant to be. If Ambrose hadn’t interfered, don’t you think we’d still be together?” *If you hadn’t been such a faithless bitch, that is.*
Daye shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “You… You’re right,” she sobbed. “He stole you from me, stole our love. I don’t know why I’ve been fighting it for so long. I still love you, Ryan. I love you so much.”
Ryan pulled Daye into his arms. He brought his mouth down on hers, careful to reign in the hunger clawing at him. He would claim her tonight, bind her to him, wrap her will in his own. Once they were joined physically, she would be unable to resist. Then after Mariah’s rebirth, he would have her, her essence, her life, in retribution for all Daye had taken from him. Inside, Ryan rejoiced in triumph as he drew Daye to her feet and led her off the beach.
The Break Up (waaahh!!)
*** Thursday, October 6, 2005, early morning ***
Drew stood outside the door of Daye’s apartment debating whether he should knock. He had a key, but after last night’s fight he wasn’t sure he was in the position to use it. The thing was he needed to talk to Daye. He’d barely slept after their fight, and he wanted to get everything out in the open. Something was wrong, seriously wrong, and he knew it. It was time he stopped ignoring it and laid things out for Daye. Whatever was going on with her, he wanted to try and fix things. He loved her so damn much.
Deciding that she might not let him in, Drew used his key. He quietly entered the apartment and shut the door behind him. There was no sound inside, so he figured she was still in bed. Well, he would just have to wake her. They needed to talk. Drew moved quickly across the living room and pushed open the partially closed door to Daye’s bedroom. He stepped inside and stopped short. There before him on the bed was the woman he loved, cuddled up to her ex-lover. They were both obviously naked beneath the bedclothes.
Drew couldn’t catch his breath. It felt like an iron band constricting around his chest. He stood stock still staring at the bed, unable to make sense of it. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real. Drew was stunned. What was he to do?
For an endless amount of time, Drew stood there staring at them. He was so lost, so utterly broken by the sight of Daye with another man. Finally, he came to his senses. He would leave. He couldn’t bear to confront her now, in front of him. Drew started to turn, when Ryan’s eyes opened. He was awake, had been since Drew opened the front door. Not bothering to look ashamed or to hide his smug triumph, Ryan stared into Drew’s eyes.
Drew stopped short when the other man awoke. They stared silently at each other a moment, Drew filled with hurt and sadness while Ryan’s stare spoke of victory. Finally, without bothering to look at all abashed, Ryan gently stroked Daye’s shoulder and spoke. “Aghra, wake up,” he said softly, “You’ve got company.”
Daye stirred slowly, stretching and moaning softly. Drew looked horrified, and finally broke free. He turned from the other man, fighting the bile rising in his throat. He quickly moved out of the bedroom before Daye turned over.
Daye opened her eyes and smiled at Ryan. “What?” she asked sleepily.
“Andrew’s here,” Ryan replied, kissing her bare shoulder. “I think perhaps you should go explain how things are to him.”
Daye thought perhaps she should feel ashamed or at least a little bad that Drew had discovered them, but she didn’t. She felt blissful. Rising, she grabbed her silk robe and threw it on. She smiled one last time at Ryan and then went into the living room where Drew stood, his back to the bedroom door. He didn’t turn when she came out.
“Sit down, Drew,” Daye suggested, “We really should talk.”
Drew laughed hollowly, “You think?”
Daye settled on the sofa, tucking her robe demurely about her body. Drew stayed standing, watching her with a lost look.
“What’s going on?” he asked plaintively, “Why is he…? What did you…?”
“I should think the answer to all those questions is fairly obvious, Drew,” Daye said coolly, “Ryan and I spent the night together.”
“Why?!” Drew’s tone was incredulous, “I don’t understand what’s happening here.”
Daye pitied him, but this was too much. “Of course you do,” she snapped, “It isn’t as if you had no idea. I’m sorry, but I still love Ryan. Surely you’ve known that there was something wrong. You can’t be that dense.”
Drew didn’t know what to say. She loved Ryan? How could this be? This was impossible, ridiculous. They’d talked about Ryan; about how Ryan was a part of her past. Daye had said weeks ago that she didn’t have any more feelings for Ryan. Ryan made her mad with his continued interest. How could that have changed? None of this made any sense.
“You love him?!” Drew repeated, “That can’t be. You love me!!!”
Daye smiled sympathetically. “I thought I did. I was wrong. Ryan and I were meant to be. If Ambrose had never interfered, we never would have parted. Don’t you see? This is they way things are supposed to be.”
Drew couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Are you crazy?!” he was nearly shouting now. This couldn’t be happening. This shouldn’t be happening. “This is all wrong!”
Daye rose to her feet. “I’m sorry, Drew, really I am, but this is the way it’s going to be. I love Ryan. I think he and I will be leaving today or tomorrow to have some time alone. Don’t try to contact me. It’s over. We’re over. Goodbye.”
Drew couldn’t think of a response as Daye walked him to the front door. Before he knew it, he stood outside the apartment door, at a loss. Drew was in his car before he broke down.
A Night for Revelations
*** Sunday 2nd October, 2005 11:10pm***
Jack carefully helped Kate out of the taxi as they pulled up outside her house on Birch Street. Jack paused as he looked up at the house, and suddenly he shivered involuntarily.
“What’s wrong?” asked Kate tiredly. She still felt drained from her encounter with Ryan. She felt like she’d sleep for a week after all that had happened that night.
“Nothing,” replied Jack slowly, “just… this house. It’s been a long time since I was last here. I mean, I should have known but…”
“I didn’t realise,” said Kate softly. “I’m sorry Jack, I should have. This must be hard.”
“No,” said Jack, shaking away the feelings of regret and sadness that had flooded over him. “What’s hard is seeing you so ill. Now come on, let’s get you inside.”
Jack wrapped his arm around Kate’s waist and helped her walk to the door. She wasn’t just drained, she was almost completely devoid of energy. Jack was afraid to think of what might have happened to his daughter if he hadn’t arrived when he did.
As Kate pushed open the door the sound of the television could be heard in the living room.
“Hey, honey!” shouted Galen from the next room as he heard the front door close. “How has your day been?”
“Oh, you know,” said Kate as Jack walked her into the living room, “same old, same old.”
Galen bounced up from the sofa as he saw Kate in her weakened state. In a second he was at her side and taking her from Jack’s arms. He held her with care and lay her gently on the sofa.
“What happened to you? God, you look so pale…” he looked up at Jack and frowned. “Excuse me Sir, thank-you for bringing her home.”
“Galen…” began Kate tiredly.
“It’s okay honey, you just relax,” interrupted Galen. He turned back to Jack who was beginning to feel rather awkward. “Really Sir, I don’t know what happened but…”
“If you’re okay Kate,” began Jack awkwardly, “maybe I should just go?”
“No,” said Kate quickly. “No, I’d like you to stay.”
Galen frowned and looked at Kate. “Is something going on that I should know about?” he asked warily.
Kate looked up at Jack who stood with his hands in his pockets. He shrugged indecisively and paced to the end of the couch, looking back at his daughter.
“Galen,” began Kate, pausing and taking a deep breath, “Galen, this is my father Jack.”
“What?!” cried Galen incredulously.
“Jack, this is Galen, the man I told you about. The incredibly understanding and patient and sympathetic man I told you about.”
Galen knelt at Kate’s side. “Kate? You haven’t seen your father in the past twenty years. You told me you don’t even remember him…” Galen stood and took a step back.
“I know. That’s true.” Kate sat up and focused on Galen. “Jack and I met last week.”
“Last week? And you didn’t tell me? What? Did meeting your long lost father for the first time slip your mind?”
“Of course it didn’t,” snapped Kate. “I wanted to tell you but I wanted to get to know Jack myself first. This has been a difficult time for me…”
“Yeah, I know. Lying really takes it out of you.”
“Yes you do know Galen,” said Kate with emphasis.
Jack stood uncomfortably watching the scene from the doorway. Watching Kate’s distress he decided to intervene. “Look Galen. Perhaps now isn’t the best time to discuss this. Kate’s been through a lot. Some guy tried to attack her tonight.”
Galen dropped back to Kate’s side, looking into her eyes desperately. “What? What happened?”
“It was Ryan,” corrected Kate tiredly. “Jack saved me. If he hadn’t been there, then god only knows what would have happened.”
“Ryan,” growled Galen angrily, rising to his feet. “Someone needs to teach that guy a lesson in manners.”
“Galen!” Kate tried to stand up but she sank back down on to the sofa.
“What did he do to you?” asked Galen. The anger inside him still boiled but he tried to keep a lid on it for Kate’s sake.
“I don’t know. It’s like he drained the energy right out of me. He was strange. Not the usual ‘charming’ Ryan we’re used to.”
“I don’t care about him!” cried Galen angrily. “All I care about is you and our baby.”
Jack’s head turned to face Kate, a look of surprise on his face.
“Oh, isn’t this the night for revelations!?” sighed Kate tiredly.
Galen laughed and held Kate’s hand in his own, smiling. Jack could hardly stop from smiling himself, he’d only just found out his daughter was alive and now he was going to have a grandchild too.
“Look, I should be heading home…” he began.
“No, wait,” said Kate, looking at Galen, “he can stay here can’t he?”
Galen paused for a moment. Normally he’d be wary about a stranger sleeping under the same roof as himself but he’d learnt to trust in Kate’s instincts. “That’s fine. Whatever you want. I’ll make up the spare room.”
Galen headed towards the staircase, leaving Jack to tend to Kate. As he reached the stair he turned back. “But Kate, we have to do something about Ryan. And soon.”
Kate held Galen’s gaze for a while before nodding. “I know.”
Normal Life
“Normal Life”
Introducing Ed Wasser as Nikolai
Two years of life in Los Angeles had been good to Nikolai Aleksandrovich Makarov. Despite the fact that the vast majority of humanity was far beyond redemption, he was able to maintain a rather good standard of living. Which had led him to finding his current apartment complex, with a good dozen condo units, three floors tall with four units on each floor. Best of all, his neighbours all seemed to accept his explanation for his wealth: Nikolai was a businessman who was very lucky in a combination of lucrative deals and investing.
The interest on the way he’d arranged his funds provided enough to live on, but that still didn’t stop him from working part time for 'spending money'. Besides, it gave him something to do during the day. As a result, for two days a week he was a receptionist at the local animal hospital. Animals were quite superior to humans, in a way. They at least did not go around killing their own kind.
Walking up the stairs to his apartment he held two bags, having made a quick run to Petsmart and stopped to pick up something on the way back since he didn’t feel like cooking. At about the second floor he could hear a familiar set of footsteps.
“Why, Kolya,” a pleased female voice called out.
Nikolai smiled at his neighbour, who he always liked running in to. She was just shorter than him, long, blonde hair and soft green eyes. She was currently dressed casually in jeans and a white t-shirt, with her smile lighting up her face. “Zoë, good afternoon,” he replied, returning the smile. “How’s Ben doing?” he asked, referring to her young son.
“He’s playing at Tom’s,” she replied, the pair stopping when they had reached the same level. “I was just about to go pick him up. How are you doing?”
“Pretty good. Just got back from a bit of afternoon shopping. It was a pleasure running into you,” he said, moving to let her by.
“You too,” she said, continuing to smile as she passed him. Before he got two more steps up, he heard her calling back from behind him, and turned to face her again. “By the way, as a little word of warning, Lewis is giving one of his promotionals. He just tried to get me.”
Nikolai cringed inwardly at the thought. Lewis had one of those personalities which left next to no middle ground. Once you got to know him, you either liked him or you hated him. For the pair on the steps, Lewis certainly fell into the latter category. Both of them did their own taxes, which meant he saw them as potential clients. “Thanks for the warning,” he replied, his cheerful mood evaporating a bit. “How the Mushniks put up with him, I don’t know.”
“Well, you know Lewis,” Zoë said, “He’s got a bit of that old bigotry, so figures they’re good enough with money not to need him. See you later, Kolya,” she added, waving to her neighbour before heading off to pick up her son.
As he reached the top of the steps, he slowed down. Nikolai was in 303, with Lewis right across from him in 304. The hall was empty, and the old stealth habits came back. Creeping slowly, silently, he walked down the hallway to his apartment. Then the key was out, and he was almost there. A key quietly slipped into the lock…
“Hey, Mr. Makarov,” came a voice from behind him. *Damn,* thought Nikolai when he heard the voice of Lewis, who would likely be in khakis and a dress shirt with his glasses resting on his face. “How is everything going?”
“Fine, just fine,” replied Nikolai, trying his best to be polite. His smile was a bit forced when he faced Lewis.
“Look, I know you do your own taxes, which you shouldn’t, but I’m having a promotional party and was wondering if you wanted to stop by? You know, figure maybe you could talk to a few of the clients.” Lewis was sounding nervous as ever, and Nikolai could not help but think: back when Leningrad was Leningrad, Lewis would not have survived. The man would have been denounced a half dozen times at least.
“Thanks for the offer,” he replied, motioning to his apartment door, “But I just got back. Have to put things away and all.”
“Oh, that’s all right, you can stop by when you’re done. We’ll be going for another few hours.”
*Americans must be immensely tolerant to put up with him,* thought Nikolai. “Sorry, but I can’t. I picked up lunch, and my salad will get cold. Not to mention soggy. Maybe next time.”
Before Lewis could say anything else, he slipped quickly into his apartment and shut the door behind him. He passed through the living room, avoiding the couch and chairs to head back and over to the kitchen. As Nikolai opened the cabinet, he began stacking cans of food in there. A brown and black Siamese who had clearly never forgotten he was once worshiped crept into the room, sitting to watch him.
“There you are, Tolstoy,” Nikolai said, noting the cat had his usual imperious indifference about him. Not for the first time, he figured he should have named the cat after one of the Czars; he certainly acted like one, after all. Tolstoy licked his lips. “No, it’s not time yet. I’m not feeding you early.”
Tolstoy meowed, and began to creep off towards the sunroom. Nikolai shook his head slowly at the finicky animal, removing the salad from his other bag. As he had guessed, once he finished with dinner and sat down to try to catch the local news, Tolstoy came wandering back out of the other room to jump up next to him. “All right, come here,” Nikolai said, waving the cat over. Tolstoy grudgingly applied, and accepted the pets with all manner of a king accepting usual tribute from a subject. Which soon softened as he began to purr.
detective eldridge and anderson get the case
*** Wednesday, October 5, 2005 around 10 am ***
Detective Eldridge sat at his desk in the busy police station, sipping bad coffee and preparing to catch up on some much needed paperwork. Working for the Majestic or the LAPD, one thing remained the same; there were always papers to be filled out. Across from him, at his own desk, Detective James Anderson was up to much the same thing. Neither man looked up when their captain approached them. He dropped identical manila folders on their desks.
“Whatever you’re working on now, consider it postponed, gentlemen,” the captain said, “This new case takes top priority.”
“Why is that, boss?” Anderson asked, taking the folder from his desk and holding it in one hand. “This one involves some senator’s daughter or something?”
The captain frowned. “How did you hear about that?” he asked.
Galen glanced up. “What?” he asked. “Is it really about some senator’s daughter? Sounds like the plot of a movie with Mel Gibson and Danny Glover.”
The captain scowled. “Look, this is serious,” he said. “Read the file.”
Galen opened the file on his desk and immediately regretted the jokes. The reports inside were from three sets of distraught parents, all of them acquainted. Each set of parents had reported that their daughters had not returned home on Monday night. The girls were too young to be your typical runaways, as they were all only nine years old. They were also from stable, middle class homes in a middle class area. The girls were best friends, too. Nina, Saree, and Micha, from these brief reports were good girls, who had probably fallen into something bad.
Galen glanced up to see that his partner’s expression matched his own. “Looks like these reports will have to wait,” he said.
James nodded his agreement, standing and grabbing his suit jacket from the back of his chair. “Let’s go talk to the parents and some of the neighbors first,” he suggested. “Maybe someone will remember something they didn’t before.”
Galen left his coffee on the desk and followed his partner out to the car. He hoped they could find something soon. The longer a kid was missing, the less likely they were to be found.
galen and james check things out
*** Wednesday, October 5, 2005, 1pm ***
“I’m sorry, Detective Eldridge, that’s all I know.” The teary eyed woman before Galen looked completely distraught. “I don’t have anything more to add. I can’t understand what’s happened. Micha’s a good girl. She wouldn’t have gone anywhere dangerous. She knows better. She wouldn’t let her friends do so either.”
Galen nodded sympathetically, but inside he was growing more and more frustrated. What little the parents had been able to tell him matched what they had already told the other officers. There were no clues here as to what could have happened to three little girls. Galen excused himself and went outside, to meet his partner coming out of a nearby house.
“Well?” Galen prompted James.
“Nothing,” James replied, “No one around here saw or heard anything remotely suspicious. Although one of the boys in there suggested we check out that empty house across the field. He said sometimes the neighborhood kids play around there.”
Galen shrugged. “It’s worth a shot,” he said. The two men quickly made their way over to the house. The lawn was overgrown, and the front door was slightly ajar. Galen started to move inside ahead of his partner when he spotted something trapped in the weeds by the front steps. Stopping, he stooped down to pick it up, using his shirtsleeve so as not to disturb any prints that might be on the object. Galen brought it up closer to his face to examine it more properly. James came over to look at it too.
Galen held in his hand a delicate gold chain, the clasp broken. There was no sign of force, as the chain itself was still intact. Attached to the chain was a religious medallion. Galen frowned. He recalled that the photograph they had of Nina showed her wearing a medallion like this one.
“That doesn’t look like it’s been here too long,” James said. He was right. The necklace was still shiny and new looking. There were a few weeds caught in the links, but it had obviously not been sitting in the sun or rain for a very long time. More than likely the girls had lost it here the night of their abduction.
“Let’s take a quick look inside,” Galen suggested. The house had already been searched when the three children had gone missing, but not thoroughly. According to the report, a couple of inches of dust lay on the floor and all the surfaces, and none of it had been disturbed. That suggested that the children had not been in the house. The necklace suggested otherwise.
Galen and James went inside the abandoned house. The house itself was sturdy enough, although it showed signs of age and lack of use. The interior had a dry, dusty smell, and there was indeed dust everywhere. The only footprints in the dust were adult size and the two detectives suspected they had been made by the original investigative crew. It was eerily quiet inside, and immediately Galen got a feeling - paranoia almost. He couldn’t shake the idea that he was being watched.
The two men went all through the long empty house, but they found no more clues. They left a short while later, necklace in hand. Although they had found nothing substantial, Galen couldn’t let go of the idea that the house had something to do with the girls’ disappearance. He stewed on it all the way back to the station, and the feeling wouldn’t leave him, not even when he headed for home that evening.
drew puzzles it out
*** Thursday, October 6, 2005, around 11 pm ***
Drew sat in his darkened living room, holding a framed picture in his hand.
It was that older man, the one vacationing with his daughter; that’s who took this. Amanda was so happy that day. We went swimming and then walked along the shore, watching all the other people who had come to play in the water that day. After the man took the picture, we went back to the cabana. We ran back. We couldn’t wait to be alone.
Drew felt the tears burning at the back of his throat.
I don’t understand. How could this happen so fast? I didn’t see… No, that’s wrong. I didn’t want to see. Ever since we came back something’s been happening. Something has been happening to Amanda. I tried to pretend it wasn’t real. I acted like it was normal. The exhaustion, the dreams, the way she’s changed; I tried to believe it was no big deal. I made it worse. I didn’t help her.
Drew set the picture on his coffee table and moved to the living room window, looking out on the water below. He loved this view. It was why he’d bought the apartment in the first place. His mistake had been in letting his mother decorate it.
Amanda was going to help me redo this place. She hated the furniture here. I can’t blame her. I hate it too. We had plans… plans for the future. None of this is right. There’s something wrong here. Something I’ve missed.
Drew stared out at the waves crashing on the shore. Inside he felt as if a storm were raging.
She was there, with Ryan. I saw her. She wasn’t even ashamed. How can that be? She’s not like that. I know her. I didn’t fool myself about who Amanda is. I fooled myself about what’s going on with her. Ryan showed up after her place was trashed. He’s obsessed with her. He’s a demon. Maybe he’s done something to her, used magic or something.
Turning from the window, Drew scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed.
Who am I kidding? I don’t know anything about this stuff. I can’t help her. Not alone. I need help. Kate! Maybe Kate can do something. She helped before. Maybe this is like what happened in Ireland. I have to ask her.
Drew stood in the center of his living room, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. In his mind he saw Amanda and Ryan together, again and again.
What if I’m right? What if Amanda is being controlled or something? What then? Does that change anything really? No matter what I know in my head, in my heart I feel betrayed. How can I look at her? How can I ever look at her, touch her, even talk to her and not see his hands all over her body? How can I let that go? It’s tearing me apart. Every moment, I relive that moment when I walked into her bedroom. But, I have to do something. I have to help her. I love her. I failed her. I should have known, I should have seen. Why did I not see? It doesn’t matter now. Even if I can never forget, never forgive, I have to help her. Even if we can never be together again, I have to help her. Maybe I’m saving Amanda for someone else, but I have to save her.
drew seeks kate's help
*** Friday, October 7, 2005 early morning ***
Kate yawned as she set out the tables and chairs ready for the early morning customers. Daye had left her a strange message on her answer machine asking, well, more like telling her that she had to open the shop that morning.
Kate had hoped that all the problems with Ryan and Daye were in the past, but now it seemed that they were back with a vengeance.
Kate was almost at her wits' end. Apart from feeling exhausted with the pregnancy and the shock of being reunited with her father, Kate felt like the weight of the world was on her shoulders once again.
Alicia Wyldling arrived at the bookshop before it was even opened, driven out of bed before dawn by an urging from the Arthach Anam Iomai. She was surprised to see Katherine Wiccham inside the shop, setting up for the morning rush. Daye was supposed to be opening today. Mrs. Wyldling knew the schedule by heart, as she'd helped Daye work it out for this week. They had discussed cutting some of Kate's hours, because the other woman seemed to be worn out. Alicia felt even more urgency when she realized Daye was not around. Hurrying she unlocked the front door and rushed inside.
"Kate," Alicia took the chair Kate was holding from her and set it gently down at one of the tables, “what are you doing here? I thought Daye was opening today."
"Good morning Alicia. I'm very well, thanks for asking." Kate smiled tiredly and sat down at one of the tables. "Daye left a message asking me to open today. I thought she sounded a little strange, confused, you know how she's been acting lately. I'm beginning to think she's having a permanent 'blonde day'."
Alicia frowned. Daye had been getting a little spacey lately. There seemed to be a resurgence of whatever outside influence had been affecting her before. Now she'd gone off and not come into the bookshop. That just didn't seem right. She was totally dedicated to this place, determined to prove she could make the refit work. So why would she suddenly disappear on a Friday morning and leave her friend, a woman she'd recently been expressing concern over, to run things? None of that was like Daye in the least.
"What did she say exactly?" Alicia asked Kate, "Is she sick, or is something maybe wrong with Drew?"
Kate regarded Alicia watchfully. She could feel the woman's anxiety as though it were a palpable entity. She had been reluctant about discussing her concerns about Daye with the woman because she was unsure about how much would be reported back to the Watchers' Council. However, it was getting to the point where she was willing to take the risk if it meant helping her friend.
"She said she had some things to take care of and would I open the shop for her. That was about it I'm afraid, no explanations, nothing. But she didn't sound like herself. She sounded vague and... I don't know, dreamlike?" Kate frowned uncomfortably, "Something is going on with her, and it’s been going on for a long time now. I thought that whatever it was had gone, had resolved itself. But I'm beginning to think that I was wrong."
Alicia studied Kate quietly for a moment. The other woman was obviously disturbed, and there were things she was not saying. Alicia reached inside her blouse and pulled out the Arthach Anam Iomai. This was her secret. This was the thing she was not saying. The amulet pulsed in her hand and a strange humming noise filled Alicia Wyldling's ears. She saw bright, white light. The same light she had seen before, when she'd been drawn into the Arthach. Alicia turned around within the light, seeking to find who ever hid within it.
She spoke softly. "Why have I been summoned here? I did not seek guidance from the Arthach."
"Excuse me?" said Kate in confusion as Alicia seemed to go into a kind of trance. The woman held the pendant she had withdrawn from her blouse tightly in her hand, and mumbled some words quietly. Kate reached across the table and gently shook the woman's arm. "Are you okay?"
As Kate leaned over to try and shake Alicia out of whatever fugue she'd just gone into, the bell above the door announced that someone was entering the shop. They still weren't open, but Mrs. Wyldling had not locked the front behind her when she came in.
"Drew!" Kate rose to her feet in surprise as a distraught Drew entered the shop. He looked terrible, like he hadn't slept for the past few nights. His clothes were rumpled, his hair was all messed up and he looked like he hadn't had a shave in days.
Kate went to his side and gently guided him to a seat. She sat at his side and held his hand comfortingly. She braced herself as she felt his distress and anguish roll upon her in great waves. "Drew, what is it? Has something happened?" Kate paused for moment, pursing her lips together hesitantly before continuing. "Drew, is it about Amanda?"
Drew turned wild eyes on Kate. Was he crazy to have come here? Was it just that he couldn't get over what had transpired only a day before? Or was something really wrong with Amanda?
"I...," he stammered, "I don't know where she is. I went to the apartment, just to talk to her, but she's not there. I didn't give her back the key yet, so I went in, and...Her stuff is gone. Not all of it, but some of her clothes and other things. The place is a mess. It's like she ran off in the middle of the night or something."
Drew shoved an agitated hand through his hair. "I don't know if she's gone somewhere with him, or... I thought she might be here."
“Daye left a message on my machine this morning; she said she couldn’t come in.” Kate stole a glance over at Alicia who still seemed to be lost in a quiet meditation on the pendant that she held so firmly in her hand.
Kate turned back to Drew, taking both of his hands in her own and looking directly into his eyes. “Drew, you said you thought she might have gone somewhere with someone. Did you mean Ryan?”
Drew looked even more distraught at the mention of the other man's name. He nodded reluctantly. "I'm not sure what I'm doing here," he said. "She told me it was over... that I should have known this was coming. Maybe I missed something. I thought we were so happy. I didn't expect... I just don't know."
“It’s okay,” said Kate softly while gently rubbing Drew’s hand in her own, “It’s good that you came here, you need friends at a time like this and… and, well, I’m not entirely sure that Amanda… Well, that she’s entirely in her right mind. She’s completely blind where Ryan is concerned, and I think that her sudden change of heart is not completely natural.”
Drew finally turned his full attention on Kate. There was a grateful look in his eyes. "That's it exactly," he said softly, "She's acting so strange. It's like she's not in her right mind. I thought, maybe, after what happened before, maybe something else is going on. And you, you're a witch, so maybe you can help me. I need to find Amanda. I need to try and talk to her."
Drew stopped. He glanced around the shop. He seemed to be coming to some realization. "She's not here, that's what you said, right?" he asked.
“I don’t know where she is, but Drew, you can’t face Ryan alone, not until we know why he’s doing this. He’s strong, very strong…” Kate absently rubbed her shoulder where Ryan had held her so tightly.
“He’d kill you without a second thought. For whatever reason he is completely obsessed with Amanda, but I don’t think he’s working alone. When he - the last time I saw him, he mentioned someone called Mariah. I don’t know who she is but she could be the key as to what has been happening with Daye.”
Alicia could discern shapes in the white light around her. She realized she was not really seeing or experiencing any of this with her outward senses. The Arthach was like a gateway, bringing her to some sort of pocket dimension. Within this otherworldly place, the essence of the men and women who had come before Amanda Blaise, all the accumulation of energy and experience that had led to her being, was somehow focused. The 'place' felt good and right. There were emanations around Alicia, sort of an emotional signature. Where before it had been patient and amused, now the impression was serious, concerned but hopeful. Alicia could tell something had changed.
"What is it?" she asked. "What has happened?"
"It is time," the answer came from all around her. "Mother Mariah has acted at last, but you have done your duty. You have revealed the Worthy One, the Bearer. You need only pass the Arthach on to her and your task will be complete."
"The Bearer?" at first Alicia was confused. Who was she to pass the gem on to? Who was this 'Worthy One'? As she puzzled, suddenly it came to her. "The Bearer of what?" she asked. "You don't mean the Bearer of the Arthach, do you?"
There was again a sense of peace and pride. "No, of course not," the reply came. "The Bearer is Worthy. The Bearer is filled with life and innocence."
And then, Alicia knew. Kate was The Bearer. She was filled with the life and innocence of her unborn child. This was what they had meant all along. But Alicia was concerned. The other woman was tired. She already was 'bearing' a great burden. It seemed unfair and perhaps dangerous to place more upon her shoulders.
"What about Kate?" Alicia demanded, "What about her safety? What about her child? It's not right to put them in danger. It's not our choice to make."
"She has already chosen. Katherine has love for Amanda. She willingly risked herself for Amanda and for all of us. Then and there the choice was made. It was only for you to bring us to her. She will be safe. The Bearer is protected from the corruption of the Crimson Mother. It is her state of being, as a vessel herself, which will enable her to prevent the darkness that looms. Have faith, Alicia. All will be well."
Alicia felt the certainty of the souls around her and she could not deny it. They all believed that this was the right, the best course. She could only hope that was true. She could only pray that Kate and her unborn child would be safe, and that Amanda could be saved.
"Now, pass on the Arthach and be at peace." The words, a gentle command, filled her mind as the bookshop came back into focus.
Drew shook his head. "Who is Mariah?" he asked, "What does she have to do with this?"
At his words, Alicia Wyldling came to. "She's the Crimson Mother," the older woman said, turning to where Drew and Kate sat. "She's taken Amanda."
“Alicia?” said Kate in surprise and astonishment as the woman suddenly came out of her trance. “The Crimson Mother? What are you talking about?”
Alicia lifted the pendant from around her neck and held it in her hand. "The Crimson Mother is an ancient evil," she began, sitting at the table with them. "I don't know a whole lot here, but if you take this, I think you'll learn quickly."
Alicia held the pendant out to Kate. There was real worry on her face.
Kate frowned warily as she took the pendant from the woman. She had never known Alicia to speak so candidly before and although part of her doubted the veracity of the words spoken, another part felt that they were exactly true.
As Kate took the pendant in her hand she felt a strange tingling sensation flow though her body, like static electricity. “It’s beautiful,” she said, holding the necklace up to the light, “but I don’t understand, how can this help Amanda? And why give it to me?”
Alicia drew in a deep breath. "I'm giving it to you because it is yours," Alicia replied, "You hold in your hand the Arthach Anam Iomai for the Blaise family line. It is a storehouse for a special soul, an essence, if you will, of all the Blaise family from the dawn of time to now. That is, in essence, Amanda's entire family line, that you hold in your hand."
“Couldn’t just have a photo album like the rest of use,” mumbled Drew, “’Arthach Anam Iomai’ - what is that? Latin?”
“It's Gaelic, I think,” said Kate ponderously, “My translation’s a little rusty but I think it means ‘Holder of Souls’. Well either that or ‘Seller of Boulders’ - like I said, it’s been a while.” Kate looked down again at the pendant in her hand.
"Yes, it's Gaelic," Alicia agreed. "It does mean something along those lines. In this case, as I've already said, it holds the 'souls' of Daye's family. It was given to me by one of the Council. I was entrusted with delivering it to the right person. As it turns out you, Kate, are that person."
“For God’s sake!” cried Drew anxiously, standing up from his seat. “Amanda has been all but brainwashed by that, that monster R- her ex and all you two can talk about is some damn necklace! We need to do something! We need to get Amanda back!” Drew combed his large hands though his hair nervously before sinking back into his chair. “I don’t know anything about the mother of ancient evils or some gem that apparently holds Amanda’s ancestry. Frankly I don’t want to know. What I do know is that while ever Amanda is with Ryan she’s in danger, and I for one am not prepared to sit around and discuss the issue.”
Alicia turned her gaze on Drew, a mixture of pity and contempt in her eyes. "I realize the danger Amanda is in. Perhaps better than you do, young man," she said. "However, the only chance any of you have of helping her lies in that 'damn necklace.' So I suggest you calm down and listen. We are all here for the same reason. We care about Amanda and we want to do whatever is in our power to rescue her."
Alicia turned from Drew then, apparently dismissing the distraught man altogether from her thoughts. She again turned her full attention on Kate.
"You must use the Arthach," she urged. "Accept it and use its power to help Daye. The answers you seek, we all seek, are within the stone."
Kate sat in contemplation as two sets of eyes focused on her, waiting for a decision. Finally Kate stood and dropped the pendant into her jacket pocket. “I think Drew’s right Alicia, we need to at least find Amanda and Ryan first and then we can figure out how this Mother Mariah person fits into everything.” Alicia began to speak but Kate cut her off. “You don’t know Ryan, he’s incredibly dangerous and Amanda is all alone with him, under the illusion that he cares for her. We haven’t got time to sit around and commune with spirits. We need to take action.”
“Finally!” announced Drew, getting to his feet and heading to the door.
“Drew and I will go and look for Amanda; if I concentrate I should be able to sense her. When we’ve found them we can bring her back here and then we can figure out what to do about the pendant and Mariah.”
Alicia could see that the younger people were serious about this. She nodded reluctantly. "Very well, try to find her," she agreed. "I'll take care of the shop the next few days, but please keep me informed as to what is going on. If I can, I want to help."
creating the vessel
*** Tuesday, October 11, 2005 early afternoon ***
“Where are we?” Daye asked, glancing around the room they had just entered. It contained a number of chairs and a couple of couches as well as a frosted window which appeared to slide open and closed. Ryan led her up to the window.
“This is Dr. Wells’ office,” Ryan replied soothingly.
“A doctor?” Daye asked, “Why do I need a doctor?”
“You’ve been ill, Aghra,” Ryan gently stroked her cheek as he spoke. “I want to make sure you’re all right. This doctor is someone I know, someone I trust.”
Daye accepted his explanation. She waited while the frosted glass partition slid open and the man on the other side asked Ryan for some information. She was feeling tired again, drained almost. Sighing, she leaned against Ryan as he spoke and let her eyes drift closed.
***
Daye awoke on a table inside the doctor’s office. She was dressed in one of those paper gowns and saw that Ryan was standing a few feet away conversing with the doctor in a low voice.
“Ryan?” she called, sitting up slowly. She felt dizzy and weak.
At the sound of her voice, Ryan looked up. He smiled at her, coming to take her hand.
“What happened?” she asked. “Is everything all right?”
“Fine,” Ryan replied. In his mind's eye, he saw the room as it had been a few moments before she awoke.
***
Ryan stood to the side of the table where Daye lay. She slept a dreamless sleep as he had commanded her to do. Daye’s will was completely his now, and Ryan reveled in the power of it. On the opposite side of the table, Dr. Gene Wells, Brother Gene, stood with a tray of instruments in his hand. He had just finished extracting the ovum from Daye and it was now inside the small dish sitting on the instrument table. Brother Sam stood at the end of the table by Daye’s head. He wore his crimson robes and chanted from an ancient-looking book he held in one hand. On a heavy chain around his neck, Sam wore the pentagram shaped amulet that Ryan had gotten from Daye. Sam was deep in concentration and continued to chant and trace symbols in the air as the doctors worked.
After removing the embryo, Brother Gene waited while Sister Anne drew blood from Ryan. She brought this sample and the ovum to a work station near Sam. Sam turned from Daye to continue the ritual. He focused on the embryo Anne was forming and as he worked his magic, Ryan saw a light come forth from within him and join with the material in the dish. That was the final step, Ryan knew. The “vessel” would be of the guardian, powerful because of his demonic genetic material, and nurtured by the magic of Sam’s spirit. In this way, it would grow quickly and be ready for Mariah when the time came.
Finally, Brother Gene implanted the newly formed embryo into Daye’s body. When they were finished, Ryan sent an order to her to awaken.
***
“The doctor will tell you everything, my love,” Ryan smiled gently. He stepped back as Dr. Wells approached.
“Awake now, little lady?” the doctor had a kind smile. Daye felt comforted by him at once.
“Sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” she said sheepishly.
“It’s perfectly understandable,” Dr. Wells said. “In your condition it’s very normal to be tired.”
“My condition?” Daye repeated, “Why? What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing’s wrong with you, my dear,” Dr. Wells turned his smile on Ryan too. “On the contrary, you’re very healthy. You’re one of the healthiest pregnant women I’ve ever examined.”
“Pregnant?!” Daye gasped, “I’m pregnant?”
Dr. Wells nodded. Ryan turned his proud grin on Daye. “Yes, Aghra, you’re pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.”
Deep down inside a niggling doubt plagued Daye. She and Ryan were going to have a baby, but it seemed she was forgetting something important. She tried to concentrate, but the thought fled in the onslaught of Ryan’s happiness. Daye suddenly felt as delirious as he.
“Oh, Ryan, how perfect,” Daye sat up slowly. She felt a bit sore, but assumed that was normal when one had just had an examination. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“You’re welcome, young lady,” he replied. He turned to Ryan. “Now make sure she takes those ‘vitamins’ and bring her back for all of her check ups.”
“Yes, sir,” Ryan replied. Daye would need treatments from Brother Gene and Brother Sam every three days until the “vessel” was needed on the Day of Rebirth. Ryan would make sure she got it. Ryan escorted Daye out of the office. The first step had been an enormous success.
in a quiet place...
***Thursday, October 13, 2005 evening***
Theresa Hart sat on the cold concrete floor of an empty warehouse. The building was somewhere near the pier, of that she was sure, because she could hear boats and people during the day. This was definitely on the marina. Theresa cuddled a small, dark-skinned girl to her side. The younger girl was nine years old, and her name was Saree. Theresa knew, because Saree had told her when Theresa was brought here two nights before. There were other girls in the warehouse, a total of twelve in all. There were younger girls and girls her age, but none older than Theresa. They were all scared and confused.
Theresa and the two other girls her age, Marcia and Heather, had taken it upon themselves to try and keep the younger girls' spirits up, but it was hard. They were scared too. They had to keep telling the little ones that everything would be okay; even if they weren’t sure it was true. Theresa was growing more concerned with every passing hour. They had seen only one other person, a man dressed in a long, dark red robe. He refused to speak to any of them. He brought them food and water, but that was all. Theresa had found out the names, and ages, of all the other girls. There were three nine-year-olds, Nina, Saree, and Micha. They were the three girls who had been there the longest. They had been snatched from an abandoned house. The girls weren’t sure how, though. They had been picked up on October 3rd.
The next set of girls was three twelve-year-olds, two friends and one loner. All three girls had been snatched on October 6th. They were Annie, Paula, and Ginny. The two friends had been grabbed while rollerblading near the beach just after sunset. Ginny had been picked up by a strange man a couple of blocks from her apartment. All three girls were cripplingly shy. They were confused and scared as well, and couldn’t explain exactly how they had been snatched.
Next came three fifteen-year-old girls on October 9th. These girls were Beth, Shauna, and Terry. They were all students at the Pembrooke Academy for Girls. They were from rich, privileged families, and knew each other a bit. They had been picked up separately on the same night from the Pembrooke campus. Each girl had been headed back to their dorm room from studying with their friends, one at the library, one at a nearby coffee shop, and one at the park on the campus grounds. None of them could remember anything specific about their kidnapping either.
Finally, last night, October 12th, Theresa and the two girls her age, eighteen, had been brought to the warehouse. Theresa had talked to the other two girls, Margarite and Lonnie, and she had begun to make some scary connections. She hadn’t shared her theories with anyone else, but she had noticed a pattern. All of the girls were at ages divisible by three. There were three girls in each age group, and each group of girls had been kidnapped on a date divisible by three and three days apart.
Theresa had noticed something else, something they all had in common; something that seriously terrified her. All twelve of the girls were from a certain type of background; a sheltered, strict background. She especially noticed that like her, Margarite and Lonnie were both planning on pursuing a vocation in the church after graduation in the spring. All three of them were unusual in that they were Catholic and either wanted to join the priesthood or take vows to join a convent. This made them, like all the others she suspected, virgins. This thought brought to Theresa’s mind the silly, cheap B-movies her mom and dad so loved; movies that were often about cults or crazies who for some unknown reason would kidnap virgins to use in strange ritual sacrifices. Theresa suspected that might be the case here in real life. They were being held by a strange man in a robe, and they fit into a weird pattern. So, although she told the other girls she believed everything was going to be all right, in truth Theresa was convinced things were going to be far from that.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
>>>Wednesday Sept 21, 2005
Groggily, Reah stirred on the wooden floor of her apartment living room, face pressed flat into the grains. She vaguely remembered having an argument with a cop. Which, when she was able to summon enough strength to pull herself up into a seated position, explained why the door was attached to only one hinge - on her apartment floor.
That was the great thing about human bodies (although currently not so great in Reah’s opinion); if you held your breath long enough until you passed out, your body would automatically begin breathing again. Vertigo, as life would also have it, usually soon followed not long after you regained consciousness.
Now finding herself sitting on the cool tiles of her bathroom floor, Reah raised her head from the toilet bowl that of late had become a regularly frequented sight, to gaze woozily ahead at nothing in particular.
That was about the time her eyes regained some form of focus and transfixed to some yellow stain on the pristine white tiles she’d only recently given the scrub of their tiny little ceramic lives.
Faintly, Reah lifted her weak and wavering hand to shakily brush at the yellow stain, only to come to the slow realisation that the yellow stain wasn’t a stain at all. Rather a reflection. Calling her hand back towards herself, Reah patted curiously at her face and forehead till she brushed across the small piece of paper that had attached itself to her cheek.
Peeling it from her skin, Reah concentrated her vision till she could read the script it displayed.
Soon afterwards, she was composing herself into a more presentable and aware state.
***
Victor sat in his office and closed the window on the computer screen. He'd been working here all morning having finally given up on even trying to help Tash when she was in this sort of mood. She hated the cast and had threatened to take it off for the dozenth time and Victor figured she just needed to vent a little. He'd go back in there and sit with her while she ate her lunch with one hand and cursed her inability to do even simple situps with the cast on her arm.
He could hear her muttering even on this side of the hall (okay it was more than muttering but the effect was the same) when footsteps followed by a knock on his office door cued him that Reah was outside.
"Come on Reah, I've been meaning to talk to you anyway," he spoke loudly.
Reah let the door swing inward on its own before she took a step inside and absorbed the atmosphere of the office within. For someone who’d been living in the apartment building for a couple of months now, this was her first visit to its office!
It was packed full of multiple crates, boxes, packing material, and antiquities piled about the room all around her. It reminded her slightly of the Armoury’s storage room actually. A small poorly lit desk sat at the back of the room near the wall with a flat screen moniter computer sitting atop it. When Reah let her gaze finally land on Victor, after taking in all the room's doors, windows, nooks and crannies, she blinked once at who she was faced with.
*Safe to assume straight away that this guy definitely ain’t human.* She grinned smugly despite herself and strolled casually up to him. “Victor, I presume? I’m sorry, it just took me a while to recognise you with a head attached.”
Victor fingered the scar at his neck unconsciously, "Yes, I imagine you have figured I'm not your standard landlord."
Victor looked over a stack of papers on his desk and pulled out one specific one which he set forward where Reah could see it. She glanced down and saw it was a photocopy of a news story from a several weeks back.
"Local Gun Store Explodes and Burns" screamed the headline.
"Sam had mentioned where you worked before he went missing. He said he worked there too. Was he there when it happened? This occurred around the same time he disappeared."
Reah’s face went slack, lost from the concept of emotion as once again the topic of Sam was brought forward. *What the hell does this have to do with what I’m here for?* “No. But in a way I almost wish he was. Not because I wish him dead, I could never do a thing like that… he’s an innocent… my best friend…” she trailed off momentarily before snapping back to her point, “but at least I would have had some closure instead of being left hanging for over two and a half y’eeks,” she quickly saved herself, careful to show no sign of ever slipping, “wondering where he is and what’s happened to him. It‘s been hard, you know!”
She frowned sternly at him to make sure he got the point. She didn’t like talking about it a lot. In ways she felt it was partly her fault! She had to have been able to help in some way. Even when she had no idea something was wrong… apart from his discovery of the unnatural world, but he seemed to be coping well.
Victor nodded at her response. She was clearly upset and he could feel it coming off of her in waves. Such anger!
"Sam was a friend of mine too. I asked you about 'pest control' but from the incident in the basement you probably know that I don't mean rats. The reason I asked you about the fire was that you strike me as the kind of person who does not let things like that go unfinished. What do you know about this incident? Did you solve it to your satisfaction?"
Reah quirked her eyebrow at his assumptions of her character… close as it may be to the truth, he was being awful persistent over it. What was he trying to get out of her? “I can only assume that someone took me as competition that needed to be eliminated from the game.” She bent the truth slightly, avoiding the more direct answer to his question.
“I’d assumed you hadn’t meant rats,” she wedged the topic back into the conversation.
"No, I didn't mean rats," Victor said dully.
He leaned back in his chair and indicated another chair covered with styrofoam packing peanuts for her to sit.
Brushing them aside, she sat down. Victor leaned forward and centred his gaze on hers. "What we are doing here is very important," he began, "There are things out there that we have the power to stop. I don't know why we are the ones who have to do it, but we are here and we are capable. But sometimes that isn't popular with the forces we oppose. Or the ones we work with. Understand?"
Reah sniffed with a cynical smirk, “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
Victor relaxed; this would be easier than he expected. Reah was proving to be every bit as adaptive and perceptive as he had anticipated, "Good. Your job is ratcatcher. Don't kill the good ones, but let them know in no uncertain terms that we don't appreciate being monitored. As for the bad guys, do what you will."
Reah nodded thoughtfully. For some people this would seem an unconceivable request, but for Reah… now… it was nothing short of a business opportunity. As low as the rewards would be, it was something she could put her skills to good use in. “I’m sure I could work something out.” She looked levelly back at Victor, “What I need to know is what you consider bad, and who good. Specifics of what I‘m looking out for. I’ll take any measures I need to, to get the job done properly. I just don’t like to hurt innocents.”
Victor furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. "That’s why I am hiring you to do this. I am not defenceless, but someone needs to sort these guys out. That’s why I was asking about your store. Was it good guys? or bad guys?"
Reah took her time to consider how safe it was to answer the question. So long as he didn't delve any further into that particular topic... “My opinion may be a bit biased, but I’d say bad guys.”
"Set aside the bias, think rationally. Good guys or bad guys?" Victor pressed closer, "It's important that you tell me why."
*Push a little harder! Please, be my guest!* Reah tried not to come off as hostile while she busted her brain for a way to answer without landing her in a deep pile of shit. She really didn’t like working alone, even if there were bonuses. When you were in a group, you could discuss your mission with other members.
She thought hard, trying to remember something that wasn‘t too revealing…. There, “Bad guys. Why? They like to shoot at innocent shop girls. Luckily though,” she lifted her left sleeve up to her shoulder, “they missed getting this one.”
"That’s one reason. Any more? Reah, the reason I want you to be certain is because I am not going to ask you to justify your actions to me. Do it. Don't try to justify if it was right or wrong. But be certain if you do it, that it was the right thing to do. I am entrusting you with the task of protecting us, not licensing you to draw more fire."
Reah opened her mouth for her quick retort when a slight movement suddenly caught both her and Victor's attention, snapping their eyes to the computer screen on his desk that sat apart from them… ever-so suspiciously still.
As the silence drew out, their wary gazes soon departed the screen and focused again on each other, Reah continuing what she was about to say, “Even if I wanted to tell you, I couldn’t. It’s not that I don’t trust you, more that I don’t really know you. It’s better for my own protection, and everyone in this building, if certain people think I’m dead.” She nodded to the article still on the desk in front of them. “Or certain things are going to get bloody messy ahead of schedule in unplanned circumstances.”
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Saturday 25th February 2006 - 1:30pm
Tash cursed under her breath at the driver in front of her. *Goddam car drivers never bloody look for bikes,* she thought furiously as the silver Dodge Neon cut her off, nearly wiping her out in the process. Still muttering to herself, she turned at the next intersection and cruised the next few blocks towards the shopping strip.
Something small and furry darted across her path and instinctively she swerved, hitting her brakes and hoping she didn't collect the dog. Then came that sound that all road users dread. The sound of someone else's squealing tyres. Close. Too close.
Nikolai had been cruising at a relatively comfortable speed to reach the supermarket. He’d tried to avoid falling into a routine over the past two years, but some things just naturally happened, like doing his shopping on a Saturday afternoon. Still, he thought, it was nice to have his own car back. Only five more payments, and the Bronzemist Metallic Monte Carlo would finally be his. Getting the new stereo installed had taken longer than he’d expected, but he was in no rush. Not for the first time he wished for something, anything to happen, to recapture some of the excitement he’d known before.
“God damnit!” he swore in rather loud Russian as everything happened. The woman on the bike was swerving to avoid something, which happened to bring her right into his path. Had the dog been a few more seconds up the street, he probably could have avoided the wreck. As it was, the telephone pole loomed in front of him.
Slamming on the brakes and turning hard, he managed to avoid the head-on collision. As it was, the passenger side up near the front slammed hard. Something went crunch, and his arm hurt from getting caught on the steering wheel. Why, oh why, did he have to wish for something to happen?
“Shit!” Tash quickly parked the bike and ran to the smashed car. She peered at the dark-haired man inside. His aura showed tinges of red around his head and arm, but nothing too dramatic.
“Are you ok?” she asked.
The disorientation of the crash passed momentarily as he heard a woman asking if he was okay. He turned to face the dark-skinned woman standing next to him. “Nyet, ya ne khorosho,” he mumbled. Then at her confused look explained, “I do not know vich hurts worse, arm or head.”
"Head, huh? Ok, do you know what day it is?" Tash scanned him as she spoke. The arm he was cradling didn't look broken and there was no sign of blood either on his arm or his head. *Thank God for small mercies.*
“Saturday, last I checked,” Nikolai replied, noticing at last that his normal accent was creeping into his voice. He shut off the car engine, before going to open the door. Best to take stock of the damage. She probably only wanted to know that he’d been uninjured to avoid seeing her premiums increase. “Excuse me, I would like to check the damage.”
"Sure, but be careful. Head injuries can be tricky." She offered an arm to him as support as he opened the car door.
"Spaseba," he said out of politeness, taking her arm as he stood. Moving around to the side of the car, he decided it didn't look too bad from the opposite side. From where the damage was... "Well, looks like I'm not going anywhere. We should probably swap insurance information."
Tash winced when she saw the bent wheel arch on the passenger side. The car looked practically new, too. She watched him while he spoke. His pupils were even and not too dilated, so the sore head must have just been a bump.
"Yeah, the insurance will take care of it all. I'm just glad you're not too badly hurt, and at least I missed the dog," she grinned wryly. The dog had long disappeared by now, no doubt causing mayhem for some other motorist. "Such a shame about the car, though. It looks new."
“Almost paid off,” he replied, taking a deep, steady breath to remain calm. He noticed the woman watching him carefully; she almost seemed to be one of the few decent people around, though looks could be deceiving. There really was no sense in getting disturbed by it, though some of the other passers-by had probably already called to report the accident.
“What just happened back there?” Nikolai finally asked, having been lost in thought, trying to sort everything out in his mind.
Tash felt an embarrassed flush colour her cheeks. "It was a bit stupid, really. But I couldn't just run it over! A dog ran out in front of me. I didn't even think about other traffic - I just wanted to avoid hitting it." Tash felt her world was violent enough as it was - it didn't need random senseless violence to mar her 'off' hours.
Well, not entirely non-violent she realised - the man still held his arm protectively. "Maybe we should get your arm and head looked at," she suggested.
“We?” he asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow, and wondering what she would want in return. America being what it was, not being sued would be the likely thing. “It may be wise. Just let me get a tow truck.”
He went back around to the driver’s side to get back in the car, still favouring his shoulder. Finding the cell phone in the glove box, he made the call as quickly as possible. They waited in an awkward silence for several minutes, neither of them saying anything. There almost didn’t seem to be anything to say.
“Nikolai Makarov,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “You?”
"Natasha Brookes. I'd say I'm pleased to meet you, but given the circumstances I'm sure we're both wishing we hadn't. Met, that is." Tash searched her pockets for a moment. "Got a pen? I should jot down my details for you."
Nikolai nodded, rustling through the glove box for a second time. Eventually he found a pad and pen, getting them out. He jotted down his information quickly before tearing out the page for Natasha, and waited patiently for her to finish with her information. Curiosity finally got the better of him. “Hmmm, Natasha… you wouldn’t be Russian, would you?” It was either that, or like so many other names, the Americans had just appropriated it to their culture.
Tash grinned, "No, not Russian. My parents chose it for the Greek meaning - rebirth - since I was born on the spring equinox..." Tash's voice trailed off and her eyes grew distant. Had her parents really 'chosen' her name, or had they only thought so? All of Ohenewaa's manipulations came back to her while she gazed, unfocused, into the past.
After a few seconds she realised Nikolai was looking at her strangely and she shook herself and smiled. "Sorry," she apologised, "I got lost there for a minute."
Something still seemed wrong with the young woman. It was probably something like epilepsy - wasn’t it possible to blank out for a minute with that? He wasn’t sure if it was that or something else. “That’s all right,” he replied, his accent finally under control. “It happens to everyone from time to time.”
The tow-truck drowned out Tash's reply and the next several minutes were spent with Nikolai sorting out details with the driver. When it finally pulled away with Nikolai's beautiful but bent car Tash coughed quietly. "Uh, can I offer a lift to anywhere? You're kinda stranded now..."
Nikolai considered the woman’s offer carefully. True, he didn’t exactly have a ride any more, but where would he go? The shopping trip was out, that was for certain - the cash on him was now dedicated to getting his car back to the shop. A public place would probably work best; he knew a decent café within walking distance of his apartment, and it would allow him to at least get lunch.
“Actually, that would be helpful. I was just going to get something to eat, and you could drop me off there.”
"No worries." *Damn, I've been hanging around Ian too long.* Tash walked back to her bike, lifted up the seat and pulled out the spare helmet. She handed it to Nikolai. "So, where did you want to eat?"
Nikolai gave her the address of the café while eyeing the motorcycle warily. It had been a while since he had taken a ride on a suicide machine, but it was a bit too late to back out now without looking suspicious. Still, the trip was uneventful and the dog did not decide to show up a second time.
“Thank you,” he said when they got there, handing her back the helmet and immensely glad that experience was over. The café was mainly an outdoor place with several tables, and a small indoor area for when it rained. To compensate for possible weather problems the owners had worked out a menu that was convertible to halfway decent take-out.
Tash's stomach growled audibly at the smell of cooking that wafted from the café as she took her helmet back with a smile. "Once again, I'm really sorry about the car. It'll be fixed up and the insurance will cover it, but it's a hassle being without a vehicle for a few days."
She noticed his arm dropped back to his side a little stiffly and frowned, "And you really should put some ice on that arm, too." She steered him towards the café. "In fact, I'm sure the people in here have some ice," her stomach growled again, "I can make sure you keep it on while I buy you lunch."
“There’s no need for you to worry. I’ll live,” he said, perfectly willing to take advantage of her pocket book. Though she was right, it would be a hassle being without a car. But the desire for food won out over annoyance at what was starting to look like genuine concern. As much as it irked him to admit it, though, she was probably right that ice would be a very good idea. There would be enough time to do that when he got back home, however.
“This is nothing. There are far worse injuries to have.”
"Oh, don't I know it," Tash agreed, subconsciously flexing her own recently healed forearm. She bustled into the café, grabbing the attention of a waiter and asking for a glass of crushed ice and a napkin. Nikolai chose a table and when the waiter brought the ice Tash poured some into the middle of the napkin. At Nikolai's protest Tash held up a finger, "No. I've had enough injuries to know that the sooner you get that iced, the better."
Nikolai sighed as he applied the ice to his arm, and ordered food as the desire for peace of mind began to outweigh any other potential concerns he could have. He was just getting something simple - sandwich, soup, coke. Something in the way she talked about injuries told him that she’d had quite a number of them or at least seen a number of them. It was then he first noticed the sort of hardened look about her, which told him that despite appearances this was potentially a dangerous woman. Should he pry, or just see if she went on? Another awkward silence came.
Tash dipped her potato wedges in the sour cream and munched contentedly while she waited for her salmon and avocado salad to show up. Nikolai ate his soup and she watched the way he moved. *Military, maybe? Cop? Nah... Something, though.* She smiled at him through the silence and pushed her bowl of wedges towards him a little.
“No, but thank you,” he replied at the silent offer. The trained, disciplined mind was able to keep his reactions under control. One had to notice every possible detail from both his previous lines of work, and there was something he was wondering about: why, on a warmer day than usual, was she wearing gloves? They almost seemed out of place. Still he figured, probably better to start any small talk that would occur before she decided to. “So, tell me, do you mind if I ask what it is you do for a living?”
Tash calmly chewed, thankful that the wedge she'd just popped into her mouth was an especially large one. *You'd think by now I'd have a stock answer for this one.* Finally swallowing, she smiled and replied, "Well, I don't really work as such. Matth… my... father left me a reasonable bit of money and my boyfriend's doing all right so I don't really need to."
He could relax a little - she wouldn’t be interested in him (small favour, that - how would he explain his work?) or be after his money. Nikolai also noted the small slip-up she had made, that a Matt left her the money. Maybe this woman was starting to prove interesting after all. “It certainly is enjoyable to be one of the eternally between jobs, isn’t it?” he asked carefully. Then to deflect her before she asked added, “I’ve been retired for a few years now after receiving a number of lucrative business deals.”
The skin prickled on the back of Tash's neck. She was starting to get a definite impression from Nikolai... she could almost see him as some sort of predatory cat sitting opposite her. "So what sort of business were you in, Nikolai?"
“Mostly freelance work,” he replied, with a self-satisfied smirk crossing his face. There was a certain amount of pride he took in his work and the fact that doing his job properly meant that nobody ever knew he was the one doing it. “I was a negotiator of sorts, who handled some rather… touchy business deals. For a fee, I worked to bring certain deals to a close.”
"Freelance, huh?" Tash said noncommittally. The vibes she was getting were now screaming 'dangerous' to her. *Freelance - I was going to say that at first. But I don't get the sense of supernatural contact with this guy. Hmm. Drug lord?* She smiled pleasantly and watched him finish his soup as she toyed with her salad. *No, I don't think so. Not drugs. Maybe he's special ops? Government agent?* Nikolai was smiling back at her and she realised with a start that their expressions must be almost identical.
"Well," she said, "it sounds like the details are hush-hush, so I won't pry."
“Not that hush-hush,” he lied. If she was getting suspicious that was not good. Best to dig into the legend he’d built up for himself. “Even before the Iron Curtain fell, shortages were quite common. There was a good deal of money to be made if you could handle getting goods across the border. Provided you didn’t piss off state security too bad, that is.”
The spikes flaring off Nikolai's aura told Tash everything she needed to know. Whatever his 'business' was, it had nothing to do with transporting goods. "Yes, I can imagine you must have had to dance around the authorities a bit back then," Tash smiled.
“Some times were worse than others,” he said, setting the soup aside to take a bite of the sandwich. She seemed somewhat satisfied with the explanation and was willing to leave it at that, which was just fine as far as he was concerned. For a moment he became distant, missing the excitement again.
But it did give him an opportunity to return to a previous topic, and maybe to find out something. “I’m sure your gloves, for instance, would fetch a nice price. Depending on the customer, of course.” He knew of a couple of places that actually would have been interested, though not exactly the most reputable of houses.
"I'm sorry, what?" Tash blinked rapidly. For just a few seconds there as Nikolai grew quiet she'd picked up on something. Stalking... *Yep, that big cat for sure.* Tracking his quarry. The thrill of the chase, and of the kill. His question startled her, brought her back to the present.
"Uh, my gloves?" She gazed at them for a moment. "Oh," she laughed, "they're nothing special. Just ordinary leather gloves." She folded her hands in on themselves, feeling a sudden irrational worry that Nikolai might try to inspect them closely. Or worse, try to take one off.
The shortages at least were true enough, even if he didn’t have a hand in bringing goods over. But he’d lived with them long enough to know that the West took so much of its material goods for granted. This woman had obviously never lived under Communist rule. Though she seemed almost worried at the mention of the gloves… but why?
“Something wrong?” he asked carefully, “You seem a bit concerned.”
“No, nothing.” Tash unfolded her hands, opening up the defensive posture she’d unconsciously adopted. “Just… I wear them all the time so I tend to forget they’re even there.” She paused for a beat, desperate to change the subject. “How’s the arm feeling, anyway?”
There might be something else, but he wasn’t going to get it out of her. He realised that straight away. “It’s stiff,” he replied, able to feel the knot in it. “Also swelling a bit, but there’s not much pain.” Or at the very least, not much he would admit to.
Tash studied Nikolai as they finished eating. The way he carried himself, and the flashes of thought she’d picked up from him indicated that he’d make an excellent hunter. But she wasn’t in the job of introducing random strangers to her bizarre way of life. Though she was convinced Nikolai had seen enough horror in his time – and perhaps even perpetrated some of that himself - there was no need to introduce him to the non-human variety of monster.
"That's good," she said at last, indicating his arm.
Her smile had turned almost wistful. In another life she could take the chance on being a friend to someone like this. She was sure he'd have many interesting stories to tell - if he wasn't still under some official secrets act, that is. But for her it was far simpler to keep her distance from people, especially those who knew nothing of her world. Then she realised she'd been staring at him for some minutes while she was lost in reverie and she dropped her eyes, embarrassed to have been caught out like that.
Of all the looks Nikolai had long been accustomed to receiving that sort of melancholy, regretful one was not one that he received often. He’d known a woman or two who had that look about them when he’d told them he was leaving, but this wasn’t quite the same. He got the distinct impression that she was wondering about something, but he wasn’t exactly sure what. From the way she looked around, he could tell she was observant. Probably enough to tell that he wasn’t entirely honest about his former line of work, but not willing to pry.
“You seem lost,” he said aloud. Then explained, “It’s that look on your face, like you want to ask something but don’t know how. So, what is it?”
Her gaze returned to meet his. “No, you don’t want to know. I’m sure there’s more to you than meets the eye, but there’s more to me than meets the eye, too. And it’s not something I’d willingly expose anyone to. Especially someone I’ve only just met.”
Nikolai raised an eyebrow in wonder. Was it possible that he’d just met a fellow professional? Or perhaps she was a potential client? There was always also the possibility it was something else. Some of the boredom of the past two years came back to him. All at once, getting to know her better seemed like a good idea.
“Well then, perhaps we should get together again. I have a hunch it would prove most interesting, Natalya.” He couldn’t bring himself to call her ‘Natasha’ even though that was her given name. The problem was that Natasha was the familiar form of the Russian name, used by family and close friends. It would be like a complete stranger calling him Kolya.
Despite herself, Tash was intrigued. Part of her insisted that keeping her policy of separation from people was best but it was drowned out by her curiosity. There was definitely something going on with Nikolai. No way was he a mere smuggler, as he claimed. She could feel his curiosity about her, too. *Let’s hope I don’t slip up. But I’ve had good practice with Ian.*
“I’d like that,” she smiled, “Maybe we could have lunch again next week?”
"I will look forward to it," replied Nikolai, smiling back at her and wondering who would be the first to ferret out the other's secrets.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Friday 3rd March 2006 – 12:25pm
Nikolai was not an overly superstitious man, but still had to wonder if something wouldn’t happen again, having received his car back the day before he was supposed to meet with Natasha for the second time. Still, he’d never tried Japanese before, and wondered if he would regret the meeting. Should they end up getting together again, he planned on making it a point to introducing her to a proper Obed at the Russian place he knew. On his way to the entrance he passed her motorcycle, figuring that she had to have beaten him there - no surprise at that.
“Good afternoon,” he said, catching sight of her just outside the door. Extending his hand, he put on a somewhat polite smile. “Good to see you under better circumstances than the last time.” In fact, he was still remembering the constant teasing Sergei, his normal mechanic, had given him.
Tash smiled broadly. There was something likeable about Nikolai, though she had the feeling that a good part of that was studied. There was still the underlying feeling of danger – he would not be a man to cross, certainly.
“Hi yourself,” she said, shaking his proffered hand, “And yes, no errant dogs this time.”
They entered the cosy Japanese restaurant and chose a table. Nikolai exuded some consternation from his side of the table and Tash felt a little abashed. Trying to sound casual, she enquired, “Have you eaten Japanese before? I didn’t think to ask when I suggested this place.”
“Unfortunately, no,” he replied, “Japan is one place business never brought me to.” Which was probably the first completely true thing he’d probably bothered to say to her about the past ten years. It was impossible to resist the joke, to try to keep her at ease. “About all I know is they serve raw fish.”
“Oh, that’s not all they serve. This place does a beautiful poached whole fish, not to mention the squid with ginger – that’s just divine. But if you’re willing to try the ‘raw fish’ this place does do an excellent sashimi platter.” Tash couldn’t help but enthuse over the food. This was one of her favourite restaurants. She just wished that when she and Victor came here that he could appreciate the fine food. Not being able to eat deprived him of a lot of life’s pleasures, Tash thought.
“Or,” she continued, “if you like we could have a selection of sushi – that’s the seaweed rolls – together with some other things. And if you don’t like seafood they have other dishes too.”
She stopped, aware that Nikolai’s eyes were beginning to glaze over at this flood of information. “Sorry, I get carried away about food sometimes,” she smiled.
All at once, he was reminded of one of the reasons he avoided the food of some cultures despite plenty of opportunity: all the names sounded the same. Sushi, sashimini or whatever it was called? There was also Saki... wait, no, that wasn’t a dish. That was wine. “I think I’ll just let you recommend something,” he said as he put the menu down, “Though they do serve tea, don’t they?”
“Definitely,” Tash caught the waiter’s eye and ordered a pot of green tea and a selection of appetisers to start with, to see what took Nikolai’s fancy. That done, she settled back and stared frankly at the man opposite her.
“You know, I’m still not really sure why I agreed to meet up again,” she commented at last, “Apart from my insatiable curiosity, of course.”
Nikolai knew exactly what motivated him: it was that mournful look he’d gotten from her, which doubtless had something else behind it. Which put them in an intricate game of duelling hunters, trying to both track their prey while knowing the prey is also after them.
“Curiosity probably covers it for me as well,” he said, having completely given up on the menu. “If there is one thing Colonel Suvorov taught me during my time with him,” Nikolai said after a brief pause, “it is to trust your instincts. They tend to be right more often than we think. Mine tells me that meeting again is worth it.”
The pause was the telling thing. Tash chuckled and shook her head a little, “Curiosity indeed - so you’re feeding mine tidbits, I see. Now you’ve got me wondering just who Colonel Suyorov is – and you know that damn well.” She tilted her head coquettishly, “And what is it about me that has you curious?”
Nikolai gave her a slightly laughing smile at the question, which seemed to ask wouldn’t you like to know? “Oh, I think you have a clue,” he said carefully. Maybe they were more alike than he realised – or maybe it just looked that way. Either way, he knew exactly what to tell her. “I simply get the feeling that you might have unusual hobbies. Besides, there was something you were dying to ask last week.”
“There was?” Tash put on an obviously fake air of indifference. “I really don’t know what you mean. You told me so much detail about your work, I mean what else was there to find out?” She almost couldn’t believe her own forwardness – here was someone she barely knew and she was joking with him as though he were an old friend. *Have to watch that – must be part of his training to make people feel at ease.*
“There’s lots to find out, naturally, when you had to go through unofficial channels on occasion,” he said, starting to enjoy the subtle misdirection he was able to engage in. Something about her made him consider, for the first time, consider actually telling stories of Andropov Andreievich. Doubtlessly she thought he was a smuggler at this point.
*Let the games begin!* he thought lightly to himself. “There was this one woman, out in the Ukraine – Svetlana Sergeievna. One of the up and coming figures in the world of organised crime. She became known for her… creativity. That is, until someone replaced her usual delivery man, and arranged for her to receive insulin laced with risen.”
Tash pursed her lips. So he was still going with the smuggler charade. Ok, she could play along with that for a while. No need to let on that she knew more about Nikolai than he’d actually told her so far. In fact, given what she had picked up about him, he may not take to kindly to learning that he was talking with a telepath.
So she smiled sweetly and pointed out items on the platter that had just arrived on the table between them. “Try those first,” she said, pointing to the gyoza, “I think you’ll like them. Meat parcels with lots of garlic.” She found herself grinning, “Lots of it – hope you like garlic.”
Popping one into her own mouth and savouring the flavour, she finally answered him. “So, your unofficial channels involved the Russian mafia – that must have been dangerous for you at times, just like for that poor woman.”
Nikolai stopped midway through picking up one of the gyoza. If only she knew about Svetlana’s reputation fully. But she was right, it was dangerous from time to time. “I’m not about to lose any sleep over her,” he said, remembering some of those stories himself. “The woman made Lavrenti Beria look like an upstanding member of society. She deserved what she got.”
She was not joking about the garlic, he found. Dr van Helsing could probably use a bandolier of them to keep vampires at bay, or just throw one at them to use it as a secret weapon. He instinctively reached for the tea out of surprise. “What is this, Natalya?” he asked, picking up what looked like an egg roll but was cold.
“Oh, that’s a type of sushi with egg on top rather than raw fish… you’ll find the rice has been slightly sweetened,” Tash said distractedly while she sorted out the strong thoughts that had flooded her from Nikolai. He’d thought about that woman he’d mentioned – and Tash began to wonder again just exactly what kind of nasty business Nikolai had been in. Nothing savoury, she was sure.
“Does anyone really deserve death, Nikolai? Humans can be monsters at times, yes… but even so they retain the capacity to love. Taking a human life,” and Tash had a strong feeling that Nikolai was intimate with how that felt, “is a profound thing. It destroys a whole future, not just for that person, but for everyone who knew them.”
Nikolai sighed while taking a bite of the thing he was trying. This one was at least better without the ton of garlic on it. There were about a half dozen people who immediately came to mind - Beria was one of them. So was his predecessor, Yezhov. Then there was the guy they called “the butcher,” who was easily one of the most brutal at extracting information.
“Oh, I don’t know that that’s necessarily such a bad thing sometimes,” he replied, trying to forget about some of the people who replaced them. “Are you prepared to tell me that a man capable of raping a woman repeatedly over the course of two days before finally killing her should be allowed to live? Or how about a man who preys on children? We’re better off without them.”
The thing that he didn’t add was the thing that made him stop: humanity was irredeemable. No matter how many of the worst of the worst you knocked off, someone equally vicious or worse invariably took their place.
“Such deeds should be punished, certainly, but by killing that person? What if they also create wonderful works of art that will inspire generations to come? Or they happen to be in the right place to save someone’s life – or what about if they were destined to have a child who would spearhead breakthroughs in medical science? Unless you can see clearly every single aspect of a person’s life, how can you know that killing them is really the best option?”
Tash warmed to her subject. The philosophy of killing humans was something she had thought about long and hard since that night in Bremen when she had very nearly committed her first murder. “And even if there’s no great benefit to mankind, what about the effect losing that person has on their family? Killing someone who’s done horrible things doesn’t undo those actions – and serves to only increase the level of grief in the world.”
Despite a small amount of rising anger at memories of his childhood returning, he maintained a cool, reasoned façade. His father came to mind, the abusive drunk who had beaten both him and his mother on more than one occasion. A man who had brought, from his perspective, nothing but suffering before being given his all-expenses paid trip to Siberia. “I am certain that line of thought is of comfort to the families of those who suffered,” Nikolai replied.
He paused long enough for another bite and sip of tea. “At least they can get some feeling of closure out of it - and you’re still benefiting society by removing an extremely negative influence. Not to mention the fact that the family might not feel so bad about losing a bastard.” Nikolai remembered the look on his mother’s face the day State Security came for his father: fear when they first arrived… followed by relief when they left with only him.
The anguish Nikolai felt was palpable and Tash tried to hide her reaction by concentrating on the food in front of her. The sweet rice mingled with the delicate tuna and the sharp cold-hot feeling of wasabi. “Ah, that stuff’ll clear your sinuses,” she joked, hoping he’d think the watery look in her eyes was from the wasabi. Nikolai continued to look at her steadily and she knew he wasn’t going to let her distract him. *Dammit, why not really push the envelope then?*
Waving a chopstick for emphasis, she continued, “But if we’re talking capital punishment, then what of the one who has to mete it out? I mean, could you kill a human being, even if you thought they deserved it?”
The best answer to that question was an overseas bank account which had been made fat over the years by just that. It was time, he felt, for another piece of misdirection. “The Red Army didn’t always leave you with much choice,” he said. “Someone puts a rifle in your hands, the Colonel says ‘go take that position’; what are you going to do, refuse? That just gets you shot by the political officer.”
Nikolai was looking desperately for a way to change the topic of conversation, when the inspiration struck him at that point to see if she could be led down this road of thought. “Wouldn’t you rather talk about something else, Natalya?” Better to let her be the one to start it that way.
Tash chuckled, “What, just when it’s getting interesting? But you’re right,” she sobered, “it’s a bit heavy for starting out.” And she could feel him getting ready to shut down, anyway. Her hunch was right – she was certain now that he’d killed, and somehow she didn’t picture him as an ordinary soldier, despite what he’d said.
She polished off some more sushi and chewed for a few seconds. “So, let’s start somewhere simpler. What do you think of the raw fish experience?”
"It is… interesting," he said, trying his best to be polite. It was her idea, and he wasn't one to knock what other people enjoyed, especially when they suggested it. "Still, I think it's best cooked." Fish was a very popular food in Russian, though they also preferred freshwater fish such as carp and pike. After trying the sushi, it just simply didn't do it for him.
“Never mind,” Tash smiled, “there’s plenty of cooked dishes available. So, what do you do with yourself all day now that you’re ‘retired’?”
Nikolai smiled at that, remembering some of the things that went on. Finally, a question he could answer completely honestly. It was just a question of how much he could actually tell her - then figured work was the best. "I work part time at an animal hospital as a receptionist," he told her, sticking to drinking tea. For a moment, he was reminded of that idiot neighbour Lewis. "Sometimes watching my neighbour's kid, doing odd jobs. Some days, I wonder if she doesn't invent excuses to see me.”
All of this reminded him of the fact that Natasha had the money and wealthy boyfriend to be able to not work. "What do you do? Hopefully something more exciting than shuffling appointments around." Or easier than having to help lift the long boa constrictor so the vet could check him out, he didn't add.
“Oh, this and that,” Tash replied airily. “I work out a lot to keep fit. And I guess you could say I do a few odd jobs around the place, too,” she laughed. And for once, Nikolai had told her the straight up truth she noticed. She paused to order their main meals, again getting a selection of various dishes but this time ensuring that the raw element was kept to a minimum.
”Animal hospital, eh? I love animals - always wanted a pet,” Tash sighed, “but I just couldn’t. Really not practical for me.” She offered a shrug, “But that’s just how life goes sometimes I guess.”
"Get a cat," he suggested, with a devious grin while wondering exactly what would have been ordered this time. The fact that she worked out showed, he thought, and he also got the feeling that she was fiercely independent. Looks could be deceiving, but that seemed like a good guess now. "They still need attention, but they're independent enough to take care of themselves. Of course, they also think they're still minor deities." Which was true enough, though most cat people could put up with the finickiness.
“The thing is, I’m already living with someone who thinks he’s a minor deity at times,” Tash grinned.
Nikolai could not resist laughing at that, earning curious looks from the waiters as their food was delivered. "He probably would not want the competition, then."
It was good to hear Nikolai laugh. Up to now the best she’d managed from him was a strange smile. The laughter was refreshing. “You should do that more often. You have a nice laugh. I’ll bet your neighbour likes to hear you laugh, too,” Tash said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
"What are you, some kind of telepath?" he joked, knowing full well both that telepaths did not exist outside of the science fiction shows, and that his neighbour really did like to hear him laugh. He suspected Zoë would like to do more than just hear him laugh, though. "But you are right, she does enjoy it. Especially when Lewis has been trying to convince her to let him do her taxes."
Tash’s smile broadened. “Yeah, I just had a feeling when you mentioned the neighbour’s kids… And you seem a nice enough guy, if a little secretive,” she winked, “so it’s no surprise if she’s taken a shine to you. So, no significant other as such, then, I take it?”
"No, not as such," he replied, in a way glad that this was the case. It avoided certain complications that could arise over the years. Though at this point, being at least semi-retired, he was more willing to consider it. *Must be getting soft.*
"Never really had the time," he confessed at last. "Either too busy with work, or training. If it's not one thing, it's another."
“Amen to that,” Tash replied, feeling wistful once again. So much of her life had been taken up with her current vocation that she really had no idea what it would be like to lead a normal life. She reached for the tea and froze momentarily, gazing at her gloved hand. *But of course, I was never going to have a normal life, was I?* she mused. She finished her action and poured herself some tea, pasting a smile on. *Don't want him thinking I'm totally neurotic.*
Nikolai was just observant enough to catch her stare at her gloved hand for an instant. As she did so he momentarily considered the possibility that maybe she really was a telepath. Then laughed off the suggestion. No, she was probably just fairly observant. Nibbling on various bits of dishes, he steadfastly avoided anything that looked like it hadn't at least been passed through a match before being put down.
His curiosity was piqued again. Arthritis? That seemed another possibility - it might be possible gloves could help if someone had that. "And now we have more time free than we know what to do with," he said.
Free time? Tash wondered what that might be. She barely had time to breathe between her training and hunting schedules, and the occasional crisis… She quickly put thoughts of Pat far from her mind before they even had a chance to come to the fore – no good being overwhelmed by that tragedy here in front of a relative stranger.
Composing herself she murmured noncommittally to Nikolai’s statement, then asked, “Don’t you miss the excitement of the, uh, old days, Nikolai?”
Nikolai had to stop and think. The excitement of the old days... in a way, he supposed he did miss it. At the very least, there was the challenge. Penetrating some criminal’s or official’s veil of security; getting close enough for the kill; eliminating the target; escaping undetected.
"Sometimes," he said at last, remembering the pride in some of the more… difficult contracts. "Other times, no, not at all," he continued. It was better not to think of it – he’d retired two years ago, when he'd finally had enough money to do it. To no longer have to associate with some of those things. "It's nice to finally be able to relax. I'm still in the middle of enjoying that."
Tash had to work to maintain her barriers against the images of danger and death flowing from Nikolai, along with… a feeling. A sense of disgust. His aura fluctuated wildly for a few seconds. Once more she had the distinct impression that if she closed her eyes she might just open them again to see a large, predatory cat sitting opposite her. She blinked several times trying to clear her mind. *Special ops is looking good still… maybe a spy? Yeah, right. How cheesy is that? A Russian spy – sure, Tash.*
“I’m no good at relaxing, really,” she finally replied, “If I don’t have something to do I start to bounce off the walls. But I guess in your case – you say you were in the Army? That really wouldn’t be much fun, I think. Having time to relax would make a nice change.”
*What the hell,* Tash thought, *I might as well maintain the lie for him.* “So were you in the army before or after your ‘goods transport’ business?”
Nikolai realised that he was suddenly having far more fun with his ever-evolving story than a man should be allowed to have. He idly wondered how many different permutations of his past he could come up with and still remain plausible, while at the same time not explicitly admitting to having done anything that was illegal and would encourage her to go to the police.
"Maybe both went on at the same time," he suggested with that half smile of his.
He noted that Tash stopped mid-bite at that one. Yes, this certainly was enjoyable. "Well, think about it. You have to get goods across the border somehow, and who better to do that than the people who guard it? You make a little money, businessmen get their profits and people get respite from eternal shortages. Everyone wins. Where's the harm in that?"
*Let her chew on that for a while,* he thought. Americans had struck him for his years in the country as being smugly superior, especially when it came to moralising. Always assuming that everything had to be done by the book and above board, always forgetting that it was their good fortune which allowed that. Only this woman struck him as being smarter than the average American. She had the look about her of someone who had not seen life at its best. But had she reached the same conclusions that seemed to Nikolai to be inescapable?
Tash was beginning to wonder how much of this story Nikolai had thought out beforehand, and how much he was making up on the spot. *Though if he’s the consummate professional he looks to be, I’m sure he has several such alternate histories up his sleeve.* Part of her wished she could just let on that she knew he was totally bullshitting her, but part of her was enjoying this yarn-spinning effort. Just how far could she push it before it started showing holes?
“Of course,” she laughed, “and nobody would question why you were there. It would save on a lot of furtive skulking about trying to avoid the guards. But surely you weren’t always posted on the borders? What did you do then? Just forget about the trade or did you find some other way?”
"That's where having contacts came in handy," he told her. It was time, unfortunately, to begin improvising once again. He knew that he had to be vague enough to let her draw her own (incorrect) conclusions, but specific enough to not look like a total bullshitting. "Let's just say that having certain friends in high places was helpful." He used picking at another dish as an excuse to switch topics again. "So, you said you always need something to do. What is so interesting to occupy your time, aside from working out?"
“Like I said, I do a few odd jobs here and there. I’m involved in a fair bit of philanthropic work, really.” Tash figured you could call it that – saving people from untimely deaths was certainly a philanthropic act. “And I help Victor – my boyfriend… well, fiancé really – with his fundraising work.” True enough, too, in its own way.
She looked at the remains of their meal on the table and around at the restaurant, which had emptied of most of its lunchtime crowd. She blinked in surprise. Amazing how time flew when you were sharing tall tales with someone.
Nikolai noticed Tash looking around the restaurant, and began to notice how much of the crowd had already started to dissipate. There was still a great deal that he was curious about… why the gloves, for instance, or the details of that philanthropic work.
"Well, you'll have to tell me about what your fiancé does fundraising for," he said, genuinely curious. Philanthropy could mean a lot. "But at some other time," Nikolai added hastily. "Say, if we were to meet again next week to discuss it?"
Relieved to have a week to think up her own plausible lie, Tash smiled and replied, “I’d like that. I have to say I find you very intriguing, Nikolai. I’m fascinated to hear more about your exploits.”
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Sunday, 5 March 2006
4:30pm
Nikolai was sitting in the sun room, listening to Prokofiev’s Alexander Nevsky play. The opera was just beginning and Tolstoy was currently curled up in the chair asleep. Sure that nothing important would happen to his kingdom while he napped, the cat snored softly.
There was a small sound. He paused the opera for a minute when knocking at the door came again. Tolstoy picked up his head to watch Nikolai leave. As the little furry Czar was satisfied he would investigate the commotion, Tolstoy stood, stretched, then curled up into a little ball again.
Looking through the peephole at the door he could see that Zoë was here; from the way she stood likely with her five year old Ben as well. As he opened the door he heard the excited shout of “Uncle Nikolai!” come up from the young boy.
“Well, hello, Ben,” he said, looking down. “And you brought your mother, too. Won’t you two come in?”
Ben bolted in quickly as Zoë entered smiling. He shut the door behind him before the trio made their way to the living room. “Tolstoy is in the sunroom,” Nikolai said to Ben, knowing that the young boy loved the creature. Oddly enough, the cat loved him as well, and due to the frequency of Zoë’s visits – and Ben tagging along – he kept his apartment fairly childproof.
“Yes, you can go play with the little Czar,” she told him at his pleading look, having long ago picked up Nikolai’s nickname for the animal. He shot off to the sunroom with a triumphant look, as they went to a pair of chairs positioned to let them know if anything happened. “Sorry to drop in unexpectedly like this.”
“Oh no, don’t worry about it,” Nikolai replied, noticing her go more at ease at that. “It’s always a pleasure. Like something to drink?”
She nodded, keeping one eye on Ben, and another watchful eye following Nikolai as he went to get a couple glasses of water. She smoothed out her skirt and crossed her leg, waiting anxiously for him to get back.
“Here you go,” he said when he got back, returning her smile at her. She took a sip of water while he sat down across from her. “So, Zoë, how is everything going with you?”
“Pretty well, all things considered. It’s not easy being a single mother these days,” she said, pausing as if in thought. He nodded in agreement with her. Their friendship had started when he was first moving in, and she ran into him in the hall. There was an important meeting to go to, the babysitter couldn’t show… and so he’d wound up watching Ben. “Then again, it’s never easy. What about you? How are things at the animal hospital?”
“Everything’s fine,” he replied, setting his water aside. He glanced towards the sunroom to make sure everything was ok, noting Ben and Tolstoy getting along well. It was always nice to know that the cat wasn’t cranky. “Though unfortunately on Thursday, most of the doctors all got the flu on the same day. I spent an hour rescheduling appointments.”
Zoë’s expression became sympathetic. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Then she sighed, looking down at her drink for a minute, like she wanted to say something. Finally she spoke, “Kolya, can I ask you something?”
“Yes, of course,” he replied seriously, wondering if she would finally say what he was expecting.
“You know last year, when I got the promotion? Well, I’ve had the opportunity to do a little investing and got a touch lucky... so, um, I was wondering if you could help me with the tax form.”
“I would be glad to,” Nikolai replied, finding himself perplexed at being both relieved and disappointed at what had happened. Then a bit of confusion hit him at something else. “Why me? Why not a professional accountant?”
“Because you won’t charge me an arm and leg,” she teased, obviously pleased to hear that he would be doing it. She left out the fact that Lewis had offered both of them a deal, being neighbours and all, but there was the simple fact that she couldn’t stand him. “Besides, I’d rather have your help,” she added with a smile.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Friday 10th March 2006 – 11:50 am
Traffic had been mercifully light for Los Angeles that afternoon, resulting in Nikolai arriving some thirty minutes before he was supposed to. Still, he figured, that did help some since it meant getting a table that much sooner. He hoped that Tash had listened to his advice to eat a light breakfast - the restaurant served a more traditional lunch, which was the biggest meal of the day in Russia. They sat him at a table early as he waited for his guest.
It wasn’t long before he was waving Tash over to the table. “Good afternoon,” he said when she got there, the waiter dropping off a menu half in Russian, half in English. “I trust you found the place ok?”
Tash smiled in reply. Despite the unnerving imagery she’d been picking up from Nikolai off and on, she found herself really liking the man. The whole concept of friendship had been something Tash had kept buried for many years. Even people like Ian she’d kept at arm’s length. But this past year had seen her make many new friends – albeit most of them in similar unorthodox circumstances as herself. What was it about LA that made things different now? Maybe it was because she’d finally found love.
Realising she was standing beside the table with a sappy look on her face, Tash composed her features and sat, feeling a little embarrassed. “Sorry, I was just thinking about Victor,” she explained. “And yes, it wasn’t too hard to find.”
She glanced at the tables surrounding them and her eyes widened at the size of the portions. “You weren’t kidding about breakfast. Luckily all I usually have is a cup of coffee.”
"I think it's a European thing," he said half-jokingly. There were other things on his mind at the time as well - curiosity about her 'philanthropic work' and a slight nervousness over Zoë asking for help with her taxes being the two main things.
The few voices they could overhear came through to them in a blend of Russian or English, depending on which language was preferred by the couples at the table. Tea had already been ordered, and he watched with a small amount of amusement as Tash's eyes threatened to glaze over at the onslaught of words written in Cyrillic. "I was thinking of starting with a cucumber salad, small bit of borscht, and for the main meal having the Golubsky dish - that's cabbage leaves stuffed with meat and rice in tomato sauce."
"Sounds tasty. I'll just have to trust you like you had to trust me for the Japanese food," Tash grinned. The waiter approached and Nikolai ordered in rapid Russian before he settled back in his seat, a half-smile gracing his features. Tash spent the time amusing herself with the tea. *Maybe next time we'll have to eat Turkish - now they know how to make a lethal cup of coffee.*
She and Nikolai sat for a minute as the silence descended around them. The sounds from the rest of the diners seemed loud and Tash just knew that if Nikolai didn't want to start talking first that he could outwait her. She got the impression he was used to long periods of waiting. So she cleared her throat.
“I’m not sure where to begin,” she said, “We seem to have skipped over the small talk and hit the deeply philosophical bits already, but they’re a bit heavy to start a conversation, don’t you think?”
She had certainly never sat at the table with Colonel Suvorov. The man was not only a good Communist, but a rabid one at that. He analyzed everything in terms of the historical dialectic, and despite conditions being what even a blind man could see, thought that it would only be a matter of time before the inevitable triumph of the Party over the West. In retrospect, it was quite amusing in a way. Sort of like having your own personal propaganda machine.
Still.... "Yes, I have to agree," he said. "You seem to have gotten quite a bit about me already. I must admit, I'm more than a little curious about your philanthropic work and the fundraising you mentioned." The playful smile of his returned. "Who knows, this might become a good tax write-off for you, if you convince me to make a donation."
Tash had to laugh. “Oh, you’ve definitely been thoroughly corrupted by the West then, if you’re already thinking in terms of tax write-offs.” She giggled a moment or two more, encouraged by Nikolai’s answering grin, before sobering enough to continue.
“It’s hard to be specific about Victor’s work,” she began, happy to have the focus on the Foundation rather than her own exploits, “Basically he provides funding for projects that ordinarily wouldn’t receive other resources, whether from the Government or the private sector.”
Nikolai was immediately struck by the possibilities such a vague statement implied. He could find ways to think that this really meant social betterment, or something like money laundering. "Well, you could always mention a typical project or two."
Before Tash had a chance to respond, the waiter returned, his usual one. "Z'dravichye, Nikolai Aleksandrovich," from the waiter began an exchange in rapid-fire Russian between the two which no doubt made Tash's head spin. As soon as he left, Nikolai turned back. "So, where were we?"
“Fundraising.”
"Right. What sort of projects?"
Tash toyed with her tea a moment more, tilting her head to let it trickle down her throat in a hot trail. “Well, one of the more recent efforts involved tracking a missing person. She was out of the country, and with the FBI stretched so thin it was more expedient to use the private funds available through the Foundation to find her.”
It all sounded so reasonable, so easy, so impersonal when put like that. It didn’t convey any of the horrors she’d seen – and perpetrated – while on that particular rescue.
Lifting her eyes, she said, “Other funds have been used to rebuild a bookshop after it was mostly destroyed during a riot. Insurance just didn’t cover it.” The half-truths were simple to say smoothly, Tash found. She’d considered completely making up stories, but decided that half a truth was much easier to convey than a total fabrication.
Nikolai scratched his chin in thought, wondering if there was a single collective place he could simply donate to. This would work as a good tax write off - as far as he was concerned, deep down everyone was a good capitalist - and could even allow him to live slightly more above his means. His cover could be maintained, and there was still a feeling of… discreetness about Tash.
“Fascinating,” he replied in a rather polite tone of voice. “You must have your days quite busy, helping out your fiancé with his fundraising on top of what other work you do. One really has to admire someone with a social conscience.” Especially, he didn’t add, someone who could honestly maintain one after looking at the harsh realities of life. No matter how foolish they were, the idealists were always nice to hang around.
Tash did her best not to snort in laughter at Nikolai’s statement. Social conscience? Hardly. Not killing people was about as far as it went, and even that line had started to blur a little. But not crossed, she reminded herself. Not crossed. She had to believe that mage had survived in Bremen. She’d still been alive when they left.
“Sorry, Nikolai,” she said, breaking out of her reverie. “Lost in thought again. Something about you makes me keep thinking of times past.”
“Probably nostalgia for Star Trek,” he said in that polite voice of his. Tash could find the humour in it, though it took a minute for the joke to register before she broke out in polite laughter at the suggestion.
He didn't know why, but he felt rather at ease with this virtual stranger, and couldn't resist another joke. Using a deliberately bad accent, he asked, "So, can you tell me where the nuclear wessels are?"
Heads turned at the volume of Tash's laughter. “I knew it,” she said breathlessly, wiping away tears from the corners of her eyes, “You’re really a Russian spy trying to trap an innocent young American into your evil ways.”
Nikolai waited for the waiter to finish putting down their food and walking off before he replied. It wasn't often he got to use a bit of truth in jest. "That was the good Colonel's department," he said. "Part of the First Chief Directorate – Foreign Affairs." It was, he knew, the first completely honest thing he'd ever bothered to say to her before taking a bite of the salads which were left for them. The rest of the food would come later.
A shiver crawled down Tash’s spine and lodged somewhere deep in her belly. She’d been expecting a joking response, and the tone of Nikolai’s voice suggested that it was just that. But his aura showed otherwise. It was perfect, unadulterated truth that came out of his mouth. *Damn.*
She bent her head to disguise her sudden discomfort by concentrating on the salads that had just arrived. “So, what are these called?” she asked, hoping to distract him further.
"It's just cucumber, tomatoes and sour cream," he said, wondering how many other Americans could honestly say they'd had something like that. "No special name it's known by, aside from that."
Still, there was a bit of an edge to her he thought when reaching for the tea. The laughter dying as quickly as it did gave that away. "So, Natalya, what about your philanthropic work? Just helping out your boyfriend, or do you have something else you do on your own?" There was genuine curiosity in his voice when he asked her this. People were always more complex than they first appeared, and sometimes broad vagueness could disguise truly interesting facts that were worth knowing.
Tash knew she didn’t really have a response to this one. The Foundation she could vague up a bit and still have enough truth for it to sound real. But her work? How did you twist vampire hunting into something palatable that was sufficiently truthful to be believed? *This is why I don’t find new friends, remember? Sooner or later they want to know what I do.*
She cleared her throat, “I’m more into crisis management. When people have got themselves into a little hot water I can sometimes find a solution they can’t provide themselves.”
*There, not too bad.*
"That sounds quite interesting," he said, taking another bit of his salad while wondering the best way to ask for more information. He couldn't help but wonder what dark secrets this woman concealed, kept hidden from the world, like so many others did. "If you don't mind my asking, any particular kind of crises you deal with? Financial, suicide, just general...?"
“Mostly along the lines of lifestyle changes, I guess. And I’ve also been known to run the occasional self-defence class.” But that made her think of Sam and once more she had to fight to keep control of her expression. She knew Nikolai was fishing for more, and she shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry, it's really hard to be specific. My work can be pretty broad."
"I hope the participants learned something interesting," he replied, going back to work on his salad in silence for a few minutes. Neither felt particularly talkative for a few minutes, carefully obscuring and obfuscating what they did or do.
In time, the main course arrived along with the borscht. "Ah, there we go. This is the right way to do lunch," he said, winking at her. He most liked the restaurant because lunch reminded him of home more than any place else. That, and the abusive drunk very fortunately sent to the gulag.
Tash sniffed the strange looking soup that lay before her. She took a tentative mouthful and was pleasantly surprised. "Borscht - ah... beetroot," she said. "Yum." She was very glad the uncomfortable silence could be filled again. She knew this was why she'd tended to shy away from normal human contact.
But then again, Nikaolai didn't come across as your average Joe. Maybe, just maybe, he could be a friend like Ian. Ian was convinced she was a thief, and that covered her activities just fine. Perhaps if she could convince Nikolai she was nothing more than a vigilante, it would be close enough to his own reality that he could cope with it.
She smiled warmly at him over her borscht. "This is delicious, Nikolai. Thanks for suggesting it." The relief of having made a firm decision flowed through to her voice, making it richer and somehow happier. Having friends who knew nothing of the supernatural helped her to focus on just exactly what she was protecting people from. People shouldn't have to know there were monsters out there. That's what she fought for.
Her new demeanour seemed to puzzle Nikolai. Once more he was looking at her strangely. She cupped her chin on her gloved hands and gazed at him intently. "You know, we'll have to decide where we'll meet for lunch next week," she said.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Friday, 21st April 2006 – 12:10 pm
Over the course of several weeks, the vampire hunter and former assassin continued their tap dance. Each week on Friday the odd pair would meet to have lunch, eventually leaving discussions of their pasts behind. It got to the point where Tash was willing to accept her companion did black ops for the military and wanted to be thought a smuggler, while Nikolai became convinced that she was the more vigilante type - perhaps even a thief or gangster.
Eventually their talks allowed themselves to get deeper and comment on current events. Though Tash was willing to take the more moral, democratic standpoints, Nikolai possessed a cynicism about humanity that made him think a benign dictatorship ideal.
One time they’d run into his neighbour Zoë, who was there for a lunch meeting with another manager. Though she was scrupulously polite, Tash had noticed the big flash of yellow in her aura, but didn’t say anything.
This week they had sat down at one of Jerry’s Delis. The thought of going to Zoë’s was figuring quite high on Nikolai’s mind, not sure exactly what to do about it. The place had comfortable wooden booths in dark colours, movie posters on the walls. One might think of it as the typical, comfortable, LA diner. Which while a touch pricey still had decent food.
A pot of Nikolai’s favourite tea sat on the table between them, while Tash cradled a cappuccino between her gloved hands. Not that she needed the warmth, since the spring weather was balmy enough, but it was comforting. She sat back and surveyed Nikolai’s face, noting the air of worry about him.
“So, Kolya, what’s your week been like?” she opened.
"Fairly well," he said, true enough though it didn't do his wondering about the next night justice.
The rest of the week had been fine, though he spent the better part of a few days going over his copies of the tax forms just to make sure the Infernal Revenue Service would not decide to play games with him. Nikolai swore that they made the forms more complex every year - they probably got some sadistic pleasure out of it. Which got him thinking of Zoë again.
"Things have been slow at the vet's office the past week, although my cat had to go in. He's caught the feline equivalent of the flu."
“Oh, that’s awful. Poor thing.” The coffee sent tendrils of steam towards Tash’s nostrils and she inhaled the aroma before taking a deep swallow.
Something was bothering Nikolai – Kolya, as she was now coming to think of him – and all she could get was some heightened anxiety in relation to his thoughts on the taxes. It didn’t seem to be just the taxes, though. It occurred to Tash that she’d often seen other people have conversations where one party was holding out on the other. The other person often seemed to know they weren’t getting the whole truth, and Tash wondered how much of her own ability rested in her telepathic gifts, and how much was simply reading body language. And therefore, how much she herself gave away to someone like Nikolai.
She smiled brightly at him, “Did you get your taxes done? I know you were stressing about them last week. I still say you should do what I do and just hand the lot over to someone else.”
He let out a small chuckle at that. Some people got suspicious when they saw multiple overseas bank accounts, especially when a few of the accounts were for pseudonyms. They'd forged some trust and closeness... so maybe he could discuss his dilemma with her.
"Oh, yes. It took a while to get all the forms sorted out. The real thing I was worried about, though, was Zoë’s - you remember that day you met her?"
Tash nodded.
"She'd recently started to have to deal with a couple of the same forms that I do. Capital Gains can be quite annoying at times. She needed help and asked me, rather than having to pay Lewis a good amount of money to do them." Nikolai stopped there, not sure exactly how he could explain the thing on his mind now - or even how to ask for advice.
Tash nodded again. The tinges of jealousy from Zoë had been impossible to ignore, and given what Kolya had told her of his neighbour early on she figured she knew what his issue was. She steepled her fingers together and leaned forward.
“And you’re worried that she’s going to put you in a position where the situation between you and her won’t be able to continue in the same way? Because so far, she’s interested and you know she’s interested, but nothing has been said overtly so you can pretend it’s not there. But if she says something…”
Nikolai nodded, and made a mental note to himself to watch his actions much more carefully in the future - he knew Tash was perceptive, but she'd put all of this together from running into Zoë once. "I think she might be planning on it," he said, using his tea to get a moment to think of how to put it. "She's invited me over for dinner tomorrow night - saying that she wants to thank me for the help with the taxes." There was a very simple crux to his dilemma. The man she had a crush on was one part real, one part legend. But what would she think if she knew Andropov Andreievich?
Tash could feel Nikolai closing down a little and knew she’d spooked him, even though she’d already made observations about the neighbour when he’d mentioned Zoë during their second lunch together. But there was more to it this time. He was more on edge. She tilted her head and waved the waiter away. She didn’t dare be interrupted by having to order at this point.
“Let me tell you a little story. It’s all about a girl who grew up with a foster father. Her own family had died and she was left all alone, but her foster father cared for her and they came to love each other very much. But the girl started doing work that – although not illegal – was hard for others to understand and she found it hard to make friends. She felt she was somehow different and didn’t like to see the look on people’s faces when she did something that they didn’t expect. So she spent most of her life avoiding getting to know people, but she had her foster father and that was enough for her.
“But then one day he went away and she left her home to look for him, but she had to continue her work at the same time. With no friends and nobody to help her she found it very hard, until she reached a town where she found other people who were different too. They weren’t frightened by the work that she did, and some of them even did the same sort of work. For the first time since she’d lost her father she knew how it felt to be truly known.”
Tash took a deep breath, her deep brown eyes boring into Kolya’s. “Then the girl realised that the few people she knew who wouldn’t understand her real work had to be lied to constantly. That she could never really be herself around those friends. Some friendships can survive that, but to take a lover on such a basis…
“I know there’s more to you than you’ve told me, but I’m a friend and I can respect that you’ve got secrets. But that’s what you have to decide, Kolya. Can you be the person Zoë thinks you are, or should you let her know who you really are?”
Nikolai took a while to digest everything that Tash had just said to him. He knew the answer was that he could be person Zoë thought he was. Andropov was retired. There were no more contracts; no more hits. Nikolai Aleksandrovich was free to be the nice retired man, fortunate enough to have struck it rich. Besides, there were maybe only one or two people who could actually find him from his past life - and they respected his decision.
"Tasha, my real dilemma is that I don't know what to say if she finally admits it," Nikolai replied, deciding to simply ignore the question. Though he did realise that she had probably answered one thing about herself he'd wondered about. Her work wasn't illegal... but still had to be kept secret.
"I know she's had a crush on me for a few months, but she's never said anything. We could always go on like everything was normal. It's just that...." How to explain the concern, left over from the past, to her? Perhaps the truth would work. If she asked, he knew what he would admit: that her impressions of being a smuggler were somewhat wrong - he was ex-KGB.
“It’s just that what, Kolya?” Tash asked softly.
"I've never really had a chance to become really close to a person. You just… couldn't afford it. Sentimental attachments were a weakness that could be exploited, so I never allowed myself to have them. And now, after so long… I don't know if I can even develop them. But I don't want to hurt her - she'll think it has something to do with Ben, since that's when the guys usually leave her, and I don't want to lose her friendship. But there could be something more there..."
He had to stop, unsure of how to continue. It was wholly possible that there could be something more there, but part of him still didn't want to take the chance. He still regarded any sentimental attachment as too easily exploitable.
“Kolya, before you can decide anything else, you have to know how you feel. Do you love Zoë?”
That was, Nikolai thought, the million-dollar question. "Well, I certainly like her... I mean, she's nice, and attractive. But love? Something could develop, though I can't afford to fall in love."
“Can’t afford? Or are too afraid to try? Kolya, I never thought I’d fall in love, but then I met Victor. And he and I have been able to share everything we are with each other.” Her eyes took on a dreamy, faraway look, “Probably more so than any two beings on this world ever could, in some ways.” Her eyes snapped back to the here and now.
“And that’s the real crux for you, I think. Not whether you can dare to fall in love with Zoë, but whether you can share all you are with her if you do. I know damn well you were much more than just a smuggler, and if you do get together with her sooner or later she’ll figure that out too. But where I’m content with just knowing that you have a deep, dark secret, she’ll want to know what it is.”
Well, that was a bit of a lie, Tash thought. She wasn’t content with just knowing a secret existed. She’d been allowing her talents to glean what they would from her friend until she felt she had a fair idea he’d been up to some nasty black ops work for his government, and yet she still couldn’t bring herself to reveal her own deep, dark secrets to him. And truthfully, she was happy enough that he didn’t want to tell all, because then she’d feel obliged to let Nikolai in on her life and she didn’t think he was ready for that.
*One in glass house should not throw stones,* he thought at hearing Tash mentioning a sordid past. No doubt she was still holding something else back, but he refused to call her on it. She was right, of course: it was the question of being able to share everything. Though it was possible that Zoë had known somehow, had seen his own dark side possibly emerge. "That's just it, Tasha. You're right - the business is something of a cover. I was something of an aide to Colonel Lavrenti Vladimirovich Saborov.”
Tash merely looked at him blankly.
"I was a member of the Committee of State Security - the KGB. We found out about a group of smugglers, some in the army, some outside, some in crime. Saborov struck upon the idea to use that to our advantage, extorting goods and funds from them in exchange for not giving them a Siberian vacation. When an attempted coup against Mikhail Gorbachev was launched, I had to flee the Soviet Union. That is how I made all of my money."
Most of the story was false, but he thought it a quite interesting fiction, mixing what Tash had already figured out with more lies, and looking plausible to boot. If she bought the story, and he had to tell Zoë something, that might be what he needed. Or he could just stick with the fortunate investment story - Zoë had believed that one for two years, even with how close they already were. But part of him still didn't want to share with her his old life, the fact that for a decade he made a living by being a killer for hire. Who the hell would want to even call such a person a friend?
One phrase echoed in Tash’s head, and it wasn’t something Nikolai had said out loud. ’Killer for hire… killer for hire…’ It wasn’t easy to discern the lies from the truth, based on Kolya’s aura. It was all mixed up together. The part about being in the KGB rang true, as did fleeing the USSR. But making his money from extortion? No. ’Killer for hire…’ That was where his fortune had come from. No wonder he didn’t want to talk about it.
Her coffee had long been emptied and her stomach rumbled, so Tash signalled the waitress over and they quickly ordered while she pondered her response to this latest ‘revelation’.
“And which version have you told the lovely Zoë?” Tash asked once they’d settled back into their respective corners. This lunch felt more like a sparring match than any previously. “Does she think you’re a clever businessman, or does she think you were a smuggler? I’m betting you’ve not spun her anything beyond that.”
"Both," he said, knowing that Tash had to know that the economy in the Soviet Union was centrally planned - and the large amount of the economy which was 'black market'. Something got fixed in a timely manner by giving the technician 50 roubles under the table to stop by after work and take a look at it. That was just the way things were done.
"She knows that I did some work with smuggling, though nothing direct. She just figures that I've been quite lucky since we became democratic. So, now you know my problem. How do you tell someone you care for that the person your son calls 'Uncle Nikolai' was a secret policeman, and still expect her to want to have anything to do with you?"
Slowly, he was beginning to realise something else. Was it possible that he was trying to talk himself out of giving her the chance? Keep life and his cover simple by not risking that kind of penetration? No, not penetration. To risk that she might very well accept him, even with connections to the men in green collar tabs.
Tash sat still for a long moment. *What right do I have to give Kolya advice on his love life? I daren’t even tell him what I do at night, or that I already know he was an assassin. How can I tell him to tell Zoë all?* She found herself staring at her gloved hands in disgust. The look on her face must have been fierce, for Nikolai made a small interrogative sound.
“I was going to ask you what it was you really feared. I don’t believe that you really think she’d turn her back on you simply for telling her you worked for the KGB. And I’m sure that’s not all there is to your story. But,” Tash finally lifted her eyes to meet his, “you know I’ve not been completely honest with you, either. There are aspects of both our lives that we don’t want to share with each other. So how can I advise you to be totally honest and open with Zoë? But I do know that the being I love most in this world does know everything there is to know about me. He’s seen my soul.” *Literally,* Tash thought.
She held his gaze as she continued, “And I honestly think that unless you can do the same, any love affair you try will be doomed. So maybe that’s why you’re afraid of her. You will have to choose. You can open yourself up to hurt and make yourself vulnerable by allowing yourself to love. Or you can shut down and stay that way, knowing that you’ll always be alone in this world with the secrets that you bear.”
She was not kidding about opening one’s self up to hurt. He would have to tell her something at some point. Perhaps even right away. They did have the long enough relationship to do that. Maybe she was worth the risk. After everything he’d done, everything he’d been through, didn’t he deserve a chance at happiness? There was also Ben. He liked the kid, cared for him a great deal. In a way, he was already like a father to him.
“All right,” he said at last, “If she says anything, I think I’ll give her the chance. Just have to see how things go tomorrow.”
Tash reached out and took his hand in hers. “Kolya, it may go badly if she learns all you have to tell her. But I’ve seen a friend come to grief over just such an issue. He wouldn’t tell his girlfriend what was going on in his life, and it almost destroyed both of them. I don’t want to see it happen that way again. Better to find out now if she can handle who you really are than to have her think you don’t trust her.” She patted his hand and disengaged.
“But,” she grinned as she sat back, “don’t come gunning for me, either, if she can’t handle it, ok?” *There,* she thought, *let him make of that what he will.*
Nikolai chuckled and nodded his head. She was right, after all. "Spaseba."
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
Saturday, April 22, 2006.
To say that Zoë Taylor was feeling nervous qualified as an understatement.
Despite being a single mother, she had done well for herself. She’d liked her boyfriend’s playful nature at the time, but hadn’t realised that it was a sign of his latent immaturity. The result was that when she became pregnant with Ben, he split. Her mother and friends helped her get through the time, and she took the chance to break into management at the plumbing supply company when it was offered. This made her life a constant juggling act between the demands of a family and a career.
She’d made a few attempts at relationships from time to time. They usually ended quickly, either because she didn’t like the guy or because they went out a few times and then he got turned off when learning about Ben. Which only added to her current nervousness.
“I hope he likes this,” Zoë said to herself, checking her appearance in the mirror. Her long hair had been left loose to hang around her shoulders for the evening, and she had spent fifteen minutes alone deciding on the darker shade of red for her lips. The dress was, oddly, an easier selection for her: white halter style, which managed to find that happy medium between seductive and modest. Form fitting, it stopped midway down her thighs to an effect which she hoped would drive her guest wild. Her outfit was completed with the small silver cross which hung around her neck.
*Nikolai Aleksandrovich... when did it all happen?* she thought. She didn’t know when she’d first started to think of him in quite that way, but knew that it had to have been several months ago. They would simply sit there some days and talk for several hours without break. She’d started taking every opportunity to get to know him better, and besides, he not only knew about Ben, he liked Ben. None of that was the reason for her nervousness at the moment, however.
She would finally say something to him tonight.
*****
Nikolai took a moment to steady himself back in his apartment before setting out down the hall. There was still time to cancel, his mind nagged. He could plead that he was suddenly feeling ill, a call from someone else he knew. Tolstoy could have a medical emergency...
Which would just delay the inevitable.
Tasha was certainly right, he decided. He was afraid to even try to give someone else a chance to get close to him, share himself completely with someone. It wasn’t even out of fear of how she would react to his history. No, that was just a smokescreen. Nikolai’s problem was much simpler than that. One got used to being alone, not having anyone close to you.
Part of Nikolai was afraid of changing that, since it might mean having to admit that maybe – just maybe – most of his assessments of humankind were wrong.
Finally finding his resolve, Nikolai headed out of his apartment and down the hall. Tolstoy picked up his head for a moment, looked around, then went back to sleep. Nikolai walked briskly down the hall, stopped outside the door and stared. Before he could change his mind, he knocked quickly.
Zoë opened the door very quickly with a smile on her face. “Kolya, thank you for coming,” she said in a pleasant voice. He swallowed at the look of her there in the white dress, noticing the low-heeled shoes she was wearing at the time. “Please, come inside,” she finished, obviously delighted that he had come and not found some way out of it.
“Thank you,” he said, the only thing letting him sound relaxed being long experience at concealing his emotions. There was a small edge of nervousness in her that he shared. Passing into her apartment, he glanced around, half-expected Ben to call out in greeting, only to hear nothing. What he did see was that the lights were lowered and soft music was playing. Zoë had set out candles on the table. “Where’s Ben?” he asked, hearing his voice crack for the first time.
“Staying over at a friend’s house,” she replied, shutting the door. She gently took his left arm in hand to lead him into the living room. “It just gets to be the two of us tonight.” Which was fine, as far as she was concerned. Zoë led him over to the couch to sit down, where she’d already set out two wine glasses.
Nikolai sipped from the offered glass of wine when they were both sitting. Zoë was on the opposite side of the couch, one leg casually draped over the other. He couldn’t help but to be struck by her attractiveness as they sat there. “So, did you have anything aside from dinner planned?” he asked with genuine curiosity.
Zoë used a drink of wine to hide her own nervousness. There were so many things that could happen. “Well, not much. I just thought we could have dinner and talk.” Why couldn’t she just come out and say it, she wondered? She put her glass down look at him, and took a hand in hers. “Kolya, I have something to tell you…”
She was finally going to say something.
The thought struck Nikolai quickly and powerfully. If she wanted to be close to him, she had to know. “I know,” he replied, putting his own glass aside. Nikolai 'shhhed' her when she tried to say something else. “I know what you’re going to say, but before you do, there’s something you have to know, Zoë. It’s about my business… I wasn’t really a trader. I was…” He really didn’t want to say it, but knew he had to.
“You were what?” she asked, gazing into his eyes. “Kolya, I’ve known you for two years. Whatever you want to tell me can’t be that bad.”
Nikolai sighed. What was the best way to tell it? Coming straight out and saying it was probably best. “I was a member of the KGB, then later worked with organised crime until I could get out.” There. It was said.
Zoë gasped in surprise. She shook her head, as though wondering if she had imagined he said that. Then his look told her that she hadn’t, that he really had said it. But oddly enough, she wasn’t surprised. There was always that... feeling about him, with talking about his business dealings. “Kolya, it doesn’t matter. I always knew there was more to you than letting on, but you are a decent man, I believe.”
She found his eyes again as she realised that she didn’t care. What was past was past, and couldn’t be changed. Besides, he was out of it now. “I still want to be closer to you. Can there be anything between us?”
Nikolai nodded to her, his nervousness slowly evaporating. “I am willing to give it a try.”
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
>>> Monday, 10th of October, 2005... 23:36
Starring Edward Norton as Cameron
The shrill whistle of a kettle broke out, piercing through the abandoned, lonely air of the ‘late eighties’ style kitchen located at the back of the Police Station on South First Street, Alhambra. Blades on a fan rattled and sliced rhythmically and almost hypnotically, circulating a cool breeze for a short distance across the room, lifting a collation of papers that fought for a blissful release from the weight of a mug stating “Batons wait for nobody”, which held them to ground.
The whistle climbed in pitch causing an uproar from the dog kennels somewhere further within the depths of the station. It seeped, muted, through the solid oaken door and competed in vain with its now faint cry against a rerun of the game that was broadcasting on the overhead 64cm screen television - the prized possession of the station’s units.
Only one member of those units now watched it while the rest of his squad had retired to their homes, toilet, front desk, or milk bar to handle the current Coke shortage situation that, left much longer, was sure to reach code blue in the next five hours. Of course, there were also the few who’d drawn the short straws and copped patrolling this evening.
Officer Cameron Laiko slacked back in the recently refurnished staff lounge with his feet kicked up on the new, modern low-set, iron braced coffee table that he thoroughly believed to be of no practical use as a table and better used as a footstool to which he religiously persisted in doing and wouldn’t stop with anything short of a court order restriction. And even then the situation was still debatable.
Ktch hsss… Cam gulped down the precious cool liquid, his lifeline, his love; it was sure to keep him awake for as long as these long night shifts prevailed. The smooth sweet taste rolled over his tongue. Filling his mouth it crashed against the back of his throat sending an instantaneous chill throughout his body, revitalising him as it danced a soft fizzling jig down the path of his throat.
He swallowed, and with a satisfied sigh of contentment he brushed off the corners of his mouth with a thumb and forefinger.
“Here comes the kick…”
“Scoooore!”
“SCOOOOOOOOORE! JUST LOOK AT THAT PIGGY FLY!”
“I am Cam’s complete lack of enthusiasm.” Cam wasn’t sure what he thought of this new commentator that seemed to be broadcasting on every sports event now. All he knew was that he’d seen this before, he’d most likely see it again, and he‘d most likely die if he continued to watch it.
Now restless, Cam pushed himself up off the couch away from the TV, hobbling a couple of steps while the cramp loosened up in his left calf.
A faint knock came on the door before it suddenly opened up nearly slamming him flat in the face.
“Oh!” Jen, the constable unfortunate enough to cop front counter duty, jumped in surprise. A smirk crept across her face. “Sorry ‘bout that Lakers. Didn’t realise you were right there.”
Cam smothered his own, sarcastic, smile. “I’m sure you didn’t.”
Jen suppressed her chortle and nodded back to the front office. “Your dear baby sister requests an audience...”
Cam straightened with alertness. There was probably nothing wrong; she did drop in every now and then while he was working.
“…with a Constable Jones.” Her smile was incorrigible.
Cam could only raise a questioning eyebrow before shuffling past her to make his way to the front counter on the opposite side of the one way viewing bullet-proof glass.
Sure enough, his baby sister, Jack, was standing right there pressed up against the bench wiggling her butt with a keen anticipation. She paused briefly at Cam’s entrance, with a surprised and somewhat disappointed expression on her face, but didn’t wait long before she fidgeted in some other form.
Cam pressed both knuckles into the counter and leaned over to peer down the opposite side with curiosity. Finding no one he settled back, raising an eyebrow at his sister, “So where’s Aaralyn?”
“At home,” Jack sniffed, “Casey is minding her. Quit worryin’! I made sure to flush the alligator as far down the toilet as I could get it before leaving.” She poked her tongue at him.
Cam kept his face expressionless. “Very funny. Now what’s this I hear about you looking for Jonesy?”
“Jealous?”
“Trust me, I have no ambitions towards incest relations.”
Jack smirked, “Really now?”
“Truly,” Cam returned the smile and poked his tongue back at her, “Plus I hear you have a kid, and to tell you the truth, it’s a real turn off for me!”
Jack chuckled, “You dick…”
“Hey!” Cam rubbed his forehead where a postcard suddenly frizz-beed into him. “Not the face!”
“Ha! You wish! It’d be an improvement.” Jack’s grin split her face in two. A light chuckle came from behind Cam through a slight crack in the door where he’d entered the room. The sound of Jen’s hand suddenly slapping her mouth shut soon followed.
Cam, still rubbing his forehead, twisted around to peer over his shoulder back at her. “Having fun are we?”
“I’m practising to be a detective!”
“Yeah, well, you suck!”
He could hear her light chuckles diminish as the door clicked shut and Jen withdrew deeper into the station. Cameron smiled at her efforts and turned back to his sister.
“So. Is he your new boyfriend?”
“No!” Jack coloured slightly, “He’s just company… goodness… being… of…. Fun company.”
Cam eyed her knowingly, “Sure. I know! I trust you! No seriously! I do! Yup!” His head nodded actively whilst Jack stared rather unenthused back.
“…I hate you.”
A tiny thrill shivered up the back of Cam’s neck with his small victory. He sighed smiling, “I know. I’ll understand if your stuff isn’t there when I get home.”
“Uck! Shut up! If I could afford it I would move out and you know it!”
“I know. But you love me,” he grinned.
Jack tried her hardest not to let the smile creep onto her face, but only succeeded in making herself look stupid from the faces she pulled under the effort. “Only because you’re my brother, you’re stupid, you need me, and I have to.” She punctuated her point by sticking her tongue out again.
“You know, one day you’re going to lose that.” He nodded to her protruding tongue. “It’s so childish! And what type of example are you setting for Aaralyn?”
Jack retreated her tongue, her mouth twisted in sibling loath. “She’s not here, so it doesn’t matter.”
They both stood there just staring at each other under an unseen cloak of tension. Well, Jack at least looked ready to burst, face red, knuckles white, while Cam just stood there with the passive calm he always held to.
“You wanted to do it didn’t you?” he spoke softly with a sly smile, abruptly ending the silence.
“Do what?”
“Stick out your tongue.” *I am Cam’s utter smugness!*
Jack made a disputing sound in her throat, “Sooo not!”
Cam stretched his neck and yawned in competition with his smile. “Whatever!” His neck finally cracked and he settled back on her. “Either way, Jones isn’t here. He called in sick. Just your luck I guess.
“I’ll bet the plan went something like: His shift finishes in… oh…” he made a show of checking his watch, “…fifteen minutes, and you conveniently happened to pop in and say hi at that particular moment!” He smiled.
“Say, considering I’m off in only fifteen minutes,” Cam mimicked Jones, “would you mind sticking around till I get off and we could catch a coffee? Wink-wink, nudge-nudge, say-no-more.” Cam leaned on the bench predictably, confident with his assessment and rewarded by his sister’s silently working mouth that searched frantically for a retort.
Cam transferred his weight and lent on his elbow now. “Please, you’ve lost! Don’t go having an aneurism on my account. The guilt I’d feel would be intolerable!”
Jack closed her mouth with a click from her jaw and just glared.
“But,” Cam stretched, arms fully back this time as he continued on, “since I am doing Jones’s shift, means that I’m getting off in fifteen.” He relaxed, letting his arms swing back onto the bench.
“I’ve got some business I mean to handle, but otherwise before I get to doing that... Want a lift home?” he grinned victoriously. It was great being the big brother.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
>>> Tuesday, 11th of October, 2005... 02:14
The vampires hadn’t even had a chance when Reah ambushed them from a rooftop. Oblivious to the fact that what was yelling at them was coming from above, they had stood their ground searching the local street with determined and bothered looks marring their vamped faces.
Their dust now bothered Reah by clinging to her black coat. Revenge from beyond the grave: they must have guessed that her new clothes brush was next to useless.
Bounding up the stairwell, taking it three steps at a time, she continued her attempts to removed the particles, only to succeed in driving them further into the fibres of the fabric. Heaving a sigh expressing both her irritation and lack of energy she entered her apartment (through yet another brand new door) and was headed towards her room after a brief visit to the bathroom when her ears picked up an awfully familiar hum.
“Now this is an interesting piece of weaponry. I trust this is... merchandise?”
Reah glared at the intruder as they hefted her Vibro Sword in their hands before placing it aside. Posing a threatening stance, she blocked their escape. “May I ask as to why you’ve broken and entered into my house, Officer Laiko? I had hoped we‘d gotten past this stage of you getting in my face.” Blades shot true out of her forearms, ready for strike, “It would appear not.”
Obviously Cameron hadn’t become as fully prepared as he thought he may have been when presented with the blades that protruded and retracted themselves from Reah’s arms at her free will. The deep intake of breath through his nose was more than enough confirmation. But she had to admit; he was otherwise handling it very well.
“Before you do anything rash,” Cameron said composedly with a wary eye still lingering on her extended ‘arms’, “I think it’d be in your best interests to consider that no one else has come storming in here to rampage on your abnor… differences.”
“Why would it be in mine? If you hadn’t of come here at all I believe that that would have been in your best interests.”
“What are you going to do? Kill me? I can tell you’re smart enough to know that it’s not a wise idea. Besides,” he added with a slight smirk, “I hate to make promises and not keep them.”
Reah’s eyes levelled on his, unimpressed and not showing any sign of even acknowledging what he was saying. “You’re right. It wouldn’t be a wise move.” She immediately proceeded a step towards him.
“WHOA WHOA WHOA! Wait! HEY!” Reah stopped momentarily in her advance and inclined her head at his vain attempts to convince her not to kill him. “Just listen to me for a moment will you?”
Reah sighed, delaying her advance for the moment and waited, arms crossed beneath her chest with blades still extending out past her frame.
“I’m not here to capture, harm, threaten, blackmail or anything against you,” he made a point of informing her, “I’m only here out of sheer curiosity, ok? Surely you have to understand that! I’m not here to kill you.”
“What I understand,” Reah rebutted, “is people running away screaming when they discover my little ‘abnormalities’. That’s not to say that I don’t understand curiosity, but you see my point.” Her blades suddenly disappeared back into her forearms with a decisive ‘swoosh’. “On that note, I’ve decided your death shall not be by stabbing.” She continued her foreboding approach.
Cam backed up from her till his back came hard up against the solid confinement of the room’s wall. “Look, you really don’t want to do this….”
“I don’t? Strange…” she grabbed and twisted his arm downward that had sprung up in self-defence. Her second hand flew to grip his throat, “… 'cause I haven’t been able to think of anything more blissful in a long time,” she said as she levitated him onto his toes, then clear off the ground.
“Any last words?”
Cam struggled with desperate fingers to pry at her stony grip and keep his air passage free. An urgent gurgling rose from his throat instead. Eyes rolling and bulging out of his head, his mouth gaped, groping for air to speak, “Please…. L… l-let me h… h… h-hkelp… oo!” he choked.
“No… no I don’t think I need much help. Look….” Her grip tightened.
“Arkh!” His throat creaked in the attempts of taking a breath. “Whakh khapp-Een’d?” It sounded like it was his tongue that was trying to do the breathing. “I khavv dipindents…. I’ell leestin….” Tears streamed from his eyes that she wasn’t sure if they were out of the strain to stay alive, if she was somehow squeezing them out of him, or in reflection of something or one whom he may be losing. “P… pleeszh,” he spluttered.
Brow furrowed, Reah strained to keep a hold of herself. Her grip tensed even more so with the effort, nearly crushing his throat completely in the process. She barely knew or understood what she was about to do.
Thud.
Reah just stared at the makeshift rag doll, Cameron, as he lay limp on the floor, barely conscious, weak, and gulping for air.
“Time travel. As lame as it might sound, that is what happened.” She cocked her head dominantly at Cameron’s fazing eyes that continuously rolled over her own in attempt to focus. “Didn’t think you’d believe me. Let's just keep it at that and not go blabbering to the world.”
Sombrely, she manoeuvred over to her bed where she sat herself down and watched in silence till the officer passed completely out of consciousness by her wall.
What she was supposed to do now, she had no idea.
Mid-Season Two: Jan 20, 2006 - June 16(ish), 2006
>>> 2nd of October, 2060... 18:36
“What’s going on?” Reah’s head darted back and forth trying to catch someone’s eye as both Aral and Meh moved frantically about, preparing for something. Reah could only assume it was one of those ‘runs’ she’d heard so much about and was supposedly going to take part in one day.
She’d been here for roughly a month now (possibly the longest month of her life), and although time had passed and she had appeared to have accepted her new reality, truth be told the whole idea still had her a bit miffed. But it had become clear, too, that she was there and nothing much she could do or say would change it until these ‘people’ decided it was time for her to go back.
‘Controlled black holes’.
She’d have laughed at the concept a month ago if someone had tried to convince her of it. Until now of course, all she knew of black holes was that they would suck up and kill anything that came near them. Then of course Sea-Doc, Bear, and Sara (another mage who helped in transporting Reah) gave her a brief lesson on black holes, space-time relativity, light-speed, and why what they did was possible.
Flashback: Two weeks since Reah’s transition (RT) lapsed - 13th September, 2060
“Firstly, Reah, one thing you need to understand is that light-speed is a measure of time. Not distance,” Bear clarified.
“Well that’s just stupid,” Reah muttered, lacking the energy to be cooperative, “Why didn’t they just call it ‘light-time’ and save the world a headache?”
“Reah, please….” Sea-Doc was sitting between her brother and Sara as she gazed compassionately toward Reah’s hunched up and downcast form.
“Black holes are regions of space-time from which nothing can escape, not even light.” Sara took up the lecture, “They are dead stars that, after burning up all their fuel, explode into a supernova. What’s left from this collapses down into an extremely dense object known as a neutron star. When the bodies of objects are crushed into a smaller and smaller volume, their gravitational force increases. Thus the escape velocity increases.”
Although she appeared to be avoiding the explanation as well as eye contact, Reah’s attention, driven by curiosity, was undivided on what was being said. She’d been transported to the future! The impossible had happened to her. Needless to say, she wanted to know how the hell the impossible suddenly became the possible.
Certain terms like, “Escape velocity???” were something of gibberish to her that she didn’t hesitate in questioning.
“Sorry,” Bear soothed her with a soft gesture of his natural hand (aware of her discomfort over his mechanical one, he was careful in how he handled her), “What Sara means by escape velocity, is the speed at which something has to travel in order to be able to free itself from the gravitational attraction.” Leaning back, Bear heaved a sigh through his plaited beard before continuing, “For instance: here on earth, the escape velocity for an object needs to be around seven miles per second in order to break free.”
“Uh… huh.” Reah nodded with a furrowed forehead before dropping her gaze back to the ground.
Sara, after watching Bear through his brief explanation, turned back to Reah and continued, “Anyway, as I was saying: If a neutron star is too big, the gravitational forces overwhelm the pressure gradients and the collapse cannot be halted. Thus the neutron star continues to shrink until it finally becomes - a black hole.”
“And the relevance of all this is…?” Reah pressed impatiently, *When are they going to stop crapping on about bloody astrophysics and start telling me how the bloody hell I got here?*
“Nothing, and that’s nothing Reah, can travel faster than light,” Bear said this particular fact with a heavy point, “The speed of light is approximately 186 thousand miles per second, or 300 thousand kilometres, however you prefer to hear it. In order to explain this properly it would take quite a while.
“To put it short: Light is the ultimate speed of the universe, it’s basically what determines time. It is time,” Bear made an irritable clicking sound in his mouth as he flexed and tensed his fingers, “and ‘tis rather bothersome for me to set it in such brief terms.” Sighing, he continued, “But it’s what determines the ‘casualty principle’, in that cause always precedes the effect. Anything that managed to travel faster than light would violate this.
“Now think about what would happen if something managed to travel faster than light….” Bear just sat there watching Reah silently turning over his information with downcast eyes as she tried to make sense of how this all related to her.
*It obviously has something to do with time….* Mentally she kicked herself for even thinking the absolute obvious. *Speed of light is a measure of time…. Cause and effect…. If…. The faster something travelled… the closer it travels to the speed of light… (not that it has a bloody chance of reaching it) the quicker the effect…?* Reah shook her head in concentration, trying to speed up something in her mind to hopefully visualise and simulate what would happen once something caught up to the speed of light and actually managed to supersede it. Travel faster! *Overtake the speed of light… overtake… time.*
Reah’s head jerked up suddenly, *Did I just understand that?*
Bear smiled encouragingly at her, picking up on her sudden discovery. “If something travelled faster that light, the effect would take place before the cause, which would ultimately tear up our fabric of time. If you go to break a vase and are travelling faster than light: the vase would break before the cause of it even took place. Without the need of a cause, which in this case would be a vase to break, there would ultimately be no effect… which means we still have our vase!” Bear held up his hands in question, “This goes to show why nothing can travel faster than light.”
Reah’s head nodded slowly with understanding until a thought slowly dawned on her, “It also goes ahead to contradict the possibility of my being here!” She clapped her hands thunderously together, “Congratulations! You’ve just successfully proved why I couldn‘t be here. Rather the opposite to what you should be explaining to me, don’t you think?”
Sara sighed irritably at Reah’s outburst, “If you’d just shut up and listen, you stupid girl, then I’d explain that to you right now!”
“Hey! I was born in 1984, so technically, I’m older than you. Don’t call me a ‘stupid girl’ again.”
Eyes narrowed, Sara continued on, choosing to ignore Reah. “This would have to be the biggest ultimatum in the universe. Sure, nothing can travel faster than light, not without happening before time, but know this: Nothing can escape a black hole. Not even light.
“The gravitational attraction of a black hole is nothing short of phenomenal. The fact alone that it can swallow light forever, just stretching it out for all eternity... It literally eats and stretches time! Theoretically, if you were ever sucked up by a black hole, you wouldn’t die. Rather you’d just be stretched out over all eternity, but to onlookers you wouldn’t appear dead, you’ll just fade out. Of course your mind and body would be torn to shreds and you’d be beyond hope…. But to them, not dead. However, you’d obviously never be able to escape from the damned thing, so they’d pretty much consider you as good as dead. 'Cause you are.” A stupid smile, pressing her lips, briefly flashed across her face before slacking back to normal.
Her forehead creased, Reah inclined her head as she slowly began to comprehend what they were telling her and all of its relevance to how it was managed for her to be pulled through time. “So… what you’re telling me is….”
“What we… they ultimately did, Reah,” Sea-Doc nodded to Sara, “was create a black hole. A controlled black hole.”
Reah, even though it seemed to be the obvious thing she’d say (actually hearing it made it sound a lot worse), sat there mouth agape. “But isn’t that…”
“Impossible?” Sara finished off Reah’s question, “Pretty close to. Not surprisingly the two dragons managed to survive. However, I still lost some good friends bringing you here…” She trailed off in a sombre tone.
*I didn’t see any dragons! That’s because they weren’t in their natural form. GET OUT OF MY HEAD!* Reah shot a warning glance at Sea-Doc.
“What do you mean? Did some of the mages die afterwards? I thought you managed to restore them all, or whatever,” Reah questioned ignorantly.
Sara shot Reah a warning glare of her own, “Who said they died afterward? They were burnt up out of existence during the damn thing!” The slightest tear shed itself from Sara’s eye. “I’d appreciate a little gratitude from you for the sacrifices others, not to mention I’ve had to make in order to bring you here!”
Sea-Doc rubbed a compassionate, comforting hand across her companion's back, sharing some tears of her own. “You are important to us, Reah. Please understand that. No one would of made the grave sacrifices they did if you weren’t.”
***
Sticking her tongue out in mock whilst biting it was about the extent of all Reah could do when she thought of these ‘people’ with their purposes and aims.
Meh hopped across the room, balance struggling as she tried to pull on her knee high strap up on what looked like the modern version of CFM boots. “We’re… unng… going on a run. Whoa!” She thudded to the ground on her backside where she proceeded to fix up her boots.
“Am I coming?”
Meh and Aral paused momentarily, sharing a glance, then proceeded to avoid the question and continued to get ready.
Reah sniffed. She really hated this. Every day she was told she was really important to them and that they’d be building her up, training her, preparing her for the future, yet all she’d received so far was encouragement, comfort, and “words of wisdom”.
Snatching up one of Meh’s heavy pistols, apparently known as an Ares Preditor 3, she slammed in a full clip of ammo and stood up just as Meh jumped across the way, nearly tripping over an unstrapped boot, and snatched it out of her grip protectively. “No. You’re not coming.”
Reah glared at the vampire. It was bad enough she had to live with it without killing it, she didn’t need to be lectured by it. Apparently Meh wasn’t like the vampires Reah was used to though. Something had happened during the path between Reah’s world and this one that they’d been unable to explain to her. Sure, there were still your regular run of the mill demon vampires, but Meh’s condition was a different classification of vampire. Some kind of infection or virus known as the “Human-Metahuman Vampiric Virus”, in shortened terms; HMHVV.
She really did hate this place. Yet despite her loathing of Meh, she couldn’t help but feel slightly comforted in her presence. She’d seen Reah’s world, knew where she came from, and the both of them were all too similar in some respects. Which she hated even more so.
Reah’s arms crossed defensively as she faced up to Meh. “Why?”
“Because it’s too dangerous for you!”
Reah’s mouth dropped as the insult went further by Meh poking her tongue out.
“Well I have to get experience somehow! You people keep telling me that you want my help, then you brush me off! It‘s bloody pissing me off already! Bad enough I have to be here.”
“Not my problem! We just don’t want to get you killed. This run will be far too dangerous for someone like you who doesn’t even have any experience.” Meh paused momentarily, “Tell you what, how about I tell you about it when I get back? I could show you any burns, bruises, cuts, stabs, or gun shot wounds I get too!”
As much as Reah was sure Meh’s wide grin was supposed to be an attempt at friendliness and companionship, she still couldn’t help but just sit there, grumbling and feeling sorry for herself.
a dream to help galen out
*** Sunday, October 16, 2005, around 10 pm ***
Galen sat at the kitchen table, papers spread out before him. The cup of coffee he’d made himself after Kate went to bed sat near his elbow. He was rereading the latest police report related to the disappearances for what seemed like the hundredth time. Once again, he saw nothing. There was no link between these girls that he could see. Twelve girls in the Alhambra area missing now, and he had nothing. In all cases, the physical evidence was non-existent. Galen was frustrated and he was tired. Down the hall Kate was sound asleep, and he’d be better off if he was too.
Galen stood up from the table and walked into the living room, carrying a folder with him. He sat down on the sofa and stretched out. Sighing, Galen flipped open the folder and stared at the picture of Micha Glenn, a plump, pretty blonde child. In the photograph, a school portrait, the girl wore pigtails and a shy, sweet smile. She was the picture of innocence. Galen felt his insides twist as he thought of finding that little girl in a ditch somewhere, her blonde hair matted with blood and dirt. At this point, such an ending to this case seemed all too likely. Galen was so tired. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, and fell asleep, the folder slipping from his hands to fall soundlessly to the floor.
Down the hall, in the bedroom, the Arthach Anam Iomai sat on Kate’s dresser. As Galen drifted into a deep sleep, white light flowed from the pendant, coming to rest on his sleeping form.
***
The phone rang, and Galen sat up on the sofa, feeling disoriented. He fumbled for the phone, finally lifting the receiver and putting it to his ear. The house was still full of darkness, so he could tell it was very late. Trying not to disturb Kate, he moved into the kitchen, speaking softly, “Hello.”
“Galen,” the voice on the other end was his partner, James, “This is James. I need you to come down to the marina, right away.”
“What?” Galen asked, “What are you talking about?”
“It’s about the case, the kidnapping case,” James replied, “I’ve found something.”
“Okay, okay,” Galen said wearily, “I’ll be there in a bit. Where exactly are you?”
James gave Galen directions to a warehouse district on the pier. Galen hung up the phone and went into the bedroom to tell Kate he was going out. He found the bed empty and was filled with a sudden sense of dread. The bedroom window was open and the bedclothes were scattered all around the floor. It looked as if there had been a struggle.
“Ryan!” Galen snarled, noticing a muddy footprint on the floor by the window. It was a man’s footprint. Ryan had come in and taken Kate. Galen ran into the living room, grabbed his jacket and gun and hurried out the door. He had to find Kate.
Galen was racing around the city, searching for clues. Suddenly, he was flagged down by a homeless woman, a vaguely familiar homeless woman. Drawing close to her, Galen realized she looked like Daye, the same eyes and hair, the same demeanor.
“You must hurry,” the woman said softly. There was a lyrical lilt to her voice. “They are at the pier. The hour grows late. Go now, and save them. Save them both.”
Galen nodded, understanding her immediately. Kate was at the pier. Maybe Daye was too. Galen ran off. He rounded a corner and came to the pier. He didn’t even question this.
Spread before him on the pier was a nightmare he’d had over and over. Kate was tied down to an altar of wood, dressed in a white gown. Standing beside her, a man in a red robe held aloft a somehow pentagram shaped amulet. Pouring forth from it was a red light. Around the altar many other men and women in red robes chanted in a language Galen had never heard before. Behind the altar, at the edge of the pier, twelve girls in white gowns were chained together, facing the water. Without seeing their faces, Galen knew these were his kidnap victims. He didn’t see James anywhere. Ryan stood on Kate’s other side, his back to Galen.
Galen was about the charge the altar when Kate screamed, the sound rending the air. The chanting acolytes raised their voices higher. Stunned and terrified, Galen realized Kate was in labor. She was having the baby. He was frozen in place.
Kate’s screams continued, echoing in the still night. The red light surrounded her body, constricting until it centered on her womb. The strange, brown haired priest moved to stand between Kate’s legs, reaching towards her with one hand while he continued to hold the amulet aloft. The red light grew and intensified. Galen was forced to turn his head away at the sound of a terrible ripping from the water. He recovered and looked up to see a monstrosity rise beside the chain of girls. It was huge, beyond description, a mass of eyes and tentacles and throbbing, alien flesh. Galen felt horror and sickness rise within him at the sight.
The creature in the water roared, an echoing terror. Galen was aghast as the creature reached out to grab one of the girls, drawing it to the dark maw of its mouth. He turned away to see if Kate was all right. He drew back in horror at the sight of a terribly beautiful child who now stood beside the altar. She was no babe, but a girl caught between child and adolescent. Her hair was a mass of lovely golden curls, but her icy blue eyes were ancient and evil. The acolytes began to chant, in eerie precision, “Mother Mariah, Mother Mariah!”
Galen recoiled in horror as the girl turned her head to catch his gaze. Smiling malevolently, she walked around the altar where Kate lay - her screams now harsh sobs - to come to a stop beside Ryan. Ryan turned at the girl’s insistence, and he too watched Galen, his mouth twisted into a grin of triumph. Ryan leaned down and drew the girl close to him; Galen could see the golden glow of the demons skin as he bent to kiss the girl. Galen struggled to try and move forward, to try and reach the altar, but to no avail. The fanatical acolytes surged all around him, still chanting.
From off to the left, Galen heard a strangled cry. Glancing over, he saw Daye stumble out of the shadows, dressed in the same gown as Kate. Galen could not believe his eyes. Daye too was swollen with pregnancy. She walked slowly towards the altar, staring at Ryan with grief stricken eyes. Tears streaked down her cheeks. A few feet from the altar, Daye doubled over in pain, falling to her knees. Galen wanted to go to her too, to try and help. He was blocked on all sides.
Daye threw back her head and sent a keening cry to the heavens. A brilliant white light suffused her and Galen had to shield his eyes. When the light had faded, a girl stood beside where Daye wept. The girl had red gold curls and blue eyes. There was a glow about her, a benevolent, reassuring glow. The girl looked at Galen, a depth of sorrow within her.
“Too late,” she said softly, her words drifting to Galen’s ears as if she had spoken from beside him. The girl turned her gaze out to sea as the creature stretched out a tentacle and ripped her from the pier. Galen felt hopelessness wash over him as the monster devoured Daye’s child. He heard Mariah and Ryan laugh coldly, and then the world was washed in a red light.
***
Galen sat up on the sofa, feeling drained and devastated. He remembered every moment of his strange dream, and he felt a certainty that he knew where they would find Daye, and the missing girls, and when. Rising, he hurried into the bedroom to wake Kate and tell her what he’d learned.
daye and sam have a chat
*** Friday, October 14, 2005 early afternoon ***
Daye sat in the courtyard of the Crimson Brotherhood’s building, humming softly as she knitted. She was content as her thoughts swirled with images of Ryan and the baby they would soon be having. She stopped for a moment to place a hand on the gentle swell of her abdomen. She was already showing, but the doctor assured her that was normal. According to him, she should expect the baby to develop much faster than a human child. Apparently, Ryan’s type of demon experienced a very short gestation period. Daye laughed at the thought. She was luckier than most women. She would be done with this pregnancy thing practically before it had begun.
Sam walked into the courtyard of the Brotherhood’s building, reading over some important points in the journal he held in his hand. Mariah was growing more and more impatient as the time of the ritual drew near. Sam was worried about making a mistake. This was the most important task he’d ever been entrusted with and he couldn’t help but wonder if he was the right man for the job. He had doubts. He worried about the volunteers, the ones that were being held at the warehouse. He’d gone down there last night and seen them. They were all very young, children really, and Sam was concerned.
How could girls so young understand what was being asked of them? Atlantean rituals required more than just words and images drawn into the ground, the more powerful ones required sacrifices too. Sam had read about some of the religious festivals in the books he’d seen in the library. There had been men and women, young and devoted, who had given their lives to the gods of Atlantis.
Mariah was the last god of that long lost realm. She didn’t demand blood sacrifice, Sam knew that. But there was a god being invoked in this ritual, a god much older than Mariah, and she said that god demanded lives for his services. So the Crimson Brotherhood had recruited the girls in the warehouse. They were all innocent, as the old god required, and they were in the warehouse to be prepared. That’s what Mother had told him. It just hurt Sam to see those children there, looking so sad and lost.
“I suppose it would be sad to know you’re going to die in a couple of weeks though,” Sam mumbled to himself, “Even if you know the cause is worth it, it would still make you feel bad, I bet.
The Brothers who guarded the girls had not wanted Sam to talk to them, though, so Sam didn’t know for sure how they felt. The guards had said that he would be a corruptive influence. Sam wasn’t sure what that meant, but he knew he didn’t want to be one. It worried him, though, how sad the girls all seemed, and the fact that he couldn’t even talk to them.
“Maybe if I talked to them, I could make them feel better,” Sam said to himself.
“Talked to whom?” Daye asked from her seat on the stone bench. She had seen Sam enter and knew somehow who he was.
Sam looked up, surprised. He had not realized anyone else was in the courtyard. “Oh, hello,” he replied,. *It’s my sister,* he thought, *She’s finally come.*
“Hello, Sam,” Daye said. She smiled kindly at him. “Is there something wrong?”
Sam felt a sudden sense of relief at her words. Here was finally someone he could talk to. Amanda would understand. She would help him to understand too. This was perfect.
“Actually, sort of,” Sam said. He sat down beside Amanda when she gestured for him to do so.
“Tell me what’s on your mind,” Daye invited.
Sam wasn’t sure where to begin. He paused, trying to decide what exactly to say. Finally he blurted out, “I’m worried.”
“About what, Sam?” Daye asked.
“Well, for one thing, the girls in the warehouse,” he said.
“The sacrificial virgins?” Daye supplied. Sam nodded, feeling funny when she said ‘virgin’. “Why are you worried about them, Sam? They have all volunteered. They are heroes, willingly giving of themselves so that Mother can be reborn. Because of their brave sacrifice the world will be born anew as well. Think how wondrous Mother’s world will be, a world without pain or suffering, a world of love and dreams.”
Sam nodded slowly. These were the same things Mariah had said when she told him of the sacrifices. The exact same things. Amanda’s eyes were full of a fanatical light and she spoke the precise words of Mother. Sam was unnerved by this.
“There is something else troubling you,” Daye guessed.
Sam nodded again. He felt even more uncomfortable as Daye waited for him to speak. “I… I… I worry about my friends.”
“Friends? Do you mean your Brothers?” Daye seemed genuinely perplexed.
“No, my friends, like Reah,” Sam corrected her, “and Mr. Tek, and… and… Tash.” Sam stumbled over the last name, feeling uncomfortable and ashamed, although he couldn’t say just why.
Daye didn’t reply. She looked confused for a moment, but then her face lit with a dreamy smile. “Why do you worry, my Brother? Mother will care for us all. She will cradle us in her gentle hands. You believe, so you have no reason to fear.”
Sam was taken aback. Amanda spoke with a certainty, but behind her words, Sam heard an emptiness. This woman, his Sister, seemed different than in his dreams. She had a drifting quality and her words were not her own. Why was that? What was going on with Amanda?
As Sam puzzled with the doubts and questions that plagued him, Amanda bent her head and continued her knitting. Sam watched her for a moment, questions in his eyes. Finally, sighing, he rose and left the courtyard. He wished even more that there was someone he could trust to talk to. Something seemed so wrong here in the home of the Crimson Brotherhood.
The Arthach Speaks
Sunday, 16th October - 2005,
Kate’s House, Birch Street, Los Angeles.
Around 10:00pm
While Galen worked Kate slept, but not soundly. She hadn’t slept well in the last few weeks as though she knew on some level that yet another battle faced her in the coming days ahead. She and Drew had searched Los Angeles rigorously for signs of Daye and Ryan and yet each time they seemed to make a breakthrough another obstacle was thrown in their way. When Kate despaired that they would never find her friend she would turn to the pendant that Alicia had bestowed upon her, the Arthach Anam Iomai. Although it gave none of the answers she sought it did suffuse her with an almost peaceful reassurance that she was not alone. It helped Kate more than she could possibly explain.
While Galen dreamed of demons unknown the power of the Arthach was not completely lost on Kate either. If the light of the Arthach was soft and lulling when it reached Galen downstairs in the living room, it was twenty times that intensity in Kate's own bedroom. The pendant’s light grew brighter with each passing minute, growing in size until it finally reached Kate’s sleeping form across the room. As the light engulfed her she moaned weakly, the sound of a soul as it is projected across the ethers to its destination…
******
Kate walked through the blinding white light as her restless spirit continued its journey of discovery. Moments later she heard the hum of many hushed voices halting her steps.
“Where am I?” she called out into the light. She did not feel afraid, only aware that there was something that she must uncover.
There was a soft ripple of voices that seemed to surround Kate like vapour. She couldn’t tell if it came from a specific place, nor whether the voices were male or female. They just were. They existed and that was all she needed to understand.
“You are in the Arthach.”
“It has taken us a long time to reach you, Seeker.”
“We truly thought that we would never make a connection.”
“Her soul is strong.”
“Yes, her soul is strong. It resists the power of the light.”
“And her mind is concerned with other things… with life, with the life of her child…”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“A great child, a child of the light…”
“I don’t understand,” interrupted Kate as the medley of voices became too loud for her to distinguish one voice from another. “You said you could not reach me, but I have had the Arthach for many days now. I have tried to make a connection and you would not admit me. Meanwhile Daye continues to be under the influence of Ryan and this Mother Mariah person.”
At the mention of Mother Mariah’s name there seemed to be a change in the air as the voices all talked at once in painful, distressed tones. Once more Kate had to cover her ears to protect herself from the deafening din.
“Daye is one of you, she is a part of your essence. You have to help me find her and break whatever spell she is under.”
Suddenly there was a great blast of cold wind as another light joined the collective. Once again there was a ripple of unease.
“Where have you been, sister?”
“I could not risk that we would not make contact with the Seeker again. I took matters into my own hands. I contacted the mortal man, her lover.”
Kate frowned at the words but remained silent, listening to what the spirits had to say.
“But we cannot forge a communication with those who do not possess the gift, except for the bearer.”
“I know, I sent him the message while he slept. His dreams will show him the way.”
“This is the Seeker, she is here at last.”
“The Seeker.”
“We have made a communication…”
Kate closed her eyes as the light intensified with a collective rush of excitement.
“She is powerful, but is she enough to take on Mariah?”
“She cannot fail, she is our only hope of saving our dear Amanda.”
“Of saving us all.”
Kate took a determined step forward, asserting her presence. “Indeed I will not fail you. But you must first teach me how to defeat this… person.”
“Mariah is not a person… No… No…”
“A powerful demon…”
“A child…”
“A Goddess of her own making…”
“A Goddess?” echoed Kate nervously, “I don’t think I could fight a God.”
“Have courage, Seeker.” One voice, stronger and more resonant than the rest spoke out. “You have the power, you have the strength. We will give you the knowledge, we will protect you and your child in the battle ahead. And Mariah will be weak when she attempts to enter the waking world. Only in the land of dreams does she hold any real powers.”
“But, the Soul…”
“The Soul of Atlantis… The Crimson Brotherhood…”
“Yes, I am aware,” interrupted the louder voice, silencing the intermediate chatter. “Seeker, you will need allies in the quest. Mariah has followers in the waking world, an army of devoted acolytes. They themselves are entirely mortal, held under Mariah’s spell with promises of a great release from their earthly sufferings.”
“I have my own people,” said Kate boldly, certainly more brave than she felt inside. “A band of warriors and mages who fight for good.”
“Warriors…”
“Magicians…”
“They will help me in the fight. I only need the knowledge… to defeat Mariah.”
“Step forward Seeker. Soon you will know all that it is you need to know.”
Kate looked around warily but was guided by the voice and found herself stepping forward without hesitation. As she did she became engulfed in the light once again. A strong wind picked her up and held her suspended in the air as she was surrounded, bombarded, consumed with a thousand words and images that made perfect sense to Kate although she had never seen or heard such things in her life.
******
Suddenly Kate sat upright in bed, her breathing hard and her pulse racing. It took her a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the bedroom. Once she could see again she climbed out of bed and over to the dresser where the pendant lay, pulsing with a faint, fading energy. Kate picked it up, looking in the mirror as she place it over her head.
Moments later a frantic Galen burst into the room. Initially he was surprised to find Kate wide awake and standing by the dresser but it passed as he recalled the strange dream he’d had. “I know where to find Daye. Don’t ask me how, I know this is more your department than mine. I mean, prophetic dreams and all. But I know, and the children, the missing girls that I told you about… I know where they are and-”
“I know,” she spoke softly, turning to Galen and quieting him by placing a finger against his lips. As Galen fell silent he frowned, a confused expression on his face at Kate’s calm attitude. Kate turned back to the mirror and fingered the large crystal stone of the pendant. It glowed responsively between her fingers.
“I know what must be done. We need allies, Galen, and I think I know exactly who to contact.” Calmly she turned from the mirror, an air of determination in her countenance. “We have to make sure everyone is prepared, because this Mariah has the power of a God.”