***WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 1 2006 – The Order of Valor HQ, South Pasadena***
It had taken Aimes Carmichael a long time to find this, the secret headquarters of The Order of Valor's infamous 'Five'. Aimes had to hand it to them, as he stood in the generic looking kitchen of the suburban bungalow, it was the last place he had thought to look for the motley crew of demons.
In fact he chuckled to himself, feeling a slight flutter of excitement shudder through his body at the thought of what was about to come. Alaric was a wily demon, it took such character traits to survive as long as he had.
Alaric tossed the last of several different changes of clothes in a suitcase before shutting it and moving it out to the hall. Disappearing for a few weeks or months seemed like a prudent move to him. Even though the chances of them finding his headquarters were unlikely, it was not a chance to be taken at this juncture. There were just too many variables, people looking for revenge - such random displays of emotion were difficult to predict.
He moved through the house collecting various weapons, and stopped when he thought that he heard something. Reaching behind his back he pulled out a six inch dagger with which to defend himself if anyone was present. When he saw the man - or rather, demon in glamour - he relaxed a bit and put the weapon away. "Carmichael, you devious scoundrel. I was wondering when you would try to get in touch with me ever since I heard the Ministry was in LA."
Aimes smiled widely. *Trust Alaric to see through such facades,* he thought without worry. "I’ve been a bad host I know, I should have called on you sooner but I got the impression you were busy. I, as always, am in no hurry.”
He eyed the demon's suitcase with speculation. "Going somewhere, Alaric?" Carmichael took several steps towards his demonic acquaintance; several centuries of bad blood ran between them. More specifically it ran between their opposing organisations but all that was beside the point. "I should really congratulate you on your latest coup. Brilliant work old man, simply brilliant."
"Thank you, Carmichael. I can't tell you how much your approval pleases me." The sarcasm was quite evident in Alaric's voice, since both knew that they had a simple arrangement. The Order and the Ministry stayed out of each other's way, and they got along fine after that. "If you will pardon me, however, I have something of a trip to make. These things are always a mess when we have to become directly involved."
"Don't tell me you're afraid of those mortals!" laughed Aimes, unable to control his mirth. "My, how the mighty have fallen when the great Alaric is driven out of town by a rag-tag bunch of vampire hunters."
Carmichael pulled out a chair and offered it to the orange demon before sitting down in a chair himself. "I have a proposition for you my friend something I think you might be interested in. I'm afraid your trip might have to wait, though."
Alaric preferred to remain standing, since he was not about to allow someone else to dictate when he would sit down in his own house. "You have not been watching this 'rag tag group of hunters' for the past two years. I have." He held out a finger as he ticked off accomplishments. "Thus far to my knowledge they have killed an Ancient Vampire, an Elder Vampire, prevented the return of a Dark Goddess, and successfully battled a splinter-group lead by an Elder of Sindell." He sighed. "At the very least, however, I can listen to your offer."
Carmichael smiled cordially as Alaric propped himself against the breakfast counter, deliberately ignoring the chair he had offered. "It would be a grave mistake on your part if you continued to believe that the Ministry's interest in this little situation you have here in Los Angeles is in any way less comprehensive than your own. The Ministry is always-"
"Always watching and always waiting, yes I know," said Alaric with a roll of his eyes, "After the past three centuries I think you should get yourselves a new motto!"
Carmichael decided not to rise to the bait set out by Alaric; the two demons had many differences but now was a time to unite for a common cause. "Patience is a virtue," he said simply in response, “I think you of all people would appreciate that. But I didn't come here to compare company philosophy, Alaric, but to offer you an opportunity. What if I said that a great battle was approaching? One that would be the ultimate fight against good and evil."
Alaric stopped at that. The Ministry was far from religious, but that did not mean the metaphors did not stick. And it was obvious to anyone who was long-lived that humans and demons would one day fight a last war for survival. That was the reason he called this time by the Norse name 'Ragnarok' - it was the time of a final battle, between the Gods and the Etins. "I would say that this battle has been approaching for a long time."
Aimes looked satisfied that his words had such an effect on the demon. It would all work to his advantage if he was going to ensure The Order of Valor's complete and unequivocal co-operation in the coming months.
"I believe that day to be fast approaching, the Ministry are certain of it. We would like your co-operation in assuring our mutual place in such a battle when it finally does occur. We need to stand together in this; there is no other way. Not if we are all to survive." The man straightened out his tie and held a hand out in front of himself, admiring the perfect manicure. "Humans are so fickle, their appearances, so vain. Not one will ever see this coming and they'll be powerless to stop it." He looked up, their eyes locking for a moment. "We have plans..."
Alaric was impressed, but not without some concern. He saw no reason to rush the end of the world, since it would come in time. But he could also smell the opportunity. "People always have plans," he said. "Suck the world into hell, burn it in fire, reassemble ancient artefacts. Someone is always seeing it coming.”
He held up a hand to cut off Carmichael's protest before it even started. "However, the Ministry does have enough resources that perhaps you might be able to pull it off when someone does try to stop you. Which raises the question: why do you need my help?"
Aimes could sense Alaric's reserve but it didn't concern him. All that mattered was that he co-operated, Aimes needed him on side rather than stoking the fires of the opposition. This latest situation with the Brotherhood had only made that fact all the more poignant.
"You have influence, contacts - you know the lay of the land, as it were. This is also something that concerns you. If you're really interested in Survival of the Fittest, what better way to find out just who that is?" Aimes cleared his throat, rising to get a glass of water from the kitchen sink. "For obvious reasons the Ministry's presence in Los Angeles cannot be known at this moment, therefore we require someone else to perform certain 'errands' for us in the meantime."
"And of course, you also get a front man if that 'rag tag group of hunters' discovers what is going on." Carmichael did not even flinch when this was said; though that was certainly part of the thought process. "I'm not stupid, you know. Perhaps you should tell me what sort of 'errands' we are talking about."
"I think you'll find them simple enough," he laughed briefly, "and don't worry about this so-called resistance. I can promise you they'll have more pressing matters to attend to; I doubt they will even notice what's going on right under their noses."
He took another sip from his glass of water. "Why Alaric, I think you might even have fun in all of this, give you a chance to get out of your Ivory Tower and back to grass roots. I can tell you, these last few months have been an inspiration for me, London is such a drab little city this time of year." Aimes could tell Alaric was growing impatient though, time to reel in the subterfuge. "If you're interested I think we can arrange some sort of recompense for your time and effort... why don't you unpack and we can discuss this further?"
The demon thought about the offer carefully, his final consideration that Carmichael felt he needed the demon's help bad enough to track him down at his own headquarters. Still, there would be precautions to be taken. "Very well, Carmichael,” he said finally. “Let's do that."
With much thanks to Adam for writing the part of Alaric
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Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
***WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 1 2006 01:30 am***
It was the rainiest night L.A. had seen in some time; the wind was blowing fiercely and the rain sounded like bullets against the roofs of the buildings. The streets seemed deserted except for those who needed the cover of darkness to go unnoticed. The weather was all the more unusual due to the fact that no more than an hour ago it had been a very warm evening without a cloud in sight, then out of nowhere the sky filled with darkest clouds imaginable. It hadn’t stopped raining since.
The noise from Bob’s Bar was unusually low tonight; in fact the bar was almost empty. Bob was looking out of a small window into the alley at the back of the bar. He had a look of concern in his eyes suggesting that something more than the weather was keeping his customers away tonight, even with the recent decrease in vampire activity. He had seen many things in his time in L.A. and yet something about this night made him feel uneasy.
He was straining his eyes to see into the alley, but it was pointless. The rain was falling so hard all he could see was his blurred reflection in the glass. As he turned away from the window there was an almighty crash in the alley; he pushed his face back against the glass and stared as hard as he could into the alley. A rain-soaked black cat jumped on the outer window ledge.
“JESUS... Stupid bloody cat, nearly killed me off then. I hope the rain gives you cat flu!”
A small wave of laughter filled the bar as its few occupants saw what had happened. “You think that’s funny do you, well at least I haven’t got to go out there in that rain tonight!”
The laughter turned to suppressed grumbles as Bob turned away from the window and returned to his usual position behind the bar. “Stupid bloody cat, you wait till it stops raining. I’ll show you, bloody cat,” he muttered to himself as he poured himself a drink.
But a cat wasn’t the only thing stirring in the alley.
Against the wall of the alley, just past the window Bob had been staring out of, there lay a shape, lifeless and hidden in the shadows. The cat, which had been as scared of Bob as he had been of it, if somewhat less vocal, was sniffing around the shape, purring and rubbing against it. The shape stirred, slightly at first, and then more until the shadow of a man sitting with his back against a wall could be made out in the dim light of the alley. The cat continued to move around the man showing no signs of fear. The man sat motionless.
*Where am I? What’s going on?* Jeet thought to himself, as he sat in the alley. Jeet looked around him and then down at himself - he was wearing his burial robes. *I DIED!*
Jeet remembered the fight near his temple, he remembered being struck by an arrow, but anything after that was blank. He stretched his arm around his back and felt under his robes. There was nothing, no sign that anything had ever hit him. *I don’t understand, what’s happened to me? I must have died but my wound is gone. I know I was hit, but where am I now and how did I get here?* He had so many questions running through his head but none of the answers.
He carried on surveying the area, making sure to make as little movement as possible as he had no idea of who or what might be out there. To his side Jeet found his weapons; a pair of Sai, a long wooden staff and his sword. *These would have been buried with me.* He instinctively felt his side and sure enough there was a pouch of gold coins. *I did die?*
Jeet slowly rose to his feet and edged along the wall. Carefully he peered into the window of the bar. *What place is this? Light without flames, people dressed in strange robes.* Jeet could just make out some of the conversations in the bar... “Stupid bloody cat, you wait till it stops raining. I’ll show you, bloody cat.” He had never heard anything like it before, he couldn’t understand a single word. *What is this tongue they are speaking in, why can't I understand them?* He looked at his feet where the cat was still moving around him brushing against his legs.
Jeet held his head, he was so confused. He staggered to the edge of the ally and stood staring out at the road and the street. A few cars drove by. *People carried by carts but I see no horses. More lights and yet I still see no flames.*
The streets looked empty but Jeet was all too aware that people were moving around in the shadows, he felt an uneasiness about the whole area for he new more often than not nothing good moved in the shadows. *What is this place for it surely isn’t heaven, but if it is hell what did I do to deserve such punishment?*
Suddenly the rain stopped, and the sky cleared as quickly as it had clouded over. Jeet hadn’t even noticed the rain but now he noticed its absence. He paused, and then felt his robes and hair. He was dry. Everything around him was soaked through, but he was dry, completely dry.
Jeet slumped against the wall. What was he supposed to do now? He knew nothing of this place, he didn’t even know if he was dead or alive, but one thing he did know. It wasn’t safe here, he had to find somewhere to hide.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
***July 4th, 1987- Town Outside of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania***
A/N: There are two types of Roma/Gypsy clans mentioned in this post; The Kalderash and the Gitano. The Kalderash mainly live in/come from Eastern Europe, the Gitano mainly live in/come from Southern France and Spain.
The sun beat down on the nearby suburb of Pittsburgh. Hollers came from drunken men as a random fire cracker went off. The commotion was started by an aging man by the name of Jefferson Jones.
Jefferson took a sip of his beer, one of many which he had already consumed. He sat on the bench with some of his buddies from work and laughed with them, for no apparent reason. One of his associates, Pete, took in a deep breath and muttered aloud,
“God, I love America.” He then took a sip of his own drink.
Jefferson smiled; the wretched smell of alcohol oozed from his lips, and replied, “So do I, Petey, so do I. The only thing I have a problem with is that Reagan keeps letting those damn foreigners in the country!” The group of men, consisting of only five people, raised their beer bottles into the air and cheered. One on the men, named Dave, placed his bottle down after having a long sip.
“Bush is runnin’ next year. Maybe they’ll stop the flow of those damn spics!” he shouted. The men began laughing, again, for no reason.
Rob, another friend, turned to Jefferson and commented, “Some of your grandkids are mixed, Jeff. Lorraine married a commie, didn’t she?” Not even a minute after this was said, the laughing ceased. Jefferson squeezed his beer bottle tightly as he heard the noise in the backyard. It was the sound of a lively violin playing, with laughing and clapping adjoined. Mr. Jones took in a deep breath.
“Enzo is from Romania. He’s a Roma of the Kalderash Clan. That’s what gypsies call themselves,” Jefferson reluctantly explained.
The men developed sour facial expressions. The fifth associate, named Lou, sat there, thinking, which wasn’t saying much since he was almost completely wasted. Finally, he began, “Ya know, Jefferson, you don’t have to take any of that gypsy scum’s bullshit. I say we shut that Romanian bastard up. This is America, dammit! We don’t have to put up with their stealing, commie, anti-Christian shit!”
The men nodded their heads in understanding. Slowly, they became more riled up as the idea became more appealing. Jefferson quickly stood up, raised his glass, and shouted, “C’mon boys, why are we just sittin’ here? I can no longer stand the fact that my baby Lorraine is married to a man named Enzo!”
They all cheered and headed to the backyard, where the Jones family - Lorraine, her two children, her husband Enzo Lautari, and his niece, Adriana and her cousin, Sergei - were located.
Lorraine Jones-Lautari bounced her one year old daughter, Rosaline, on her knee as she watched her husband elegantly play his violin. Her four year old son, Victor, clapped along with the beat. Enzo’s fingers seemed to dance upon the chords of the violin and he began to laugh as his seven year old niece, Adriana, swirled in a circle to the beat of the music. Sergei, Adriana’s thirteen year old cousin, stood by Enzo and sang a few lines of an old Romani song. Lorraine’s sister and brothers' children all cheered with the bouncy tune.
The only one who seemed not be having fun was Cecilia Jones, the devoted wife of Jefferson. She never approved of her daughter’s marriage to Enzo, and was disgusted to learn that Lorraine took in Adriana and Sergei with open arms. Cecilia just kept giving dirty looks as she drank down her third whisky sour.
Suddenly, the gate to the backyard swung open. Enzo immediately stopped playing, causing Sergei to cut short his singing. But Adriana kept swirling in her circle, preoccupied in her own world. Jefferson marched in, a lead pipe in hand. Lorraine saw the object in her father’s hand and shouted, “DAD, NO!”
She lunged off the picnic bench on which she sat, her daughter in her arms. Cecilia threw her drink onto the ground and caught her daughter, holding her back. Enzo stood in front of Sergei and Adriana, and dropped his violin. Jefferson raised the pipe and swung it at Enzo’s upper leg. It struck him and Enzo fell to the ground with a thud. The children began to scream and cry. Adriana stopped in her tracks. Lorraine’s two brothers ran to try and stop their very intoxicated father, only to be stopped by Pete and Dave. Lorraine’s sister immediately fainted, causing her husband and sisters-in-law to help her.
Adriana ran up to her aunt’s father and grabbed the lead pipe. Jefferson looked at young Adriana like she was on crack. He thrusted Adriana to the ground and tossed the pipe to the ground. Sergei ran to help his young cousin, only to be knocked unconscious into a tree by Jefferson. Slowly, Jefferson removed his belt and folded it. Lorraine’s cries became louder as he raised his belt. Adriana was so frightened that she covered her eyes. Jefferson then whipped down his belt at Adriana...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
***November 11, 2006- Manhattan, New York***
Twenty-six year old Adriana Lautari woke up in a deep sweat. She was breathing heavily as she sat up in bed. Quickly, she glanced at the clock next to bed. It read 2:45 am. Adriana sighed and lay down. This was the third week in a row that Adriana was dreaming about her horrible childhood memories at the Jones’. She hadn’t thought about her aunt’s terrible parents in years. Drea layed there, thinking for quite some time, when she sat back and hopped out of bed.
A few minutes later Adriana stood in the kitchen, pouring a glass of water. Once it was full she picked up the glass and began to chug it down. Half way through, a voice called out, “Couldn’t sleep?”
Adriana jumped from the counter and water zoomed from her mouth. At the doorway stood Sergei, now thirty-two years old, cleaning his glasses. Adriana gasped for air while muttering, “Don’t sneak up on people like that, Serg!”
Sergei placed his glasses on his face and sat on the counter next to her. He sighed and stared at the wall.
“I can’t believe you’re actually going to Los Angeles. Just so you know, the last person Yolanda sent there died, which kinda surprises me that she’s assigned you it,” Sergei explained.
Adriana plopped herself next to her cousin and replied, “Púridaia knows what she’s doing. She told me to watch over the creature Angelus and I will. I just need to find a place to live... and a job there. That’s why I’m going tomorrow. And... I’m think I’m pissing off Gwen.”
Sergei groaned. Gwen was Sergei’s Gitano fiancée. They had been together since their early high school years. "Gwen likes you just fine. You need to concentrate on finding the creature Angelus. Don’t forget what he’s done-"
“I won’t! Never!” Adriana snapped. Sergei was taken aback. Drea sighed. “I’m sorry, Serg. I’m just... I’m just afraid that I’ll let the clan down.”
Sergei wrapped his arms around Adriana. “You’ll be fine, Drea. Just be careful when you’re in L.A. No offence, but you’re not that good at defending yourself. To be perfectly honest, you suck at magic-"
“Okay, I get the picture, butthead!” she shouted at him. Sergei began laughing. Adriana quickly joined him.
“’Butthead’? The last time I was called that was in the second grade!”
“Hey, I’m tired! Cut me some slack!”
“Look out, Angelus. Adriana Lautari might just call you a ‘butthead’. Or any vampire for that matter.”
“Oh, and you’re a threat to vampires? ‘I’m Sergei Calendar, the Techno Pagan and I might just TYPE a spell upon you!’” Adriana managed to say through her fits of laughter. She and Sergei were now laughing so hard that they heard a banging on the wall.
A female voice called out, “Hey you two, it’s three in the morning! I don’t know how your clan lives, but in Gitano tribes when we go to bed WE STAY IN BED!!!”
The two Kalderash Roma quieted down. Gwen did not like being woken up; Sergei found that out the hard way. Sergei looked at the floor.
“I’m really gonna miss these times. I mean, we’ve been apart before, but this . . . this is different,” he said softly.
Adriana rested her head on Sergei’s shoulder. “Told you she didn’t like me.” They looked at each other and smiled. For the longest time, Sergei and Adriana sat in the kitchen.
this is the right place now sorry again
Sunday, 5th November 2006
Janey swung herself up and out of the manhole, tripped over and fell flat at the feet of an ominously dark figure... attached to strangely familiar feet.
“Hey you.”
Max-as-in-like-Maxine reached down and took her hand. Janey had a moment looking up into the moonlight to see Max’s shadowed face smiling down into hers (a situation that would never usually happen except when - as now - Janey chose to prostrate herself in the middle of the road) then she blinked and it was gone.
“Max? As-in-like -”
“Yeah kid, it’s me. But if we have to go through this dumbass routine one more time -”
“’Nuff said.”
“Yeah. Well, I come lookin for you. You wanna get a drink?”
“That’d be... nice.”
“So I was thinkin', yeah?”
“Really?”
“Oh shuttup 'n' listen.”
Janey smiled, then looked down, then away at the window. She noticed three things - the increasing awkwardness of this not-conversation, that her glass was half-empty (half-full?) and that Mo of Mo’s Diner was sloppy in cleaning his off-white walls.
She’d met this woman... twice? Max had saved her life, then left her a bill running to three figures to pay for, and now? Sitting across the gloomy table from Max, Janey assessed her. Max-as-in-like-Maxine was... cool. Janey could think of no other word, despite her extensive and ancient vocabulary. There was a hardness - 'I-bin-too-long-to-give-a-shit-what-you-think'. The kind of natural attitude people can spend lifetimes trying to mimic. Against her shaved head her face was delicately hollowed, eyes dark and unreadable - flashing stone eyes but the emotion behind them was unintelligible. And now those eyes were wide and earnest as Max leaned across the table towards her.
Janey was half fascinated, half confused - she wanted to pull her hand away and walk out, she wanted to ask so many questions, and most confusing of all she wanted Max to lean closer. Bemused at her own bemusement, Janey said nothing, positioning herself carefully in the middle of her seat, watching both Max and the door out of the corner of her eye, muscles tensed for movement in both directions. At the moment, she was leaning (literally) to the door.
“So, er - what should I call you?”
Janey‘s eyes widened. “But how rude!” she gasped. “Have I not introduced myself? My name is Jic - Janey.”
“Jaaneeey,” Max repeated, rolling the word round her mouth, adding syllables.
“Yes. And you are Max. And you wanted to see me...?”
Max flushed, nervous enough to draw back quickly, startled. She cleared her throat, and if Janey had hung round humans enough she might have recognised a foreign concept - embarrassment. She felt it, but never witnessed it in others and couldn’t put a name to it.
“I, er, you see... I... oh shit - this is gonna sound very weird-”
Janey smiled expectantly back at Max’s fumbling awkwardness.
“I, I need... oh dammit!” Max got up quickly, swinging out of her seat. “I can’t do this.” And she was gone.
Janey hesitated. Paused. Considered. Thought deeply, and then slammed out of the door after her. The angry calls of the waitress bounced against the closing door.
“Hey Max! Wait up!” Janey jogged down the pavement, mind moving quicker than her feet. She might not be able to recognise embarrassment, but she could see the signature trembling of a junkie desperately needing her next fix. Blood. Always blood.
“Wait! I can get you what you want!”
The slight figure ahead of her stopped and slowly turned back round to face her. As Janey ran up next to her, Max was trembling. “You can get it for me?”
“Yes of course, if that’s all you need - no problem.”
“You would do this for me? I, I just didn’t know where to go. I keep m’self pretty much to m’self you know.”
“Yes, but of course. My sister and I have, er, rarely socialised in a long time. When was the last time?”
Max gave her a curious look. “A month ago. What else?”
“You do know you can go for much longer without it?”
Max turned fully to face her, eyebrows raised. “How? Always when the full moon is up - how could I avoid that?”
Janey tried her best to look knowledgeable. “Ah.”
“So will you do it? All I need is somewhere really secure - then you can just let me fight it out.”
“Ah. Yes, of course - no problem.” Max didn’t notice Janey stiffening in the dark as they walked on together - awfully, inevitably, to the sewer home.
this is now in the right place sorry
Sunday, 5th November 2006
By the time Max had dropped down the steps into the sewer she was badly shaking and Janey had to support her into the crypt. “You’re gonna be fine. Just fine,” she said loudly (too loudly) as Max slid to the floor, her body twitching frantically. Janey knelt beside and her and hesitatingly held a hand out over her - ‘Goddess, heal her’.
She touched Max’s arm, held stiffened her to her side, and bit her lip. Max shuddered and snarled, glaring up at Janey from the corner of her eyes, lips curled to bare increasingly pointed teeth. Janey stifled a cry and jumped away from her convulsing form, her scream caught at the back of her throat as Max’s back arched and yelping cries echoed against the concrete.
Janey backed against the wall as Max gave a final shriek and lay still, fully changed.
“Max?”
She was answered with a deep growl and didn’t wait for more. As Max started towards her Janey ran to the door, slamming it behind her in time to hear claws raking the steel.
*Oh dear,* Janey thought as she ran down the corridor, realising simultaneously that she was becoming master of the anti-climax. She slowed at the door to her bedroom and looked back. There were muffled noises of the final struggle between werewolf and door; one was going to give way soon.
Shutting the door behind her and leaning against it, pushing hair out of her face, Janey silently despaired. *Ohdearohdearohdearoh.* She slid to the floor, and cupped her head in her hands. Great... she’d brought a werewolf home. Up until now she hadn’t been sure such demonised doggies existed. But then she hadn’t know of the dead who still walk until the face of her creator - the face of her destiny - loomed closer and closer, and sunk on her neck. Ironic that in that one moment of death she had never felt so alive.
But now - she was thinking in monosyllables and the dog of death, the hound of hell, the animal of anguish, the creature of - aha! Now she was waxing lyrical, the stream of poetic conscious heralding the arrival of the peak of her blind panic. *O, that the soulless should be so soulbound to such a fiend of hellish proportions (four legs)! - but do not even the damned love? - That their torment is that most human of tortures - the agony of affection, the misery of - aha!*
The fog cleared and she was Janey again - vaguely intellectual, slow moving and vampiric. Her thoughts gathered and regimented themselves... *Maggie!*
How was she going to contact her - how was she supposed to let her sister know there was a rampaging werewolf in the living room? As she started to barricade the door, it did not occur to her to think of the small technological marvel she had in her back pocket - tellyphoning was still not something vampiric ex-Aztec princesses did.
But she needn’t have worried. As it was, Maggie was having enough problems of her own.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
Friday, November 10, 2006
Zentara’s Library
Toledo, Spain
Special Guest Star Peter Woodward as Orin Trask
He stood in one of the three Libraries of the Order, located Toledo, Spain. Not that anyone would know it for what it was: from the outside it appeared to be a simple office building for a bookseller. On the inside, however, things appeared quite simple. Bookcases lined walls and several ‘compact’ units had also been installed.
A few mages like him would be employed in one of these libraries, making them a permanent member of the staff. One or two like Orin Trask had a privileged position among these mages: the ones that Zentara selected to receive special training in the arts. Orin himself was one of the most advanced, and led to him achieving what few humans were capable of: Zentara led him through a ritual so that he would die only by illness or injury.
Of course, he had sold his soul to the demoness. But that was a small price to pay for immortality.
Orin waited in his black robes near the entrance for Zentara to arrive. His staff was covered in runic inscriptions, far more obviously magical than hers. A crack of light down the heavy door heralded its opening. The form of Zentara soon passed through, and Orin bowed to her. “My lady.”
Zentara’s jaw fell open in laughter at the level of grovelling humans sunk to so quickly. Especially when they were within any form of hierarchy. She cut right to the chase, as she always did. “My message, you did receive?”
“Yes, my lady,” replied Orin, remembering the letter. “You were quite specific in the areas to be tested, and I already have a plan under development. Why is such a thorough examination necessary?”
“Need to know, you have not. But of highest importance this is. In my chambers we will discuss.”
Zentara led the mage deep into the library. She had in each place the same general set-up for her to stay: a Spartan bedroom, a meditation chamber, a reception room and a working area for both spells and research. It was the reception room they went to, with five chairs present.
As Orin was seated he had to admit that chairs were easily the most expensive items in this inner sanctuary. No less would be expected of one of the Five, especially when hosting her compatriots. “My arrangements for travel have all been made. I shall leave for Los Angeles in the morning.”
“Excellent.” Zentara pulled from her robes a number of devices, setting them on the table. One was a teleportation globe of the sort she and Alaric had used before. An amulet was placed on the table as well, a recording device that could be used to keep the information that they needed. Finally she placed on the table a small, crystalline sphere.
“What is that?” asked Orin in curiosity. He’d used the orbs and amulets before, but this was something new. He had never seen anything quite so like it, appearing to be a clear white gem of some sort.
“Affix to your staff. Your power increase will to point where needed is.” Zentara watched Orin as he thanked her, taking the gem to fit it to the top of his staff. It fit perfectly fine, as though it had been made for him specifically. She wanted to make him her apprentice, he realised. With an effort of will, his staff decreased in size until it could fit in his pocket.
“Thank you, my lady.” He could guess as well something else: what was about to become was as much a test for him as it was for this witch.
“In two parts is this test to be,” instructed Zentara. “In the one to gather information on power; the other, of observation. Nearly found on each occasion should you be, but disappear at last.
“One thing more,” she pulled from her robes a set of small gems, each of varying colours. “Into these, the amulet records can be transferred. Abilities, hopes, dreams, terror. For the future. Understand?”
Orin nodded. It would be much the same as he had undergone before becoming an apprentice of hers. “Yes. I shall not fail you.”
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
November 2nd
Día de los Muertos
5:00 p.m.
Introducing Angie Cepeda as Inés Montero
It was raining over LA. Hard, merciless rain that flooded the inadequate sewer system of a city not used to such quantities of water. Without an umbrella, Alessa run through the streets, trying to hide from the rain as she returned home from paying a visit to a still comatose Ernie at the hospital.
However, when Alessa got home she was soaking wet and shivering and went directly to take a hot shower. She disrobed on her way, leaving wet clothes lying on the living room floor. The hot water warmed her, taking the chill out of her bones.
Stepping out of the shower she wiped the steam off the mirror, and studied her reflection. Not for the first time since she had confirmed Morris' vampire condition, she thought about him. She wondered what it would be like to wake up and find that you didn’t have your life, your soul, everything that you found precious… and then not even find your face on the mirror.
*Did you feel so lost when you were turned? Did you feel so lonely? Did you feel anything at all?* she asked the mirror. She shook off that train of thought, turning from her reflection. It was too depressing. Besides, she still had her reflection. And she had Chance. And, if he let her, he had her. Neither of them was alone.
A sound from the living room alerted her. Alessa put on an her towel cloth robe and took the first thing that she saw, a bubble bath bottle, firmly in her hand. Straining her ears she slowly opened the door, taking a peek outside. The smell of brewing coffee assaulted her nostrils; smiling, Alessa rushed to the kitchen.
“Chance! is that yo…?” she started, but stopped when she saw the woman in the kitchen. The woman turned holding a cup of coffee. She was tall and exuberant, with wild dark curls tumbling around her face. Her brown eyes were bright and intense, and her mouth full and wide.
“¡Alessandra! ¿cómo estás, primita?” she asked, leaning to hug the astounded woman. “Here, have a cup of coffee to warm you.”
Sitting down, still speechless, Alessa took the offered drink from the woman’s hand. She was staring, she noticed, but Inés shouldn’t be there. *She shouldn’t be alive!* she told herself, sipping her coffee and absently listening to the woman happily chat in Spanish, dancing around the kitchen. Finally she interrupted her, speaking for the first time.
“Is it really you, Inés?” she asked, as she grabbed her hand and pushed her towards a chair, “Or is this some día de los muertos trick somebody is playing on me?” she asked, and watched intently the woman’s dark eyes. She recognized her long lost cousin there, and a smile broke in her face.
Inés Montero smiled. She was happy to see Alessa too, although she didn’t think her half-blooded cousin would be so content when she discovered what she had come to this wretched place for. A city was not where she was meant to be. Those ragged humans were not meant to be her companions, and this was not the life she was meant to lead; running from her nature, living day to day, hoping that no one learnt her secrets. She was meant to be with others like herself, with her gifts and abilities. Others who could help her understand her place in this world.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
1st November 2006
Mikhail ran down the corridor. He had been here before. No closer. No closer. There. At the door. He heard the laughter. Heard it before. A snigger, like the game master laughing at the player who lost.
Once more he pushed open the door. Quickly so as to surprise the room's occupants. Too late. Again, he caught only the back of that exquisite red hair. This time he walked directly to the window. But it seemed like someone had pulled shutters down from the outside, as he could see nothing. No bathroom. No mysterious young lady in the bath. Nothing.
So he turned back to the dressing table. The beautiful little box lay there, still unopened. He walked over and once more ran his fingers over its textured and dusty surfaces. Mikhail picked it up. Fantastic craftsmanship. And old. He braced himself for the opening and thought hard about not waking up.
Placing the box back on the table, he dug his fingers under the lid and wrenched it open.
It came open with surprising ease and the haunting tune came once more. There had, it turned out, been no need for wrenching. He looked into it and found various pieces of jewellery that he recognised briefly. He couldn't remember them exactly; he had bought them, he knew that, but he couldn’t remember whom for… There were a vast number of possibilities. There was a mirror set in the lid of the box, and just in front of that a clockwork ballerina spun round to the music. He looked closer at the tiny figure and suddenly it was life sized and span before him, a real ballerina.
It was Mantheana. He knew that straight away. He had first seen her when she was seven and watched her from then. He watched her dance for the Russian ballet when she was sixteen. If he had been the sort for ballet, maybe he would have paid more attention to the dance, but then he had just watched her body and it moved across the stage in a world of its own. Now she lived in an endless and slow motion piroette.
"Mantheana?" He spoke gently. There was something about his location… the house, or whatever it was, that made him feel like whispering. She did not appear to have heard him, but he was hesitant to raise his voice.
"Mantheana, it's me, Mikhail… Do you know where we are?"
She continued to spin and as her face moved past Mikhail her eyes looked directly through him. It was disconcerting to say the least.
"Hey I'm talking to you!" He grabbed at her hand, and was suddenly aware that he had shouted. He pulled Mantheana round to face him. It was a violent movement and then in a second he could feel her flesh cracking beneath the pressure of his fingers. In moments, her entire body was nothing but shards on the floor. A delicate piece of her hand that seemed to be made of very cold china rested in his fingertips.
"Oh God…" He dropped it and it smashed into tiny pieces on the hard marble floor. "I broke her…" Then suddenly there was nothing there, and as he looked in the music box, still twinkling its song of ghosts and memories, there was no ballerina accompanying the tune with her endless piroette.
The room was suddenly more cold than before, and his spine prickled as the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. A soft and tiny voice whispered "Yes… you broke her… didn't you?"
COLDSWEATCOLDSWEATCOLDSWEAT
Mikhail woke up and turned over in his bed. He just needed to see/touch/love/hurt Mantheana. That was all. Then he could move on again. He wondered… red hair…
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
November 2nd
Día de los Muertos
Night
The women were curled up on the sofa, feet tucked under them, like sinuous dark cats. On the coffee table were the boxes of two large pizzas they had ordered for dinner. Both had healthy appetites for such slight bodies.
Languidly, Alessa rested her head on the sofa and watched the Verbati with interest. The body her cousin was wearing was always the same among humans, which was not strange. The same about her name. Her true Verbati name was a secret known only to the close family, as was Alessa’s.
Inés' human form fitted her character perfectly, mischievous and appealing. The woman exuded a raw sensuality that even Alessa could appreciate. Her looks were arresting and something in her demeanor reminded her of a jungle imp. As usual with Verbatii, she hasn’t aged since she had seen her last… why! More than twenty years ago! Last time she had been among her kin she had learnt of her death, she had been with Shoungu when she died… not long after Morris was turned. She suddenly looked up from her cup and her eyes asked a silent question.
Inés understood her, and nodded. “Sí,” she said, “He’s not dead either.”
The demoness raised a hand to stop Alessa from talking. “Don’t ask me why he did it, he’s not about to tell me!” she laughed and rolled her eyes. Alessa had to laugh at that too. As chief of the tribe, old Shongu was a solemn demon, and the mischief that her full-blooded granddaughter was prone to do used to infuriate him.
“Well, you picked a good day to show up! El día de los muertos,” she joked. It was Dead’s day, and although it wasn’t celebrated in the States, Alessa had gone to the cemetery to place flowers on her father's grave before visiting Ernie. Getting serious she asked, “What are you doing here, Inés?”
“Shongu sent me for you,” she answered, and leaned back in the sofa as well. “He wants you in the Falls again, now that the business with that vampire is finished.”
Alessa watched her with an open mouth. What Inés was telling her was incredible; not only was her grandfather alive but he had kept track of her comings and goings as well. And now he wanted her back!!
Inés saw the news sink into Alessa. Although she hadn’t told her so, she did know why their grandfather had kept himself apart from her. She still remembered her coming after that human lover of hers had been killed. She had blamed Shongu for not helping her, although she hadn’t said so. The need of revenge was so fierce in her eyes that nobody in the tribe had doubted she would eventually succeed. Shongu had let her go then, still half blinded by pain and fury, to let her find her path. The Verbatii weren’t going to help her but neither would they stop her. He had kept himself apart so she would find her way back once that need was fulfilled.
“But I don’t want to go… I have a life here!” Alessa protested, unaware of her cousin’s thoughts. Breathing deeply, she added, more calmed. “I’m not going, Inés. That vampire wasn’t all that tied me to this world.”
“Oh, and what is?” she asked, a hard gleam on her dark eyes. “That tipo you brought to Paraguay? I don’t see him around.”
“Chance is not a ‘tipo’,” she said through clenched teeth, “And he’s… well, he’s not here now, but he’s still around.” She sighed before continuing. “It’s complicated…”
“Oh, I’m sure it is,” Inés answered, rolling her eyes. Then looking around her with contempt, “Don’t you see that this is not your place, you can't live like this…” She signaled the apartment, frustrated.
Alessa stood up and walked towards a window, it was still raining outside. She turned to face her cousin again.
“I happen to like my home and my life. I’m making friends here, and I have yet to meet my family.”
“Your familia awaits you in Paraguay, Alessandra. These people cannot mean anything to you. They don’t even know you exist, they may not ‘want’ to know you exist!”
“My family has lied to me for twenty years, making me believe they were dead!” she accused, looking at her cousin with anger.
The demoness dismissed Alessa’s protest with a wave of her hand. Twenty years wasn’t long for creatures like the Verbatii, who could live hundreds of years. Although she had to accept that even if she seemed to age as a Verbati, for all her human blood Alessa had lived most of her life within humans and had a more human oriented sense of time.
She stood up and walked towards the other woman. “You cannot live like this,” she repeated, “hiding your nature. You cannot pretend you are human, Alessandra. You aren’t.” At the negative movement of her head, Inés asked. “How long has it been since you practiced your morphing? Does your ‘Chance’ even know your true nature, or have you kept it from him too?”
At this, Alessa couldn’t but laugh. “If only you knew…” she said still laughing.
Inés laughed too, her cousin’s mirth was contagious. “Well, you could tell me…” she said.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
12 November 2006
Los Angeles
10:47pm
The flight made Trask long for a teleportation spell able to transport him across oceans in a flash. It wasn’t so much the length of the flight that did it to him as it was the person in the seat next to him and how much the movies were just more Hollywood tripe. Back when he had been young, they knew how to make movies. And spending an hour waiting to get through customs did nothing to help his disposition.
At least the cab ride had been uneventful, thought Trask, as he walked down the streets in Los Angeles. Enough time to show up at the hotel and drop off his bags before getting a feel for the city. Reaching out with his mind he let his abilities guide him, trying to find the witch. *Of course I have to be careful. Her husband is assigned to this district.*
He was also impressed by the fact that he was actually walking down the streets with his staff out and being paid little heed. As the city that was home to Hollywood, he could get away with appearing eccentric more easily. They would probably figure that he was just another actor trying to get into a role or something like that, he supposed.
A high-pitched scream sounded from a woman down the road. Trask focused his power for a moment, mumbling the incantation he learned so long ago to allow for the second sight. He observed outside of his body, sending the sight flying down the road to an inlet between two buildings. There was a young, attractive woman being held by a man, struggling to get away.
Trask quickened his pace as he hurried down the street, turning into the passageway between the buildings. The woman kicked, the man binding her hands together. “Shut up!” he was yelling at her. “You been warned, bitch, about what would happen if you told the police about us.”
“Or you could just release her now.” Normally this would not be any of Trask’s concern and he would have walked past without comment. But there was a detective he needed information about, and this seemed to be the best way to put him in a position to get it.
The woman almost took the opportunity to escape, though the man caught her again. Reaching into his jacket he pulled a pistol to point it at Trask as he grabbed the woman’s hair. She cried out in pain, her head falling back. “This ain’t your worry, monk. Get lost.”
“I can’t tell you how much I was hoping you would say that.” Trask chanted low and quickly as the man yelled more curses at him, before losing patience and finally taking a shot. The bullet stopped harmlessly in midair.
“What the hell…?” The man’s grip loosened on the woman, though not enough for him to get away. Trask focused, bringing his hand up. White-blue lightning lanced from his fingers and the man cried out in pain as his grip was lost, the woman falling to the ground in shock.
Trask advanced on the man laying there, his breath coming heavy, barely able to move. He looked into Trask’s eyes before realising that he was dealing with a power that should not be trifled with and fled. “You are safe now,” he told the woman, moving by her side to comfort her.
“Th-th-thank you,” she stammered out. “He-he-"
“Was going to hurt you, I know. You were testifying against his gang?”
She looked up in surprise, then nodded silently. That man had spoken of it quite loudly, after all. Trask read her surface thoughts carefully. “You still wish to do so, I can tell. Please, allow me to take you to the station.”
******
“He asked for me by name?” Galen asked rather incredulously, looking up from the report on his desk. He hated it when they had to pull a double shift, but those were the way the cards landed some nights. Lots of coffee generally tended to help get through things.
“That’s exactly what I said,” Anderson replied, on the edge of Galen’s desk. “Damndest thing, too. You should hear the story Emerson is telling about this girl. She says the guy who saved her shot lightning from his hands.”
That got Galen’s attention. He glanced at the picture of Kate on his desk, wondering what she would think to hear that there was potentially another magician around. Which in turn got him wishing that the past few days had not been 16-hour marathon days. “Well, that should be an interesting conversation. Did he say why?”
“Just something about how you would be the only one to believe him. How do you manage to dig up all these crazies? But you know what the strange thing was?” Galen nodded no, Anderson giving him a disbelieving look. “Emerson said you weren’t around. This guy knew that he was lying, like he could read minds.”
“Just lucky, I guess. I’d better check it out.” Galen checked his watch, looked back at the report, before throwing his pen down on the desk. The bureaucracy was somehow worse outside of the secret government. Over by Emerson’s desk he saw the man sitting in black robes with hood thrown back to reveal a bald head. A staff with runic inscriptions and some sort of crystal at the top was near him.
The man stood, ignoring Emerson’s protests which stopped at the sight of Galen. He seemed to be looking at Galen rather intently. “Detective Eldridge,” he said in a flat voice without any hint of accent at all. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Galen stopped cold. How had he known? *Oh, right. Badge. No, wait...* His badge was still away, and he didn’t have any form of outward identification on him. The lack of sleep was starting to get to him. “How did you know my name?”
Trask observed Galen carefully, reaching out to begin to probe his mind. He had no way of knowing how many times his wife had entered it, and it was possible that he might be able to know if someone was doing that if she did it often enough. None of that seemed to have happened, though. A small twinge of influence. “Perhaps you would like to take my statement in a more private setting.”
Galen nodded at the suggestion, leading Trask to one of the interrogation rooms. It seemed odd for a witness to a crime to want to go to one of those, but if it would get a statement… why did the odd ones always find him? When they got in, Galen found himself not only shutting the door but unplugging the camera as well.
Then he held his head, eyes shut. Trask entered his mind quickly, searching for the information he needed. Soon he found what he needed to know: workings, times, addresses. He carefully erased the memory, beginning his narrative in mid speech.
“I, I’m sorry,” Galen said, unsure of how he had blanked out a witness. “Could you start again please?”
Trask told the story well and without embellishment, he thought, before Galen dismissed him. Leaving out the part about the lightning, naturally. “He shot at me, yes,” he said. “But fortunately he missed, and my ability with the staff is what saved my life.” Galen seemed to take this last part a bit questioningly, but still dropped off the statement at Emerson’s desk.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
***November 12th, 2006- JFK Airport- Day***
Adriana sat in the lounge of the airport, tightly griping her ticket. This was it. She was finally serving her clan. The one main rule when she was growing up. She gave a heavy sigh.
*This is it, Drea. The move to Los Angeles. Oh, wow. Wow, wow... I think I’m gonna puke...*
Just as she leaned over, a sharp pain came to Adriana’s head. She dropped her ticket into her lap and grabbed her hair. Drea gasped for air and then collapsed on the floor.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Adriana stood in a dimly lit room. She didn’t know how she got there; she just did. Whispers began to emerge from the shadows. Adriana walked over to the sounds, her speed flickering the candles. As she got closer, the whispers became clearer:
“This is all crazy talk, Gregory. I can’t believe that you’ve actually considered-" a man began, when he was interrupted.
“We live in a world of vampires, demons, half-lings, and God knows what else and you say the possibility of a goddess existing is lunatic?”
“I never said gods and goddesses didn’t exist; I’m just saying that the chance of this one being real is as crazy as the idea of the boogie man.”
“Don’t mock me, Lewis; you are in no position to scorn. Besides, I have everything all planned out. And it is beginning to come all together,” the second man whispered crisply.
Adriana moved closer. If she didn’t find out what they were up to, it would irk her all night. The first man sighed.
“The rest of the Coven will be most displeased. You saw what happened with Ser-"
“You think I did not watch closely during the Coven’s raids after that whole 'Los Angeles' fiasco? Serapis was a fool,” the second man hissed.
The first man hesitated. Finally he said, “You were one of those who were raided, Gregory. The Coven is still recovering from that embarrassing ordeal.”
“This is why we must perform the ceremony. The Goddess Z’thnetha will reward us with wealth, power, and honor. Don’t let the Coven suffer any more.”
“I’ve read over the texts of the ceremony. They, er... they require a sacrifice.”
“Already been taken care of.”
“Surely you don’t imply we use Kate!”
“Heavens no. This ritual requires a virgin prophet.”
“You will stun me if you say that you have found one.”
“Thanks to the Treaty of Violaine, I have. Next month, I will show her to you.”
“Gregory, I don’t think-"
“Trust me, Lewis. You won’t regret it.”
Just then Adriana grabbed her head and began tugging her hair. The sharp pain had returned in a big way. She fell to her knees quickly, and then onto her side.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
Sunday 19th November 2006 - late night
Mantheana was spending the night round at Bowen's. Not like that, but she was. They had become a lot closer, but not so close that Mantheana would lose her ladylike appearance. She refused to give herself up completely. She had done that before, and that had not worked out.
Maria had played about, her usual quiet but inquiring nature slowly being applied round the flat. She was used to Bowen and his apartment, now she brought toys with her so that she could amuse herself more easily without having to go through Bowen's sock drawer. She liked both of them. Now she was in bed, Yasha there too. Mantheana was in her night-dress on the sofa with Bowen, both of them in front of the TV. The blue light from its screen flickered, but neither of them were really watching the program. Between them they had not drunk much, but what they had had made them sleepy. Flittering between sleep and consciousness resting against each other. Mumbling a conversation about something or other.
The television program had been about something vaguely Victorian, and Bowen mentioned some trinket he owned from that era. It was in his room, he said and he got up grudgingly to find it. Without realising it, Mantheana got up and followed, into his room - sitting on his bed, where she watched him with mild interest as he fumbled to find… what was it again?
He turned to Mantheana.
"Perhaps it's getting too late. I'll find it in the morning." Taking off his shirt, he waved a hand briefly and looked adoringly at Mantheana. And yet, he thought he could see the same thing from her. In the semi-dark she looked like a conserved vampire, left in the dark and looking at him with shy but loving eyes. "What are you thinking?"
He longed to know. Mantheana seemed to reveal very little about herself, and even if he asked, she would tell him something and he would feel satisfied, only to realise later that she had let practically nothing slip.
"Vot am I thinking?" Mantheana tilted her head to the side
"Yeah… just what?" Bowen moved closer, seating himself of the bed next to her, a gesture that had happened so many times before, he recalled.
"I don't know… tell me." She smiled, slashing brilliant white teeth for just a second.
Now what the hell was he supposed to say? "You're thinking that you like it here?"
"Yeys."
"With me?"
"…yeys."
And they kissed. There was a moment, just like in the movies, where you watch and know that the two characters are finally going to make it, and that it's all going to be ok. They were lying next to each other now, kisses were in abundance, and you could see it happening, deeper and deeper until Bowen's hands got a little too frisky for their own good. Mantheana stopped kissing and moved her head to Bowen's chest, tightening her hold around his shoulders. And there she stopped. The movie moment changed into a different one. Soon there was the gentle breathing of sleep, and Bowen thought about what could have happened, and whether he wanted it to. Like chasing a dream inside your head; if you try and touch it, it breaks and you never remember it.
He wanted Mantheana. He was pretty sure she wanted him. But he also knew that she didn't know exactly what she wanted. He didn't want to do anything that could wreck things. But he didn't want to stay still forever. But for now stillness was enough, and he stroked the cold skin on the back of Mantheana's neck as he went to sleep.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
Bob's Bar,
November 3rd,
Very early morning.
Chance sat slumped over the bar at Bob's, staring at a shot of absithine. He knocked back a shot, felt the liquid cascade down his throat, felt it rip out half a dozen taste buds, felt it burn the brain cells away.
Felt it fill him with warmth for a moment, a passing, fleeting moment, then it was gone.
He sat the shot glass back down on the counter with a grimace, watched how his hand landed several inches away from where he had aimed it. He was drunk. Well and truley gutted. Bollocked, hammered, legless, plastered, pissed, shit-faced, smacked, smashed, troyled, twated, rat-arsed, wankered, wasted.
Destroyed.
How come so many of them accurately described how he was feeling, as well? Was it just coincidence that drunk so easily correlated to his current take on life in general?
Possibly. Probably. Maybe.
"Annoffffer," he slurred, glaring intently at his hand. His hand. Hishand. There was blood on that hand. The blood of innocents and women and children and...
"No. You've had far too much already," Bob said, voice laced with venom. "You're upsetting my other customers as well."
"Fee ownlee reezen I affn't beaten' your brainz out fer wot you did is coz you serve boooooze." He got a little carried away on the last word. It was a word that, right now, was one of his favourites. "And... and... coz it let me meet Alesssssssaaa." Again; carried away. Again; favourite word.
"Ok, whatever. It's your body. I swear, keep this up and you'll be dead by the morning. With any luck. Just keep the money rolling in."
*Ha. I wish.* Chance looked up to glare at Bob, but his neck was like rubber and his head fell back down to rest against his chest again. "Annoffer."
Sighing, the barmen got him another shot.
Chance watched as it was placed infront of him. It would wreck his body? Not likely. He healed really quickly...
Yeah. Now he knew why. He thumped his chest. *Good ol' Dray'chen, burried inside of me. Healing, strength, toughess... I owe it all to him. Oh, yeah, and the fact that everything can go straight to hell in an instant if he gets out. *
And anyway he, no Matthew, had drunk far worse and lived to tell the tale. He only thought that he had. It hadn't actually happened. That raised more than a fair few questions now, didn't it? All of them Chance had asked himself dozens and dozens of times over and over again. Who was he? Who was he? Pandora thought she had sorted that out, he had thought she had, but she hadn't really. She had told him who he wasn't who he was supposed to be, but not who he actually was.
It was probably something he'd mull over for quite some time, and not something he'd solve now. Especially not with the alcohol.
But back to the main problem. Dray'chen. Him. Alessa. Matthew. Pandora. No, scratch her. The bitch had fled. Left it to the mortals, more or less, to do the dirty work. Well they had shown her, hadn't they? Kicked those Elders from here to Hell. Chance raised the shot to his lips. To victory.
But he stopped. No. Was it a victory? Yes, but a hard-earned one at that. That man, Sorrow, had died. Cole had nearly done so. Others were injured. And the gulf between him and Alessa had widened, made bigger by the way he had left her apartment the day after whilst she was out, without saying a word.
That had been dumb. He should have left a note or something. Definitely not worth toasting about, then. He set the shot glass back down again.
How could he ever make that up to her? That and everything else he had done? How could he make it up to the world?
He would find a way, that was for sure. Whatever it took, he would do it, because at the end there would be Alessa, waiting for him with open arms.
That's what he'd toast to, then. To that, and to her.
"To you, Alessa. To, eventually, you and me," Chance whispered, freed for those two short sentences of his drunkenness, and knocked the shot glass back, brining it all crashing back down again like a wave against the cliffs in a stormy night.
"Now," he said to Bob, "Now I'm done."
Turning, Chance got off the stool, pulled a wad of bills from his back pocket (he wasn't sure how many, it could be too much, it could be too little)...
...and promptly hit the ground when his legs refused to work. Everybody in the bar laughed. Bob was still chuckling when he came round to Chance's prone form several minutes later.
"You OK there, champ?" he asked.
"I'm good," Chance replied through gritted teeth and started crawling towards the door.
*Whatever it takes.*
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
Friday, November 3rd
8:00 am
Alessa was the first one to wake up. It took her a while to realize what was wrong: she missed Chance. Waking up beside him, touching him, feeling him, talking to him, loving him, she missed all the parts. She listened to the soft breathing of another person and turned to see Inés still asleep in the mattress that Chance had used when he was still recovering.
She laid back, all that transpired last night clear in her mind. They had gone to bed angry and silent. She hadn’t been lying when she told Inés that the vampire wasn’t what tied her to the human world. Chance was… or had been. If Inés had come before meeting him, she may have accepted her grandfather’s offer. Finally she decided to get dressed and get out of the apartment; she didn’t want to face her cousin this morning. Not yet, at least.
The warm sunshine filled the patio, as always making her feel comfortable. She walked towards the parking lot where her red Volkswagen was. She sat in the car with the top down, closed her eyes and leaned back, letting the sun warm her face. She needed to talk to somebody… Shaking her head, she chuckled, *Who am I cheating? I need to talk to Chance.*
She hadn’t seen him since the morning after the Hyperion’s battle. When he passed out she and Cole had brought him home. She had snuggled close to him that night, enjoying the feeling of him next to her but suspecting it would not last. She had doubted to leave home that morning, but decided to give him some space. Not surprisingly, when she got back she had found him gone.
There was much she needed to tell him. About Morris… and now Inés… Alessa straightened, she needed to talk to him, and she would. She had given him space… and time, not even trying to contact him before the ritual and after it, but she needed him now. He wasn’t the only one with problems, big as they were. Decision was written in her face as she started her car and drove towards Chance’s place.
***
Alessa got to Chance’s ‘apartment’ from the escape stairs, as she had done many times before. She knocked on the window’s crystal, but he didn’t answer, yet his bike was at the accustomed place so he must be inside. As she opened the window, the strong smell of alcohol invaded her and made her retch. Cursing she entered the room and walked towards the mattress on the other side of the place. Chance was there, breathing deeply, he didn’t even stir when she crouched next to him.
“Oh, Chance…” she whispered as she watched his beloved face. He looked horrible, his dark blond hair was standing in the air while some of it covered his forehead, there were black patches under his eyes and he smelled - of booze and something else she couldn’t quite determine. He seemed to have slept in his clothes, and not for the first time.
She decided to fetch some coffee before waking him up, for by the looks of him he would need it.
***
Light was shining into Chance's eyes. It was all around him, blinding, encompassing him. He raised his arm to shield himself, and doing so let him see that, no, it wasn't all around him. The sun was reflecting off... sand. He was standing on a beach. The sky above him was clear and open and blue. Sand crunched beneath his shoes. The sun was beating down mercilessly on the back of his neck, making him sweat buckets in his jacket and jeans.
"Chance."
He heard a voice beckon to him from behind. He knew that voice. It was strangely familiar, but he couldn't place it. Like the voices he heard when he didn't know the truth, that'd he'd recognise yet not know. He turned, keeping his arm raised to shield his eyes, and saw-
Chance groaned as he slowly woke. His head throbbed painfully in time to some weird rhythm. God. Since when did a marching band practice outside his room? He opened her eyes and stared about him in confusion, the movement bringing another groan. This definitely was his place, but what the hell was making so much noise?
He risked a glance over his shoulder and quickly scanned the room searching for the source of the noise that was killing him. There was somebody washing in his small sink… washing? He massaged his eyes and looked again. Yes, washing. Alessa was there, apparently washing his clothes. He groaned again, louder this time.
At the sound, Alessa raised her head and smiled at him. God. That smile had haunted him for days now. Chance closed his eyes again.
"It's about time you woke up."
Chance shook his head in an effort to clear away his confusion, but the movement only succeeded in increasing the throbbing. What was she doing here? His memories of last night returned: Bob’s, the absithine… No wonder his head hurt.
Alessa rushed to his side when she saw him grimace. “Here. Have a cup of coffee. It’s still warm," she said and Chance felt his throat constrict at the concern in her face.
“What are you doing here?” he asked abruptly, but accepted the offered drink. He drank deeply, trying to hide his eyes in the cup. But the coffee was good, and he had missed her.
Alessa sat down next to him, and refused to let his cold tone affect her. Her patience had a limit. He couldn’t continue with this self pity he had immersed himself into. She wouldn’t allow it.
“I’m here because I love you,” she answered simply, “and I’m tired of sitting at home, waiting for you to overcome this self pity path you are in.”
Chance raised his head, and looked at her, speechless.
“So you’ve got a demon inside, so what? I’m a demon myself. So your demon is evil? So what? You didn’t choose him, he chose you. So you aren’t whom you thought you were? So what? You are the man I fell in love with, I want no other, I care not for the other.”
Chance looked away. "That's just the problem. I'm not the man you fell in love with. Not any more. I'm... I'm not quite sure who I am. But I know what I did..."
Sighing, Alessa got up and walked towards the window and leaned on the dirty crystal. Without turning she said, “I don’t hold you responsible for anything Dray’chen did. I don’t blame you for not knowing about him.”
Turning, she looked deep into his eyes and added, “But I will hold you responsible for letting this come between us. I will blame you if you let our love be killed because of this.” She breathed in and continued, “I love you, Chance, but I won't sit waiting for you to come into your senses forever.”
She looked down and in a low voice she added, “If you need time, I can understand it. I can give you time. I can give you space too. But I need to know if you still love me.”
Chance could only stare at her, her words sinking into him like rocks. He looked at her face and could read the truth of her words. He knew her, he knew how stubborn she could be, how single minded. There was love in her eyes, but there was determination too. He closed his tightly. How could he tell her what she wanted to hear? He loved her, but he didn’t deserve her. He should let her go... the words got out of his mouth without his volition, not coming from his mind at all, but his heart. He saw her face break in a big smile and his heart flinched at her beauty.
“I will be at home. I’ll be waiting for you,” she said, and left.
There was a Young Man Called Orin...
Tuesday, 14th November 2006
Chino Hills State Park – Los Angeles
7:43am
It was a cool, crisp November morning but that hadn’t deterred the normal influx of runners and dog-walkers from making their daily excursion to Chino Hills State Park. Most walked briskly in an attempt to gain some warmth against the chilly morning, while other jogged at a steady pace, their warm breath creating tiny white clouds as it made contact with the frosty air.
Orin Trask marched beneath the boughs of an old oak tree, stamping his cold feet against the solid ground in an effort to generate some heat. After the sweltering humidity of the Spanish coast, the cool weather of a Los Angeles winter should have been a welcoming break. However, it wasn’t. Orin pulled his long robes around him in an effort to preserve some heat, he hit the end of his staff against the ground and the crystal glowed slightly producing some warmth to which he sighed contentedly.
He had spied his target on the other side of the park but was waiting for a more opportune time before making his move. In the meantime he removed the small amulet Zentara had given him from within his long, black robes; it shone even in the early morning light forcing him to shade it from public view with his hands. Hopefully, he should get what he came for…
At the other side of the park, a couple stood also observing the other park-goers.
“They never know how close they come to losing all this.” Kate looked up at her father. It had been over two weeks now since the battle at the Hyperion against the Elders but Kate was still unable to shake herself out of her depression. She’d seen Sorrow die. It was an image she was never going to be able to forget.
Jack kept his gaze fixed steadily on a pair of joggers in the distance. He felt guilty that he had been away during the events of October 31st but his devotion to the Alliance was still unshakeable. He was glad however that they had granted his transfer to Los Angeles, now he could stay without fear that he’d be yanked back to New York at the drop of a hat. Jack’s leather gloved hand slowly sought out that of his daughter and he squeezed the cold, bare flesh in his own.
“They are protected by their own ignorance,” his resonant voice intoned. His eyes briefly flickered over the form of his daughter.
Kate leaned into the stroller and tucked Emma in more warmly; it was uncharacteristically chill that morning and she didn’t want her to catch a cold. Emma gurgled happily and stared with big blue, curious eyes at her surroundings. “I envy them sometimes, not knowing about all the bad things in this world, not knowing what danger lurks in every shadow.” She lovingly stroked Emma’s chubby pink cheek, causing the child to gurgle in delight again. “Sometimes when I think of the world I’ve brought Emma into…”
“The world needs children, Kate,” Jack said, beholding his own daughter as she attended to Emma’s needs, “they help remind us why we fight to make this world a better place.”
Kate smiled half-heartedly as she resumed her place by Jack’s side and proceeded to push the stroller along the path through the park. “I just wish…” she paused momentarily to compose her thoughts. “Sorrow and I were never all that close, I admit that, not in the way he was with Tash or Jade…” Kate sighed, “I guess I feel guilty, I never really knew him and yet I feel his loss so deeply, it doesn’t seem right. I spent so much time hating him for what he did to Inanna and Luc that I barely allowed myself to see the kind of man he had become.”
Kate was silent for a long while as she continued to walk and push the stroller. Finally she continued, her voice full of melancholy regret. “I wish I had known that man better.”
Orin Trask’s eyes followed the trio as they slowly made their way through the park, their conversation made amusing entertainment. *Mortals,* he thought with a slight chuckle that he was no longer part of that classification, *So lost in their own destruction they can’t see what really matters.*
Trask’s fingers rubbed together generating tiny sparks of electric energy. He could feel the powers surging through him, infinite, immortal, undying… He tightened his grip on his staff as the crystal in the end began to glow more urgently, sending a mist of magical energy floating around the park.
“It’s only natural that you should have feelings like this,” said Jack gently, “You survived.”
Kate nodded in acceptance though Jack’s words offered her little comfort on the subject. “It all just seems like such a waste, and to lose two friends in such a short space of time. First Victor, now Sorrow, I can only imagine what Tash is going through right now.”
*And what about Jade?* Kate shuddered at the thought of Jade, could still see her as she attempted to drain the life from Tash. It had always been a possibility they knew; that she might decide to give in to Valerian’s dark gift and embrace her vampire nature. Kate had just never believed that day would come. Now they may be faced with the prospect of killing Jade, that thought just didn’t bear thinking about.
Jack continued to walk, sensing the endless array of thoughts and feelings fluctuating through Kate’s mind. He decided a change of topic was in order. “How are things coming along with the new project?”
Kate smiled slightly at his question, thankful for the subtle conversational redirection. “Quite well actually; I signed the lease with the subcontractors last week. If everything runs on schedule, I should be able to open up at the end of the month.” Kate smiled again, to herself this time. It was something she had wanted to do for a long time, starting her own business. She’d seen the satisfaction Jade and Daye took in creating something from nothing, nurturing it and watching it grow. Kate glanced down at her daughter as she stared, goggle-eyed at a group of sparrows hopping along the edge of the path before they flew for cover. Kate smiled to herself. Now that dream was beginning to turn into reality, Kate had recently procured the site of the old Circle of Hecate in Pasadena with the last of the money she had received from Sindell. It would take a lot of work, both physically and spiritually to rid the place of its previous demons but Kate was glad to be able to tackle a more mundane problem for once.
Suddenly there was a loud cry. Kate and Jack both spun around seeing a crowd of people running across the green to where a crowd was gathering. Kate and Jack both picked up the pace, joining the crowd and pushing through to see what the commotion was.
Kate gasped in horror, her hands covering her mouth at the scene in front of her. A young boy had apparently fallen from a tree and apart from what looked like a broken leg his head was bleeding profusely. Jack looked at his daughter; he knew that she could heal him if only she could get close enough.
“Stand back!” he shouted loudly, pushing the crowds away, “STAND BACK! She’s a doctor.”
Kate looked up, surprised but ready to help. She knelt at the boy’s side and brushed his hair back comfortingly. Jack continued to keep the crowds back while keeping a watchful eye on his daughter. It wouldn’t do for someone to see what was really going on.
The boy’s eyes opened momentarily and he moaned quietly. “It’s okay sport,” said Kate softly, looking into his warm brown eyes. “You’re going to be just fine.”
Kate placed her hands over the boy’s forehead and focused her energies on healing the injury, making sure to keep a watchful eye on the crowds lest someone should see what she was really doing. The wound didn’t seems so bad, she thought. She felt the blood vessels contract and flow freely again, swollen arteries began to return to normal. Kate breathed a sigh of relief, turning to look up at Jack.
“I think he’s going to be okay,” she whispered quietly, her voice laced with relief.
The words had barely left her mouth when the boy uttered another moan, as Kate turned back to him she was astonished to see that he looked worse than before. He looked much more pale and the thought that he was going into shock crossed Kate’s mind briefly. Only he had begun bleeding again, heavily and from his abdomen. Kate moved his t-shirt to one side to see that he had the broken end of a tree branch protruding through his stomach.
Kate flinched, the blood was flowing freely from this wound in a dark sticky mess. *How could I have missed this?* she thought anxiously as she resumed her concentration and held her hands over this second wound. Kate looked distraught; she couldn’t heal this injury without removing the offending object and she couldn’t do that without the risk of further injury. “Where is that ambulance?” she mumbled nervously under her breath.
“How is he doing?” Jack asked, leaning in close to take a look for himself.
“It’s bad,” said Kate, her own face looked pale as she continued to feed the boy’s wounds with her own energy. She felt weak and liable to collapse at any moment but she wouldn’t quit, not till the paramedics arrived.
The boy looked up at Kate, his eyes large and round, reminding her of her own child who lay in her stroller, blissfully unaware of the unfolding tragedy. She was losing him. “Stay with me sport,” she intoned weakly, not sure how much longer she could keep this up for.
The boy moaned again, “Don’t leave me Lady…”
Kate felt tears of frustration running down her cheeks, clouding her vision. Somehow she found the strength inside to draw in more and more energies from her surroundings. “Goddess Hecate, aid me now, abide with me in my mystical workings…”
She felt a jolt of power ripple through her body, creating an arc of light over the boy that the bystanders would have to be blind to not see. Kate’s own body trembled with the immense power that surged through her. It took all of her remaining strength to control it but she was determined, she wouldn’t let this boy die, not like everyone else…
“…Abide with me in my mystical workings and in the sight of the Old Ones, I offer myself as intercessor for your power…”
Suddenly an ambulance siren pierced the silence. Jack quickly pulled Kate to her feet as he saw the paramedics approach, severing the link between her and the little boy. Kate cried out, feeling the powerful energies dissipating inside her own body. Together they stood, looking up, expecting to see a full medical team about to descend upon them. Instead they saw nothing.
Jack was flummoxed; his head spinning in all directions as he realised the crowd that had been gathered around had also vanished. He gathered Emma into his arms protectively. “What the hell is going on? Kate?”
Kate managed to lift her head to look around, a confused expression masking that one of pain. Anxiously she turned back to the boy. The patch of grass where he had been laying was completely bare showing no indication that anyone had ever lain upon it. Kate straightened up, leaning against the tree for support as her eyes scanned the park for anything peculiar. People still ran, people still walked their dogs and children kicked a football around on the other side of the park.
Back under the oak tree Orin returned the amulet, now cold and dull in colour, to the pocket in his robes. Quietly, he left.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
Wednesday, 1st November 2006 – 1:30pm
Tash walked through the white corridors almost in a zombie-like state. She’d barely slept last night, still seeing Sorrow consumed by that unearthly fire every time she closed her eyes. But she’d dragged herself from her torpor and was here now, in the hospital, checking on those who might still live. She popped her head into Jess’ room and saw the young Watcher lying still and pale on her bed, a plethora of tubes running into her body. Tash smiled wanly at Daye, who lifted her head to see who the newcomer was.
“How is she doing?” Tash asked quietly.
Daye breathed a deep sigh and gazed back down at Jess while she answered. “They say she should be all right. They wanted to know how she’d lost so much blood without a sign of damage on her. I didn’t tell them anything – how could I? But they’ve given her transfusions and say she should pull through. It’s just a matter of when she’ll awake.” She turned her head to face Tash again. “I’ve helped as much as I can, but she won’t wake up…”
Tash moved into the room and placed her arm around Daye’s shaking shoulders. “It’s ok,” she soothed, “Jess is young. She’ll be fine.”
The pair stayed that way for a long moment, unmoving until Daye reached out and delicately brushed a stray tendril of hair from Jess’ face. Tash watched Jess for any sign of life but the young woman simply lay, pale and deathlike. Only the gentle rise and fall of her chest indicated that she lived at all. That and the pale colours of her aura. If she concentrated, Tash could see the healing green from Daye flowing into Jess, and she smiled.
“She will be fine,” Tash said with more conviction. “I can see her getting stronger.”
She gave Daye a final squeeze and said, “I’ll be back in a little while. I want to go check on Darian, too.”
Daye merely nodded and Tash left the pair in the quiet room, with only the muted wind of the air conditioner making any sound. Back in the corridor, Tash padded down a few doors until she reached the one the nurse had said was Darian’s.
She popped her head around the corner, but for the moment Darian seemed alone. Machines monitored his heart rate and respiration, and gauze bandages covered the places that weren’t plastered. Tash put her hand to her mouth. She’d seen how awful he looked last night, his body twisted and blood oozing from several old puncture wounds, but she hadn’t realised just how badly hurt he was. She pulled a chair up to his bedside and sat, resting her gloved hand lightly on top of his.
Darian lay as still and deathlike as Jess had, and Tash bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Darian,” she whispered, “I know I should have stayed with you that night. But I didn’t. And you went to them, didn’t you? Why didn’t I stay, keep an eye on you?”
She traced the bandages that covered his neck and throat. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated.
She sat there, her head bowed over his comatose body until the doctors came and hustled her out. She was startled to see how much time had passed – the sunlight slanting in through the window was at a much sharper angle than it had been when she entered. She patted Darian’s hand one last time and shuffled out the door.
The hospital was a strange mixture of hush and bustle, but none of it really impacted on Tash as she left Darian's room. The doctors were doing whatever the hell they were doing to him to keep him alive, and they'd warned Tash they would be some time. So she kept her promise to Daye and returned to Jess' still room.
The wicca was just where Tash had left her - head still bowed over Jess' unmoving form, clasping the young woman's hand as though her mere touch would wake her. Which, Tash thought, noting the green that still hovered around the pair, was more likely the case than with most people who clutched the hands of their comatose loved ones.
Trying not to startle Daye, Tash cleared her throat softly as she padded into the room, holding a plastic cup of water before her. "Daye, would you like a drink? I thought you might be thirsty by now."
Daye glanced up when Tash spoke. She had been aware that the other woman had returned, but had been focusing on the healing she was trying to give to Jessica. She smiled wanly at Tash, dropping Jess’ hand to take the cup of water.
"Thanks, Tash," Daye said, sipping slowly. "I am thirsty, and hungry, and tired, and… just... finished. I feel so finished. It's like I can't figure out why, you know. Why do we keep trying?”
Tash just stood with shoulders slumped. "Oh, I know exactly what you mean. With everything that's happened these past couple of months I just..." She broke off and stared out the window at a small cloud scudding by. "I just wish it'd all stop," she finished with a sigh.
Daye heard the dejection in Tash's voice and a part of her wanted to rail against it. She just didn't know if she had the energy to do so. For the first time in her life, she didn't know if there was any point. She couldn't see past all the loss, all the pain.
Daye stood, sighing. "Maybe we should go somewhere..." Daye looked out the window at the sun shining in the autumn sky. She nodded once, emphatically. "Let's go for a walk, Tash. Let's go outside and walk in the light for a while."
Tash glanced at Jess. She was so still, so..." *So nearly dead, just like Darian in there.* She nodded wordlessly to Daye, not trusting her voice. The light sounded like a great idea - she could use some sunshine.
Downstairs, the pair wandered through a courtyard filled with ferns and bright flowers. A small fountain splashed into a stone pool, making a cool oasis amongst all the brick and concrete. Tash leaned over the fountain’s edge and watched the water for a moment, mesmerised by the ripples and bubbles it made on the surface of the pond.
"You know," she murmured, half to herself, "life was much simpler when it was just me. I didn't have to worry about my friends being killed, or my..." Her voice caught and she stopped for a moment. "I only had to worry about dusting the next vamp. It was easy." A new drop of water splashed into the pool at the edge, and Tash was startled to realise it was a tear that had trickled down her cheek unheeded.
Daye saw the tears glistening on Tash's cheeks, and she felt the dam inside her straining to burst. She listened to Tash's words, but she rebelled at the sentiment.
"That's not life," she said softly. "It's not living, being alone, guarding yourself against the people around you because you’re afraid of how much letting them in might hurt." Daye sat on the edge of the fountain, reaching out to take Tash's hand in her own. She had healing to do here too, it seemed, but perhaps this would strengthen rather than weaken her.
"We need the connections we make," she said. "We need the brief moments of joy those connections bring us. It hurts so much right now to think of Sorrow, of Ellie, of Victor..." Daye paused. She'd just taken a step, but she needed to wait for Tash to follow.
"But it's too much, Daye." Tash clung to the woman's hand, wishing she could clasp it properly, but the leather glove prevented skin contact. "Victor's gone. He's not even really dead, and I couldn't - I tried to stay, I wanted to stay... Then Kolya."
She knew Daye didn't know Nikolai, so explained, "I made a friend last year. A nice, more or less ordinary friend, who knew nothing of vampires or demons - until he wound up in G'rnatha with the rest of us. Alice, Reah and Darian were all there too. But then Kolya died. A stupid human killed him when we got home."
Tash was barely able to speak through her sobbing. "So I'd barely had time to grieve for Victor when I lost a friend, and then Pat... Do you know, he wasn't dead? They made him a vampire, and he came here. Looking for me. I killed my own brother the other night, Daye. And then Sorrow told me about Jade, how she's gone to Valerian, and now he's gone too. Oh, Daye," Tash wept into the other woman's shoulder now, as she hugged Tash close, "Daye, it's all too much. I don't want to feel all this pain. I was better off before... when I stayed apart."
Daye held Tash tight as she sobbed. She felt a deep echo of the pain Tash was expressing. This was so much more than what Daye had realized. Poor Tash had been through too much these last few weeks, too many losses for one woman to handle alone. But then again, that was the point. Tash wasn't alone.
"You don't have to carry this alone any more Tash," Daye said. She too began to cry. "I'm here for you. And not just me, but so many others. We're... we're a family now, bound by blood and pain, but also by love and joy. Don't give up on us, Tash. We need to rely on one another now more than ever."
As Daye spoke, she felt better, less defeated. They were serving a purpose here. No matter how hard it sometimes was to believe that, they could never forget it.
“Sometimes living hurts so much," Daye stroked the other woman's hair as she softly spoke, "but we can't stop because of the pain. Try to remember all the good too. That's how we get by, by remembering all that life gives us, not what it takes away."
For several long minutes neither spoke as they each drew strength from the other's presence. Even as she soaked Daye's shirt, Tash could feel her own being wetted by Daye in return as they sobbed together. "There was nothing left, Daye," Tash finally whispered into her friend’s shoulder. "I know you saw it, too. There was nothing left."
Daye knew what Tash was saying. She too felt at loose ends because there wasn't even anything left of those they had lost to remember them by. Surely many of them were feeling this sense of unfairness, as if they had been cheated of something. If only there was some way to say goodbye, to close this chapter of their lives properly. Daye was silent as she considered what Tash really needed, what they all really needed. Suddenly, it came to her.
"Tash," she said. "I've just had an idea."
Tash drew back her head from Daye's damp shoulder and raised an eyebrow in enquiry. The slight degree of new animation in Daye's voice had aroused her curiosity.
"Let's have a memorial," Daye said, warming to the idea. "We could all get together someplace, maybe somewhere outside, and we could take time to properly say our goodbyes to them. I think it might help."
Tash sniffed and wiped away the tears that covered her face. "A memorial?" She thought about that for a moment. It would be a strange kind of funeral; there was no body for Victor or Sorrow or Ellie. And now that she thought about it, there'd been no mention of a funeral for Nikolai either. Maybe she could say goodbye to him as well.
"Yeah," she nodded, "I think that would be nice." She turned her head to gaze up at the tall hospital building beside them. "I just hope Jess and Darian can be there."
Daye followed Tash’s gaze and nodded. "Maybe we should get back inside," she suggested. "I don't like to leave Jess alone too long."
Tash breathed in a deep lungful of the cool, fresh air then followed Daye back into the hospital and up to the ward where their friends lay. Daye turned to enter Jess' room, and Tash looked down the hall to where Darian was but his door was still closed. "The doctors must still be working on him," she murmured.
She looked past Daye's shoulder to Jess' pale face and thought of Darian's form swathed in bandages. "I think he was there for two weeks, Daye," she whispered, "That morning I came to ask you to get in touch with Sorrow - I should have stayed with Darian. All I could think about was getting the information back about the location, but I left Darian alone. And he went there." She thumped the side of her fist against the doorjamb. "I was so stupid, Daye."
Daye turned to Tash in surprise. She glanced around, noting how busy the halls were, and then pulled the other woman into Jess’ room and shut the door.
"Two weeks?" Daye echoed once they were safely inside. "Really?" Tash thought her friend had been held captive in that hellhole for two weeks. No wonder she was feeling so down; on top of the grief, Tash was carrying a bushelful of guilt.
Tash nodded morosely. "Didn't you see how starved he looked? And all the bite marks? They've been torturing him, Daye. I should never have left him alone. I thought I'd talked him into waiting until we were ready to all go in - why didn't I see it? I'm supposed to be bloody psychic, why didn't I see it?"
She looked down at her feet and sighed. "And now he's half dead because of it. At least," she gulped, "At least they don't seem to have broken Matthias' binding."
Daye wasn't entirely sure what Tash was talking about. Apparently there was more to this Darian fellow than met the eye. Still, even if she wanted to take responsibility, Tash wasn't to blame for what Darian had done, for what had happened to him because of it.
"So, Tash, I thought Darian was your friend," Daye said softly, "not your kid."
Tash lifted her head quickly, blushing as she met Daye's reproving gaze. "I know, but still... Matthias had to go again, and I had this information - I wasn't paying attention to how Darian was feeling. Dathan had done something horrible to him. I should have realised he didn't mean it when he said he'd wait for his revenge. I can't stand to think what they must have done to him in all the time they had him. I'm amazed he's still alive."
Tash scuffed the floor and continued, "Isn't that what you said downstairs just now? That friends can rely on each other? Well, I wasn't a terribly good friend to Darian, was I?"
Daye felt her frustration building here. Tash wasn't responsible for Darian's actions. She needed to make the other woman see that. "So, you didn't tell him not to go, then?" Daye asked. "You just gave him a good shove in that direction or what?"
Before Tash could respond, Daye continued, her voice rising slightly. "And what about you? You haven't had anything stressful going on lately, right? You could have taken the time to read Darian's mind, which I don't actually think is within the limits of your abilities, by the way. You weren't busy mourning the loss of the man you love and trying to prevent a global catastrophe of epic proportions, right? You think you were being selfish, Tash? Well, I've got news for you," she continued. "You were."
Daye paused. "But sometimes that's okay. Sometimes you need to let yourself off the hook. No one's perfect. No one can stop anyone else from doing what they really want to do. You're not the one who made a bad call here. You're not the friend who dropped the ball. He is."
In the sudden silence that fell after her friend's tirade, Tash merely blinked. She didn't have the energy to get mad, but she was too busy wallowing in self-pity to want to give up her guilt trip. A small part of her echoed Daye's words, though. *You know she's right. It felt like Darian was speaking true when he said he'd wait. Maybe he just changed his mind. It's his own silly fault.*
She answered herself - and Daye - out loud, "Yeah, but if I'd stayed longer, maybe I'd have seen him change his mind. Maybe I could have stopped him." Her voice was weak, her argument half-hearted.
She flinched from Daye's hard look and grimaced. "Ok, ok, it was his call. I can't be expected to stand guard over all my friends 24/7. But I still feel awful that he went through God only knows what sort of hellish torture in that place." She bowed her head, "I just hope he forgives me if... no, when he wakes up."
"I hope he forgives you as quickly as you've forgiven him, Tash," Daye responded, "Since you don't seem to actually hold him accountable for his actions, even though he let you down by running off like that. Darian should have done as you asked and waited. Then he would have been in a lot better shape when the time came to help us all out in there. Did that occur to you? Because it seems to me that your friend was a hell of a lot more selfish than you were. Especially since you and Sorrow both controlled the urge to go off half cocked and get yourselves all dead before we had the wherewithal to do what we finally managed to do."
Abashed, Tash whispered, "It was a near thing, Daye. You have no idea..."
Further self-recrimination was cut off by a faint sound from the bed that had both women turning to face Jess. Tash's eyes widened - was Jess' aura that bit brighter? She took the three steps necessary to reach her bedside, Daye rushing to the far side of the bed.
"Jess?"
Jess’ eyes fluttered slightly before half opening groggily. Her vision was hazy as she tried to envision the two figures that stood by. She focused her eyes further to make out the slightly blurred figures of Daye and Tash. She tried to speak, her voice hoarse, her whole body aching. Instead of words only a slight groan managed to escape her lips.
Daye grabbed Jess' hand. She grinned foolishly at Tash. "She's awake," Daye said needlessly. "Tash, quick, call a nurse or something."
Through her misery, Tash felt a grin beginning to form to match Daye's. "Hang on; in a second," she said, laying a hand on Daye's arm.
She turned to Jess, "Jess, you're in the hospital. What's the last thing you remember?" There was so much to break to Jess – Tash had to discover if her mind was up to it. What she would sense from the young woman's reactions would help her gauge that.
Jess shifted position uncomfortably, turning her head to face Tash before staring down at her hand to see the band around her wrist and the tube that stuck out of her forearm, joining a drip behind her. She looked back to Tash once again. Her orientation had improved only slightly.
“I…uh,” her voice was low, each word she spoke dripping with pain. She tried to think back, to remember what had happened and how she’d got here. There was only one thing she could come up with. “Ellie,” Jess took a deep breath then before continuing. “Where is she? I remember the hotel, I saw her. What happened?”
Tash glanced sideways at Daye. Their eyes locked for a second, and Daye gave the slightest of nods. Tash turned back to Jess and took a deep breath. "Jess, that spell Sorrow used. It worked, even more than we hoped." She bit her lip. "He targeted it on Dathan, and it seems it took out not only him but all his progeny. So Ellie... she's no longer a threat to us, Jess. The Brotherhood have lost two members, and a whole bunch of minions besides. The rest ran."
She reached out a hand and grasped Jess' tightly in her own, "I'm sorry, Jess. But she was already dead to you when the Brotherhood took her. You know that." Tash had to believe that for herself, too. She'd seen the look on Patrick's face when she'd dusted him. She had to remind herself her brother had been dead for fourteen years, not that she'd just killed him herself.
Daye reached from the other side of the bed and took Jess’ free hand. She wanted to prevent her friend from going down the same road as Tash. "Tash is right, Jess," Daye said. "We lost Ellie when she was turned. All we did last night was set her free."
A tear slowly found its way down Jess’ face as her eyes glistened over with wetness. She bit down on her lip as the word sunk in and as the memories came, staring at the same spot at the end of the bed for a long moment. Eventually, after a while when she had had too much of the silence around her, she looked at both of the women on either side of the hospital bed.
“I know. I knew that day when they came for her she was lost to me.” A pause, “But I kept on looking. Looking and hoping, but nothing happened.” Again she stopped, letting her voice rest for the moment, before finding the same spot she had stared at before and continuing. “She gave up. She gave up and I let her. We both gave up and she’s gone, Daye!”
The tears were already falling freely down her face as she let out a cry. A long moment passed as she looked to Daye, trying her best to hold her now upright position in the bed. “…She’s dead.” The words passed her lips as a barely audible whisper.
"I know, Jess, but you can't blame yourself," Daye glanced pointedly at both women as she continued. "All this self recrimination isn't doing us a bit of good. We've suffered some great losses lately, but we can't let that stop us from moving on. We've committed ourselves to doing good in this city, and we are going to continue to do so, even when the cost is so high. Otherwise, we've squandered it."
Daye leaned down and hugged Jessica carefully. "You need to rest now," she said. "We'll leave you alone to get some sleep. Just remember, it's not your fault."
*Yes, mum,* Tash thought to herself at Daye's pointed comments. Jess lay back on the bed with a sigh, and Tash patted her hand before moving to the door. Daye stayed a moment longer before letting go with a promise to return soon.
Out in the hallway the two women eyed each other. "I couldn't tell her about Sorrow. Not yet," Tash said. "She'll need to be told soon, though. But when she's stronger. She needs to mourn Ellie first. No need for her to know the full cost just yet."
Now that Jess was awake and recovering, Tash found herself drawn to Darian's room again. The door was open once more, indicating that the doctors had finally finished with him. Tash gestured up the hallway. "I should go sit with him, in case he wakes up. I don't want him to wake up alone."
Daye nodded. "I could come along," she suggested. "Maybe I could try to give him some of the healing I was using for Jessica. I think it could help."
"Thanks, Daye. I appreciate it."
Tash led the way to Darian's room. He was much as she'd left him, wrapped in gauze and plaster and breathing slowly. With a lightness she didn't feel, she said, "I don't believe you've been properly introduced. Darian, this is Daye. Daye - Darian. He's usually not so quiet as this, though." Tash gestured for Daye to enter, pushing the door to behind them.
Dropping her voice, Tash added, "And there are a couple of things I should tell you about him before we get started..."
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
Friday, 3rd November 2006
“So what do you think happened to him?”
“Gang wars, drug addict, hell, in this city who knows. There’s countless ways he could have received these wounds. When you’ve worked here long enough, nurse Jen, you’ll learn not to bother asking those questions,” the doctor replied, as he began to re-bandage one of Darian’s numerous punctures.
“He doesn’t look like a gang member or an addict, to me he looks more like a model. Maybe he had a tragic runway accident."
The doctor began to chuckle at the thought of the young man falling ungracefully off a runway. “Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. Barring a miracle, I don’t think this man will ever wake -”
Silence fell on both the nurse and doctor as their terminal patient sat bolt up in his bed, his bizarre purple eyes scanning the room.
“Sir, Sir! You’ve got to lie back down,” the nurse urged as she rushed about the room to gather tools for the doctor.
“A hospital, I’m alive. Tash, the Brotherhood, Dathan, it, it must be over.” The fae spoke aloud, ignoring the two frantic people in the room.
“Sir, you’ve had a terrible accident. Please lie back down, you’re in no condition to move, let alone get up!”
By the time the doctor was finishing voicing his concern the young man was already standing and looking around the room for clothes.
“Sir, sit back down before we call security.” The doctor’s warning fell on deaf ears. Darian was already slipping on a pair of hospital pants he had found in the far cabinet of the room.
“You wonder how he got the cuts, nurse? The nutcase probably self-inflicted them,” the doctor whispered to his companion as he took a position to block the door.
“I have to get out of here, I have to go,” Darian said, again more to himself than the others as he walked purposively towards the door.
“You’re not going anywhere, you need to calm down and - Whaa.”
Darian did not so much as hesitate before he easily pushed the doctor out of his way.
“Where are you going? Sir, Sir!” the nurse called frantically from the safety of the room. She knew that she shouldn’t have let the man leave, but she was definitely not going to risk her life to go after him.
Darian was oblivious to the multitude of eyes staring at him as he made his way down the hall and towards the stairwell. He didn’t care about what these people thought. In a matter of weeks his entire life had come crumbling down around him, and the only thing he did care about was packing his bags and leaving LA for good. The city had only brought him pain since he had arrived, and it was definitely time for him to move on. To where, he did not know nor care.
*You should check on Tash, and the others there that night, find out if everyone is ok,* his conscience rang in, as he stepped out of the stairwell and into the bustling reception room of the main floor. *You owe it to them.*
“Him! That must be him!” A woman pointing behind the large reception desk called to two security guards, who were already rushing over to the fae.
The first security man to make it to Darian placed a firm grip on his shoulder, “You can’t just throw doctors around, buddy.”
The fae was not even distracted from his thoughts as he grabbed the steroid pumped man and tossed him towards his equally overgrown partner, knocking both to the ground. *So I'll make a brief stop at Tash’s before I leave.*
Darian walked briskly as he pushed through the large glass door leading outside the hospital. The cool night air was refreshing, a welcome change from the nauseating smell of disinfectant which lingered in the building. He made his way through the parking lot, his head hung low to avoid attracting any more attention.
“Hey, not so fast,” a deep voice cut through the silence of the evening.
*Bloody hell, haven’t they realized I’m not staying?* he thought spinning around to see who it was addressing him, but to his shock the man standing before him was certainly not a hospital employee.
“You…”
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
Friday 3rd November
Chance took a step towards Darian. “Yeah, remember me? Unsuspecting victim two-seventy-four?” He allowed himself a small smile. “The only reason I’m not kicking your butt around the parking lot is because you saved Cole during our fight, and I’m not quite sure who’s side you’re on.”
Chance took another step, drawing a long-bladed knife and playing with it at the same time. “Doesn’t mean I’m not determined to get answers. Better start talking, patience is really not one of my virtues.” He needed to vent some anger, and this seemed like a perfect opportunity. What were the odds of running into this man whilst out on a walk and trying to clear his head (not to mention escaping the vomit-stench of his apartment)? Very small, but evidently still probable.
“I… I…,” Darian stuttered, not quite knowing what to say. He could remember clearly exactly what he had done to this man while Evexus was in control of his body, and he didn’t blame him for being furious. In fact, Darian was surprised the man didn’t stab him where he stood.
“I don’t know what to say to you,” the fae started in a weak voice. “I’m so sorry for what I did. You wouldn’t understand, but trust me when I say, it wasn’t my choice.” He tried to look the man in the eyes, but he couldn’t, the shame of his actions prevented it.
Something in Darian’s speech and movement struck a chord in Chance. Something familiar… But that wasn’t enough. He wanted answers. “So… what? Don’t tell me, you were possessed by a dark demon too? Please,” Chance sneered, “you’ve got to try harder than that. Stop whimpering and start talking. If you don’t… Well, I’ve spent a year practicing my torture techniques on following up a lead. I’ve become very efficient.”
“Actually, that’s kind of what happened. I’m actually part human, part fae. The Ancient Dathan allowed the faery inside me to take full control of my body, and when he did, he went after you. Why he went after you, I have no idea.” Darian finally mustered the courage to look Chance in the eyes. “But still, it’s not an excuse. Do what you what with me. To be honest, I don’t deserve your forgiveness, or your mercy,” Darian replied, eyeing the large blade.
Chance fondled the blade whilst in thought. So he had the same problem as him. That just muddied everything up now, didn’t it? Expanded the grey whilst decreasing the plain old black and white.
Why couldn’t anything in his life be simple any more?
Would he still kill this man, part fae, whatever, knowing what he had gone through, as the same had happened to him? Could he do that, blame him for the actions of another, darker power in control of his body? No, he couldn’t.
So why was he still blaming himself?
Why could he free Darian, a virtual stranger, from blame, why could Alessa do the same to him, and yet he not be able to do the same to himself?
When would he stop feeling responsible, even though every sane voice was telling him he wasn’t? Was it the fact he still wasn’t entirely sure who he was?
The old question.
He still needed time. Time to think everything through, sort it all out in his head, before doing anything. Shaking his head, he sheathed the blade, troubled by the thought. “I’m not going to do anything to you,” Chance muttered, turning away and walking off.
The man’s reactions came as a bit of shock to Darian at first. If the situations were reversed, he wasn’t sure he would be as noble and forgiving as Chance. The fae did not bother saying anything else to the man, instead he just turned around and continued back to his apartment. As much as he regretted what happened, he knew he could not change the past, he could not make up for what he did. All that could be done was hope and pray that he did not screw up anyone else’s life once he vanished from LA.
Three's a Crowd
Tuesday, 14th November 2006
Downtown Los Angeles
10:51pm
Jack paced the darkened alley, illuminated by a single street-lamp. He didn’t know if Carmichael would show but he was pretty sure he would. The other man seemed to have an instinctual sense about when his presence was required. Jack hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the events of earlier that morning, what had happened. The boy, the crowds, how they just vanished as though they had been nothing more than an elaborate illusion… It had the Ministry’s handiwork all over it. Jack wasn’t a fool; despite Carmichael and Gemmel keeping a low profile since they had revealed their presence in the city he knew they were more than capable of doing something like this.
*For what purpose though?* he thought anxiously. It was almost like a test, a test to see if Kate… *Oh God,* Jack thought as a sickening feeling hit his stomach, *please don’t let it be…*
Suddenly a robust voice issued forth from the shadows. “So nice to see you again, Jack.”
The man spun around to face the direction the voice had come from just as Aimes Carmichael stepped forward into the light of the street-lamp. He was dressed impeccably as always. The well-cut lines of his suit hung fluidly across his muscular body.
“Couldn’t you have picked a little more civilised place to meet? Darkened alley on the bad side of town… it's so clichéd.”
Jack kept his steely gaze fixed on Aimes as he slowly approached him. “Rather fitting though don’t you think? It’s where all the scum hangs out.”
“Including yourself in that statement are you, Jack?” Aimes said with a devilish grin, removing a small silver cigarette box from inside his jacket before lighting one up, inhaling deeply. A thin cloud of white smoke billowed from his lips. “So what do you want? Must be important for you to come to me.”
Jack’s face was fixed into a rigid expression, unyielding and menacing. As always when talking to Aimes it was important to try to maintain the illusion of having the upper hand even if you didn’t have it. “Five months ago you summoned me for no reason. I have to admit, I feared the worst, yet those five months have passed and still nothing. Now I want to know, no, I demand to know what your motives are for being in Los Angeles.”
Aimes smiled again, showing a row of perfectly white teeth. “My, my, we are curious aren’t we? You know what curiosity did to the cat Jack…” He took another draw from his cigarette, “Always so quick to judge. What makes you think I’m not here on vacation? The weather back home can be such a trial this time of year.”
Jack felt his temper wearing thin, it was always the same with Carmichael, never getting to the point always playing these little battle of wits. “Quit with all the mind games!” he suddenly snapped, “You know they don’t work on me.”
“Quite true, quite true,” agreed Aimes, the same smile still cutting through his features in a disturbing manner. “Such as pity as well, but that’s the problem with telepaths. You should know, I hear it runs in the family.” Before Jack could say anything he continued. “Now Kadee, she was a charming woman, it was a shame about what happened to her…”
Aimes drew yet another breath from his cigarette, dropping the stub on the ground before crushing it underfoot. “Her daughter is quite the spit of her wouldn’t you say?”
Jack’s head snapped to attention, his eyes glowing with malice. “Kate?” He took several threatening steps towards the other man, staring him in the face without even the slightest flinch. “You leave her alone, do you hear me? If you harm one hair on her head I swear to you I’ll make you wish you were human again just so you could end your own existence.”
Aimes chuckled lightly, “More idle threats, Jack? When you know if I really wanted her, or anyone else for that matter, there’d be nothing you could do to stop me. Like I reminded you five months ago, any plans… any obligations that I have will be fulfilled… one way or another. It’s the very nature of the Ministry; one mind, one voice.”
“Deception, deceit, lies… that is the very nature of the Ministry that I knew,” interjected Jack bitterly. “It’s why I left. Your ‘plans’ - they’re mad! There is no final battle Aimes! There never will be! Your energies would be better directed.” Jack looked hostile, his fists tightening up. “Just tell me… did you have anything to do with what happened this morning?”
“This morning?” Aimes asked in confusion.
“In the park, this morning!” Jack felt his own panic begin to rise. *Please let me be wrong, please.* “There was an illusion, a, a test for my daughter! Tell me it was nothing to do with you!”
Aimes lit up another cigarette, shielding the flame of his lighter from a slight breeze with his hand. “You know?” he said, holding up the smouldering white cylinder. “These do absolutely nothing for me… I don’t think the nicotine gets into my system but it’s the attitude you see? Smoking this tells people that I’m not afraid of death. Once you conquer that fear nothing can hold you back.”
Aimes didn’t see the fist as it suddenly flew at his face. Jack recoiled as Aimes landed squarely on the ground, clutching his bloody nose in complete surprise. “Get up you worm!” Jack ordered, towering over the man, holding his own fist in hand. “I want answers and I want them now.”
The man pulled a handkerchief from his inside pocket and dabbed the stream of blood that flowed freely from his nose. “That was a BIG mistake Jack!” he shouted angrily. He was rarely caught off guard like that, it was… bothersome to say the least. “You know what kind of power the Ministry has, I won’t hesitate to report you to them if you stand in my way.”
Jack slowly reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol from the inside pocket. “What if I kill you before you have a chance to contact them? Will you be able to stop me then?”
Aimes sneered at the man. “Like that puny little pea shooter could harm me anyway. You know me better than that.”
“Yes I do, and I contacted you remember? So what makes you think that I would come here unprepared? What makes you think that I haven’t accounted for that extremely thick hide of yours, Carmichael?” Jack raised his head in satisfaction as he saw a glimmer of fear in the demon’s eyes. He tapped the barrel of the gun, “Lead lined bullets with a steel core, strong enough to pierce even titanium plate Kevlar. I don’t know what it’ll do to you but I’m interested to find out.”
Jack pulled the trigger back; the sound of a bullet being loaded into the barrel could be heard. “Whatever you want here in Los Angeles, forget about it. I don’t care what the Ministry says, convince them to look elsewhere. I don’t want to see you around here again, is that clear?”
“You’re making a mistake, Jack,” said Aimes, his voice trembling slightly. He’d worked with Jack long enough to know he wouldn’t hesitate in carrying out his threat. “I didn’t have anything to do with you and your daughter this morning… but I know who did…”
“Enlighten me.”
“That’s not the way things work old boy, you know that,” said Aimes warily, looking around, “Come on, Jack, remember the good times we had together? Demons of the world unite and all that?”
Jack narrowed his eyes; his expression set in stone. “Tell me what I need to know or-"
Suddenly Jack slumped to the floor, his pistol falling from his hand and hitting the floor hard. A bullet fired and ricocheted off the alley wall. Aimes cringed, covering his head with his hands. “What took you so long? Anyone would think you wanted me to get shot!”
Michael Gemmel emerged from the darkness, standing over Jack’s motionless body. He held an old piece of piping in his hand, covered with Jack’s blood at one end. He tapped the pipe lightly on the stone floor before tossing it away.
“Heh, television is no fun any more. I have to get my entertainment from somewhere now don’t I?” He held out a hand to his partner, helping him to his feet. He looked back down at Jack, nudging his body with the toe of his shoe. “What do you want to do with him?”
“I can tell you what I’d like to do, isn’t going to happen though. We need him alive.” Aimes knelt down examining the man’s head wound; it was a deep cut but didn’t look too bad. “He’ll survive,” he announced flatly. “Don’t worry, he won’t be telling anyone about his little adventure tonight.” He rose back to his feet, chuckling a little, “Isn’t that right, Jack?”
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
Thursday, 2nd November 2006 – 11:30am
Tash gazed at the interior of her fridge and sighed in resignation. Some things just didn’t give consideration for a grieving woman, and grocery shopping was one of them. Though her appetite had been down lately, today she craved something for lunch before she returned to the hospital to relieve Daye, but the proverbial cupboard was bare. So she gathered up her keys, slipped into her jacket and headed out to the supermarket.
As she returned some while later she stopped to check her mailbox. Three days’ worth of bills and junk mail spilled out, but one envelope made her pause. The handwriting upon it was very familiar. She quickly stuffed the others under her arm and ran up the three flights of stairs to her apartment. The bags of shopping and the rest of the mail fell unheeded to the floor as she ripped open the letter.
A key slid out which she caught in midair, then she looked at the tag. It bore an address and a number – 6630. Tash gazed for a moment at the folded paper within, feeling sure now about what it contained. She well remembered a similar such letter from Matthias last year. Still, she unfolded it and began to read…
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
November 15th, 2006,
11pm
Nothing falls harder than darkness in Los Angeles, and even the sense of overpowering night, the crisp scary breeze and the hollow background noises doesn't provoke as much fear as the thought of what lurks in it. Some people, even those ignorant of the ‘truth’, still hesitate in facing such a atmosphere. To others it is inevitable and those are the ones that finally meet there fate of doom, giving more terror for others to be frightened.
Thule stood at his window as he did every night, after making himself a nice strong cup of tea. Standing there, gazing into the eyes of the moon, gazing into the eyes of the darkness, little did he know they looked back, as they looked back on everyone. He stood there for some time, contemplating issues, going over them in his mind, and after a while got tired and decided the night could go on without him. He withdrew from his midnight place as he drained his tea, and headed for his kitchen to clean it. Before he could make it thus far, his doorbell rang. Absent mindedly, he set the tea cup down on the nearest table and went towards the door, thinking who it could be at a time like this, but he wasn’t surprised, as in his occupation he expected most things to come at night.
Nevertheless, he approached the door and opened it cautiously, prepared for anything that goes ‘bump’ in the night, as they say. He looked out and saw a figure dressed from head to toe in black and brown, with their head covered with a hood from their brown suede jacket. He barely had the time to ask who it was when a familiar voice called back.
“Don’t let me stand here, Thule. Do let me come in, the moon is burning a hole in my back, so to say.”
Thule smiled and opened the door further to let Alaric in, and closed it behind him. Alaric went to Thule's library and took off his jacket and the hood to reveal he had only applied partial makeup and was mostly orange in other places.
“There, that feels better,” he said as he folded the jacket and put it on the back of the chair he then sat in.
“Of what do I have the pleasure of this surprise meeting, Alaric? We weren’t scheduled to meet for some time, if I remember correctly,” Thule said, still standing.
“You should know me better then that, I’m always the person for surprises. Things change Thule, and with it we have to adjust.” Alaric motioned for Thule to sit down, as if looking for a best time to tell him something.
Thule sat down in front of Alaric and asked whether he’d like anything, as he always did.
Alaric chuckled. “You were always the person for the best hospitality. How long we have known each other and still you go on with such formalities. No thank, I do not intend to stay long, as I do have prior appointment. I came to discuss that has just came into my notice, not that long ago.”
Thule remained quite and beckoned for Alaric to continue, which he did. “You see Thule, someone informed me, as always when people like to, about the “something’s coming theory” and I finally believe that it might be true.”
“Something’s always coming, it’s whether we welcome it or not should be our concern,” replied Thule, softly.
“Yes, true isn’t it, but hopefully this would be what we have always been waiting for, what we have worked for. And I even believe we have the key in our hands, luckily enough.” Alaric then peculiarly enough looked towards Thule’s ring, as if hinting.
By reflex Thule grasped his ring. “You mean the twins? You aren’t talking about the prophecy are you?”
Alaric grinned, “You tell me. You are the Minister of Information in Valour, after all.”
“Ever since I met Alfred, I have been researching about the Koolangs, and the Prophecy that is there, but so difficult to find.” He got up and started pacing around, as he always did when he started thinking. “I know that the prophecy was written by the Kumacs, long before the separation, and that they couldn’t even make heads or tails out of it. It definitely involves the twins, The Two, and the Codex, but it is still unclear how, and what will come of it.”
Alaric followed Thule’s movement for some time then got up and started to put on his coat. “It’s a pity I can’t solve the mystery, as that is what it is to me as well. However before I leave I can provide you with some help and perhaps guidance. Take to twins to see Sathawick.”
Thule stopped as he heard the name, which he hadn’t heard for some time. “Sathawick. He’s still here, in LA?”
“Oh yes, and in the same place downtown too, you remember - a few blocks away from Bob’s Bar. He might be able to help, or give more advice.” Alaric put his hood on to hide his face as best as he could. “Well Thule, I would love to stay but I really must be going. Pity I couldn’t have some of your tea, but perhaps next time.” He turned and walked towards the door as Thule followed.
Just before Alaric disappeared he said to Thule, “I would like to be fully reported on what does happen. You know how I’ve always been interested in those charming twins. Well, hope you find your answers.” And with that he headed away from Thule towards somewhere where Thule himself was uncertain.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
Poplar Avenue,
Tuesday 31st of October, 2006
19:30
Reah sat motionless and numb in the passenger seat of Damen Kirk’s car. She’d had the same bland expression on her face, a deeply set frown, for the entire trip since he’d picked her up after she’d disappeared from the Hyperion to drop the fire-truck off in a safer location than the open street. Her stone cold silence had Damen on edge; not a single word was exchanged the entire trip, even if he tried - though he wasn’t winning awards for the worlds most compassionate man.
The dump of an ‘Al Bundy’ car finally pulled up at the front of 1318 Poplar and almost as soon as the engine had cut off, Damen was out and on his feet, lighting up.
Reah took a moment or two before finally flicking the door lever, flinging the door outward and subconsciously raising herself out of her seat. She was still lost to the world and had yet to really register Damen’s lingering presence, even as he mutely escorted her to the front door of her apartment. The small trail of blood leading to Victor’s old office had also passed under her radar as she approached her door, key readied in hand.
Just as she was opening the door, without turning her eyes away from wherever they were, she muttered a silent ‘thanks’ then disappeared into her apartment where it seemed even elephants could be consumed by the deathly silence that possessed the apartment.
Damen rubbed his jaw, considering whether or not he should actually say something more to Reah. He had to admit, he did have a fondness for the girl, and also had to admire her guts in how she handled herself. Waiting outside her door, he lit a cigarette and stayed there before finally making a decision. Starting to head away, he would leave and talk later.
Only then he found himself less than two minutes later bounding up the stairs, gun drawn at the sound of a very large crashing sound, like someone had just set off a bomb. *Fuck. That dumb blonde have better not have gone and killed herself.* He stopped outside the door, listening carefully outside. What sounded like a struggle and someone yelling hysterically to stop could be vaugley heard.
*I'm gonna regret this later.* Damen held his gun pointed in the air, taking a step back. A swift kick to the right part of the door sent it flying open, to reveal two very distraught women alone. Reah and Quin both stood there, Quin looking frightened while Reah looked more pissed off that he had even bothered to come back.
"What the hell is the matter with you?" Damen asked, relaxing slightly. "Um, sorry about that. It sounded like a fight was going on, so um, I...."
“Going to what?” Reah growled, “I can handle myself.”
Damen cast a sidelong glance to the wall, his eyes nearly popping out of his head at the wreck that he’d found. Large gaping holes in the wall had literally been torn out! The fractures in the structure suggested that it wasn’t a professionally done job, and the noises he’d heard earlier pretty much confirmed the theory. White chalky plaster littered the polished wooden floors, and even some of the studding in the walls had been damaged, chunks of splintered wood that were large enough to be small stakes decorated the ground. Reah quirked an eyebrow at Damen expectantly, her face slightly flushed at his incredulous expression over his discovery.
Quin had taken advantage of the brief distraction, huddling herself into a far corner, gawking wide eyed and scared by her cousin’s recent display. Thankful for the strange man’s interruption - though she concluded he had to be bloody crazy - Quin didn’t want to be left alone with Reah as she hid behind him near the door.
Reah watched Quin curiously, worry and pain twinging the corners of her eyes before she cried out in frustration again, slamming both fists high against what was left of the wall. “What the hell is… FUCK!”
Damen slowly lowered his gun, watching Reah cry out. Part of him wanted to try to go over and help her, the other part had to admit that it was frightened out of its mind. "What the fuck is the matter with you?" he snapped.
Damen started to pace in the room, paying no attention to the rather shocked look of Quinn. There she was, totally clammed up and unemotional, and now punching holes in her apartment. It just made no sense, unless she was holding everything in.
"This is the way you vent? Did I miss a fucking meeting or something? You sit there in the car with me on the way back. And I tried, I really did try to actually help you. I'm not good at it, but I was willing to listen. But oh no, that's not good enough for you. You have to come back here, and send another woman hidding in the corner while tearing apart yourownfuckingwalls!
"Learn some better fucking anger management skills, ok? Learn to take the fucking opportunity when it's offered to you! I can't believe that for a minute I actually found you attractive if you're going to be more pissed off than me!"
He couldn't believe that he was so angry at her for not talking. The last time he got that pissed off at a woman, he was trying to bang her. *No. No. NO. I am not doing that with a woman who tried to kill my best friend!* Still, he had to admit, it was quite annoying to hear this loud crash and she probably needed to hear that she should talk about it.
“What?” Reah’s head whipped back incredulously, her eyes clenched shut as she struggled to contain herself from directing her frustration on him, *Attractive? I… BLOODY HELL, nothing makes any sense!*
Shaking her head dismissively, Reah took a step around to face him, “I just lost a fucking friend tonight. I lost another friend not long before that and a fucking ‘nother not long before that!” She screamed, “In total, I’ve lost a good three friends quicker than my fucking MENSTRUATION CYCLE! And I don’t…” Reah’s mouth hung open, working furiously at trying to get what she was saying out, *This is too unnatural. Why is it so bloody hard? I can barely feel anything!*
“You wouldn’t understand. I’m not your regular everyday ‘chick’.” Reah rolled her eyes and moved about to slump down on a nearby couch, rubbing her temples.
"Oh, and I suppose that I'm just another fucking normal bozo, is that it?" he snapped, chopping his hand through the air. "Why don't you just fucking TRY to open up to someone, and not just sit there like you just killed your friend, ok? There was nothing you could have done to stop him from sacrificing himself. Nothing short of killing him, that is."
Damen softened some, forcing himself to calm down. No. He would help her get through this, he owed her that. Damen could almost feel her seething anger in the air at that. "Look, I'm sorry. I don't mean to yell, it's just that I'm usually angry and pissed off."
Splitting her concentration towards his issues as well as her own, Reah tried to force tears to her eyes, thinking of her parents, her friends, the world, despair, oppression… The most she succeeded in was a slight tingle in the bridge of her nose and a slight welling in her eyes, *Why does this have to take so much bloody effort? It was difficult before, but it‘s been even harder since bloody Grr’land. It’s not natural - I’m not natural.*
Reah sniffed into the upholstery, her eyes still drawn down in frustration as she replied to Damen’s spiel, “Why?”
Damen blinked in confusion. WHY? The worst part was, he didn't have a clue what she was referring to. Still, best to figure that she was talking about her friend. "Because that's the way these rituals tend to work. You knock out the caster, they go haywire and kill everyone - including him. You let him complete it, he dies. It's not fair or pleasant, but it's the way these things happen."
Reah stopped everything she was doing and turned her head to stare blandly at Damen, “Thank you for that small piece of enlightenment, but I was referring to you and your constant mode of ‘pissed off’.” Reah quoted with her fingers then continued, “But since you brought it up, you’re right! It’s not fair, it’s NOT pleasant, and it’s fucking unjust! Yet look at me, look at my eyes… Now you tell me what’s wrong with this bloody picture.”
"So you aren't crying. So what?" Damen sighed, trying to consider what to say and feeling like he just stuck his foot in his mouth before finding the right words. *Jesus. I'm turning into Dr. Phil. Where's Orprah?*
"Look, everyone grieves differently, you just don't turn into an emotional wreck. You cared about your friends, they know you cared about them and are going to miss them, and you know what else? I doubt that any of them would want you to become a fucking train wreck because they died. They would want you to move on and keep doing the things you do. And quite frankly, if you felt nothing at losing them, that," he pointed at the numberous holes in the wall, "would still be in one piece."
Reah glanced at her ‘wall’ and after a while a moan escaped from her closed mouth. *I’m going to have to fix that now.* She had to admit, Damen’s statement of… ‘assurance’ had been one of the best attempts she’d ever heard come from the opposite sex. If she wanted, she could’ve easily retaliated and bogged them down into yet another argument, but before she could open her mouth, she caught sight of Quin who had silently risen from her huddling squat on the floor and was now slowly making her way towards the door.
“Quin?” Reah's tone changed, her eyes suddenly full of concern. She’d completely forgot about her cousin’s presence, *Shit! What did I say, again?* Reah wracked her brains hoping against hope that she hadn’t said anything too incriminating, “What are you doing?”
Quin paused, head down with her trailing hand now haltered in its path against the wall, “Giving you some space,” she muttered under her breath, her face stained with small rivulets of tormented tears.
“I’m sorry, Quin. Please, just…” Reah watched her cousin’s face lift up to stare at her levelly with reddened eyes. Reah tore her eyes from Quin’s to stare away dismissively, “Go to your room.”
Damen watched as Quin quietly slipped off to her room, sparing a single glance in his direction on the way out. Whatever he had done, he didn't know, but maybe now he could convince Reah to reach some semblance of calm. Though she seemed there. Something about Quin reminded him of something. "Sister?" he asked.
Reah shook her head no.
"Too bad," Damen said, getting a bit distant. It was one of the rare moments when his voice was low, level, and not carrying an inch of sarcasm or anger. "I remember mine - have for a long time. Back when I ran away from home, I left her behind, and didn't return until years later. Found out that she left, so went out looking for her."
He quickly finished off the cigarette, flicking it towards the kitchen sink. "When I finally found her... she was dead. Overdosed on some cheap ass cocaine some college kid was selling to make a quick buck." There seemed to be an underlying exhortation to Reah: take care of Quin.
Reah watched him carefully, almost as if she was seeing him for the first time… which technically was true! She’d never seen him like this before. “Something tells me that I should almost feel sorry for the college guy… if he wasn’t such an asshole that is.”
“Crowbar.”
Reah nodded in understanding, then sniffed cynically, nodding her gaze down the hall Quin had disappeared, “She’s impossible. She won't tell me what’s up, or why she ran away from home. She is my cousin, though, so I have to look out for her.” Shaking her head, Reah turned her eyes back to the wall as she felt frustration seeping back into her system. “But she hates me.”
"Cousins are funny that way - they'll gladly take your help, but won't tell you the problem until it's too late." Damen afforded a glance down that hall as well, where the other young woman had disappeared to. She had the look about her, that something bad happened to her. Something that you might not talk about, even on the streets.
"Nah, I don't think she really hates you. She's still here, after all, and not running away again. Just give her some time to open up to you."
Frustration diminished somewhat, and Reah smiled softly… that was until paranoia jumped up to claim the stand, *Don’t drop your bloody guards girl! This guy wants you dead!* “She was on the streets beforehand, I imagine this accommodation is a step up. Why should she leave? What do you care if she hates me or not, anyway?!”
*Of all the nerve...* Damen felt a solid lance of annoyance fall through him, causing him to wonder just exactly how many different personalities this woman had. "Are you mentally un-fucking-balanced or something?" He jumped to his feet, walking quickly. Truth be told, though, he did have a soft spot for women. "I'm fucking trying to be polite and show a little bit of compassion. That's all! I mean, what, do you think I'm trying to get in your pants or something?"
*Fuck this… bloody…!* “No! I didn’t think that! Okay!” Reah blared out, then started to wonder why she’d said what she’d said, *I couldn’t be scared… That’s the last bloody thing I’d need to wrap up my day!* Damen had succeeded in making her nervous, though; she had no idea any more of what he was playing at, and it literally did have her scared.
“I’m stupid. I don’t think. I can’t cry, and it’s just really beginning to eat at me, okay? I‘m sorry!” Reah slammed her head into the couch’s back, face pressed down. She’d started drilling her head into it as hard as she could till she felt the furniture’s deeply set wooden frame make an impression on her forehead. She figured if she tried hard enough, she could block out the rest of the world.
*Stop... feeling... sympathy... for... her....* Still, as much as Damen repeated this to himself, he couldn't. He was pretty much always put in mind of the helpnesses of finding his sister overdosed, and so felt the need to do something so he wouldn't have to feel that again.
*Damn,* he thought as he felt himself beginning to walk over towards Reah. Unable to find any words, he sat down on the couch next to her. His arms came out around her waist slowly, Reah tensing for a moment before relaxing, until finally Damen was just holding her silently.
*Um… hello?* Reah quirked an eyebrow, at least she would’ve if she didn’t have her face firmly imbedded in a couch.
At first she waited for him to try something… like kill her… possibly… she wasn’t sure. She didn’t have a clue any more. She hated that fact the most, though she welcomed the comforting arm and eventually slumped into it. Sliding across the back of the couch she was still facing, she edged tentatively closer until she was gently leaning against him, her head resting on his open shoulder, *Now would be a nice time to weep…* Those were her last thoughts before she drifted off, her eyes slipping closed as she abandoned all reason and allowed herself to relax in the arms of her enemy.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
Wednesday 1st of November, 2006
01:45 am
Reah trudged despairingly through streets of LA. Raging emotions conflicted in her mind, tormenting her thoughts and reigning her soul with confusion. At least what there was of it. She’d been wandering through the streets for a couple of hours now, with no particular destination in sight, no goals set; she just needed out of that apartment. If evil had bared itself, this night, Reah hadn’t been aware of its passing. Her knuckles were still grazed, bruised and bloodied. Every now and then she’d just stop in her trucks to punch uselessly at a brick wall, pent up on frustration and anger with nothing to direct it at. Despite what the comfort she’d received the previous night, she still couldn’t help but feel she wasn’t fully whole, *What is wrong with me?*
She’d frightened Quin when she’d returned home that evening, and Reah couldn’t have cared less. Then Damen had shown up afterwards, eventually soothing and reducing her to something of a babe in his arms, *My bloody enemy! What the hell was going on there?*
Right now she was soaked to the bone after venturing through the heavy rain that had plagued the city for the past few hours, then stopped with about as much warning as when it had started. Reah’d paid as much attention to that as she would’ve a drowned ant in the cracks of the pavement.
Jeet had been sitting for what seemed like hours, although in reality only a few minutes had passed. He slowly got to his feet and collected his weapons together. He made his way towards the end of the alley keeping as close to the wall as he could. Suddenly he stopped. He could hear footsteps - slight though they were he could hear them approaching. Someone was coming who didn’t like to announce their presence. Jeet slid back into the shadows and pushed his body hard against the wall, *Please don’t see me, keep going, please…* He was concentrating so hard, slowing his breathing and trying not to move.
Suddenly he was gone, he had disappeared, or at least it seemed that way. The cat who hadn’t left his side since he had woken, stopped purring and looked at where Jeet had been standing then ran away down the alley towards the oncoming footsteps.
*Shit!* Reah stumbled haphazardly over a cat that seemed to jump out of nowhere, startling her out of the sombre trance she‘d slipped into. Reah danced about, panicked on her feet, careful not to step on the thing whilst also trying to keep from falling gracelessly on her ass. “Bloody hell cat! Scared the living fu…” Glancing up at the flickering sign above her, Reah noticed she’d managed to find her way to Bob’s Bar. With a spiteful glance, Reah shot her narrowly drawn eyes down the alley the cat had fled like hell on wheels. *I swear, whatever’s in there is going to get fucken minced!*
Jeet stood motionless. The footsteps were more hurried now and almost upon him, and then they stopped. He could see a figure standing in front of him. *Why haven’t they seen me?* He could see the figure straining their eyes scanning the alley but they couldn’t see him. *What’s going on?* The figure looked straight at him. *Is that..? It’s a woman! I have never seen anything like her. She has pale skin and light hair. Who is she? What is she?* No sooner had Jeet stopped thinking about hiding than he fell to the ground. He was completely visible again but he couldn’t move. He was completely drained, he felt as if all of his energy had been taken out of him.
“SHIT!” Reah swore she’d jumped ten feet when a figure suddenly seemed to drop out of thin air at her feet! “Bloody hell! I swear! Bloody…” Reah swiped down venomously at the figure, swiftly gripping them by the throat then shoved them hard back into the wall, her arm outstretched as she held them clear off the ground. *Bloody demons! Bloody BOB! I hate that bloody son of a…* She ripped her sword out of its sheath on her back. “What gives, dude? I don’t much fancy having a bloody heart attack! Okay!”
Jeet was pinned against the wall, powerless to move. He knew the woman was strong but it wasn’t that, he just couldn’t do anything. “Please, I mean no harm,” he whispered, hoping she would understand but he knew she wouldn’t. He looked into her eyes. He could see determination and a sense of anger but deeper down he could see fear and kindness. He instantly knew that whoever this was they weren’t evil, but how did he convince her the same of him?
Reah frowned, *Um… okay! Try English next time, buddy! Threats or warnings in other languages generally don’t get the point across so well.* Wrenching him off the wall she threw him across the alleyway like a rag doll and stalked menacingly towards him.
“Caught me in a bad mood, mate,” Reah spat, her sword whirring to life with its gentle hum as she spun it gracefully through formations.
Jeet could see her approaching him with her sword raised. He didn’t want to fight, and although his strength was slowly returning, he was still weak. He slowly backed away stalling for time, with every second that passed he started to feel stronger and stronger. He gradually kept backing away and moving around until he felt he was strong enough. He didn’t want to fight, but if he had to, he would protect himself. He pulled his sword from its sheath and got to his feet, he bowed and took his fighting stance.
“Formal guy, hey? I suppose I can honour that,” Reah muttered, returning the bow, then lunged at him, their swords striking halfway as they entered their dance.
As they fought Jeet noted the graceful manner in which his opponent moved. As their swords struck he felt a great strength from her, far more than any human he had ever fought. She was good with the sword too, but not good enough; her attacks left her open. Jeet's strength had completely returned now and he picked up the pace of the fight, striking left then right, high and low, forcing his opponent back.
Reah found herself smiling. However feral, it was still there. And almost as instantaneously as the smirk brushed her face, she forced it right off in anger again as realisation of it dawned on her. She was enjoying this! It was the only thing that had managed to spark ANY form of emotion in her over the past day. And surprise, surprise: once again it was sparked by her passion for combat!
Reah weaved and strained as the skill of her opponent began to shine clearly over her own. *Trust me to come across some sort of bloody Blademaster!* She snarled at her attacker and attempted to reverse the attack back on him, but soon discovered the many arising flaws in her actions frequenting more and more often as she strove to reach him.
“Shit!” Reah cursed aloud as her opponent managed to cut through her weakening defences, striking a stinging cut across her upper arm.
As the battle progressed it was more than apparent to Jeet that this was no ordinary woman. She fought with a passion that he knew would only grow as time went on, but she also fought with anger, acting rashly; that was her weakness and it left her open for attack.
Jeet saw his opportunity; as his opponent struck a blow from above he blocked it and in one swift movement spun down on the ground sweeping the legs of his adversary from underneath her. In a split second he had flipped back to his feet and was standing over the woman pointing his sword at her throat. As he looked down at her, he saw she showed no sign of fear. Jeet stepped away and held a hand out, after pulling her up he bowed.
“Well fought. You were a worthy adversary,” he said in a soft gentle voice hoping to convey his meaning.
Seething inwardly at her poor performance, Reah cursed herself and eyed her opponent suspiciously, warily accepting his proffered hand that pulled her graciously to her feet. She watched him with an air of curiosity, now unsure of who this… She didn’t even know what they were any more! He looked human, sounded human, he’d proved he had humanity within him… *What the hell was that sudden appearing act! Unless… * Reah studied the man purposefully, wondering if he was some sort of mage or sorcerer.
Reah scratched her head with one hand while she cautiously re-sheathed her sword with the other, ready to whip it right back out again in case this was some form of bluff, *If it is a bluff though - why not kill me before when he had his bloody sword at my throat?* Reah tried thinking rationally, then assented that it was safe for her to drop her guards, assuming a more relaxed stance before the man, *I’d already be dead if he’d wanted it.*
Somewhat unsure of herself or how she was to deal with the man, Reah ducked another, slightly awkward bow in return, adding a touch of her own, less glamorous culture, “Um… thanks!”
Jeet ripped off a section of material from his robe and pointed to the woman’s arm, hoping she would lift it, she did, so Jeet gently tied the material around the cut to stop the bleeding, “I know you can't understand me but I hope that helps,” he said softly
*Well… I think it’s safe to assume he’s not evil…. Unless evil’s switching tactics now.* Reah continued to watch him intriguingly as he checked his job of dressing her wound, *I swear I’ll never understand evil, if that’s the case.*
“Thanks again.” Reah frowned up at the man. He seemed unusually tall for his origin; she suspected he was about six foot, if not a bit more - and his clothing was… nothing short of out-of-the-ordinary, *Definitely not from around these parts.*
Tapping subconsciously at her bandaged wound in thought, Reah tried working out what she was supposed to do next. She’d pretty much figured he hadn’t a clue what she was saying when she did say anything, so she decided that bowing was going to be her best chance of conveying her thanks to him successfully.
Reah paused for a moment more, her eyes closed in consideration while she continued to stand still doubled over in her “thank’s for dressing my wound and not killing me” bow. Usually, at moments like these, she’d introduce herself! *This’ll be fun…*
Raising her head again, Reah held up her hand in greeting. “Hi," she started slowly, holding steady eye-contact. Reah then gestured to herself, “Reah.” Reah’d seen some movie before - she thought it may have been some Disney movie… Tarzan. She figured she’d play it safe and leave out other words that might confuse him, such as 'I’m'.
Jeet looked her in the eyes he could see she was full of confusion, not knowing who he was or understanding what he said, but something about them made him feel at ease. He had no idea where he was or what had happened to him, but at least he wasn’t alone, for now anyway. And maybe, he hoped, he had found someone who could help.
Jeet pointed to himself, poking his chest, “I’m JEET SU MY. I’m JEET.”
Reah nodded, a small comforting smile pulling at a corner of her lips. Frustration still niggled at the back of her mind over her subsequent lack of emotions towards recent events, but it was suitably suppressed. This man had provided her a much welcomed distraction to her raging dilemma. So far she’d even managed to communicate effectively with him! And to such a point that she now had something to call him by.
Reah held up her hand again, in repetition, “Hi, Jeet.”
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
***Wednesday November 1st 2006 approx 7 pm***
Jeet awoke with a start and sat up. it took a few seconds for him to realise where he was. *Reah!* he thought to himself as he recalled the events of earlier that day. As he sat in bed he tried to comprehend what had happened and why. He was fairly sure he wasn’t dead. The fight with Reah had been real enough, but he was also sure he’d died. If he was alive he certainly wasn’t anywhere near Beijing and he doubted he was even in Asia any more, everything he had seen so far had been alien to him. He was sure Reah would be able to answer at least some of his questions if he could only find away to communicate with her. He could see she was trying so hard to communicate with him, and after all she had managed to lead him here, feed him and get him to bed without too much trouble so maybe he could.
Jeet slowly swung his legs out of the bed onto the floor. He wasn’t used to sleeping this high up and if he hadn’t fallen straight to sleep, he probably would have made a bed on the floor. As he got to his feet and looked around the room, his weapons had been neatly stacked in the corner. As he scanned the walls and furniture more and more questions came into his head. He had been so grateful for a safe place to stay and some food to eat that he had almost forgotten about the fact that he managed to stay completely dry in a major rain storm, appeared to be invisible and lost all of his strength in a matter of seconds let alone waking up in... *Well, wherever I am,* but all those things were coming back to him now.
He sat back down on the edge of the bed. *Somebody please just tell me what’s going on.* After a minute or so Jeet took a deep breath and stood up for the second time, and made his way over to the dresser. Reah had left what he assumed were clothes on the side. Jeet stared into the mirror. He had never seen himself so clearly before, it was quite a strange feeling. He proceeded to undo his burial robes and take off his jacket.
Jeet froze; “It can’t be!”
He stood motionless, staring at himself in the mirror. He slowly raised his hand up to his neck and watched his reflection as he lifted a small golden amulet over his head. Jeet held the amulet in his palm and looked down at it. *The Amulet of Futs-Lung.* He stood staring, not daring to take his eyes off the small golden amulet, *Can it really be?* As if events hadn’t been strange enough, now this. This was just too much to deal with at the moment, so Jeet slipped the amulet back over his head and carried on changing into the clothes left by Reah. He looked at himself in the mirror, wearing black jeans and a black tee shirt. *I look ridiculous.* He folded up his clothes and laid them on the dresser.
“Reah. Reah,” Jeet called out somewhat timidly, but there was no reply. *She must have gone out,* he thought to himself. He didn’t feel comfortable wandering around her home when she wasn’t there so he decided to stay in his room until she returned. *Perhaps a little practice will help clear my head.*
Jeet picked up each weapon in turn and went through various katas. To an onlooker it would have looked like an amazing show of skill and grace, it was as if each weapon was an extension of his body. *It’s no good, I can't concentrate. I need to clear my head, a little meditation should help.* He sat on the floor and formed the lotus position.
Jeet tried to concentrate on clearing his mind but it was useless, all he could think about was why he was here and who was responsible for it. Those two thoughts kept flying back and forth through his mind, it was all he could think about. Suddenly Jeet arched his back as if a surge of electricity had shot up his spine and he opened his eyes. His pupils were gone - they had been replaced by a thick white mist.
“You sure this is going to work?”
“Shut up you fool, I need to concentrate and I can’t do that with your inane jabbering.”
“Sorry, it’s just... Well, this is some serious mojo your messing with.”
“I said SHUT UP!”
“Sorry, sorry.”
Jeet slumped on the floor unable to move; his strength had gone just like it had hours earlier. He lay on the floor trying to comprehend what he had just happened, trying to make some sense of it. Was it was some sort of vision? It was blurry, but he was sure he had seen two figures talking.
Slowly Jeet’s strength returned and he was able to sit up. He let out a long sigh of relief, mixed with a large dose anxiety, as he looked up towards the ceiling. *As if I didn’t have enough to think about, now this. WHAT NEXT?*
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
November 4th,
Morning.
The old question.
Chance walked without really walking. Walking usually meant there was some direction involved, some destination to reach. The place he wanted to get to he would not get by walking, or any other form of physical movement for that matter. It wasn’t dawdling either. That required at least some guidance from the conscious brain, even if it was only the awareness of dawdling.
He had none. His legs were moving, taking him forward, all on their own, but he didn’t pay attention. Chance had no grasp of how long he had been in such a state, but it must have been for hours and hours because the sky was brightening with the encroaching dawn. He wasn’t paying attention to that, either. He was lost in his own little world.
That wasn’t quite so little. Or his own, really. Who’s was it? His? Matthew’s? Dray’chen’s?
The old question.
Who.
Was.
He.
?
There was more to it than that but that was, more or less, the general gist of it. He had been created and then blended with the memories of others. He was in control of his body, yes, but he was made up of three different individuals; an ancient, psychotic demon, a slightly younger but still nine-hundred year old Knight Templar, and a 20-something vampire hunter. If that didn’t complicate things enough, there was also the fact that in reality, he only thought that was his age. It was more like a year, give or take.
One year.
One year old.
Plus nine-hundred. Plus God-knows how much.
How the hell was he supposed to know who he truly was? How could he sort Felix from Matthew from Dray’chen?
What is reality, but what it means to you?
It means that I have absolutely know idea who I really am.
Nobody does. Not really. That comes with life; with growing old and gaining experience. It is through our experiences we become who we are. It comes with the relationships we make with other people, and how we interact with them. Whether those experiences and relationships actually happened, or not, is of no consequence.
Easy for you to say-
It was only then that Chance realised he had been having a conversation with himself. Sort of. The voice had been coming from inside his head, just like any other thought, yet he didn’t think it. It was as if there had been a phone in his head, and somebody on the other end was talking. And now, apparently, had hung up.
Or been disconnected.
He knew immediately who it was. Pandora had told him memories were not the only thing Matthew had passed on to him. Thoughts could occasionally surface. And so it was through him that Matthew lived on.
The only problem was sorting out exactly who it was Matthew lived on through.
Still, there was a few words of wisdom in there. The whole reason he hadn't registed it as a seperate voice was how similar what he had said had been to what Pandora told him. He recognised that and how true it was, now. Why hadn't he seen the value and worth the first time round? And if he had, why hadn't he taken more notice of it?
Yes. Very similar. More or less quoting, in fact.
More or less.
He was Chance. More or less.
Was Chance Felix? Yes. Was he Matthew? Yes. Was he Dray’chen? Yes.
Was he all three, and yet neither? Was he one and not the others? And the others not including one? Was he a combination of them all, mixing freely together; neither one fully integrating but at the same time creating somebody else?
Yes. Yes, yes and yes.
That was him, then. The mind of a man, the body and memories of a much older man, the power of a demon.
He was Matthew. Although dead for all intents and purposes, his experience and knowledge counted for a lot. And through him he lived on.
He was Felix. Although only one year old, he had experienced a lot, and had his own unique personality which was coming up as the dominate persona, augmented by the other two.
He was Dray’chen. The demon had no control over him, but he had a portion of the demon’s strength.
Together, they were Chance.
That was him.
The old problem.
A new solution.
Kind of. It wasn’t complete. There were flaws and stuff he hadn’t taken into consideration, but there it was. A basis, a platform, a starting point. That’s what he needed now.
He was Chance.
That’s what he had to repeat to himself, like a mantra, over and over again.
He was Chance. He was Chance. He was Chance. He was Chance. He was Chance. He was Chance.
He.
Was.
Chance.
Chance allowed himself a small smile as he walked, looking up and noticing the lighting sky. This was good. He had something now.
Next problem.
Dray’chen.
The demon was part of the triumvirate that was him. So he was responsible for the demon’s actions. But hadn’t he already solved that one? Oh, yes. The toast. He’d accepted responsibility and would make up for it, in whatever way he could. Whatever it takes.
Which lead him onto the next problem.
Alessa.
Ah.
Damn.
Indeed.
The smile faded and he returned into his world. This would require more thought. A lot more. How did he know what he felt for her was right? That it was what he truly felt when he couldn’t be sure of the source? And after everything the demon, therefore he, had done?
Felix had loved her. So had he.
Did.
In his mind's eye, her face floated in front of him as he had last seen it; beautiful, with eyes full of love and care. Did he deserve that? Probably not. But he had it. Could he let that all go? Could he drag her down with him, purely because he had feelings for her? Lead her on to the path of insanity and an early death seeking vengeance he was almost certainly on? Should he?
Fuck it.
She loved him. That was all that was important. Alessa was her own woman, free to make her own choices and give her heart to whomever she wanted. It was not for him to tell her not to.
When she had come to see him, there was nothing more he wanted than for her to stay. Despite telling himself he would be ok, he knew deep down he wasn’t. Without her, he had been a mess, and he knew it. He had fucked up big time. She was the one person in all the world who could have helped him sort out everything a hell of a lot quicker than he had on his own. And here he was, despite being more or less than what he was before, contemplating leaving her.
Fuck it. Fuck it all. He wanted her back.
He loved her. Would probably always would. Even this new, ‘improved’, ‘better’, Chance did. He didn’t know how it worked, didn’t know how his love for her lived on when other feelings had fallen by the wayside, but it had. And he was thankful for that.
Chance stopped to get his bearings. His smile broadened when he realised where he was. The alley, where they had first met. Near that club. He turned and headed back the way he came. He only prayed Alessa was still waiting for him.
She said she would. And there she would be.
As he walked in the direction of her house, the sun finally rose. It was as if it had been waiting for him. Its rays touched down in LA, bringing light to the shadows and chasing the darkness away. The light fell on Chance’s face, smoothing away the lines of worry and fear that had been etched on for days.
It was a brand new day.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
***November 12th, 2006- JFK Airport- Day***
Enzo Lautari is played by Mandy Patinkin
Slowly, Adriana opened her eyes. She was back at the airport. Everything seemed to be normal. No one had noticed that she was on the floor, holding her head. Drea looked at the clock. Only a minute had gone by. She couldn’t believe it. Suddenly, something cold took over Adriana’s body. Her eyes glowed an eerie white, and she began to speak in a foreign tongue,
“Yaks de March, moarte avel drúkkeribén chai.” A few seconds later, Adriana’s body temperature rose again. Her pupils came back and the pain had disappeared. Drea sat up and looked around for her ticket. It was right beside her. As she stood up, she heard someone call out,
“Adriana!” She looked around until she saw Sergei and Gwen. Waving their arms. Adriana smiled. The two ran over to her. Sergei swung his long arms around his younger cousin and they embraced. Adriana soon let go and hugged her future cousin-in-law.
Drea looked at them and commented, “Shouldn’t you two be at work?” Sergei and Gwen began laughing.
“Shh, don’t tell no one.” Gwen said jokingly, putting her finger over her lips. Adriana laughed. Gwen always did have a great sense of humor.
“Guess who else came to say good-bye?” Sergei asked slyly.
Adriana rolled her eyes and replied, “Who?”
From behind her came a low, Romanian accented man, “I did.”
Drea twisted around to see her Uncle Enzo standing there, smoking his pipe. Her smiled widened and she wrapped her arms around him. He gave a chuckle.
“You did not expect me to be here for your first official vista duty, did you?”
“I thought you had to work, uncle.”
“I took the day off. Your aunt vill not be pleased, but this is a very special day.”
“Thank you, uncle. I appreciate it.”
“Good, good,” Enzo said, while inhaling some of his pipe.
Over the loud speaker a woman’s voice announced, “Now boarding for Los Angeles. Flight will take off in fifteen minutes.” Adriana sighed and looked at her loved ones.
“Well, this is it. Wish me luck,” she said and turned around. As she began to walk toward the terminal, she was pulled around by Enzo. His eyes were not of those she grew up with, the eyes of a good hearted and loving man, but these were tense and painted with intimidation. He looked her in the eyes.
“Do not forget your mission, Adriana. NEVER forget the mission. And never forget vat that creature of evil did to us," Enzo hissed, when Adriana interrupted.
“I’ll never forget. Ever. The Kalderash will forever have their revenge.”
Enzo nodded his, and those haunting eyes disappeared and the eyes that Adriana knew returned. Enzo smiled at his beloved niece.
“Hey, Drea!” Sergei shouted and ran up to her, Gwen following behind. Adriana faced her cousin and his fiancé. Sergei stopped in front of her.
“I almost forgot to tell you about the wedding,” he said, almost out of breath. A rush of excitement came through Adriana.
“Oh my God, the wedding! When is it?” she asked, excitedly, bouncing up and down. Gwen began laughing.
Sergei politely replied, "The wedding’s in Georgia in one month, and, as you know, Gwen wants you as a bridesmaid. Be sure to attend. Otherwise, I’m gonna hear it from her," he nudgeed Gwen, "the whole time and I might not want to marry her any more.”
Gwen slapped his arm, only to begin laughing. Sergei gave her a little kiss on the lips.
Adriana’s smiled faded as she muttered, “One month?”
Sergei and Gwen’s smiles weakened. Enzo looked at Drea with concern and asked, "Is there something vrong, Adriana?”
Adriana shook her head a little and smiled again. “Nothing, nothing at all. Well, I’m off. Give Aunt Lorraine a hug for me, Uncle,” she said and walked to the terminal.
Adriana presented her ticket to the lady at the gate, who allowed her to keep walking. So many things were running through her head.
*One month, one month... That guy in my dream is going to see the girl they're sacrificing in one month. Was it a dream? I haven’t had any dreams like that before. Unless...*
Adriana stopped in her tracks. To her horror, she realized what the dream was.
“Oh Jesus, no.” Drea muttered. Adriana had received her first premonition.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
November 3rd
outside Alessa's apartment
8:00 p.m.
From a shadowed arch of the apartment’s patio, Morris watched. The faint sounds of Latin music reached him through the night’s air, and inside the apartment a dark haired woman danced across the window once and again as she moved around the apartment.
Then he straightened as he spotted the familiar figure of Alessa against the tableau of the window. She was talking to the other woman, and even if their words weren’t audible he could hear the echo of their laughter. Morris retreated a little more into the shadow when he saw her come to the window to look outside.
“Soon…” he hissed baring his teeth in hatred and remembering the moments after the Hyperion’s disaster. He had crawled to a dark corner and used all his will to cast a darkness glamour around him to hide himself; terrified that the weakness that overwhelmed him wouldn’t let him maintain the spell long enough to survive. He knew he had been protected from the ritual because of the protective spell he and those mages had cast, but nevertheless the effort had drained him of almost all his strength.
He had seen her look around for him, a stake in her hand, only to be stopped by that traitor Dray’chen. From the relative safety of his corner he had studied her. She looked just as he remembered, years hadn’t passed for her either. He was most certain that she was the cause of all this. With that thought in his mind he had passed out.
When he had come to, the old hotel’s ballroom had been empty, which was good because his spell of darkness was no more and he was feeling more like himself. He hid in the hotel until he was strong enough to hunt, and then he had looked for her. It hadn’t been difficult to find her, a simple locator spell had brought him to her apartment. But he knew he couldn’t face her yet, not until he regained his whole strength.
“Soon,” he repeated with a last look to the woman in the window, and left in search of his prey.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
November 20th - 1:30 am
Mantheana woke shaking in bed. Quickly she wrenched her wrist from Bowen's sleeping grasp and pulled it above the covers. It was bleeding profusely. She sat up abruptly.
*He's here.*
It had been at least two months since he had appeared out of the blue, hurt her, wrecked it all and then left. What now?
She got out of bed and pulled the shirt down lower around the tops of her legs. Taking a tissue from a box on the bedside table, she clumsily attempted to bind the wound. Within seconds she could see blood seeping through the white surface, but it would have to suffice. Quietly she walked into the sitting room and had to stop herself screaming when she found Mikhail exiting the room Maria was sleeping in. Yasha lay unconscious on the floor, a swelling forming upon his lolled head.
Mikhail turned round. He inhaled sharply at Mantheana's sudden appearance, but bowed to greet her.
"Why, Lady Alashkov, not quite such a grand residence as your other, I think," came a greased Russian welcome.
"Mikhail," she whispered hoarsely in English. "Vot are you doing here? Vhy von't you leave me alone?" Her eyes darted uneasily from him to Maria's door.
"Oh, just checking up on my favourite lover and her little bastard," he sneered unpleasantly, his English bearing no noticeable accent.
"You have no right to be here. Vhy are you here? Aren't you happy vith how you left me last time?"
"Not quite, not quite. Mantheana, why are you never content with what I give you? I gave you the world. A new world! A better world! A world with me!"
Mantheana rose with this question. What he gave her indeed! She lost all control of her lady-likeness and snapped back, "A better vorld! Ha! Ven I look back at it, beyond the lace and sparkles, all you gave me was govno!" In her frightened rage, she did not hear the swing of the door behind her.
"Shit? What ever you call it, you enjoyed it."
"Mantheana?" She span round. Bowen had woken up. "Mantheana, who is it?" In the dark, Bowen did not recognise the features of the man he had only heard of, tall and shadowed. Bowen was wearing only the pair of jeans he had fallen asleep in, and stood before his audience wearing nothing else.
Mikhail grinned hurtfully. Seeing his ex with some semi-dressed stranger, he made his own assumptions. "No one else? Oh yeah, then who's this? Some puffed up scruff-bag you've only known for a week who doesn't even know who or more importantly what you are!"
"He knows, Mikhail, he knows," Mantheana talked quietly. "I told him."
"Oh yeah?" Mikhail turned his attention to the half dressed man in the doorway. "Did she tell you what she is? A whore dressed up like a virgin? Did she tell you how she begged? Did she tell you how she crawled? 'Cause I gave it like no other, and no matter how well you treat my little tramp, she's always gonna be comparing."
Mantheana gave a faint whimper as Bowen stepped in. "Listen buddy, I don't know who the hell you think you are, Trankski, Trankston, what ever, but you are officially trespassing on my property and insulting my guest, both of which I could get you done for. And for the record, I don't care what Mantheana is, I know she's my friend. However I do care about what people say and do to my friends. You must have sunk pretty low. Does it make you feel better, putting her down? Does it make you feel like you can justify yourself? Knocking her up and leaving her to have your baby! Now if you don't leave this apartment within the next minute, I'm gonna to call the police."
"Yeah, yeah." Mikhail snorted at this comment and then to Mantheana chuckled, "On preeyatnee, noh on mohzhit n-ye compareev."
"Leafe it Mikhail. Iyt iys not eefen like that. Hyou vouldn't unterstant." Mantheana refused to let him pull her back into he days when she didn't need to know English, but her accent grew inadvertently thicker.
Mikhail glided forwards and ran his fingers down Mantheana's face, tracing round the area which had cleared of the evidence from his last visit. Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheek wetting his fingers. Mantheana sobbed quietly, but didn't move. Not lifting his hand, Mikahil turned to Bowen.
"Beautiful, isn’t she? Still looking twenty after all these years. Silky hair that can fall around her like Lady Godiva. Skin that's incredibly soft to the touch and pure milk white all over, trust me on that one. Flesh like ice, and just as delicate. Guaranteed to chill your most intimate places. Such exquisite eyes - like garnets, I used to tell her. Garnets are only semi-precious stones you know."
Mikhail leant forward and sniffed heavily down the side of Mantheana's neck. "And she smells… so delicious. So tender. Still a child at heart. Still afraid. See how she quivers like a fawn before the slaughter block?" His tongue flicked out and up her cheek, tasting her tears "They don't taste quite the same as your tears of passion now do they?" Mikhail picked up her elegant hand in his. Powerful fingers holding it up for her to see, peeling back the soaked tissue to expose her skin. "How about your blood? Is it the same as when we met? You still bleed in anticipation of me. You do every time. From this fragile wrist. Almost breakable. Almost."
Yet again his tongue flicked out and tasted, this time the blood that seeped through the cut on her wrist. "You taste different. But you're still the same. Still dirty and pretty. Still intoxicating." Mikhail's fingers began to run down from her face - touching neck, then shoulder, hip, stomach then reaching for-
Bowen pulled him away before he could get any further. Bowen was surprised at himself, that he never moved earlier, but he had to admit there was something about the sheer skill and arrogance with which Mikhail spoke that made him entrancing.
"Hey, you stop that! Leave Mantheana alone, you hear? I don't want you here, and she doesn't want you here. I can't think that any right-minded person would. So you can get your lady-beating ass outa my house!" Bowen jabbed quickly and landed a punch in Mikhail's ribs.
Mikhail took this out of Mantheana by grabbing hold of her long brown hair and yanking it hard. Mantheana didn't cry out from pain. She rarely did these days.
"You're hurting her. She's hurt me and I need to… hurt her." He was still holding onto her hair. There was a brief stalemate, before Mikhail ran quickly into Maria's room and out the window. Mantheana started to run over to the window but Bowen stopped her and gave her a big hug.
"He's gone now," he whispered. Mantheana nodded and sighed relief. Then she stifled a scream. Maria was gone.
"Vhere is she?"
Mantheana passed out.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
17th November 2006
3pm
Tarix finally got her courage together and entered the Laughing Dog, her uniform as clean as she could get it to be and her hat on straight. It had been a few months while she was under immense stress and depression, but she finally felt that she had to come out of it, not forget but try to live it through. Something that Jessy had said before made a little sense, and Tarix would take the time to change now. She kept getting more and more memory flashes of her childhood but they were becoming fewer and fewer as her memory was almost full now. At times when she had those flashes, the depression would come back, but she tried her best to push it as far away to the back of her mind as possible.
She decided the best thing to do now would be to get her job back and try to live normally, or as normally as she could live being half a demon. She nervously looked around the place and saw the same empty place she had worked in for many hours, and hated to ever come back. She still wondered why she had come back and realized not only did she need to live life normally but also needed to occupy herself. The tension between her sister and her was starting to become more relaxed, even though it always seemed to her that Jessy seemed to check up on Tarix as if she was about to turn evil any minute. That sometimes annoyed Tarix, but deep inside she felt good to have some company, though she wouldn’t admit it. She wished it would be the same with Thule, but he seemed to be avoiding her, and she hadn’t seen him since she was on his couch, which was a few weeks ago.
Tarix looked around again at the burger joint with the funny name; the dreaded place was as empty as it always for, except for a few lazy customers at the counter. She headed for the manager's office, taking a deep breath and wishing herself luck.
* * * *
Jessy was almost on the floor laughing, while Tarix stood next to the kitchen counter feeling more depressed then usual. She finally replied “Look Jess, I may be the evil one but give me a break, ok! The only reason I told you was because I wanted to share it with someone.”
But Jessy didn’t seem to hear and was still laughing. “Let me get this straight,” she said through her chortling laughter, “You went to the head honcho of the greasy joint, begged for your job back, which pays you less then a rat’s wage, to which the manager refused. You then tried to persuade him by taking on extra shifts, and begged more, and when he finally gave to the damn job you went into the kitchen and broke ten plates! Tell me where it's not funny!”
Tarix sighed, “Thanks for the support, really. I so wanted this job back, but I guess it doesn’t matter.” She looked down. “I think I got a new flashback, that’s why I dropped the dishes.”
This new information made Jessy serious, and she sat still for a minute not saying anything. Finally she asked, “What was it about?”
Tarix tried to think back to it, and she knew the images weren’t that clear but the feeling she had got from them had been familiar. She had seen many glimpses of what she thought were inhuman creatures with maroon skin and bumps all over, dressed mostly in black. She kept seeing their faces and she even heard them talking. It was until she realized that they had been talking to her was the time she got shocked and managed to knock over the dishes. But the images hadn’t stopped there, she also saw a very muddled image of one of them talking to her more deeply, like a mentor, like Thule used to talk to her, and she even felt the emotions of one. She couldn’t quite understand what he was saying as his voice was as muddled as the picture and less then a whisper.
She looked up, but couldn’t make contact with Jessy’s eyes, so she looked around. “I think it was the Macabres, and me with them.” The memory of her collaborations with the Macabres was still painful. She looked over at her sister and realized that she had tensed up, and a deep reticence fell over the room.
“I’m sorry, I forgot why I came here,” Jessy spoke up suddenly, changing the subject. “Thule told me to tell you that he wants to meet both of us over at his place, says he has something important to share with us.”
Tarix nodded, but she felt a bit sad in knowing that Thule hadn’t tried to contact her himself, like he used to. It also hurt her to think that he could contact Jessy, who lived for the time being right next to her, and not contact her himself.
“So, um, when should we go?” she asked.
Jessy looked around trying to find a watch and after finally realizing it was thirty mintues past the time they should have met, simply said, “Now I think. I’ll wait for you outside to get ready.” And with that left without saying another word.
* * * *
“You have both heard about the feud between the Koolangs and the Macabres, as I’m sure I have detailed most of it t both of you,” said Thule as he began the meeting, the twins sitting in front of him. They both nodded, giving him his answer, and it still amazed Thule how identical they looked. If it weren’t for the way they dressed and behaved, he wouldn’t be able to find out which was which.
He continued. “Yes, well you haven’t heard about the prophecy I believe, not too much. There was a prophecy that was written by the Kumacs about peace over their race, and how they could go about getting that peace. They were somewhat into fortune telling and seeking out the stars in those days and this was one of the prophecies that was written by one of the elder Kumacs.”
It was Tarix who interrupted him. “Who were the elders, and how would they know about the feud that had yet to come in their time?”
“Well it's obvious that they were fortune tellers, thus they must have already known about it before it was to take place, perhaps not how or else they could have stopped it. And the elders, if I remember, were worshippers of Kh’Kum, an Egyptian God,” Jessy said, and turned to Thule for confirmation.
Thule nodded. “Yes, the Kumac elders - called the “Narra’avon” - were more like Kings and ruled over the race of Kumacs. But there was not much governing to do as the Kumacs lived peacefully so the Kings and Princes just dealt with allocation of resources and geography of the settlements, other similar situations. There was one King and a few Princes, and the King controlled the Princes and the Princes all had their own separate area or settlement to control. But all the settlements were vastly interlinked and so thus were the Princes in their dealings. One of the Kings, whose name is unknown, founded the prophecy and when he wanted to publicise it the people refused. They didn’t think that their peaceful nation could ever be upturned, and believed for the first time that their King was crazy to even think it. The Princes realized their slow loss of power and decided to go into exile. The entire royal family broke away and condemned their nation for not listening to them and not trusting in them.
“The people weren’t that shocked by the departure, but welcomed it and decided that they didn’t need a ruling party. If they could control their own two souls then why not themselves as a whole community? A few decades later a stranger came into their lives and convinced them of undergoing a separation ritual. After much coaxing they agreed, thus the race of the Koolangs and Macabres was born.”
Thule looked around once again and found both the twins deeply engrossed in his story, so he continued, “The feud began when the Macabres realized they had gotten all the Kumac looks, and the Koolangs came out almost human like, almost pure looking, with all the power. They still hunt Koolangs up until this day. Of course, that you already know as well.” He gave Tarix a short look but abruptly stared at his watch instead, whilst Tarix suddenly felt a great surge of guilt in her and just looked down.
Jessy realized the tension surrounding her, and tried to change the subject, “So Thule, what does the prophecy actually suggests? And where are the King and Princes that were exiled?”
“I couldn’t tell you much about the prophecy but that it was written on a tablet that was presumably hidden in the tomb of Kh’kum. The tablet was found, but the scripture was so old that it wasn’t very much recognized. The prophecy says that there will be a silent war, which I believe has been taking place over many years now, where lots of blood shall be spilt. Then there is a mention of “The Two” that hold power over both the races and only they shall be able to bring peace after about a millennia of unrest. And as for the royal family, they were never heard from again.”
Jessy eyed Thule. “Wait a minute, what do you mean by The Two?” But Thule’s look already gave them the answer. “Wait a minute, you think the prophecy means us?” She looked at Tarix, who was just as astounded, and then looking back at Thule remarked, “Great, so now what do we have to do?”
“That’s something that’s not very clear to me either,” Thule simply replied, but before the twins could say anything added, “That’s why I’m taking you both to a person called Sathawick.”
This time Tarix spoke up, “Satha-who? Is he another Koolang?” She looked at Jessy and realized that she didn’t know who this person was either and was just as puzzled.
“Sathawick is not a Koolang, but a human. However he’s probably older than all of our ages combined. You see, he was born in Egypt in 1814, and traded off as a slave to an archeologist in 1826, when he was only 12. He learned a lot about the hieroglyphs from his master, Jean Francois I believe. It was a rumor that their expedition broke into one of these tombs. The find was great, lots of new unknown hieroglyphs not to mention the treasure of the tomb, but also unleashed was a curse, which took the lives of all of the expedition and the archeologist but spared Sathawick. It seems that because Sathawick was a slave and going on the command of the expedition he didn’t have a choice in going in the tomb. However he was cursed to live a live of an immortal and never to feel happiness ever again.” Thule stopped and waited for the story to sink in.
Finally Tarix spoke up, “So he was given immortality for his happiness? Poor fellow, to live all of life without feeling happiness.”
“Does that mean we have to go all the way to Egypt for this guy?” Jessy asked.
“As a matter of fact he’s here in LA; has been for many years. I was going to take you girls to see him today, but be careful around him. He’s an old man, more then a hundred years old, and knows more than you could imagine.”
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
Wednesday 1st of November, 2006 21:26
For about the fifth time that night, Quin wandered anxiously past her closed bedroom door. All day she’d been wanting a particular CD, but couldn’t get it because Reah had come home with a guest “who needed a place to sleep”. Quin muttered to herself in annoyance for more than one reason that now itched the back of her brain. *I get told to go to my room, then I get woken up in the middle of the night, THEN I kicked out of my bed, shoved into Reah’s, and now I can’t even get back in!*
“Stuff this.” Quin slammed her toothbrush she was about to use back down on the bathroom counter and stalked back to her door, ready to blast whoever the stranger was on the other side, *I swear, that mongrel isn’t going to hear the end of it!*
She reached the door, ‘huff’ mode still pumping strong; then faltered, hesitating. Choking back on all her fury, Quin blushed and knocked tentatively on her door, calling softly, “Hello?” Very warily, Quin turned the door handle and pushed it softly inward.
Jeet saw the door handle slowly turn and the door move inward. He got to his feet and looked expectantly at the door. “Reah?” he said tentatively, but it wasn’t. It was the girl he had seen fleetingly earlier that day, he assumed this was her room and not Reah’s.
“Hello,” he said without realizing she wouldn’t understand him any more than Reah did.
*Oh great, not only does my cousin like to bring home strays, but she brings home ones that can’t even speak English!* “Um… hi….” Ducking her head, Quin deftly slipped into the room through the gap she’d created, just wide enough to admit herself.
“I just need to…” Trailing off, she gestured past him to her dresser and quickly slipped past him to retrieve her CD. Her eyes briefly caught sight of the strange sword on the ground and she glanced up at him quizzically, quickly covering it up with a sheepish smile and ducked her head again, snatching the disc up.
There was a brief awkward moment, the two strangers standing opposite each other with nothing much to say. Finally, after what seemed an age, Quin smiled again to fill in the silence and made a fleeting gesture, inviting him to follow her out of the room. She didn’t imagine being cooped up in the small space for a whole day was extremely exhilarating.
Jeet stood for awhile not knowing what to do, then slowly he made his way to the door and followed the girl into what he assumed was the main room of the house. He had seen this room earlier but after the night's events hadn’t really taken in the strangeness of it. Then it occurred to him that it probably wasn’t strange at all and the only unusual thing in the room was him!
Jeet felt a lot less comfortable around the girl than he did around Reah, but he thought that was probably something to do with the fact that he hadn’t been engaged in a heated battle with her… Well, not yet anyway.
He decided that as it had worked on Reah he would try and convey his name to the girl. He pointed to himself then repeated, “I’m Jeet, Jeet Su My,” a couple of times, hoping she’d grasp what he was trying to say.
Quin’s head turned about, back to the strange man, her eyebrows raised as she was caught mid-thought, “Hm?” *What? Oh! He’s introducing himself… um….* Ducking her head again, though in understanding this time, Quin greeted him softly, “Hi Jeet. I’m Quin!”
She pointed to herself much in the same manner he had, then paused for another long moment, turning the CD over and over in her hands before quickly slipping it in the player and pressing play. Quin then turned the volume down to a gentle background noise so she could break up the silence, somewhat.
Turning back to Jeet again, Quin was about to submit to niceties, then instead paused mid-speech, gazing quizzically upon the man who was now glancing about the air in the room, his features a sheer mask of confusion and wonder.
Quin frowned then shook her head, “Did you want a drink?” His attention snapped away from the music down to Quin, questioning. “A drink?” she repeated, gesturing with her hands in attempt to portray the words in her question to him.
Jeet had no clue what was going on he had just managed to work out that the girl was called Quin and in the next second the room had filled with a strange noise. It wasn’t loud, and Jeet certainly wasn't afraid, just more confused.
He was struggling to make out the sound and understand Quin at the same time. She seemed to be gesturing something about a drink, so he just nodded and went back to concentrating on the strange noise. Jeet cautiously moved around the room trying to locate the sound; it was getting louder and louder, *I must be getting close…* Suddenly he stopped, staring at a small box. *It’s coming from in there!* Jeet gently tapped the box. He heard giggling and turned to look at Quin.
Blushing, Quin ducked her head, clamping her lips tightly together in attempt to suppress her chuckles, then quickly darted off into the kitchen, *Where is this guy from?* It suddenly struck her that she had no idea what he wanted, but taking into account all the facts she realised she’d probably never know what he wanted. Deciding to play it safe, she topped up a glass with chilled water from the back of the fridge and sheepishly returned to Jeet.
Trying hard to hide her amusement as his intense investigation of the CD player continued, Quin held the drink out for him to accept. Nodding to the liquid, she prompted, “Water.”
Jeet turned to Quin and smiled as he took the glass of water off her. He pointed at the glass and repeated what she had said, “Water.” He took a sip; it felt so good! He had been in the room for hours without anything to eat or drink. He noticed an empty glass on the table. “Water!” he said with a smile as he pointed at it. Jeet’s smile faded as Quin started giggling again.
Re-stifling her chuckles, Quin shook her head smiling and wandered over to get the glass. When she returned, she held it up and prompted again, “Glass.” With what she hoped was a clear attempt, she tried to point to the liquid inside Jeet’s glass, “Water!” She smiled again and repeated herself, holding up the glass, then gesturing to the water, “Glass… Water!”
Jeet smiled at Quin; he was starting to feel a lot more comfortable with her now, and despite her giggling he could see she was trying to help him understand. He stuck his finger into his glass of water, “Water…” and then touched the outside of his glass, “GlasAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Jeet felt the most excruciating pain shoot through his chest; he collapsed to the floor clutching his chest. The pain was constant and Jeet felt powerless to do anything about it. He was writhing around on the floor, *Make it stop, make it stop!* “Ahhhhhhhhh! Help me, please!” he tried to hold up his arm to Quin, but couldn’t.
“Please, help me!”
Suddenly the pain stopped. Jeet lay motionless for a second as if preparing for its return, but it had gone just quickly as it had started.
Jeet backed himself against the wall and sat motionless. Sweat ran off his head and his heart pounded as if it was trying to break out of his chest. He looked up at Quin with more fear in his eyes than he had ever felt in his life. It wasn’t the pain that scared him, it was the fact that he had no idea what had just happened and if it would happen again.
Quin was frozen stiff. She had no idea what had just happened, but it had scared her shitless! Poor Jeet had just doubled over in pain, without warning, clutching his chest! She thought at first that he must have been having a heart attack, and though she knew she should have called for an ambulance, for the life of her she couldn’t make herself move!
Thankfully, whatever it was stopped as suddenly as it had started, and it was then that Quin didn’t hesitate, swiftly swooping down to Jeet’s side, laying her hands supportively on his arm and shoulder. She looked into his fear filled eyes with her own that clearly portrayed her instant worry, though she attempted to soothe and comfort the man. She knew he couldn’t understand her, but she hoped the tone of her voice would at least help, “It’s okay. You’ll be all right.” *Oh god, oh god, oh god! What just happened? I’m so stupid! Why didn’t I do anything?*
As Jeet started to calm down, he thought how grateful he was Quin had been there and that he wasn’t stuck in that room on his own. Just seeing the worry in her face was enough to make him feel better so as not to worry her any more. He had no idea what had just happened, but one thing was for sure: he wanted answers, and soon!
Quin smiled wanly. At the sound of a click from the front door, she jumped, still on edge after Jeet’s attack. Her attention instantly locked on the handle as it slowly turned and admitted Reah into the apartment. Her expression remained unmoving while her brain still struggled to recover from the brief episode of shock still coursing through her system.
Reah eyed the two of them with a speculative eyebrow. Balancing a paper grocery bag on her hip, she finally slipped the keys back in the door and closed it securely behind her, “Gees, couldn’t leave you two alone for a moment, could I?”
All tension in Quin’s face soon vanished at Reah‘s remark, recovering from shock. Turning to Jeet, she sighed and rose from her position beside him to get herself a glass of water from the kitchen, preparing for bed.
Reah watched in bewilderment, her shoulders slack in defeat. Shrugging, she closed her open, baffled mouth, “What? Shit, Quin, I was joking!”
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
November 20th 1:45 am
A Rock and a Hard Place
Tuesday, 14th November 2006
An Abandoned Warehouse, Downtown Los Angeles
11:12pm
“Time to wake up now, Jack!” Carmichael’s voice echoed around the vast warehouse.
Jack rolled his head woozily, moaning as a sharp pain shot through his skull. He could barely see, only swaying, spinning shapes that made him wish he’d never opened his eyes in the first place. As a rush of information flooded his senses he realised that he was tied most firmly to the chair upon which he sat. *Ugh I am so not in the mood for an interrogation.* Suddenly Aimes grabbed a handful of his greying hair and pulled his head back roughly.
“I said you were making a mistake messing with me Jack,” he said through clenched teeth, his mouth mere inches away from Jack’s ear. “As though you’re the only one who can think of a contingency plan.” Aimes let go of his hold on him with a vicious shove. “I should have expected as much from a halfling like you…”
Jack forced himself to open his eyes again. As his vision began to clear he glared up at Aimes, barely able to hold his head high enough to look at the man.
“If you and I are going to get along I think we need to establish a few ground rules, don’t you think so Gemmel?”
Michael Gemmel grinned slightly, rolling his eyes in Carmichael’s direction before returning his focus on Jack. “That I do.”
“You see,” began Aimes, slowly walking around Jack so that he could face him, “You’ve underestimated me Jack, or maybe you have some twisted notion that I wish to harm your daughter, I don’t know. Paternal instincts have certainly gotten the better of you, though I guess you have a lot of catching up to do in that area.”
Aimes cast a glance at Gemmel who began to chuckle a little. “No matter, we have time to mend our fractured relationship. Plenty of time. Especially after you’ve helped me in completing a few little tasks… nothing too dangerous I assure you.”
Jack forced himself to focus in on the man. He watched him steadily, never once blinking as their eyes locked on one another. “I’m never helping you Aimes. I’d rather die first.”
“That can be arranged, but then who would protect your delightful family from big bad me?” Aimes smiled, hovering threateningly close to his captive. “Don’t cross me, Jack. I know what buttons to press in order to inflict the worst kind of pain conceivable. What do you think would happen to your daughter if that lovely child of hers met with an unfortunate accident? Then there’s the case of her husband, being a police officer nowadays is such a dangerous profession. How would you live with yourself knowing you could have stopped such things from happening, from causing your own daughter such unimaginable trauma?” Aimes raised a questioning eyebrow, stepping back to see the effect his warning had made.
Jack’s face hardened into a dark expression, his eyes narrowed and jaw rigid with bitter hatred. “You really are a piece of work Carmichael, I’ll give you that.”
“I’m afraid flattery will get you nowhere Jack. That scenario can be avoided, however. You work for me and in exchange I won’t hit you where it hurts - and I’m not talking about the old family jewels either…” Aimes laughed a little at his own joke, revelling in Jack’s obvious discomfort.
The man hung his head in dismay, his choices were depressingly simple – he could refuse and probably be executed where he sat with no way to warn or protect his family. Or, he could accept, and maybe buy himself some time to find a way out of this mess. “What do you want from me?”
“You know I do think that sounds like an acceptance of my terms!” Aimes pulled up a chair and sat opposite him. “Listen carefully to me, Jack. It has been brought to my attention that there are certain individuals in this city who would stand in my way. A band of warriors, freedom fighters, call them what you will. Now I was in mind to dismiss such reports, after all I've dealt with my fair share of white hats in my time, but these people actually sound competent. Imagine that?” Aimes uttered another low chuckle. “They have a pretty impressive resume by all accounts, most recently an encounter with the Brotherhood no less… so you can see, I would be foolish if I said I wasn’t just a little concerned about them.”
Jack’s eyes looked worried. He knew who these people were, Kate and her friends had earned themselves quite a reputation especially after the events of last month. “I won’t kill anyone for you,” he said firmly, “Those days are over for me.”
“Oh don’t be crass, Jack!” Aimes said reproachfully, feeling satisfied that his ‘persuasion’ appeared to be working. “You know our ways are more subtle than that. Besides, their time will come soon enough. At this moment it would draw too much unwanted attention and that’s not what we need at this time. No, what I do need is someone on the inside, someone who could keep an eye on things and report back to me if there are any… developments.”
*Knowledge is power,* thought Jack darkly. It was one of the Ministry’s mantras and a sure fire indication that they were planning something of importance, something… big. “But… why me? I barely know any of them…”
Aimes studied Jack carefully before continuing. “You live with your daughter and son-in-law, both of whom play an integral part of this group. That is your way in and I expect you to use it to your full advantage.” He grinned again, noticing the conflict in Jack’s eyes. “We already have information on certain individuals; all I need is someone to observe this group in action, study their dynamic, gather intelligence on how they work, that sort of thing.”
He smiled to himself. Majestic had extensive files on many of these so-called ‘white hats’ and Jennifer Lawson had been more than happy to hand them over. It was amazing, he thought, how much she was willing to risk for her own revenge. “Do we have a deal?”
Jack observed the man cautiously. It was unlikely Aimes would stick to his end of any bargain they made but the situation he was in made that a minor point. If he were dead he’d have no chance of protecting his family, nobody else knew the Ministry like he did or that they were here in L.A. “You promise to leave my family alone?”
Aimes smiled in satisfaction, holding his hands up innocently. “Nothing that happens to them will be as a result of my actions, I promise you.”
“Okay," Jack sighed deeply, looking into the man’s eyes unflinchingly, “we have a deal.”
“Excellent,” declared Aimes cheerfully as he instructed Gemmel to untie Jack from the chair. “Oh, there is just one other thing I forgot to mention…”
A Glassful of milk helps the deception go down
Wednesday, 15th November 2006
67 Birch Street
12:34am
Jack looked up at the old oak door, pausing with his key in the lock as the car in which Carmichael and Gemmel had driven him home in disappeared out of view. It had been a long night with few answers. He couldn’t remember a time when he was more ashamed of himself. Sure, he was doing it for all the right reasons but would anyone care if it came out that he had been working for the Ministry all along? With a heavy sigh Jack pushed the door open and walked inside.
Kate was snuggled up on the sofa with a book in her hands when Jack appeared in the doorway. He looked worn and anxious, and Kate immediately put the book down.
“Jack? It’s late - where have you been?” As she rose to her feet she could feel an aura of ambivalence, conflict, anxiety; it surrounded him like an impenetrable wall making it impossible for her to probe any deeper. “Has something happened? What’s wrong?”
Jack tried to shrug off her questions with a half-hearted smile. “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition, Kate,” he said, walking past her a little, leaning on the back of the sofa. “Nothing’s wrong, just a… bad day at work, that’s all. I don’t want to talk about it.” He touched the back of his head self-consciously, it still hurt a great deal where Gemmel had struck him down but he was more worried that Kate would notice the wound and become suspicious. He would never be able to tell her the truth, Carmichael’s little spell of silence had seen to that.
Kate’s eyes studied her father for a long time before she looked away. She knew he was hiding something. *Just like Galen,* she thought with irritation. “Why is it the men I know always seem to think they know what’s best for me?” she said, forcing Jack to face her. Her eyes were dark with worry, pleading for answers. “Something is wrong isn’t it? Don’t lie to me Jack, please.”
“I’m not lying Kate, I’m just tired. I… I need a drink.” Jack turned and walked to the kitchen, opening the fridge and removing a half-empty bottle of wine. Kate followed and watched as he poured the crimson liquid out into a glass. “You want a glass?” he asked, having to look away. He couldn’t look her in the face, not now.
“No,” said Kate, her expression still puzzled, “I can’t, I’m still breast-feeding remember?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” mumbled Jack, taking a drink from his glass before filling it back up. “Why are you up so late anyway?”
Kate sighed; it was obvious that he didn’t want to talk about whatever was bothering him and she felt too weary to push it any further at that point. Any more insistence on her behalf would only make him more defensive. “Oh I couldn’t sleep for thinking about this morning-"
“Galen?” interrupted Jack as soon as the words left her mouth. He took another hasty drink, if only he could forget about his deal with Aimes. *Why? Why did they have to come back for me after all these years?*
“Oh, he’s in bed already,” Kate said, losing her train of thought. “He has an early shift tomorrow.”
Jack drained his glass of its contents for a second time. “Maybe you should think about calling it a night too, you look exhausted.”
Kate smiled wanly, “Yes well, it kind of took it out of me this morning, all that healing. Such a waste as well, I wish I knew who was behind that…”
“Warm milk.”
“What?” Kate shook her head in puzzlement.
“Warm milk, I should make you some,” said Jack as he walked over to the stove and picked up a small saucepan, “It’ll help you relax.”
“Yes,” said Kate, frowning slightly at the sudden change of topic, “thanks, that’d be nice but-”
“-Go sit down and I’ll bring it in,” Jack said insistently, not waiting to hear her protests and instead trying to look convincing in the face of his daughter’s doubts. Reluctantly Kate turned and left the kitchen. Jack opened the fridge again and poured a good amount of milk into the saucepan and turned up the heat. He stirred the liquid slowly as the milk slowly warmed.
Jack’s fingers fidgeted in his pockets, casting a wary glance over to the door. He removed a small glass vial containing a white powder; he looked at it thoughtfully.
”There is just one other thing I forgot to mention…” Carmichael’s mouth turned up into a vicious grin as Gemmel handed him a small box. “I need a sample of your daughter’s blood-” As Jack began to say something he held his hand up to silence him. “You know better than to ask me why. Just do as I say; it may even work in your favour.”
Aimes opened the small box to reveal a pen shaped device and a small tube filled with a white powder. He removed the first object and showed it to Jack.
“This is a small syringe, similar to the ones used by diabetics, you might notice. Just press the end and the device will extract a small amount of blood with minimal discomfort, barely more than a pin prick really.” Aimes handed the device to Jack, smiling slightly at his morose grimace. “In order to make sure that your daughter is none-the-wiser in relation to our little ‘arrangement’…” he handed Jack the vial. “Just a mild barbiturate, it won’t harm her, just make her sleepy so that you can fulfil the last part of our deal. Because I know how you hate to break a promise, Jack.”
Jack blinked, coming back to his senses. He slowly tipped the contents of the glass vial into the pan of milk and stirred it gently until it completely dissolved.
Kate had sat and was waiting when Jack returned carrying a glass of warm milk in his hand. “There we go,” he said handing it to her tentatively before sitting down himself.
Kate smiled her thanks, taking the glass and raising it to her lips. Suddenly Jack grasped her arm, stopping her. Kate looked alarmed, her eyes questioning his sudden actions. “Is something wrong?” she asked with a concerned frown.
Jack’s eyes were fixed on the glass before moving up to return her gaze. “No, not wrong I just… Kate, you know I love you don’t you?”
Kate’s expression softened and she relaxed a little, “Yes, of course I do Jack.”
Jack’s eyes had returned to focus on the glass. *Just throw it away, get rid of it, find some way to tell her and end this charade!* he thought desperately, though he knew it was useless. Carmichael had him over a barrel; now he’d have to play along and see where the ride took him. He sighed in despair, looking up into her eyes again. “I wish you would call me Dad.”
Kate turned away sadly, “I know, it’s just, it’s strange. In my mind you were dead, you were gone, you never existed. It’s taken me a while to just get my head around the fact that I have a father.”
“I understand,” said Jack, fidgeting slightly. He hated himself and couldn’t help but feel that Kate would be better off if they’d never met again, if she still believed he was dead.
Kate reached out and placed her hand over his, “When it feels right, I will. I’m very proud to have you for my father.”
Jack held her gaze firmly as she lifted the glass to her lips and took a long drink. “And you’re the best daughter a father could wish for.”
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
***November 17th, 2006- Los Angeles- Just Before Sunset***
Adriana gave a heavy sigh as she slapped one of many newspapers onto the table. One would think that finding a job in such a large city as Los Angeles would be a simple task. It was not the case for Drea. She was sitting at a small table at a local café, where behind her magnificent shades of oranges and reds splattered the sky.
A young waitress came by and saw Adriana rubbing her temples. The teenager smiled and politely asked, “Is there something wrong, ma’am?”
Adriana looked at the well-mannered waitress and smiled back. “Yeah, there is. Do you know where the local bar is?” she asked, half jokingly.
The girl leaned at a nearby table and began thinking. Finally she said, “Well... there’s always Bob’s. It’s cheap and Bob makes a mean scotch, but I advise you not to go.”
This sparked Adriana’s curiosity. “Why? It doesn’t sound so bad,” she replied.
The teenager took in a sharp breath and hesitated. “Bob’s got... well... The customers there are some real characters.”
Drea was now at the edge of her seat, carefully listening to the waitress. “In what way? What are they like? Are they involved with drugs, the occult, the mafia..?” She had so many questions that the poor girl couldn’t possibly answer them all.
“Why don’t you just go there? It’s not that far. Just a few blocks away from here,” the waitress suggested.
Adriana glanced at the pile of newspapers. She was getting nowhere with her search. Drea had been looking for four days for a job and a place to live. A few drinks wouldn’t hurt...
*****
Adriana wasn’t much of a drinker. She avoided alcohol for years since she had experienced its side effects courtesy of Jefferson Jones. Once high school came, she drank a few times at the occasional party. Tonight was different. Many forms of pressure have now driven her to the bar. She just needed a few drinks to help her relax.
She approached a rundown looking building she presumed was Bob’s Bar. Adriana opened the door and walked in. The sight which she saw would frighten any human being who didn't know of the “real world”. Drea stopped dead in her tracks.
At a nearby table sat what one would only see in the movies. A tall looking figure sat at one end of the table. His leathery skin was a shade of purple while two curved, ram-like horns sat upon its head. In the middle of its forehead a small horn poked out right above its glowing yellow eyes. The creature completed its look with an indigo suit.
Across from it sat a rather scurvy looking individual. Its green, bumpy skin was mostly covered by a black leather jacket. Even that couldn’t hide the large row of bumps going down its spine. Its haunting scarlet eyes sent a chill through Adriana’s body.
“...‘Nd I got s’m more of those lil’ scalawags ova’ ‘n Cambodia if ya like,” the demon, if you will call it, with red eyes explained in his thick Cockney accent.
The yellow eyed demon took a sip of his drink and replied, “Your Cambodian child prostitutes are of no importance to us. The only reason why we paid you for those ones in the first place were because some of our vampire clients requested them. Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to leave this most dreadful bar. I do have a reputation for the finer things, Nispami. Good day.”
Nispami, the red eyed demon, pulled out a cigarette as he motioned the red eyed demon to stay. He began lighting the cigarette which sat between his small, sharp, yellow teeth. “Ya don’ want m’ prostitutes? Fine, fine. I got otha things. Ya want C’brilan power? Got it. Hap’n t’ need s’m Mandarin Knock-Out Potion? I’m sellin’ it fo’ ‘bout 100 bucks a bottle. Whatta ya say?” Nispami persuaded.
Adriana stood in shock. This was the first time she had ever seen a demon, let alone two. And talking about child prostitution, C’brilan powder, and Mandarin Knock-Out Potion? Drea had heard about C’brilan powder from her grandmother, Yolanda. Supposedly it was the equivalent to heroine, only you burn it and sniff it. It gives you magical abilities for a couple of hours. Too much could kill you. And Adriana made Mandarin Knock-Out Potion once before with her mother. It was a tedious task that required hours of crushing various herbs and roots into a smooth liquid. If done right, it could be extremely powerful.
Adriana continued to watch the demons. The prominent demon shook off Nispami’s proposals and he drunk down the last of his drink.
“Even if I did need something as powerful as Mandarin Knock-Out Potion, I wouldn’t buy it from you, Nispami. I can’t trust low life hustlers,” he said as he grabbed his suit case.
Nispami took extreme offence to the “low life hustler” remark and pulled out a tiny little bottle. The high class demon jumped back. Adriana gasped, as did the rest of the bar. In the demon’s hands was a bottle of Sri Lankan Flesh Eating Potion.
A rather small man from the behind the bar jumped over and ran up to Nispami. He grabbed him and turned him around.
“All right, all right! Let’s not get crazy here! Nispami, he don’t want nothin’ from ya! You got other customers. Leave ‘im alone! Now, you’re kicked out for the night,” the man told him.
Nispami hesitated, then finally put the bottle back in his jacket. Just before he left, he socked the man in the jaw. The human fell to the ground with a thud. Nispami then left in a huff. The yellow eyed demon bowed his head to him and slowly left. Everyone then returned to their business.
Adriana walked up to the man on the ground and knelt down. She looked at his jaw and asked courteously, "Are you all right? That guy hit you pretty hard.”
The man, obviously Bob, since he had the power to kick Nispami out, looked at Adriana. “You asked how I’m doin’? I see that you’re new in town. Don’t worry, bright eyes, I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse,” Bob explained.
Drea stood up and extended out her hand. Bob grabbed it and was pulled up. He stood about three inches above Adriana.
“You’re normally beaten?” she asked, shocked.
Bob shrugged his shoulders and responded, “I’m a snitch. Right price, good information.”
Drea nodded her head. “So there’s a reason...”
“Yeah, but I don’t care. It pays the bills.” Bob returned to the bar as Adriana sat at the counter. She dipped her finger in left over alcohol and swirled it around.
“So what’s your story, kid? You’ll feel a whole lot better if you tell someone,” Bob asked while making a customer’s drink.
Drea looked up and replied, “How will I feel better knowing that you would sell my story to any shmuck that pays the right amount of money?”
Bob stalled for a second. “Good point. You better just buy a drink,” he remarked.
Adriana sighed. Suddenly, an idea popped into her head. “You know a lot of vampires around here, right?” she questioned.
Bob, cleaning a glass, responded, "Ya gotta be specific, honey. I know just about every vampire in town.”
Drea nodded her head. “Do you know a vampire by the name of..." Adriana began. She looked around before leaning in and whispering, “Angelus?”
Bob nearly dropped the glass. His skin paled, if it was at all possible, and he began shaking a bit. “Is that some kind of joke? If it is, it’s not funny, kid,” Bob retorted, whispering.
Drea realized there must be something up with the creature Angelus if Bob was frightened to talk about him. She searched her pockets and same up with a $50 bill. Adriana slid it across the counter. Bob hesitated. He liked the girl, and he really didn’t want to see her messing with the “real world”. But, hey, money’s money.
Bob grabbed the $50 and drove it into his pocket. Drea smiled.
“Angel used to run a protection agency here in L.A. a couple of years back. He was always feudin’ with the local law firm, Wolfram and Hart. It got pretty intense at times. He liked taking out his stress on me. Back in 2003, Angel finally destroyed Wolfram and Hart. Problem was he went crazy while doing so. Now, he’s just wanderin’ around Los Angeles. It’s nearly impossible to find him. Those who have found him die shortly after,” Bob explained in a low voice.
Adriana’s heart completely sank. Her assignment was fruitless. She now realized why the last person who took up the task died. That person had found Angelus, but was soon killed by him. Drea leaned on her right hand and sighed.
“Get me a cranberry vodka,” she said to Bob. Bob pulled out a glass and began making her drink. *No home, no job, no Angelus. I’m up shit’s creek without a paddle.* Adriana saw Bob place her drink in front of her. She thanked him and took a sip. It hit her strong, but that’s what Drea wanted.
After about five minutes, Adriana got another idea. She faced Bob.
“Seems a bit hectic here,” Drea commented, trying to make small talk.
Bob popped a couple of bucks into the cash register as he replied, “Well, it’s a one-man show here and it’s always packed. Half the time I get beat up is for being slow with drinks.” Closing the cash register, he continued, “Why? What are you getting at?”
Adriana took another sip of her drink. “It just looks like you could use another hand around here. That’s all,” she remarked.
Bob gave her a look that read ‘Get to the point ’. Drea pushed her drink away from her.
“Look, we both need each other. I need a job, and you really don’t need another beating just for being slow. C’mon, just until I graduate from college,” Adriana proposed.
Bob was silent for awhile. Finally, he asked, "When do you graduate?”
“In June,” she responded quickly.
Bob sighed. “Come in at 5:30 tomorrow afternoon. I’ll show you the ropes. And I want you to be able to work from 6:30 pm ‘til 1:30 am. Is that all right?” he laid out.
Drea nodded her head. There was finally a light at the end of the tunnel. Especially since she still had to talk with the head of the university to discuss her classes.
“Sure. Tomorrow at 5:30 pm,” Adriana said as she paid for her drink and left.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
November 3rd
8:00 pm
Alessa was happy for the first time in many days, and she laughed watching Inés dance around the kitchen to the rhythm of Diego Torres’ music. The beautiful brunette sang too and her nice voice filled the apartment. She chuckled as she mis-sang the song. Inés laughed as well; she liked the good moods of her cousin, although she didn’t understand the reasons.
“I have an idea!” she said, her eyes full of mirth, “Let’s go dancing!”
“Dancing?” Alessa frowned, “I don’t think so, Inés. I don’t feel like it.” And laughed again as Inés' pretty face frowned in a pout.
“Oh, Al, but I want to know LA’s famous boliches! Come on! Let’s go, we could meet some guys and have fun!” Then she looked intently into her cousin’s eyes. “Don’t tell me you are still waiting that Chance tipo of yours!”
“Inés…” warned Alessa but grinned when she saw the wink the demoness gave her.
“Vamos!” she pressed. “We’ll have a good time! How long since you’ve got a good time? You look as if you need it,” she added with pleading eyes.
Grudgingly, Alessa let Inés convince her. It was true, she hadn’t had a good time in much too long.
***
The “Azul Bar & Nightclub” had been listed in the yellow pages as Alhambra’s hottest Latin nightclub and it surely seemed so as they approached it.
“I think we’d better go back,” said Alessa, looking for a way out of it. She felt uneasy, already regretting having let her cousin talk her into this. “Look at the line. It’ll be forever until we get in!” she explained, eyeing the long line of people waiting to get into the club.
Inés assessed the situation and grinned. “Not a problem,” she said.
Alessa looked at her in confusion and then alarm as she walked right up to the two huge men who were monitoring the door, changing her appearance as she did so. With a silent curse, Alessa looked around to see if anybody else had noticed it, but everybody was too busy to have done so.
Julia Roberts raised an eyebrow to her, daring her to say anything, and winked. Smiling graciously to the two guardians who hurried to let her in, Inés waved to the people outside with all the grandeur of a superstar, before turning to enter the club.
“Maldición!” Alessa finally cursed, as she followed her.
They walked in to find the club packed. The lights were dimmed and there were a few colored flashing lights over the DJ and the dance floor. Taking advantage of the crowd, Inés quickly changed back and led Alessa towards an empty table near the bar and they took a seat.
The music was too loud and the smoke in the air made Alessa’s eyes water. She didn’t like the atmosphere of the club either; it clearly was a pick up place. She cursed again, looking around. She liked music and liked to dance, but she was never fond of nightclubs. Something about so many people made her uneasy. She looked at her cousin. *Well, at least she’s having fun,* she thought.
In fact Inés was enjoying herself. She was already moving along the rhythm and was searching the crowd to find a dancing partner. “Be a dear and bring me a drink, prima,” she asked without looking. A handsome blond hunk had caught her attention. Sighing, Alessa stood up and walked towards the bar.
After paying for the drinks, Alessa grabbed her Piña Colada and the Strawberry Daiquiri and turned away from the bar. She looked at the demoness, noticing that three guys were standing around her. Alessa watched the men closely as they talked to Inés. She didn’t like the way they looked or their body movements around her, but Inés seemed to like them. She was flirting shamelessly. She caught her eye and the demoness waved in her direction, the three men watching her with leering eyes.
Frowning, Alessa blamed herself. She should have remembered how her cousin acted around men. She attracted them like honey to bees, and despite her contempt for human beings she liked to have men around… and above, she added, slapping herself for her callousness. She had no right to judge her.
"Here is your drink, Inés," Alessa frostily said as she reached them.
"Hey Al, you want to dance?" she asked Alessa. “This is Bryan, or was it Ryan?” she asked, signalling one of the boys, then dismissed the question with a laugh, “Whatever! He says he likes you… come on!”
Without even looking at him Alessa denied with her head, as she sat. “No, thank you,” she said. “I’ll just sit here, if you don’t mind.” The man grabbed her arm, and tried to pull her to her feet. Alessa’s eyes shone red and she took the offending hand and squeezed hard. The man grimaced in pain. “I said no,” she repeated, letting the hand go.
“You heard the lady,” Inés said, her own eyes hard as she looked at the man. Bryan, Ryan, whatever, babbled something and got away from them. Inés turned to Alessa again, grinning. “Sorry about that, honey. Come on!” she said to the rest of the boys and standing up, walked towards the dance floor, her harem following her.
Alessa grinned to the back of Inés and sipped her drink. *Relax,* she told herself, *You better enjoy this. It’s gonna be a long night.* And leaning against her chair she closed her eyes, trying to enjoy the music. Music. A smile curved the corners of her generous lips. Through her closed lids she could notice the flashing lights, but darkness was softly creeping, and the music of the club was muting until it became a distant, comforting song. It was as comforting as Chance’s presence, his strength. She let darkness invade her, let the haunting music fill her soul.
He extended a hand to her in invitation. She took it willingly. He pulled her into the dance, their bodies melding perfectly. She was aware of the music around them. They whirled and moved together as the world around them faded far behind. She could hear the beating of his heart in her ear on his chest. She was wild, free, invincible, and she belonged. She looked up into his blue eyes, easily matching his steps.
Steps.
Chance dancing?
The thought awoke her from her reverie. Would they ever dance again? Possibly, if this morning’s events were to tell. She smiled. She wanted to dance with him, wanted to feel the press of his muscles against hers, to be enveloped in the comforting scent and sensual feel of his skin. Looking around her she decided to leave. There was nothing for her in there.
On the dance floor Inés danced, she had obviously chosen her mate for tonight. She moved with a woman’s charms, seductively undulating around the handsome man. Alessa shook her head as she approached the couple, but she knew she needen’t worry. Her cousin wouldn’t be leaving with her tonight.
After changing a couple of words with her, Alessa started to walk towards the exit, but she froze in midstep. She looked around the dim and smoky club, searching for what had caught her eye before.
The club’s lights were going on and off, lighting different sections of the dance floor. She finally saw him then, standing among the crowd. "Morris…" she whispered as her eyes locked with his. But before she could do anyting else, the club’s lights went off and she frantically tried to scan the crowd to spot him again, but with no luck.
Shaken, Alessa looked at Inés once more, but her cousin was too immersed in her own world to notice her. Breathing deeply, she continued walking. She wouldn’t stay in the club one minute more. She reached in the inside of her thigh, and took the stake that she always carried, trying to be as subtle as possible. Let him come for her, she was ready, she thought.
As she left the club, she saw a group of paparazzi running towards it. Obviously word of Julia Roberts being there had somehow reached them. Amused, she shook her head and started her small car. Surprisingly, Morris hadn't appeared nor attacked her as she approached it.
When she finally got to her apartment building, she looked around again, but there was no trace of the vampire. Once at home she stretched and took a shower before going to bed. She regretted not having told Chance about Morris the day before. She just hoped she could talk to him about it soon enough. With those thoughts in her head, Alessa finally fell asleep.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
*** Thursday November 2nd 2006 01:00 am ***
Jeet had spent the last few hours pacing the floor in Quin's room. The thought of sleep hadn’t even entered his head, his mind was far too busy with the events of the last 24 hours. He still had no idea what was going on or where to find the answers but he knew he wasn’t going to find them here.
Jeet slowly opened the bedroom door and crept into the living room. He could see Reah sleeping on the sofa. She didn’t look at all comfortable but she had insisted on him taking the bedroom again. He stood looking at her in the dark before slowly making his way to the front door. *She is a remarkable woman,* Jeet thought to himself as looked over his shoulder, making sure he didn’t disturb her as he opened the front door. He was quite taken with his host already; she was unlike any woman he had ever met. He shot her a short smile as he slipped through the door and gently pulled it shut.
He wasn't exactly sure where he was going but following his keen sense of direction he made his way back the way Reah had led him after their initial meeting. He soon found himself back at the alley behind Bob’s Bar.
*There must be something here, some clue.* He quietly surveyed the area looking for anything that would give him some form of answer or idea of what was going on.
*Nothing.* He let out a sigh of defeat. He made his way to the alley and across the road, making sure to stay in the shadows so as not to draw too much attention to himself. Luckily everyone he passed was a lot less interested in him than he was in them. He was amazed at the sights as he wandered the streets of L.A. - so many sounds and smells, buildings as tall as mountains and lights of many colours everywhere he looked. *This place really is a wondrous sight.*
*** 05:30 am ***
Jeet had been walking around L.A for hours and now the sun was starting to rise. *Suppose I should head back.* Suddenly he stopped. Something had caught his eye; it was a sign.
Jeet stood outside a small dojo, staring, fixated on a sign.
‘All welcome’
He couldn’t contain his excitement, he could read the sign. It was the first thing he’d been able to understand on his own since his arrival. He knocked on the door and waited anxiously for a reply.
After a few seconds a light came on in the building and a friendly voice shouted out, “What is it? We don’t open for hours yet.” A small Asian man unlocked the front door and stared up at Jeet. “Yes?” he said, a little more impatiently.
“Excuse me sir, I’m in need of your help.”
“Well, come on then. What is it?”
“You can understand me?”
“Of course I can understand you. I’m not stupid, you know,” the man said, somewhat disgruntled.
“No, sir. You misunderstand me, it's just - no one else can,” Jeet said, trying not to aggravate the only person he had been able to communicate with properly.
“Well, not everyone can understand Japanese my boy,” he said laughing to himself.
“So I’m not in Japan?”
“I think you better come in and start from the beginning.”
The old man beckoned Jeet in and locked the door behind them. “Sit, sit,” he pointed to a seat in his office.
“Let's start again, shall we? I’m Kenta Tonichiwa but you can call me Toni.”
“I’m Jeet Su My.”
“Your parents like fairy tales did they, ‘Jeet’?” he said laughing a little again.
“I don’t know what you mean, sir. I never met my parents, I was named by the Shaolin.”
Toni looked perplexed. “You’re telling me you’re the Jeet Su My?” He was starting to think this was some kind of joke.
“I know nothing of THE sir, but name is Jeet Su My, yes,” Jeet said as he looked at Toni with a look of bewilderment on his face.
“I think you’d better tell me where you’re from and how you arrived at my door.”
After about an hour and having heard Jeet’s entire story, Toni slowly got to his feet, “That’s quite a story young man, quite a story indeed.”
“It’s no story, sir. It’s all true,” replied Jeet, slightly annoyed.
“Oh, I don’t doubt that my boy. I don’t doubt that at all,” Toni said apologetically. “No one in this world could make up a tale like that. Do you know... do you know you’re a legend? What am I thinking? Of course you don’t.”
“Can you help me, sir?” The look on Jeet’s face resembled that of a child who had lost his parents.
“I think the first thing we need to do is sort out your little language problem so you can explain yourself to this Reah girl. Follow me, please,” Toni said with a smile.
Toni led Jeet through a small door at the back of his office, down some stairs and into another small room. The room was filled with strange smells and the walls were lined with shelves each housing books and jars full of strange objects.
“Sit there please,” Toni said as he pointed to a sand circle on the floor. As Jeet sat Toni took a book from one of the shelves and lit two candles, one either side of Jeet.
The next thing Jeet knew he was being woken by the foulest smell he had ever experienced.
“Jeet! Are you ok? Can you hear me?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Jeet replied, slightly puzzled.
“Ha-ha! Looks like it worked, my boy,” Toni yelled with delight.
“What’s worked?” Jeet murmured, still unsure of what had just happened.
“My spell! It's worked; you’re speaking English, my friend. Come on, let's get you back to your friend. She will be worried and you’ve got some explaining to do.”
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
Saturday, 4th November 2006 – 2am
A tattered backpack hung loosely from his slumped shoulders as Darian closed the door to his apartment. He had no plans on ever returning to this place again; there was nothing left for him here. He had moved so many times before, but this time things were different. He had made friends in LA, good friends. Also, it was in this city where his quest had finally come to an end. Seb had been restored for just a brief week, and in that time Darian had finally felt peace. But it was a fleeting moment, stolen from him by Dathan.
Now Darian didn’t know what he felt, or if he even felt at all. Before, he had a goal, something to keep him going, striving, living, but now… From his pocket the fae extracted a small piece of paper which he had neatly folded, and slipped it under the door opposite his apartment. By the time Tarix found the note he would long be gone, and it was better that way. It would be hard enough to say good-bye to Tash; he didn’t have the energy to go through it more than once.
*****
1318 Poplar Avenue
Darian hesitated as he raised his hand to knock on Tash’s apartment. *I can’t do this; what am I going to tell her?* It would have been so much easier to just leave without a word, but he couldn’t do that. She deserved better. Knock, knock, knock.
Tash looked up sharply from reading Sorrow’s notebook. This late at night, she knew it had to be some sort of problem. She felt weary to her core and almost didn’t have the energy to answer, but called out anyway, as was her custom, “Who is it?”
Darian paused for a moment, but he’d come this far… “Darian,” he said.
Tash didn’t believe her ears for a second. *Darian? But he’s in hospital – in a coma. Surely Daye would have said if he’d woken up…* But neither she nor Daye could stay beyond the evening visiting hours. The nurses insisted on kicking them out.
She flung open the door, beaming, “Oh my God, Darian. You’re ok? Come in, come in. I can’t believe they let you out of the hospital so fast.”
Darian took a few steps in the apartment, but stopped not far from the door. "I came to make sure you and everyone made it out of the hotel all right. That and… that and to say good-bye."
Tash closed the door behind him and frowned at his words. “Goodbye? Why?” She took him by the elbow and steered him to the couch, despite his resistance. “No, sit down and tell me about this properly. I know you’re hurting because of Seb, and I know you must have been through hell at the hotel, but you know you have friends here.”
Darian couldn’t look Tash in the eyes. “I can’t stay here any more. Ever since I arrived in LA, all I’ve done is hurt the people I came in contact with. I –I think it’s better if I just leave before I ruin anyone else’s life.”
Tash's face darkened. She was finding herself having a similar conversation to the one she'd had with Daye recently, but this time she was on the other side. "So... your theory is that you ruin the lives you touch. So leaving LA will achieve what? Put you in contact with a whole new bunch of people so you can 'ruin' their lives as well? If it hadn't been for you, Darian, I'd have died on G'rnatha. I heard about how you saved that young boy's life at the Hyperion. You think his life would be better if he'd been vampire bait?"
She reached out and touched the back of his hand with her gloved fingertips. "What you have, Darian, is the ability and the will to do some enormous good here - if you can bring yourself to look your friends in the eye."
Darian faltered for a second, but finally managed to look up, allowing his indigo eyes to meet Tash’s. “You don’t understand what I did as Evexus, or what I could do if he ever gets loose again. Do you remember the man Chance from the hotel? I had delivered him to Dathan without a second thought. Lord knows what happened to him, and I’m just thankful that somehow he had managed to escape”. He took a deep sigh as he broke the eye contact once again.
“And what about you? I was ready to hand you over to Valerian, do you think that would have been good?” Darian stood up and prepared to leave. “I can’t stay. I have no home any more, no job, I only have the few friends I’ve made, and I don’t want my presence here putting any of you at risk”.
Tash stood to face him, "Right, so you'll just head off somewhere where the people have no clue as to what their risk might be, and endanger them instead? That's what you're saying... And frankly, I don't think the 'risk' is nearly so great as you imagine. How long did Dathan have you locked up in that hotel? The full two weeks since the night Matthias rebound Evexus? And you're still you. Did you stop to wonder why - when Dathan was able to bring Evexus out so easily the first time?"
She grasped his hand. "Darian, all I'm hearing from you are excuses... 'I'm a danger.' Bullshit. 'I have no home or job.' Darian, I'm now the controller of the Foundation. Do you think I'd see you living on the streets? I can offer you a place to live, and I can give you a job. A real job, with meaning. Not like those poor saps out there who perform mundane shit day in and day out. I'm talking about a core group of hunters who deal with the monsters that plague this city. We need people like you, Darian. Those who can fight, and who aren't afraid of things that go 'bump' in the night."
She let his hand go and shrugged, "But if you'd rather run away... I can't stop you. The choice is yours.”
Pausing, the fae began to consider what his friend had said. By leaving, he would put a whole group of new people in danger, people less capable of dealing with Evexus. But on the other hand, the thought of doing harm to Tash or any of the other hunters petrified him. He was torn between the logistics of Tash’s speech, and the fear of facing what he truly was. It would be so much easier just to run off and disappear, but could he run forever? “So you think there’s room for one more in your tight knit group of white hats?” he said with the tiniest of smiles.
Tash smiled broadly, "Darian, there are never enough of us. You've seen what we sometimes have to deal with. We may not be terribly well-organised, and the hours are lousy, but there's nothing with better job satisfaction."
Her smile faded somewhat, "And we did lose someone at the Hyperion. You may not have seen - Sorrow cast his spell, destroying Dathan and Nicholas, and all of their brood. But he... He..." Tash swallowed and finished in a whisper, "He sacrificed himself to do it."
“I’m sorry, I had no idea. He must have been a really great man.”
Tash nodded, "He was. In fact, there's a memorial service we've organised for Sunday afternoon. I've been letting everyone know who was at the Hyperion. It's to honour both Sorrow and Victor - and it's also a good time for all us to remember anyone else we've lost recently. I think you might find it very healing to talk about Seb. I’m going to be talking about-" She stopped suddenly, aware that Darian had no clue about Nikolai.
"Oh, Darian," she said sadly, "There's more bad news, I'm afraid. Nikolai... he was killed too." Tash bowed her head and shook it slowly from side to side. So many deaths in so short a time. "I'm going to speak about him, too, at the memorial. It's so stupid - he survived everything G'rnatha threw at him, and was killed by a damn human when he got home."
Darian was taken off guard by what he heard. Although they definitely did not see eye to eye on a lot of issues, Darian respected Nikolai and was sad to hear of his passing. “I think a memorial is a really good idea”, he nodded. “I’ll be there.”
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
17th November 2006
5pm
The twins followed Thule as he went towards his car, an old black beetle that Tarix was sure she had missed before. Thule got into the driver's seat and waited for the twins to get in. Tarix hesitated but before she could get in the car, Jessy took the front passenger seat. For some reason Tarix felt left out again, but saying nothing just sat in the back seat. The conversation was pretty light during the drive to wherever Thule was driving them, and even there Tarix refrained from speaking. She felt it better to just listen to Thule and Jessy, who just seemed to be lightly talking more about what could be involved in the prophecy and a bit more about this Sathawick person.
“…travelled to mostly south Asia, China, and a bit of Europe I think, but he mostly liked to stayed in Egypt for a long time. He came to LA to explore more about the demon civilizations here I think. He even gave a bit of help to the Order sometimes. I believe it was he who gave Alfred the Codex.” Thule stopped and it seemed he was thinking of something, but just didn’t feel the necessity to voice it.
“So what, is he this ancient almost two century old archaeologist?” asked Jessy.
“As a matter of fact he is more then that. Not only can he tell us a bit more about the Codex hopefully, but he may also do a bit reading on both of you. You see, of all these years that he has lived he has also acquired the knowledge of reading faces.”
“Reading faces?” Tarix spoke up, more interested about Sathawick.
“Yes, it's an art that was studied by man, mostly in south Asian and other countries, and as Sathwick has travelled he has improved his skill. You see, in face reading it’s the same as palmistry, only one reads the face. If you can do such a thing it tells you about the person, the personality and also a bit about what their future must hold.” Thule paused a moment thinking again, “He even likes people to call him the Facer. Quite talented he is, if you ask me.”
Tarix didn’t feel like someone to read her face, she already knew what she had done, but for someone to further scrutinize and analyse her personality? She really didn’t like the idea, but she knew if you objected against it Thule would probably take it as her hiding something. So she decided to not say anything, and hoped it wouldn’t be too bad.
As Jessy and Thule moved on to chatting about other things, Tarix’s mind wandered of to thinking about Sathawick and of what Thule had told her about him, and thought of how horrible it must be to have a soul, a willpower and to never feel happy with it again, and to live your immortal eternity just feeling miserable. She tried to think about the appearance of Sathawick, of what he may look like. A picture of an old miserable man came into her mind, with piercing eyes and lips like that of a vulture, probably even mad from the fact that all he could feel was coldness inside and she shuddered.
* * *
On the streets a middle aged man was sitting, in rags and tattered clothing mumbling to himself, and groaning at times. People just passed him by, mostly ignoring him, but he would try and shout out to as many people he could.
“Lost a dog have we? You sure your wife didn’t have anything to do with that?”
“Don’t eat too much, you’re gonna die from heart disease soon anyway.”
“Well, aren’t we worrying about our boyfriend leaving us? Well, you deserved it!”
And so on, until people got used to finding him on the streets and his rambling on and on. He was soon mumbling some more until another man stopped in front of him, shaking his head.
“You still on the streets, old man? How many times have I told you, it's dirty enough without more people like you on it. Get a job!” the man said.
The old guy looked at the man as if he had been slapped. “YOU!!!” he said in a raspy voice. “I know about you! Your future’s not too good. No, not at all.”
“Oh yeah?” the man replied back, looking at the old guy straight in the eyes. “You don’t really know the half of it. And whatever happened to your two girls and that wife of yours you left, just to act in a movie, but instead blew all your money and landed an the streets?”
The old guy looked taken aback. “B..but, how did you know about..?”
“Never mind that. If you still have half a brain you’d go back to your wife and beg forgiveness, at least it’ll keep you off the streets. That is if the half of your brain hasn’t already been eaten by the rats here.” The man looked down at where the old guy was sitting and started to say, Tuh, tuh.”
The elder person didn’t seem too much pleased by it, but rather than saying much just mumbled and grumbled and decided to move to another street.
“And get a bath you stinky old poop,” cried Facer after him. He turned around to find himself face to face with Thule.
(Introducing Chris Tucker as Sathawick aka Facer)
“Hello Sathawick, how’s it been?” Thule replied in his usual causal manner.
“Thule?” Facer called, “Man, it's been ages! Where have you been? How have you been? How’s the Order, still carrying on as always?” But before Thule could reply Facer just cut back in, “Of course it has, and don’t call me Sathawick, Thatchary, it mkes me feel old.”
“You are old, Sathawick,” Thule replied back.
“But at least I don’t look it. And who are these charming young ladies, Thule, you old dog? Have you married? Or are they just,” Facer just winked at Thule, “friends?”
Thule sighed, “Neither. They’re Alfred’s daughters. I’ve come here to have them meet you.”
Facer came a bit closer to both Tarix and Jessy, both of whom were standing behind Thule, not knowing what to do, and observing Facer. To Tarix he was absolutely contrary to what she thought he’d be like. Rather than show any misery, this guy seemed to be made of humor.
“Ah, so how is Alfred? I haven’t met him for many years either, hope he’s doing…” Facer broke off in mid sentence, and seemed to know without even looking at Thule’s expression; he just became serious and dropped his voice and mumbled, “I’m sorry.”
Then as if he hadn’t even said anything, he just turned towards Thule, cheerful as he was before. “So what can I do for your ladies?”
Thule reached into his pocket and removed an object and handed it over to Facer, who studied it in his hands. “Now I get it”, he said, after not too long. “After all these years you come back with the same question, and not even a warm ‘hello’ either; both you and Alfred, always straight to the point and off to work attitude.” He turned to the girls, “Typical isn’t it?”
Tarix couldn’t help but grinning, and she had to admit she quite liked Facer. She looked over at Jessy and realized from her expression she didn’t think much of Facer, probably because he wasn’t much into taking anything seriously.
“I want to know a bit more about the prophecy,” Thule replied, seemingly ignoring Facer's remarks.
“Well, Thule, I’ve told almost all I knew to Alfred, which he probably passed on to you. About the Two, about the ritual and the tablet - what else do you want to know?” Facer replied, mocking agitation.
“What do you mean about the ritual and the tablet?” Jessy asked.
“That there is a ritual concerning The Two which is probably you two pretty ladies, and the ritual involving the Codex of Kh’Kum and Kum’Wa, and not much is clear about the kind of ritual because of the translations on the tablet, which is currently where? I don’t know, but you can check Water Stones if y’all want.”
“Wait a minute,” Thule stopped Facer going any further, “I know about Kh’Kum, but what are you on about Kum’Wa?” Thule asked.
Facer pulled a face at Thule. “Weeellll, looks like Alfred didn’t tell you everything did he, the sneak. Perhaps he thought he might get the second Codex by himself.’
“A second Codex?” Jessy said.
He turned to her. “Oh yes, honey. This here,” he held up the Codex, “is the Codex of Kh’Kum which separated the Kumacs to you pretty Koolangs and the shit faced Macabres. The Codex of Kum’Wa is actually waaaayyy much older then this Codex, and it is hinted on the tablet that it may also have something to do with the ritual of reuniting.”
He waved in Thule's face to stop him from saying anything “And before you ask me where the Kum’Wa Codex is, don’t even try. I’ve told you all I can, and I have no clue where the other Codex might be.” He handed the Codex back to Thule and started to walk away. “Well now that I have told you everything, and more, guess I’ll be off. I may like walking on the streets but I have work to do to.”
“Hold on. That isn’t all. I thought you might try and read the girls, Facer, and besides the only work you do at night is the one that revolves around, as they call it, booze at Bob’s Bar.” Thule grinned slightly.
“Hey, don’t go dissing my booze. You want me to read both the girls, and tell you what? Their future, their destiny, whether they shall bring peace? I may be good, but I’m not sure I can read that further into the future.”
“Something like that would be helpful,” replied Thule.
Facer nodded and turned towards Jessy, who was the closest, and looked into her face, “Hmm, a feisty fell’a this one, aggressive yet thoughtful, but very rash.” He looked deeper into her face and then turned towards Tarix, whose heart leaped up into her throat. She stiffened, awaiting the evaluation of her evil deeds to once again be spilled out. Facer seemed to see her stiffening as he said, “Hey there, don’t worry. This won’t hurt, I ain’t pricking you with a needle or anything.”
He continued to stare at her, “This one just as thoughtful, only not as rash, but quite gullible may I add, easy to twist around one’s finger. I can see you hurt at the moment, but it’ll pass, it always does.” He looked at her as deeply as he had at Jessy’s face and this gave Tarix a chance of looking at his face, and she noticed how cheerful and happy him face looked, which made her doubt anything could ever take his happiness. But she felt herself wrong when she looked into his eyes; they seemed stone cold and almost lifeless, waiting for something and nothing, and never sparkling, and another shiver went up her spine. Facer seemed to have noticed this too and just winked at her and turned to Thule.
“Well, about the prophecy. I can tell you it is very near in the future, that it is somewhere in the horizon of the destiny of these girls. The real question is whether it shall be fulfilled and what will happen when it is. But the only thing for sure is they can only be strong if they are together. That’s why they were born separately, so that they can be together, and only once they are united shall there be strength between them and peace over their kind.”
Facer sighed, “So, now can I go? Or better yet, you can join me for a drink if you want. Always up for a company, me - what do you say? My evening will be made if I could have a drink with the beautiful twins.” He winked at them. “Oh, sorry Thule. Didn’t mean to leave you out, you can come too if you want.”
“No, it's all right. I need to head off and do some further research on the new information you provided anyway. It's up to the girls if they want to stay.” Thule looked at the twins.
“Not me, I’ll take a rain check,” Jessy said, and Tarix just shrugged and didn’t say much. She wasn’t one to drink anyway.
“Oh well, perhaps some other day. Hope you find the answers you need, Thule.” And with that he headed off down the road, probably towards Bob’s Bar, whilst Thule turned and headed towards his car, the twins following.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
17th November 2006
7pm
Thule dropped Tarix and Jessy outside the building behind Laughing Dog and headed towards his own home. Tarix still looked at Thule’s departing car thinking of this afternoon and was about to ask Jessy what she thought but realized Jessy had already headed towards the apartment building and up the stairs. Tarix slowly followed her and went up to her apartment.
When they had reached their floor Jessy just called out, “Seeyah later Jazz,” and went into her apartment.
*I have to get her to stop calling me that,* Tarix thought, heading towards her own apartment. She got her key and unlocked the door and entered, back into her apartment. She decided to make herself some tea and headed towards the kitchen but something caught her eye. She looked down to find a piece of paper lying near her plant beside her door.
*Weird,* she thought, *I wonder if Jessy dropped this before?* She probably hadn’t seen it before because it seemed to be almost hidden by the plant. She took the folded piece of paper and unfolded it to read an unknown writing.
Tarix looked at the short note, a bit surprised. Come to think of it she hadn’t seen Darian in quite some time. She read the letter again, and felt a pang of guilt. He had told her about his friend stuck in his medallion and she wondered if he had found a way to cure him. So much had happened since the last time she had met him.
Now as she read the letter once again, she wondered if Darian had known about her having killed her parents. Maybe that’s why he went away, probably he didn’t think she was safe to be around? But no, it couldn’t be - how would he know? Then what had he meant? Perhaps time had been hard on him as it had been hard on her. But she still couldn’t help feeling more deserted. Darian was the only friend she had known and even he had gone. She was sure he had his reasons, but more she thought of it, the more lonely she felt.
She got up, folded the letter and placed it in her drawer before going back to the kitchen to make her tea, then drink it. Alone.
Grief
Saturday, 4 November 2006 - 4am
***** Somewhere just outside of Los Angeles *****
Valerian's mansion on the outskirts of L.A
"He's dead. D e a d!" Valerian shook Jade violently, his dark gaze simmering with unpent fury and frustration. "How long do you intend to keep this up daughter? This..." his lips twisted in a derisive sneer, "This moping! I have been more than generous with my time and patience. Your tears and self-pity should have run their course by now!" The Elder threw up his hands in a dismissive gesture as he glared down at the fragile figure seated before him.
Jade barely looked at her father. Truth be told, she hardly even registered his total disregard for her feelings and his less-than-tender ministrations. The three days since Tristan's death had passed in a haze of utter and total grief. And pain. The first night, Valerian and the few underling vampires that had escaped the massacre had done all they could to keep her sedated. Her new powers, however, proved that to be a difficult task as the medication wore off quickly, denying her the oblivion she craved. Awake, Jade could feel nothing beyond the deep wrenching pain inside her heart, the intense, spiralling sense of loss... Her face was drawn and pale, her eyes staring blankly out the dining room window of the remote mansion Valerian had brought her to after leaving the Hyperion.
You are not Jade. You may wear her face and form, but you are not the woman I loved. Should we meet again, I'll bare my blade and cleanse the world of your presence.
And yet, Sorrow had not. Recalling his words caused tears to roll down Jade's waxen cheeks. For a while she had believed him, believed that he would kill her when they came face-to-face in battle. Now, seeing the sacrifice Sorrow had made, that belief seemed almost like a betrayal to the love they had shared. *I should have known better.* Jade's shoulders shook with the effort of suppressing her sobs. *I should have known...*
When this is over, you'll have choices, Jade. More than you think you have...
Goodbye my love. Farewell; you're free of him now.
Jade wasn't sure how she had heard Sorrow 'speak' those last words to her but figured it had something to do with the sea of power they'd had within and around them at the time. It was ironic how much those simple words affected her. One would have thought that with all that Jade had at her fingertips - wealth, beauty, youth, untold power - the passing of a lover *ex-lover...* would not have mattered that much. *But it does. None of this truly matters to me. All I want is Tris to be alive and well... All I've ever wanted was him...* Jade's shuddering sobs increased as she wondered how she would ever live through the agony of losing the person closest to her heart.
"Come now, my flower," Valerian's voice turned soothing, placating, "Why don't you just put all this unhappiness behind you and let me take you away from here? We'll travel around the world in style and forget about all the sorrowful things tha-" He broke off and cursed himself for the slip even as Jade's eyes snapped up to meet his.
"I'm sorry, I can't leave LA yet." Her first words in almost 72 hours. Jade's voice was soft and slightly hoarse from all her crying. She sensed the rise in Valerian's temper again but shook her head stubbornly. "No daddy. Not yet. I need more time. He..." She swallowed hard to speak past the lump in her throat. "Tris and I had a life here. I need to stay close to whatever's left of that for a while longer."
"Very well." Valerian's words were curt and impatient. "However, I do not have the luxury of dallying with you in Los Angeles while you wallow in self-pity. I have made plans to leave for Hong Kong tomorrow night, and will conduct whatever business I have from my mansion at Victoria Peak. Once you're done 'mourning'," the derisive tone clearly conveyed Valerian's opinion of her grief, "I expect you to join me there." With a flick of his cloak, the Elder swept out of the room to complete his travel preparations.
Arms wrapped around herself, Jade huddled in the folds of a luxurious leather chair and rocked back and forth, unconsciously seeking some form of comfort from her misery.
None came.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
November 20th, 2006
A lonely subway station, LA
The orange neon glow of the subway lamp flickered overhead, its dim depressing light bathing the dirty interior of the metro stop. The blaring screeches of passing, outdated subway cars added a miserable soundtrack to the already disheartened scene. However, dreariness is relative. Although the majority of passers-by would agree that the subway stop was a wretched place, a young teen high on a mix of ecstasy and painkillers might be inclined to disagree. To him, the faint light of the lamp blazed brilliantly like the sun itself, and the annoying sound of braking metal was a symphony to the ears. The real joke though, was that the wonderful state of bliss never seemed to last like it should; eventually the harshness of reality would destroy his dazzling universe.
Why? Why couldn’t the drugs last forever? Why couldn’t they take away the destruction and carnage he saw every time he closed his eyes? Why couldn’t they take away that overwhelming sense of anxiety he lived with since that night? A slight chuckle escaped the boy's lips; he couldn’t help but laugh at himself. Why he still wondered such things seemed comical. He knew that the drugs weren’t a solution. They wouldn’t find him a place to live, they wouldn’t help him get over what happened. All they would do was provide a temporary release from the hell that was his life.
(Flash Back) November 8th, 2006
Dathan’s large form rammed through the crowd, the bloodlust in his eyes increasing with each passing step. There was no point to try to run, the fatal embrace of the Ancient’s fangs was inevitable.
“No, no please, please, I don’t want to die.”
Dathan’s smile widened as he reached his prey. The fear in the young boy's eyes was pure ambrosia for the maleficent Ancient.
“Please don’t,” he sobbed as Dathan’s powerful arms twisted his head sideways, exposing the soft skin of his neck. “No, no, no...”
“Uhh.” Cole gasped for air as he bolted up from bed, his chest rising in falling at an alarming rate.
*A dream, just a dream,* he repeated over and over in his head as he tried to calm his nerves. He knew that the initial shock of the nightmare would pass momentarily, but that thought did little to comfort him. Eventually he would have to close his eyes and go back to sleep, and then the visions would return. He couldn’t go on living like this; soon he was going to crack.
Making his way to the right corner of the room, he bent down on his hands and knees and began gliding his hands over the floor. “Come on, come on, where are – there,” he said finally as he located and lifted the loose board. Beneath the secret compartment lay a small plastic bag filled with a variety of pills. Cole lifted the sack up and frowned as he gazed at its contents. *I… I shouldn’t,* his brain urged. He had seen what the drugs would do to his prostitute roommate. But, he also knew they could give him some measure of relief. *I just can’t take it any more,* he convinced himself as he popped the first two pills he picked out. *I just can't take it...*
The boy made his way out of his room and headed towards the television. He couldn’t risk lying back down, not without knowing that the drugs would stop the nightmares from returning.
It didn’t take long for the narcotics to take effect. Under their seductive influence, Cole was finally able to find some sense of peace. He had no idea how long he sat there, enjoying his new happiness until finally his eyes shut, and he began to actually sleep.
“WAKE UP, YOU STUPID LITTLE BRAT!”
“Uhhhhhhh, huh what?” Cole rubbed his eyes as he lifted his head from the comfort of the cushy sofa.
“Are you completely out of your mind!?” the woman standing over him yelled, as she clutched the bag of drugs Cole had left out in his room. “Do you realize how dead you’re going to be when Nunzio finds out you stole the drugs you were supposed to deliver? God, are you completely insane?”
Demeeta, Cole’s roommate, stormed out of the room only to return with his backpack in hand. “Here,” she said throwing it at him, “I’ve taken the liberty of packing your crap so you can get the hell out of here.”
The teen rubbed his throbbing head as he tried to understand what was going on. “What do you mean ‘get out of here’ ?”
Demeeta scowled as she stormed into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. “Listen twerp, Nunzio is on his way over and he knows what you did. So I’m suggesting you get your sorry ass as far away from here as possible. And don’t think about coming back. I don’t need to deal with this shit, ok?”
“You’re not serious, are you?”
“Do I look like I’m joking? You’re just lucky I was nice enough to warn you before he gets here,” the skank replied.
*Lucky?* Cole knew that he really had nothing to fear from the drug dealing pimp. He was a powerful enough wiccan to handle himself, but on the other hand he wouldn’t use magic against another human, no matter how much of a vile lowlife he was. “But where am I going to live?”
“Do I look like I know? There’s a ton of shelters in the city, have fun picking one.”
“You’re not going to need a shelter you little fuck, you’re going to need a cemetery!” a rough voice cried as the front door burst open revealing a rather large Italian man.
“Nunzio, calm down,” the boy started but the drug runner was too furious to listen. Without warning, the man withdrew a small gun from his inside jacket pocket.
“No one steals from me, do you hear me, NO ONE!”
In the blink of an eye, Cole raised his hand and pointed at the gun-wielding pimp. Invisible currents of mystical energy rushed through the room, slamming into Nunzio and then Demeeta, knocking them unconscious to the floor. He hadn’t intended to target the girl, but accuracy was difficult given the circumstances.
“Jesus Christ,” he said as he ran to his room and gathered up his hidden wiccan supplies. If he had any chance of staying before, he had just ruined them. When Nunzio awoke, the man would stop at nothing to kill the kid, and Cole was not prepared to do what it would take to stop him.
“Just what I needed,” he said aloud as he made his way back to the front door, and down the apartment steps. Deep down he had known Nunzio was eventually going to catch him, but he had never really thought far enough ahead to realize it would probably cause a lot more trouble than it was worth.
“What am I going to do now?”
Cole curled up on the hard graffiti-covered seat as he watched another subway car pass; it would be another cold, lonely night spent out on the streets.
*This would have never happened if I had hadn’t gone to that god forsaken hotel. The nightmares and headaches would have never started, I never would have stolen those drugs, I never would have ended up here!*
But ‘here’ is where he was, homeless with no one to turn to. Sure the thought of going to see Chance or Alessa had crossed his mind, but he had quickly discarded the idea. They both had their own lives to worry about, not to mention he was too ashamed to reveal to them his hidden life as delivery boy for a drug dealer. Still however, he was disappointed that neither of his friends had bothered to check on him since the hotel extravaganza.
*You’re always going to be alone, don’t even waste your energy thinking about them,* he told himself trying to block out any thoughts of Chance and Alessa.
Cole reached into his jacket pocket and retracted the small plastic bag. The number of pills inside was significantly lower; he was running out. “Aw shit,” he said aloud as he took hold of a small pink one.
“What’s up, blue eyes?”
The teen looked up to see a young woman, probably only a few years older, standing before him.
“You know, I haven’t seen you on the streets before. New to the city?” she asked with a smile.
“You could, uhhh, say that,” Cole replied as he quickly stuffed the small bag back in his pocket.
“Don’t be ashamed of those, people like us need a little pick me up now and then, am I right?”
He smiled slightly, “You could say that again.”
“Im Alisson by the way,” the girl said, extending a hand.
“Cole,” he replied.
“So Cole, what's your story? Run away from home, off in search of your acting dream - what brought you to the streets with the rest of us?”
The boy lowered his head. “I don’t have any family, and no, no acting bug. Honestly I’m not really sure how I ended up here.”
“Well, if you don’t have anywhere to go tonight, you’re welcome to come back with me. A few people and I found an abandoned apartment which we crash in at night. It's nothing special, but it will keep you out of the wind.”
“For real? You wouldn’t mind?” he asked, his face brightening up somewhat. The thought of sleeping inside was extremely enticing.
“Of course, people like us have to stick together you know.” Alisson locked arms with Cole as they began to make their way out of the cold subway station. “Just make sure you don’t forget your pretty pink little friends,” she added with a wink.
Reintroducing Hayden Christensen as Cole Matthews
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
November 4th,
Morning,
Alessa's place
Chance walked down the hall, this hall, stopping before this door. There was, of course, only one hall he cared to walk down and one door he wanted to go through at the moment.
Hers.
He knocked; a hard, short rap upon the wooden door, and waited. Really, he had no idea of what he wanted to say.
Did they really need words? Probably not. The very fact he was knocking, was here probably spoke more than anything he could say.
He waited.
Alessa stirred, the sound on the door getting to her through the fog of her sleep. She opened an eye and watched her bedside clock: 7 am. "Too early. Inés, I’m gonna kill you," she groaned as she crept out of bed.
She didn’t bother to put her clothes on. Instead she wrapped the sheet around her and walked in a half asleep state towards the door. When she got there, she just unlocked and opened it, assuming it was Inés returning.
When she opened the door, Chance just looked up at her. There she was. Right there. And this time he wasn’t backing away or taking off or anything. He was here to stay. But he couldn’t open his mouth, couldn’t find the right words to say to her. What could he say? What could he say?
Unable to find an answer, he just looked at her.
A couple of seconds went by before Alessa realized that it wasn’t her cousin in front of her. With an effort she looked against the bright sun, but even before she could really see him, she already knew who he was. His manly scent tingled her nostrils. Self conscious, she wrapped the sheet tighter around her and tried to put an order to her messy hair… and then stopped herself. Chance was here and she was arranging her hair? She must be mad. His blue eyes looked down at her; silently, pleadingly. She couldn't help the warmth that spread through her body and glowed brightly in her eyes. Without a word, she moved aside to let him enter.
Chance looked away and stepped inside. He took only a few steps in before turning back again. “Alessa, I-” He took a deep breath. This was it. “I… I really have no idea what to say. Well, no. I know what I want to say, it’s just getting it into words, and everything…” Trailing off, he shrugged helplessly.
Alessa looked at him. *He is here,* she repeated to herself. *He’s really here.* Afraid, his last reaction at her coming close too fresh in her memory, she raised her hand to his face. But Chance didn’t reject her this time. He stood still and just leaned against her hand, closing his eyes, his stubble incredibly enticing against her soft palm.
"Chance…" she said, raw emotion in her voice. “You don’t have to say anything. I understand.” A moment passed where she saw through his eyes to his naked soul. She hoped he could see hers.
Smiling, she let herself relax into the warmth of him and leaned her head against his chest, her fears ceasing as his arms drew around her, covering her hands and holding them gently against her waist.
Chance did what he knew best; he held her. That simple action did more than anything he could ever say. It said everything he wanted to say, and more.
He was with the woman he loved, they were together, and everything was all right again.
For now.
That was good enough for him.
There was just one more thing that had to be done to make the moment perfect, one thing that had to be said before the curtains could go down, before everything faded to black.
“I love you,” Chance whispered, and then bent down to kiss her.
"Chance..." Alessa breathed as their mouths met, his covering hers possessively, demandingly and hers responding hungrily, desperately, trying to tell him that she didn’t need words. Not when she could see his love in his soul.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
***November 18th, 2006- Bob’s Bar- 5:15 pm***
Adriana was in high spirits. Just a couple of hours ago she'd finally got an apartment and she was finally going to check out of the motel she'd been living in for the past five days. Sure, the idea of finding Angelus was very far away, but now Adriana had a job and a place to live in.
*Sure, I’m working in a bar, and my apartment’s not the greatest in the world, but hey, it’s better than nothing.* Adriana checked her watch. 5:15 pm. She was early, but she wanted to make a good impression. Drea opened the door and walked in.
The bar was pretty empty. By this, she was surprised. Adriana expected more customers now that sunset was becoming earlier.
“Ya early,” came a voice from the corner. Drea turned to see Bob at the counter.
She smiled and replied, “I wanted to get in a few more minutes of training.”
Bob beckoned her to come with him. She removed her black jacket and held it in her arms as she walked to where Bob was. Adriana wasn’t even sure why she'd brought it. It was about sixty degrees that day. Then again, she was still getting used to the L.A. climate. She lived in Mount Vernon just about her whole life and around this time of year it was about ten degrees cooler.
Adriana was led into the back room where she hung her jacket on a coat rack. Bob was searching through the shelves when he questioned her, “What’s ya name?” Drea, who was looking around the dim room which was lit by a dull light bulb, snapped back into reality.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” she asked politely.
Bob turned his head around and replied, “Your name, kid. I can’t keep callin’ ya ‘bright eyes’ forever.”
Adriana smiled. “Adriana. Adriana Lautari.”
Bob just kept pushing stuff around amongst all the junk upon the shelves. “Lautari. That’s quite some name ya got on ya hands. What ethnicity are ya?” he asked as he sniffed what seemed to be an old wine bottle.
Drea froze. She didn’t know what to say. After a few seconds she replied, “I’m Italian-Russian.” *Okay, so I told a white lie. But it was worth it. I don’t need him going around, telling everyone I’m a gypsy just so he can make a few extra bucks.*
Bob turned around with what now seemed to be a mace bottle. “Italian-Russian? Now that’s a horse of a different color,” he commented. Drea chuckled at the Wizard of Oz reference. Bob held up the mace bottle. “This here is full of holy water in case any vampires get a bit ‘rowdy’.” He handed the small bottle to her. Adriana placed it in her pocket.
Bob grabbed a small, purple velvet pouch and gave it to Adriana. “In here,” he began, “Is Lithuanian Dust. It’ll knock out any demon. At least, I think it will. No worries. Demons usually are better tempered than vampires. Except for Nispami.”
As Adriana slipped it in her pocket, concern fell over her. “Nispami... will he be back?” she asked, a bit worried.
Bob walked past her, chuckled as he pat her on the shoulder, and muttered, “He always comes back.”
Adriana’s eyes widened as she realized what Bob just said. Bob stood behind the bar as Adriana closed the door of the back room. She walked over to where he was standing.
“Since ya new, I don’t expect ya to know how to make all the drinks, which is why you’re a waitress. Just get the right drinks to the right customers, all right?” he explained to her.
Drea nodded her head. *Simple enough... as long as I don’t trip.*
Just then, a very familiar voice rang out, “I got actual love potion, ‘bout 70 bucks a pop! Find yeself needin’ a Temptress demon t’ see if ya lova isa low life, cheatin’ S.O.B.? The ones I got ‘n Holl’nd are goin’ for ‘bout 150 bucks a gig!”
Nispami had made his return. Adriana hid a bit behind Bob. She was a bit frightened by him. Bob whispered to her, “Don’t mind him. Just start cleanin’ some glasses for the customers.”
Drea nodded her head and did as she was told. As she finished cleaning her tenth glass, a thud came from the counter. Adriana turned to see Nispami there, a half finished cigarette between his claw-like fingers.
“Ya got a nice face. ‘Nd a dec’nt body t’ boot. Now, I’m willin’ t’ cut ya a good deal. Ya c’n make-” Nispami began when he was interrupted by Bob.
“She’s workin’ for me, Nispami, so back off. Ya got enough prostitutes.”
Adriana hid behind Bob again. She didn’t know why she was. Bob had been easily knocked down to the ground by Nispami the previous night. But it was better than being in the open.
Nispami inhaled some of his cigarette, and retorted, “What? Ya gotta problem wit’ me prostitutes? Ya buggerin’ lil’-”
He began to draw out a knife when Drea stepped in front of Bob and quickly said, “Um, thanks, but no thanks. I’m really not that interested.”
Nispami returned his dagger to his coat pocket and held out his hands, if you would call them that. Long, sharp black fingernails hung over the tips.
“Fine, fine. Th’ts all I wanted t’ hea’. Here, girl. Take this,” From his pants pocket, he pulled out a card with a phone number inscribed on it, “Jus’ ‘ncase ya change ye mind, this is me numba. Give it a ring s’m time.” Nispami then left over to some vampires in the corner.
Bob patted Adriana on the shoulder and told her, “Ya did good, kid. And it’s only ya first day.” He then began taking orders and placed a few drinks on a tray. “Adriana, take these to the human couple near the door,” Bob ordered.
Adriana sighed and lifted the tray. She carried it over to the teenage couple. *Seven months of this... Drea, what have you gotten yourself into?* This very same thought ran though her head the rest of the night.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
** Sunday, November 12, 2006 - pre-sunrise ***
A sound awakened him. Oz rolled out of bed and scratched his belly. He looked down and shook his head at the pounds he had gained since he had started his new life. The smell of old laundry and the sight of pizza boxes and beer bottles in the still-too-sparse apartment made the darkness of the pre-dawn hour even darker.
Oz had been dreaming about his wife, Margaret. The last wisps of the dream were dissipating like the morning fog but he could still remember the warm feeling of holding her in his arms and smelling the sweet scent of her hair.
He briefly considered killing himself again. He knew he would never see her in Heaven if he did it, but the pain of this life would be gone and it would be replaced with another type of torment. *An eternal torment, like this,* he thought.
Oz picked up a piece of pizza out of the box that sat atop the mound of boxes on the coffee table and sniffed it. "You are not going to eat that are you?" a voice asked from the darkness.
Oz jumped and the jingle of toppling beer bottles once neatly lined up on the coffee table made his head hurt. A light came on and Brinkley stood there in a yellow t-shirt that said "Fuck you too" accented with a green frowny face.
"Oz, you have really gone downhill, haven't you? I just stopped in to check on you, see if I could do any favors for you, maybe swing a job your way or something and what do I find? You've turned into Homer Simpson."
Oz blinked, squinting until his eyes adjusted to the light. "Brinks? How did you get in here?"
"Good to see you too, lardass. I let myself in with the key you gave me," she said, wiping crumbs off the folding chair Oz had set next to his lounger.
Oz remembered giving her the key, but he also knew he wouldn't give her one for no reason. She must have prayed for it to happen. Sometimes knowing the truth made for a strange reality. "Nice try, Brinkley, but I am not looking for work. I have plenty of money from my retirement to live out another twenty years if I have to."
Brinkley didn't blink, "You will have to. Maybe even longer, Ozzy. The way I see it you may live to be three hundred or more years old."
Oz's mouth tightened to a thin line. "Not if I can help it," he said softly.
"Look, Oz, you can try to kill yourself with this cholesterol and fat and Lord knows at the rate you are gaining weight the heart attack may kill you in thirty years or so. But it's not what you were told about. It is not the higher purpose for which you were spared." Brinkley leaned forward earnestly and Oz could feel the conviction with which she delivered her plea.
"You've been talking to Him, haven't you?"
Brinkly looked away. That was all the answer Oz needed. "Shit, Brinks. He can tell me to my face you know. I already know about angels and God. It's not like I am going to blow the whole 'surprise' party for anyone. You tell that arch-headache that if he wants me to do anything he can tell me himself rather than sending messengers."
Oz was angry. He had delivered messages before and not all of them pleasant. He really had no right to take this out on Brinkley; she was doing the dirty work, not making judgements. "I am sorry, Brinkley. I know I've been wallowing some, but I am not sure where to start any more."
Brinkley smiled, stood, and hugged him, "No hard feelings, buddy. I know you are still getting used to the idea of being back on your own. Why not ask at the source?"
She bent down and picked up a beer-ringed folded paper from the coffee table. The cover showed a 1970's modern-style church in a lovingly rendered pen-and-ink drawing. It read, "The Lilies-of-the-Field United Baptist Church with services at 10:00 AM; Wednesday afternoon service at 2:00 pm; Rev. Reginald Pater, Rector."
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
November 20th, 2006
6:55 PM
“Welcome to our humble abode.”
The abandoned basement apartment was dank and dark, the only light provided by a small window on the right side of the room. Several teens were huddled around in various corners; some sleeping, others chatting, while the rest were smoking/sniffing their problems away.
“Everyone,” Alisson shouted, grabbing the attention of the squatters, “I’d like you all to meet our new friend Cole.”
A variety of “hey’s” and “hi’s” rang from the occupants who were coherent enough to realize what was going on. Cole simply raised his hand slightly in a waving gesture as Alisson dragged him over to her corner of the room where the two sat on a tattered brown blanket .
“You guys all really live here?” Cole asked, shocked that there were people who had had it worse than he did.
“I wouldn’t call it living really, more a place to stay during the harder times. People come and go, others are more regular.”
“And you?” Cole asked without thinking.
“Me, I’m just here until I can land a modeling contract. I moved to LA to get my big break, but it's taking a little longer than I thought it would,” the girl replied, slightly saddened. Her face, however, brightened up a moment later, “But I’m not worried, I know it's going to happen soon."
Cole refrained from making a comment. Sure Alisson was definitely attractive, but her way of life had left visible scars. Her tired eyes were circled with black bags, and her arms told the story of what she would do, or rather inject, for a pastime. Before the conversation could go any further however, a tall, lanky, brown-haired boy trudged over and plopped himself in front of Cole.
“Hey, Cole right? I’m Jake, nice to meet you,” he said courteously extending his hand. “So what brings you to our little den here? People don’t stay in this dump unless they’re down on their luck.”
“Yeah, you could say I’m definitely suffering from a lack of luck,” Cole replied. “I got kicked out of my apartment so I’ve been sleeping on the streets for a while. That’s where I met Alisson, and she was nice enough to bring me here.”
“Always a sucker for the blue-eyed ones aren’t you,” Jake teased as he winked at the girl.
“Stop being a dumbass Jake,” she responded as she playfully punched him in the arm. “Cole needed a warm place to sleep so I helped him out. Plus, he’s got some of those pretty pink pills we love so much.”
“Dude, you’ve got E on you?” Jake said excitedly, turning his attention back to Cole.
“Yeah, I’ve got a few.”
Jake gazed quickly at the rest of the teens scattered throughout the room. “Word to the wise my friend. Hide your goods, because there is definitely no honor among these thieves.”
Alisson once again punched Jake in the shoulder. “Would you stop? The only real thief here is you, with your sneaky little pick pocket hands.”
Jake laughed loudly as he placed his arm on Cole’s shoulder. “Gotta love this girl. Now, Coley boy, you’ve got to pay initiation into our little club. How's about we all drop one of those nice pinkers you’ve got?"
Cole didn’t want to simply give his drugs away, but he felt like he owed them all something so he complied. “Ok, but just us three.”
“Naturally,” Jake said with a wide grin, as Cole passed him an E.
“To new friends,” Alisson toasted before she popped hers into her mouth and swallowed.
After downing his, Jake stood up and grabbed Alisson by the hand. “Let’s get out of here and walk around the city. We don’t want to waste the effects in this crummy apartment. Going to come, Cole?”
The offer was tempting, but fatigue got the best of him. It had been a long time since he actually had somewhere semi warm to sleep, so he finally decided to just stay behind.
“Fine, suit yourself. We’ll see you later, dude.”
Cole watched silently as the pair ran off, arm-in-arm, out of the room before he lay back on the dirty blanket. This was the worst time; waiting for the drug's sweet release. It never kicked in fast enough, it always left him time to regret popping the last pill. *So this is where I’ve come?*
Letting out a dispirited sigh, he turned himself on his side in an attempt to get more comfortable. *Maybe I should just go see Chance or Alessa.* The image of Alessa’s quaint house was surely enticing, but Cole managed to push it from his head. *No, I’m not going to bother them,* he thought, trying to convince himself he wasn’t really mad at the two – that didn’t work. After a few moments he finally embraced the turmoil in his heart. *No! I’m not going, 'cause I don’t want to see them. Screw them! They don’t really care anyways. If they did they wouldn’t have forgotten about me after the Hyperion!*
The boy closed his eyes to stop the tears from trickling down his face. He knew he shouldn’t have been harboring such feelings. Chance and Alessa were both going through so much themselves, but he was still just a fifteen year old boy, and couldn’t help but feeling upset. *I hope I never see them again…ever…*
The boy’s mind drifted from his angry thoughts as the pill's power began to take hold of him. Within moments he was back in a warm state of happiness and all the resentment had just been nurturing fell away, replaced with trivial thoughts like how the shadow looked like a large muppet, trying to eat one of the girls on the other side of the room.
“Hehe, a muppet…”
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
November 4th.
Noon
When Inés finally got to Alessa’s she didn’t find her cousin around. Intrigued, she went to the bedroom; Alessa was usually up long before noon but she could hear a steady breathing coming from the bedroom. Would she still be asleep?
She was surprised as she peeked into the bedroom to find a man deeply asleep on her cousin’s bed. Raising an eyebrow, she inspected him. *You don’t have bad taste, Alessandra,* she thought as she took on his jagged but appealing good looks. *Bet he’s got blue eyes…* She was about to enter the room when she heard keys on the door. She turned to see Alessa enter the apartment with a bag of groceries in her hand.
Inés' other eyebrow was raised at the contented expression on her cousin’s face. She was glowing. Taking another look at the sleeping man she wondered if this could be the famous, *Or infamous,* Chance. Knowing her cousin that was much more probable than just a one night stand.
“Well, it seems I’m not the only one that got lucky last night,” she said anyway, enjoying the blush that suffused Alessa's face.
“Shh,” hushed Alessa, taking Inés by her arm and pulling her towards the kitchen. “Don’t speak up! I don’t want to wake him!”
Her cousin laughed, but stopped at Alessa’s flashing eyes. “Sorry,” she said, giggling. “So, what happened? I don’t think I remember that one from the club, but I want all the details anyway,” she added, sitting in the kitchen while Alessa prepared some coffee. She was sure he was her absent boyfriend, but she wanted to kid her anyway.
Alessa blushed again. She didn’t like to have to explain herself. “I didn’t meet him yesterday, Inés, he’s…”
“Fate, I guess,” she said in a bored tone.
Alessa rolled her eyes. “Chance, Inés, his name’s Chance…” stopping again when she saw the merriment in the demoness’ eyes, but this time she was annoyed. “I’d like you to take me seriously, Inés,” she said, ice in her voice.
“But he’s human, por Dios! Don’t ask me that!”
Alessa’s eyes flashed. “He’s my choice! Humans are my choice! and you didn’t seem to mind spending the night with a human, did you?”
Inés dismissed the question. “That’s different. Humans are great lovers, I can grant you that… Not as good as Quenta demons, maybe, but… did I ever tell you what those tentacles can… “ She stopped at Alessa’s hard expression. “Oh! Don’t look daggers at me! I just enjoy sex! Verbatii are soooo boring. However, one thing is to fuck humans and another is to live with them. You don’t belong here…” she started.
“Don’t tell me that again! I already told you that I’m staying, Inés. I have as much human blood as I have Verbati, I’ve chosen this world. I’ve chosen humans,” she repeated, although her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears. She hadn't told Inés the truth about Chance, just that he had left her; nothing about the demon in him or his trying to kill her. That was private.
Inés' expression hardened as well. She couldn’t understand her cousin. She could have the best of both worlds, and yet she always tried to go with the current, to hide herself.
“What are you going to do then? Wait until he grows old on you and gets turne–” Inés stopped herself, but it was too late.
“You KNEW? You knew about Morris?” It wasn’t as much a question as an accusation, the expression in Inés’ eyes was telling enough. Alessa shook with anger, “You knew and never told me?” Her eyes filled with tears, “Why? Why Inés? You let me spend all this years…” She shook her head. “Why?” she repeated.
Inés lowered her eyes so she could hide the guilt in her face. She hadn't told her because their grandfather had forbidden it, she really didn’t know why. She raised her eyes again to suffer the full impact of Alessa’s anger and hurt, but she didn’t answer her question. They stayed like that for a few seconds, Alessa shaking with anger, Inés receiving it. There was no excuse for not having told her, she knew it, Shongu’s instructions or not.
Finally Alessa turned around. “I think you should leave now, Inés,” she said, not looking at her.
“Alessandra…” she started, but stopped at the shake of Alessa's head. Inés breathed deeply; she wasn’t about to beg. Shaking her dark curls, she fished into her pocket and took out a card. She threw the card on the table.
“I’ll be with Michael, if you want to call me.”
Alessa didn’t even look at the card. She laughed. “So you are living with a human after all,” she said with contempt.
“No dear, I’m fucking one,” came her cousin’s answer before leaving the apartment.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
Reah’s apartment
2nd of November, 2006
07:34am
Reah stepped tiredly away from the couch rubbing her eyes, then flexed her back painfully, forcing out the knots and strains that had developed overnight from her second night's sleep on the lounge. *Why didn’t I get the three seater?* she thought regretfully as she stretched out her arms again, bare feet slapping against the polished wooden floor, headed towards the kitchen.
*I think it's time to find alternate accommodation for Jeet.* Reah spared a glance at Quin’s door where the man was likely still fast asleep, recuperating his strength. Whatever he’d gone through recently, she’d figured it was no trivial thing: and her thinking of shifting him out already had her ridden with guilt, no matter how many times she reminded herself that it wasn’t as though she was kicking him out on the street!
*I really need to see Tash about him,* she thought as she opened the bottle of apple juice she’d retrieved from the fridge. Taking a swig straight from the bottle's mouth, Reah winced as she threw her head back and caught sight of her wall. *Need to see her about that contractor, too.*
***
Toni held his hand out to Jeet, and with a smile he pulled him to his feet. “Come on, I’ll drive you there,” Toni said with a grin.
“Drive me?” Jeet replied looking rather perplexed.
“Just follow me and I’ll explain on the way.” Toni led Jeet out onto the straight and looked up the dojo, “This way….” He turned the corner and stopped in front of a large metal door. “This is where I keep them,” he said with the excitement of a child who knows it’s nearly Christmas.
“Keep what?” Jeet still had no clue what on earth Toni was talking about.
“My pride and joys.” Toni opened the door revealing a large black van and a white corvette, both with a red stripe running around them.
“What… what are they?” Jeet stuttered is bemused amazement. “Are they like the other horseless carts I’ve seen?”
“They most certainly are not!” Toni snapped. “These vehicles are originals from the A-team.”
“The A-team?” Jeet looked at Toni, baffled.
“Oh never mind. I hope you know where we’re going.” Toni opened the passenger door to the van and instructed Jeet to get in.
Toni spent most of their journey explaining about cars, TV and lights, among other things. Although he did spend considerably more time explaining the wonders of the A-team than anything else. After about half an hour they arrived at Reah’s apartment block and exited the vehicle.
“This way,” Jeet beckoned as he made his way into the building. When they arrived at Reah’s door, Jeet took a deep breath and smiled as he knocked. His smile disappeared when he saw Reah’s face as she opened the door and realised who was there.
Swivelling her head back to Quin’s door in confusion, Reah frowned then looked back up at Jeet, *Whatever.*
Allowing the door to swing in on its own Reah moved aside, wandering back to the bottle of juice she’d left open on the counter and allowed Jeet to make his own way inside. “Glass of water, Jeet?” She yawned and took her position back on a stool, slumping herself over onto the bench lazily.
“No, I’m fine thanks. How about you, Toni?” Jeet tried to contain his smile as Reah nearly choked on her own drink.
“Jeet, that wasn’t funny,” said Toni as he tried to cover his own smile.
Reah raised a curious eyebrow to the pair in the doorway like she’d never seen them before in her life… Then when she thought about it: one of them she hadn’t!
“Um… hi!” Reah’s eyebrows drew down in accusation. “I’m sorry, but what sort of a game do you think you’re playing here?” *Bloody bastards who bloody play you for a bloody fool! I swear! I’m never playing the bloody Good Samaritan, again!* “And who the hell are you?” she nodded to the old man.
Jeet stood stunned. It dawned on him on how it must have seemed to Reah. “No, let me explain! It's magic! Toni here cast a spell on me,” he said, rushing to explain.
“It’s true, madam,” added Toni. “If you’d be so kind as to give me a few minutes of your time I’d be happy to explain.”
Reah stared at the old man blankly. Though she looked concentrated on the matter at hand, her mind had drifted back to her hell that she liked to call ‘morning’, idly wondering why, of all things, she’d opened the bottle of juice. What she needed was coffee! *Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee…*
“Screw the explanations. It’s too early…” Reah motioned vaguely with her hand at nothing in particular, “Hows abouts I just believe you! Then that’ll make it easier on the both of us.” *I could pretend that it’s coffee!* She pulled a face at the liquid that filled her mouth, concluding that only coffee could replace coffee. She pushed off the stool and rounded the bench, back to the fridge.
“Are you ok, Reah? You seem rather angry this morning,” Jeet enquired. “If you’d take a seat for a moment I’d like to explain a few things, like who I am for a start.” Jeet smiled over at Reah.
“Not angry,” Reah replied over the rattle of the fridge door she kicked shut. Strolling over to the electric kettle, coffee in hand, she flicked the switch down, “…just awake. There’s a slight difference.”
Reah ran an inquisitive eye over Jeet whilst leaning back on the counter. “But I suppose I am a little curious about you,” she stated after a moment's study. Hefting herself up, she let her legs dangle over the bench's edge. “Enlighten me.”
Jeet spent the next hour or so explaining who he was and where he was from. He explained about his temple and travels and his untimely death. How and why he was here was still a mystery to him but he told Reah as much as he could. Toni interjected occasionally with information about Jeet after his death, about how he was somewhat of a legend. Jeet finished up by telling the story of how he had met Toni and could now speak English. He had told Reah everything he knew, except about the amulet and his visions. He thought it best to keep that quiet for now.
“So there you have it,” Jeet said as he finished his story.
Sometime during the epic tale, Reah’s kettle had finished boiling and she’d managed to fix up her coffee that now sat snug between her hands, the ceramic now cool after she'd slowly drained its contents away. A moment after Jeet had rounded off, she’d just sat in quiet reflection, absorbing the new information. When she finally moved again, it was to take a thoughtful sip of nothing from her mug before sighing and leaning back against the wall to think some more. *It certainly explains the robes! Though the disappearing/appearing act still isn’t quite clear. Is he some kind of manifesting ghost spirit thing?*
A slight smile suddenly curved on her face as she stared up at the ceiling. “Well… Now that is a newy. So that means you‘re how old, again?”
“Too old,” Jeet laughed, “I want to thank you for all you have done over the last few days but I can't take up your room any longer. Toni has some business in New York and has said I can stay at his house for the few days he is away.”
“Yes, that’s fine,” Toni interrupted. “But we need to sort out something more permanent for you. For that we need money and its not going to be easy to get a dead man a job.”
Money? Ah yes,” Jeet smiled, “Do you still hold things of age with greater value in this time?” Jeet ran to Quin's room and returned with his coin pouch. “Because these may be worth something.” He poured out numerous gold coins onto the floor.
Reah smiled sarcastically and squinted her eyes. “No. Things of age generally get bundled off to homes.” Jeet looked at her quizzically, in confusion, but Toni just seemed to ignore her snide remark altogether and trawled through the spilt coins instead. She was still tired, and cynicism generally ran on high in the morning.
Toni was amazed; he picked up one of the coins and after examining it counted how many there were. “Well that solves that! I reckon we could sell this little lot for about $100,000,” he said with a big smile. “I’ll take them to New York and try and get them into an auction.”
Reah raised her sceptic eyebrow again, *These people sure are trusting.* However, rather than intervening with more questions and doubts that would just bog down her morning more so than it already need be, Reah reached across and flipped open the bread container, shoving a piece of bread in the toaster as she spoke. “Don’t worry your ancient little heads about accommodation. I’ll take care of that.”
Toni noticed Reah’s look of suspicion. “Don’t worry, dear. If you knew the reputation of Jeet Su My as well as I do you’d know I wouldn’t dare to try and cheat him. I hope we can chat again when I return from New York when you’re a little less tired but in the meantime I’ll leave you my address and telephone number in case you wish to contact Jeet.”
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
Sunday, 5th November 2006 – 1:45pm
Past the hotels and bars of Malibu Beach there nestled a quiet corner of sand. The azure blue water lapped at the shoreline with the mountains forming a green backdrop. A cool breeze lifted occasional flurries of sand that skittered along the beach, but it wasn’t chill. The sun shone down warming the backs of the two women who were putting finishing touches on their display.
Daye and Tash had set a table at the back of the beach, so it rested on the short grass that swept on up the hillside to become scrubland and forest. Tash glanced up at the golden expanse of beach before her and sighed. It was a perfect place – at least, as perfect as could be found at short notice in the LA area. Los Angeles didn’t have much by way of secluded areas, but at this time of year the beach was virtually empty, and this far north it was away from the main noise of the city’s traffic.
She returned her gaze to the table. On it she and Daye had set white candles, protected from the wind by glass cylinders, and lilies lay strewn about the white cloth. Nothing else adorned the table yet – no photographs, no memorabilia. Each person who came would be bringing something of their own to place in memory of those they’d lost.
“It’s ready,” Daye murmured.
Tash nodded at her. They couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day. The breeze was so light it barely lifted the corners of the tablecloth, and the sun-warmed sand felt good to bare feet. The two women remained silent, not wishing to break the moments of quiet communion they’d just shared, as they followed the line of grass back to the car park where Drew, Sam and Maia waited for them. They had understood when Daye and Tash asked to do the setting up by themselves.
All that remained was to wait for the others to arrive. Tash bowed her head for a moment, and felt Daye’s arm around her shoulders as she stood beside her offering the comfort of friendship. *Damn you, Daye,* she thought, *How dare you be right?*
*****
Tash stood before the table with a bag at her feet, the ocean making soft swishing noises behind her and the sun soaking through her clothes to bathe her in its warmth. She faced her friends – both new and old – with the backdrop of the Los Angeles hills behind them. The candles were now lit within their glass protection, and they flickered in the light breeze that curled around the lilies. She was keeping a tight rein on her emotions this afternoon – the last thing she wanted to do was to break down in the middle of speaking. Knowing she was as prepared as she’d ever be, she cleared her throat and began.
“Nearly everyone here was at the Hyperion on Tuesday. I don’t need to remind you what we achieved there – we all know. Suffice it to say that I’m proud to have fought beside all of you. Some of us paid a higher price than others, however. All of us are here to honour Sorrow, and quite a number of you knew Victor as well. If he had been with us I know he would have been at the forefront of the battle. There are those among you who have suffered additional losses recently, and this is a good opportunity for you to remember them also. I know I have other people to talk about today – most of you won’t know the others, however.”
She bent to the bag, pulled out a menu and began, “This first is a friend I made recently called Nikolai Makarov. We met quite by accident…” Tash smiled, “Literally – I made him wreck his car just at the start of this year. Kolya went through some trying times with the group of us that wound up on G’rnatha and proved himself invaluable, but although he made it back safely he was killed not long after our return. This menu is from the first Russian restaurant I ever ate at. Kolya introduced me to it.”
She placed the menu among the flowers on the table, “Proschanie, Kolya.”
Then she withdrew a photograph. It was old and dog-eared, and showed a young boy sitting in a tree with a grin splitting his face. Tash kissed the photograph and laid it gently on the table. She didn’t feel the need to elaborate on this one, so simply said, “For Patrick, my little brother who died so many years ago. Goodbye, Pat.”
Tash paused for a moment, remembering both her friend and her brother, then she cleared her throat and continued.
“There were two who have passed recently that most of you knew. Victor was one, the other was a man named Tristan Barrington. Mainly we knew him as Sorrow. It was a name he chose himself many years ago, when he was left an orphan by the same creatures he then dedicated his life to hunting.”
Tash ran her gaze over each of the people before her in turn. “Not many of you knew him very well, I suspect. Sorrow was a man who stayed apart, to a degree. But he and I became very close friends, and I think all of you who were at the Hyperion last Tuesday have gained a glimmering of the sort of man he was.
“He was strong, he was loyal. He would travel to the ends of the Earth for those he loved. He was,” she said with a small laugh, “uncompromising in his frankness – he’s held the mirror up to me more than once since I met him. And we helped each other through some tough times…”
She felt her control starting to slip and closed her eyes for a moment to regain her composure. “He was the best sort of friend anyone could ask for. And he sacrificed himself to avert a disaster of epic proportions. I know it was not a decision he made lightly.”
She stepped closer to the table again, holding out an empty sheath. “This is the sheath from Sorrow’s sword, Hizashi. I leave it here in his memory.”
Tash laid the sheath gently on the table, careful not to crush the flowers. “I will miss your wise counsel, my friend.”
Again Tash stopped for a moment, giving everyone time to absorb her words as she remembered the times she’d shared with Sorrow. Then she cleared her throat and started on her most difficult eulogy yet.
“It’s rare for anyone in this world to find a true soul mate. So rare that for me I wound up finding one from out of this world. It came as somewhat of a shock when I realised that the one being I could truly connect with on all levels – who was truly my soul mate – was in fact a demon. It’s a bit of a stretch for a vampire hunter, you might think. But connect we did.
“Victor and I shared a bond that lasted through two apocalypses, a beheading, a voodoo ritual, doppelgangers and dimensional travel. He told me some of his past when we first met, and he said to me, ‘Something in me tells me that you are part of my Quest’.”
Tash bowed her head for a moment, fingering the envelope she held, her voice growing thick. “His Quest is now fulfilled. He developed a fully realised soul and returned to his home. And there he remains, disembodied, part of a vast machine that has liberated his entire people. Billions of lives have changed because of what he’s done there.”
She smiled through her tears and joked, “Is it still a Messiah complex if you turn out to really be the Messiah?”
Tash held out the envelope over the table. “My contribution to this memorial for Victor is what was left behind of the Stone of Ghortab. I admit it; I scrabbled around my old living room floor with bare hands, searching through the dust bunnies for these fragments. Unglamorous, maybe, but there you go.”
A few smiles lit the faces around the table at the mental picture Tash had conjured up for them. Among those who understood the significance of her bare hands the smiles were a little more wry. Then Tash upended the envelope, sprinkling the contents over the table.
“Farewell, my love.”
Silence descended over the assemblage, then Tash stepped back and rejoined her friends on the far side of the table.
Galen held Kate’s hand firmly in his own. The sun shone but the air was cool, a subtle reminder that summer was well and truly over. Kate’s eyes gazed out across the empty beach, watching the slow waves wash over the sands. Tash’s voice pierced the silence, her heartfelt testimony bringing tears to Kate’s own eyes.
As the silence returned Kate stepped towards the table, a single white rose in her hands. “I don’t have much to say. I…” Kate paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing, “Tash was right when she said that few people knew the real Sorrow. I am one of the many that didn’t, even though I have known him for quite some time now.”
Kate smiled weakly at the gathered crowd, “All too often we shut out others that might get too close; too close for comfort, people who might see through the daily façade. We get afraid that people might see who… what we really are. But we shouldn’t. I am lucky to say that Sorrow and Victor were both my friends but sad to admit that I barely knew either of them, not really, not in the ways that truly matter.” Kate wiped away an errant tear that rolled down her cheek.
“But today is a day to give thanks, because I, all of us are here, are alive and free because of those who have sacrificed themselves. So what I really wanted to say was thank-you.” Kate gently kissed the head of the rose and laid it on the table beside the other objects. “For all of you, my eternal gratitude and respect.”
Jess walked slowly towards the table then turned to face the gathering then waited a short moment before beginning. “Not many of you knew Ellie, or at least knew the real Ellie, but I only wish to say a bit.”
“I hadn’t known Ellie as long as I would have liked to, before she was Chosen. As it wasn’t until then that I truly knew her. She was just the average kid with problems. But I grew to love her; love her as family, and she became my family. When she was Chosen she grew up very quickly - she was forced to - but she became a responsible young woman and one I will always hold in my thoughts. I hold great respect for anyone who could do what she did, just as I hold great respect for you, my friends, for what you do.”
She paused, closing her eyes to force back a tear. “Ellie and I were too alike it scared me. She was the same as I was as a teen, only perhaps I was slightly worse,” Awry smile appeared across her lips. “But Ellie dealt with everything that came her way.” Jess stopped to pause for a short moment. “I’ve now learnt that every argument can be solved by the slamming of doors and loud music.”
“I can’t really describe how I felt when I found out what happened to Ellie. And I don’t like to dwell on it either. She did good things in her short life, and time as the Slayer, but I don’t wish to remember her like that. I want to remember her as Eleanor Wyatt, the teenage girl with problems. Eleanor Wyatt, my friend and family.
“I won’t be leaving a stake or a weapon to remember her by, but simply this…” She pulled a small silver crucifix out of her pocket and placed it on the table. “…for protection…something I couldn’t always give you during life.” she added, remembering back to that day, not too long ago when she had handed it down to Ellie. “Rest peacefully.” She added finally, before stepping back to her place, head hung low.
Alessa felt her heart clinch at Tash’s words. She hadn't really known Sorrow, but in the afternoon they had spent together she had felt at home with him, as if he could have become a friend. She regretted that this wasn’t to be, but she respected his decision and the strength it had taken to accomplish it. She felt Chance’s hand take hers and she looked up at him with a little smile; when they had received the invitation to this ‘ceremony’ they hadn't doubted. It wasn’t common to come across men like Sorrow and they had also wanted to pay their respects.
Alessa looked back at the table where some of the others were placing items and giving their farewells to their loved ones, and she thought of Morris. He wasn’t dead and she realized now that she had never really honoured him in this way. The tomb she had left in Paraguay wasn’t his. Disentangling herself from Chance’s hand she stepped up and placed on the table the stake he had so long ago given her. She knew what she had to do, but she wasn’t going to kill Morris with his own stake. Her eyes bright with unshed tears she paused a moment, caressing the carved wood, giving her farewell to the man he once was. She didn’t say a word as she stepped back to Chance.
When the woman he loved stepped back, Chance draped an arm across her shoulders and returned to staring at the memorial. He had brought nothing with him because he had nothing to offer. The Vagabond had been the only person you could say he had known and lost, but he had nothing of his and knew of nothing that was special to him. They hadn't known each other well, merely passing acquaintances you might say. He had already said goodbye to him privately.
Then there had been all the people who had been lost because of him. Chance's free hand tightened into a fist and he clenched his eyes shut. There was no way he could say goodbye to them. They would live on forever in his thoughts whether he wanted them to or not, giving his life purpose: controlling the demon Dray'chen and twisting him for good. To do anything else would disrespect their deaths, leaving them as pointless. He could not let all those innocents – the fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, all those children, Ernie's wife – have died at his hand in vain.
Chance just hoped and prayed, not that he was ordinarily a hoping or praying man but some of Matthew's habits died hard, that they had gone on to a better place.
Stepping forward, Reah paced her way towards the gradually filling up table, reflecting on the warmth of the sand beneath her bare feet, shifting between her toes as she stepped her way across it towards the sea. Nestled in the crook of her arm, she cradled three identical batches of lilies, individually strung in twine, and each with a handwritten note tied onto its end.
Pausing at the tables end, Reah’s gaze ran over the already presented memorabilia and sighed just before earmarking the places she would put her own amongst them, carefully arranging them mentally till she was happy with their positioning. Ever so slowly, Reah turned to face back towards the hills and the people gathered to remember their loved ones, and smiled awkwardly, bowing to the flowers she held.
“I’m… as a general rule I’m pretty crappy with speeches,” she sniffed weakly and shifted her feet. *I couldn’t have just put them on the table and walked away, oh nooo…. Cos that would’ve been the simple thing to do.* Reah rolled her eyes inwardly at herself. This wasn’t easy. She cleared her throat and began to read the first note out loud:
“Dearest Victor,
“Though you no longer dwell among us, my admiration for your strength, wisdom, and guidance shall never wane till long after the day I die; just like your memory, and the impact you’ve made on so many of our lives, we shall never forget. It was here you made a home; here you made your friends; and here you met your wife, Tash. It was here you made a life, and it is here that we deeply mourn your all too sudden departure from us.
“Not of this world, and yet never apart: Our little… or not so… G’rnathan battler.”
Reah cracked a small smile as she read the final line of the note, “PS… sorry about the empty bottles we left in the hall.”
She laid the bunch in the place she had imagined Victor’s would fit, arranging it so it nestled on the table. Then she turned to the note on the second spray of lilies she held:
“Dearest Nikolai,
“I wish things could have been a lot different for you, but much to my regret we cannot change the paths of which life chooses to steer our ever-waiting ways. It is not without the greatest sadness that suffocates my heavy heart, that I mourn your passing.
“We had barely even met and begun to know each other; but I will remember you always, and never forget, nor regret, the brief moments we shared together.
“Even though your body has departed us, your memory shall never die, but instead shine brighter for evermore in the deepest, warmest regions of our hearts.
“Otdich v meer.”
Once more the lilies were added to the collection on the table in the position Reah had chosen for it. Then she turned to her third and final bunch and read the note attached:
“Dearest Tristan,
“Though over the past few months our paths have drifted, it saddens me to think that the bonds of friendship that we had may have weakened. Much needed support during your most recent sufferings in anguish was not there, and yet your will still prevailed to fight the evils of this world. Though I was not fully aware, nor able to even begin contemplating the extent of your inner suffering,; the strength that you mustered and the sacrifice you paid is one that shall never be forgotten by those who dearly loved you: for now, and always.
“You shall always be remembered in mind, body, and spirit as our ever loyal friend; eternally honoured defender, and saviour of our souls.
“Rest in peace.”
The last spray found its resting place amongst the mementos on the table.
“Sorry guys,” Reah muttered softly, bowing her head to her departed friends, then stepped down from the table, head still bowed, and moved back to stand beside Damen.
Once it had fallen on his turn, Darian searched his pocket for the shattered piece of his amethyst necklace.
“In my short time here in LA, I’ve had the honour and privilege of meeting such courageous and amazing people. Victor and Nikolai were two such men. When the lot of us were stuck on G’rnatha, I don’t think I could have picked any better people to fight alongside with to get home. I’d also like the express my condolences for the friends of the man known as Sorrow. Although I never personally met him, I am not oblivious to the sacrifice he made for all of us – it is largely because of him that we are able to stand here today. There is no doubt in my mind that the world lost a true hero that day. Finally,” he started as he placed the remains of the pendant on the table, “I lost my best friend to the Brotherhood.”
The fae paused a moment to steady himself. It would have been so much easier to run away from all this, but Tash was right; if he was going to get on with his life he had to come to terms with what happened. “No one could have asked for a better friend than Sebastian. When we both lost our families a long time ago Seb took care of me, made sure I was able to get through life. Without him, I never would have made it this far.” Choking back his tears, Darian gathered the strength to finish, “Thank you for everything, Seb. May you finally rest in a better place now.”
Sam rose hesitantly as the person at the table finished. He felt very unsure. He had known two of these people and he felt he should say something. Slowly, he walked forward and stood facing the group gathered before him.
“Uhm… my name is Sam… er, Samuel Aubrey. Some of you know me, or did at one time. I knew Vic… Mr. Tek. He was my fri… that is, he was my boss, and he was… kind to me. I don’t understand exactly why people have to die. I guess that’s not something I get, but I don’t get a lot of things. I just know it seems unfair that good people have to suffer. I just wanted to say, that Mr. Tek trusted me… he helped me when I really needed to be helped… he was a good man. I’m sorry that he’s gone.”
Sam looked at Tash directly. “I’m very sorry for you, Mrs. Tek… I know that he loved you very much. Maybe Mr. Tek wasn’t human like me… I don’t know a lot about that. It seems to me, though, that he was a better man than most, human or not. That’s about all you can hope to be in this life… a good person. Victor Tek was one, and we’re all worse off for him not being around any more.”
Sam felt suddenly as if he might cry, and he was ashamed. What would his father have said? Here he was crying over a man that wasn’t even a man, one who’d been white and then not white; one who’d married a nigger… even if she was a pretty one. Sam stood silent as these ugly thoughts filled his head. Then suddenly he stopped. The man he was mourning here had been good and decent, much more so than the ugly man whose voice he often heard in his head.
“I just want to say one more thing,” Sam said. “I’m proud to have known Mr… Victor. I think I’m a better man for having done so.”
Sam stepped down and returned to his family.
Daye watched as her friends and loved ones rose and took their place before the makeshift altar. She listened to each of them, participated in the healing. Tears coursed down her cheeks but she remained silent. This was a time of reflection for all who remained. They each had their own thoughts, their own pain, but they were all bound as well. Finally Daye stood and slowly made her way to the table. She took her place before it and turned her face to the group gathered there.
Some of the people before her she had known for a long time while others were relatively new to her, but she saw reflected in all the faces before her the same ache she herself felt. She also saw how they all turned to one another for comfort. Even those among them who played at being too hard, too callous to care, stood close to one another, seeking the comfort one could only get from another person who shared their pain.
Daye waited a moment before beginning to speak. She paid careful attention to her close friends, the ones who had suffered the most personal losses. Tash stood beside Kate, nestled between her family and Daye’s own. The two families were like a buffer for her from all the world around. Daye knew, because she’d intended it to be so. Just as she’d intended for Jessica to stand with her family. She wanted both women to know they were not alone. They would never be alone.
“My friends, old and new, I thank you for being here and for sharing your words with us all,” Daye began. “I spent a lot of time over the last few days trying to decide how best to honour the memory of those we have lost. It wasn’t until just last night that I realized I’d been going about this all wrong. The problem is I’d focused on the idea that something was lost. That’s not the case.”
Daye paused and lifted the package she carried and placed it on the table with the rest. “There is life and death. There are beginnings and endings, but in reality, one always begets the other. This existence we all share, it is a circle. There is no true beginning and there is no true ending. Just as we all form connections, so are all things connected. Even these deaths we’ve come to honour are connected as well to the lives we live.”
“I met Tristan Barrington when he came into my bookshop over a year ago,” Daye continued. “He was looking for books. Makes sense in a bookshop I guess. But I think that sort of sums up Sorrow for me. He came to me seeking knowledge, which is something I think he was often seeking. Sorrow hoarded knowledge like a dragon with shiny baubles. He believed that knowledge could lead one out of the darkness. He believed that there were solutions to be found if you just kept looking.”
Daye held aloft the sunstone, allowing it to catch the light and sparkle in her hand. “It has been said that ‘Knowledge, in truth, is the great sun in the firmament’. For those of us who fight the darkness, who keep the wolves at bay, this is a powerful truth. Knowledge is like a light in our souls, and no light shined brighter than Sorrow’s.”
“From now on, when the hour seems dark, when the price seems too high, we should remember how that light once shined and let it guide us,” Daye laid the stone on the table and paused for a moment.
Daye lifted the second stone from her cloth and held it nestled tenderly in the palm of her hand. “When I met Victor I didn’t exactly trust him,” Daye began. “He was a demon and I, having spent my formative years in the Watchers’ Council, was unsure whether or not I should be dealing with demons. The thing is, Victor was very different from what I’d been taught to expect from demon kind. He was honourable, and noble, and just, but what stands out for me the most was that he was loving.”
Holding the piece of rose quartz aloft, Daye continued. “Love is a simple concept that means more than you can possibly imagine. Love is powerful and it is enduring.”
“This is rose quartz. It symbolizes love, a love that heals the soul, a love that teaches as well as learns. That is the kind of love Victor shared with Tash. The love they bore for one another healed and strengthened them both. Although Victor is gone, that love goes on. I hope as we commemorate the lives of these people who have gone before us that they feel always the legacy of love that continues.”
Daye took from the cloth the last stone and held it aloft. “This is a piece of celestite . It was a gift from my mother when I was very young. She told me that this stone represents hope and that I was her hope. The children of today are our hope for tomorrow just as they were for her and all of our parents.”
Daye paused and took a deep breath. “Eleanor Wyatt was not yet even eighteen years old when the mantle of the Slayer fell upon her, and for Ellie it was a heavy weight to bear. I can’t imagine what it might be like to have such an awesome responsibility at such a young age, but I realize there is nothing unique in Ellie’s story. This is the way it has been for the Slayer since time immemorial and this is the way it shall continue to be. The Slayer is our defender, our protector… our hope. She is a promise of tomorrow that extends back into the dawn of time. For Jessica Travers, Alicia Wyldling, I, and countless others, the Slayer has defined our very existence. We, as Watchers, were created for the express purpose of safeguarding and training girls in the line. For us, the loss of a Slayer is devastating. It is even more so when the girl in question is one we have grown to love. Ellie was strong, and beautiful, and so full of life. She was our hope, and though she is gone we must not allow that hope to go with her, for it is her legacy.”
Daye placed the celestite on the table. She moved slowly to each corner and began gathering the cloth that had been laid down upon it, drawing the edges together to form a package, containing all the items that had been brought. When she was finished she carefully lifted it into her arms.
“We will now return to the earth these items as an endless memorial to those who have gone before us. If you will all join me…”
Daye moved to where she and Tash had prepared a hole in the fertile earth. She gently placed the package in the hole and stood, waiting. Slowly the others joined her until they stood in a loose circle around the spot. Daye reached out and took Drew’s hand on one side and Tash’s on the other. The rest quickly followed suit. When everyone was joined, Daye spoke.
“We here form a circle of love and grief. This mirrors life itself, an endless circle which binds us one to the other. Although those we remember are gone before us, yet do they live on in each of us. They leave behind them a legacy of light, love, and hope to bolster and guide us through all the trials that still lay ahead. When we weary, or despair, we need only think of them to know there is no end, no beginning, only life, in an endless cycle. From this earth are we born, and unto it do we each return, bodies and spirits a part of the whole.”
Daye raised her face up to the light pouring down and spoke in a melodic chant.
“We call upon Earth and Sun, Life and Light, to guide these souls who have gone before us. Let the love we share bring warmth and joy unto them. There is no beginning. There is no end. We are bound to those we cherish in this life and beyond. This is our perfect circle. We consecrate this land, this place in memory of Tristan Barrington, Victor Tek, Eleanor Wyatt and all those we have loved who have gone before us. Let peace reign here.”
Daye dropped her head for a moment, letting the combined strengths of those around her flow into the circle. Finally, she raised her eyes and took in all her friends.
“As we will it, mote it be,” she said softly. Daye dropped Drew and Tash’s hands and turned, picking up the elder sapling they had chosen together. She moved to Tash and the two women lifted it. Jessica came forward to help, and they all settled the tree gently into the dirt just above the package. Together they began to carefully return the earth to the hole, planting the tree. The others came forward slowly to help. After a few minutes, the tree was secured. They all stepped back and looked at it for a few moments, and then slowly began to disperse until only the tree stood in the quiet clearing.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
7th November
Night
Nikolai stopped the Monte Carlo a few houses down from Poplar. All of the pieces were at last falling into place. Damen Kirk, the man also called Trigger for his extreme temper, sat in the car next to him. “You know exactly what to do?” Nikolai asked.
“Yeah, think I can handle it,” Trigger said, lighting a cigarette with his zippo lighter, closing it with a metallic snap. “Long as she doesn’t fucking call me schnookums again.”
Nikolai sighed. “Just get her walking in the right direction, Trigger. I’ll handle the rest.” The pair exited the car at the same time, the doors shutting but remaining unlocked. Nikolai carried a blanket with him, wrapped around him, as he walked up the street to take his position. Trigger walked towards 1318 Poplar Avenue with a sense of purpose about him.
It would be a hunt of a different sort, he thought ruefully, as he reached the hallway.
Trigger checked his watch, waiting five minutes before finally reaching to door to her apartment and knocking. He waited patiently before banging on the door again, seeing the face of Reah’s cousin at the door. “Hi,” he said. “How are you doing, Quin? Is Reah around?”
Quin gazed up at Damen thoughtfully, then dropped her head with a slight bobbing nod, “I’m all right.” Sighing, she rolled her eyes, signalling back into the apartment, “She’s inside.”
Quin turned about, allowing the door to swing inwardly on its own to admit Damen.
Still enclosed in her bedroom, Reah smirked to herself. She’d found the extremes she had to go to, to protect Quin from finding out the truth of her nightly activities, amusing. Especially in cases such as this one. She got to enjoy the many pleasures of watching Damen’s classic reactions, and she was certain tonight would be no different.
Reah hurriedly threw her hair up into a messy bun and stocked herself up with a few final items, deftly concealed. Sneaking about Quin had forced her to find much more secret and effective tactics for hiding her arsenal when she departed for the hunt.
Trigger raised an eyebrow when he saw Reah come out of the bedroom. His first two thoughts were: *Ok, so she’s gone from cute to hot, now,* and, *Where the HELL is she hiding weapons, and how does she plan to fight in boots with three inch heels?* The black fitted see through top made it obvious that she was wearing a black push-up bra underneath, despite the netted look about it, as it hung just over the low-cut jeans.
Still, Trigger fell into the role of would-be boyfriend easily. “No fair, looking that good,” he said playfully, though consciously aware that she was looking better than him. As usual. “Going to make me feel inadequate one day, babe.”
Reah spared a concerned glance at Quin who was purposely making her way towards the kitchen in attempt to block the two out, before she turned a cunning smirk back to Damen. Running a swift eye over Damen’s dress, she had to hand it to him as well. He was wearing a sleek black leather jacket with light grey jeans, but the hard black pressed shirt that hung untucked over the top was like sex on ice.
“I don’t know...” Reah grinned, swanning towards him. Teasing, she slid her hand up his arm in her close passing, pressing a kiss to his cheek and whispered seductively, “Shirts just make for easy access.” She grinned playfully to herself and with eyes half closed, she leant in closer to his ear, “Trig!”
Trailing his gaze, Reah let her hand slide off his shoulder, lingering, as her eyes sparkled in tune with a devious smile, *That should get him.*
*Damn, she is good,* he thought to himself, letting an arm slip around her waist. “Don’t stay up for us, Quin,” he called out to Reah’s cousin. “I promise we won’t be back tonight,” winking at Reah. He could see her resisting the urge to giggle as they started to head outside.
After the door shut, they dropped most of the couple-on-date pretence, although he did get the feeling that Reah would consider vamp hunting an excellent date idea. “Ah, it takes a while to get down to the filter,” he was joking when they started outside. “That’s where they put the heroin. Only us really good smokers know that!”
“Is that so?” Reah mocked, then thought back to the apartment, *I can just see Quin throwing up. Don’t think I could blame her either.* Turning a judgmental smile back at Damen, the pair stepped off the stairs that departed 1318’s entrance and wandered off for a night on the hunt.
Vampire activity still wasn’t as great as it used to be, but Reah had occasionally noticed the odd straggler now and then, oddly grateful for the fact that it gave her something to do! Conversations would only hold up for so long, but Reah was just as happy dusting them as she was at getting the word off the street.
They hadn’t gone very far, however, when Reah suddenly heard a pained groan emanating from one of the buildings they passed. When she spotted the source of the groans, Reah immediately assessed that they weren’t of vampiric spawn and looked back at a shrugging Damen.
“Looks like we might have some fun tonight, yet!” she grinned and turned purposefully about to jog towards the figure.
Nikolai emitted another groan, thinking hurt street person thoughts when he heard the footfalls of boots approaching. And the sounds of another pair of feet accompanied them. A hand came to rest on his back. “Hey, dude, are you ok?” he heard Reah ask. When he felt Reah’s hand on him again, he let his hand find his gun.
“Dude, can you even hear me?” Reah was asking as Trigger approached from behind. His hand slipped inside the pocket to find the blackjack. In one swift motion, he delivered a staggering blow to the back of Reah’s head. She stumbled forward on top of Nikolai before rolling off, reaching down to her boot.
A gun appeared in her hand from beneath the flare of her jeans. Nikolai rolled over, grabbing her wrist to move it aside. She fired twice into the night-time sky, missing everything as Trigger conked her over the head again, this time harder.
*Fucking bastard!* Reah cried out painfully into the night, her head reeled from the blows, her vision wavering. Summoning all her strength she glared at Trigger, kicking up with her foot and contacting his hand, sending his blackjack souring, Reah then flipped her attentions to the ‘homeless’ man tackling her. With one merciless heave, she threw the man off her without so much as a sweat and shakily got to her feet.
She was about to turn her hazing, spiteful eyes back to Trigger when she suddenly caught a glimpse of the other man.
“Nik?”
Reah couldn’t have said how much time had passed while she stood there, staring in shock, but darkness soon came to end that, riding on swift wings. Reah crumpled unceremoniously to the ground as a third and final blow struck her solidly on the back of her head.
***
Trigger paced back and forth in the old, shut down warehouse. He didn’t know how Nikolai found the place, and probably didn’t want to know. All he knew was that it made a good place to hide out. Nikolai himself checked the last of the bonds on Reah. It was clear that he was taking no chances.
Reah currently sat in a chair, legs bound to the legs of the chair. Her boots had already been removed, while a hammer waited on the floor, and both cuffs and rope secured her arms behind the chair. “If she looks ready to get out, shoot her,” Nikolai instructed, checking the back of Reah’s head. “I can just imagine how bad her head is going to hurt.”
“Yeah, well, she should have gone unconscious the first time!” he retorted, continuing to pace. The fucking bitch, and now Nikolai wanted to question her.
Moaning, she lolled her throbbing head that hung loosely above her chest. Thoughts were too hard to even muster. She felt as though she were clad full of wool. The last thing she could remember was walking alone in the streets with Damen, then… something! *Did I dream of Nik?* Mumbled voices hovered about her, like an eerie echo. They were close. The first thing Reah felt when her senses started to sharpen, was a hard seat… and she was sitting in it… as far as she could tell. The second was that she couldn’t move an inch!
Reah’s eyes snapped open at full alert. She immediately wished they hadn’t as she was hit by a sudden wave of vertigo that crashed into her like a ten ton Mack truck! Her head reeled back, eyes rolling up into her skull. She longed to just collapse on the floor, but the chair wouldn’t allow her that simple comfort.
Muttering curses through pained moans, Reah clenched her eyes shut, trying to overcome the throbbing pain that seared through her brain like a razor blade, “What the fuck happened?” she thought aloud to herself and winced at the mind crushing agony it set off.
The old vicious smirk of Nikolai’s crept on his face, Trigger keeping an eye out for anyone trying to get in. Something, a voice in his mind spoke up. *Do you really want to do this?* it asked. The doubt left as quickly as it rose. “I think you know,” Nikolai replied.
He kneeled down near Reah, lifting the water to her mouth so that she could take something of a drink. When she finished, he took it away and continued talking. “You accepted a contract on my life, Reah. And now, I need to know. Where is Lavrenti Sabarov?”
Reah frowned. Though her parched throat was grateful for the refreshing relief, her mind tried desperately to grasp the fleeting memories that teased just beyond her reach. Was she hearing things? Had she dreamt of Nikolai?
“Nik?” She shook her head - regretting the movement once again - and tried another attempt at reopening her eyes.
Trigger looked ashamed, as though realising that he had left out some vital detail in communicating with his friend. "Um, boss, I should have mentioned. She was, uh, kind of there when I talked to Tash about you."
"Thanks for telling me in advance," Nikolai shook his head, before turning back to Reah. "Da. You failed in your mission, and now you get to make a little choice. You can tell me where your boss is and die quickly, or not and, well… die slowly."
Frowning, Reah struggled until her vision finally came into focus on Nikolai. She blinked a couple of times, confirming what she saw, then quirked her head curiously. It had taken a moment for her to recognise him without spikes and stark blue eyes, but the air about him in general was also different. Menacing. When his words finally caught up to her, she returned him a flat stare, her eyes stone cold and free of emotion.
“Would you be threatening me now, Nik?” *This is going to be very interesting.*
Trigger lit another of his cigarettes, causing Nikolai to wonder just how that man managed to avoid developing lung cancer. He was probably one of those people who could booze and smoke but still possibly live to a hundred. “Well, not so much threatening as promising,” he replied steadily.
Nikolai walked around the chair, keeping his eyes on her. “You know, it’s not what you did to me that really pisses me off. It’s Zoë and Ben. Nobody fucks with the people I care about, Reah.”
Trigger smiled. At last, Andropov Andreievich – able to be as vicious as he had to be to get a hit done – was back. “You might really want to say something. I’ve got a soft spot for the ladies, but Kolya… well, he’s a bit pissed off as you can tell.”
Reah’s head turned steadily towards Trigger, her features unmoving, emotion: dead. Her eyes bored into Trigger, drilling deep, deep into the depth of his soul so she could wrench it out and feed it to hell’s spawn. She could forgive Nikolai, he had reason to kill her; but Trigger played her like she’d played him. The worst of it all that ate at her the most: she’d let her guard drop first.
“Well, I’d say it’s a good thing I didn’t fuck with them, then, ey?” Her eyes didn’t budge off Damen, not even to blink.
Trigger nervously turned away from Reah after a few minutes. “Talk about bug eyes,” he muttered, unable to bear the unblinking gaze.
Nikolai meanwhile was in the process of seething. She was denying taking the contract on his life. She was denying it; someone had killed the two of them and she wanted to deny doing it. He blinked and looked at Reah again, when he saw L’Than’s face. “Kolya, please, she’s telling the truth and you know it,” the image said.
“Like hell she is,” he snapped back at the image which had shown up to torment him, left with only the desire for revenge to sustain him. “She’s lying!” His fist came around in one solid motion to connect with Reah’s jaw, L’Than’s face disappearing.
Reah’s head reeled from the blow, disconnecting her stare from Trigger, and very nearly her jaw as she worked it back to life. *What. The. Bloody. Hell?* The coppery tang of blood started to fill her mouth. However, she couldn’t help but find the whole situation rather amusing.
Chuckling softly in her throat, Reah grinned at the floor with eyes closed, a small trickle of blood creeping out the corner of her mouth, “Is something wrong there, Nik honey?” *If this is the way the bloody crazed mongrel wants to play it…*
Nikolai shook his head. “No, nothing is wrong at all.” Trigger was now completely turned away at the blood, not wanting anything to do with this if it was possible. He just wanted to kill her, not kick the shit out of her. “Aside from the fact that I need information you won’t give me.”
Trigger came over to him, putting his hand on Nikolai’s shoulder. “Dude, take it easy. Don’t give yourself a fucking heart attack.” Still, he had to respect Reah for showing defiance.
“Well…” Reah started, steadily raising her head again to face a somewhat unstable Nikolai. Her eyes caught sight of Trigger just behind, his unease almost palpable. She sneered and flashed a feral smile as her gaze slid over him. “It seems we’ve reached a slight dilemma here.”
Nikolai breathed deeply several times. He could hear the voice of L'Than in the back of his mind, and knew what he needed to do. He and Trigger exchanged looks, glancing back to Reah. Nikolai paced back and forth now, looking slowly more distraught as time went by. "Do it," he finally told Trigger.
"Look, I know we talked about it, but do you really think it's necessary?" he said. Looking at Reah, having worked with her, he could tell that she wasn't the type to talk easily or perhaps even know anything. For some reason, he believed her. "Ain't there something else?"
With his back facing Reah, he could hear that voice now being more annoying. "Please, Kolya, consider what you're doing," it said.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" He turned furiously, striking Reah again, this time in the side of the head. She spat a decent bit of blood on the ground, as Nikolai reeled back. What the fuck was happening to him? Stopping to focus, to concentrate, helped. L'Than at last fell silent.
“Shit!” Reah coughed and spluttered, spitting out the blood that now spilled out relentlessly into her mouth. Her head was a whirl; she couldn’t focus her eyes, let alone stop her head from rolling about uncontrollably on her neck.
Clenching her eyes shut, Reah tried to still her head firmly in place, holding it drooped just over her chest again. Her arms twitched in their bonds. Not for freedom, she just wanted to cup her head and stop the world from spinning. But there was no such luck.
“You want me to say it, don’t you Nik? That I killed them! Then you could just kill me and automatically feel better right?” Reah said, blood still spilling out and sputtering over her lips, making tiny red droplets on her partly bared skin. “Well let's see how that scenario goes,” she added bitterly, whipping her head up, forcefully making her eyes focus on him. She braced herself for the next assault that was sure to follow.
“I killed them.”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Things had happened in a blurr for Trigger. He remembered thinking, *Oh shit,* when Reah started her spiel about him feeling better. Then he was over by Nikolai’s side, trying to aim his friend’s pistol somewhere else. The shots entered into several crates, as Nikolai broke down again.
“Let me take care of it, Nik, ok?” Damen said. His friend stared at him, then realised how close he just came to blowing everything. He nodded slowly, handing his sidearm over to Trigger and walking off to the side.
“I think I’ll get some fresh air,” he remarked, walking over towards the door and outside.
Trigger turned back to Reah after Nikolai had left. “Do you see what you’ve fucking done to the man, huh? You have any fucking idea how goddamn close you just came to getting yourself killed? I mean, you just signed your own death warrant, and he doesn’t really fucking care about killing you as much as killing Sabarov. What the FUCK is the matter with you?”
Reah opened her eyes and calmly stared down at Trigger, despite the fact that she was the one tied to a chair and he was looming over her. “He knows I didn’t do it.” She tilted her head up at Trigger, questing, “Even you know I didn’t do it… Don’t you?” She sniffed, turning her face away and sneered at the door where Nikolai had exited, “The fact that he’s still breathing proves it!”
Reah shook her head sadly and averted her gaze back to Trigger again, eyes rolling backwards slightly as another wave of vertigo washed over her, draining the blood from her face along with it. She resumed her calm and controlled rant, her tone as plain and flat as the facts, “I didn‘t fail my contract; I aborted it.”
Trigger nodded at that. "Yeah, I've seen you fight, and Nik figures he's damned lucky." He stopped to finish the cigarette, dropping it on the floor before crushing it beneath his shoe. "But you know, Nik's the one you really want to convince. He's been... strange... the past week or so."
“But he’s left!” Reah blatantly pointed out the obvious, staring flatly at Trigger, “And I’m still tied up. Kind of doesn’t inspire much confidence in that happening anytime soon, now, does it?”
“Speak of the devil,” Trigger said, when Nikolai began to wander back. “You calm now?”
Nikolai nodded, rubbing the sides of his head. At least that demon was still being silent, not bothering him any more tonight. “Find out anything useful?”
“Yep.” Trigger made it a point to face Reah, a look of dead seriousness on his face. “I think you’d better fucking tell him.”
Reah sighed, wincing as her head spun again when she moved it to address Nikolai, “I didn’t kill anyone - except for, perhaps, a few of Sabarov’s minions - And no offence, Nik, but if I had wanted to kill you: you’d be dead! And you know it."
***FLASHBACK***
“The Lady is here to see you, sir,” a voice came from the door.
Lavrenti Sabarov looked up from the list that he was drawing up, covering it. “Send her in,” he instructed without getting up. The office was just ornate enough to let you know that you were talking to a man with money behind him, but nowhere near flashy enough to suggest the power that he had. An oak desk and bookcase were the most ornate things in the room. People with real power, Sabarov thought, didn’t need to show they had power. It was felt.
“Ah, Ms. Lady,” he said, standing to greet her. He made a show of putting aside his work and coming around the desk just to greet her. Sabarov walked past the drinks to clasp the young girl on the shoulders, despite her meek and somewhat dejected appearance. “Cheer up!” proclaimed the jovial gangster. “I have some very good news for you. Paul Nesmith is no longer going to be a threat to you. Everything will shortly be in place. So, my dear, why do you look so gloomy?”
Shaking her head in annoyance, the Lady stiffened her back, answering bluntly and to the point, “I’m no longer fit for your job. So please do me a favour, and let's just get this over with.”
Of all the things he thought that he would hear, this was not one of them. He had expected to hear that Kolya was now no longer among the living, joining the rest of his enemies. “What do you mean? I hardly think that Kolya is too difficult a mark for someone of your abilities to make.”
“Practically a walk in the park!” she agreed, “However, the problem is not a flaw in my skills. Unforseen situations arose that could not be helped. He’s badly wounded, and may very well bleed to death if he hasn‘t already: but if you want the assurance of a cold shot, I suggest you employ another.” The tight, thin line of her mouth twitched with irritation. She knew what her mission was, and she’d failed it! She was no longer compliant with the task's requirements.
Sighing, her shoulders dropped as she shook her head once again, “I cannot kill a man who saved my life.”
“You certainly have stronger ethics than Kolya,” Sabarov said, walking over to the bar. Now it was time for a drink, he thought, pouring a ginger ale and bourbon. He turned back to her, deciding he should remind her of his resources. “It’s all understandable, really. Vanishing in a portal like that for months, probably unable to complete the job without raising suspicion. But I know Kolya. If he survives, he will come after you, and someone has already been coming after you.”
“I’ve no doubt,” she replied coolly, “But come what may, I’ll deal with the repercussions as they arise. Ten at a time, if that be the situation! I’ll be prepared. There’s little trust to be had in the world nowadays.”
Pausing, she took a moment to stare frankly at Sabarov, “I count myself lucky to realise this.”
Sabarov’s voice was cool and controlled, though still fairly neutral in tone. “Consider what you’re saying very carefully, my dear. We have a contract, and if you can’t complete the mission you’ll be without a protector. Mr. Nesmith could easily find you if Kolya doesn’t first.”
The Lady sniffed, cocking a feral smile, “What happens will happen; nothing can stop that. And though I am truly sorry I have been unable to fulfil our contract, I cannot go against my personal morals and kill him.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that.” Sabarov’s voice remained cool, and his eyes locked with Reah’s for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. “Ah well. It’s a shame to lose a woman of your talents from my employment. Just stay out of my way.”
***END FLASHBACK***
“So, killing me ain’t going to help you squat!”
Nikolai blinked once, twice, three times at the story. The sad part about it was that she was right. He stopped in thought for a moment. Now he was stuck with a rather strong blonde woman tied to a chair who he couldn’t just justify whacking. “Let her loose.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? She has a temper as bad as mine.”
“Just untie her, Trigger,” Nikolai finished.
Reah intently watched Trigger eying her carefully with an air of disdain. She couldn’t blame him, either! He had every reason to fear for his balls.
Finally breaking into a fluid steam of muttered curses, Trigger warily approached the seat and started carefully loosening all the bonds. He pulled a key from one of his pockets, which then confirmed Reah’s suspicions that she was being held by a pair of cuffs, too.
After a good few minutes the bonds eventually fell free to the ground and Trigger stepped back, a slight jump in his step to clear a good distance between them till he was comfortable. Reah calmly flexed her shoulders and brought her arms around in front of her, wincing at the pain at the movement she was finally able to invoke after being tied up so harshly for so long. She rubbed painfully at the still tender bruising on her wrists and rose ever so slowly from her seat, nearly toppling over flat on her face in the process. She thought the room had spun beforehand!
Nikolai moved to catch her, but she’d caught herself before there was any need and waved him off with a weak hand. Taking a haphazard step forward she stopped in her tracks as yet another, more demanding wave of vertigo ravished through her entire body, causing her to fall back staggering about the small area for a few more steps before she managed to muster some more control.
Once the world managed to still to only a hundred knot spin, Reah raised her head and looked up to Trigger before her, her face a sickly pale white contrasting with the rich red of blood spilt from her mouth that would have vampires’ mad with jealousy, “I think I should’ve stayed seated,” she muttered woozily.
Without warning, Reah’s seemingly weak hand suddenly sprang to life, unexpectedly clenching into a solid fist that hooked around, viciously slamming Trigger hard across the jaw before she crumpled into a barely conscious heap on the dusty warehouse floor.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
November 10th
early morning
As usual, Alessa woke up before Chance; she was an early riser. She opened her eyes and smiled, contented. He had his left arm around her shoulder to hold her body closer to his. Alessa gently pressed on his chest to lift her head and stared at the man lying beside her. She ran her hand down his cheek and gently brushed her lips against his. She figured she'd wait at least a little while before she woke him. Sighing, she put her head back to his chest and closed her eyes again.
Fortunately he was sleeping peacefully. Too many times had he woken screaming from his nightmares. Nightmares that he was starting to remember and that took him to his life as Matthew or his times as Dray’chen. On those occasions she just held him hard and hushed comforting words as he shook in her arms.
She sighed again. It hadn't been easy. Even if she kept repeating to him that there was nothing to forgive, it was clear that he hadn't forgiven himself. But he was trying, she could see that, and it was more than enough for her. That he had opened and accepted her again was more than enough for her.
Sometimes, when he thought she didn’t watch him, she noticed the fury and sadness in his beautiful eyes, and the resolution. He had decided to make it up to the world for what he had done. She just hoped he would one day satisfy his need for redemption.
She had seen it when they had had gone together to see Ernie, and he had stood by the old man’s unconscious form, immobile and silent, or when he had questioned her about her job and she had had to admit that the School Council had “invited” her to resign. She had felt it when he had held her at the memorial, when they had paid their respects to Sorrow, and when he had spoken to the Hyperion survivors afterwards.
He had changed. His smile was less frequent and he spoke less. Sometimes he seemed… detached. It was as if pieces of him were missing. Pieces Dray’chen, or even Matthew, had taken.
He had changed, but it was obvious that his love for her hadn't. She could feel it. He had even told her so, for the first time, he had told her he loved her. Their lovemaking had changed too. It had become more desperate, more intense… It was as if by making love to her he reaffirmed his own self, his old self.
*Anything but detached,* Alessa allowed herself to joke.
Getting serious again, she thought about her own feelings. Maybe he hadn't realized it, but he had filled up parts of her too, parts she didn’t know she had. Chance had made her love again, accept herself. She had felt equal, cherished. She had felt loved, even if he hadn't said the words. It was her time to do so now. To fill up his parts, to find the pieces.
*We are going to complete the puzzle together, love,* she thought, taking his hand in hers. All the pieces would become one in the man she loved, maybe not the man he had been, but the man she loved nevertheless.
Chance stirred. He was on the beach again, holding his hand up against the light was all around him, blinding him, encompassing him.
"Chance." Beckoned the (un)familiar voice from behind, and once more he turned, keeping his arm up, half expecting for some reason not to see anything, that there would just be nothing...
But Chance was wrong.
He turned, and saw. Saw sand stretch away from him. No beach, this. A desert. A wide, open, barren desert.
The voice whispered to him again. "Chance."
This time it was off to his left. Chance turned, as if caught in some slow-motion scene from a movie, as a distant rumbling began to grow louder, a rumbling that had started so quiet he hadn't noticed when it had begun, or if it had been going all the time...
He opened his eyes and goggled when he couldn't remember where he was; the desert… Then he felt her hand gently touching his and her warm breath hitting his chest.
“I’m at home,” he breathed, at peace with the thought.
The second she heard his voice, a huge grin spread across Alessa 's face so big, that Chance could feel it on his chest. She straightened again, to look into his eyes.
“You’ll always be at home with me,” she said.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
12th November,
Alessa’s apartment
Mid-morning
Chance headed into the bedroom and reached under their bed. He produced a wrapped object, just over the length of his arm, and took it back into the living room. The brown blanket was rough and itchy on his hands. He settled the object, still wrapped, on a table and sat down facing it.
Five minutes later he reached out and gingerly peeled back the cloth.
When he was done a gleaming blade awaited him. A blade with a twisted, insane handle. Madness given shape and form.
Dray’chen’s sword.
Chance didn’t know how the weapon had come back into his possession. All he knew was that one morning, without realising it, he had taken the weapon out from underneath the bed. He didn’t know how it had got from the hotel to there, but it had.
And he still had it. Four, no, five times Chance had tried to get rid of the sword. Even just dumping it out of the window.
Once he even made it halfway across the living room before returning it to its place under their bed.
And every time Alessa went out, he took the blade out and gazed at it. Became lost in its writhing hilt, glared at the shining metal.
Like he did now, as if mesmerised. His reflection stared back at him; quizzical, concerned, worried.
Lovingly.
Then, after awhile, he would wrap the sword up and hide it again. Chance didn’t know why he felt it necessary to do so, why he hadn’t told Alessa about it. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. Perhaps he felt she would try and take it away from him; which he couldn’t do even in those moments he wanted to.
After all, this was an implement of death. A demon had used this weapon to butcher women and children. Indeed, there was a minor demon in it that craved blood.
But still, Chance felt a strange attachment to it. One that transcended rational thought.
He looked at the hilt again.
So evil… so dark… His hand reached out to touch it, trembling… It was almost… beautiful.
His fingers brushed the contorting surface, traced the ever-changing curves for a split second, and then.
And then…
And then…
And…
Then…
He was back on the beach - no, in the desert again, burning in the sun. Then rumbling grew and as he turned to look at it he found himself staring at a valley; a life-filled, lush valley in the desert, wondering how something like this could exist here. It was incredible, amazing, unlike everything he had ever seen before. But the rumbling grew and grew, and the valley exploded into flames which swept through it and burnt everything in its path.
He saw death; centuries of it gone by, and centuries more to come. He saw the world forged in blood, and end in the same; thousands and thousands of different apocalypses in split-seconds. And ever in the background, like a backdrop, the valley burned and burned until it was the only thing left. He wept for the life lost and the destruction, but most of all he wept for the valley.
His name was called again, and he turned, and his location changed once more.
This time he stood before the doors of a great building. On a hill. Two pillars rose up either side of the grand door, which was partly open. Light poured forth from the crack, light which brought hope in the darkness, an answer to all the problems, an end to the bloodshed. But he was afraid, afraid to go in. Suddenly he was within arm's reach of the door, could hear something going on inside, and reached out with one hand despite his fear, in slow motion again, his limbs sluggish, getting closer and closer…
And closer…
And closer…
And…
Closer…
Back on the sofa, in Alessa’s apartment, Chance jumped and pulled his hand back as if burnt. Quickly, he folded the weapon away and returned it to where it had come from.