***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
Jerusalem, Israel.
Underneath the site of the Temple of Solomon
Feburary 18th,
Late night
Chance was dragged into the main chamber once more.
This, though, was the last and final time.
His upper body was bare, covered in runes gorged into his skin and bled profusely. His hair was matted with blood and sweat, which also covered his face. His eyes were half closed and almost rolled back into his head.
He had been here before. Once, when Dray’chen possessed him. A second, when Dray’chen was released. And now a third, when he would be released for the third and final time.
Because after this there would be no time. History was coming to an end.
Chance was dumped before the pentagram. Now the main chamber was filled with cultists, murmuring just below audible. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, nor did he want to.
Waiting for him, dressed as ever in the cloak that might be the only part of him that had any substance, was the being with no face. Chance imagined if it had a face to smile, it would be giving an evil one.
“Well… Here we are, Chance. You, and Dray’chen, and me, and soon a Titan.” It paused. “Oh, I do love the feeling of remorse I get from you. You must be in such grief and anguish. And I never tire of telling you that this is your own fault. It’s all because of you. Without you, we couldn’t be here today.” It looked away sharply, then back again. “Oh! Almost time. Don’t go anywhere…” Turning around, the cloak busied itself over the pentagram. Chance assumed this was some form of preperation. Or possibly a blasphemous prayer.
He didn’t care.
This was his moment.
Whilst the cloak had been talking, Chance had managed to shift on to his knees. He was now in a kneeling position with his forehead against the floor.
Four cultists stood around him. Who were looking down. There was a five foot distance between them and the main body of priests, and three between him and the cloak. Who had his back turned.
This was it.
He took a deep breath.
Then pushed his upper body up and rose to his feet; staggeringly fast for somebody who had looked so defeated. With his arms tied behind his back, Chance was only able to kick, but did so to great effect. One foot caught a cultist in the groin, another two fell to a roundhouse kick.
The third advanced, drawing a long, wicked knife. Panting heavily, Chance studied his face; the great green eye that was the cult’s symbol for Dray’chen, and the great dark eyes. The cultist came in with a strike downwards, but Chance dodged left and kicked him in the gut.
The knife dropped from his arm and Chance dived for it, managing to work it into his hands and quickly cut his ropes. He brought his arms into a fighting position against the horde of cultists that had now surrounded him; knife in reverse grip with the blade pointed back along his forearm.
Chance eyed the cultists. They remained just a few feet away, waiting for him to make a move. Slowly, he turned around, waiting for one of them.
Nobody moved. Through such a mass of cultists, undoubtedly more throughout the Temple, escape was both impossible and futile.
But Chance had never aimed to escape.
This was it.
He had the knife.
Giving the cruellest smile he could manage in cracked lips, he spun the knife into an upwards position, gave the cultists one last look…
…then brought it flashing down into his wrist.
The blade slipped through the flesh, drawing blood almost immediately. Chance felt it cut through his artery, blood squirting out to soak him even more.
The arm clutching the knife fell limply to his side, then dropped the knife from numb hands. It clattered to the floor.
There was nothing he could do. It was all because of him. They couldn’t be there if it wasn’t for him. This as the only way. He would become nothing. He would take his own life before they could sacrifice it.
His head began to loll as the blood drained out of him.
Briefly he wondered why the cultists were not doing anything.
Then he heard the laughter.
He turned to follow it. The cloak was laughing at him.
“Well done. Well done! I didn’t personally think you’d do it.” Chance gave him a look of incomprehension. “Look at where you are standing, my friend.” He looked down.
He was standing in the centre of the pentagram; his blood welling on the floor.
Whilst fighting, he must have moved over it.
“The first time we tried this,” The cloak continued, “it didn’t work because we killed the sacrifice. But, according to the old Count, the sacrifice, that’s you remember, must take his own life. Little clause there from the Powers That Be.”
Chance’s mouth dropped open. Tears welled in his eyes. *What have I done?*
The cloak began walking towards him. “Did you not think it was suspicious that I turned my back on you? Was it not I who suggested it would be better if you were not here, that it has been all your fault, since the minute you arrived? Was it not convenient that only four brethren, each of whom carried a sacrificial knife, stood around you, with five feet between them and the others? Didn’t you think your bonds cut a little easy? Didn’t the fact that none of the brethren tried to stop you worry you at all?” He stopped at the edge of the pentagram. “You have been played since you got here, Chance. Like the king in a chess game, I have stripped you of your defending pieces and masterminded you into my trap.
“Check mate.”
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
Tuesday,February 20th 2007
12:05 am
L.A. Train Station
As the train slowly pulled in at the station, Hunter glanced out through the window.
He grinned as he watched the platform.
He was finally there.
He then turned towards the young man who was sitting next to him. The man stared lifelessly at the wall with frightend eyes and his skin had already started to become pale. One small stream of blood hung out from the man's mouth. Hunter's grin slowly grew wider as he watched the stream and he muttered, "It's no idea to leave anything behind."
He grabbed the man's face and took it close to his mouth, then he licked the stream up very slowly. He then threw the corpse away and it landed heavily back in the seat.
Hunter had really enjoyed him, basically as much as he always enjoyed those he fed off and this one's blood had been enough to last for the entire journey.
Normally Hunter wouldn't have rationed the blood, but this time however it was a necessity. He couldn´t afford to draw too much attention to himself from local vampire hunters, not when he was so close to finally finding it.
He awoke from his thoughts as the train suddendly stopped. He then reached for his bag and after looking back at the corpse one more time, he left the compartment.
The vampire slowly made his way through the crowd and was soon greeted by the slightly less crowded streets of Los Angeles.
As he felt the scent of humanity and that of passing cars, he broke into yet another grin.
It was here that it would be.
It was here that his quest finally would reach its end.
As a thin gust of wind touched his face he whispered almost as thinly, "Soon my love... soon we shall be reunited..."
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
January 8th 2007
6am
Tarix looked brilliant with her thin figure and fair complexion, wearing an off the shoulder white dress, looking very cheerful, sitting peacefully in one place. Her blonde hair that was usually messy was tied up into a beautiful bun above her head that showed off her slender neck. Sathawick seemed mesmerized by the image, and he wanted her to stay there forever. She was facing the other way but she seemed to have noticed his eyes on her and turned to looked at him, at first blankly then gave a small smile, her eyes twinkling, making Facer’s heart go aflutter. He felt himself trying to smile back as she got up and approached him.
“Hey Sathawick, what are you doing here?” she said, almost in a whisper.
“Tarix, you look… I, umm...” He suddenly felt confused. *What am I doing here? What is here?* He tried to look around but all he saw was her. “I need to tell you something, I don’t know what.” He looked at her in confusion, “Tarix, something's not right.”
Tarix lightly put her finger on his lips. “Shhh, everything is all right, just the way it should be.” She took her finger back, still smiling but suddenly she looked away as if crying.
Sathawick got up. “I knew it, something’s wrong. What’s happened?”
“You can’t help, sorry, but you can’t. It’ll be this way.” She turned and looked back at him and Sathawick noticed she was crying blood. The red blood started to come out in droplets then in streams down her face, painting her pale complexion red. It dropped down to her dress, painting it too. Sathawick looked at her in horror, not knowing what to do as she looked down and her belly started to bleed too, making it red there.
“No! Tarix…” He tried to step over to her, but she stepped back.
“You can’t help me, it will be done, death will be there. Help her,” Tarix said, almost pleading. She looked down now, her entire body bleeding and flooding everything, so that all around him Sathawick now saw red. Soon the blood reached up to his knees and then hands and he tried to look for Tarix but she seemed to have disappeared into the red blood. The blood came up to Sathawick’s neck and he tried to raise his head to breathe better but it got into his mouth and he started to choke on it.
Sathawick woke up with a start, his head feeling very woozy, and started coughing as he found out he had gulped some water. He looked around and saw there was an ever so slight light coming through. *Must be morning.*
But unfortunately the entire place was flooding, and as Sathawick got off the floor, the water had started to creep up his trousers and was rising fast. He looked around for his bag, for the Codex, but realized it had been taken away along with the tablets, which were missing too. He quickly rushed to the entrance, and by the time he was there water had reached his shoulders. The entrance looked as if an invisible gate was slowly rising, giving the water a way to flood in. *Damn Macabres, they must have dissolved the air spell.*
Before he even started looking, he knew they must have taken his diving suit with them, but to his astonishment he found it floating near his head. He took it and tried to put it on, but realized they had let all the air out of the tank. *OH SHIT!* He frantically looked around, not knowing what to do, and knew that if he wanted to stay alive he’d have to get out of the tomb soon. He took a deep breath, dived in the water and started to make his way through the tunnel. He swam through all the chambers again and as he came out he felt great pressure on his ear drums. Without thinking further he swam to the surface as fast as he could, his lungs now starting to tire.
*Only a bit of distance left to go,* he urged his muscles, and tried to swim faster, his lungs now starting to quit on him. He didn’t know whether he could make it and started to swallow water and feel light in the head, but his mind was intent on reaching to surface. He broke the surface, and almost felt as he would pass out again, and coughed out the water he’d swallowed.
He looked around trying to find the ship and found it a few metres ahead of him. Even though his muscles were aching from the swim, he pressured himself to go on and swam towards the ship, and climbed in. He barely had time to catch his breath when he saw the bodies, lying everywhere. All the crewmembers were dead, even the captain. Sathawick made his way, nauseously, through the bodies and his eyes fell upon Siegfried, his eyes looking blankly up, lying on his back. Facer thought a lot of bad about him, but that didn’t mean he had to die this way. Facer looked up at the sky not knowing what to do once again, and ran to the edge of the boat and started vomiting. The show of bodies had reminded him of the time when he was turned immortal. He sat down and tried to think straight. If he came to the coast with bodies everywhere on the ship, the authorities would send him to prison without a word, and the situation was unexplainable. He looked around and saw that Siegfried’s boat was still parked beside the ship. Perhaps the Macabres thought Sathawick would be killed in the tomb and didn’t think much of taking the boat with them.
Facer jumped in the boat, and started it up and motored his way to the shore.
* * *
Jasmine and Tarix were, as usual sprawled on the ground exchanging whatever notes they had on the prophecy and discussing it quietly whilst Thule went through other books. There wasn’t much that they had found on anything, not even why their bellies had started bleeding suddenly.
“I think I found something,” Jessy announced, breaking the silence, “It's not anything about the ritual of the two but it's about prophecies in general. It says here, ‘There are many types of rituals, some of which can be performed to achieve something at whatever time, and others where the ritual has to be performed on time. Sometimes the coming of the ritual can be predicted by signs.’ Thule, maybe the bleeding of Tarix’s and my bellies had something do to with it, perhaps it was the prophecy’s way of saying,” Jessy made her voice sound really low and scary, “the time is coming.” She grinned.
Thule seemed to have either ignored her humor completed or perhaps it escaped him. “Hmm, it could be so. I have indeed read of many prophecies coming true in such a manner, sometimes with simple happenings, other times worse.”
“How worse?” Tarix said curiously.
“You really don’t want to know.” He turned back to Jessy and was about to say something when his phone rang. Thule nodded as if excusing himself and went to answer the phone. The phone made two loud beeping noises and then went dead. Thule thought maybe it was a wrong number and put the receiver back into the cradle, and just as he had it rang again. And Thule once again answered it, “Hello?”
The voice at the other end wasn’t very clear but still Thule managed to make it out. “Thule? This is Facer.”
“Sathawick? Where are you? Sounds like you’re at the other end of the world.”
“I’m in Egypt, Thule.”
Thule blinked, “What in the world are you doing in Egypt, shouldn’t you be in Bob’s Bar, drunk by now?”
“I came here to find a bit more about the prophecy, and it looks like I wasn’t alone.” This time Thule heard a note of tension from his tone. It had never been the case that Thule had talked to him and he hadn’t cracked a joke within two seconds.
“Sathawick, what did you find?”
“It's not good news, Thule. The Codex of Kum’Wa was in Kum’Wa’s old tomb and Kh’Kum’s new tomb. As soon as I got it and was trying to get out two or maybe more Macabres came in, knocked me out and stole the Codex and a few tablets and flooded the damn place with me in it.”
Thuke felt worried, “Are you all right?”
“Yes I’m fine, but the Codex of Kum’Wa is in bad hands.”
Thule thought for a minute. *I could probably have the Order of Valor handle the Macabres and get the Codex back.* “How about I send a few of the Order’s mages to get the Codex from the Macabres?”
“You took the thought right out of my mind. But make sure they are prepared, seems the Macabres’ magical abilities were underestimated. They seem to possess great knowledge of the dark arts, there was no way they could have broken the air spell without great use of black magic.”
“Sure, I’ll tell them to be careful. What about the Codex of Kh’Kum, where’s that?”
“No need to worry, it's with me, I left in a safe place before I came to Egypt. It's still in America,” Sathawick said, but he still felt as if he had a huge rock on his heart. *I have to tell him.*
“Th…”
“When are you coming back, Sathawick? We could do with a bit of a help from an archeologist here,” he said, not hearing Facer had meant to say something.
“Wha? Oh I’ll be taking the next flight that leaves for L.A. Thule, there’s something I want to tell you, and I hate to be the bringer of all bad news, but this is worse.”
* * *
The twins were still chatting among each other when Thule came in, with a grave face that made them both stop. “Thule, you look as if someone grabbed your intenstines and tied them together. What’s the matter?” Jessy inquired.
Thule didn’t know what to do, or how to put it. He tried to make sure Sathawick wasn’t wrong, that what he was implying perhaps wasn’t true; prophecies always had a way of being wrong. But the more he thought of it, the more he knew it was true. *Now we know why it turned out this way, I wonder if Lynkes knows.* He looked straight at Tarix, and his look made her feel as if she’d turned into a jelly.
“What is it Thule, get it over with,” Tarix said, holding her breath.
“Tarix, it’s, just… Lynkes is your father,” Thule said, wincing.
For a minute nobody made a sound. Then Jessy burst out laughing. “Oh please Thule, couldn’t you come up with anything original?” she said in between laughs. “You shouldn’t pull such pranks. I can see it now, Lynkes in his hideous maroon suit breathing hard, going ‘Jasmine, I am your father’.” She continued to laugh, which made Tarix breathe again, but when she looked at Thule she knew he wasn’t lying. Jessy seemed to notice the look too and stopped dead in her tracks.
“CRAP! Thule, this can’t be true, how the hell can this happen? We wouldn’t be twins if it was true,” Jessy said, upset now.
“Sathawick had a good look at one of the prophecies, it was written there clearly. ‘The two shall rise with power, but that of an unstable one. One a good, the other unclear. One the daughter of the friend, other the daughter of the foe, together being sisters…”
“But that could mean anything, that could mean anything. Thule, it could mean I’m the bad seed! It doesn’t always have to land in her lap.”
But Thule continued, “‘The good shall have the heart a pure, the other will walk the path of darkness, to be brought back to the light which would force her to hide in darkness again.’ There is no way the prophecy could be wrong.”
“Oh for hell’s sake, Thule, you’re supposed to be a researcher. Half of these books I’ve read here on prophecies have also got a bit about prophecy screw ups, when prophecies are interpreted wrong, or just plain nonsense to hide something else. Maybe that’s what it is, maybe Lynkes just changed the prophecy before Sathawick got there. Maybe he wants us to distrust Tarix.” Jessy would have continued on her rant if Tarix hadn’t motioned her to stop.
“Jessy, maybe it is true. I remember once Lynkes changed into my… He became just like dad, to try and train me, how I would react in front of the real one. Maybe, just maybe Lynkes has been doing that from before, maybe he… Maybe mum thought he was… Maybe he seduced mum?”
Jessy looked repulsed at the idea and even more upset that Tarix believed it. “Are you trying to tell me that you admit it, that you’re the enemy? Then why aren’t you butt ugly like them? Why don’t you look like a cross between a Koolang and a Macabre?”
“When Lynkes takes a form, it changes him almost totally on a molecular level, meaning most of his DNA would be exactly like Alfred’s when he did change into Alfred. Except the eyes, which remain in the form of Macabre eyes, perhaps that can be explained more on mystical purposes. It could be that your mother conceived from Lynkes the same day she conceived from Alfred. In other words, the sperms were of the same DNA and somehow produced identical twins.” Thule looked at Tarix who had gone pale but seem to be strong about it, almost like she accepted her fate and knew nothing more could become worse. Jessy on the other hand seem to be getting more upset at every moment.
A moment of reticence fell, until Jessy spoke again, her voice quivering. “Now what, should we tie her up? Kill her? Or send her to Lynkes perhaps, to father dearest,” she said with a sneer, and Tarix winced.
“Jessy, I promise to you, I swear it, I knew nothing about this, and I don’t think Lynkes does either or else he would have used it as a force to turn me to his side, again. And I haven’t been collaborating with him either. If you don’t trust me then you can kill me now.” She stood there and looked into Jessy’s eyes, her own beginning to well up. Jessy bit her lip, the tension becoming thick.
“I believe you,” Thule finally said. “The situation is getting worse but I believe you. However, we’ll have to be more careful now. I’m sorry if our trust isn’t entirely with you Tarix, but you’ve turned before and you might turn again. For the time being we’ll have to carry on with our study and wait for Sathawick to get here, he’ll have something to say. Also I’m going to give Alaric a call, see if he has found any information on the matter.”
He turned away and headed back towards the phone leaving Tarix and Jessy alone. Jessy just looked at Tarix not knowing what to do, then suddenly she turned on her heels, grabbed her coat and headed for the door. “Tell Thule I’m taking a walk to clear my head, sister,” Jessy said before she headed out, almost spitting out the last word.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
Outside Reah’s apartment
Sunday the 31st, December, 2006
13:35
“Hello? Is anybody home?”
‘knock-knock-knock’
“HELLO? MISS KOSSINTON?”
‘KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK’
‘BANG! BANG! BANG!’
“HELLO!”
With a heavy sigh, Cameron turned to Quin in frustration. “She is home, right?”
Receiving a muttered, “Should be,” in reply, he continued.
“And you don’t have any keys. None at all?”
Quin shook her head, jumping when Cameron suddenly banged his head helplessly against the door. “God help me.”
“Who calls for me?”
Cameron frowned at the distant voice that answered his call. *… God?*
“I said: who the fuck is it? I don’t have a bloody peep-hole in this door, yet, okay!”
“It’s me, Reah…”
*Huh? Oh! Reanna?* Cameron quickly straightened from against the door, trying to retain any dignity he could in the process after being shocked out of his daze by Quin’s sudden reply in a firmly dwindling voice. He mentally kicked himself for not recognising the woman’s voice in the first place, let alone actually thinking for a second it was God!
“Oh! Quin? Shit,” Reah’s voice faded into the background, the sound of fumbling keys following soon after could be heard, gradually increasing in volume through the solid timber. “I would have sworn you sounded so much like a man then, Quin. It’s not funny!”
‘click’
“Where’ve you bee…? Cameron?” Reah’s gaze flew right over her cousin, locking intently on the accompanying man. “What the…? What are you doing here?” she frowned. “And what happened to your head? You’ve got pubes on your face!” She couldn’t help but smirk at the new look.
Cameron stiffened his stance, ignoring Reah’s comments and sternly keeping his eyes squarely on hers - for reasons other than the fact that a white sheet was all she was wearing. “My job, Miss Kossinton. Your sister here-”
“Cousin!” They both chimed in correction.
“Fine,” with a sigh, he continued. “I found your cousin last night. She was the victim of an attack.”
“And you saved her?” Reah sounded speculative.
“Yes.”
“Excuse me…” Quin squirmed meekly between the two and quickly rushed off to her room.
Reah was busy watching Quin’s dramatic departure with a perplexed look across her face when Cameron suddenly gripped her harshly by the arm and dragged her out into the corridor.
“Ow, hey! Watch it!”
“Look,” Cameron began, warning, “You may be able to rip my head off right here and now if you wanted but frankly, I couldn’t care! Did you have any idea where your cousin was last night?”
“Hey!” Reah shook him off her arm, shrugging the sheet closer about herself while Cameron willingly crossed his arms expectantly, waiting for her reply. “She’s seventeen,” Reah began in a hushed voice. “And knows enough about the world to make her own calls. I can’t be there for her all the time.”
“Well you should be!” he snapped back quietly. “After last night, you’re lucky you have anyone to be there for!” He paused, shaking his head to the side as though trying to come to terms with what he’d seen, then lowered his voice further. “She was attacked by a vampire last night, and…” *What was with those rats?*
“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOUR FAMILY?” he suddenly burst out, unexpectadly. “Is there some genetic mutation in it, or something?”
“What the hell are you on about, now?” Reah’s voice dripped with venom. Cameron’s arms immediately shot up in defence, almost apologetically.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he sighed, returning to a more normal tone of voice. “I hold nothing against you or your… abilities! Though, true, I didn’t much care for being strangled nearly to death!” he added, subconsciously rubbing his neck. “But… I was partially to blame for that incident; I’ll admit to that. And you did make me breakfast the following morning.”
“Which you all but threw in my face and ran out of the apartment!” Reah promptly cut in.
“You nearly killed me!”
“You intruded on my space and abused me!”
“Okay! Okay!” Cameron soothed, rubbing a shaky hand over his closely shaved head. “I’m sorry, all right?
“Just… please, look after Quinala. You’re all she seems to have… and she’s not like everyone else. She finds it hard to fit in,” he trailed off, his sentence left lingering as he eyed Reah askance. “Just like you.”
Reah frowned defensively. “And what the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
Cameron held off answering her question, and instead turned to leave, then paused mid-step. “Take a look at the vamp bite on her neck. You’ll… ” he sighed.
“Have a happy New Year, Reanna. Make sure it’s not her last.” With that, he trotted off down the hallway towards the stairs, leaving her stranded in a bed sheet, bothered and confused.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
January 25th
“La Rumba Club”
12:30 am
Inés was dancing. She didn’t look at the crowd leering at her, she didn’t look at the girls who danced in the chorus, she didn’t even look at herself in the big mirror behind the stage. She just danced.
The wild rhythm of Chayenne sounded in her ears, in her blood and pulse, and she just moved in accordance to it. Her scant silver attire showing too much of her body, but as always, staying on her. She was not a stripper, as her fans already knew and resented, she just liked to dance, and if they wanted to pay her for doing it, even better!
But that night, as had happened the nights before, she wasn’t really enjoying the dance. She was just exerting herself to oblivion. She contorted and moved gracefully but wildly on the stage, a little too wildly, an observant patron might say, if he really saw past her. Some of the contortions she was doing would have made a real woman hurt herself badly, but they really weren’t paying too much attention to that.
When the music ended she moved away into the shadows, panting and trying to catch her breath. It was just then when she noticed his eyes on her, not that this was strange, but the man watching her was not one of her regular patrons. She looked at him from the cover of shadows, and noticed that the darkness wasn’t deterring him.
He was handsome, black haired and muscular. And he wasn’t human. Inés smiled at him.
James stuck out like a sore thumb in this place and he knew it. *I am the only white guy in a suit in the entire place, I am gonna kill the kid after this.*
James stood at the bar and sipped his drink. He flashed the photo of the kid at the barman and the man shook his head form side to side. He was worried about the kid; Vincent had gone missing for weeks on end before but now it was different. After what he did to Tash, the White Hats will be on the warpath.
James looked up to the dance floor and watched the women dancing, but in the middle of them all there was this one he noticed. He could tell she wasn’t dancing for anyone, she was dancing for herself, she was dancing because she loved it. James watched as her body contorted to the music, never taking his eyes off her. He was entranced, and he wanted her.
She moved steadily towards a table. Some of the loud patrons tried to grab her but she evaded the gripping hands with dexterity. She was used to this, and she could manage herself. Besides, she never left with one them. She liked men, but usually she didn’t mix business with pleasure.
However this one was different. His suit and looks made him stand out in this crowd. She was curious why would a white man come to this place too, usually the customers were gang members or rich boys who wanted to know the “true LA”. Besides, it was the fact that he wasn’t human, although she didn’t know exactly what he was yet. But she suspected she would unravel the mystery soon enough.
She sat down in a corner table and signalled the barman to send her usual drink. She didn’t look at the man even once after that first smile, but she was confident that he would come to her.
James spoke to the bartender. “That woman over there, who is she?” he said, nodding towards Inés.
The bartender gave a chuckle as he smiled, “That’s Inés, my friend, and I don’t think she is your type.”
James growled at the man as he said that. “And how would you know what my type is, my friend?” The bartender merely shrugged him off and went back to cleaning glasses.
James picked up his drink and moved slowly towards the woman at the table. He waved in and out of people with cat like precision. As he reached the table James flashed his signature grin at the woman and spoke.
“Could I sit here, miss…?”
Inés raised her eyes to the man, and she had to admit that when he smiled like that he was even more handsome. His scent came to her nostrils and she recognized it. *Vampire.* Well, that was one question answered, at least.
She smiled up to him.
“Montero, but you can call me Inés. Everybody does.” She gestured towards the chair, “Be my guest.” She watched as he sat down before asking, “And your name is…?”
“Connor… my name is Connor McPherson,” said James as he got comfortably on the chair. He pulled himself in closer to the table and grinned at Inés. “So you’re a demon, miss Inés.”
Inés looked slightly stunned that he had came out and said it. James kept the grin firmly planted on his face.
“Sorry about that. I like to get things like that out of the way, straight away, as you can see. You can probably tell I'm a big evil nasty vampire yourself.”
Inés smiled as well, if he wanted to talk openly it was perfect for her. She didn’t hide her nature after all. Not to other non-human creatures, at least.
“That I can tell, your scent is hardly indistinct.” She leaned over the table herself, resting her face in her hands. “So, what are you doing here? Looking for a snack? I can tell you that you won’t like my blood, too bitter for your kind.”
She smiled sweetly. “But you could always try,” she added, mischievously.
Inés laughed when she saw his expression, she liked playing games. “I’m hungry,” she said simply, “Would you take me to dinner? I hate the stuff they serve here.”
James smiled. “I would love to take you to dinner.” He got up from the table and held out his arm which Inés took as they walked out arm in arm.
Inés smiled impishly at James as she spoke, “What’s the most expensive restaurant in this city?”
James gave a wide toothed grin. “I have no idea, but let’s just drive around the rich area for a while until we find some snotty looking French doorman. I’m sure he will be able to tell us.”
She laughed again, and gave him a quick kiss in the cheek. “Just give me a minute, I’ve got to change. No French restaurant would welcome me in this attire.”
James threw her an appraising glance. “I wouldn’t mind, but go. I’ll wait for you at the bar.”
A few minutes later Inés appeared again. She was wearing a form fitting white dress, she usually favoured white, with a deep front and even deeper back. However, she didn’t look cheap - the dress was a Dolce & Gabana, after all. She enjoyed the look in Connor’s eyes, and bowed her head graciously.
As they reached James’ car, Inés held a mildly surprised look on her face which he noticed straight away and quickly commented on. “What were you expecting, a horse?”
James opened the passenger door to his BMW and allowed Inés to slide in. As soon as she was in, James closed the door behind her and walked over to the driver’s side and started it up. James smirked at Inés as he drove off.
They were silent for a few minutes, just watching the road. Inés felt strangely at ease with the vampire. She had been in a frenzy the last few days, and had thought this man would help her subdue it. She took a quick glance at his profile and sighed inwardly, she wasn’t really hungry. At least not for food.
“Tell me, Connor. What was a vampire like you doing in a place like that?” She turned in the seat, taking off her silver sandals and crossing her legs under her.
James turned to look at Inés for a second and smiled, "Well I was kinda looking for my son..."
The look on Inés’ face was one of utter confusion. "I thought vampires couldn’t have children?"
James chuckled as he spoke, "Yeah, you are right, we can’t. He’s more my adopted son, and he is… shall we say? quite the horny little bastard. He’s always out with girls and recently he’s taken a shine to Latins.”
Inés smiled. "So, does he take after his father in the horny bastard department?" she taunted as she crisscrossed her legs, which she caught him looking at.
He smirked again and just drove down the street. He was contemplating something, and Inés could notice the change in him.
“What are you thinking, Connor?”
James turned briefly to look at Inés and spoke. “I’m contemplating whether you are really hungry or if to take you up on your offer of nibbling on you.” James’ signature grin was spread wide across his face at this point.
Inés looked at him and smiled too. He was direct. This one wasn’t the kind of man she was used to; the use and discard type. He looked dangerous, but she was tired of boys. She evaluated him silently for a minute, her gaze flew from his grinning face to his fit body and finally to his arms and hands. Hands usually were the death of her.
James’ hands were strongly gripping the steering wheel. The sight made her go all queasy inside, she loved men’s hands. His arms looked strong under his suit and soft hair appeared from inside Connor’s sleeves stopping in just the right place. She wondered how they would feel on her.
With an effort she had gaze returned to his face. “Are you a mind reader too?” she asked, a little breathlessly.
James turned and looked at the demoness. “Not really, but I know a guy who is.” James continued to drive until he got to a large house with high gates with hedges just poking over the top. He grinned at Inés.
“I have an idea, why go thought the whole dinner thing, with the outrageous flirting when we can just cut to the chase?” James took a small plastic remote from his jacket and pressed the button, opening the gate.
Inés watched the gates opening and turned to James with an impish smile. “I guess you already know my answer.”
James drove up until a big brick house. It stood three stories high and graceful white columns guarded the double door entrance. She took her sandals and extended her hand for him to take after he opened the car’s door. He took it and helped her out, but instead of releasing it she was surprised when she felt him pull her close to his body, taking her firmly in his arms. Inés laughed in anticipation and crossed her arms above his head, the silver sandals resting against James nape. She had to look up to him.
“Will you respect me in the morning?” she asked merrily, but before he could answer she disentangled herself laughingly and walked up the steps, her bare feet silent against the hard stone floor.
James shook his head in amusement and followed her towards the door. As they reached it the shadows converged onto Inés. James looked at Inés and waved his hand, speaking towards the living shadows.
“She’s with me.” The shadows that had quickly converged onto the woman, just as quickly disappeared.
Inés looked at James, confused. “What were those things?”
“Those,” he answered, “are shadow souls. Basically, think of demons of shadow. They make really good guards.” James turned the handle on his door to reveal a dimly lit hallway, and gestured her to enter.
As Inés walked into the house it struck her as odd that a vampire could afford such accommodations. She followed James to what appeared to be the living room and noticed that there was a large mirror hanging above the massively adorned fireplace. She looked at James and then back to the mirror.
“Why would a vampire want such a large mirror?” she asked, intrigued.
James’ face became very solemn for a moment. “It’s to remind me I will never be human.”
Inés looked intently at him. There was no shallowness in this one; his cocky grin surely hid more depths than she had guessed. She looked back at the mirror; it was strange and yet familiar to find only her reflection there.
She turned around, admiring the room; it was elegantly decorated, with high French windows, heavily curtained, lining one of the walls. A pair of comfortable looking sofas faced the fireplace. She was startled when it came alive with merry flames. She looked back expecting a remote control of some kind, but he had nothing in his hands. He grinned again.
“A simple spell a friend taught me,” he explained. She just raised an eyebrow and extended her hands to the fire as if to test its reality.
“Cold?” he asked when he saw her approach the fireplace. She moved with the grace of a cat, he thought, as he admired her perfect back. He strode towards a drinks cabinet and took a bottle and glasses. At the sound of liquid pouring she turned around and smiled.
“I’m never cold,” she answered, coming forward to accept the glass he was handing her. She sat down and crossed her legs, leaning back. “But I may need warming up, anyway,” she added, devilishly.
“Is that so? I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t comply, then,” he said and smirked at her.
With low-lidded eyes she watched him walk towards her. He walked with a careful, meticulous muscular grace that made him irresistible in her eyes. Inés wondered if he knew how hard it was for her to stay still.
James sat down next to her, and took the glass from her hand. He brushed her hair back from her face and relished the feeling of the tumbling curly mass. Inés closed her eyes, and just arched her head back, exposing her neck for him. He didn’t need more invitation; with a growl he lowered his face to the fragrant spot, and ran his sharp teeth along her neck.
“Careful,” she whispered, when she felt him bite gently onto her flesh, but with rising urgency. “Don’t drink, you won’t like my blood,” she warned. She knew for a fact that Verbati blood tasted like bile to vampires, but she also knew that he would savour her before the night was over, anyway.
He laughed softly against her skin, but stopped the nibbling. Instead he took her in his arms and carried her closer to the fire, setting her on the soft rug before it. She kissed him then, and he responded by pulling her closer, feeling the curves of her body fit against the flats of his. They fitted together as if designed for each other.
His mouth laved downwards, kissing and licking the exposed flesh as clothes were tossed aside. His hands expertly stroked her, and Inés found herself thinking that the night would prove to be too short.
***
When Inés woke up hours later, she was in James’ bed. She didn’t know when along the night they had gotten there, but she luxuriated in the feeling of satin sheets. The room was almost dark, but she knew it was daytime. The sun was pulsing through the closed curtains.
James slept beside her, cool and quiet. She missed the rise and fall of breathing in his chest. Their legs were a tangle and his arm was holding her possessively even in sleep.
She looked up at him and felt a smile playing at her lips. He looked so peaceful in slumber. She traced his collarbone with her finger; amazed that she had actually enjoyed Connor’s lovemaking.
It all had been a blur since she had found traces of Raúl again, faces and feelings and details mixing together until last night. This vampire had somewhat awakened her. And she wanted to remember Connor even if she didn’t see him again. He was without a doubt one of the most enjoyable lovers she'd had. She smiled and closed her eyes; she was asleep again in a few minutes.
Inés dancing attire
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
January 25th
James’ house
11:00 am
Inés woke up again in the middle of a nightmare, she opened her eyes suddenly and watched her surroundings. She couldn’t believe she had fallen asleep so soundly again that the familiar nightmare had crept into her dreams. She was still lying in the crook of Connor’s arm, and the vampire still slept. Well, at least she hadn’t disgraced herself by awakening screaming and crying. That was good.
Carefully, she disentangled from his sleeping form and jumped off the bed. She looked around for her clothes but couldn’t find any. Looking around she searched for something to put on; there was only Connor’s shirt, but she didn’t dare to open any of his drawers so she put that on. It was way too big for her, but it would serve to get to the living room to collect her dress, at least. Giving she could find her way back there, of course.
As she closed the door silently behind her, she felt violently hungry. She chuckled, *That serves me right for skipping dinner!* Well, she didn’t think Connor would mind her raiding his kitchen before she went. Provided there was any human food in it, of course.
Darlome and Vincent sat in the kitchen watching the morning news. Darlome watched in awe as Vincent clicked through all 900 channels in less than a minute.
“Kid, how do you manage to change the channels so fast and know what’s on?”
Vincent sat smirking away as he flicked thought the channels. “It’s my elite gaming thumbs, had a bit of a 16 bit childhood in the orphanage, ya know?”
Darlome chuckled, “Yeah, in my day I had a stick and a piece of rope.”
Vincent turned from his channel hopping and looked at Darlome. “Skippy, dude, what the fuck kind of game can you play with a stick and a piece of rope?”
Darlome looked shocked, “What, kid, you never heard of stick rope! Stick robs the shit man, it was all the craze back in my day… That and break dancing.”
Vincent’s face was one of utter confusion by this point. “Dude, you can break dance?”
Darlome shook his head up and down. “Damn straight boy, I am the best dancer in this house.”
“Dude, I so disagree. I am so the best dancer in this house.”
Darlome stood up and stared down at Vincent, “Wanna put your money where your mouth is?”
Vincent stood up to match his friend, going head to head, “Damn straight, demon boy.”
Inés quickly walked by Darlome and Vincent and went straight to the fridge. She took out a jug of milk and poured some in a bowl. Then she turned and faced Darlome and Vincent, looking at them up and down. She smiled sweetly.
“Where is the cereal?” she asked the astounded men.
Both Darlome and Vincent, not taking their eyes off each other, pointed to the cupboard at Inés’ feet.
Inés thanked them and bent to retrieve a cereal box from the cupboard. She then proceeded to sit on a high stool next to the table and prepare her cereal.
She was enjoying the situation. It was obvious that for all his charm, Connor rarely took a woman to his home. The thought made her feel good, and she smiled to herself as she finished her cereal, washed the bowl and placed it in the cupboard.
Finally she spoke to them again. “Would one of you be so kind to direct me to the living room now?”
The men still said nothing. She sighed, this was awkward. “Big fire place, soft rug? I need to collect my dress, you know?” she added gesturing to Connor’s shirt.
Vincent reacted and explained to her how to get to the living room. She smiled sweetly at him and left the kitchen, although in the last moment she turned. “And I’m the best dancer in this house,” she said before she retreated with a merry laugh.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
January 9th 2006
4pm
Somewhere near the border of Mexico
Lynkes had been in his study room all day waiting for the news about the Codex. He had full plans to capture the twins; right after he had found them and tortured them and presented their mutilated bodies to the Council, perhaps he'd have a bit more fun with his former pupil before killing her off too. He had a soft spot for her and knew he had to give her a special treatment. But he soon found about some prophecy and decided that as always he’d remain patient, before he could plan his next move.
He had the twins tracked and all whom they contacted. One of them was Sathawick, who had proved to be the most useful source ever. He had led them to the Codex and the tablets, and it was Lynkes who finally gave the order for his men to bring back the tablets and the Codex, flood the tomb with Sathawick in it and make sure none of the people on the expedition stayed alive to tell the tale. He had waited ever more impatiently for the objects to come in and be examined and now he was getting a bit restless. He decided it was time for him to go and see them himself, and got up to head towards the examination room.
There were four Macabres in the examination room, analyzing the tablets. One of them was using a scanner to scan the hieroglyphs into the system for better examination and thorough interpretation. Another Macabre was doing the same to the Codex, and after her was finished he had it put on a special stand so he could focus on the codes scanned in. Lynkes came in and asked the closest one to give his a report on the progress. The Macabre nodded obediently and printed a report out. Lynkes took the report and read it. The tablets so far told of the prophecy, that if a ritual of the two was completed it would bring peace to all Koolangs and Macabres, and it would end the separation and bring back the Kumacs.
Lynkes finished and looked up, “Is that all you have?”
The other Macabre looked slightly nervous, “Um, no sir. There is more but…” He looked at the others who looked just as nervous and tried to look busy.
“Well, give it to me then,” Lynkes said tightly.
The assistant seemed reluctant at giving the second report to him, but did so nonetheless. Lynkes read the report and seem shocked by it, reading it again. Finally he looked up knowing what it meant.
“Has anyone else seen this?” he said.
“Um, yes sir.” The employee looked nervous, yet very intrigued at the same time. Many people knew Lynkes, and most of which were proud to have him as a Macabre because of his hunting techniques and skill. It was very popularly known that he had been tracking the last known Koolang family for many years, which they were now close to killing. However, the prophecy being verified and Lynkes having close links with the Koolangs could only lead to one thing, and that could mean court martial for Lynkes.
“Quickly, tell me who?” Lynkes inquired; he himself knew that he could be in serious trouble.
“Well, I have for one, and I found it most intriguing,” sounded a voice behind Lynkes and he turned around to find himself face to face with Kaya. She was looking at him with a devilish smile.
“In fact I found it so interesting I shared it with some of my other “friends” on the K’Kya, and they agreed with me. They also told me to tell you to get ready for an emergency meeting in three hours. They want you to appear in front of the Council, and explain the story better,” she sneered, waiting for Lynkes to say something. She looked at his face and saw a slight glitter of fear. Pleased, she turned on her heels and left.
Lynke’s mind started working ferociously and he suddenly came up with a plan. He turned towards his team of Macabre researchers. “Keep me updated of every single item you discover, and make it fast, in about two and a half hours I want to know everything about the Codex and the prophecy, is that understood?”
He saw many of them nodding, and turned to leave and stopped as he heard no movement behind him, “Well? What are you waiting for? Get on with it!!!” And he left, just as the Macabres started rustling about again.
Lynkes came to his office and sat down on his couch. He looked around and saw the familiar setting of his office. He spent most of his time in his office and even more time in the Macabre settlements. There were a total of eight Order of Death settlements all over the world, and they were all controlled by a K’Kya, a Council, and ever so occasionally all the councils all over came together to meet. The settlements were well protected and were almost isolated and un-noticed. It was a home of to all the Macabres, the central upper part being the Council chambers and offices, while the outer part was more of an industrial part where Macabres had their farms and evening manufacturing, and overall being very self-sufficient. Underneath it all were the homes of the Macabres, and if one walked down there they wouldn’t even know they were thousands of feet under the ground level.
However, the Macabres were always governed by rules issued by the Council, and if any rule was broken, the Macabre would be judged by the Council, and most certainly be exiled and taken away from the protection, if he or she were found to be guilty. Lynkes was now in the possible danger of being exiled, and he knew it. He stood up and went to his phone and dialed a number. He spoke for a few minutes, discussing what had happened, to the other side. He listened and nodded and told the person at the other end what he had planned.
There was a knock on the door, and he spoke into the phone, “Fine, I’ll see you in time for the meeting.”
He put down the phone. “Come in.”
The door opened to reveal Kaya, she was dressed in red leather, which matched her maroon complexion quite well. “Hello Lynkes,” she said, smiling.
“Well, if it isn’t the back stabbing bitch. Why have you come here? Shouldn’t you be getting ready to have me shunned out of the Order?”
Kaya bared her teeth into a gruesome smile. “Lynkes, do you know how much I felt hurt when I found out you had,” and she said this in the most repulsed way, “slept with a Koolang? Filthy creatures. How could you? You were supposed to hunt them, like the animals they are, not start a family with them. I told the K’Kya this only because I knew such an offence is punishable.”
Lynkes looked back, coldly in her eyes, “It’s not up to you to decide, Kaya, but the Council, and as I have been on the Council for long enough time, I have a feeling the punishment might be a bit lenient.”
“Oh please, don’t be in denial. The Council wouldn’t give a Koolang’s shit over whether you are in the Council or not.” Lynkes knew this was right but he didn’t show it, remaining stubborn. “However, I’m sure I could make an arrangement.” She leaned in towards Lynkes and touched his lips with her finger, “I mean, you will definitely be removed from the Council, and I would be the one they choose to replace you, and perhaps I could stop the exile. Even have you work under me, what do you say?”
Lynkes smiled and took his right hand and caressed Kaya’s cheek. “That would be just so much more lenient.” He then leaned in close as if to kiss her, but shoved her violently and she landed on the floor. “Did you even think I’d take it, being your slave? I’d rather be in exile. Now go, leave me alone, I’m sure you need to practise your speech in front of the Council.” He turned his back on her, as the enraged Kaya silently left.
Exactly half an hour before the Council was to meet, Lynkes received the report on the Codex and the prophecies, and he read them twice and put them down, his plan coming together. He went and rang one of his most trusted employees. “I am expecting a very important guest. As soon as he arrives, I want you to escort him into the meeting. Yes, yes, I know it’s not allowed, but do as I say.” He then waited for the Council guards to come, which they did on time, to escort him to his hearing, carrying a briefcase with him.
Lynkes entered the familiar Council hall, where many of the meetings and hearings were carried out. The hall was mostly painted in black and red, giving it an eerie touch. The Council sat around on a “U” shaped table, and Lynkes was seated in front of the opening. His true position was on the table on the right, which he saw was currently taken by Kaya. Lynkes looked around the other nine faces of the Council and waited for them to begin.
“Henry Lynkes, you have been charged with a treason and disrespect to the oldest rules of the Council. Having sex with and collaborating with a Koolang, how do you plead?” said Kaya.
“I plead guilty and not guilty, to the Council. And ask permission to explain myself.”
“Denied,” said Kaya hastily.
Lynkes looked at her as if she had stepped out of line, as did some of the other Council members. “I’m sorry, how long have you been here, my child? I really liked your little questioning there, but do leave the answers to more experienced members, will you?” Kaya turned pale and sat back.
“Fine, get on with it Lynkes, you have ten minutes to explain yourself,” said Limga who was one of the oldest one on the Council, and who seemed to like Lynkes the most.
“Thank you.” Lynkes got up and took papers out of his briefcase and handed it to the Council guards to give the papers to all the members. “As you can see, the first page shows the ancient writing on the tablets of Kum’Wa’s original tomb. They are in simple Egyptian language and after many hours of analyses we have come up with the translations. One of which is why I am here I presume. The other, however, tells us a bit more about the ritual and how it can be performed. So far from what is gathered, if the ritual is performed it will bring peace to the Macabres and Koolangs. I have a feeling the only way this can be achieved is by the end of the separation.”
All around there were gasps, and whispers. “Yes, the end of the separation, meaning we’ll go back to being Kumacs.”
“But how can this be? There are not enough Koolangs left for them to link with all the Macabres,” said Gofta, another Council member.
“It can’t be. That’s the thing, and if I have conducted my research correctly, in Kumacs if one soul died the body died and killed the second soul. Meaning if the ritual is done, all Macabres will be turned into one-souled Kumacs and will eventually die.”
There was stunned silence.
“However, I plan on carrying out the ritual.”
This created an uproar, which Limga calmed down. “Lynkes have you lost your mind? You are already under treason, what the hell do you wish to achieve with this?” he said.
“Ever since I was born the Order of Death was set upon hunting the Koolangs. By all means, hunt, but what about us as a soverign nation of the world? What about us having power over the humans? We always seemed to be after one aim, when we could have been so much larger. Maybe it was because we thought we didn’t have the power? But after the ritual is conducted, according to my way, we shall have all the power we have dreamed of.” Lynkes walked towards Limga.
“I agree, and if the Macabres can do this, you can have even our full support.” Everyone turned towards the entrance and saw a demon with orange skin step in. “Thank you for your call, Lynkes,” said Alaric, “I didn’t know you had a kid. Anyway, I agree with Lynkes on the count that Macabres should stand up in the world. I have looked into your magical capabilities, yet you only keep them to hunt down an already dying race.”
Limga stood up, “Alaric - it is Alaric, isn’t it? You are one of The Five of the Order of Valor.” He turned to Lynkes, “What is he doing here?”
“I have come here because Lynkes has been consulting with me for a few weeks now. You see, this Koolang that you speak of is currently living with another member of The Five as we speak, with her sister. This member knows nothing about my contact here, however I have been helping him with his own research. But let’s get down to the point, and I guess that’s why I’m here. If what Lynkes tells me is true, and you can pull of the ritual, then Order of Valor is behind the Macabres, supporting them.”
“You mean the prophecy that’s going to kill us all?” Limga said.
Lynkes stepped in. “Turn to page three and you’ll see what I mean. On the Codex are markings, which are hard to translate but my team has done their best. Believe me, this Codex can be tuned and fixed into such a position that the ritual, if carried out, will not only fit into the prophecy, but will release all the five powers of the Koolangs into us, killing the twins, and of course bringing peace between us and the Koolangs. I mean, how can we kill when there will be none of them left?” He smiled and the rest of the Council started whispering.
“But what of your child, the seed of your treason, the Koolang, what of her? It is in our code to exile treason and protect the children of Macabre, you have put us in a difficult place, Lynkes,” Limga continued.
“That’s where you are wrong. She is not a child of a Macabre, but a child of a human, whose form I took. She has none of the Macabre characteristics, but more of a Koolang and a human one. Thus I plead not guilty to the terms that she is my child,” continued Lynkes. “There is something else my team has discovered, and that is we can stop the separation from ending but we need the other Codex, the Codex of Kh’Kum, and currently it is in the hands of the Seer called Sathawick. Sathawick was the same man who led us to the tablets and the Codex, but my men searched him and all his possessions and they have yet to find the Codex. We have also found out that Sathawick is alive, which could work to our advantage in getting the second Codex but we need the help of the Order of Valor.”
“I’ll do my best to help, too, as long as I am promised the chaos I seek after the ritual of course,” Alaric said with a smile. “So, does the Order of Death accept the help of the Order of Valor? Even though logically enough you shouldn’t even have to consider, but a formality is a formality.”
Limga looked at the other members who looked back, and Gadhot, another old member spoke. “Lynkes, if what you say if true and the power of the Koolangs can indeed return to us, than I support it.”
All along there were murmurs of agreement, accept from Kaya who sat rigid in her place. “I’m sure we are willing to forget the treason you committed as an act of prophecy and will take you back on the Council. However, if you fail us again, the result will be dire,” said Ligma.
He turned to the other members, “Well gentlemen,” he said, ignoring Kaya, “I think we should accept the gracious hand of a fellow demon. Is there anyone who refuses this?” Kaya raised her hand. “Sorry Kaya, your vote shall be ignored as you are no longer on the Council. Alaric, you have our acceptance.”
“Very well, the Order of Valor always welcomes new collaborations. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must be going.” Alaric turned and was escorted out by one of the Council guards.
Lynkes turned back to the Council and walked over to his position on the table where Kaya was seated and asked her to move. Embarrassed, Kaya got up and left the Council hall.
“I think the Council should move to research more on the ritual and as soon as we have everything on the matter, I suggest we get the twins and get the ritual over with, bringing power to the Macabres.”
All around Lynkes, around the table, all the members called out, “Power to the Macabres!”
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
Tuesday the 2nd, January, 2007
13:07
Big Al led his newest client down what most people would call a hellhole of a street. They only called him Big Al, of course, on account of his start selling used automobiles. That and the fact that nobody believe him when he said his name was Googlord, so he just went by Al.
"I am telling you, my dear Ms. Kossinton, this place is a real steal!" They were standing in an old, run-down house, specifically the kitchen. "Why, just look at the fine workmanship that went into these lovely cabinets!" He raised his hand to tap on it, then watched as the door came crashing to the ground.
Al looked slightly embarrassed at this, but waved it off. "Just, eh, some assembly required in the kitchen obviously. But a real bargain!" Now all he had to do was to hope that she didn't ask about the house's history, good lord Azomandius, he always lost the sale when they asked about it.
"So, my dear, is there anything else that I can tell you to help you make the wise decision to buy this magnificent... uh... fixer-upper?"
“I’ll take it!” Reah chimed, beaming with enthusiasm.
“Really?”
“Hell no!”
Reah thrust an arm out, gripping the sales-demon, firmly, by the shoulder, and gave him an ‘encouraging’ squeeze, “Look, mate, I’m looking to open up a business, not bury myself in rubble. Do I look like the DIY kinda chick?” She smiled broadly and gave him a little extra ‘encouragement’, “Do I look like your regular chick?”
Turning her gaze from the demon, Reah rubbed a sceptical finger across a benches surface with her free hand, eyeing the grimy residue that came away on her finger after leaving a clear trail through the grot, "Just out of curiosity, what's the history of this place?"
"Easy, easy there pally!" Al sputtered out, pulling away. The woman had a grip! But even worse, she had asked the unmentionable question. "History, eh?" At her look, he continued. "It's minor, really, not much to it. Same old, same old. Landowner moves in, buys house, lives here for a decade. Then there's the triple homicide, and he dies intestate."
Reah eyed the demon as sceptically as she had the location. She’d need to fight this demon in order to get what she wanted… but not in the ‘killing’, ‘ouch, my leg, my leg’ sense.
“Well…” she sighed and took a look around the kitchen again, nudging the fallen cupboard door on the floor half-heartedly with her foot, “I… suppose. If this is the best I can get… I suppose I can get it off you.” She paused, securing him firmly with her hardened eyes, “This is the best I can get, right?”
"I think I know exactly what you're looking for," the demon said at last, smiling broadly. Twenty minutes later they stood in a place that was arguably worse than the one before. The fact that it was a crypt was a bad enough; the fact that there were still rotting corpses left in that crypt just made matters worse. There had been lights installed which now fell down from the ceilings.
"Well, um, ok, it's not the best in the world, I do confess. But for your clientele, this is a wonderful place - and the cemetery! There are so many new vampires created here, you will have a client base right off the bat!"
Reah was seriously starting to reconsider her tactics.
“OKAY! I’ve decided… you’re a demon… I’m a human… I could kill you, and there’d be no repercussions!” she remarked as casually as if they were discussing the best bleach to remove grass-stains with. “Now… Hi! I’m looking for a suitable place to set up my business that’ll be catering for both demons and humans! What can you show me that’ll best suit your interests?”
Al gulped several times. There would be some repercussions; they thought he was human at the company at least, but the autopsy wouldn't be the best. "Alrighty then, pally, pally, no... hehe... no need to get upset. Let's just have a little look see...." Her options would, from what he had available, be severely limited.
A short drive later, they pulled up outside a small rotting building with the resemblance of an old, disused public toilet.
“Keep driving, mate.”
“I needed to go to the bathroom!”
“Sure you do! And I care from the deepest regions of my bloody heart! Now keep driving before I give you a dire need to use a toilet!”
Another short drive later, they stood at the ruins of an old church. "Ok, ok, I realise it's not the most efficient place to deal with the undead," Al started his sales pitch when they entered the cobweb infested building. "But, I mean, look around! Lots of nice storage room, built to accommodate crowds - and hey, pally, built in crosses guarantee that vampires won't be a problem if you don't want them to be one! What, what do you think?"
“Vampires won’t be a problem, with or without the crosses,” Reah waved off the comment and looked around. She could imagine Quin having a field day here: she loved all that kookie gothic crap, and this place literally reeked of it! Even Reah herself - who didn’t hold much appreciation at all for this sort of thing - had to admire the architecture.
“It’s… all right… I guess.” She needed more convincing, she wasn’t confident that half of her clientele would be rushing to line up at her doors. Plus, it was all too… It needed something else. “Does it have other levels? Anything else I should know about? It’s good! But still, just not quite what I’m looking for. And, hey! Church! I’m not buying it.”
She turned to him, “You live amongst the humans, so you know the type of requirements that’d suit them… but you’re also a demon, so you should also know what requirements need to be met for them! Now think about it! As much as I hate to admit it, this place would half symbolise you - living amongst the human world, but hiding the secrets of the under!” Why couldn’t she just kill him: that was oh so much easier!
Big Al licked his lips nervously; he didn’t like to think of the consequences if he didn’t manage to find something for the woman soon! “Well, I may have one last option. It hasn’t been on the market long, but... I don’t like to get your hopes up, pally, but it’s a bit of a long shot.” He started fidgeting with the folder in his hands, “It’s got… issues.”
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
February 3rd
Hilton Hotel, London
7:30 pm
Alessa hung up the phone.
It seemed that all she was doing lately was hanging up the maldito teléfono! Once again she hadn’t found Chance. She paced away from the phone and entered the bedroom of the suite, frustrated. It was just as well that in two days she would be returning to the States.
She hadn’t talked with her lover almost since she got to London; he was never home, and on the rare occasions when they had actually talked he had sounded distant and aloof. Alessa bit her lip. It wasn’t his usual manner, and she had not had much more luck when talking to Darian or Cole, they just didn’t know what was happening with Chance. A call to Tash had told her that he hadn’t been attending the last White Hats meetings either.
She was worried about him, but she was also angry. That was probably the reason why she hadn’t hurried her trip back home. She thought it most unfair of him not to let her, at least, be calm these days in London. The last time they had talked she had almost begged him to join her in England, but he had sounded disinterested. After the argument they had had exactly about that point!
She hadn’t had much more to think about the last days, worrying sick over him, recounting their argument in her head once and again, retelling the few phone conversations they had had, rehearsing what she would tell him when they talked again. She hadn’t enjoyed her stay in England at all.
Alessa’s eyes flashed, well, she was going to enjoy herself this night. Ellis was going to take her to the opera, and she was eager to go. The man had been just too nice to offend him by refusing his invitation.
Since Ellis had felt enough at ease to tell her about his demon police, or DP as he jokingly called them, he had been much more open with her. She had even met some of his ‘associates’. She had learned that his little operation wasn’t indeed so little.
There was a DP quarter in almost all the cities where Longwood Inc. had offices, and it was composed by an assortment of humans and demons, joined together by their wish to prevent wanton destruction of demon races. Some of these demons belonged to Hunters’ associations themselves, but only hunted those demons who were dangerous, or vampires. When they came across a case of a psycho or sporting hunter they stopped him or her. She suspected that there was more to it than that, but for now it was all he was willing to tell her.
Alessa dressed up for the evening, taking especial care with her appearance. She knew the London Opera was an extremely elegant place, she didn’t want to be underdressed. She put on a dark red dress with a big flowered pattern, made of a gauze-like light material. The flounces moved and shifted when she moved with a most enchanting effect. It was a dress made in heaven.
She had bought it for Chance there in London, on an impulse. He had told her once and again that red was her color. She didn’t think that he would mind her wearing it today, although if she weren’t so mad at him she would probably have saved it and worn another dress.
After a last look at herself in the mirror, she applied another layer of crimson lipstick to her mouth and threw back her hair. She looked ok, she thought, maybe a little too Latin for the English ladies, but she wasn’t a tamed English rose.
Then she turned to the phone. *Just one more time,* she thought and dialed her apartment’s number. She waited several minutes until it was clear that nobody was going to pick up the phone. Angered, she hung up the phone violently, turned around and left the room.
Alessa is kidnapped by Danny Lassiter
*** February 4, 2007, early morning ***
*** Hyde Park ***
Hyde Park was a massive place, Alessa thought as she walked the silent lanes that crisscrossed the place. She had been there before, and little had changed in all the years. Sure, there hadn’t been cycle tracks and the open concert hall had looked much smaller. But horses still rode beside you and rowers still crossed the Serpentine. She walked along the Serpentine Road. It was really early in the morning, not long past dawn. She enjoyed the solitude, only a couple of jogging men and a group of people on horseback had passed her. It was good to just walk.
She already knew which roads to take to her favorite spots; she had taken to strolling in the park on the mornings since she had gotten to London, only that today it was earlier than usual. She hadn’t been able to sleep all night and finally had decided to take a walk. She was worried sick about Chance, and was grateful that the next day she would be back home.
Well, at least Inés was acting like herself. She had talked with her at least a couple of times a week, and the demoness sounded happy enough, even mentioning some new guy she had met. It was as well, she seemed to have gotten over discovering Raúl in LA. With those thoughts in her mind, Alessa turned to get onto the Serpentine Road. It would be most beautiful at this hour, she thought.
Danny stood in the shadow of a tall tree watching Alessa Hunt stroll through the park. It was early, and the park was relatively empty. Alessa wasn't on alert, but seemed to just be wandering, thinking to herself. Danny had studied her for weeks. He was fairly sure this was the right time to take her. She often came to this park, across from her hotel, apparently to think. Danny didn’t even want to venture a guess as to what the demon had to think about. He just wanted to get the job done. He'd be delivering the demon girl to Delancre in a matter of hours, and collecting his fee. Once he had the money in the bank he could stop thinking about the girl, and that would be all the better. This job was making him very uneasy, but he couldn’t quite figure out why.
Danny moved through the trees, headed for a secluded spot along the path. He would grab the girl there.
Alessa was walking along the road when she spotted yet another fountain among the trees, she loved those fountains, and they were hundreds of years old. She moved away from the road towards the structure, she wanted to give it a closer look. As she entered the spot she felt a couple of strong arms grab her from behind. She tried to scream but a nasty smelling piece of cloth covered her mouth. Furious, she tried to morph but she just couldn’t. Her sight started to blur and she fell limply into her attacker's arms.
Danny grabbed the girl near one of those old fountains she was so fond of. He steeled himself against the soft feel of her body in his arms. No matter what his eyes told him, this was a deadly, vicious creature and he had to remember that. Delancre and the other Watchers, despite his personal opinion of them, were on the right side.
Danny set Alessa down for a moment, stepping out of the seclusion for a quick look around. There was no one coming, which was good. He turned back, picked Alessa up in his arms, and arranged it so she was cuddled against him. He then stepped out onto the path and headed for the edge of the park, where he'd left his car. He nodded to the people he passed, but said nothing. No one stopped him, which was all the better. Mostly, these English were too "polite" to get involved. In moments, he was
settling Alessa in the passenger seat of his rental car, a nondescript sedan, and climbing in beside her.
Once he'd settled himself, Danny grabbed his case from the backseat and opened it up, pulling a hypodermic needle from inside. The needle was full of a strong sedative. Danny injected it into Alessa's arm, and made sure she was belted in. She shouldn't awaken until after they'd arrived at Delancre's office in the city. And then she'd be someone else's problem.
***
Danny carried Alessa up to the office in the old building, letting Delancre’s secretary know who he was and that he was expected. Danny met Delancre in the man’s office, depositing the beautiful, sleeping demon on the rich leather sofa in the room. “Ok, Mr. Delancre,” Danny drawled, “I got her for you. Now she’s your problem.”
*And one I don’t envy,* Danny thought. The girl looked so peaceful, so innocent, and in the weeks he’d followed her, Danny had found himself questioning this job more and more. He wouldn’t want to be the one to have to destroy such a lovely creature, no matter what truly lurked underneath that pretty façade. The thought very nearly broke his heart.
Delancre barely suppressed the sneer that hovered behind his smile. “You’ve done a very good job, Mr. Lassiter,” he said. “Believe me, this is the right thing for everyone.”
Ambrose handed Danny a briefcase filled with untraceable cash, which was the man’s preferred method of payment. Danny nodded, casting one last look at the girl, and then left.
Once Lassiter was gone, Ambrose called two of his best guards and had them carry Alessa down to the parking garage beneath the building. He had Alessa stowed in his car and then had his driver head out of the city. He was taking her to the country compound first. Once he finished his business there, the two of them could head out to the airfield and they would be in Colombia before nightfall. Ambrose could hardly stand to wait to be alone with her. She was even more enticing in person than he had realized she would be.
Delancre sat back to enjoy the ride, studying Alessa. In his hand he held a small, but deadly, pistol which he aimed at her.
Alessa groaned and opened her eyes, only to close them again with another groan, the bright light hurting her. She kept her eyes closed, but it wasn’t of much help. Her head still spun and she had a terrible headache. She relaxed and tried to think.
She was in a car, she could feel the movement and noise of the vehicle, and of course she wasn’t alone. Somebody was driving, obviously, but he wasn’t the only one in the car with her. She could hear another man breathing next to her, and it was a man, his scent was male. She didn’t dare to move until she knew a little more, but she suspected he had noticed she was awake.
Ambrose noticed that Alessa's breathing had changed and he suspected she was awake, but she didn't open her eyes.
"If you're awake, my dear, you can stop pretending," Ambrose drawled. "You can't change your shape and I suspect you'll realize as soon as you open your eyes that you are my 'guest' for the immediate future."
She sighed and opened her eyes. So much for pretending! She had to cover her eyes with her hands against the light, and she wondered what sort of drug they had given her.
She didn’t remember anything past her deciding to take a walk in Hyde Park.
When her eyes got used to the light she peered past her fingers. She was in the rear seat of a big, luxurious car, and a man was pointing her with a gun. She tried to morph, but realized that his words had been true, she just couldn’t.
She straightened then, and inspected the man near her. He was handsome in an aristocratic way, with dark hair and blue eyes. His lips were twisted in a smile but his eyes were cold. His hand on the gun was firm and steady.
“Who are you? What have you done to me?” she asked, fingering the thick collar that weighted in her neck.
Delancre smiled indulgently at her. She was so lovely, human looking, but he knew better. He felt his blood burning as he sat across from her. This would be his greatest conquest yet.
"It's simply a precaution," he drawled. "We need time to get to know one another, and if you're slipping into something more comfortable and trying to run off, how can we do that? This way, I'm sure you'll take the time to listen to my... proposition and really consider it. You're my guest for the time being, and my hospitality can be very... enjoyable. Relax, Alessa, no one is going to hurt you."
*At least not until you want me to,* he thought. Ambrose leaned back, waiting for her token protests. She'd come to him eventually. He just had to wait for it.
Alessa was astonished, and she just watched him, completely wordless. *His guest?*
Who was he? He must be crazy if he thought that he would get anything from her this way. She had to force her mouth closed and still there was nothing she could think of saying. Surely she hadn’t enough problems with Morris around to not to warrant another psycho in her life.
“Who are you?” she finally repeated. She had to control herself not to betray the fear that was rising in her.
"I had hoped my reputation would precede me," Ambrose replied. "You are acquainted with so many Watchers, after all, my dear."
Ambrose sighed. He leaned forward and took Alessa's hand. Her flesh was warm and smooth. He shivered deliciously at this slight contact. "My name is Lord Ambrose William Bryce Delancre III, the Earl of Romney, Vicomte de Morbihan, and First Elder of the Elders' Council of the Watchers' Council, at your service."
Ambrose brought her hand up to his mouth and dropped a light kiss on it, his manner courtly and genteel. He released her, arching an eyebrow and smiling charmingly.
"It is my extreme pleasure to make the acquaintance of one such as yourself," he continued.
Alessa shivered at his touch on her skin, and quickly removed her hand. She groaned, the Council all right. The bastards! She felt a lump in her throat, they had never been fond of her, the Watchers, after Morris had left them for her. Morris’ brother had been part of the Elders' Council too, like this man. And of course he would know her nature, if he was First Elder… she would have to play her cards right if she wanted to survive this. She didn’t want to end up in one of those complexes Ernie had once mentioned. Where they “trained” demons.
“Where are we going?” she asked, this time sounding a little calmer this time, although inside the fear had increased. The Council indeed, of all matters!
"You'll see shortly," Ambrose replied, glancing out the window at the
passing scenery.
They had left the city behind and soon would be at the compound. "I have some things to pick up and then we'll be taking a little trip together. I have work elsewhere, and I don't want to waste any of the time we have together, so you're coming with me."
After two hours of riding around England with Lord Delancre, Alessa was in the brink of hysteria. He had been most charming and gentle all the time, in fact, if he said “my dear”, or kissed her hand one more time, she would go crazy. And all that English gentility didn’t change the fact that she was his prisoner. When he was in the car his gun had never faltered in its aim to her heart, and when she was left alone in the car, it had proven to be completely escape-proof.
Her head had concocted dozens of escape plans, only to dismiss them all. She still felt too weak from the drugs they had given her to physically attack him, and the collar she wore effectively prevented her from morphing. Neither could she take it off, she had tried, although she was sure it would be of no use.
She could only sit still and hope he would allow her get out of the car; maybe in the open she would have more luck.
She had done just that, then, and watched intently out of the window to memorize the roads they were traveling, to be able to retrace her route if she were to escape. However, when they entered what looked like a private airport she groaned inwardly. Lord Delancre’s chauffeur was taking them to the runway. There was a plane there, ready to take off. Alessa almost burst into tears when she saw it.
A small entourage of Delancre's guard, handpicked members of his army, waited for Alessa and him on the ground by the plane. When the car stopped, Ambrose exited and came around to help Alessa out.
He took her arm and led her to the stairs, a triumphant smile on his lips. Everything was going exactly according to his plan. Once they were safely ensconced in his private quarters at the Colombian compound, the demoness would be his completely in a matter of days. He was sure of it.
a sojourn on isla nublada
*** February 7, 2007***
***Isla Nublada Research Facility***
Ambrose Delancre held the reluctant demoness' hand tightly in his own, his thumb tracing lazy circles in her palm. They had been inseparable the last two days, as they settled in at the compound. He'd made sure of that. This was the first time he'd had a real chance to be alone with her, though. He was using the opportunity to show Alessa his pride and joy. The Isla Nublada Research Facility was his pet project, and had been for years. He'd personally overseen the design of every containment cell and security door. He was incredibly proud of the place, and of his handpicked staff.
"This is the preliminary testing facility," Ambrose said, as they entered a room filled with tables and machinery. It resembled a medical office in a high tech facility, which was essentially what it was.
"It's here that we classify each subhuman and determine where their talents lie," he continued. "This is the first step in the "XenoWarrior" project which produces the WC troops."
Ambrose stopped and turned to look at Alessa, hoping to judge her reaction so far.
Alessa kept her vacant smile firmly planted in her mouth, although it was not an easy feat. She suppressed a shiver as she inspected her surroundings. The room they were in looked like an alien torture chamber from an X-files episode. All white and hygienic, but a torture chamber nonetheless. She could only imagine how Ambrose would “determine” sub-humans’ talents. A row of cages lined one of the walls, and demons of all kinds and sizes were trapped in them. Her heart went to them.
She had gone through different stages these last two days, from utter disbelief at this man’s assumption that he had a right to keep her, to fury at feeling so helplessly useless, and finally fear when every step they took showed her more and more how impossible an escape attempt would be.
Ambrose had shown her much of the facility, and she had paid attention, oh yes. Not only to the compound but to the man himself. After the first night, when she had lain awake almost all night, thinking of a good course of action, and decided on not doing anything until she knew more of Lord Delancre’s plans and the facility’s layout, she had paid attention. But the more she watched, the more dismayed she felt. It was all just too clockwise perfect, the facility was just too well designed.
She grimaced, thinking of some of the demons that served as guards; peaceful races, not the kind to serve in a place like this, in a position like that. They looked more dangerous and stronger now.
How much could they tamper with her, if he so decided? She kept her smile in place and watched the caged demons. Just as now, many of the demons who watched them from the cages along the wall were hissing and growling in a most unnatural way. She wondered how much they could tamper with the demons’ physical and mental natures.
She suppressed another shiver; she didn’t know how long she would be able to pull off her act. It was getting harder and harder to put a nice face to this man, who was obviously unstable. He had shown her only the easy side to his nature, but in the last two days she had witnessed many temper outbursts directed either to the demons who suspiciously were just too subservient and the humans who worked in the complex.
She didn’t know if to be grateful that his intentions towards her weren’t the same as towards the unhappy creatures in the cages. It was obvious by now that his interests were, to say the least, prurient, although he had not made his intentions overly clear yet, fortunately. She just hoped she could hold him at bay until somehow word of her disappearance reached Chance and the others, although it was doubtful they could even link her to this place. She turned around to hide the fear in her eyes.
Calmer, she turned back to him again. His eyes were hard as he watched her; he was expecting a reaction from her, and she needed to comply. She needed time. She retrieved her hand softly with the excuse of touching one of the stainless steel surgical tables. She caressed the cool surface and said, “Interesting.”
Ambrose sighed. She was obviously still not comfortable with him at all, but he was a patient man. He could wait.
"There's so much here I want to show you," he said, reaching out to cup her chin. "I want to share it all with you, Alessa. How lucky you are, how special. I promise you, this courting will be unparalleled, and when you finally come to me, all I have will be yours for the taking."
Ambrose leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly over hers, assuming her shiver was one of anticipation, before tucking her hand into his arm and turning to continue the tour.
***
***February 11, 2007***
Alessa lay awake in her bed. Her luxurious bed, in her beautiful room. Her golden cage. After she was sure that Delancre had left their apartments, she got up and walked towards the wall to wall window, watching the scenery below.
They were on a volcanic island, not too far from Colombian shores, he had said. Lord Delancre’s apartments were in the higher part of the facility and the view was arresting, if one bothered to look past the concrete, iron and wire that was the compound.
The jungle extended in all directions towards the sea, but it was impossible to see much further. There were perpetual mists over the island, as its name invoked, “Isla Nublada”, misty island. She didn’t find comfort in the Spanish name of her prison.
Alessa sighed. She was trapped. As much trapped as the other demons who served her as subserviently as they served Lord Delancre. She had lost hope of even talking to them. After she had tried to approach several of them and only got fearful looks she had given up. She didn’t want to be the cause of them receiving the harsh side of Delancre’s nature.
Lord Ambrose Delancre. The name was bitter on her lips. She looked down again and leaned on the cool crystal of the window, a crystal completely unbreakable, as she had already discovered. She closed her eyes and let the tears flow freely.
It was strange that she had such a time for herself. He took her everywhere, all the time. He touched and caressed and kissed her. He complimented her, condescended to her and asked for her opinions.
He watched, admired and smiled at her all the time. And he expected her to like it. It was as if he were house training a dog!!
However, she was grateful the man fancied himself in love with her, or she would be one of those silent demonesses that plagued the compound by now. He wanted her to want him. Well, he would see hell burn before that! So she just tolerated his ministrations, she had learned not to evade his touch, and how to lie completely still until he gave up trying to get a response from her and left her alone.
She thought of Chance in those occasions, and the thought gave her strength.
Besides, she was learning her way around the place. Her innate sense of orientation was now completely attuned to the place, and she was sure she could find her way out of the maze that was the compound. She was aware of almost everything that went out. She could say at what time the plane with groceries from the coast arrived and what time it left again, how many times a week a boat arrived in the sizable harbor and how the tides affected the island shore.
She was biding her time.
As Alessa stood at the window, musing, the door behind her opened, and a demon walked in, carrying a very heavy looking chest. He was broad shouldered, bright blue, and covered in a thick layer of fine hair. He came up to Alessa's room and set the chest down inside, noticing at the last moment that she was there.
The sound startled Alessa, who turned to look at the newcomer. *A Brashak,* she thought as she watched him move around the room. She noticed that he hadn’t seen her yet, and she had time to observe him. She had known a Brashak years ago. They were peaceful demons, like many of the races Delancre had made into servants. Then the demon looked at her.
The Brashak demon, name of Pelor, dropped his eyes and started to back out of the room. He was obviously very afraid. "I'm so sorry, mistress," he stammered. "I didn't know anyone was in here."
“Pelor, is that you?” Alessa stepped forward, and raised a hand towards him, but the terror that crossed his eyes made her stop in mid-motion. “Pelor?” she repeated, doubtfully, although she was sure it was him.
Pelor lifted his head, and looked at Alessa. He recognized her, vaguely, but it was as if she was from another life, one he could barely recall.
"Mistress?" he said softly. "How may I serve you?"
Alessa wanted to cry. Pelor had been a proud demon, member of a race that lived isolated, much in the same fashion as Verbatis. As with her race, they had never meant any threat to humans or their culture. They lived in cathedral-like caves of blue ice deep in the Tibetan mountains, and their race was proud and happy. She had met him along her travels with Morris, and they had become friends. Now he was Delancre’s servant and he was afraid of her.
“What have they done to you?” she whispered, although she knew the answer. She had seen the installations after all. Slowly, as if she were approaching a crying child, she moved towards him, her hand extended in a friendly manner. “Don’t you recognize me? I’m Alessa. I’m your friend.”
"Alessa?" Pelor backed away a step, looking confused and afraid. "I... I don't know... I can't remember... Mistress, what is it you wish from me?"
“I don’t want anything from you, Pelor,” she said, placating, “Don’t you remember me? I used to play with your little sister, Ellia. Remember Ellia, Pelor? Do you remember your family?”
Pelor stood rooted to his spot. Somewhere within him was the knowledge, the memory he sought. This woman was a... friend, but he couldn't really remember her, just as his memory of his sister, his family, was vague.
"I am sorry, Mistress," Pelor bowed low to Alessa, quaking with fear. "I... I cannot recall... I seem to know... It is too late."
Frustrated, Alessa watched Pelor fight with his memories. Her tears, too fresh, came to her eyes again. She didn’t have words to describe her feelings. What she had seen in this facility, what was being done to these creatures, was less than human! They may be demons, but they were not the monsters.
“Pelor,” she started one more time. Somehow getting across to Pelor seemed extremely important. He could… he could be her in the future. “It’s not too late. You have to try, you must try to remember…” She bit her lip as she looked into his deep azure eyes. Vacant eyes.
Pelor shook his head. He felt muddled. He didn't really remember Alessa, but he wanted very much to help her, to please her, and not because of the "training" he'd received here, but simply because somewhere deep within he knew she was a good person. He didn't want to see her suffer as he and the others had.
"Lord... Delancre... He's brought you here to... to serve him," Pelor whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. "He brings us all to serve. Some serve in his quarters, some on the grounds, and some, many, serve in his army. The others... they don't know, but I know. I listen and I am trusted. I must tell you, Mistress. You must know."
“I must know what?” Alessa’s eyes shone in interest. Everything she could learn about this place interested her. She might seem passive, but her mind was not.
Pelor glanced about quickly, as if afraid that Lord Delancre was hiding in the shadows. "Lord Delancre, he will not let you go. If you do not succumb, he has other ways, and... if you are strong, he will... change you... He can... He changes so many... and they are now killers... He makes us kill... and he will make you if you stay too long."
Pelor stood suddenly, gripping Alessa's hand. "You must get away! You must escape!"
Alessa grimaced at the strength of his grip. And looked at him intently. Killers? Was he talking about his army? She had seen those. Her hand went to his, easing his grip. The soft fur felt so smooth and rich under her fingers.
She smiled soothingly to him, “I know, Pelor. I will.” He looked so afraid that she needed to comfort him. She wondered if she should ask him for help, but she was afraid for him. She had seen what happened to the servants who displeased him. The look of terror in his eyes was such that she felt guilty. She smiled again. “You can go now. Will you be back?”
Pelor nodded. "I... will speak with you again, Al... Alessa. I... Maybe I can help... There may be something... I will come back."
Pelor released Alessa and turned, fleeing the room.
***
***February 11, 2007***
Alessa was sleeping up in his quarters, and Ambrose had left her alone, something he rarely did. However, until he had her full, unquestioning loyalty, he couldn’t afford to reveal too much to the demoness. So, he needed to check in with Dr. Whit without Alessa in tow, and that’s what he was doing.
Ambrose entered the lab, noting how quiet and efficient it was, as usual. Dr. Whit was very good at his job. He kept his subordinates in line, and he got things done. Ambrose liked that about the little weasel.
“Lord Delancre,” Whit came scurrying up, bowing as he approached. “You’re right on time.”
“You’ve completed the tests, then?” Ambrose asked.
“Yes, sir, we’re all done,” Whit replied. “The virus is perfected and ready for release. It should work exactly as you’ve designated. The physical strain will affect the limbic system and the mystical will attack the “mana” directly. The infected should be much easier to manage. It’s a very effective tool in your quest, because it won’t eliminate your enemies, but rather turn them to your service.”
Ambrose smiled in satisfaction. Dr. Whit and his team had done even better than he had expected. Now, he just had to work out how he was going to get the virus to his intended victims. Daye and her group of troublemakers had to be infected as soon as possible. That way, when he finally launched his strike with the WCA forces, there would be no one to stop them.
“You simply need to release ‘Carrier 0’ into the population you wish to infect, and before you know it, they will be yours,” Whit said. Ambrose nodded.
“Very well, Dr. Whit,” Ambrose said. “Prepare the initial dose. I will decide on the first carrier soon.”
“Thank you, sir,” Whit said, turning and hurrying back to his team. They would have the virus ready soon, and once Lord Delancre decided on the carrier, Hyde 232 would finally make its debut.
***
***February 23, 2007***
Ambrose smiled indulgently at Alessa as he led her around the outer courtyard of the compound. She had been growing more and more... amenable... to his plans over the last week. He thought that the demoness was finally warming up to him. That was all for the best, as his patience had been wearing thin.
Delancre was annoyed when one of the Council underlings ran up at that moment, brandishing a sheet of paper and talking a mile a minute about some "lycanthropy treaties" that had been in the works for weeks in Romania.
"Dearest," Ambrose approached Alessa where she stood watching the WC running drills on the field, led by the Slayer, Ana. "I'm sorry to cut our walk short, but I have to make a few calls, and they simply can't wait. I'm afraid we'll have to head back in now."
Alessa averted her eyes from the Slayer a little reluctantly. The girl was good, and her training showed, but like everybody else in this place she seemed to belong completely to him. She looked at Delancre’s man, and sighed. She didn’t want to go inside again, she wanted to check things outside a little longer.
The demoness smiled sweetly at the First Elder, she was getting good at the charade. “The sun is so good here, my lord, I’d really like to stay a while longer.” She pouted prettily, “You never let me be outside, I feel like a hot house flower.”
“Oh, but the most beautiful one, dear,” he said, caressing her with his eyes. He smiled when he saw her blush, she was definitely warming. He assessed the courtyard around them, there was no place she could go and besides, the elite of his army was there. “I don’t think that would be a problem. Enjoy the sun, Alessa. I’ll send someone for you before it sets,” he decided, and after kissing her hand, he left for the inside of the compound, his man in tow.
Alessa kept her smile in place until she saw him enter the building. Then her expression hardened, it wasn’t easy to pretend, and she was tired, in mind and body. She was getting more freedom, but at the expense of more pretence. She didn’t know how much longer she could maintain the charade, though. There were some extents to which she was not willing to go.
She had already lost any hope of being rescued, too. Nearly a month had gone by since Delancre had flown her away from England, and she was sure there hadn’t been any rescue attempts. Besides, as she had thought time and again, they weren’t likely to have linked her absence to the Council. Most probably Chance would have thought it Morris’ feat and acted upon that belief. No, if she wanted to get out of this place, she would have to do it by herself. If necessary, she would die trying. she would not let Delancre subject her to his will… or his tampering.
She strolled seemingly aimlessly around the courtyard, but her eyes, as always, kept looking for every possible detail. But mostly she was looking for Pelor. She had caught a glimpse of his blue figure when they got to the courtyard, but hadn’t dared to look at him openly. As he had promised, Pelor had indeed returned to see her. The Brashak was still painfully scared, but he was getting over it as he continued to talk to her. He was risking much, and she was grateful. Bit by bit she was completing the puzzle that was the Isla Nublada Research Facility, especially since she had recognized Pelor.
She fingered the heavy collar at her neck. If only she could open it! The collar not only effectively inhibited her shapeshifting abilities, but also her psychic ones. Not being a whole Verbati, Alessa was only barely psychic. She couldn’t move things with her mind or see the future, but she was able to open her mind for others of her kind to read, and could notice when she was being probed, she even knew how to close it to scrutiny. Inés, in the other hand, possessed all the talents of her kind, albeit still burgeoning. Alessa was sure that if the demoness so wanted she could contact her. And Inés was probably aware that she had gone missing by now. It was ironic that she, who had resented and denied her demon blood so long, was now praying for a way to recover her strengths.
The sun was setting, she knew that her time alone was about to end. She walked towards the high iron fence that surrounded the courtyard. Carefully she approached it. She had discovered that the barrier was electrified, and also protected by magic. There were enough dead birds on either side of it to prove it.
The grass on the other side looked greener… and the jungle started only a hundred meters away, abruptly descending down the sides of the volcanic mountain the facility was on. There was a hidden brook there, she couldn’t see it but she could smell and hear the water. She knew it was the way used to discard the waste… and bodies. Probably further down the mountain there was a crematorium. At least she assumed so because she could smell the acrid smoke every other night. It was the way she had selected to get to the shore herself. But she needed to find a way through the fence first. She was thinking maybe she could hide in one of the barrels they used for waste and get out that way, but Pelor had explained that the collars were also used for tracking the demons. Before she could even hope to get away, she would have to get the damn thing off.
Alessa stretched her hand towards the fence. A good ten centimeters from it the magic embedded in the iron made her skin sting. She closed her hand in a fist and turned to follow the demon that had just come to escort her back inside. Maybe, someday soon, fate would conspire to aid her and she would once again be free.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
February 15th
La Rumba Club
12:10 am
Inés was worried. She hadn’t heard of her cousin in ten good days, and Alessa had been calling her every two days. It wasn’t her style to disappear without trace, *She’s not like me.* She had overcome her distaste for the man and tried to contact Chance, but he wasn’t to be found.
However, what worried her the most was that she didn’t even feel echoes of her. Last night she had concentrated hard and tried to reach Alessa with her mind, she could do this. She had done it endless times the years they had been apart, and always found comfort in the warm feeling of Alessa’s presence. She hadn’t gone further than that, it was a rule among Verbatis not to intrude on others’ minds without their consent. She had done it only to reassure herself that her cousin was alive and well.
She couldn’t feel her mind now.
But she didn’t think she was dead either. It wasn’t the cold void of death, it was just… nothing. She couldn’t reach her cousin and that was all. It was as if something was making some kind of interference.
Inés bit her lip, and stirred the coffee she was drinking. She had to dance in a couple of minutes and was sleepy, last night's attempts had left her tired. As usual the club was crowded, and she felt proud knowing that the greater affluence of customers the place had of late was probably due to her. That she didn’t consort with the patrons gave it even a bigger appeal.
Well, that wasn’t completely true. She remembered the night she had spent with Connor and sighed. She had been confident the vampire would come back to the club, but he hadn’t showed up in a good ten days.
She was annoyed with herself for wanting to see him again, it wasn’t her usual attitude towards her lovers. But that vampire had made her feel… alive. His hands and mouth had made her forget everything for the length of that night. Besides, she was intrigued, there was so much in him that she didn’t understand…
She hurried her coffee and started towards the dance floor. By now the customers knew better than to try and grip her ass, she had almost broken several hands in the fortnight she had been dancing in “La Rumba”.
She climbed the raised dance floor and smiled, waiting for the music to start. At the first notes of Shakira’s ‘Demonio’ she started to dance. Her costume very much resembled that of a demon, tight and red with a long tail and horns, which only she knew weren’t fake. She hadn’t yet found a fake tail that could stay in place when she danced, so she just created one. She found it kind of funny, to dance that song. Soon she was too concentrated on her dancing to notice anything around her.
James strode silently thought the dancing bodies, being careful not to make any noise or put anyone off by bumping into them. When he reached Inés her back was turned to him, and James raised his cold hands and stroked the back of her neck. The desired effect had happened. Inés jumped with the sudden cold shock and turned round to face a rather Reservoir-Dogs dressed James.
James smirked at the demoness and began to speak. “I never see you, you don’t call, you don’t leave messages. I'm beginning to think you are trying to give me the cold shoulder.”
Inés' face lit up with amusement and joy when she saw James but she quickly collected herself. “Connor!” she said trying to get some air. She was breathless from the exercise and the surprise. Some of the customers had started to cry at them. She threw a quick glance to them and added, “What are you doing up here? You are spoiling my act.”
James raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Do you mind?”
Inés laughed. “Not really. Let’s get out of here,” she said and started to walk towards the steps. She sent a glance to the DJ and the man nodded. The music started again and the girls rearranged themselves trying to cover for her. *They’ll probably fire me tomorrow,* she thought. Not that she cared.
“Where are we going?” he asked, his hand resting possessively on the arch of her back as he led her towards the entrance.
“Anywhere they would admit a red dressed demon,” she answered and they left the club with its angry customers behind.
***
James lay in bed staring aimlessly at the ceiling and watching images form and dispel as he listened carefully to the silence. The funny thing about silence is that it’s never really quiet, you could be in the middle of nowhere and there will always be some kind of noise. He could hear the thumping of Inés' heart now, and thought of how his had long ago shrivelled up and died.
The vampire turned to look at Inés, who was curled up into a ball with the majority of the covers on her. James shifted his weight as to get up, but before he could get off the bed he heard her speak.
“Where are you going?”
James looked at her and smirked. “No need to worry. I’m not gonna do a disappearing act like you did. Just going for a shower.”
She sat on his bed, and grinned mischievously at him. “Do you want company?” Her hair tumbled wildly around her face and she looked arresting. “I didn’t get to shower myself last night…” she grinned again, “Dancing makes me sweaty. And you didn’t help either.”
“I didn’t hear you complaining,” he said, and leaned on the bed to kiss her. After a few seconds he parted his mouth from hers. “Let’s go, or we’ll never get to the shower.”
She laughed and followed him to the bathroom. The walls and floor were covered in white marble, and a huge bathtub occupied a whole corner. There was a big mirror over twin sinks, and a curtained skylight over the tub. The place was massive. Inés looked fleetingly at her reflection and remembered the mirror in the living room. She looked at him and smiled.
“Forget the shower, I want to try that,” she said gesturing towards the tub.
James just winkled at her, and started to run the bath, while Inés' hands roamed on his naked back. She sighed and held him, waiting for the tub to fill in.
An hour later they were still in the tub, the state of the art system never letting the water get cold. She was resting her wet head on his chest and distractedly playing with his hand. Such a beautiful hand. She felt contented, but her mind wasn’t completely there.
James noticed the change in her demeanour, he parted his eyes from the delightful line of foam that covered and discovered her nipples as she breathed, and looked at her bent head. She was worried, that could be seen. This was a different Inés than the one last night, the one last hour. He brushed her wet hair behind her ear and nibbled her neck, careful not to scratch her; her blood indeed was terrible.
“What is it, love?” he asked, “What has you so worried?”
For a moment Inés didn’t answer, she was too far gone, but when he gently turned her head to look at him she gave him a little smile.
“I'm sorry, Connor. I was distracted.” She smiled sweetly at him, and turned in his arms, the warm water making her sleek and slippery. “What did you want?” she asked seductively, but her eyes betrayed her worry and James noticed. He kissed her wet mouth and smiled when she bit his lip. Then he broke the kiss.
“I want to know what is your problem,” he stated, trying to make her look at him, “You look worried, and don’t give me the seductress routine. It won't do no good.”
Inés' eyes flashed annoyance but she sighed and rested her head on his chest again. “I’m worried about a cousin of mine, she’s been missing for almost two weeks now.” At his raised eyebrow she went on, “I mean, she’s been in England since mid January, but lately I can't contact her.”
“Are you afraid she may be dead?” he asked, his tone matter-of-fact but his mind was racing, thinking of his old contacts in England. Inés shook her head.
“No, she’s not dead. If Alessa had died I would’ve felt it-”
“Alessa?” He straightened and gripped her shoulders to make her face him again. “You mean Alessa as in Chance’s Alessa?”
“Chance, yes, that’s the name of that boyfriend of hers…” Her eyes went round with surprise. “You know Alessa?”
James chuckled and thought of the green-eyed demoness. “I do. Small world we live in.” His eyes turned serious, thinking about the problem at hand. “Have you talked to Chance? What did he say?”
Inés grumped, angered. “I talked to him two weeks ago and he didn’t seem interested. I haven’t seen him after that; he’s sorta disappeared too. My cousin has terrible taste in men, one turned into a vampire, the other deserting her.”
James laughed at the fury in her tone, but it struck him odd that Chance wasn’t trying to find out what had happened to his girlfriend. “And what is the problem with vampires, pet?” he mockingly asked her, and laughed again when she shot him a look. James sobered up.
“Ok, tell you what we’ll do. I have some contacts in England, I’ll ask them to do some looking there, ok? Tell me anything that may help.”
Inés' eyes brightened and she told him all she knew about Alessa’s whereabouts in England before disappearing. James only nodded and made mental notes to tell his friends. When she finally finished he looked down to Inés, and smirked.
“So, you are Alessa’s cousin…” he drawled. A thought had just flashed in his mind. “That means you can change like she-” he stopped surprised, the woman in his arms wasn’t the Latino Inés anymore, but a peaches and cream blonde with taunting eyes. The blonde raised a finger to his lips laughing at his hungry look.
“I can be whatever you want.”
no more mr. nice guy
*** February 24, 2007 late afternoon ***
*** Isla Nublada Research Facility ***
“Are you absolutely sure about this, Michele?” Ambrose asked, staring down at the meek, obsequitous demon cowering before him. “It was Pelor you saw speaking to her?”
“Yes, your lordship,” Michele’s voice was an oily whine. It grated on Ambrose’s nerves. “I saw the Brashak and your… your consort. They were in the hall by your door. They were very… close together… and they whispered. They are conspiring.”
Ambrose fumed. He seethed. This could not be true. The demon girl was his. She had been growing steadily more affectionate, more willing day after day. He knew this little rat lied. Alessa was his now. She would not try to escape. She loved him as he loved her. He knew it.
“Take this toad from my sight!” Ambrose shouted to his guards, two gigantic demons. They grabbed Michele and carted him off, his whines echoing in the empty room.
“It cannot be,” Ambrose muttered. “She is mine. She loves me. I know she does. I have been patient and kind. She… she is ready. She must be. I cannot postpone any longer. If she really has come to be mine, she will refuse me nothing. No maidenly modesty will stop her from giving in to her passions. Yes, tonight… I will have Alessa.”
***
***February 24, 2007, around 10 pm ***
Ambrose smiled when he entered his apartment. He could hear Alessa in the bath, presumably drying off and wrapping herself in the fluffy white bathrobe he’d gotten for her to use. She usually bathed around now, and he was usually still tied up with work, but tonight would be different. He had waited long enough.
Ambrose slipped silently into his own room, changed out of his suit into a loosely tied silk robe, and headed out to find Alessa. On his way out the door, he grabbed the stun baton off of his nightstand. Things could be interesting later, and he wanted to be prepared. A little pain often equalled a lot of stimulation.
Alessa absently rinsed her hair as she thought of the day’s events, Pelor had approached her earlier to tell her he had hidden an empty barrel to use for her escape. It would wait for her until they could find a way of turning the collar off.
Turning off the water, she stepped out of the shower and towelled her body, looking at herself in the mirror. She looked pale, she thought, distractedly, and thinner. She should eat more, she would need the strength if she was to try and escape the facility.
She heard the door open and turned to see Delancre standing on the threshold, openly admiring her body. Quickly she put on her robe, cursing herself for not hearing him enter the apartment. She tried to avoid any situation that may lead to more intimacy than what they already had.
Alessa squirmed with embarrassment, causing her skin to flush; her chest heaved as she tossed her wet hair out of her eyes. She noticed his silk robe and cursed again. She had hoped she could delay this moment indefinitely. She wasn’t ready to show her true colours yet. Not while she still had the collar on.
Delancre gazed lasciviously her, enjoying her demure reaction, his eyes eagerly devouring the demoness’ olive complexion, full luscious lips and sparkling green eyes. It was her eyes that haunted him most.
“You don’t need to hide, you have a lovely body,” he said and approached her.
Ambrose was pleased to find Alessa this way. She looked good enough to eat and maybe later he would take a bite or two. The bathroom she stood in was thick with steam and smelled exotic, just like his girl. He lingered in the doorway, watching her for a moment, and then stepped gallantly aside. "Come love, this is no place to... explore..." he drawled. "I'd rather have plenty of room tonight."
Alessa nodded and moved swiftly past him, she didn’t want to think of his ‘plans’ but somehow the bathroom made her feel vulnerable. It was too small and sleek to move freely. She groaned inwardly when she saw a bottle of champagne and two flutes on a nearby table. He had prepared the scene quite thoroughly.
Ambrose smiled broadly when Alessa stopped just before the table he'd arranged with the champagne. There were candles lit around the room as well. It was a very romantic setting, sure to appeal to an innocent girl’s heart, to help her shed her inhibitions.
Ambrose came up behind Alessa, lifting her wet hair in one hand. The sleek, heavy weight was cool to the touch. He bent forward and breathed deeply, inhaling her scent.
"You smell... delicious," he murmured, dropping his hands to her shoulders, which felt tense beneath the thick bathrobe. "Relax, love, I promise the first time I'll be very gentle. Later, when you're more accustomed, we'll try some more... adventurous things."
Alessa gritted her teeth as she felt his arms hug her from behind, but she moved away when he felt his hand trying to get inside the robe. She turned around, and smiled. “Can I have a glass of champagne, first?” she asked, trying to delay the moment, her mind spinning to find a way out of the situation.
Ambrose eyes flashed impatience, but he nodded and poured two glasses of the bubbling liquid. But he didn’t touch his and only waited until she sipped hers to move forward again and take the cup off her fingers. He placed it in the table and extended his hand to touch her face again.
“Enough of that, you don’t want to be tipsy and not enjoy the moment, do you?” he said and took her face gently in his hands, his mouth searching hers. He enjoyed the spicy smell of the liquor in her breath before he kissed her.
Alessa tensed but admitted the kiss, yet passively. But he wanted more tonight, he wanted response. His hands fisted in her hair and pulled her face closer to his, his teeth clashing hers and his tongue reaching the roof of her mouth.
Alessa felt her stomach quiver, and she bit hard on his tongue before she could prevent herself. Delancre jerked his mouth away with a groan. Instead of rage she saw excitement in his eyes and she felt sick again.
*So, the little minx likes to play rough,* Ambrose thought, his body humming with excitement. He tasted his own blood, and grinned wolfishly. There was blood on his teeth. Deliberately and with exquisite slowness, he licked it off.
"My eager darling," Ambrose purred, moving in on her once again. He took hold of her and grabbed hold of the knot holding the robe in place. He undid the knot and ripped the robe from her body, his eyes lighting as she was revealed to him.
Alessa stood frozen for a moment, wearing nothing but the heavy iron collar with its blinking lights. Ambrose licked his lips in anticipation and bent forward, reaching for her bare flesh. Alessa readied herself for his touch, her eyes panicking.
This wasn’t happening, she had pushed the possibility of his raping her down to the back of her mind. It had been necessary for her to continue functioning, but here she was now, buck naked, with this man she so despised. She thought of Chance and a big, fat tear rolled down her cheek.
Alessa felt his Ambrose’s rough hands roam over her breasts, and she tried to reason with him one last time.
"You know, my Lord, I'm really not sure I'm in the mood for this," she said, smoothing his hair and pulling back a little.
"Oh, no, you're not teasing me this time," he growled. He kneaded her right breast roughly, and Alessa flinched. With one arm he pulled her hips back to his, his intent obvious. His erection pressed, snake-like, into the skin of her abdomen. Repulsed, she tightened her stomach muscles, trying to pull back from it. Something inside her snapped. *Enough is enough!* she shouted to herself.
The frustrated fury that had been smoldering inside of her for almost two weeks exploded, and giving a cry of sheer rage she flew at him, her fingers outstretched, unable to turn into claws but equally intent on tearing his face to shreds. Delancre was so surprised at her sudden change that Alessa was able to open two long slashes in his left cheek before he could disentangle from her. He moved to backhand her with a powerful blow, but Alessa evaded him and lithely jumped back, putting some vital space between them. She assumed a fighting stance. She might not be able to morph, but she was strong, fit and trained. She wouldn’t make it easy for him.
“I’ll never be yours, never! No matter what you do to me!! I’d die first… you… you monstruo!” Frustrated, running out of words he’d understand to shout at him, Alessa let go with a cursing tirade in Spanish.
Ambrose couldn’t understand the words, but the meaning was not lost to him. His face dripped blood, and he swiped at it with the back of his hand. He looked at his bloody hand and slowly raised his eyes to her. The little rat demon had been right after all. She’d been playing him for a fool for weeks. That enraged him more than her words or blows ever could. Oh, yes, he’d punish the little whore and then he’d have her writhing beneath him anyway. This was not over.
She saw the darkening in his eyes and knew what was coming. She had seen it several times in these fateful weeks; his temper, bursting the reins he kept on it. But never before had it been like this, never this fury. Defiantly she looked back. She would die fighting him.
He was on her in an instant, but she was waiting for him. With lightning speed her clawing hands opened a third slash in his other cheek. She laughed humorlessly at the look of utter disbelief in his eyes.
“You aren’t used to fighting, are you?” she said, as she circled him, hands outstretched. “I’m not your usual demon, hijo de puta. You’ll have to kill me before you put another finger on me.”
Ambrose laughed bitterly. He could fight, and fairly well, although she was no doubt stronger than him. Animals had the advantages of savagery after all. “I will break you, bitch,” he snarled. “You will call me master and beg to please me.”
Ambrose shifted his weight as Alessa sprang. He caught her attack, grabbing her wrists and holding them away from his face. Ambrose spun, dropping to the ground and pinning Alessa beneath him. The fight served only to entice him more, and to demoralize her he ground his erection into her abdomen roughly as he covered her with his weight. Grinning viciously, Ambrose released her wrist, to strike a stunning blow across her cheek. As her hand flew at his face again, he reared up, straddling her waist.
Leering at her naked body, Ambrose hung on as Alessa bucked beneath him. He felt the stun baton bounce against his leg, and was suddenly reminded that he really did have the upper hand.
As Ambrose reached for the baton in the pocket of his robe, Alessa gave a mighty heave and unseated him, scrambling quickly backwards to get away. She crawled to her knees and stopped, watching Ambrose closely. She panted as she waited, already feeling that she had little hope of escaping this room alive. Eventually this madman would grow tired of struggling with her and call his guards in. When that happened, it would all be over quite quickly.
Ambrose pulled the weapon from his pocket and sprang to his feet, smiling all the more as he came slowly towards Alessa. She saw the baton in his hand, and she realized immediately that she was in more trouble than she'd known. She had expected to be beaten, perhaps even to be killed by the guards, but she'd thought she could hold her own against Delancre, especially since he was unarmed. Alessa had believed that she would escape being raped at least. That was all she really was holding out for. With the weapon in his hand, and the triumphant look on his face, Alessa realized that Ambrose would get his way in all things... unless...
Alessa sprang up and moved before he could react. Ambrose's biggest flaw was that he overestimated his own ability to strike fear in his enemies. He never saw the blow coming, and Alessa lashed out with her leg, slamming her foot into his groin, which, of course, was completely vulnerable. She rejoiced when he stumbled back, screaming in rage and pain. Alessa jumped up while he was incapacitated and made for the door.
Ambrose’s vision was blurred with a red haze of fury and agony. He had made a fatal mistake, coming here so vulnerable. He heard Alessa scrambling away, and realized she was trying to run. Grunting, forcing the pain down, he shuffled to his feet and reached out blindly, grabbing hold of Alessa's wildly matted, wet hair as she tried to rush past him.
Alessa was just past Ambrose, thinking maybe she would actually get away, when she felt the horrible tug on her hair. Tears sprang to her eyes as he dragged her back by the hair. Ambrose dropped Alessa for a moment, and then took hold of her throat, wrapping his fingers around her collar.
"You... you... bitch... you animal bitch... Do you know what you've done?" he snarled, whipping her back and forth by the collar. Alessa struggled, her breath cut off as his hands tightened the metal band around her neck. She gasped.
"I would have given you everything!" he drew her close, shouting now. Spittle flew from his mouth, and Ambrose’s face was a deep red as he continued his tirade. "You would have been different. My consort. More than the animal you were born to be. You weak, foolish, pathetic bitch!"
With one last shake, Ambrose threw Alessa down on the floor. He towered over her, mad with rage. He brought the stun baton down on her bare flesh, striking again and again. He hit her everywhere. Her back, her face, her torso, no part of Alessa's body escaped the beating. Each stroke was powerful and horrible, but thankfully, Alessa lost consciousness long before Ambrose had spent his anger. Finally, she lay before him, a mess of welts and bruises. Her face was nearly unrecognizable. Her eyes were closed.
Ambrose dropped the baton on the floor, breathing in short, quick gasps. He stared down at Alessa.
"So beautiful," Ambrose whispered. He bent forward and petted her flank for a moment. Despite what had happened, he still wanted her. His groin throbbed and he knew now was not the time. He would have to wait, but how...
She would fight him to the death first. How could he change her... nature?
Ambrose stood slowly, a smile spreading across his face. He reached up and drew a hand across his burning cheek, where her nails had slashed. She was full of fire, but she denied him. He had the means to change that though. If he were to use Hyde 232 on her, Alessa would become someone else, someone amenable to his attentions. She would become his perfect consort. And he could send her back home - with the virus - to aid in wiping out Daye and her pathetic bunch of do-gooders. It was perfect. Alessa would serve him and then she would come back to him.
Ambrose called his guards and had everything arranged. When Alessa came to, she would be given the perfect oppurtunity to escape, right after Pelor gave her a "little something" to help her heal. Ambrose would have his way, one way or another. He was sure of it.
***
*** February 25, 2007, around 1 am ***
When she came to she was still lying on the floor where she’d fallen, sprawled on her side. The pain drove all efforts of coherent thought from her mind. Her body clenched and twisted on itself; she moaned softly, unable to keep the sounds to herself.
She lay there for several more minutes, not moving, scarcely breathing. She knew how to deal with pain, she had received severe beatings while hunting in the past, but never like this. Probably because mostly it had been kill or die. But this time it had been sport. Delancre had taken pleasure in beating her; at the beginning she had seen rage in his eyes, but before long there was only joy in their cold depths.
Alessa tentatively moved her head; the pain exploded white in her mind, but at least she felt it wasn’t seriously damaged. She remembered him taking her by her collar and shaking her till her teeth had sunk in her tongue. She could still feel the coppery taste of blood in her mouth. She opened the slits of her eyes and looked around. She was alone.
Alessa tried to sit, the pain was bad but she managed it. She sighed, she could already feel her body strengthen, she did heal fast. But she was badly hurt and even her accelerated healing rate would take a while to get her well. That's only if there wasn’t another beating, which wouldn’t probably be the case. She looked down at her body and saw that she was still buck naked. She shivered at the thought of him seeing her exposed; then she saw the burn marks all over her skin in the places his stun baton had hit her and cursed. “Maldito hijo de puta!” Her dry and illtreated throat could only produce a squealing sound and she laughed in spite of herself. She looked around for her robe but the thing wasn’t near.
Slowly, Alessa pulled herself to her feet. She felt dizzy and nauseous but managed to control it. Carefully she touched her face and grimaced; no wonder her sight was blurred, her face felt puffy all over. She passed a mirror but didn’t look at herself, instead she crept to the bedroom, bent over like an old woman, breathing in short, shallow pants.
She needed to move, she needed to find a way to get out, one way or another. Now that the pretence was over, and he no longer cared about seducing her, she didn’t want to think what would be her fate. She wouldn’t end up like the demons in the cages.
She opened her closet and was startled to find it empty, opened the drawers with the same results. “Madito seas Ambrose!” she cursed again when she realized that he wanted her even more vulnerable. She moved to the bed and took one of the sheets, wrapping her body with it, flinching at the pain that even the gentle pressure of the cloth on her ribs produced.
Then she collected the items she had so painfully gathered in the past days. She had only dared to do it when she noticed the servant who took care of her rooms was Pelor. She had hidden them inside her pillow, carefully opening a little hole in the seams and hiding the opening with the pillow cover. There wasn’t much, only a nasty looking discardable syringe and a stainless steel scalpel, both from the research rooms, but it was all she had been able to take without being noticed. She had disregarded other more obvious things, like Delancre’s golden letter opener, or the knives of his silverware. Now, with the scalpel in her hands, she moved to the living area and sat down to wait for him, ready for a final battle.
She didn’t have to wait long until the door opened, but instead of Delancre a well-known blue figure rushed to her side. Relief flooded her as she rested her head in the smooth feeling of his fur, and for the first time she let her tears flow freely. The shy demon only patted her until she could control herself again.
“Alessa,” he finally said, “we have no time. He was talking with the doctors. They will come for you soon.” His words were soft but coercing. He took her face in his hands and made her look at him. When he got her attention he handed him a mug of steaming tea. “Here, drink this, it will make you feel better.”
Alessa took the mug and drank in slow sips, the sweet liquid smoothing the way down her body, easing her aching throat. “Tell me what you heard,” she instructed Pelor who was watching her with concerned eyes, but the hot tea was already making miracles. She felt much better already.
“They will come in any minute, we have to get out of here.” He looked around in earnest. “I have to take you to the waste area, I…”
“Pelor. I can't get out of here, not like this.” Her voice was cold. “I’ll wait for them, and try to make as much damage as I can before they have to kill me.” She opened her hand for him to see her scalpel, and gritted her teeth at his mournful laugh.
“Then you do that trying to get out. We’ll go to the waste area, we could make it there-”
There was an edge of hysteria in his voice and Alessa silenced him. “No. I’ll wait here. Without my changing I’ll be spotted the moment I cross the door, I have more-” she stopped when she noticed him looking intently at her neck. “What? What is it?”
“The collar… It’s no longer on… the lights are out,” he explained.
Quickly, Alessa got up and walked to the mirror she had avoided earlier. She still avoided her face, but she had to check her collar. Pelor was right, the thing seemed to be off. With trembling hands she touched it, and the damn thing just… opened. She couldn’t prevent her tears from flooding again as she released her neck of the now familiar weight.
“He must have broken it,” she said softly, “He must have broken it when he shook me with it.” A chocking sob rose from her throat. She had spent weeks trying to get the thing loose, and Delancre himself had done it in one temper outburst. “I should have attacked him earlier!” she cried as she hugged Pelor, the intense pain in her ribs making her collect herself almost immediately.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
February 25th
1:30 am
“I need clothes,” she told Pelor, after hurrying down the last of her tea. “That monstruo took everything in the closet…”
“I’ll bring you an uniform.”
“Big one,” she instructed, “Man's size.” The Brashak nodded and left the room.
Alone again, Alessa steadied herself and carefully sat down on the floor, assuming the lotus position. She knew time was pressing. Delancre wouldn’t take too long to come back, but she didn’t dare leave the apartment in her true form. Even the sloppiest changing would be better than that. She closed her eyes and concentrated, breathing in and out. She had studied every human guard who she had seen walk around freely, looking for one who wouldn’t be too hard to imitate. She had selected Peter, a not too big, green-eyed young guard. She had known time would probably be an issue, and she couldn’t really change her eye color when pressed by time.
When Pelor came back she was already standing up. He walked towards her and inspected her attentively, circling her. She had only had time to concentrate on the face and general build of the man. She knew that other than her head she looked rather like a fashion dummy, completely sexless, but clothes would cover that.
“It’s good,” he finally said. “Eyes a little too green, but with luck we won't encounter nobody.” He handed her the clothes and shoes, which she promptly donned.
Once in the halls, Pelor affected again his submissive demeanor as he walked next to her manly gait. Fortunately they made it to the “Waste Area” without any incidents, they crossed a couple of other guards but nobody asked them anything. It was night and the halls were almost deserted. There were no people in the waste section during the night either, so the big steel double doors were locked. As Pelor keyed the password into a touch screen near the entrance, Alessa wondered again at the demon’s knowledge of the facility workings.
The waste area had the same surgery room quality than the rest of the compound, but the ripely sweet odor of garbage still clung to the place. It was a huge room, spotlessly clean, a large pile of metal crates stacked on one side, and a line of lifts in the other, probably the means by which garbage from different parts of the facility got to the room.
The drowned rumble of water could be heard, even with the gates to the underground stream closed. Pelor walked to a big trap in the farthest part of the room. It looked hermetically closed, a little touch screen beside that door too. Pelor deftly keyed another password and the trap’s doors slid silently, discovering a dark opening on the floor. The sound of water was completely distinguishable now.
Then he led her to the pile of crates and rounded it, coming back rolling a really big metal barrel.
“I saved this one a week ago,” he told her. “There aren’t many this big. I opened some holes in the lid, see? For air to enter.” He pointed to the tiny holes and grinned at her dismayed expression. “You don’t want it to fill with water and sink with you inside, do you?”
He smiled again at her now enthusiastic shake of her head. She had recovered her real form as soon as they had left the hall, and he had to control himself to allow her to do this, she looked so battered that he doubted she could really make it. *She has no choice,* he thought, and smiled at her again, trying to sound confident.
“Come on, I’ll stuff some cloth inside to cushion it a little for you,” he said as he started moving here and there looking for anything that would soften the inside of the barrel.
Alessa entered the container, and looked around with frightened eyes. *I have no choice,* she said to herself. She'd rather die trying to escape than live with Delancre, especially after that night. In the last moment, before Pelor closed the barrel’s lid she looked at him.
“Come with me, friend. I don’t want to think about what he could do to you if he ever finds out.” She couldn’t make herself leave him behind, not after all he’d done for her.
“He won't. Besides, I have to make it known that you have escaped. I have to send word to your friend.”
“Ellis Longwood, Pelor. Remember, from Longwood Inc. in London.” She had thought he would be easier to contact than Chance, and Ellis could call her boyfriend after he received her request for help. Besides, she hadn’t been able to talk to Chance the week before the kidnapping; Pelor wouldn’t have many opportunities to send a message out of the facility, better not waste them.
She stood up again, watching her balance in the small barrel and hugged the demon. A fierce, loving hug. She doubted she would see him again.
“I’ll come back, Pelor. I’ll come back for you,” she said as she disentangled herself.
The demon just looked down and shifted his feet. “Just make sure my family knows I remember them." He looked up again, pride in his eyes. "You gave me back my family, Alessa; you gave me back my pride. I won't forget that.”
Alessa smiled, tears in her eyes, and settled into the barrel. It had enough space for her to curl inside. As Pelor put the lid in place, she watched with dismay how she was surrounded by darkness until only a ring of light showed where the opening was. Then there was only blackness.
Pelor rolled the metal barrel to the dark opening on the floor from where the water beneath could be seen. The natural spring that ran down the mountain had been preserved by the architects rather than changing its course. Now it ran under the facility, tamed into a huge sewer system. The stream of water had been preserved to use as a quick and simple way of disposing the waste, and it was only accessed from the ‘Waste Area’ where all garbage, debris and even corpses of the compound were stuck into big metal boxes and sent downstream to the crematorium on the shore, where it was finally burnt and later spilled to the sea.
The Brashak grimaced when he finally pushed the barrel over the opening and heard it splash in the cold water some feet below, and then bump against the concrete walls of the sewer pipes. It was not an easy way, the one Alessa had chosen, she would have to travel a long way down the narrow underground pipes before getting into the open air, he just hoped she could make it without air for so long and that once at a safe distance she could open the barrel with the crowbar he had provided her.
“Good luck, my friend,” he said, and walked away. He had to manage to get in touch with her friends still.
Inside the small container, Alessa tried to ease her breathing, using the concentration techniques her grandfather had taught her, to consume as little oxygen as possible, although they had opened little holes in the lid to let at least some air enter when there was space in the sewers. It wasn’t part of her plan to die of suffocation, like a kitten in a bag. However her concentration suffered with each time the barrel hit the pipes, the pain in her mistreated body exploding with each collision. Finally she gave up and just tried to ease the bumping and bouncing from the inside.
The ride seemed endless. The air inside became rancid and unsatisfying, and the container slowly filled with water. The darkness was complete, but Alessa didn’t dare close her eyes. She was just too tired, she couldn’t allow herself to fall asleep, however rough the trip, to awaken in the crematorium, surrounded by Delancre’s men again.
She completely lost her sense of time. She couldn’t have said how much time had passed since she had hit the water to the moment she saw grey patches in her wet hideout and realized that light was filtering through the holes. She was about to try and open the barrel when she realized that it must be the light from the powerful lights that scanned the area around the compound each night. Not a good place to leave the relative safety of the barrel. But at least she had left the compound behind; despite the pain, Alessa smiled.
The speed and violence of the ride increased now that she was in the open, the brook descending roughly down the mountain, quick water and falls threatening to break the metal walls of the container. Nevertheless Alessa remained still for a little longer, wishing to put as much distance as possible between the compound and herself, but soon she decided to try and open the barrel. She must have gotten about mid distance between the buildings and the shore; she didn’t want to get out too close to either.
She used the crowbar to hit the lid of the barrel till it opened, icy water pouring in and almost drowning her. The barrel, filled with water, sank to the bottom of the stream, and Alessa was surprised at how deep it was. The strength of the current pushed her downstream, but she still had energy enough to swim to safety, finally setting foot on the muddy bottom she waded ashore.
She was freezing, sore and stiff; so battered and bruised that she could hardly stumble through the shallow water to lie groaning on the shore. But she was free.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
Legends of the Fated Templar, Part 7
Fin.
Chance’s blood, that had dripped on to the floor, swirled up around him; caught in a mystical wind that whipped it into a scarlet whirlwind. Now the blood that flowed from his arm did not even gush down him, but instead joined the tornado spinning around him.
Shell-shocked, slightly insane and generally emotionally unstable, Chance could do nothing but watch it happen.
“It has begun,” the cloak said as the whirlwind expanded to the edge of the pentagram. It began to chant, the rest of the cultists quickly taking it up.
The wind picked up, clearly whistling now through the chamber. Yet there was another sound with more depth to it than that. The louder it got, it became increasingly easier to detect blood-curdling screams carried by the wind. Several of the torches went out, but an eerie glow was emanating from the blood the pentagram had been drawn in. This light grew brighter, bathing Chance in its glow.
Behind Chance, the portal opened.
Blood-red lightning spat from the whirlwind, incinerating several cultists. Energy crackled within it, around Chance. Then, with an ear-splitting crack, it focused and arched to a point a few feet behind him. There, the lightning tore a gap in the fabric of reality and time and space. It opened a black hole to the very bowels of the world.
Within, something awoke.
The wind dropped. The chanting ended.
Silence.
Fighting a numbness that was rapidly spreading through his body, Chance turned to face the portal. He met two glowing eyes from within its depths.
They blinked rapidly, then focused on him. He, finally, felt a shudder run through him.
The eyes advanced, steadily and slowly.
Still, nobody said anything. Each of the cultists, including the cloak, still did not say a word. Chance doubted they even dared breathe.
With a pondering lurch through which could be seen the sleep of millennia, the Titan passed through the portal, ripping it open further to fit its massive bulk.
A tremor passed through the Temple. A Titan walked the Earth again.
As the creature stepped through the portal, its inner light lit. At the site of it, Chance sagged to his knees in the epitome of despair. Towering at three times the height of the tallest of men, it reached to the very ceiling. Great wings stretched from its back, and a mane of fire ran down its neck to the beast-like head topped with horns. Half-formed and newly reawakened though it may be, Chance could not see any way that it could be stopped.
(The Titan)
Then Dray’chen began to be torn from his body, and he knew it would be much worse.
Chance was drawn back to the time Dray’chen had taken over, but this time it was much worse. The demon was not exerting control, but being stripped away from him. From his eyes and ears and nose and mouth and very pores, a green mist that was Dray’chen’s essence began to leak. He felt a burning rush across his body, an agony that pierced his very soul as it was ripped apart by the demon’s departure.
As Chance screamed, the green mist rose up and swirled around the Titan then settled on it. The Titan roared as well, a sound like that of the rumbling of an earthquake and the screech of nails on a chalkboard, and it shook the Temple again.
The fire that covered the Titan, indeed that was a very part of it, slowly turned green.
At the other end of the hall, the doors burst open under the weight of a cultist being thrown through.
Into the flickering light stepped Darian; determined and focused, Cole; bewildered and in awe of the Titan, and Pandora; already muttering the beginnings of the spell required to return Dray’chen to Chance. With the sheer abundance of mystical energy, it would be easier than she expected. Which didn’t mean to say it would not be easy, just not close to impossible.
“Brethren! Our time is at hand!” the cloak shouted. “Rid of us of these infidel intruders!”
“Cole. The sword. Go,” Pandora commanded in between breaths. “Darian, I’m beginning the spell. I’ll appear catatonic and-”
“Helpless, yeah I know,” he finished, eyeing the horde of cultists approaching the intruders. “Better hurry up. Here they come.”
“HEY! Over here!” Darian screamed, drawing the attention of the cultists to him. It took no time before he had leapt into action, a twirling, twisting body of carnage. The boy had never seen Darian move so fast, but then again, they were never in such a situation. If they failed now, it would not only cause their deaths, but those of every human on the planet.
*Ok, side door, side door,* Cole thought frantically as he snuck his way passed the group, looking for the passage that Pandora said would lead to the sword. *Christ! Where is..?* The boy’s mind went blank when his eyes fell on Chance, lying helplessly in the middle of a blood stained pentagram.
“Oh God, Chance!”
There was no answer. The bloody form that was Chance did not even stir at his voice. Were they too late? No they weren’t, couldn’t be. They would save him. Fighting the temptation to rush over to Chance, Cole broke into full sprint towards the door he had finally found at the far end of the room. *Everything is going to be fine,* he tried to convince himself as he rushed down the broken stone steps.
Pandora closed her eyes, losing herself in the winds of magic. It was blowing so strongly, so much more strongly than she had ever encountered. All she had to do was but think of it and the power of a hundred mages flooded through her...
That was why it was so strong. It was corrupting.
Redoubling her mental defences, she shrugged it off and focused on what she had to do. The words came easily to her lips, and she began murmuring.
No sooner had she uttered but a few words than she heard the faint twinges of shrieking. A small smile twitched at the corner of her lips. Dray’chen knew what she was going to do. And with all this power it wouldn’t take long.
Cole bounded down the stairs, almost slipping on the old, cracked stone. Then he hit the floor, and was scurrying along a corridor towards the door at the end. Pandora had told him that was where the sword was. He just had to reach it…
A side-door slammed open and a bunch of cultists bounded out. Cole ducked into an alcove, sheltering behind the statue of something he didn’t even want to think about it. It wasn’t entirely stone, that was for sure. He could feel the malice radiating from it.
Cowering in the shadows, he waited until the cultists had passed, then leapt back out and continued on.
Almost there, almost there, almost there…
Five cultists surrounded the fae, all eagerly trying to get to the witch he protected.
“We must stop her spell, least the ritual fails!” one screamed, as he charged forwards.
He didn’t get very far.
Darian's legs swept out quickly, tripping the overzealous attacker. Before he could hit the ground, the fae pulled out a knife strapped to his leg, and plunged it deep into the cultist’s chest.
A pang of guilt rushed through his body – he was killing… killing humans. But what choice did he have? He had to protect Pandora, no matter what the costs.
“Anyone else wanna try that?” he growled, as the remaining four all began advancing in unison. “I guess you do.” Learning from their fallen comrade, his opponents did not attack alone, but instead rushed as a group.
They didn’t get very far.
Knowing he wouldn’t be able to physically stop them all in time, Darian reached down into the magic that rested within him, and summoned it up to the surface. The hairs on his arms began to stand on end. What started as little more than static electricity grew steadily to a powerful bolt of lightening which Darian released.
When the flash had finished, the sizzling bodies of the four attackers slumped to the rock floor. *Come on Pandora, hurry up.*
Finally Cole had reached the destination. At the end of the corridor was a small room, devoid of anything save for a single pedestal; atop it, the accursed sword.
Cole shuddered.
The blade was horrifying, almost as chilling as the Titan in the room above. Much like the statue before, he could feel the evil radiating from the weapon.
“Just take it,” he said aloud, trying to urge himself closer. At first it was no use. The vile energy stemming from the sword was like a wall, preventing Cole from moving forward. It was almost as if the blade was trying to prevent him from taking it. Finally, the thought of what would happen to Chance if he didn’t take it was enough motivation to overcome the blade’s evil aura. Closing his eyes, Cole reached out his hand, grabbed the sword, and took off back down the corridor.
*Going to be ok, everything is going to be ok.* The mantra was far from comforting when the form of the massive Demi-God came back in view.
Pandora’s eyes shot open, a wind blowing up into her face and sending her hair wild; her jet black hair, that had now been bleached blonde by the power coursing through her. Her eyes glowed brightly in the odd light. Her voice rose stronger and stronger as the spell came to completion. She was wreathed in fire herself now, and yet none of it burnt her.
The sound of cultists behind her alerted her to reinforcements coming through the main door that they had used. She turned to see another two dozen of them.
With a casual flick of her wrist a wall of fire rose up in the door, engulfing half a dozen of them and burning them to ashes. The rest shied away and retreated. More burst in through the side-door Cole had run through. For an instant Pandora worried, fearing the boy dead, but a quick search of the temple with her mind found him alive. She fixed her gaze on the cultists, then blinked once.
The shadows that gathered around the pillars to either side of the door moved, possessed of a life on their own gifted to them temporarily by the witch. They descended on the eight unaware cultists with a predator’s steady speed. Then they engulfed them, swallowing up each one in turn. When the shadows returned to their places, but shadows once again, there was no sign of the eight cultists.
Pandora focused on the Titan and the swirling green mist around it, gathered the last of her strength and energy to her and drew on the powers far more than even she should or had ever. Then, and only then, did she utter the last words of the spell.
The Titan roared again as Dray’chen was torn from it and sent hurtling back into Chance’s broken body, screaming with such power that even those who were not magically attuned could hear it.
“Noo!” the being in the cloak cried, and began chanting something of his own, doubtless to release the demon again. Pandora fixed him in her gaze, whilst she still had the power flowing through her.
The cloak burst into flame and light. When it died down, there was nothing left.
She returned to rebinding Dray’chen. A few more words, and it was done. Surely, it was only because of the open portal leaking magic into the chamber that she was able to do so, to channel such power.
The portal. It was still open. And with nobody looking over it, it was growing increasingly unstable. It could rip a permanent hole in the fabric of space. It could allow another Titan to cross. She could not let that happen.
Before she could do anything, Pandora’s eyelids flickered and her eyeballs rolled back into her head. She slumped backwards and cracked her head on the floor.
Chance gasped as Dray’chen was sucked back into him. His wounds and the runes carved onto his body instantly healed anew. He opened his eyes and rose, turning to face the Titan that stood before him; looking at him curiously.
Refusing to be intimidated, Chance stood his ground before the powerful creature. He felt new strength flood through him, removing the grief and exhaustion of the last few days.
Behind the Titan the portal shrieked, lancing out with bolts of electricity. A pillar off to his right exploded. Cultists, those that hadn’t been killed by Pandora’s magic or Darian, retreated quickly. Several were struck by the lightning and electrocuted.
Chance held out his left hand. “Cole!” he yelled.
Bearing the sword, the boy darted over and thrust it into Chance’s hand. “We have to get out of here!”
“You get out of here. Get behind Darian,” he murmured, pushing Cole away and stepping towards the Titan. The Titan roared, exploding in flame, and summoned its own fiery sword to its hand; almost the size of Chance himself. He eyed the near-god that stood before him. The ritual was not complete; it was only half-formed, not yet invulnerable. It could still be killed. "Okay, pal. Let’s do this.”
Darian ran to Pandora’s side as he saw her fall. “Pandora, Pandora! Are you okay?”
Her eyes fluttered open. “The portal… is… unstable. I… must close… it before it… destroys us all.”
“No, no. You’re in no condition to do that.”
“I must.” She propped herself up. “Something… else… could come through. It… could collapse… on itself…”
Darian studied the portal carefully. “And with a portal like that, with the power of a nuclear bomb,” he finished.
The witch nodded and closed her eyes, murmuring hurriedly.
Chance held Dray’chen’s sword before him, his own eyes closed. The Titan’s fiery blade descended in an arc that would cleave him in two. At the last second Chance parried high, his own sword now blazing green in the presence of such power.
The two blades met with a sharp shriek and a deep rumble that echoed through the temple, shaking the foundations further. Sparks flew from the connection.
His arms straining, sweat beading on his forehead, Chance held the Titan’s blade in the parry. It looked at him, then quickly took its sword away for another attack.
Chance didn’t even bother to block this one. Instead he ducked under, and then the next, then jumped around the third. Although the Titan was massive and powerful, he was small and nimble, leading a spinning dance that took him in and out of the sword’s path, but ever closer to the Titan itself.
“What’s he doing?” Cole breathed to Darian as he reached him, staring with eyes wide at the confrontation between possessed man and ancient god.
“He’s going to kill it,” Darian replied.
“He’s going to get himself killed,” the teenager said, shaking his head.
Darian smiled as he watched. “I don’t think so.”
Duck, jump, dodge, closer. Duck again, side-step, spin, closer still. Jump, roll, run. Almost there…
Then another dodge, and Chance had made it. He was within striking range of the Titan.
He leapt as high as he could, a cry at his lips that carried the frustration he had felt over the past few days and the anger at being abused for so long, the sword held in both his hands behind his back. Then he brought it sweeping down as hard as he could.
As it hit the creature more sparks flew, some striking Chance’s bare chest and burning him. He carved a deep gouge into it, then was falling back to the ground again. Lava began to flow from the open wound. The Titan roared in pain so loudly Chance thought his eardrums were going to burst. Cole’s began to bleed. It dropped its sword of fire, which consumed itself to nothingness before it hit the ground.
Still roaring in pain and anger, the Titan backhanded Chance just after he landed. The blow sent him flying to the air until he connected with a pillar not far from Darian, Cole and Pandora. The pillar dented and cracked under the impact, and Chance tumbled to the floor amongst pieces of it.
He shook his head and picked himself up, purple bruises forming across him. But before Chance could rush over to the Titan, it belched fire at him, which he managed to avoid by darting behind the pillar he had just hit. The fire scorched the marble, and Chance could feel the heat on the other side. When it cut off, he ran around again, only to catch the Titan roaring once more, then disappearing back into the portal.
As it passed through, Pandora screamed. Blood began to trickle from her nose.
Chance paused for a moment, then started jogging over towards the still-open portal.
Hearing Pandora’s cry, Darian darted over to her. She was barely conscious, and yet somehow still managing to keep up her mantra. Her skin was paler than he had ever seen it; almost transluscent.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She didn’t stop chanting, only barely shaking her head. Darian took it as a sign not to disturb her, and so instead did what he could.
Cole started heading over himself. His knees were wobbly and he was shaking all over at what had just happened. He couldn’t believe they had done it… beaten a god…
Then he noticed Chance was heading over to the portal.
“Chance? Chance! Where are you going?” His desperate cry drew Darian’s attention, and Pandora’s too. Her eyes fluttered open briefly to see for herself, then she closed them and hung her head. A tear worked out of the corner of her eye.
Chance didn’t answer Cole’s shout. He continued on his way, the determined look still etched on his face.
Cole ran back over to him and stood in his way. “What are you doing?”
Chance shoved him out of the way, and when he spoke his voice was monotone. “To do what has to be done.”
The teen feared the worst, but decided to check. He reached out with his psychic skills, those he had practised so long ago, and focused on Chance, searching for answers…
Cole’s mouth dropped and his eyes opened wide. He shook his head, then started to cry himself. “No. No no no. You can’t.”
Chance stopped, hung his head, sighed, and turned to look at him. The grim determination was mixed with anger and sadness. “I must. That portal’s unstable. It could go anywhere. I can’t let that Titan go. As long as it’s in the material world, whichever one, there’s the threat somebody will try and join with it like Dray’chen did.” His hands tightened, “Including Dray’chen. I can’t let something so powerful get away. It has to be stopped.” He started walking again.
“It’s gone Chance!” Cole shrieked. “It’s not our problem anymore!”
“Yes it bloody well is!” Chance roared, rounding on him with a finger pointed at himself. “It’s my god-damned problem because I let the fucking thing out! Me, Cole. Me! I brought it here. It’s my responsibility! The end of the world was on my head.” He waved back towards the portal. “This is my fault. And I am not letting that go!” Pausing only to strip a cultist of his robes and weapons, knives, two pistols and ammo included, Chance stalked over to the portal leaving Cole standing behind him in tears.
Next to Pandora, Darian stood up. “The portal’s unstable, Chance!” Giving weight to his words, another bolt of electricity turned a pillar to dust. The temple shook again. “Even if you aren’t ripped apart by the energies and spread across the dimensions, you don’t know where you’re going. You don’t even know if you’re going to the same dimension as the Titan!”
Chance looked across his shoulder at Darian, but then looked down at Pandora. Darian followed his gaze. Bleeding from her eyes and ears now, Pandora just managed to raise her voice to a whisper. “I’m holding the portal open and connected. But I can’t for long…”
“Which means I have to go,” Chance said, continuing walking.
“Wait, wait!” Cole cried at him. When he didn’t stop he ran forward and grabbed his arm. “Please, don’t go! Think of me… think of Alessa!”
Chance stopped again, and when he turned to look at Cole the teen could see his own eyes were red-rimmed. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. “I… I know. And there’s nothing more I’d like to do than stay. But I can’t keep putting those around me in risk because of Dray’chen. He and his legacy will always be looming over my life, and the less people in it the less will die. He’s a threat I will never be rid of. I’m constantly plagued by him. He’s never going to let me live a happy life. He’ll always be there, plotting and scheming. It’s going to come between us, drive us apart. I don’t want it to have to come to that. I need to go before it does.”
He took a deep breath and looked away. “Everybody keeps dying around me, Cole. For me. Matthew effectively died to let me live. The Vagabond died to buy you time to bring me back. Pandora’s dying whilst trying to save me. I can’t go on getting people killed. Next it might be you, or Alessa or Darian. All because of Dray’chen. I can’t have that. I can’t keep feeling the guilt for it, even if it’s not true. I can’t keep going on like this. Take care of her for me.” There was no question as to who ‘her’ was. “She probably won’t understand and will be hurt.”
“But… but you can come back, right? Once you’ve killed it?” Cole asked around the tears.
Chance closed his eyes again and kept them closed. “I won’t lie to you. Even if it doesn’t kill me, I don’t think there’s a way back. I don’t know where I’m going, and I’ve got no way of getting back myself. And I don’t want you trying. It’ll be too risky, you won’t know exactly what you’re bringing across. So… please… for me. Just tell Alessa I’m dead. I want you all to think that. It will be easier that way, and you can move on…” His voice trailed off. When he spoke again, his throat croaked. “I wish I could be there to see the man you will become, but I know you’ll make me proud.” Somehow, Chance managed to smile.
“Chance…” Darian called, looking worriedly at Pandora. “I don’t think she can keep it up much longer…”
“I’m going,” he called back. “Darian, I… I want you to look after her, too.”
“Of course,” Darian replied in the tone of voice that suggested he would anyway. "I’ll watch out for them until you get back," he called out to his friend, emphasising the ‘get back’.
Chance nodded his head. “Thank you… both of you. For risking your lives to come out and do this. I’m sorry it has to end this way, but this is the way it has to be.” He looked as if he was about to say more, but he caught himself. “Rejoice, for you’ll be what I never can; free of Dray’chen. Goodbye.”
“Chance,” Cole breathed.
He turned to look at the kid for the last time, who wiped away his tears and put on a brave face for his friend, hoping he wouldn’t say anything else. It was already too hard. But Cole just came over and hugged him. Although surprised, Chance returned it with great warmth. “Be careful.”
Stepping away from Cole, Chance faced the gaping portal. It was a wrench in the fabric of reality. He stared into the bottomless pit that was on the other side.
But he knew that in there, somewhere, was the Titan. And he would find it and destroy it for good.
Chance smiled. Peace that only a man with purpose in his life could have washed over him. He had not been comfortable with his life, with himself, for as long as he could remember. He could only ever see his failings. Even love was only a distraction to take his mind of how he was unhappy with himself. But now… now he had meaning. Now he had something to hold on to, to dedicate himself to.
Woe betide the Titan and all who got in his way.
He raised Dray’chen’s sword and walked steadily towards the gaping hole.
“For Alessa. For Cole. For Darian and for the world at large,” he whispered. "If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, and hug it in mine arms."
Without looking back, Chance stepped across the threshold. His body was enveloped by the shadows within. And so he stepped into the darkness, or else the light.
With a flash, a bang and a distinct smell of burning, the portal closed.
Cole sank to his knees, his head in his hands, and burst into uncontrollable tears. Darian, his own eyes watering, looked down at Pandora. But the witch was staring up at him with eyes unseeing. His tears splashing on her face, he closed her eyelids. She had done it, had kept the portal connected for Chance to make safe passage, and then closed it, but at the cost of her life, just as she had warned.
And with her had died any clue as to which dimension Chance had gone to.
The world had just lost one of its greatest heroes, but to some, he was more, he was an ally, a friend, a lover. There would be a time where Chance’s disappearance would be mourned, but now was not that time. The collapse of the portal had released too much energy for the ancient structure to withstand – the temple was crumbling around them.
Seeing the boulders begin to fall from the cracking ceiling, Darian turned to retrieve Pandora’s corpse; she deserved a better burial. Shockingly however, all that remained of the woman was a pile of tattered clothes – even in death, Pandora had a way of making a mysterious exit; how appropriate.
“Cole! We have to go!”
Either the boy did not hear, or did not care; either way, he did not move.
Darian sprinted forward, dodging the falling rubble which threatened to crush them both, until finally arriving at his friend’s side. “Cole?” he said shaking the kid slightly.
“He’s… he’s gone,” Cole said weakly, through chocking sobs.
In that moment, Darian wanted to say something comforting, something to help the boy through this time, but the truth was he didn’t know what to say. Chance really was gone, and there was nothing that could change that. Scooping up the shivering form of Cole in his arms, he bolted for the exit, hoping that perhaps when they had escaped the shattering ruins he could be more consoling.
On the distant horizon a glimmer of light shone onto the land, as the sun struggled to wake from its slumber. It was the start of a new day. For some, it would herald new opportunities, new love, new beginnings, but for others it would be the start of something less bright. For some, it would be the first of many days of grieving. The two figures standing outside the broken temple of Solomon were part of those ‘others’.
As Cole sat on the cold sand, staring blankly at the white grains underfoot, Darian’s gaze moved to the temple’s ruins.
Darian turned to gaze back at the collapsing temple, tears clouding his vision. He heard Cole sobbing again beside him. “Yes, thou must die. Thou art too noble to conserve a life in base appliances.”
++++
"…If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, and hug it in mine arms.”
“…Yes, thou must die. Thou art too noble to conserve a life in base appliances.”
-William Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure, Act 3, Scene 1.
“…stepped into the darkness, or else the light.”
- Margaret Atwood’s [i]The Handmaid’s Tale (Yes, I did quote The Handmaid’s Tale. Although I didn’t like the book, I did appreciate and can respect the ambiguous ending and all it entails. I thought it appropriate.)[/i]
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
***Sunday, December 24th, 2006 *** Christmas Eve ***
*** 10:45 pm PST *** 8:45 AM Dec 25, 2006 Uzbekistan Time ***
Zasia rolled over and shouted at the dog that was barking in the street, “Shut up you filthy mongrel!”
He had been working all night at the machine shop trying to fix the metal lathe that had seized up during the shift yesterday. Of course, the few Christian workers were allowed to take a day off which meant that the lathe was not going to be used today. But that didn’t mean it didn’t have to be fixed right then.
The dog apparently had not heard him yelling and obviously didn’t care that Zasia had been up all night long. Zasia buried his head under the thin pillow and muttered into his mattress, “In the name of Allah, please shut up, dog.”
The dog stopped barking. *Praise be to Allah,* Zasia thought as he rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.
*** 10:45 pm PST *** 4:45 AM Dec 25, 2006 Andorran Time ***
Yves was wide-awake in bed hoping that Father Christmas would come soon. He had been trying to stay awake for the longest time and felt like if he fell asleep he would miss his chance to talk to him personally.
He had tried to write it all in a letter for him but for some reason he was having trouble making his 10-year-old vocabulary fit the idea he had. It would have to be in person. “God,” Yves prayed, “I know you are busy up in Heaven but if you could sent Father Christmas here early tonight, I have something to ask him.”
A loud thump outside his window made Yves clutch his quilt up close to his chest. *Could it be?*
The window slid open silently, and a chilly swirl of frost coalesced into a scarlet dressed man. “Good morning, Yves. You are up past your bedtime, aren’t you?”
Yves nodded quietly.
“That would be a bad mark but I know you want to ask me something very important. God told me to hurry, so I rushed right over,” said the smiling saint.
“Yes, Father Christmas. First, I want to make sure that Mum and Dad get the help they need with the sheep this year. We had such a hard time last year. And I want Dad to get his farm back in Spain. He is always talking about how the Andorran Gov’ment took it from him even though we still live here.”
The large man laughed and it sounded like thunder rolling across the mountains to Yves, “I can do all of that for you Yves, just take this paper and give it to your father in the morning.”
Yves took the scroll and peeked inside. It was signed by the King of Spain and returned all of the land to Spain because his great grandfather had been a hero to Spain once. It took Yves a long time to read the flowery script and long words, but it was clear enough.
“Thank you Father…” he began. But the Saint was already on his way elsewhere. Yves supposed he was very busy tonight. Lots of wishes to grant.
*** 10:45 pm PST *** 4:15 PM Dec 25, 2006 Darwin Australia Time ***
Nancy was on her surfboard in the water looking at the younger, fitter, and less dressed women on the beach. *Crikey, I wish could lose ten kilos,* she mused.
She felt, rather than saw, the shark that took off her arm.
*** 10:45 pm PST *** 1:45 AM Dec 25, 2006 Colombian Time ***
Ambrose Delancre was “enjoying” a rare departure from the humanoid demonesses he had been having of late. It was called a Flaurgaine Demon and it was sentient the experts told him. It certainly responded to his attentions.
He had its tentacles wrapped around him in innovative places and its toothless orifice was producing a mildly irritating saliva as it sucked on him that made him tingle in a most satisfying way. *I wish you could feel what this is like,* he mused.
Strangely the Flaugaine was thinking something similar about the uncomfortable and humiliating experience it was enduring.
Delancre suddenly grabbed the fleshy tentacled thing attached to him and peeled it off. He rushed to his chambers, jumped into the shower and ran the hottest water he could manage. He huddled and shook in the bathroom for long minutes. The Flaurgaine didn’t have a smile as such but it was enjoying the moment of humiliating the great Ambrose Delancre and it gave it a small, almost sexual, satisfaction at having done it so effortlessly.
A few moments later, Ambrose was telling his people to dispose of the thing, but the feelings still nagged him all the rest of that night.
*** 10:45 pm PST *** 4:45 AM Dec 25, 2006 Kenyan Time ***
Oloepo stood on the plains in the dark and held his spear while standing on one leg. It had been several months since Naasha had passed away. Since then he had lost Nelion to a ground dwelling spider demon. Batian had traded in his spear for the life of a prophet. The others had been scattered to start villages of their own. But Oloepo had continued to fight the wachawi that had survived Naasha’s cleansing.
*God,* he prayed to the stars, *Naasha was such a shining example for us. I am glad you let us see her because we are not so worthy as she.*
“Oh, Oloepo. You always were such a poet,” said Naasha.
Oloepo raised his spear at her, “Back, wachawi! I will kill you if you approach. I have slain many of your kind, and Naasha’s face does not deter me from my duty.”
Naasha laughed and her straight white teeth made Oloepo’s heart ache. She smiled at him, “I am not wachawi. It really is me. But I cannot stay. I came to tell you what has happened.”
She touched his forehead and he saw the girl Ellie, her fate and the fates of the four who were slain, most not ever realizing their gift. And then there was Annabella, the dark and twisted Slayer.
Oloepo fought to not cry in front of Naasha. “Why?” he asked.
“Your love for me brought me here. I loved all of my oroporror but you most of all,” she said gently touching his cheek, “because you understood the virtue of what we were doing more than the others. One day, the Slayer will come back here and they will hear the tales of the Slayers as their fathers and grandfathers told them. Do not let those who came and left so much quicker than I be forgotten, Oloepo.”
And then she was gone.
In time, Oloepo thought, I will proudly bear six daughters. And their names will be Naasha, Ellie, Tizane, Kikuyo, Sula, and Sunny. And they shall live out the lives that their namesakes weren’t allowed to.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
***February 25th, 2007- Rumanian Woods- 11:32 pm***
Dmitri Lautari strolled down the staircase from the second floor of his home, and had set his destination towards the kitchen for a glass of water. He walked quietly, trying not to wake his wife, mother, and sixteen year old daughter. The elder Lautari was creeping past his living room when he noticed an abundance of candles were lit. Dmitri poked his head in, only to see Yolanda sitting on the floor, Indian style, looming over a clear crystal ball. A great quantity of potions and herbs circled around her.
He walked into the room and approached his mother, whose full concentration was on the crystal. “Mother, mother, what are you doing?” Dmitri asked in a low voice.
Silence returned for a moment before Yolanda replied, “None of your concern, Dmitri. Go back to bed before that walking nightmare that you affectionately call your ‘wife’ wakes up and complains about me using her damn candles.”
Her son looked around the room once more and groaned. “If you weren’t my mother, she would kill you,” he began, and then set his stare on the visionary once more. “Besides, mother, this is my house, and I am not five years old. I’d like to know what the hell you’re doing, thank you very much!” he continued.
Yolanda now took a small bowl and began adding potions, herbs and such to it, grinding it up. As she did this task, she answered her son, “I’ve been seeing things again, terrible things. Something big is going to happen, and I refuse to sit back and watch it unfold before me, as I did with other things.”
She then held the bowl above her as she lit a match under it and moved it about the bottom. Her dark brown eyes intently followed the flame. “Once I finish with this, I might be able to get somewhere,” Yolanda muttered aloud. Dmitri sat himself on the couch as he watched his mother’s work. He wasn’t very interested as a child, but now that he had grown older, he was now fascinated by it.
As the flame on the match died out, Yolanda brought the bowl down. There was now a hardened grayish-greenish substance in the bowl. The aging visionary began grinding it up until it was a fine powder.
She poured the powder into the palm of her hand. Carefully, Yolanda moved the bowl to the side and clasped her hands together, the powder still intact. Her aged hands stretched out above the crystal ball as she closed her eyes and began muttering in Latin.
Yolanda’s hands began to move back and forth, releasing strands of the powder on the crystal ball. Her words became louder, while the flames of the candles began to rise. She began to breathe heavily as she spoke the dead language.
Suddenly, the crystal ball shattered into a thousand pieces, and the flames of the candles blew out, except for the lone one that sat in front of Yolanda. An expression of anger outlined her features, her eyes reflecting a coldness about them. Someone was expecting her to trace back to them, and they were waiting for her with a blocking spell. A damned good one, as well.
The Lautari elder rose from her seat on the floor and hit the fireplace, rage flowing throughout her. She was so close. She could have prevented this terrible thing from happening, whatever it was. Yet, these forces teased her with terrible premonitions that made no sense.
Yolanda looked upon her site as her chest moved in and out. She would stop whatever was to come, no matter what it took.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
February 26th
London
11:45 pm
“That’s absurd!” Ellis Longwood almost shouted, angered by the ridiculous remark. His impatience and fury had made him stand up and he was pacing the room back and forth. “Alessandra Hunt is no assassin!”
He and his friends had been looking for Alessa since she had disappeared into thin air while walking in the park almost three weeks ago. Finally they had discovered that Danny Lassiter, the bounty hunter, had had a contract to capture her. Fortunately the man was still around and had agreed to see them without any inconvenience. Ellis had wondered why Danny, a hunter who prided himself on hunting only those he considered “bad” would prey on Alessa. The answer had been ridiculous, but he seethed thinking about who would create such a lie to have Alessa.
Danny Lassiter calmly watched him move. He wasn’t going to apologize for his work, but he was groaning inside; something had told him that the girl wasn’t really dangerous. He reached inside his denim jacket and took out a wrinkled folder. Silently he handed it over the table to the man sitting to his right, but not letting his eyes go of Ellis. He knew that the man could be dangerous.
Mike Coulter took the envelope and took out the photographs. They were of Alessa, in human and demon form. He raised an eyebrow to Danny and turned to the pacing man.
“Ellis, sit down and look at this, pal,” he said calmly. Mike was a black man, around his fifties, patches of grey hair showing in his hair and neatly trimmed beard. His features seemed carved in ebony, expressionless, but his eyes were alive and alert. He extended the photographs to his friend, who tiredly sat at the table.
Ellis inspected the stills and had to control himself not to laugh. He combed his hair with his hands, and shook his head.
“What is so funny, man?” asked Danny, noticing the suppressed mirth. Ellis Longwood made him nervous.
“This is. This is not Alessa, you moron,” he said, signalling the picture of the Verbati demon. “This Verbati isn’t even female!”
Danny looked the picture with interest. He looked up a couple of seconds later. “How do you know? Hard to notice a thing down there,” he said motioning with his hand to the place where sex differences should be noticeable.
“I just know,” he said, tiredly. “That’s a male, they don’t go about showing their ‘things’ as you so delicately stated.” He sighed and looked levelly at the bounty hunter.
“Whoever hired you for this contract lied to you. As I said, Alessandra Hunt is no assassin, she couldn’t have killed the man. Believe me, I have known her all my life, I would have known.” He pointed at the Verbati again. “If you don’t trust my word about this, ask some expert. And after you have your answer ask yourself this question: if you were lied to about a ‘picture’, why not about the whole thing?”
Danny looked at the damn photograph again, and felt anger rise within him. He had been played like a fool. That damn Delancre, he had played his buttons quite well. The man had probably known that Danny Lassiter didn’t prey on harmless demons, and had prepared the whole thing. He raised his eyes to Ellis Longwood again, who was tapping his fingers on the table, waiting for him to make a decision. Danny made up his mind.
“The Watchers’ Council hired me to find and bring them the Verbati without harm. For all I know she might be alive still; I fulfilled my part of the pact,” he explained, in a tone that told the other two men that he didn’t think the contractor’s side was done with. He thought about Delancre, with his overly genteel smile and he grated inside, but he wouldn’t tell the name of the man who hired him. His hunter’s honor prevented him from doing it. “Don’t ask me more. You know I can't tell you more.”
Ellis nodded seriously. The bounty hunter had told them enough, anyway.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
February 27th
Hilton Hotel,
Los Angles, California
1:00 am
Inés staggered and almost fall. She was in the shower getting ready to go to the club, when suddenly the water didn’t feel warm on her any more, but icy cold. She opened her eyes, scared… terrified. She felt fear and disorientation rave through her in big waves. The white tiles of the bathroom where no longer there, but big trees and palms, flowers and ferns, luxuriously green and wet with rain. The sounds and smell of the jungle flooded in her ears and nostrils.
“Alessa!” Inés cried in relief and fear; she was finally receiving! The demoness collected herself and sat on the brim of the big tub, trying to put an order to the confusion that was Alessa’s mind, but careful not to break the frail link.
Alessa was in a jungle, that was clear enough, and terrified… Inés breathed in to close herself to the rolling waves of fear and loss, trying to reach more calm thoughts. But it was difficult. Her cousin’s mind was in a state of total chaos, and she couldn’t receive any coherent thought.
She sighed and concentrated a little more, a jungle, yes, but… where? Where Alessa, where are you? The image of an island flashed in her mind, an island in… Colombia!
Inés smiled broadly, finally they were getting somewhere. She reached to turn off the shower that was now as cold as the feeling of rain that she was getting from Alessa.
At the last moment, before she lost the connection, Inés received another thought; Alessa was terrified, afraid of… Watchers?
The demoness frowned. She remembered Ernie’s son call the day before, telling her about his link to the Watcher’s Council. The man needed to know about this. She wrapped herself in a towel and ran towards the phone.
Fifteen minutes later she hung up the phone and started ruffling through her cards. She needed to call Daye too.
***
February 27th
Longwood Inc. London.
9:00 am
On the other side of the Atlantic, Ellis Longwood hung up the phone as well, lost in thought. Finally he leaned on the phone again, and pressed the button to talk to his secretary.
“Ms. Jordan, please buy me a ticket in the next plane to LA and announce my arrival in the city. Also hire a plane to take me from there to Cartagena, Colombia, and have a car be waiting to take me to the Colombian offices. Call Mr. Sánchez and tell him to secure some kind of water transportation as well.” He hesitated a second and went on. “And to contact the local DP.”
“Yes, Sir,” came the cool reply from the intercom. “May I tell you that there’s a Longwood Inc. plane to the States taking off in fifteen minutes, Sir?”
Ellis smiled, the woman had been working for him since he had assumed the presidency after his father’s retirement. She was well aware of his more subdued “business”.
“Yes, you may,” he answered. “Inform the captain to wait for me.” He checked his watch, “I’ll be at the airport in half an hour.”
“Indeed, Sir.”
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
***** 08th January 2007 *****
The building was old but well maintained, and Simryn had an awareness of all the hopes and prayers of those who had passed through there, emanating from the very foundations of its structure. Not all her impressions were nice however and she shivered, pulling her jacket tightly around her shoulders and tried not to touch the walls. Eventually she would get used to the feel of the building but places such as these always had their own personalities that teased at the edge of her senses. As she waited by the door, Vivek came up to her encumbered by the weight of their combined luggage and Simryn quickly took a few from his arms before he toppled from the exertion.
The night air was chilled; Simryn could see her breath mist out and she fidgeted impatiently as Vivek searched for the keys in his pockets. “Here we are,” he declared as the brass key ring jingled in his hand.
With a little juggling he managed to open the door and get inside while she followed closely behind welcome for the warmth of the foyer. Inside the building it was quiet, most of the residents probably sleeping at this time of night.
“I spoke with the landlord earlier and we have room 302 for the next four months, hopefully that will be long enough for you to find whoever you’re looking for,” Vivek muttered to her as they began climbing the stairs up to their floor.
“Don’t make too much noise, we don’t want to wake anyone up,” he whispered to her when she bumped into him on the top step and with a glare she spoke into his mind, “You are the one who insists on talking aloud, I will make no noise at all!”
Realizing that she was right, he flushed, muttering something under his breath before turning on the landing to continue their ascent. “This is it,” they stood in front of a shiny, white door with the number 302 etched above a little spy-hole. Vivek used another key to let them in and they soon had all the lights turned on inside the fully furnished apartment.
Looking around the single bedroom with their bags surrounding her, Simryn gazed up at Vivek with narrowed eyes, “And where will you be staying?”
From where he still stood in the doorway, Vivek turned to her in a surprised, jerky movement and could only stare. She had to be joking, he thought, but looking at the rigid lines of her body she seemed absolutely serious. His voice when he spoke was louder than he intended, “I’ll be staying here with you of course! What did you expect?”
Simryn tilted her head, her eyes flashing proudly as she said firmly, “That will not be possible. We cannot live together, you must find your own rooms.” And she put her hands on her hips to emphasize her inflexible stance on the issue.
He stalked toward her, his ire obviously rising along with his color as he pointed an accusing finger at her, “I was the one who got us here! I arranged for us to stay here together and that is exactly what I intend to do or the Gods help me I swear I’ll leave you here to fend for yourself, and we all know how well that goes!”
He spat that last bit out suggestively and Simryn felt herself flush. “Are you going to throw that at me all the time, now?” she asked, in her vehemence reverting back to their native tongue and cursing him loudly and fluently.
In some part of her mind she knew that Vivek meant her no dishonor for male-female cohabitation was the norm in this new world. The customs and beliefs of her time were now archaic, but whatever else they were… they were hers and she would not give up her values so easily!
Vivek now stood right in front of her, his arms at his sides in a defensive gesture. “We don’t have time for this,” he declared through clenched teeth, speaking in English so he could feel as if he had some control over this absurd situation. Simryn bared her teeth and moved forward so that he was forced to back up until they stood outside the apartment.
“You wish to dishonor me by forcing us to live together! And I will not let you do so!”
Angered to the point of not caring, Vivek lashed out, “As if any honorable man would have you now!”
The words spoken in the heat of anger were instantly regretted as he watched Simryn’s eyes fall and her face pale. A storm of emotions rose inside the Kshatrani, filled with the conflicting images of the bliss she had known in her lover’s arms and the shame of being discovered. She had broken her own convictions when she had lain with a man out of wedlock, and Vivek was right, she had no right to insist upon them now when it was too late. With a broken laugh she looked into his eyes and hated the pity she saw there. Her pride reared its head and without thinking she reached up and struck her palm hard across the face.
For Nikolai Makarov, it was supposed to be another day to relax. Running his mind through the exercises which Kate had taught to him were helping him learn how to control his powers well. And now, at last, he was able to relax and enjoy himself once again. Tolstoy even went so far as to cease trying to hide under the furniture.
There was at the moment a current flutter of background feeling he was noticing. It was all very general, some kind of annoyance. At first he didn’t think anything of it, but then the feeling grew more insistent and louder, not as getting closer but as though it was getting greater. Finally Nikolai stopped in the middle of trying to make a salad and just felt.
It was an annoyance, that much was clear. Some sort of argument, not an old one but a new. And it was clear that annoyance was potentially an understatement, stubbornness could be closer in some ways. What was more remarkable to him however was that this annoyance seemed to be ‘loud’ enough to be coming from the same floor.
After a few more minutes of this, Nikolai could no longer avoid the situation. Without even bothering to arm himself, he moved over to his door, slowly opening it… without the closed door to buffer them, the emotions of the scene hit him full on, seeing a woman and a man of East Indian descent arguing.
“Excuse me,” he said softly, staggered at the feeling of so many and such a great emotional turmoil before focusing momentarily on the technique to help him focus. Then when he could go back to it, speaking louder, “Excuse me. Is there a problem here?”
The firm voice broke through the hostile air surrounding the two and Simryn whirled on Nikolai with fierce beryline eyes. With a grunt, Vivek turned away probably in the hopes of hiding the red mark that stained his cheek though the stranger had most likely seen the incident already.
“Forgive us, please,” she said, the exotic lilt of her voice calming the emotional commotion of their earlier argument that lingered in the air.
Their emotions were the first thing that Nikolai noticed, now that they were no longer a muffled mix. He could tell that both of them were very annoyed with each other, and were now a bit embarrassed. Her voice was the second thing that he noticed; it really was like nothing he had heard before. But there was something else; they were standing outside of 302. Zoë’s old apartment.
New renters? Or just people there to look?
Either way, the tension between the two of them seemed thick enough that it could be cut with a knife. Nikolai’s voice remained steady and accentless as he spoke, closing the distance some with them but still keeping a respectable distance. “It’s quite all right,” he replied, smiling as warmly as he could. “I gather the two of you are moving in?”
At the question, Vivek rudely pressed past Simryn, ignoring her huff of indignation as he held out his hand to he other man. “Yes we are, just got in today. I’m Vivek by the way and this is my sister Simryn,” he said that last with a warning glance to the glaring woman, who gave him a pointed look that clearly told him no one was going to believe his little lie, least of all the man standing before them.
Rolling his eyes at her, Vivek turned back to the man. “We’re just going to be here for a few months. Pleased to meet you…?” he left the question hanging.
Simryn didn’t hear if an answer was forthcoming, but Vivek’s prattle gave her the chance to study the stranger, her jeweled gaze ensnared by the intriguing reflection of… something within his fathomless eyes.
Nikolai took the offered hand slowly and coolly. He did not like Vivek, he decided – it was one thing, part of him thought, to lie; but it was another matter all together to make your lies so transparent. The least he could do was to make it more plausible. *Really, that lie just insults my intelligence.* A cousin would have worked much better. “Nikolai Aleksandrovich,” he hoped that Vivek would put up on the fact that this was the formal mode of address.
A sideways glance at the woman told him two things about her: there was curiosity radiating off her, and whatever Vivek’s actual relation was, it was clear that she did not want him around. But there was no sense of danger or feeling threatened from her, which told him that – hopefully – nothing really bad was happening.
His look changed from cool to more warm, throwing a glance in Simryn’s direction. If Vivek was not welcome there, which he suspected, it was an attempt to let her know that he was listening. “A pleasure to meet you. Anything I can do to help you get settled?”
With his unexpected offer Nikolai’s warm brown gaze met hers and Simryn felt a jolt run the length of her body. Turning her face away the Kshatrani rubbed her arms in what she hoped would translate as warming herself rather than soothing her sudden agitation. Little frissons of fire danced along her nerve endings and a frown marred Simryn’s brow as she assessed her impression of the new neighbor.
He was mortal enough but still something flickered beyond what he wanted the world to see and it baffled as much as it made her want to delve further into that hidden part of him. Waving a hand in front of her eyes as if to dispel a vision, Simryn evaded Nikolai’s eyes ignoring Vivek’s glower, warning her not to do anything suspicious.
Nikolai considered the pair even further, listening as Vivek gave him a polite refusal. Only he could feel the curiosity of Simryn growing, and the desire to have Vivek leave remained unabated. “Very well, if you don’t want any help, I can hardly force you to take it. But don’t be afraid to ask if you need any later. I think you’ll find that I’m a man of many talents.” He made of show of starting to walk back to his apartment before stopping and turning back to them. “Oh, one other thing. Just a matter of curiosity, I’m wondering. What region is your accent from?” *There, that made a good excuse to stay.*
The question seemed to come out of nowhere and Vivek seemed to blanch for a moment, he hadn’t come up with an explanation for that and Simryn hadn’t seemed to care either way. With false jocularity Vivek turned to bustle the mischievous Kshatrani back into her room, “Oh well you know, just from a little regional part of India, I doubt you’d have heard of it.”
Simryn rolled her eyes at that laughable answer and lithely ducked under Vivek’s directing arm, smiling impishly at the skepticism that was plain on Nikolai’s face.
Turning to her, Nikolai smiled, his eyes much warmer than when he looked at Vivek, “Pleased to meet you, Simryn,” he held out his hand to her. She shook her head, causing her black hair to cascade around her shoulders; she would never understand this custom of shaking hands with strangers. Putting her hands together she inclined her head, “Namaste.”
Nikolai nodded once as a reply, he was not expecting something like that though did know the custom of the handshake was far from universal. Still he could tell that things weren’t quite as bad as he thought, and figured that Vivek was simply a very annoying - roommate? Boyfriend? - to have. *I have a sudden talent for meeting interesting people.* “I should be honest and confess my ignorance about India in general, unfortunately my education never quite reached that of foreign cultures before leaving. The wonders of the Soviet educational system.”
The confession, spoken with a sardonic twist of his lips, pulled at Simryn as did the low tenor of his voice. Hoping to foster familiarity, she admitted deprecatingly, “My education has been lacking as well. In fact this is the first time I have been out of my homeland though I must confess your country is a place of many strange and wonderful things.” Her homesickness was apparent in the sudden sadness that darkened her emerald eyes to shadowy pools.
With the sadness apparent, Nikolai found the desire coming up inside of him to try to do something to help. But still he could not help but be amused some; the last thing that he ever expected was to be mistaken for an American. “My country is a place of extreme cold, eternal shortages, and flourishing illegal market - but strange certainly is an apt description for America.” At a new rush of confusion he stopped to explain. “I am from Russia and moved here two years ago.”
She laughed, the sound rippling gaily down the hallway, “Then it is a much more different world than my own. Where I come from it is always warm.” Reaching up impulsively, Simryn brushed her fingers in the air over his eyes without actually touching his skin, “Imagine walking through waving golden fields with the sun caressing your face and birdsong blends with the call of temple bells… beneath your feet, the moist and rich with promise and the scent of green things growing surrounds you…” Her voice lowered to a husky, dreamy whisper as she sensually described the beauty of her land.
Nikolai had closed his eyes as Simryn spoke, while visualising the scene as she described it. This scene seemed to him to be a rather nice place to live or at least to visit. Part of him longed for the unity with nature, which would exist in such a place; another wondered what he would do in a land where the seasons were not third August and winter. When he opened his eyes again, Nikolai noticed the pair studying him intently.
“It is a lovely image,” he got out, noting that his accent – his regular accent – had crept into his voice. Only there was something else that stirred in him, the thought of campaigning, but this occurred for a moment only. If only he could grasp the few memories trying to surface and hold on to them – they had to be L’Than’s memories, he decided.
“I’m sorry, just memories. Nothing quite so nice though, just the snow of Leningrad and Moskva.”
A flicker, of something, perhaps it was a vision or just a dream. Whatever it was, Simryn felt a sudden flash of bitter, white cold and her flesh prickled alarmingly. Just as swiftly it was gone and with a pensive look, Simryn cocked her head, “I have never seen snow…”
She studied him unsure why she had been able to catch that brief glimpse of his thought. He certainly wasn’t projecting and this surprised her, most people’s minds were a mass of chaotic thoughts and emotions and sometimes a thought could be so intense that it would shoot out, catching her unawares - but in Nikolai’s presence she could barely feel the usual morass of extrasensory background noise.
Deciding to experiment, Simryn lowered the barrier she usually erected in her mind and could barely kept her knees from buckling as a flood of memories hit her with vivid force. A blade glinting ominously in the moonlight, blood… drenching the earth… smearing her hands, a cry… his, and tears… hers…
“Are you all right?” Nikolai asked softly, the burr in his voice deepening in concern as he put out a hand as if to support her. Staring blindly, she took an unbidden step back, afraid of what memories his touch could induce.
Clearing her throat self-consciously, she backed up till her feet hit the threshold of the door. “Just a little tired, it has been a long day. Forgive me but I must leave.” Etiquette demanded that she not leave him so rudely, but she could only just contain the weakened shiver of her limbs as she bowed to him in farewell. She needed time to think on this strange reaction to another’s presence; was it just him or would this be her reaction to other people she had contact with? And if it was, how could she fulfill her quest when every memory nearly brought her to her knees. Shameful tears filled her eyes… to come so far only to be stopped by her own lack of control.
“Are you going to dally there the whole day?” Vivek’s words sounded caustically in her unprotected mind. But when he came to the door, a pleasant look was pasted to his face. “Thank you for your generous offer, but I’m sure my sister and I will be able to manage,” Vivek said, making the requisite pleasantries, though Simryn could feel his dislike of the ‘nosy neighbor’. He pulled her into the room; Simryn’s last glimpse was of the derisive guardedness returning to Nikolai’s brown eyes as Vivek swung the door shut.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
16 February 2007
It was strange to think of sitting with someone so strange-looking in the middle of the park playing chess, with people passing by and not noticing the fact that one of the participants was not human. But for the experience somewhere between dream and reality, it was quite normal. Nikolai no longer questioned them; he just accepted that this thing was going on. At least he finally had a name: `The Finding’.
Mr. Garak looked down at the chessboard, the pieces were quite a remarkable set. Garak was playing black, and all of the pieces for both sides were ornately carved, realistic and lifelike. Several of them were people he knew: he saw Kate and L’Than as Bishops, and Tash and the deceased Victor as Knights. Nikolai himself was present, on his own side, with Alicia as his queen; and Garak had Simryn, the new neighbour, for his queen with a King that he did not recognize. Various other demons, vampires, and humans were present as well.
At last Garak reached down to select a piece to move, to continue the game already in full swing. Nikolai examined the board, wondering exactly how he was supposed to respond to that move; it put him in a position where he could see being put into check quite soon. “Quite a fascinating game. I’m grateful for the chance to get to play it.”
“Of course you are,” Nikolai raised an eyebrow. He still couldn’t figure out much about the mysterious figure, exactly who or what he was. Then again, you probably weren’t supposed to know. Beginning to study the chess board – they just had to start in the middle of the game – he started to question, “So, what are we talking about today? More strange hints of yours? My abusive father? Oh, I know – you can regale me with reminders of Lavrenti Pavlovich.”
“Nothing quite so cheerful and light-hearted, I’m afraid,” Garak’s voice held his standard (that is, large) amount of sarcasm as he spoke, watching Nikolai move one of the bishops. “No, I was just going to be boring and ask how the two of you were doing?”
“Which two of us?”
All Garak did was smile. No matter how often that happened, it still annoyed him a great deal. *Maybe he wants to see how I decide to take a vaguer question like that as well as the response.* “Well Alicia and I had a wonderful dinner last night.”
Garak carefully reached down to select his queen, moving her in to position to threaten the weak part of Nikolai’s position. “You don’t think that you could end up hurting her in the end?” His voice was full of curiosity and a bit of concern.
“It’s called having a relationship, Garak. Pain is a chance that both parties take.”
Nikolai moved his queen now as well, suddenly making a decision.
“Excellent move,” congratulated Garak. “You at once cut off my advance, and prevent me from attacking your strongest piece without losing mine at a time when that loss cannot be afforded.”
As Garak continued to study the board intently, a hand hovered nearby, trying to decide which of a number of possible moves to make. “Tell me something, Nikolai. Do you believe in Aristophanes’ story of how we are looking for our other half? By the way, check,” Garak added this last as he moved a knight which Nikolai had not even noticed.
He was taken by surprise at this sudden questioning. Aristophanes’ speech in the Symposium was probably one of the most famous stories about the origin of love. How man started as this globular race with essentially two bodies – two faces, four legs, and four arms – and some were composed of two men, others of two women, and still more of one man and one woman. Then Zeus decided to split this race in half, and the origin of love was the eternal search for this other half. “Pardon?”
“The other half that you were originally split from,” Garak replied, studying Nikolai’s half-attentive attempt to find a way out of check. Nikolai was slightly nervous, his hand moving to hover over a piece then return as he tried to decide what move to make, but still fully conscious of what Garak was saying. “I would think that most people find the story quite charming.”
Nikolai finally gave up thinking, just going and making a move to get himself out of this position. “You are telling me that I already think of Alicia as `the one’?”
“Perhaps.” Garak was casually dismissive of the idea, waving it off as though of little concern to him. “Perhaps not. Why don’t you tell me what you think?”
Shaking his head and sighing, Nikolai wondered why he even bothered asking questions. It was probably in the hopes that just maybe he would get a straight answer by taking one more chance and asking. As he thought about it, though, he found that he could only say, “I don’t know. Ask me later, when we’ve gotten to know each other better.” Nikolai suddenly picked up a piece and moved it to viciously take Garak’s knight.
“Yes, of course Kolya,” he said making another move out of instinct. That green scaled face was completely unreadable as Nikolai felt his eyes study him. The Russian turned away after a moment, as though it would protect him from anything Garak wanted to do to him. He motioned off in a direction to a bench, and Nikolai could see himself and Alicia there. Then suddenly Alicia slapped him and left. “Well, ain’t that a kick in the head?”
“At least you aren’t singing Dean Martin and just quoting his lyrics. What am I supposed to take away from this?” Nikolai asked, feeling pained at the sight. Part of him wondered what exactly it was that he said or did to earn that.
“Check mate,” Garak said, bringing his attention back to the chess game for a moment. When he looked over again to the bench, he and Alicia were both gone from that area. The pair rose from the game, with a small amount of confusion on Nikolai’s face. Garak took his arm, turning him gently as they began to walk. “I do so admire your abilities of self-denial, Nikolai. One would almost think that you had trained in convincing yourself that things were true in order to avoid a telepath.”
“Garak! Enough games. Just tell me-”
“Ah, but you see, I can’t just tell you.”
“And why not?”
“You don’t really need to ask that question, either,” smiled Garak.
Nikolai fought to steady his breathing, reminding himself that there seemed to be something here. All he needed to do was work out just what it was that he was supposed to take away from all of this. Or what exactly this Garak was supposed to be.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
February 25th
Isla Nublada Rainforest
*** first day***
Alessa allowed herself some minutes to rest on the shore before crawling out of the shallow water. Then she painfully rose and made it into the safer haven of the jungle’s green richness.
As she entered the bushes Alessa changed her form. Verbatis were jungle demons, she would be much more apt to survive as one. When she considered she was far enough from the water, she used her powerful claws to climb a giant gommier tree, setting herself in the highest branches. She needed some rest to give her body time to heal. Alessa curled in a ball of cinnamon fur and fell asleep as soon as she closed her eyes, cradled in the gentle swinging of the tree and hidden by its thick leaves.
The dreamless slumber of exhaustation ended when she felt the heat of the sun hit her face. She opened her eyes to see that the sun was high on the sky, its violent midday rays almost burning. But that wasn’t what had awoken her. She shaded her eyes with a paw and looked down, alarmed. Through the mess of different layers of trees she could still see the group of men moving beneath. Delancre’s men.
They were moving silently enough, but to her keen ears the noise they were creating was clearly distinct. No jungle creature moved so carelessly. Immobile in her hiding spot, Alessa watched as they pass beneath the tree. She counted three humans and two huge demons, probably part of Delancre’s pride and joy, she thought with derision. They were armed to the teeth and she knew they were hunting her.
She held her breath, they were looking around and above, pointing their rifles ahead all the time. She was confident enough that she could not be seen from the ground, but the demons could probably pick her scent up from the tree. Alessa’s heart almost stopped beating when she saw one of them look intently up, to move forward a second later. In silence, they continued their way, and Alessa sighed, relieved. When the noises faded, she decided to keep moving herself.
Not daring to descend to the ground, she started moving through the upper layers of the jungle, leaping from limb to limb she moved away from the stream, but trying to follow its course nevertheless. She had to make it to the shore, but she had to wait couple of days before the boat from the continent came to the island. She would have to remain hidden in the jungle until then.
The situation remained difficult, but Alessa couldn’t but feel a sense of elation while moving swiftly and expertly through the jungle. She was alone but not exactly lonely. She was in danger but not exactly defenseless. And she was free.
Half of her life had been spent thus, and though she was now alone and preyed upon, she was in a familiar terrain, the best in which she could be to hide and defend herself. She listened to the chatter of monkeys and the shrieks of parrots, the buzz of insects and the slower trail of mongooses and opossums. Even the wild sound of a jaguar’s roar couldn’t make her feel dismayed. She was home.
Her strong body had started to heal already. Her ribs still hurt but movement was not hindered, and the puffiness and soreness had started to disappear from her face. She needed to feed, though, so she gathered some fruits and coconuts to eat, and descended to the ground to drink from hidden ponds.
In the ground there were hidden dangers as well, she noticed on one of the few times she descended to ground level and her sight was caught by something sharp and shiny that glinted there, partly hidden under a carelessly laid branch.
Looking around quickly to check that there was no danger, Alessa crept slowly towards the strange object. Jagged metal and coiled springs could be seen, attached to the ground by a short length of chain. *A trap,* she thought, disgusted. A cowardly device. She took a long stick from the forest floor then, standing as far away as possible, she touched it to the metal pad in the center of the jagged metal jaws. She jumped back as the jaws snapped shut, crushing the stick easily. Smiling, she jumped up the trees once again.
Twice more she crossed her path with Delancre’s parties of guards, but twice she remained hidden in the dense foliage of the trees, her cinnamon color becoming indistinct from the green of the leaves or the brown of trunks and branches.
The night came suddenly upon the island. Alessa made herself another cradle of leaves and sticks in the high branches of a huge chataignier, and set herself to sleep.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
February 26th
Isla Nublada Rainforest
*** second day ***
Lord Ambrose Delancre stood outside the ritual circle and watched with a malicious gleam in his eyes. His best spellcasters stood ranged around the inner circle, surrounding a small stone altar on which rested the chain bearing the ring and cross that Alessa had been wearing around her neck when Danny Lassiter captured her. It may once have strengthened her faith, but now it would serve Ambrose instead. The mages would use the item in their ritual, the link between them and Alessa.
It had occurred to Delancre when he calmed, that Alessa could ruin everything. He had been rash, sending her back to her friends without taking some precautions. This was his way of making amends. The mages would use their magic to find her and bind her mind, distort her memories of the last few weeks. In the end, she would recall that she had been captured, perhaps even tortured, but she would have no clear memory of who was responsible. She would not be able to recall Delancre. This grated on his ego, but he understood that in the long run, it was for the best. As the mages chanted, Delancre promised himself that one day he would remind Alessa Hunt of who he was; the day he was her master for good.
***
In her cradle of leaves, Alessa stirred and moaned.
Her dreams were plagued by all sort of images, the events of the last day, of the last weeks, memories of her further past mixed together. Her father’s death, Morris’ death, Ernie’s death… all confused, all dead, torn, lost. She saw Chance’s face, his loving eyes, she heard his voice, tender, passionate, and then cold and aloof; uncaring. She saw herself waiting for him, hoping for him, praying and not getting response. Then he was there and his hands were caressing her, she relished in the feeling and closed her eyes, to open and see Delancre’s eyes staring from Chance’s face. She cried and tried to step back, but Delancre’s hands were relentless on her body, his tongue in her mouth, slipping inside, violating her. Then he disappeared, and in his place there was… nothing, but she still felt his invasive presence, until that too disappeared.
Alessa’s movements became frenzied. Still asleep she cried and rocked on the crouch of the tree, threatening the precarious balance she had kept. As the dream became worse the violence of her stirring sent her tumbling through the air towards the ground. The fall was great, and Alessa hit several times the lower branches before hitting the ground.
She lay there, confused for a second, before looking around, terrified. It was night and she was in a… jungle? Her thoughts spinning, trying to put some order to her surroundings, Alessa tried to stand up and cried for the pain in her leg. She had sprained it in the fall. She was chilled, she felt shivers go through her body. Her head ached and she had no recollection about getting there, only a feeling of terrible dread. Darting the darkness of the jungle with her eyes, she carefully stood up, trying to ease the weight from her sprained ankle. She turned around and slowly climbed back up to the safety of the tree.
***
The warm rays of the morning sun didn’t help the chill get out of her bones. Alessa had spent the hours trying to understand what was happening. Now, with the light and warmth of the sun, she still didn’t feel better, nor understood better her situation. Her teeth clattered; she was shivering and cold.
Curled in a ball, not even the smooth fur that covered her prevented the cold from penetrating her body. *I’m cold from the inside out,* she thought, while she looked around again. The light of day showed her a dense rainforest that extended in all directions, which only confirmed her guesses of the night before and didn’t add anything new or of use to her situation.
Alessa leaned her head on the trunk of the big chestnut tree, closing her eyes at last. The incessant hum of the jungle seemed blended into a strangely soothing purr and the demoness finally fell into an unquiet slumber. She didn’t wake again until the afternoon.
Once more she experienced the strange sense of utter bewilderment and dread that had marked her earlier awakening. She tried to move but she was dizzy. And she felt weak, cold and chilled. Her head throbbed and she had a fever. Alessa turned on her side and closed her eyes. She did not wish to die in this jungle, not knowing how or why she was there; but she felt that she was going, for the fever was mounting higher and higher. Then she lost consciousness.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
February 27th
Isla Nublada Rainforest
*** third day ***
Something had awakened her, gotten past her frail threshold on reality and gotten to her jungle animal core. She opened her eyes and looked around as far as she could without moving her head and she froze in place when her nostrils filled with the musky scent of a wild animal close by. She didn’t move, her instincts taking over and her sickness forgotten for the sake of survival.
The scent was close, too close; she heard the rush of something big and graceful move downwards through the tree. *A jaguar!* She recognized the scent, and growled inward. The jaguar was a mighty hunter, and he was preying on her. Through her mudded thoughts she wondered how the animal dared attack her, until she noticed she had turned back to human in her sleep. Now her groan wasn’t so subtle.
The great cat lay crouched upon a thick limb, hidden from the demoness’ view by dense foliage. It slowly edged its hind paws along the branch still further above Alessa, and then with a roar it launched itself toward its prey. The beast was surprised when it landed not on the defenseless woman it had spotted, but a huge hairy beast, all claws and teeth. The roar becoming a shriek, the jaguar turned in air and aimed with its powerful paws at the demon beneath it. Mindless of the gashes the cat’s claws were opening, Alessa buried her teeth in the back of its neck and her right arm went around its throat, while the left hand rose and fell in mighty blows upon the cat’s side. However, the sharp teeth of the cat managed to bite her arm, and with the violent edge she made, both precipitated to the ground.
A bundle of cinnamon and yellow fur, the pair of jungle creatures fell down the tree, still locked together. For second time in as many days, Alessa hit the ground hard, cushioning the fall for the cat, and lay momentarily stunned on the ground. The jaguar disentangled itself from her deadly embrace and crawled away from her, losing itself in the greenery to die alone. Too weak from the fever and the wounds the cat had inflicted on her, Alessa didn’t even try to climb up the tree again this time, and she curled between the great plank buttress roots of the chestnut and fell asleep again.
She woke up with the first drops of rain over her. The violent tropical storm soon had her soaking wet, chilling her even more. Under the relentless pounding of the rain she passed out again, but this time she dreamed. She dreamed of Chance, and of Inés.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
February 28th
Isla Nublada Rainforest
*** fourth day ***
The thirst awoke her next. Her craving for water was all that mattered and fueled her to move. She no longer wondered about her being alone in a jungle, the fever prevented her from coherent thought, the basic needs of survival taking over. Groaning, Alessa stood up and started the way towards the water. The sweet smell of a water current a lure to her senses, she nonetheless tried to stealth herself and not abandon the safety of the jungle’s underbush. The feeling of dread and danger still clung to her, althougth she couldn’t possibly explain what it was directed to.
Finally she felt that the water was close; she could even hear the rumble of the current. Alessa found strength to hurry the pace and in her anxiety didn’t watch her step. The jungle suddenly disappeared and she balanced herself precariously on the edge of the jungle. The river, a long drop down, enticed her with its promise of fulfillment.
She let herself fall to her knees and peered down over the side of the ledge. There was quite a long drop, down to the next ledge, covered in rocks and scrubby grass. If she fell now, she would probably die, she thought dizzily. She thought how easy that would be. To just jump. It was almost hypnotic, staring at death.
Alessa looked down for a long time, her need for water battling the shredding remains of coherent thoughts, and wining. She started to descend the slope, but not being able to balance herself, she tumbled and rolled down the hill, hitting rocks and scratching herself on the fall, to end up battered and bruised only a hundred feet from the river.
She tried to move then, but she was too weak. The fever, her wounds and the fall conspiring against her, she just lied there panting and crying, and craving for water, until the night brought her oblivion.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
January 20th 2006
10pm
A silence had spread all over the house for the past couple of days. Thule had almost locked himself up in his study, and didn’t even make as many trips outside to get more books. Tarix on the other hand came from time to time into the study to help Thule out, and they’d have a bit of a small talk until Tarix thought it be best to leave him alone and retreated to the guest room. Jessy on the other hand seemed to be spending most of her time outside. It seemed as if she thought that the prophecy was going to happen anyways whether she found out what it was or not, and she found it easier to cope with when she was out clubbing. She’d come home late at night and leave the house in the early morning to whereever she went to spend the time. The first time this had happened Tarix had stayed up late into the night waiting for her, worried something might have happened. Perhaps Lynkes had found her first and taken her.
Jessy came home and found Tarix waiting and in her drunken state snapped at her and told her that she was no one to worry, it wasn’t like she was her sister; all she was, was a cold blooded murderer. Jessy had laughed and gone up stairs and slumped on the bed, leaving Tarix in the drawing room sobbing but not say a word. After that they had both avoided each other like plague.
From Thule’s side he didn’t feel he had the time to sort this out. He was researching day and night, but it seemed this prophecy didn’t make its appearance at all in many books, and this made Thule frustrated and angry, like he was in a race and hadn’t even gone past the starting line. His only hope now was Sathawick or any information Alaric could come up with. He had visited the Order of Valor building many times to get books, and even though he could have stayed there, he knew he felt better if he was at home knowing the girls were safe. He had tried to contact Alaric many times, but it seemed was unreachable, like he was most of the time.
Coincidentally, Thule was sitting at his desk thinking about whether Alaric knew anything different that he received a call from him.
“Well, think of the devil, Alaric how have you been?” Thule said, slightly happy at the chance that there might be some news from his end.
“Like I’ve always been Thule, how about the girls - are they ok? And how’s your research coming along?” Alaric said.
“The girls? Well, they are…” Thule thought about the twins, “You can say we received some unnerving news which had made everything very tense here. Other than that research seems to be at a dead end.”
“Ah, so you know about the 'father is a foe' prophecy, I take it?”
Thule sat rigidly, “Alaric, how did you know?”
“It’s quite simple, my dear Thule. You see I’ve made an arrangement from the Order of Valor to the Order of Death. It seems that what they want to achieve might be what we want. It is their analysis on the tablets and the Codex of Kum’Wa, I believe that’s what its called, is how I know about it.” Alaric waited for Thule’s response.
Thule seemed a bit flabbergasted. “Alaric, how…? The Macabres want to kill the Koolangs, meaning the Twins, how does that help us?”
“Yes, they do want to kill the girls, but what has changed the standings is that they also wish to become a powerful race by it. You see, the ritual of the Two has also been put under a microscope and no matter what anyone saw it was always the separation being ended meaning the Macabres becoming the Kumacs and dying because of the lack of Koolangs, and thus the second soul. However after more scrutiny of the Codex, it is found that by using the Kh’Kum Codex, the ending of the separation can be prevented and the ritual can be used to release all five powers into the Macabres, making them a powerful race. Thule, this is what we wanted, do you know the amount of chaos this will release? The Macabres are a bloodthirsty race and their need to end the lives of Koolangs will go towards the humans; hence a lot of torment and much awaited chaos and happiness for the Order, for both the Orders.”
“Alaric, I can’t do this. After Alfred died I have taken to protecting the girls. And Tarix herself is under the Order of Valor’s protection,” Thule said, almost horrified at what Alaric was suggesting.
“True on both counts, and even if Tarix is under your patronage, our code doesn’t fully cover her. Besides, being an employee of the Order she has responsibility to sacrifice herself for the good of our aims, but I’m sure this ritual won’t kill her. Or at least, this is what I have told the Order, and the rest of the Five agree with me.” Thule could almost hear him smirking. “And Thule, do not forget what the Order has done for you. If it wasn’t for us, you’d probably be killed by a human who was afraid and resented you for what you are, a demon.”
Thule thought it over, and he knew that he was indebted to the Order and no matter what he did, he couldn’t pay it off. He had signed up for this, and in his time he himself had indirectly caused torment and chaos among many humans.
“What is it that you want me to do, Alaric?”
Alaric smiled, “I knew you would see it from my side. All you have to do is to hand over the girls to the Macabres, that’s all. Oh, and after that you can get the other Codex from that friend of yours, Sathawick.”
Thule’s mind worked as fast as it could, and he made plans, “Fine Alaric, whichever way you want it. When are the Macbres coming?”
* * * *
Jessy was sitting in a bar downing a mug full of beer when Tarix came up behind her, feeling slightly out of place.
“Um, hey Jess,” she said, and thought of sitting down but changed her mind and stayed standing.
“Hey Jazz,” Jessy said, barely even looking at her, and Tarix felt a sudden chill from hearing her sister reverting back to calling her Jazz, and she bit her lip.
“Why did you come here?” Jessy continued, taking another gulp of beer.
“Thule wants us both back, he wants us to come somewhere with him. Says it’s vitally important, that he’s learned something more about the prophecy and the ritual,” Tarix explained.
“Whatever, you go without me, I have a few more beers with my name on.”
Tarix felt upset, and then anger took her over, and without thinking she grabbed Jessy’s mug and threw it on the floor. And before Jessy could make her move she punched her hard, and knocked her out.
“It’s a good thing you’re drunk Jess,” she said, draping Jessy over her shoulders and carrying her out of the bar. Many people looked at her. “Hey move along, she’s my drunk sister, can’t you see the resemblance?” she exclaimed before walking out.
* * * *
Jessy got up, her head aching slightly due to the hangover and she saw Thule and Tarix leaning over her. She suddenly remembered Tarix’s punch and she reached up to try and choke Tarix. “You bitch!!!” But Thule grabbed her arms before she could cause any harm.
“Jessy, JESSY! It is important that you listen to me, for heaven’s sake!” Thule said, trying to control Jessy who calmed down.
“What the hell is it now? Is there a third sister? Or perhaps Lynkes is both our father, or maybe he’s been controlling my mind so that I sleepwalk and go slaughter little bunny rabbits who are going to take over the world with their fuzziness. Ok, maybe not the last one as that would make Lynkes the ‘good’ guy,” Jessy remarked sarcastically.
“I received a call from Alaric, who wants me to hand you over to the Macabres so that they can carry out a ritual to make their race powerful.”
“Oh,” Jessy said, “Close enough. So what Thule, are you evil too?”
“As a matter of fact I’ve arranged for us to travel to New York, all three of us. We catch a plane tonight. Tarix is already ready, and while you were sleeping she made your bag too, so that as soon as you woke up we could leave.” He looked back at her, “No matter what the Order has done for me, I’m not going to sacrifice your lives. I told Alaric I’d bring you to a park tomorrow morning where the Macabres can pick you up. I suggest we leave before then.”
He turned and grabbed his car keys and motioned Tarix to come with him. Tarix grabbed her bag and followed Thule, looking back at Jessy, who got up and followed them too.
Thule went over to his car and started to open the door when he noticed someone had let the air out of his tires. Alarm bells suddenly rang in his mind and he turned around and shock and shouted. “TARIX AND JESSY, RUN!!! THEY’RE HERE!!!”
He saw them react too and saw the twins dropping the bags and run towards the gate, which was blocked by a truck parked right in front of it. Meanwhile Thule quickly went to his truck, unlocked it and drew out some weapons. He took an axe for himself and threw a sword to Tarix and another spare axe to Jessy. They both grabbed the weapons and got ready. Tarix started having butterflies while Jessy seemed to have a fierce expression on her face. Thule came over to join them.
More Macabres came and circled them until Lynkes came through, in human form as usual. “Ah, dear daughter, the fire of my loins, there you are. You don’t know how much I wanted to see you after I found out.”
“Go to hell Lynkes!” Jessy called out, and Tarix felt slightly happy at being defended.
“And her bratty sister too. Don’t worry Jessy, we have some special plans for you too. Probably not as special as my daughter but special nevertheless.” Lynkes turned to his kind, “Make sure you get them in one piece.” He turned back to the twins, “I’ll see you soon my lovelies.”
And he left, while the Macabres closed in. Thule and the twins got ready and swung their weapons at a few Macabres, Jessy got one in the stomach while Thule managed to throw a few out of the way. Tarix kicked one in the shins but got a sucker punch back.
Thule swung his axe at the closest Macabre but another one came behind him and knocked Thule hard on the head.
“Thule!!!” Tarix screamed, lost her concentration and got another punch in the stomach.
Meanwhile Jessy focused her concentration and fought as hard as she could, but she knew it was no good. Soon Macabres had managed to grab the weapons out of the twins’ grasps and had them knocked out too. They carried the twins out and left Thule bleeding in his driveway.
* * * *
Sathawick rushed out of the taxi as soon as he could. After he reached LA he had made a little detour to his hiding place where he had kept the other Codex and got it, then made his way as quickly as possible to Thule’s place. His mind was still going over the tablets that he had read trying to make more sense out of them when he saw Thule’s gate smashed opened. He ran in, in horror and found Thule on the driveway, his blood painting the ground. Sathawick came over and revived him.
“Thule, what the hell happened? Thule!”
Thule slowly opened his eyes and blinked, and suddenly got up. “Sathawick, the Macabres - they have the twins.”
“Don’t give me that man, you were supposed to have them protected,” Sathawick snapped, his anger taking over him, with his worry.
Thule looked down ashamed, “I know, it was Alaric, he was in on it too. He must have known I’d double cross him.” He looked up at Sathawick, “We mustn’t let the Macbres get on with the ritual, there must be a way to stop them.”
Sathawick thought about it, “We could find out where the hell their hide out is, and head for it. It’s somewhere near the border of Mexico.”
Thule slowly got up, putting a hand on his head and lifting his axe which had that had fallen on the ground. “I have a vague feeling I know where it is, but I might need to contact some friends to make sure. Also I’ll make a bit of a transport arrangement and then we can head off and soon as that.”
Sathawick’s worry was growing with every second, and Thule forced him to come inside. After Thule had rung a number and made arrangements, he told Sathawick about Alaric and about how the ritual would make the Macabres even more powerful but kill the twins. This, however, did not help Sathawick calm down, and silently he hoped they were ok.
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
February 1st 2006
2pm
Sathawick impatiently rolled the Codex in his fingers. It had been more than ten days since Tarix had been kidnapped and in that time he had barely slept or eaten anything, the worry knotting itself several times in his stomach, making him feel nauseated. He looked over at Thule who looked extremely exhausted himself, and was in a similar condition to Sathawick’s. He looked around and at the passing landscape, sand upon sand of the desert that they had been guided to. Since the disappearance Thule had done nothing but contact anyone he knew outside the Order of Valor, and whether they had any ideas about the Macabre head quarters or the like. It turned out one of them had heard about a Mexican guy who had reported an alien he spotted a few miles away from his home disappearing into thin air. The contact thought the Macabres could have put an invisible charm on their Headquarters; hopefully it’s visible to the demonic eye, or those who possess a form of mana.
After that Thule and Sathawick set off and traveled for countless days around the desert looking for the Macabre hide out. Sathawick suddenly saw something and had Thule stop the car. He pointed to something a few miles away and all Thule saw was a sand storm stirring up, and then he saw it too; it was a building the exact colour of sand, neatly camouflaged. Thule got out of the car and made his way to the dune, with Sathawick by his side. They snuck over and saw and man huddled in rags sitting in front of what Sathawick had pointed out was a building.
“Probably a look out guy” Sathawick said to Thule, who nodded. They both went down and before the Macabre could look up and say anything he was knocked out with a blow from Sathawick, who then rubbed his knuckle, having rarely used it before. Thule and Sathawick went inside, Sathawick advancing forward, Thule sneaking in covering the back. They made many turns, avoiding any Macabres.
“Koolang filth, I wonder why we can’t just kill them off,” one of the Macabres said, and both Thule and Sathawick stopped and hid behind the nearest object.
“You know the K’Kya, they always have plans behind everything,” the other one said lighting himself a cigarette.
“Oh please, like they planned Lynkes being the father of one of the filth? I used to really respect him, now I don’t know,” he said, stopping.
“You shouldn’t go on rumors, no one really knows the whole story. Besides, if that were true Lynkes would probably be prosecuted by now.”
The two Macabres continued to talk until one of them mentioned something about the Koolang filth making him feel sick every time he was on guard duty in the center room. After they had gone, Sathawick and Thule continued to make their way to what they thought was the center. It took them a few hours, but they finally came across Tarix and Jessy who were hanging unconscious in a circular room, one on each side. They seemed hurt with bruises on the cheeks and lips, like they had been hit many times. Sathawick ran over to Tarix and tried to shake her awake.
“Mmmmhmm,” Tarix said in a pained voice.
“Shhh, Tarix it’s Sathawick. Are you ok? Don’t worry, we’re here to get you out.” Sathawick was about to open Tarix’s restraints when he heard a loud clap behind him. He turned around and saw Macabres coming into the room, surrounding him. He looked at Thule who seemed to have a blank expression on his face.
“Sorry about all the drama Sathawick, but there was no way the ritual can be performed without the Codex of Kh’Kum,” Thule said.
“Thule, what the hell? How did you…?” Sathawick said, shocked.
“You didn’t think locating a race that usually stays hidden would be so easy did you? And reaching here? Did you think that would be easy, that the twins were unprotected? Please, the only reason I played this charade was because I thought bringing an archeologist with me might help us in refining the ritual. Now we have everything we need,” he said, smirking.
Sathawick just stood there, his mouth open. “But I read you, you were sincere.”
“Old naïve Sathawick. Did you really think that method is fool proof? All I needed was a bit of make-up and a spell, enough to even fool your judgment.” Thule turned to the guards, “Can one of you take me to Lynkes, I believe I have an appointment with him. Well Sathawick, I would love to hang around but I’m sure you need to be locked up for the time being, and we need to prepare for the ritual.” He laughed when he saw Sathawick burning with fury, and turned and left.
Sathawick looked around and couldn’t do anything as one of the guards held him at gun point and the other searched him, found the Codex and then led him away from Tarix who had fallen into unconsciousness again.
* * * *
Lynkes was as usual sitting on his table with a pen and a paper, scribbling on it. Just then a door opened and Thule came in. Lynkes looked up and smiled, “Please do sit down, Mr Guys, I believe.”
“I’m usually called Thule,” he said, sitting down. “You don’t mind if I have some tea, that stroll through the desert exhausted me.”
Lynkes had gone back to drawing on his paper, but rang for some tea. “So Thule,” he said, still scribbling, “What made you see our side of the story?”
“I’m one of the Five, Lynkes, and I didn’t reach there by being harmless and helpful to all of mankind. I have been ruthless and most of the time victorious, my life revolving around the Order of Valor and its aims. And for that aim is why I am here. Don’t get me wrong, I had taken quite a liking to the girls, they were like daughters I never had, but I’d even sacrifice my own daughters if that meant well for the Order.”
“Alaric mentioned you’d say just that, said he knew you from a long time ago. At first I thought you’d rather risk your life to save the daughters of your dear friend. But I guess I was wrong.” Lynkes smirked, his eyes flickered back to his drawing as he added his final touches.
“Arthur? He was a good friend, but a human, a mere mortal that knew little about the true world of our demons. True, he worked harder than most humans, a one of a kind, but in the end he was just another mortal. It was because of me he even got into the Order of Valor, and even then I made sure he never found out about our true workings, and he was happy working in a small research division. Pity he found out and fled with his family, and at that time he even thought we were working with you,” Thule said with a laugh, “Anyways, do tell me how and when this ritual will be ready to be performed.”
Lynkes looked at the drawing again and smiled, “The how part is very interesting, while the when part is a bit of a frustration. It seems we’ll have to wait for a few “moon cycles” before the ritual can take place. But that gives us time to make sure the ritual doesn’t go wrong and that it indeed grants us the power we want.”
“Excellent,” Thule said, almost bored. “Well, give me the word, and I’ll be back here for the big boom. Meanwhile I have to head off to Europe for a while, it seems there is a resistance of humans in Germany that have gathered together to fight some M’Fashniks. Should be very interesting. I should be off, take care of the girls now will you?” he said with a wink before he went out the door.
Lynkes’ lips curled up into a vicious smile as he finished his drawing. “Oh, I’ll take care of them. This should be the best month for their lives.” He put his drawing down and examined it with pleasure, feeling impatient for the time of the ritual.
Silent Night
*** December 24, 2006 Christmas Eve ***
*** 10:46 pm PST ***
Oz heard Reginald laugh. It was the laugh of a man who had suddenly found something he had been a long time searching for.
“Dad?” The voice was rough and tired, but Oz instantly recognized it.
*Frank?* Oz felt the blood drain from his face, *Not now. Not Frank.* Oz knew he should pray to reverse this wish, but his heart would not allow it.
“Dad, is that you?” said the voice, “I have been searching for you for weeks. Ever since I finally got home.”
Oz turned slowly around and looked into the eyes of his son. Thirty-three years ago he had lost his boy to an unjust war in Vietnam. To have Reginald pluck the secret desire of his heart out and manifest it here was too much.
Frank had his father’s dark hair and good looks. Oz knew his son would age slowly, like his father, so he only appeared to be in his thirties. There was an eye patch and many scars along his neck. Oz fought the urge to run forward and hug him.
Oz knew that the Logos would fabricate whatever fiction was needed to justify this miracle, but he had to ask, “They told us you were dead, Frank. Your mother died not knowing you were alive.”
Frank stepped forward, there was a glistening tear in his eye, “I found out that she had died while tracking you down. Why did you leave me dad? You, of all people, should have known I was going to return. We half-angels are hard to kill.”
Oz's eyes were filling with tears and he still fought against the accusation, “I explained to you Frank, a long time ago, that I am not an angel any more. I am a man; just a man. Your father. I loved you , but you are dead. You died thirty-three years ago in a river valley in Vietnam fighting bravely to save your squad. Your being here does not change my truth, it is another truth placed in my path to distract me.”
Oz was looking at his feet. He could not even bear to look at Frank's face. Scarred and pained, it was too beautiful for him to behold. Instead he turned back to face Reginald, “I don’t want this, Reginald. Tell God to take it back.”
“Tell God?” chuckled Reginald, “Tell… God? God isn’t answering his own phone these days. I’ll have to take a message.”
Oz was furious. But something in his gut told him that to pull off this sort of channeling of the Logos that Reginald would have to be anchored to both this world and the next. Oz charged forward and was about to leap into the air at Reginald when Brinkley shoved Oz back hard enough to make him tumble down the aisle.
She whirled on Oz and scowled, “You have done enough! This will play out without you.”
Reginald looked down at her as if seeing her for the first time. He puckered his face strangely, “A choir of one angel? How sad.”
Reginald waved a hand and light poured through the church making it as bright as Heaven itself. The homeless people standing at the front began to smear and run as they blended with the wave of colors from the congregation. Oz looked up at Frank who was blurring with the rest of them. It would have been easy to relax and flow just then.
Very easy indeed.
*** 10:47 PM PST ***
James rolled over on his back and looked at the stars. He knew from High School that the light from those stars was hundreds, thousands, or even millions of years old. That it was like looking back in time. Somewhere out there was a planet that in a thousand years' time was going to watch James Anderson get his butt kicked by homeless people.
James groaned at the pains his neck and jaw gave him as he rose. For a few tense moments he wasn't sure he would be able to stand without wobbling, but his knees seemed to get their act together and he finally straightened.
James checked his gun and badge. Both of them were right where he left them. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1 and spoke to the dispatcher. It would not be long before backup would arrive.
Then as James turned around he watched the inside of the church explode with light. *Shit, I have to act now!* his mind echoed to the reality of his actions.
The door burst open and James Anderson strode into the church. “Freeze, everyone! LAPD…”
That was a far as he got. If he had not had his gun out he would not have reacted the way he did. He pulled the trigger in shock. The bullet flew directly into Reginald’s head. A corporeal head at that particular moment.
His brain, a corporeal brain at that moment, stopped working on bringing anything closer to the Logos, and instead overloaded with sensations like pain, shock, alarm, panic, and all of the sorts of emotions that one might associate with having your brain penetrated by a bullet.
Then his brain exploded and took most of his head with it. James had just enough time to make a mental observation. *I did not see what I thought I saw.*
Reginald's body hung there in mid-air like a marionette, jerking and twitching randomly. Blood ran down the white vestments in expanding red streaks. As his limbs flailed about, his blood spattered the walls and altar linens.
Reginald’s brain wasn't all that had been functioning on Reginald's behalf. He was a spiritual being more than a physical one. The spiritual being that was Reginald was suddenly cut free like a high-tension cable that had been severed.
He shot upwards towards the Logos and finally reached that place it had been so tantalizingly close to back in the beginning. The Logos, for its part, reacted as if it had been hit by a flying rubber band. It flinched.
Reginald, the errant son who stood too close, ceased to exist as the Logos erased him from history in its own defense. This left a 900 year void in the universe where Reginald had been. The Logos filled it with its favorite thing: light. At the moment when Reginald would have been born nine centuries ago, the Logos exploded a star 900 light-years from Earth.
*** 10:48 pm PST ***
Brinkley looked at James. “Sleep, dumdum,” she said and James collapsed into a crumpled pile at the back of the Church.
Oz blinked. Frank was standing there. “Dad, what happened?”
Frank, like the others in the church had returned to their familiar shapes. Oz knew that they could remember what had happened, and that it might take years for them to recover from the trauma. Oz stood to hug his son, returned to him through a miracle.
From behind him, Oz heard a voice he did not expect. “Don't get too chummy Oz, he can't stay.”
Oz turned and saw a man dressed in black. He looked fabulous. *Azrael,* Oz thought, *The Angel of death.*
Brinkley stood at Azrael's side, “I called him in because this is a royal fuck-up. I can't brain-suck all these mortals in one night, and I know damn well that Ra can't get here in time. Az is here because I asked for some help.”
“Brain suck them? What do you mean? These people are innocent, they don't know what happened,” Oz could hear the pleading in his voice.
Brinkly touched the forehead of an elderly woman who had been watching their exchange with a rapturous smile. It was Brinkley's lips moving but it was the old woman's voice, “…and the Angels were all flying around me. I saw my dear departed George and there were all of our babies… Skippy, Kipper, Houndly, Jackie…”
Brinkley let go of the woman's head and stuck out her tongue, “Bleh, old woman brain.”
When she stopped cringing she went on, poking Oz's chest for emphasis, “All of these people have to go, Oz. All of them. The Idea was here and there cannot be any evidence. Not a whisper, and not a dream. Nothing. Your army? All have to die. Your friends here in this church? All dead. I do not go around packing the kind of authority I need to do a mass job like this, so I needed help.”
Oz winced as he finger jabbed him again and again. When she stopped, he looked at Az who was nonchalantly eyeing the blood-splattered walls. Oz begged, “Don't do this, Brinkley. None of these people have to die, I saved them. We saved them.”
Brinkley sat on one of the hard wooden pews and brushed her fingers through her ruined hairstyle. She stared at Azrael's tasteful pumps. “Oz, I want you to understand this. There is nothing you can do to keep these people alive. They have all been there, and there is no going back for any of them. The Idea protects itself from posers like Reginald. It brings in dupes like James 'sleeping-beauty' Anderson over there to take the fall. He was supposed to be the hero. He was supposed to get the Idea and stop Reginald in a show of wits, imagination and force.”
Azrael walked over to the sleeping cop, bent down and cupped his face in his hands, “Funny, he doesn't look like the sort to be the hero. He looks more like the bumbling sidekick variety.”
Brinkley sighed, “He was the sacrifice for all of these lives, Oz. You, on the other hand weren't supposed to figure out what happened. You were supposed to look away and play dumb.”
She stood and smoothed her dress. She picked up her matching clutch and walked over to Oz and looked up into his eyes. “You,” she said, “aren't one of us any more. Just because you know of the Idea and are immune to its corruption and influence does not give you the right to pass it along.”
She waved her arm around the church, “Because you took it upon yourself to save all of these people, you have condemned them all.”
“Except this one,” Azrael said behind them, indicating the slumbering James, “He's missed the show.”
“But…” Oz said.
Azrael clapped his hands smartly and everyone in the church, except James, slumped forward where they were. Brinkley walked out the door arm-in-arm with Azrael. She called back over her shoulder, “Don't call me any more, okay Oz?”
Oz looked around him, until his eyes stopped on the body of Frank lying on the aisle behind him. He dropped to his knees and grabbed his boy in his arms and cried as he had cried thirty three years ago.
James Anderson stirred. He grabbed his gun and badge and pointed it at Oz, horrified. “You are under arrest for the murder of this entire congregation. You have the right to remain silent…”
Mid-Season Three: Nov 1, 2006 - Feb 28, 2007
29th January 2007 – 9pm
An old, beat up van rolled down the streets of LA. Nobody knew exactly what the occupants of that van were up to, or would have believed them anyway. The police would have searched them to be sure, and had on more than one occasion on account of the fact that three of the occupants were Crips. Rap music blared loudly, something that the driver had been forced to get used to a long time ago. The driver was an older man, still a wily old fox but slowed down nonetheless. He’d been dubious about the Crips at first, but they more than proved their worth and they were in the service of God now.
“Please, please, turn down that noise,” Dr Frederick van Helsing yelled for what seemed like the twentieth time.
“Yo, pops, I thought you got used to it and was jus’ chillin’,” one of them said.
“Ja, that was before we got news of this vampire in the city. He is a vile, evil creature. The blackest of the black.”
“Ain’t a problem, man. We’ll dust his ass.”
Helsing shook his head slowly, averting his eyes to heaven for a moment. Thankfully one of the more thoughtful Crips spoke up. “Doc is right, and he knows his shit. We’d better turn that off, before he catches on that we’re coming.”
“Thank you,” he said, turning to his posse for a moment. “I suggest you pray and fortify yourselves. Up until today, we have been playing with vampires. Now, we drive a stake into his heart, it will be absolutely wunderbar.”
*****
In the dark back streets of downtown LA several forlorn figures huddled in the winter chill. They were clustered near the entrance of a homeless shelter, but it was already full so instead they waited, hoping for at least some warm soup. One figure sat a little apart from the rest. He didn't seem to feel the cold so much, though he huddled in on himself nevertheless. It wasn't that which kept the others distant from him, however, nor even the near-constant muttering and mumbling that issued from his mouth. There was just something about him that put all their teeth on edge.
The door opened and a figure emerged carrying a dozen polystyrene cups, their bottoms inserted into a cardboard holder. The destitute scrambled to get their share of the soup thus offered, and when everyone had one the figure had two left. He held one out to the man sitting a little apart, but all he received for his trouble was a baleful look from the pair of eyes beneath a shaggy, unkempt fringe. For a moment the man's face showed in the light from the door, revealing the puckered, scarred flesh on one cheek. It looked like nothing so much as melted candle wax, ruining what might once have been an attractive visage.
"Soup?" suggested the worker from the shelter, hoping to break through that wild gaze to whatever intelligence remained in those eyes. For a moment it seemed to him that a glimmer of understanding shone through and he held the soup out further to the pitiable creature as enticement.
Gathering the shreds of a once-fine black coat to himself, the homeless man advanced on the proffered cup, his eyes darting about to see his fellows slurping hungrily at their meals. One or two had finished and were eyeing the remaining cups hopefully. For just a second he remembered where he was, then the veils descended once more and again he was lost in his own world of pain and fire and death and suffering. In a movement so fast none could follow it, he backhanded the cup, sending the contents splashing over the worker, who promptly dropped the last cup as well. A snarl of dashed hopes came from the other homeless supplicants, but the man in the black coat simply whirled and ran down the narrow street.
"Got to save her," he muttered as he ran. "Save her. If I can just find the right one, I can save her." He had a mission. He had to find them all. Maybe when he'd killed the last one, then he could save her.
*****
Time seemed to pass slowly for Helsing and his crew as they moved down the street. It was time to break out the heavy artillery and get serious about their work, his crew finally decided. Signs of revelry had at last disappeared. A sawed off shotgun and a couple of handguns were out – oh, they wouldn’t kill the foul beast, but they would slow him down.
“Here you go, doc,” someone said, handing Helsing his rather large wooden cross.
“Danke,” he said, taking it and putting it on the dash in front of him. “Do me a favour, watch the road. We finally know what that filthy monster looks like.”
“Yeah, ok.” He did not sound quite so enthusiastic as his boss. “Why are you so eager to find this vampire, anyway?”
“Why? Why?” the doc snapped, stopping the van to make sure he had their full attention. “Because he is as vile as the Count. Over a century of terror, pain, and death inflicted on several continents. So like we always do, we find him and kill in the name of God.”
The Crips nodded in agreement, wanting to avoid another theological discussion with van Helsing as garlic bandoliers were passed around.
*****
The tattered black coat made a vain effort to billow behind the man as he ran, but its best billowing days were long over. Then as suddenly as he'd started running, he stopped. Around him instead of dank streets all he saw were the flames as they rose to engulf him once more. A part of him knew this was just a memory, but it seemed real. He could feel the heat of the fire as it licked at his body. He'd been sure he would die then, returning to dust just like the lawyers that burned with him.
But someone had pulled him out. One of his so-called friends – he didn't know which one. It didn't matter; they had destroyed his chance at martyrdom. He'd already blown his one chance to really do some good. He could have saved her, if only he’d stayed with her to use the amulet. As he thought of her a picture of her face rose unbidden before him. He reached out to touch the perfection of her face, her golden hair cascading in waves over her shoulders. But even as he reached for her she melted away into nothingness, leaving him to howl his rage and frustration to the empty street.
"Buffy, no," he moaned as he pounded his head repeatedly against the wall.
Then he stiffened, sniffing the air. Garlic. Sweat. Intent. One of those damn lawyers come to finish him off before he could destroy them all and maybe save her, despite his failure. With a snarl he let the beast out, its features distorting his face even more than the scars, then he rushed toward that hated scent.
*****
The argument started as it always did. Someone said something about modern music, rap in particular. It was something about Tupac and Cunejo or some other pair of rappers. Helsing never caught on to the distinctions between names.
“Focus people, focus!” he said rather loudly.
“Yo, gramps, why don’t just get with the program and relax?”
“Program? What program? I don’t understand what you kids are talking about.” Suddenly he slammed on the brakes, when he saw the figure with the billowing coat in the distance. “That’s him. Thank you God, it’s him.”
“That’s just a bum,” someone said.
“No, no, it is him. I am sure of it.” Helsing picked up the cross and gestured towards the man. “Let’s go. Kill him in the name of God!”
Figuring it was best to humour the old man – he did pay them very well after all – the group got out of the car and began their charge forward.
The garlic scent grew stronger, but he refused to be deterred by it. There, running towards him was one of the hated Wolfram & Hart lawyers, he was sure of it. The lawyer even seemed to have brought an entourage of demons with him. "Afraid to even do his own dirty work," he muttered through his fangs, "Typical lawyer."
With an effort of will he ignored the fire that ate at his face, and met the oncoming foes head on. Starvation and madness had rendered him weak, but not so weak that he couldn't take down a mere human and three small demons.
"Hmm, puny demon," he muttered as by mere dint of twisting a wrist sharply he broke the arm of the first demon he encountered.
He held the struggling demon by the broken limb and whirled to face the lawyer, eliciting a moan of pain from the creature he held before him. "Why do you try?" he asked the lawyer. "You know you don't deserve to live. She does. Why do you fight?"
Why did they always want to talk to him, van Helsing wondered? Still, if it could buy him the necessary time he was willing to do it. Especially when it came to a demon lecturing him on who deserves to live.
“I do not deserve to live?” he said. “I am Dr Frederick van Helsing of Vienna, the greatest vampire expert in the world! You presume to talk to me about life? Oh, oh. I drive the stake slowly, slowly into your black heart.”
Helsing thrust out his very oversized cross at the vampire, making him fall back in reflexive cringing at the sight of the hated object. It was enough to let the Crip get away from the vampire and escape back to the relative safety of the cross.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Helsing said after several moments passed. “This is the great Angelus. Kill in the name of God!”
His three men looked at each other. Then to Helsing and Angelus. Then they shrugged their shoulders and charged.
The vampire blinked for a moment. Angelus. That had been his name, once. He'd almost forgotten it. But hadn't it changed? He thought he might have changed it to something else. The three demons charging towards him turned into three young women, dressed in voluminous gowns as he danced with them at a fancy ball. It was a favourite ploy of his, to lure a bevy of young ladies out to the atrium where he could feed in peace, then return to the festivities inside as though nothing had happened, often seducing the mistress of the house before he left for the night. He smiled seductively at the ladies, but the expression was lost amongst the filth and disfigurement that was now his reality.
That reality reasserted itself at a sharp pain that blossomed from his chest. He glanced down to see a stake protruding from his ribcage. "Fool! That's not where my heart is," he snarled and broke the neck of the man facing him. With a grunt he pulled the stake free and dodged the attacks of the other two. With prodigious agility he leapt over their heads, landing lightly a mere few feet away from the loathsome lawyer.
"Vampire expert, you say?" The vampire shot out a hand, grabbing the man who called himself Helsing around the neck, tilting his head back. An old pair of puncture wounds showed on Helsing's throat and the vampire smiled into his wide, frightened eyes. "So I see, lawyer scum."
He bent to drink, feeling his teeth puncture the skin at the man's collarbone and tasting the rich, lifegiving blood as it flowed into his mouth. Angel. That was it. He'd called himself Angel. And he didn't eat humans. But he had to kill the lawyers. It was the only way to save Buffy. Intent on his purpose he continued to drink, slowly draining Helsing of his vitality.
Helsing was not new to the experience of having his life drained – it was one of those things that came from being a hunter for so long. It tended to suck from time to time. Literally. Ironically it was also the time that vampires were most vulnerable, so assured they were that this was their moment of victory. Using the last of his energy, Helsing withdraw the small stake he held. Gasping for breath, he raised it to the chest of Angelus.
“Die…” he started, raising it higher. He inhaled deeply, suddenly striking.
Angel stumbled back, looking down at the stake. “Die in the name of the Fuehrer!” Helsing got out, before the telltale signs of his own victory set in.
The two surviving Crips stood there in surprise, the injured man clutching his arm in pain as they started back towards the van. “We won,” Helsing got out. “We won. Thank you Jesus, we won! Danke schoeon,” he added kissing the large cross he carried. “Let’s get our wounded friend to the hospital, then we party like it’s 1999.”
“Hey gramps, why'd that dude call you a lawyer?" one of his men asked, gesturing to the pile of dust on the pavement.
Helsing shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Maybe the stories about him being crazy were really true."
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