*** Aug 6, 2005 ***
There is darkness. There is pain. There is evil. These things I recognize because I am these things. I feel the movements of the trulls above me. It has been a long time and the trulls have built many things above me. It is a marvel that they have built.
I can feel the sprawl of their village...it reaches into the landscape like a hard scab that holds the flesh of the countryside together. I can feel the trulls of all kinds. The gentle innocents. The hard violent ones. Even the ancient ones like myself but younger...much younger. They are all trying to make a life in the scab.
Scabs heal. They slough off and become one more bit of dust in the earth. I am the dust. I am where all scabs end up. And I am awake again. I look farther into the land and see a closed hellmouth. I see madness, chaos and disbelief.
I am going to have fun here. The trulls do not remember, otherwise they would have kept the ancient places clean. They cannot imagine what will happen or they would still have champions and guardians in place. They will remember soon enough. I am awake and they are the ones who are sleeping.
***
Mrs. White's apartment had been converted weeks ago into an office. The phone lines and DSL connections were in place and the knick-knacks had been thinned down to a point where most people assumed the small apartment was a reception area.
Victor scratched his head at the tangle of wires behind the desk and the arcane symbols that Ian was typing on the screen. "Are you sure it will work okay? I don't know anything about how to fix these things...much less use them," said Victor.
Ian chuckled, "Come on, Victor, it's time for you to get wired! There's no shame in not knowing but I find it hard to believe that a guy as young as you hasn't had to use these since he was a kid in school."
Victor smiled uneasily. "I grew up in Europe, they aren't as advanced as the States," he lied. Ian had expressed this same sort of curiosity at Victor's discomfort before. Truth was, the technology scared Victor, and it was more obscure than black magic to him.
There was a quiet knock on the door. A young woman stood there in a white tee shirt that showed her midriff. Her tight black slacks accentuated her shapely legs, and the tiny nose stud drew attention to her very attractive face.
"Is this the place looking for the receptionist?" she asked.
Ian gracelessly stood up and tripped on the office chair rushing to greet her, but Victor deftly cut him off and extended a hand. "Pleased to meet you," he said, "My name is Victor. What's your name?"
"Henna," she said, "I am here about the job."
Ian was behind Victor making an ass of himself by waggling his eyebrows and winking at her, and she looked down in embarrassment. Victor stepped back and deliberately applied most of his 450 lbs to Ian's toes. He escorted her in and invited her to sit on the sofa where Ian hopped quickly to sit beside her.
The interview was short, and Henna was quick to assure Victor she knew about stocks, property management, computers, messages, and everything he was looking for. She had been working in the billing and customer service industry for her mother's online stocks business since she was 13. Even at 23, she was a veteran of managing volatile companies.
She left with a job, and Victor was quick to talk to Ian (who was trying to follow her out the door). "When are you going home?" asked Victor.
Ian opened his mouth and decided that he didn't want to push it. "Tonight," he replied.
***
That night there was a noise in the basement. A young figure of a girl walked slowly up the stairs. She looked around the corner from the basement stair and seeing the coast was clear, strolled out into the hallway. Her tight tee shirt was clean and white, and her dark slacks and tiny nose stud accentuated her best features.
She looked into the office and patted the electronic box. Its secrets were open to her, and she held her hand there for just a moment longer as information about the trulls of this new age flowed through her.
She smiled and closed her eyes. One bit of information interested her. Henna. A name, a phone number, a residence.
****
Henna walked around the small efficiency apartment in her workout bra and bicycle shorts. She had already slid the compact folding stair machine under the bed. She sat on the corner of the bed, drinking her spring water with one hand and clicked on the television with the other.
She was glad she had this great job. Now she could really get something accomplished. They had a sweet setup there, and she didn't think they would mind if she ran a small web business on their computer while she was doing work for them. It was only bandwidth and they had more than they needed.
She stopped flipping channels, and flipped back a couple of clicks. She had seen something that caught her eye. The channel looked like a cheesy horror flick from the 70's with huge crowds of cave people fleeing across the savannah from some unseen evil.
There were a few that stood their ground and huge misshapen horrors came and engulfed them. Henna wasn't sure why she was watching this particular program...it wasn't her usual fare of E! or VH1.
She thought it must have been the special effects. They were better than anything Lucasfilm ever produced. She didn't have a HDTV (she was saving up for it) but it was sharp and crisp.
Real. It seemed real. That was it totally. She set down the water and the remote. She approached the set and extended a hand. *This is crazy!* she thought. *This is like some sort of weird movie.*
As her fingers touched the screen and felt only hard glass, her skin stopped prickling. She breathed again (not realizing until just then she had been holding her breath). She stood up.
As she turned around, she saw the young girl sitting on the corner of the bed with the 3lb free weight in one hand and the bottle of water in the other. She smiled at her and dentist-white teeth flashed an evil smile.
Henna barely registered that she was seeing herself before the 3lb weight smacked her in the face, and she didn't get to see the end of the movie. Ever again.
The doppelganger stood over Henna's slim form, thankful that it would not have to clean up blood. Not that it minded cleaning up blood, it's just that lots of blood led to embarassing questions. She dragged the fit body into the bathroom and proceded to insert the real jewelry where only the appearance had been before. Over the next few hours the colorful tattoos faded from the tan skin and appeared on the skin of the clone.
She was a good one. The markings that made her unique had power. She especially liked the "sensual" rune on her lower back. It felt warm and sexy. The rings and baubles each held memories and skills. The ring in her belly button gave her knowledge of movements and combat. The stud in her nose told her stories of places and the thrulls that inhabited them.
The shamans had worn such things. Earplugs and tattoos of power made them unique and guarded their selves against the evil. But they were applied with care, with prayer and with protection. These little things were carelessly applied. They did not protect anything. That was a change it liked.
Tomorrow it would work. It would do menial things while it scouted around. The markings and decorations would disguise it as one of the thrulls. Even the sensitive ones would not know.
When it was time the others would come. Whole armies of them would come forth from the dust and swallow this scab.
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Love is Evil -- Part I
Sunday, Aug 14th: 1AM
==========
Victor looked at the clock. He was angry with Tash. He was angrier with himself. Once again she had gone out to hunt and he felt as if it was pointless to argue with her any more. He was tempted to go out hunting himself and work out some of this pissed-off feeling.
Suddenly the temptation seemed like more of a plan and the next thing he knew Victor was walking out the front door of Poplar Avenue. He walked briskly down the street cursing under his breath. He was halfway hoping to find Tash out here and when he did…*you'll finally eat the bitch.*
Victor stopped dead in his tracks. What would he do? *You will tell her how you feel. What you feel is nothing to be ashamed of. Your feelings are real.* How could he tell her? How could he get through to her? *A slap upside her head would work!*
"Fuck!" Victor shouted in the street. He was feeling more and more like a life wandering the streets in a dirty trench coat pushing a shopping cart full of aluminum cans was a viable lifestyle. A passing bum said, "You got it pal!" as he trundled by with the smell of desperation clinging to him.
Victor waited for a second and could not remember if he had said that out loud or not. You had to be careful - vengeance demons could be anywhere. When no trench coat appeared (or shopping cart) he moved on at a less frantic pace.
Victor could see Bob's Bar ahead and thought about going in there. Maybe there would be a sympathetic ear to bend… or just a pathetic ear. At this point Victor would be happy for either.
As he approached the front of the bar, a cabbie parked on the street in front called out to him, "Hey! Buddy, need a ride? You look too well dressed for this…" As Victor turned, the cabbie stopped talking. The bald fat man looked almost as if he didn't know what to do next.
"Get in," the driver said, actually stopping to remove his cigar from his stubbled face. Victor stared at him blankly for a beat, and the man continued, "You look like you are out for a drive, but ain't got a car. I got the car. Get in."
Victor had to admit that in a sideways logic that made sense. He climbed in the back and the springs on the cab groaned like an old charwoman. Victor swore they actually said "oi vay", but then dismissed it as his imagination. The driver chucked knowingly. He looked back through the divider and introduced himself as "Al".
Victor wasn't sure what to do, so he just nodded. Al just lifted his palms as if to say "Whatever" and turned down the meter flag. He stuck the moist cigar into his mouth and began to drive.
"So what's got a big demon like you all put out? Demoness troubles?" Victor looked up in alarm. Al just tapped the rear view mirror, "Ya gotta know what's behind you when you are drivin'."
Victor thought he had seen it all, and still there were things that surprised him. He chuckled. When you had nothing to hide, there was no reason to try. "You might say that. My girl has an obsession that’s going to get her killed. I can't seem to stop her, and I can't seem to reach her."
Al nodded sagaciously. "I hear ya pal," he said, "I got my own kinda woman troubles." He patted the dashboard. Victor thought it was some sort of superstition like knocking on wood.
Victor sat in silence. He had nothing to lose; his biggest secret was out already. There was nothing to lose at this point. "I don't know how to love her."
Al raised an eyebrow in the mirror. "Love? Love is a human thing. I never met a demon that wanted to do more than sow chaos and mayhem. And I'm guessing this ain't a natural thing for you."
Victor nodded. He slapped his chest, "Got a soul sometime in the 12th century. I hate it…well…not hate it, but it makes things tough."
Al snorted and muttered. Victor heard him clearly despite the rattle of the cab's chassis. "Type one and three."
"My name is Victor by the way. Thanks. Not sure what I was looking for there at Bob's but this is just as good. I don't drink anyway."
Al smiled over his shoulder as they passed several trendy nightclubs letting out attractive people. Victor scanned the crowd. He really didn't expect to see Tash out there, but it didn't stop him from looking anyway.
"Al, how long have you been hacking?"
Al thought about it a long time. "Too long," he finally said, "but that ain't important. I'm doin' it now."
Victor had a point, "So what do you see as evil, Al?"
Al slowed and stopped at a light while couples laughed and hung on each other while crossing the street. Al seemed to ignore the question. Victor was about to ask him again when he spoke, "Love is evil, Victor."
Victor waited. He could almost see the explanation working itself into words on the back of Al's baldhead. The light changed, and Al pulled out nearly clipping a couple getting ready to enter the crosswalk. He took a hard turn that made the wheels on the side of the cab rub inside the wheel well. (Victor was beginning to reassess his imagination when the squeal of the tires sounded like the word "Eeeeeesy!")
They drove fast, weaving through the cars on the street that were more respectful of posted limits. Al whipped into a 7-11 parking lot and skidded to a halt in the handicapped space. Al stepped out of the cab and stuck his head back in the open door. "Don't drink, eh? Do ya eat? Want anything?"
Victor shook his head and Al walked inside. (This time Victor was sure he heard the cab say "schmuck" as he closed the door.). A moment later he returned with a huge cup of coffee and a cellophane sack of beef jerky. Al shifted in his seat so he could peer into the back seat through the Plexiglas divider.
"Victor. I have been burned by love so many more times than I have been blessed by it. I loved a woman once," (the car engine sputtered like a cough, and Al shot the dashboard serious stink-eye), "and she wasn't enough. I wanted love and what I got was marriage, mortgage, malaise, and finally murder."
The engine died.
Al sighed and turned the key. The starter cranked ("murderer, murderer, murderer") and finally the engine roared to life. "I loved another woman once. She broke my heart and forgot all about me. I sought revenge against her but as with all vengeance it has a life of its own. So I am not only unsatisfied, but I get to watch as she gallivants around with loser-boy and I get nothing. Nothing but drivin' a cab."
Victor considered this man's tale. He could see where it was going. *I am beginning to like this 'love is evil' thing.* Victor knew that while this was the danger of love it wasn't always going to be like that. *You cannot give up on love yet.*
Victor shook the crowd in his head. "Al, I am sorry for you. But you cannot say that love is evil based on just what you have experienced."
"Victor, " Al said meeting his steady gaze with an equally steady one, "You can't seem to redeem love based on what you have experienced either."
*I LIKE this guy!* Victor frowned. Al just pulled out a ragged hunk of jerky and stuck it in his mouth. He turned and put on his seatbelt before pulling back out of the lot.
The cab rolled into a familiar part of town. 150 years ago Victor had spent many hours on this long broad street: the historic district. Al pulled up to the curb across from After Dark. "See that attractive vibrant lovely woman over there?"
Victor followed Al's thumb to see a tall brown haired woman with a lithe figure and a pale complexion speaking to another woman he recognized; Eriantha. Victor fought the urge to say, 'which one?' when he realized that Al didn't mean either of them. He was pointing at Tash. He thought it was Tash. She was dark skinned and tall, muscular…or was she? Victor blinked his eyes and looked again. She wasn't Tash at all. (was she?) Victor's head began to ache. Something was making his senses go haywire. He finally closed his eyes altogether.
"She dumped me and came here. Not sure why she'd hang with suck heads like this crowd. So I arranged to have her meet a loser. The kind of guy who would break her heart and make her come back running to me. Love me. Problem is the loser isn't doing the job. He got himself straight, got a good job. Hangs with a cute little Australian. Been workin' out." Al droned on lost in his own regret.
While he was speaking something tickled the back of Victor's brain. With his eyes closed the voices were quiet while he focused on Al voice. Sam. "Say, Al, you know a guy named Sam? Sam Aubrey? A webfoot here in LA."
"Webfoot? Sheesh, never heard that term before. Yeah I know 'im."
Victor got out of the cab and walked around to Al's window. He pulled out his wallet and tossed two $50 bills on Al's lap. "Leave him alone. If he owes you; give me a figure, and I'll settle right here. If he's your friend; he isn't any more. If he's your instrument of revenge…" Victor let the threat hang.
"Christ on a crutch!" Al cussed. "Victor. I should have put it together. All I could see was the demon; I didn't see the man. You are his new boss. Poplar Avenue. You and your buds fried the Beazor, ran Kain outta town, pissed off Sindell, have every vampire within 50 miles casing your joint, and blew up your own damn house. You think Sam is gonna be safer with you?"
Al reached for the glove box, grabbed a bottle of holy water and some sort of three-pronged fork. Victor was reaching in the window and trying to drag Al out of his seatbelt. Al jabbed him with the fork and splashed the water on Victor's hand. Victor let go and backed up. Al pointed the fork at Victor and uttered an incantation to Triton while pouring the water over the fork.
Holy water streamed out from the fork like a fire hose. Victor jumped and rolled out of the way and several vampires disappeared into piles of muddy ash. Victor's eyes were full of rage. Al's eyes were narrowed in anger as well. The two faced each other.
Al shouted at Victor, "That boy is the instrument of my revenge. You had better not fuck that up. You aren't invincible. I know how to hurt you, and I know things that will make you pay."
Vrithetek grinned at Al. "Bring it on! I have a lot more experience with Hell than you little man."
Al's cab slowly rolled backwards. Victor stood in the street his hands clenched in anger. He could hear Al grumbling to himself, "One, three, AND six."
Love is Evil -- Part II
Sunday, Aug 14th: 3AM
Hesch sat in the Denny's and sopped up the egg yolks on his plate wth the piece of half-assed toast. His hands had stopped shaking by the time the food arrived. That was a long time. He couldn't figure out why he felt like threatening that particular demon was going to help.
A familiar face slid into the booth across from him. She was wearing a yellow dress and a white apron with a name tag that read "Sue" but he still recognised Killroy.
"You really are a bitter old man aren't you?" she said in that too-sweet voice.
Hesch looked at the smear on the white plate, "Well the advantage to being a bitter old man is you get the senior's discount at Denny's."
"I have to compliment you, by the way, that was a masterful play tonight. I couldn't have planned it better if I do say so myself. And I do say so myself!"
Hesch wanted to smash her face with the heavy china plate, but he was beginning to think that there were a lot of ways he could still witness his revenge that would be made a lot less pleasant if he did that.
He pulled out a bottle of Advil and popped four tablets. The headaches would start soon. He'd been in here a while and he had parked Madeline in one of the farthest parking slots. He didn't want her headlights watching him kick himself.
"I shoulda known. You are enjoying this aren't you? Watching all of us act like little puppets for the sake of your amusement."
"Albert Hesch. I'm hurt. You should know by now I am doing this for YOUR enjoyment. Remember." The deep rumble underlying her voice was very clear.
"Besides, You should hav..."
Al cut her off, "Never summoned you in the first place? Quit while I was ahead? Or known better? Let me see...I pick 'D'. All of the above."
'Sue' laughed lightly. She got up and planted a big red lipstick mark on the top of his bald head. "I love you, Al. You make me laugh," and she bustled off scooping the tip off of several tables.
Al sat there looking at the coffee that was so black it was staining the cup. "Love is evil," he said and chased down the pills before grabbing his ticket and heading to the cashier.
Love is Evil -- Part III
Aug 14th 3AM: The Historic District
"Victor, is that you?" Eriantha moved out carefully avoiding the pools of holy water glistening in the street.
*Well, loverboy, looks like you have a date tonight!* *Shut up!*
Victor relaxed his shoulders and fists. He stood and smiled warmly. *I should keep up appearances. She has a lot of contacts that could still be useful.* "Eriantha! Sorry about this… mess. I am glad to see you weren't damaged."
Eriantha smiled as she walked up and slapped Victor hard across the face. "That was for not visting me once since February." She then pulled his face down and kissed him hard on the lips.
Victor held the kiss a second longer than he really wanted to then he pulled back. "What was that for?" he asked.
Eriantha whirled around and took his hand, "Does a girl always have to have a reason to kiss a handsome man?" She led him towards the club. Victor stopped and noticed the woman he had mistaken for Tash drenched and still standing in front of the club.
She held out her wet clothing and pushed her damp hair away from her face. She walked towards Eri as if to hug her, but Eriantha backed up… true fright on her face. Victor avoided her as well when she turned towards him. The woman began to sob and ran down the street.
Eri called after her, "Kimmie? I'm sorry, sweetie, come back and we'll get you fixed up."
The girl did not pause. She ran down the street towards the public areas where vampires weren't welcome.
Victor pulled on Eri's arm and leaned down to her, "She wasn't one of your girls, was she? She didn't get burned…"
Eriantha looked up with her dark eyes and batted her eyelashes, "She comes and goes. We sort of let her hang around because she brings the yummiest boys in for… refreshments. She drinks sometimes. But she's not like us. Not really sure what she is."
Victor couldn't help feeling as if he had missed something, but Eriantha was insistent on getting inside. Being careful to avoid the drops of holy water coming from the roof, he ducked into After Dark.
Eriantha led him through velvet curtains to the rear areas. They traveled up the stairs to the old rooms he remembered so well. Eriantha was chattering on and Victor dutifully nodded and muttered assents in all the right places, but he was looking around for something. He didn't know what, but that feeling that there was a detail that had not registered could not be shaken.
"You are a million miles away, Victor. What is bothering you?"
The direct question broke his concentration and the thought slipped away like quicksilver. He was seated at a tea-table and lovely ladies were serving tea with a dark reddish hue. He recognized blood tea and politely accepted a cup even though he had no intention of drinking it.
"Eriantha, my dear, you are masterful at the arts of love. You loved Faschion. You might be able to help me. I have fallen for a lovely woman and she is driving herself. She is obsessed and I am worried that she is going to do something foolish and get herself hurt. I am afraid of losing her."
Eriantha leaned forward and held Victor's hand. "Victor, you don't need her. She is human and you know that she will die. She hunts my kind, and please forgive me for being harsh, but she does not deserve you."
Victor could feel the anger coming back. He stood roughly and pulled back his hand. "I thought I could trust you to be honest. I guess I wasn't disappointed," he said to her.
"Don't be angry, Victor, I could be your lover forever. Why would you give your incredible heart to a woman who is a killer." The disdain in her voice was clear.
Victor tipped over the cup and watched the heated blood flow to the edge of the table. "It is what she kills that makes her unsuitable in your eyes. You kill. You just play it off as mercy or inevitability."
There were gasps behind him. Eriantha ignored the theatrical display and looked into Victor's eyes. "She is unsuitable because you are a killer too. You killed many like her back then. You will kill many more. She is a victim of her own passions. You would do well to finish her and spare her yours."
Victor closed his eyes in shame. He had tortured and murdered hunters that sought Faschion. He was their protector and champion and he reveled in their lavish adoration. He brought in the bodies and let the women feed on the warm blood of their enemies.
He would parade the bloodless corpses around like limp dolls for the entertainment of the girls. He would act out their terror and pain and the girls would laugh at the silly voices and exaggerated postures. For a finale, Victor would rend the bodies just to hear them scream in horror and disgust.
He was evil. Love was evil. Love was cruel and merciless like he had always been. Eriantha lightly touched his arm, "I love you, Victor. I have always loved you. Stay here, and be our big brother again. Entertain us like you used to. Faschion always liked you."
Victor opened his eyes and looked deep into the dark black eyes of Eriantha. He could feel no soul within her cold body. There was nothing there; no truth, no beauty, only death. * Tash truly loves you. Go home to her. Shut up.*
"Faschion was an idealist. I deal in realities. I don't love you, Eri. I love her."
No woman likes to be told she is second, and Eriantha was no exception. "So be it. Get out." She picked up her tea, slung it at Victor, and screamed, "Get OUT!"
Victor left while the other girls swarmed to Eriantha and hugged her and smoothed her hair, telling her how evil he was. The weren't wrong. Victor walked back towards the public streets and saw Al's cab speed up to pass him. He had a woman in the front seat with him.
The woman. Sam.
That was the puzzle. He didn't know what it was and how those two things fit together, but he had all day to figure it out. It's not like Tash would be around or even interested.
Tash. He checked his watch: 3:30am. He guessed she'd be home soon, it would take him nearly an hour to walk home, and Al's cab seemed to be the only one out this early in the morning. But he wasn't in a hurry. He strolled to the Denny's and ordered a bagel sandwich he didn't need to eat.
The waitress, Sue, was friendly and sat down at the table. She picked at his bacon and hash browns while they talked. "You seem like a man with a lot on his mind, buddy."
Victor stopped staring at the table topper with the "Grand Slam" picture in exaggerated colors. He looked at her nametag then her face, "You have no idea."
"Honey, Everyone with a lot on their mind comes here and gets breakfast. I have seen it and heard it all. I know about the bumpy-headed fellows and their taste for warm liquids. I have seen the forces of Heck ride down the road to gather souls for the harvest. Honey, I live in LA. Nothing shocks me any more."
Victor couldn't help but laugh. "Then this is the same old thing. Boy meets girl. Girl absorbs the memories of a 600-year old witch. Girl goes a little nuts. Boy is afraid he'll lose her."
Sue listened and didn't even flinch. "Its pretty easy to see you love her. Even if she's completely nuts then that much will be clear. All you have to do is make sure that it's only the two of you at the party."
Sue filled the coffee cup (had Victor drunk it? he didn't remember) and patted him on the shoulder before getting up and going back to the kitchen. Victor looked at his watch and nearly gasped as he saw it was 6am.
Victor wrapped up the bagel in his napkin and carried the cup to the cashier. He had her wrap it up and pour the coffee into a travel cup. He'd take it back to Tash. The sun was beginning to rise and he was ready to go home. Before he left he walked back to the table and laid a generous tip on the table.
Outside the Denny's was parked a vintage cab. The bald, cigar-smoking driver was there. Victor approached him cautiously. "Need a cab?"
Victor accepted the truce. He didn't hate this guy. He had lashed out trying to protect Sam. On the drive back Al explained that he was trying to protect him too. Victor couldn't figure out why that felt like a lie. He liked Al, but he really didn't trust him. But there was something else he couldn't remember either.
Something Al had said. Al chose that moment to speak, "Love is evil," he said.
"Love isn't evil, Al. Love is only evil if you use it as a weapon," Victor said.
Al seemed to consider this and replied, "Love isn't a weapon, it’s the bullet. Weapons don't kill lovers, bullets do."
Victor laughed, "You have it backwards, Al. Love doesn't kill lovers, weapons do." The cab's backfire sounded like a snort of laughter.
Love is Evil -- Part IV
Sunday, 14th August 2005 – 7am
Victor balanced the coffee and bagel in one hand and shut the cab door with the other. He waved to Hesch who was counting the generous tip in the cab, but was ignored. He turned and dug for the keys to the old tenement building. The dingle of the keys in the door must have attracted some attention from inside because the door swung open. Henna stood there in her handkerchief-shirt, her back covered by little more than the ties of the front part.
"You are here early," said Victor.
Henna grinned, as another girl came out from behind her. "My friend is taking my truck for service and she has to be at work at 8, so we left early." She looked at the coffee in Victor's hand, "For me?"
Victor shook his head, "For Tash. I was out last night. It’s sort of an apology."
Henna nodded, "I know my boyfriends have brought me all sort of 'apologies' and I always thought it was lame. But good luck!"
Victor smiled politely and went upstairs. He balanced the coffee to open the door, but had to fish for his keys again. He watched the bagel fall in slow motion as he reflexively shut the door, snatched the bagel from space, and turned the lock in a single motion. He was inside at last.
He waited for Tash's voice but when he didn't hear it, he walked into the bedroom. She was obviously having the nightmare again. Victor set down the coffee and breakfast and waited a few seconds. These bouts with her past came to her night after night and Victor had watched as the dreams came, she awoke, and after a glass of water or a short stroll she returned to sleep.
Precious seconds passed, and she did not awaken. Victor could smell the sweat of fear that clung around her. He reached out to her shoulder as she rolled away from him. "Tash? Wake up. You are having a nightmare."
The drums pounded faster and faster, fuelling the frenzy of her dancers as Tash raised the knife and carved deep slashes in the body of the girl before her. The girl screamed, then Tash realised she was looking at herself lying on the altar. The sacrificial Tash looked up at her and asked, "Why are you doing this to me, Tash?"
Victor's voice murmured in her ear again, but she couldn't make out the words. Her chest hurt, and she tried to pull the stake from her heart, when a monster suddenly loomed before her. She screamed and lashed out as her eyes opened...
She crabbed backwards on the bed, panting heavily, her eyes wide.
The blow hit Victor hard on the face. He actually flinched with the fury with which it was delivered. He blinked before he realized what had happened because of the blinding speed of the strike. "Calm down, it’s over. It’s over..." Victor reached slowly forward towards her waiting for the dream to dissipate. He touched her hand and when she looked down at it he could begin to see her eyes coming back into focus.
"There you go, back among the waking. I brought you coffee." Victor smiled at her, but she did not return it.
Tash gripped the hand that held her own, letting the nightmare ebb and fade. She'd dreamed about her family every night, but it usually ended with her mother's accusation. She placed her other hand on Victor's elbow, drawing him towards her before burying her face in his chest and gulping down shuddering gasps of air. She didn't want to speak - she didn't think she'd be able to yet. But as Victor's arms wrapped around her she began to calm.
"That was a bad one. But it’s over now,” Victor whispered, “It was only a dream."
After several minutes Tash pulled away, just holding lightly onto his hands, "I'm ok now. It was a bad one..." She didn't want to think about the dream, didn't want to describe it. So she put on a smile and looked out the window at the bright early morning sun. "You've only just got home?" she asked, changing the subject. "Where did you go?"
Victor wasn't sure how to say it. I couldn't let you come back in and expend your excess energy on me again. No. I was out visiting an old friend, a very old friend. No. He opted for a vague truth, "I was out tracking down a lead. For work."
Her senses picked up that he was concealing something from her, but all she did was frown. The bruises stood in contrast to even her dark skin, and Victor touched them gingerly, "Looks like you got beat up pretty bad, this time. Maybe you should..."
She cut him off.
"Don't give me that shit again." Her damaged larynx struggled with the volume. Her voice started to crack, so she finished in a hoarse croak, "I had enough of it from Sorrow last night, thanks!"
The spell seemed to have worn off, because she felt a sharp flare of anger. The rational part of her brain tried to remind her of what she'd thought about last night when she'd been calm, but instead she embraced that rage.
"Why does everyone want to tell me how to live my damn life?" She snatched her hands from Victor's and crossed her arms in front of her chest.
Victor raised his eyebrows at both her rage and Sorrow's name. "When did you see him?"
Before she could even think of answering something bubbled up from within his heart, "And I am the last person to tell you how to live. From what I can see you are doing all you can to use up what life you have left. I am not the only person who cares about you, but I may well be the last person who will stand by you at this rate!"
He stood. Something righteous and withheld struggled to get free, "And where do you get off ignoring everything I say anyway? It’s almost as if you are determined to ether trade places with me as the evil in this house, or..." Victor stalled. He had started to say she was going to join him in evil. But he couldn't say it. He just pointed at the coffee, "I brought that for you,” he said slowly and walked out into the lounge.
Tash quailed when Victor mentioned evil. Evil. That was how she'd felt in the nightmare. Evil. And she'd revelled in it. It was as though she was Ohenewaa for those moments in the dream. The fury drained as quickly as it had from Sorrow's magic.
She sat on the bed, huddled in on herself for long, silent seconds. What was happening to her? And why was it that every time anyone mentioned anything relating to it, even in passing, she felt this overwhelming, irrational, blinding rage? She bent her head to her knees and let the tears fall silently. She listened for Victor, but could hear nothing, though she still felt his presence. Finally she stood and walked to the lounge where he stood immobile in the centre of the room.
She wanted to wrap her arms around him, wanted to hold him close and let him know by touch how much she loved him, but instead she just stood, her arms hanging limply by her side. She opened her mouth to beg forgiveness.
Victor's thoughts were turbulent. He wanted to go back and apologise, but something told him he was right. *You ARE right. The dumb bitch doesn't know what evil is. She knows the typical hunter mentality. Bad vampire goes <
>. She does not know that evil is what you do in the dark. Evil is never having to say you are sorry. Evil is unrestrained, unfettered action with no consequences.*
*Evil is the sacrifice of the self. Evil is abandonment of all that’s important for all that is transitory. Evil is selfishness and cruelty.*
*I am evil. I have always been evil. But she has no concept of what it really means.*
*Don't think that makes you an expert on the subject of good, all of a sudden, bucko!*
Victor heard a small sound behind him, and lashed out at her. He knew it was Tash at some level, but he could not stop the hardwired reflexes built by the G'rnathan Creators. He grabbed Tash's shoulders and lifted her towards the ceiling.
His eyes burned red with the rage he was feeling at her. His disappointment that this of all possible paths would be the path she would choose. She had her future ahead of her. She had him by her side. She had power and wisdom of the immortal Ohenewaa in her and she was going to turn her back on all that.
"Do you WANT to be evil, Tash? Because we could have it all!"
Victor's eyes extinguished and his hands went numb. He dropped her unceremoniously on the floor and backed away.
The air left Tash's body with a 'whoof' and she lay for a moment, stunned by the abruptness of Victor's attack. She was frightened of him. For the first time since she'd met him, she was truly frightened of him.
She watched as the malevolent gleam faded from his eyes and he once more stood before her as Victor. "No, I don't want to be evil," she said quietly. "I'm just trying to understand why I feel so different when I hunt these days." She lay on the floor, vulnerable, looking up at Victor towering over her.
Victor's rage refused to drain away. He knew she was scared, and a part of him wanted her to feel that fear… it revelled in it. Voices clattered through Victor’s mind as he stood there. Not a debate, but a riot of thoughts pestered him.
*She's ready, take her. She will serve you well!*
*Forgive her. She knows there is something wrong, and is ready to face these things inside her.*
*Ghortab, what am I doing?*
Victor looked past her, focused on his own pain. A sparkle of light, that same bright light of her soul, caught his eye. It was deep inside her. Guarded and protected from the darkness that was outside. Sheltered and hiding from the dark. He knew what to do.
Victor sat down on the floor across from her, and reached forward. "I am sorry. Something inside me won't go away. But it is not aimed at you, it is me that it wants. You have something in you that you do not have control of either. Can we promise that we will allow each other room and support to get through this?"
The tears that had barely dried on Tash's cheeks started to fall again. She did what she'd wanted to do earlier, and enfolded herself into Victor's embrace. "I wanted to say I'm sorry. I don't know where the rage comes from, but I can't seem to stop it. And I love you so much, but I've been hurting you. I don't want to hurt you. I just don't understand what's going on... I've never felt so lost in my life."
Tash could feel the anger bubbling up, even now. It wanted her to scream and tell Victor to fuck off and leave her alone. She was her own woman, she could deal with this herself. But she didn't. For once, the rational part held sway and let her be helpless. Let her ask for Victor's love and understanding.
*Love is Evil.* *Not now!* Victor could not speak for once. 2000 years of lifetime faking it made words seem empty to him. He only hoped that Tash's gift would let her feel the truth behind his affirmation. "I love you."
He held her for a long time, and felt the salty tears running down his arms and chest. He stroked her back and whispered, "It will be okay," and, "We will get through this." His ignorance of the power of such feelings both within himself and in her made him feel terribly impotent to help her.
Tash relaxed a little, Victor's comforting presence easing some of her turmoil. She gazed up at him, "You know, I don't think I'll feel like hunting tonight." *Liar.* "I'd rather we did something together instead." *At least that was true...*
Victor started thinking of things to do, things he had to do, and things he wanted to do with Tash. He sorted, shuffled, and rearranged his schedule in his mind. "Yeah, I think we can do something together tonight." Victor stood up and lifted Tash to her feet. He picked her up and carried her to the shower. "First we get you washed up and then we go and buy you some 'going out' clothes. And from there? I guess we play it by ear."
There was something else. Victor searched his memories, and could not seem to pinpoint that nagging thought. What was it? What was he trying so desperately to remember?
"Rescue" at Chevrine's
***Sunday, August 14, 2005 – 2:30 a.m.***
“Saddity bitch!” the demon spit at her through clenched teeth. Parasol had been lifted a good three feet off the ground. His gigantic hand held her throat between his thumb and forefinger like snack food. Parasol barely managed to look down at the creature that had her helpless in his grasp, expecting to see something slimy or antlery or spiny. Instead, what she saw was the same knucklehead, still chomping that gum, fake bling-bling and all - only economy sized. Parasol kicked her legs out but could find no purchase. The very big Nelly knockoff held her at arms length, well out of reach.
“I come atcha all sincere, like ALL you bitches seem to like.” He was ferocious. “All you got for me is ‘later.’” He squeezed Parasol’s neck harder. “Un-huh, who’s Big Poppa now? Huh? Say my name, bitch. Say it!” and his other hand’s fingers squeezed at her cheeks.
Parasol had fought demons before, many times, and the fact that she was still walking around attested to her talent for it. This kind of fee-fi-fo-fummer was not one she had encountered before. She didn’t quite know how to battle it. One thing, though. Calling her “bitch” twice was not a way to placate her.
“Say your name?!” she croaked through her rapidly constricted throat. “Okay. ASSHOLE!” and she vamped and bit hard into the flesh of his hand between his thumb and forefinger, which distracted the knockoff long enough to drop Parasol in a heap on the ground. She started backing up like a crab to get some distance, her wits and strength about her.
“Are you out of your mind? What’d you do that for?” he whined. “Ow, ow, ow!!” and he took to stomping around cradling his hand bloodied from the bite. And like all babies, after the initial shock of getting reprimanded, he got madder. “You hurt me,” he roared petulantly and barreled after Parasol.
Parasol’s face smoothed out as she took up position around the other side of her baby, by the rear tire, looking for another vantage point to take the fight away from her car. There was the doorway of the club, it was defendable but she would be trapped unless she broke down the door, taking the fight into the club. Not a very good idea.
There was the expanse of open empty space of the parking lot; advantageous if she was to kick his ass, but weapons were non-existent and she doubted that without surprise, her brute strength would vanquish him.
And then, there was that Ryder truck conveniently parked at the curb. It was big enough. She could hotwire it, and run Baby Huey’s ass over. She got a mental picture of his do-rag fluttering on the bumper and chuckled evilly. *Yeah, I got your “bit…”* A heavy object clunked her on the top of her head, fake bling-bling rattling against the crown of her head, a split second before she felt fingers the size of kielbasa braided into her hair dragging her over the trunk of her car and smacking her in the mouth.
She was right back where she had started within the grip of a big pissed off gangsta-baby.
“David Warren Henshaw, The Third,” a voice boomed from the darkness of the lot behind her. “Put her DOWN!!”
“Huh!?” and the Nelly knockoff dropped her to the pavement once again in a heap. His size absorbed to normal in the air like it was a paper towel. “Why?” he whined.
Parasol took a moment to gather herself before the anomaly set in. “Your name is David Warren Henshaw, The Third? What? You out to jack the Country Club?”
“Smart-ass bitch.” David was not amused and started after her again.
“David!! You know I don’t like repeating myself.”
Parasol spit blood out of her mouth as she watched a very nice pair of expensive shoes wander into her view of the ground. She trailed her eyes up a line of sartorial splendor, summer weight wool pants, creamy silk shirt, and understated and masculine jewelry. He held out his hand to help her up, saying softly with a lilt, “My cohort here is rather infantile, as you can see. He doesn’t take kindly to not getting his way. Trust fund baby, you know.”
Parasol took the man’s cold hand and untangled herself from herself. She stood face to face with a supremely handsome West Indian, so much so that if she hadn’t had a hundred years of practice at being really, really, really cool, she’d have swooned. And the man smelled good; his spicy scent mixed with a hint of blood dancing around him like a sigh.
“I am London.” He stared into Parasol’s face, taking moments to look individually at her hair, her nose, her lips. It rather unnerved her but she dusted off her butt with her free hand, determined to not let her drizzling libido quell her anger at “David” hurling invectives and curiosity that London apparently was able to call him off.
“Well, London…” she pulled herself away from London’s eyes and grabbed David’s shirt and lifted him off the ground for a change, “…your ‘cohort’ called me a bitch.” She squinted hard into David’s face. “The last person to call me a bitch apologized to me until her dying moment. You don’t scare me, brat, and if you’re rich, why are you wearing this paste around your neck,” she spat. London stood on the edges, looking bemused.
David was belligerent. “No need to get hostile. I just wanted some play.”
“This isn’t hostility, peabrain. Hostility is a Wamsutta as Attire convention next to an oak tree. I’m merely annoyed.” Parasol’s annoyance was to the point that she considered taking a bite out of this numbskull’s neck just to make the point.
London put his hand on Parasol’s arm, gently coercing her into unhanding David. “Love, this guppy is not worth it.”
Parasol barely complied, her irritation at David mixed with her peripheral attraction to London spinning out of control. She didn’t realize she had vamped. London chuckled softly next to her. “Darlin’, your slip is showing.”
Parasol put her hand to her face, sighed and then shook out the demon’s visage, annoyed at herself that she had gotten distracted from the task at hand. She cut her eyes at David and then turned to London. This night had proven to be long and trying. Her shirt had been torn, her Choos scuffed, and insult sat on injury’s lap as David leaned on the Sunliner like it was his. She didn’t have the spirit for subterfuge.
“Quite right, London. He clearly isn’t worth it.” She snapped her fingers at David. “Get off my car!” David was startled into obedience.
She walked toward London and stood directly in front of him, regarding him in the same intimate manner he had her. The man was not intimidated, piquing Parasol’s interest even more. He stood legs akimbo, holding his hands in front of him, looking back into her face.
Parasol continued. “I am in search of a box; a box that belonged to my apparently dead acquaintance Mrs. Prosper. She called it the Cadre D’Ames. Do you know of it?”
London tilted his head to the side, watching her mouth. “Are you looking for your soul?”
“No. As I asked, I am looking for the Cadre.” She watched his earlobe, wondering if it tasted spicy like he smelled.
“Ahh. My compatriots lost their lives looking for the same artifact.” He put his index finger to his chin. “Would you know anything about that?” and then the same finger pulled a windblown strand of hair from her face.
“You mean the Kingston Follies? I killed them all.” Parasol noticed that his eyelashes were entirely too long for a man.
London leaned his face into her, smelling her. “For the Cadre?”
Parasol stood her ground enjoying his invasion of her personal space. “For general principle,” she whispered.
“Oh.” His mouth pursed two inches from hers.
“London…bruh…I’m bored.” David was standing by the Sunliner, tapping his Timberlands, hands in his hanging off his ass pants. “What happened to the hoodrats…let’s go play with them since this BITCH is no fun at all.” Parasol and London turned their faces in unison to David and his unwelcome invasion of the moment.
“What – exactly – is he to you?” Parasol inquired with the most patient voice she could muster. The moment was over and Parasol had neither an idea about the whereabouts of the Cadre nor what she would bet the plantation would have been one of the more righteous kisses she’d had in decades.
London straightened from the two inches of crackling air in front of her mouth and sighed. “My – pet – for want of a better term.”
“Goldfish make less of a mess. And if he calls me bitch one more time...”
“He has his uses, as you were witness to this evening. He always fetches what I require.”
Parasol was incredulous. “I know you didn’t send him to ‘fetch’ me?” She spit the word as she felt her enthusiasm go limp.
“I am guilty of such, though I apologize for the ham-fisted fashion it has been accomplished.”
Parasol poked her finger into the tall, handsome, well dressed, good smelling, long lashed, luscious lipped vampire’s chest. “I am never fetched AND I am no longer interested in the Cadre.” She whirled and stalked toward her car, giving David a hard shove out of her way for good measure.
Cursing under her breath, Parasol got in her baby and fired up all eight cylinders as London stood with a benign smile beside David a few feet from her door. Had Parasol less respect for her Sunliner, she’d have gunned it and peeled out of the parking lot. As it was, she turned and glared at the vampire and his “pet.”
“It’s out of your hands…” London said flatly as he calmly walked over, placing his hands on her door, and leaning over to occupy those same two crackling inches of air from her mouth. Parasol could feel her own adrenaline as she watched his forehead shrug and his teeth grow, rendering his demon’s smile. “The Cadre is now interested in you.”
*Fetch indeed…Men are evil…Damn, he sure is fine.*
She peeled out anyway, begging her baby’s forgiveness.
Dreams and Reality
*** Sunday, August 14, 2005 – Noon ***
It was high noon in August and Parasol was dead to the world (interesting choice of words), fast asleep – if that’s what it is that vampires do during the day – in her bed. The dark heavy drapes covering the large windows were pulled so tightly shut, it seemed as if midnight inhabited the room. The ceiling fan turned lazily above her bed, whispering air around the room, fluttering the edges of the gauzy fabric hanging over the beams of her four poster bed. Parasol turned under the covers onto her back, subconsciously pulling her long hair from under her to splay out on the pillow, finally settling her arms in a hug around the brocade pillow placed on the bed for accent – and hugs. Her eyes flicked from side to side behind her lids.
******
Parasol tore-ass barefoot through the grass of the park surrounding the main house of the plantation. Her mama was calling out of the house’s huge front doors. “Paaarasol. Paaarasol. You better get in here, girl. Your daddy’s ready to start your lessons.” High noon in August; the sun was strong on her head, warming her hair through to the ends. Parasol kicked at all the dandelions in the grass, sending the seeds like angels into the air. She was a good girl and always came running when her mama called.
Her mama stood on the porch, shaking her head. “Girl, your dress is filthy. Where you been playin'? Down there by that spring in all that mud, I’ll bet. Your daddy’s gonna tan your hide if I don’t first.” Her mama was roughly making an unsuccessful attempt to dust the mud from her skirts. “This is hopeless, girl.” Her mama sighed and gave her a long, tight hug. Finally releasing Parasol, her mama scolded “G’on upstairs and change your clothes and be quick about it. You daddy’s waitin’.”
Parasol suffered her mama’s chiding, looking out over the expanse of Elysian Fields. This was such a pretty place and her life was so good. And she had been down by the spring playing in the mud; with the little blond girl whose voice tinkled like the chimes her mama made hanging outside her bedroom window.
“Yes, ma’am.” Parasol turned, ran through the doors of the house and bolted up the stairs, two at a time.
******
Chinaka made herself Sunday brunch. It sucked that Parasol didn’t hang out in the day, because it would have been nice for the two of them to go to M&Ms for brunch. It was great entertainment to hang out there after church let out. Maybe if they’d been able to go for Sunday brunch, they could talk. Then Chinaka wouldn’t have to feel all skitchy about her Auntie Parasol, whom she’d known all her life. She sat thinking at the kitchen table, munching the eggs and fruit of her brunch.
While doing her brunch dishes, Chinaka considered leaving the gallery closed all day so she could get a chance to talk to Parasol, but thought better of it. The business was new and needed consistency to build a client base. The other shops would open about 1:00 and the gallery really needed to do the same.
Chinaka walked up the stairs to change into fabulous art diva wear. At the top of the stairs she turned down the long hall leading to her bedroom. She paused at Parasol’s doorway and stood beside it absent-mindedly kicking her toe gently into the floor, considering. It was the middle of the day; too early to draw back Parasol’s drapes as Chinaka had gotten in the habit of doing. She had never gone into Parasol’s room in the middle of the day. It had never occurred to her to do so in Chicago and here in LA… well. She was curious about a vampire’s daytime condition. Parasol said last week that she slept. Chinaka wondered if she folded her hands across her chest, like Dracula. The image tickled Chinaka.
Maybe just one peek before she left. She creaked the door open just enough for one eye to occupy the space. Parasol was lying on her back, her hair spilled over the pillow and she was hugging the brocade pillow Chinaka had bought especially for the décor. She had a peaceful look on her face. Chinaka smiled. For a vampire, her Auntie Parasol sure looked like an angel. She carefully pulled the door shut and walked down the hall to her bedroom.
******
The moon was fat and bright.
“Come this way. This way, Parasol. Come this way.” A pretty little girl with thick blond curls was bouncing down the forest path, leading the way. “It’s not far. Come on,” she beckoned with one hand, her voice falling from the leaves of the trees lining the path. Parasol’s hands and arms came out in front of her reaching for the little blond girl, moonlight mottled on her skin. She couldn’t quite keep up with the child who seemed to be moving farther and farther out of her reach. “It’s not much farther Parasol. Hurry. It’s for you. You’ll miss it,” and the child turned left behind a stand of trees.
Parasol kept running on the path, her skirts swishing between her legs. She was nearly out of breath, trying to keep up. She could hear the child’s voice calling from what seemed a far away place. “Par-a-sol. This way.”
She reached the stand of trees and turned left like the little girl. The moonlight suddenly disappeared like someone blew out its flame, plunging Parasol into complete darkness. She looked up to the sky. There weren’t even stars. Her eyes were wide open against the sky and yet she saw nothing but rich, inky black. Parasol fumbled about, bumping into something with the upper half of her body. The object gave way swinging partially with Parasol’s movement, like a suspended log. She grabbed onto the object for balance. She heard the little girl giggling in the air.
With a lightening crack, the moonlight turned back on. Parasol squinted against the sudden light, straining to see what the object was that was swinging still in her grip. Strange. The log had shoes at the bottom with an unusual box tied to the laces. Parasol looked up and what she saw caused her to take in so much air so quickly, it made her dizzy. Try as she might, she couldn’t scream; nothing but a noiseless sigh came from her throat.
Parasol keened in the spot she seemed to be nailed to. What was hanging with shoes and a box wasn’t a log at all. It was a body hung by rope around its body under its arms, chin resting on its chest. The poor soul’s throat was slit from earlobe to earlobe, draining blood in torrents. It covered the body’s clothes and dripped off its shoes and the box. The blood lapped down Parasol’s fingers still clutching its skirts, over her hand, across her wrist and forearm and finally oozing off her elbow. Parasol felt weak and sweaty. She turned to throw up the contents of her stomach but she somehow couldn’t release her grip on the body. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned back to see the little blond girl looking up at her. The girl giggled and fluttered her lashes.
“See, here’s your mama, Parasol. Angelus and Darla put her here for you. She’s soooo yummy,” and the child licked the outline of her lips in a disturbingly lascivious manner, fingering the box hanging from the laces. Parasol rattled herself trying to shake off the child’s hand from her shoulder but her grip was relentless. The little girl looked at her with diabolical yet innocent eyes. “It’s what you do, Parasol.”
Then the little blond girl took in all the air around them in a loud gasp, held it for a moment, and emitted a banshee’s shriek. “Drink!!!!”
******
Parasol sat upright in bed panting, not for air but because she so clearly remembered that day with her mama on the porch. Her mama. Her mama held onto her so tightly that day. Parasol put the three fingers of her left hand to her mouth, pushed at her lips, closed her eyes and leaned her head back. The clearing that held the last moments of her mama’s life filtered in vivid detail into the here and now.
Parasol sat for long moments swaying back and forth in her bed, hugging the brocade pillow to her body as the tears fell sideways across her face into her hairline, curling coldly into the crevices of her ears.
Hunger tugged at the coattails of Parasol’s bone-crushing sadness.
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
***Monday 15th August, 2005…12:47pm***
Reah flew around the corner, eyes glittering behind her sunnies and hair fanning out behind her into Sam’s face that was pressed close to her back. She barely noticed he was holding on for dear life around her waist, squeezing all air out of her. She was too thrilled at the fact that she was getting out of the hole she would thankfully never call home.
Tearing into the gravel park of the slummy motel she skidded into a sudden halt just in front of her room, sending the gravel in a spray that flew every which direction. She tried to leap of her bike and nearly tripped and fell from the grip that Sam was still holding, his eyes and teeth clenched in fear and burrowed into her back. "I wasn’t going that fast was I?" she thought, asking aloud to herself more than Sam.
It wasn’t long before her beaming smile returned to her face, although slightly pressed by the leash that was holding her down from bounding into her room to collect her things for a merry and quick departure. This was one place she was not going to miss.
Impatiently, she began to prod at her restraining company, "Sam…Sam…."
Sam forced his mouth open, but he couldn't see. He forced his eyes open, but he couldn't speak. Glaring and mute, muted and blind, the confusion slowly passed. In a moment, he found the strength to say, "No, you weren't going fast." His voice cracked. "Just the light. Just the light and the colors were going fast."
He stepped off the bike. It felt like his legs were a couple of Motel 6 vibrating beds, while his upper torso, particularly his stomach, was a bona fide wormhole. At its nucleus time and space had stopped. Rubbing his midsection, he smiled for Reah to prove to her that her driving had been enjoyable, but only his forehead smiled; the eyes, face, cheeks, and chin tingled and sagged. He was ready to go inside.
Snickering, Reah peeled his hands off carefully from around her waist before she could skip and hop cheerfully up to the front door and shoved her key into the hole… jiggled it… and jiggled it… jiggled it some more… "Oh open you bloody stupid piece of crap!" She bashed and yelled at the door.
Sam took it in stride. His friend Reah was a character. Just the type of woman Dad would have loved: loud and white. He’d have called her "white noise". They could have slurped Drambuis together and gone to the father/son picnic.
"Hey," Sam said. "I can go through the window. If you want."
"Nope!" she managed in the middle of slamming the door with her fist, "it just needs… a little… compromising!" she forced out, then took a step back and paused for a moment focusing on the offending door then kicked it open letting it crash into the hallway entry of the room before awkwardly swinging shut again.
Reah stepped back up to it and pushed lightly, watching it swing open on busted hinges. She turned and grinned to Sam who was staring wide eyed at her actions, then she strode casually into her room, leaped…"Wohoo!"… and bounced off the bed landing gracefully on her feet with a dull thud and presented herself to Sam, much like a gymnast did when finishing a routine, as he entered the room.
Sam entered the room clapping. Reah brought out the fun in him. He liked what she represented, a world without monsters. He wondered how tough she would be if ever he told her the facts of life. Reah was waiting for him to rate her dramatic pose, head back, profile exposed, the sharp coastline of her neck raised for approval, never wavering… about an 8.5 landing. Sam inhaled to speak—
An eye-watering smell raced into his nose: must, mold. It was coming from everywhere. From the bedspread of green and pink flowers. From the pillow mismatched pillowcases, one blue, one red. Clouds of dust hovered along the window. It was as if the leaning cardboard curtains generated their own gravity. Hamming it up, Reah yet waited for Sam’s commentary, though her balance was wavering. Two paintings provided a backdrop for Reah’s head. The first one: five hippos playing poker. The second: nothing. Just a frame with the print ripped out.
Sam was impressed. He walked right past Reah, whose arms were still held high in her triumphant landing and he touched the Ace card that the hungry looking hippo had snuck into the band of his fedora. "This is great! I’ve always wanted one of these. Can we take it with us?" He should have shouted, "8.5!" but this was too good to ignore.
Lowering her arms, slightly disappointed at the lack of response, Reah turned to see what he was referring to and smiled. It was one of the only things she liked about the room. "Yeah sure! I love my hippos!" She walked up to Sam’s side, stepped onto the couch, her foot sinking into its springless cushioning, reached up taking hold of the painting and unhooked it. "Here we go, I love souvenirs. Don’t you?" She grinned and jumped off the couch. "What furniture is there already in the apartment?"
The hippos paled in comparison to this large, beautiful thing. "Furniture?" he said. In a daze, he walked toward the couch, plopped down on it. A cloud of smoke shot out from under his behind. It creaked and bounced him. He came back down and settled, sank low. It was wide and comfy. His legs wouldn’t reach the ground. The only bad thing was that the armrests were obviously made of cement, and the fabric looked like a bath towel ten years dead. But it was belonged to them now, and that’s what made it beautiful. It was large all on it’s own. "It bounces, Reah. I love it."
Reah nodded. She knew it. She was proud.
Sam said, "Can I be honest with you? I haven’t seen our apartment yet. My things are at a this gook girl’s house." Oops. That had slipped. "Um, she’s not a chink… did I say a chink or a gook? Anyway, she’s Asian. Her name is Jade. She’s totally nice, totally. She got us this apartment in the building I work in. Too attractive though. Um, but heck, that’s not important. I love the couch! Let’s take it too!"
Hesch pulled into the driveway and honked.
"There’s our ride," Sam said.
Reah gazed behind her over her shoulder towards the door where their ride was, then smiled back at Sam, "Good couch eh?" She winked, "Man I so LOVE souvenirs! Come on, help me get my stuff then we’ll get our ‘souvenirs’."
Reah directed Sam over to the tall cupboard in the far corner where her clothes were while she focused her attention on gathering all her weaponry. She much preferred Sam gathering her clothes over her weaponry. She stopped in the midst of sorting through her artillery, holding her crossbow and a couple of stakes in either hand while thinking, she needed a bag.
"Sam… Sam…" She looked over to him. He seemed frozen in the cupboard. "SAM!"
Sam had released the skater’s backpack Reah had given him. The zipper handles tinged like a couple of keys, and he said, "I’m okay. Continue what you were doing. I’ll start packing." But what in tarnation was he packing for her?
Sam lifted a red lacy strand of "cobwebs" from the cupboard and placed it carefully in the long, droopy backpack. Panties. "You sure don’t wear much protection," he said softly. The next thing he found was a bra. Except it wasn’t much of a bra. It wouldn’t pass for a rubber band. He wondered if the frilly cups would adequately cover Reah’s nipples. Reah’s nipples. The image popped to mind: pink, swirling areolas of goodness. Suddenly, he shoved the bra into the bag and made sure Reah hadn’t noticed him touching it, because if she didn’t notice, maybe she couldn’t read his mind, either. In paranoid delusion, he grabbed for the next thing. It was a box of condoms. This was too much! Was he going to be living with Debbie D. Dallas or good ol’ Reanna Kossinton?
He shook his head at her as she was packing up her things and thought, *Nope. Just Reanna. I’m a lucky person to have a friend like—*
She lifted a crossbow into the swirling, dusty light of the window, unaware that Sam was watching. A crossbow. And stakes? Not as pretty as Thumper, but stakes! Why did she own stakes?
Then Hesch honked a second time. Long and loudly and repeatedly.
Sam picked up the pace, shoving folded clothes into the bag so that, by the time he had nearly finished, nothing was folded. Had she stolen those stakes from Joe? Maybe she was selling them on the side. Why else would she need weapons, and in such quantity?
He seemed to be blushing. *What is he doing in there?* She ignored it and quickly gathered all the weapons she could at once, loading up her coat with stakes and her cougar, putting on her scabbard to carry Sharier, knife in strap above boot, then gathering all else in her arms leaving the rest to return for. She moved out the door to the cab that appeared to be their lift.
She approached the driver’s door and knocked on the window, "Hello?"
Hesch opened his mouth, but if it was in polite salutation, Reah couldn’t tell. The driver, a very large fellow sporting more black, glistening cavities than teeth to fill them, pressed the button to make the window roll down. "So. You are her. Joe’s lackey. Sam’s ball and chain." He seemed angry. Back in the motel, Sam was still packing, so Reah was alone with this awful man. He said, "You ain’t planning on screwing Sammy, are you? Because between you and me…" He lowered his voice. "He’s not your type."
Reah stared at him repulsed, "What?" She said incredulously, "How dare you? You’re obviously not that smart to just say something like that to a girl holding a choice of weapons." He eyed her a second time, noticing for the first time how armoured up she was, and sniffed. "Between you and me, I think I can tell who my types are. And…I’ll ‘screw’ who I want." She wouldn’t actually think of treating Sam like that just to get back at the man, saying it made her feel bad enough, but he was getting on her nerves.
She stormed around to the back of the cab, "Boot."
Just beyond Reah’s earshot, Hesch murmured, "Maddy… you heard the lady. Boot." The trunk popped open.
Sam came walking up, carrying a silly smile wider than the backpack in his arms. "Hi, Albert."
Hesch shook his head and turned on the radio. The cab filled with death metal, but he changed it to classical, then to easy listening, then completely off.
Sam placed the bag on top of the spare tire in the trunk. He patted Reah’s back. "So you met Hesch. What do you think?"
Reah glanced at Sam, raising her eyebrow and giving him a look of utter distaste and shoved her things into the boot, careful not to misalign her crossbow. She then loaded the rest of her weaponry out of her coat, all but the stakes, being careful not to damage Sharier. "I’ll just say I’m glad I have my bike to ride around." She patted him on the back and they made their way back inside to gather the rest of her belongings and their ‘souvenirs’.
"Albert," Sam said, again at the window, "we’ve got a favor to ask."
"Call me Hesch."
"You’re in a mood. What’s wrong?"
"What’s the favor?"
"Well we’ve got this couch to move."
"Couch? What the—?" Hesch turned the music back on. "Fine. Strap it to the bitch’s hood."
"The bitch?"
"Strap it to the car. I’ll get a rope."
Sam shook off Hesch’s foulness and entered the motel room. Reah was collecting the rest of her things. She didn’t own much. "Grab the other end of the couch. Okay?"
"Check," Reah nodded, tossing the remainder of her things onto the couch then bent down to get a grip on its end, "On three?" Sam nodded. "Ok. One… two… wait!" Sam lifted his end suddenly on the expected count of ‘three’ that never arrived, and without Reah’s cooperation it crashed back down on his toes.
The pain! The pain! He could only rationalize it as… as… butterflies dancing in his feet. It hurt so bad it tickled. And once again, through no fault of his own, Sam used The Word. He inhaled. He exhaled, "Fffffffffuck!" He inhaled again. "What the heck-shit did you do that for?" Naturally, guilt followed. "Excuse me! I never talk like that, Reah—but fucking ow!"
Reah couldn’t help but laugh at his misfortune, though she did feel the stabbing guilt for dropping a couch on his toes, "I’m soo sorry! Oh my god I’m so sorry! Sorry!" She managed between laughing. "I just was going to ask…" she continued, wiping tears from her eyes, "on three, or after?"
"On three!" A chill ran down Sam’s back. The pain! "Of course on three, what else!" His harsh tone disturbed him. "I’m sorry, Reah. Okay, uh, can we just try again? On three…"
Reah didn’t seem upset. She seemed quite amused, and Sam had to smile too.
They lifted the couch and smuggled it sideways out the door, leaving a lamp on the floor behind them. It was heavy, and Sam was grunting while looking at the hippo painting as it bounced on the backrest. Reah was grunting too, but she was pretty strong, Sam noticed. Not many girls could keep up with him.
Soon, they’d heaved the couch onto the hood of the cab. Hesch lashed it down with bristly cords and stuck a red handkerchief on the end. He wasted no time getting his fat self back inside the cab. Sam found this odd. You’d think the guy would want to stretch his legs.
"You know what?" he said to Reah. "That’s the first time I’ve ever seen that man get out of this car."
Reah glanced casually back to Sam, "Too bad he had to go and ruin it by coming out that once!" she replied sadistically, then smiled for Sam’s sake and suddenly beamed. "I’m moving out!" she burst out, hugging Sam excitably and jumping around with him, then stopped to give him a quick peck on his cheek before she jumped onto her bike and revved it up.
Sam wandered into the cab, the door closing behind him and they pulled out to leave the motel.
Reah followed up behind them as they exited the parking space just as the motelier came running out of the reception area, pulling at what little hair he had and yelling after the cab with the couch on its roof, Reah pulled up beside him, "They stole my couch!" He burst out, yelling and pointing wildly.
"Don’t worry! Don’t worry. Wait here, I’ll go get help!" she assured him. He nodded enthusiastically and stood there bouncing from foot to foot as Reah sped off after them. *What a moron!* She laughed into the wind lashing at her face and whipping her hair.
In the cab, Sam was whining. "I’ve never stolen anything in my life. We’re stealing a couch, we’re stealing a couch…"
Hesch blew air through his teeth, a shrill whistle. "I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, kid. This is the first you’ve considered what we just did?"
"I don’t know! Give me a break. I’m new at this. It seemed okay at the time. I just hope Reah didn’t sign her real name to the register."
"Got news for you, Goober. That guy back there was not yelling at your friend Reah. He was trying to get our license plate number."
"Boy, I’m sorry. I really am."
"Shut up," Hesch said, "you’re sounding like a drone. My Maddie’s plates only show the numbers that she wants people to see. We’re safe."
"What does that mean?"
"Shut up."
"Shutting up."
Sam leaned his head against the window and checked the side mirror. Reah was close behind, laughing into the wind, her fair hair whipping about her ears. Here they were, criminals, but she didn’t mind. She was so fun! Sam waved.
In time, the cab turned onto Poplar. Reah pulled ahead and parked at 1318, the three story building where they would be living. Sam watched the kickstand hit the pavement and the bike lean slightly leftward. "Thanks, Hesch," he said. "You’re the best."
"You’re not going to fuck that girl are you?"
"Hesch!"
"Because I thought you were with Kimmie."
"I am!" Sam said, undoing his seatbelt. "I was. Well, maybe. If I ever see her again."
"Get out."
The door opened… but Hesch hadn’t pressed the door release. What could Sam do? Nothing. So he got out.
Reah strode over to Sam as he heaved himself out of the cab. She smiled widely, hugging him again. She glanced briefly to see if Hesch was watching; he was, and he wasn’t happy. She gave Sam another kiss on the cheek, not as quick as her first one, "Thanks Sam, you’re the best!" She smiled.
Sam drew a hand to his cheek and held the kiss in place. It tingled warmly.
Hesch was fuming. He honked the horn loud and long and the engine revved in fury. Reah chuckled as she moved to the couch, sticking her tongue out secretly at Hesch when Sam couldn’t see. She turned back to Sam and slapped the couch, a cloud of dust rising as she did so, "I guess we better get this thing off now." She chuckled. She had been surprised that Sam had suggested taking it in the first place. Although if he hadn’t, she sure was going to.
After unloading, Hesch sped away in a huff of black exhaust, leaving them and their things on the sidewalk. They moved everything in as quickly as possible. Twenty minutes later, Sam, Reah, and Reah’s belongings, not to exclude the couch, were outside apartment 211. Sam set down Hippos Playing Poker and slipped the key into the doorknob. The lock gave way. The door creaked. Much better than Reah’s motel door. Sam said, "Our landlord is the best."
The room opened up around them as they stepped into its emptiness. The sun was lighting the kitchen and the hall. The living room was reasonably sized, and two bedrooms sat off to the left. It smelled aged, but not bad. Sam sneezed right off the bat.
"Needs dusting," he said. He wiped his nose and flashed a look at his friend. "What do you think?"
Reah stared in wonder at the apartment before her and stepped slowly around inside, hollow soft clunking noises of her boots filled the room with every step she took on the hard wooden floor. It was wonderful! A little bit of dust hung in the air, but not much that made it abnormal, especially when you compared it to most of her previous residences. The sun was warming the room through the window and she took her coat off, letting it drop carelessly in a heap to the floor, "Wow!" She smiled back at Sam, "It couldn’t be any better." She twirled joyously in the center of the living room floor, giggling.
Sam picked up her coat and hung it from the doorknob. He could see that this was going to be an odd living situation. But she looked so radiant in her happiness. Seeing her there in the sunlight only proved that he’d done the right thing. It reminded him of a book his mother had read to him when he was young: Frog and Toad Are Friends.
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
**** Monday, August 15, 2005 - Afternoon ****
Daye sat in the back room Monday morning, balancing the books. She was dog tired, as usual, and longed to be able to just chuck the paperwork and go back to the front and serve coffee or sell something. Jess was currently managing out there and Daye would have given her eyeteeth to switch places. As she ran through the figures before her one last time, just to be sure they actually were in balance, a ping announced that she had an incoming e-mail.
Daye clicked on the icon and opened the message she'd just received from the Watchers' Council. It was from Diane Jeffreys, the woman in charge of monitoring all the "cover" businesses the Council ran throughout the world. Businesses like Bibliophile.
Daye scanned the message, her expression growing from concerned to delighted as she read. When she had finished, she rose from her desk and crossed the room to open the door. She spotted Jess straightening a shelf, and as there were only a couple of customers browsing the shop and Lindy May was working the counter, Daye figured it would be safe to steal Jess away for a moment. She wanted to speak to her about the e-mail, among other things.
"Jessica," Daye called out, gesturing for the other woman to come to the back.
Jess looked up from her work to see Daye calling for her, a smile on her face. “What is it?” she asked as she approached the small room.
Daye allowed Jess to follow her inside and closed the door behind them. "I just got a reply from "General" Jeffreys," Daye said. The whole of the council referred to the woman that way. She was a stickler for rules and regulations, and rarely saw any need to adapt to a situation. She was also like a million years old (well, maybe only 75) so she was cantankerous and overbearing to boot.
“Always fun…” Personally, Jess hated the woman, but she figured quite a lot of people did as well. “What was it about?”
"I sent her an e-mail last week," Daye explained. "I had this idea. It's really because of Joshua, to be honest. He's such a talented chef, and I feel like we're wasting him, using him to prepare the few simple dishes the cafe sells."
Jess agreed and just nodded to let Daye continue. Jess knew she had something up her sleeve.
Daye continued, warming to her subject. "So, I was thinking, what if we expanded the shop a bit? That storefront next door is vacant. We could take on the lease, and remodel it. I'm thinking a regular restaurant, with a bar and maybe a small stage," Daye said. "That way we can cash in on the university crowd in the evenings, and showcase Joshua's amazing food. What do you think?"
Jess though about it for a second then replied enthusiastically “That sounds great! It would be good for Bibliophile, bring in a lot more money.” She then paused “You’ve really got this all planned out, huh?”
Daye nodded, a bit embarrassed by her enthusiasm. "Well," she said, "I've been working on it since I came back. And Jeffreys actually seems to think it's a good idea. I half expected her to shoot me down just on principle."
Daye paused. She was going to need Jess to take on some of these other duties during the remodel. "So," she began, "this is going to be a lot of extra work for me, and...uhm...I'm already drowning in paperwork and all. It's amazing to me how much Mrs. Wyldling managed to get done. That woman always seemed so together, you know?"
“Yeah.” Jess paused. “I’d be happy to help you out more, if you wanted it. I’m going to be busier now I’ve got a Slayer to train and look after but if you want I’ll still be available.
Daye nodded. "Yes," she replied. "That would be great. I need you to take over some of this paperwork and stuff. I can get a raise out of it for you. Even a legitimate title. Assistant Manager or something. Would that be good?"
Daye stopped in mid thought. *Did she say 'Slayer'?* she thought. "Did you say you've got a 'Slayer' to train?"
“Well, Slayer-in-Waiting actually, she came last night. Will’s here too.” Jess smiled, “And I’d be happy be Assistant Manager.”
"Will's here?" Daye asked. "Why! How wonderful! And he's brought you a girl to train too? I'm so happy for you. It's what you've worked so hard for for so long. Congratulations."
Daye was beaming. "If you're sure working in the shop won't interfere," she said, "I'd be so happy for you to help."
“Thanks. I’m sure that would be fine.”
Daye had a sudden idea. "How long is Will going to be here?" she asked.
“A week or two I think, I’m not entirely sure, it depends how long the Council can go without him and how long I can put up with him for.” Jess grinned.
Daye answered with a grin of her own. "So, do you think you might want to bring him over to my place for dinner one night? Maybe this Friday?" Daye asked. "I could cook up something and we can all bore Drew to tears reminiscing about our past? You could bring the 'Slayer-in-waiting' too," Daye added. "I really would like to meet her."
Jess grinned again “That would be lovely, I’m sure Will & Ellie would appreciate it too.”
Daye nodded, then sighed. "Great," she said, "I'll let Drew know. I should really get back to this paperwork. How about if tomorrow morning we sit down and I go over some of this for you? That way, you can get started soon, and I can work on getting the restaurant up and running."
"Is that okay with you?" Daye asked.
“That’s great.” Jess smiled then opened the door and went back to her work.
Daye waited until Jess was gone and then reluctantly went back to her desk. She was going to have to contact the realtor and start shopping around for contractors this afternoon. It was going to be another long day for her at the shop.
daye stands drew up
***** Monday, August 15, 2005 around 6 pm *****
Daye hung up the phone, having set up meetings with half a dozen contractors and a couple of designers for the following day. She was excited about the prospect of the changes about to be made to the shop. By the beginning of the year, she would have a restaurant/club to manage. Rather than being daunted by the prospect, Daye was delighted. She was surprised at how much she had grown to love the little shop in such a short time.
Glancing at the clock on her desk, Daye noticed it was a little after 6. She had plans with Drew tonight. They were going to rent a video and share a quiet meal at home. She had arranged to meet him at her apartment at 7, so she had to hurry and finish up. Daye stood up, moving to place a file back in the small metal cabinet to the left of her desk. She felt a bit light headed, so she decided to rest for a few minutes on the couch. Daye walked over and sat down, letting her head drop back and closing her eyes for a moment.
*****
The lovely red-haired maiden sat on the soft grass in the shade of a grand old tree. Beside her, a handsome young man with brown hair and clear blue eyes sat, regaling her with flowery words of poetic praise. The woman hid a yawn behind her hand, scanning the rolling hills around for something interesting.
“Amanda,” the man beside her took her hand in his own, his voice full of devotion, “you are the most exquisite of creatures. Without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I have ever known. I yearn for you, my love.”
The man placed gentle kisses on Amanda’s hand and wrist. She sighed, but allowed his fawning to go on. Just as she was about to pull her hand away and make some excuse to leave, they were interrupted by the sounds of rushing footsteps. Suddenly, a man broke through the nearby brush, to come to a stop just before them. The maiden stared openly at this man, unable to avert her eyes.
The man that had come rushing into the clearing was tall, and broad. He had dark, shaggy hair, which tumbled wildly about his face. The length of his mane was clubbed back from his face. He wore a fine linen shirt, dirty and stained from his run, and a green and black tartan loosely over one shoulder and gathered around his waist. His legs stood out beneath the plaid, long and firm, with bulging calves and carved thighs. The rest of his body was equally muscled. And his face was handsome, tanned and merry. He wore a broad grin that grew broader as he returned the lady’s blatant perusal.
Blushing, the woman finally looked down, aghast at her own audacity. “Beg pardon, sir,” she murmured demurely.
The man laughed heartily, and she glanced back up at the rich, delightful sound. He was watching her with amusement and interest. “No need to say yer sorry,” his brogue was thick and enchanting. “I don’ mind your attention at all. As long as ye don mind mine, that is.”
At that moment, Amanda’s companion sprung to his feet, taking offense at the man’s words. “Sir,” he exclaimed. “We are having a private conversation here, if you don’t mind.”
The intruder glanced at him, and turned back to Amanda, dismissing her admirer. “I don’ mind,” he said, eating her up with his gaze. Amanda rose gracefully, watching him with avid interest. “I think ye’re lovely friend don’ mind me much either. Do ye, luv?”
Amanda shook her head. “Who are you?” she asked.
“Ah, and my name is Ryan,” the brawny stranger replied. “An’ ye are Amanda, aren’t ye?”
“Yes, but how did you know?” she looked puzzled.
“Simple, luv,” Ryan moved forward and took Amanda’s arm. “I’ve bin lookin’ fer ye.”
“Why?” Amanda glanced back at her friend, who was fuming behind them.
“Because ye’re my soulmate,” Ryan replied, taking her into his arms. The other man sputtered at his action. “Can you not feel it?”
Amanda melt into this man’s embrace. It felt like a homecoming. She saw Andrew standing a few feet away, face gone red. She smiled ruefully at him and turned back to Ryan. Amanda nodded, biting her lip. “Yes, of course, I do. I feel it. Soulmates.”
Ryan placed his mouth over hers, and Amanda forgot all about Andrew and everything else. She allowed Ryan to carry her off, glancing once over his shoulder. She felt no remorse, only delight, as she watched Andrew fade in the distance.
*****
Daye sat up abruptly, awakened by the shrill ringing of the phone on her desk. She rose from the couch and went over to it. She picked up the receiver and spoke, groggily, “Hello?”
”Amanda?” Drew’s voice came through the receiver, full of concern. “Are you all right?”
Daye nodded sleepily, yawning. “I’m fine,” she said. She sank back into her chair. “Why? What’s wrong?”
”What’s wrong?” Drew repeated. “I was worried about you. You were supposed to meet me here at 7. It’s almost 10 now. What happened?”
Daye glanced at the clock, amazed at his words. It really was almost 10. What had happened? She had sat down for a moment, and lost over three hours. “I must have fallen asleep,” Daye murmured.
”Asleep?!” Drew sounded upset and hurt. “Again? Has this been happening to you a lot, honey? You fell asleep like that on Saturday too.”
Daye knew he was right. That had happened when they last went out. Still, she was tired. She didn’t need Drew making her feel bad about it. *It’s not like I stood him up on purpose,* Daye thought. “I’m sorry, Drew,” she said, her tone testy. “I didn’t mean to stand you up. Things have been hectic lately. I’m just not getting enough sleep is all. I am sorry.”
”I know,” Drew sighed. “Look, I’ll come pick you up and bring you home, okay?”
Daye shivered at the thought of seeing Drew tonight. She knew he wanted to sleep with her, but she had no interest in being with him right now. “I don’t think you should,” she said. “Just go on home. I’ll walk. I’m really tired, and I don’t think I’ll be very good company now.”
”Amanda,” Drew sounded even more hurt. “Are you angry with me? Did I do something wrong?”
*Do you have to be so whiny and clingy?* Daye thought. *Why can’t you be more like Ryan? He gives me my space, and still manages to be there when I need him.*
“No, Drew,” she replied, “you didn’t do anything. It’s not you, it’s me. Just go on home. I’ll call you tomorrow. You have classes in the morning anyway. You need to get some sleep yourself.”
Drew sighed again. “Okay, honey, if that’s what you want. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I lo..."
Daye hung up the phone, unwilling to listen to his declaration of love. The thought made her queasy. Drew was growing more and more dependent on her, and Daye found herself wishing for freedom. And thinking more and more about how happy she had been with Ryan.
Suspicions Part One
******Monday, August 15th 2005 – 1:13pm******
Kate had been training hard all morning. Remembering the tips Jess had given her the other day, she’d gone through the moves just like before. She executed a series of kicks and punches that sent the dummy she had assembled flying back against the tree trunk.
She picked it up and dusted it off. 'Hestia' - as she had fondly named the stuffed replicant - wasn’t much more than a sack of straw in the shape of a human. Kate hung it back up on one of the tree’s lower branches and resumed her position.
Roll, rotate and kick! Roll, rotate and kick! *Keep knees soft, back straight, abdominal muscles tight, must keep kicks low, maintain balance…* Roll rotate and kick! Roll rotate and kick! *Keep elbows close to body, maintain straight line from hand to shoulder, keep elbows tucked in, aim through target.* Punch, punch, punch. *Twist hip forward, rotate torso, push off ground.* Jab, jab, jab.
The dummy soared through the air and landed by the foot of the tree again. Kate stood gasping for breath. She had never been so consumed with adrenaline before, it felt… good. It felt really good. To be able to release all those pent-up frustrations and anxieties. To direct them into something purely physical. It felt amazing.
Kate picked up a towel and wiped the perspiration from her face. She left the dummy on the ground as she stretched out a bit before heading back inside. She dumped the towel in the wash pile she was about to take down to the basement. She gathered the bundle into her arms and descended the old wooden staircase.
With a sigh Kate dropped the load on the floor and began to sort through everything as she placed it into the washing machine. Kate picked up a pair of Galen’s pants and yawned tiredly as she turned the pockets inside out. She pulled out a handful of change, a card of some sort and a Kleenex and dropped them absently onto the side table as she loaded the machine and turned it on.
It was then Kate noticed the card she had removed from Galen’s pocket. It was hard plastic like some kind of security card. She turned it over in her hands figuring that it might be something Galen needed until she saw the small lettered print stamped at the bottom - Constillias Publications...
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
Monday, 15th August
Earlier that morning Sorrow had had a call; a Hunter by the name of Xavier was coming into town. Sorrow arranged to meet him at a coffee shop in downtown L.A., spent some time checking Xavier's file then headed over to XY to give Jade a hand. Around 2pm Sorrow gave Jade a quick kiss and headed off.
Sorrow sipped at his coffee while he waited for Xavier to arrive; other than helping out at XY, he had nothing to do today so he wasn't concerned. Eventually a little more than an hour after the agreed meeting time Xavier showed up.
Sorrow looked the man over. He was Afro-American, around 6'3'' and lean, and there was a noticeable aura of menace about the man. As Xavier walked towards the table, Sorrow noticed the faintest hitch to his stride. *Some old wound no doubt. I wonder what got him.*
Sorrow remained seated while Xavier pulled up a chair and sat down.
"Traffic?"
"Something like that."
"So what can I do for you?"
Xavier lowered his voice, letting the bustle of the shop cover it. "There's a demon in the city I want to hunt."
"What's dragged you away from those Coatl demons in the Brazilian rain forest? Surely they were more worthwhile foes than anything L.A. has to offer?"
"This demon has already killed three hunting parties."
A memory niggled in the back of Sorrow's mind even as he asked the next question, "What makes you think it's in L.A?"
"You." Xavier paused letting his answer sink in before explaining, "You searched around the archives for a description of a demon last February. Unfortunately you sealed the city before I could organise a trip. So I've been waiting till everything settled down. Do you know if it's still here?"
Sorrow knew exactly where the demon was. Last February he'd checked the archives twice. Firstly when he was finding out information on Tash, Matthias and Victor and secondly when he was looking for anything on Valerian. Only a madman would think to hunt the latter, *Which doesn't say much for your sanity does it?* So it had to be Victor Xavier was talking about.
"Ah... You mean Victor, yes he's still in the city..."
"Great, do you know where he hangs out?"
Sorrow looked hard at Xavier. He didn't have a choice really. He knew where Victor lived and a fellow hunter was requesting aid; since it didn't take Sorrow out of LA, endanger his life or involve vampires, Sorrow had no acceptable reason to refuse him.
"1318 Poplar Avenue, Alhambra. Victor maintains a glamour. The description is in the report I filed. He's turning himself into a respectable businessman so be careful Xavier. I don't want the police sniffing round this. Nothing extravagant, are we clear?"
Xavier gave Sorrow a tight smile "Crystal."
Sorrow wasn't convinced. "There are humans in the building," *Including me.* "I know some huntmasters aren't bothered about collateral damage but I am. You kill anyone while you're after Victor and I'll declare you anathema and hunt you down myself."
Xavier blinked, momentarily nonplussed. Declaring someone anathema wasn't an idle threat - it was a death sentence. There were many in the Society who looked upon the chance to hunt one of their own as the greatest challenge possible. "I understand. Look I'll be careful, like you said. Nothing extravagant, but the last group to hunt this demon had guns. Ok, they weren't amazing but Winchester rifles and Peacemaker revolvers made pretty big holes. I'll need to be pretty tooled up..."
"And you couldn't get anything through customs?"
"Right man, so you know anywhere I can pick up some gear?"
*Kain had pretty much had LA sown up.* "You could try the Beazor complex. Its previous owner worked the trade before he came to an unfortunate end last spring. Other than that there's The Armoury on Bundy Drive. If you want anything else, check the board. I'm sure it'll point you in the right direction."
"Sure, no problems." Xavier finished off the rest of his coffee. "So is my hunt acceptable?"
Sorrow looked at Xavier. He didn't like this but there was nothing he could do. Xavier was a hunter in good stranding and Sorrow had no real reason to refuse him. "You may hunt." *I may just have signed Victor's death warrant!*
Xavier smiled triumphantly, got up and walked out of the coffee shop.
Sorrow watched him go; when Xavier was no longer in sight Sorrow pulled out a cell phone and dialled a number.
"Victor, we have a problem."
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
Around 4:30pm Monday, 15 August
Victor walked up to the glass and chrome doorway of the Denny's. He was trying to remember why this place made him uneasy, but he could not put his finger on it. When he had suggested meeting Sorrow here it seemed so natural. He could see Sorrow sitting in the back booth. He waved. Sorrow nodded. *He's hiding. Wonder what's eating him.*
Sorrow let Victor settle. He had no idea how this conversation would go, but he guessed it would be unpleasant. *Just get it over with.*
"Thanks for coming, Victor. You know I'm a member of the Society of Ulle?" He didn't wait for Victor to respond. "There's a hunter in town. You're his target. He already has your name and location. He has a description of your glamour and I would imagine over the next couple of days he'll have details of the rest of your cover identity."
Sorrow glanced away for a second before continuing on. "He knows all this because he asked me and I told him..."
Victor didn't say anything at first he just stared at Sorrow. To his credit, Sorrow met the gaze without flinching. Internally Victor felt sorry for the Society that it would so casually send its members to die. From what he knew, they probably enjoyed it.
"Okay," Victor said in a long drawn out sigh, "You are telling me because you want me to be prepared. Why play both sides?"
"I have obligations to the Society," Sorrow said, "We help each other. If another hunter asks for help and it doesn't threaten your life, you meet that request. If you don't, you put the whole Society at risk. So when Xavier asked I told him. Why am I telling you? Because you don't deserve some jumped up little glory hound trying to put another trophy in his case."
Victor nodded. He knew about obligations. The last time he had encountered Ulle was when he was obligated to protect After Dark and Kain. He was embarrassed to remember how he had mutilated their bodies.
"Do you have any feelings one way or the other about their lives?" he asked with deadly seriousness.
"We live by the sword. Every Hunter expects to end their life at the hands of their prey. Kill them if you can. I've read Xavier's file; he won't stop until he has what he wants."
Victor smiled slightly to break the sombre mood. "Thanks. I remember fighting by your side and respecting your skill. And you've regained Tash's trust. That says a lot. In fact, I was sure that was what you had called me to talk about. What happened the other night?"
Sorrow looked stern, "We argued. I hit her with a spell. I doubt she's forgiven me yet, but it's what we argued about that's the real problem." He motioned to the waitress for a refill and gazed through the window. "The hunting is a cover. She's hiding from the problem in it. It'll get her killed if she doesn't stop. I know, I've seen it. All you need to do to find out the real problem is to say one word to her - 'Ohenewaa'. I barely thought it and she blew up like a volcano. I don't project, Victor. It's one of the first things I learnt. She read me and I don't think she even realised she was doing it."
Ohenewaa. The word blew through Victor like a chill. He had not mentioned it to her, but it had been implicit in his questioning. The old witch would have her revenge even though she was dust blowing through the forest. Victor also knew how you could lose yourself searching for the wrong thing. He had spent centuries looking for answers when all he needed to do was stop and wait for them to come.
*By Ghortab! This is worse than Dr. Laura!*
"I had no idea...I've been distracted." Victor's expression morphed from surprise to determination. "Yes. I need to pay a lot more attention to things going on around me."
"How long?" Sorrow's voice was strangled. "How many times did she have to go out injured, putting her life on the line? How many times did she have to come home and all but rape you before you realised something was wrong?" Sorrow was battling hard to contain his temper. Only the thought of Victor casually ripping him apart was keeping him from doing something foolish.
"Careful."
Sorrow took a gulp of his coffee. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for... What will you do now?"
Victor took a deep breath and felt the anger subside. "I know. It's okay. You care, and I get that. As for what I will do, Tash isn't the kind of person you can yell at and tell to get her act together."
*Although you did JUST that.* *Shut up!*
Victor shook his head. "I love her, Tris. And I want to help her. But this may be exactly the wrong thing to do right now. She may have to find her way back from this path on her own. Although it will destroy me to watch her do it."
"I know. Minds are delicate things; trying to repair this damage might make the problem worse." A thought struck Sorrow. "What was she like Saturday night? I hit her with a calming spell and she seemed fairly rational by the time she left."
"I wasn't home Saturday night. When I got home on Sunday morning she was having a nightmare. She and I...argued." The word seemed inadequate, but Victor didn't feel like Tristan needed to know he had offered Tash the option of becoming evil.
*You? I thought that was me? Wasn't it?*
"Oh...Well I'll offer what help I can but Tash and I aren't likely to be on speaking terms. She needs to come to terms with those memories though. If she keeps ignoring them they'll drive her to ruin." Sorrow sighed, "Whatever you need Victor, just ask."
"I'd ask for fewer distractions, but it's a little late for that. But I know what you mean."
The two sat and stared at the table for an uncomfortable minute. "Tris?" said Victor.
"Yeah?" he answered.
"Thanks."
Lesson Two
Monday, 15th August 2005 – 6:30pm to 11:30pm
Tash was still feeling a little jittery. She'd had a great time with Victor last night, but through it all she'd had a niggle at the back of her mind scratching away, reminding her she wasn't out hunting. She was like an alcoholic hanging out for her next drink. She looked at the clock. 6:30pm. She'd arranged to meet Sam as soon as he finished work that night, a little after nine. "Dammit," she said to her empty apartment. She changed, gathered up some gear and headed to the training room. She could work off some excess energy before Sam arrived.
As she exited her apartment, she noticed Sam swirling his mop around at the top of the stairs between the first and second floors. She beamed and waved to him, "Hi, Sam. All set for your session tonight?"
“Hm?” The mop head mushed loudly in the puddles around his feet. He was drowsy. He wasn’t controlling the handle, it seemed, as he had earlier resigned himself to sleep-working. He’d strained his leg moving a couch that day, and Hesch’s hostility milked him of many emotions. Yet he felt suddenly agreeable, hearing Tash’s voice, a break in the monotony and a gentle beat for tender eardrums. “Hi,” he said vibrantly. “I sure am ready, Tash.” He cleaned the same spot repeatedly. “But I have to finish up, of course.”
A whistle found his lips, a lilting tune that he was composing on impulse. He felt pretty creative at that moment, satisfied. He stopped short, though, because Tash was standing there. Her confident pose made him feel the need to digress. “Guess what?” he said, musically splashing the bucket of brown water with his mop, “You heard about my new apartment? I’m living right down the hall there. Right down there. See, isn’t it neat?”
Tash grinned. Sam's cheerfulness was contagious. God knew she needed some cheering up. "I did, as a matter of fact. You're right next to me. Do you need a hand with moving anything in?"
“No thanks, neighbor,” he said, overjoyed about the “neighbor” part. “We pretty much got everything settled. We don’t own a lot, neither of us.” He and Reah were currently in possession of some things that neither of them owned at all: a motel couch, a motel painting, a television and VCR that they’d stolen from Kimmie’s apartment. Sam puckered and started his song again, but it slipped out drearily this time; the same tune but no life. “I should get back to work.”
"Neither of you? Oh, who's your flatmate?" Tash hoped Sam had a girlfriend. A human girlfriend. But the vibe she was getting was more ordinary than that. *Probably just a friend, then,* she thought with disappointment. And there was a sudden hint of sadness, of loss. Of chances missed. His whistling had lost all its energy.
“Flatmate? Oh, right. I’ve heard of that. I know what a flatmate is.” He tried to sound natural using the term, but it just came out… flat. He reminded himself to talk normally, not uncommonly cool, which never sounded right tripping off his tongue. *Use the words you know, Sam.* “My roommate is my best friend. I just sort of figured that Mr. Tek wouldn’t mind if I allowed her to use one of the bedrooms. He won’t mind, will he? She’s really clean, and she’s super nice. You know, she’s my friend.” Should he mention the weapons?
"No, I'm sure he won't mind at all," Tash reassured him. "Anyway, you've got work to do, and I want to workout a little before we start, so I'll see you when you knock off." With a wave, Tash bounded up the stairs to the third floor and out of Sam's sight.
*****
Tash finished her warm-down exercises and took a long swig from her water bottle. She loved her workouts. Without the adrenaline rush of a life-or-death situation she was able to find her calm centre and go through fighting routines with that coolness she once thought she'd never lose. *Maybe it's gone because I never used to care if I died - whereas now I have Victor. I have something to live for.* She nodded to herself. Of course, that must be it. Why hadn't she seen that earlier?
Her reverie was interrupted by a tentative tapping at the door. She didn't have to ask to know it was Sam. She crossed the distance to the door and unlocked it for him. "Come on in," she said as she swung it wide open.
He shuffled in as though he were entering a crowded room. His neck was sunk, his shoulders below the ears, his movements leery - he was waiting for the sheep hook to take him away. Of course there was only Tash, locking the door behind him. But he was feeling especially nervous. This would be their second occasion training together. The first time he was allowed to make mistakes. This time, he would be expected to remember. What if he forgot something important? He held up his palm, as if to greet Tash with an Injun “how.”
Tash raised her gloved hand in a curious manner that couldn’t have been reciprocal. Sam watched her other hand join it, two palms staring him down. *Wax on, wax off?* he thought. *What—*
She pushed him!
He fell backward—and the first lesson resurfaced in the time it took him to gulp. Balance, balance, balance, roll!
Dizzily, he opened his eyes… he was on his feet? He’d done it! Tash was standing a shout’s distance in front of him. His instinctive reaction had created a safe buffer between them. If she had in fact been an enemy – say, a filthy, nasty ol’ vampire - she would have been forced to advance, giving him time to raise a defence. Hopefully, Tash appreciated the performance, deliberate or not.
Tash said nothing, but nodded and smiled slightly. She'd have been completely amazed if he'd managed to keep his feet, but his recovery from the fall was excellent. "Good," she said at last, "Nice to see that what I taught you Saturday didn't just go in one ear and out the other." She gestured to the centre of the room. "Let's do some warm-ups first."
His heart was beating. He was feeling saucy. “You bet,” he said. Completely of his own accord he threw himself backward, just to try it again, maybe to gain more approval. “Ow!” He came up standing, but it brought a sharp pain to his knee. “I know, I know, stretch first, limber up first. I forgot.” He kicked the stiffness out his leg. The blood rushed to his face.
"Quite," said Tash, her eyes belying her stern tone. "Let's start with simple warm-ups, then we'll go over some of the stuff we did Saturday before I teach you some new blocks and strikes." At Sam's expectant glance towards the weapons on the table, Tash smiled and shook her head. "No weapons yet, I'm afraid. But if you go well tonight, maybe tomorrow..."
Tash then began the drills, taking Sam through the blocks, punches and kicks he'd learned in his first lesson, correcting a few imbalances here and there. Then she moved onto more advanced blocks and strikes, and introduced various stances. Soon sweat was dripping from both of them, but Tash was pleased with his progress. He seemed to have a natural talent.
"I have to say," she remarked, "you're picking this up very quickly. That's great. I think we'll definitely start you on weapons tomorrow." She glanced sideways at him. Yeah, he was ready. "How about a little gentle sparring now, though?"
“I’d love that!” Sam’s eyeballs twirled in their sockets. She was going to teach him to fight. As she began her lecture, he cocked his fists and held them amateurishly before her. She corrected that by tapping his wrist. She showed him a better posture. *And balance, always balance,* he thought. He was only partially listening. He followed her movements well enough, throwing up his forearms to block her half-hearted punches, and he muttered frequent uh-huh’s to show his trainer that he understood. He was so excited. How wonderful, with Tash as his mentor, life would be. No more running whenever someone snuck up behind him. No more running whatsoever. He was becoming a lean, mean, fighting—
She landed one on his nose.
Tash was mortified. She prided herself on control, and made sure never to make contact during sparring. But Sam had lurched forward suddenly as she fired off a head-punch and she just didn't have time to pull it up short.
"Sam, I'm so sorry. Are you OK?" she asked as Sam reeled back, his hands clutching his nose.
“Fine, I’m fine!” he bemoaned through the billowing pain, his senses inverted. He swore that it looked like Tash was standing on the ceiling. He wanted to quit and go home. Reah would feel sorry for him. They were planning a new-apartment celebration tonight with movies and popcorn and fresh-grilled salmon. Sam was going to cook.
But not yet. He wiped his cheeks dry. He was getting mad at his own infirmity, that which the bullies in high school used to exploit. This was all he needed to spur him on. Forcefully, he said, “Again.”
Tash could feel his determination. She knew there was backbone to this man. Victor had been right to take him on. Sam so often seemed to be a nervous, bumbling fool. But he wasn't. Not at all.
She grinned at him, "Ok, and this time," she adjusted the position of his arms, "keep your damn guard up! Remember, hips and shoulders relaxed. If you tense your muscles, you'll react slower. Stay loose and stay alert. Let's go."
They began another round of sparring. She took it fairly easy - this was only his second lesson, after all. Sam concentrated harder this time, blocking her blows. "Now, try to get some strikes of your own in," she encouraged him.
Although he’d long been worrying about having to actually punch Tash — he didn’t hit people — it didn’t seem so bad in this setting. With his nose no better off than a soggy beanbag, a little controlled violence sounded okay. Pretty darn intriguing, in fact. Besides, this was what she called sparring. No real hurt, except the accidental kind.
He lashed out, but she made his forearm her prisoner. He couldn’t escape the woman’s imposing grasp. She gave him an audacious look, as if to say, “Now whatch’a gonna do, kid?” Mercifully, she released him, and the sparring continued. She failed to grab him a second time. Sam grew more confident with every success. His trainer was holding back, but just the same, he restrained his own attacks. Oddly, she allowed openings in her defences. At least twice, had this been a real fight, he could have avenged the aching in his nose.
That aching was starting to feel good.
After several minutes, Tash called a halt. She knew Sam's arms would be feeling like lead. She could still remember back to when she'd started training with Matthias, and she'd been a teenager with plenty of energy reserves. She appraised Sam thoughtfully; she’d left her guard a little open to test his ability to spot opportunities and had found a couple of times during the match that she'd had to make serious blocks or risk letting one through.
She nodded approvingly, "You're really getting this very well. You're a fast learner, Sam. I'll bet you've always picked up stuff quickly."
He gave a vigorous nod. “You…really think I’m a…a fast learner?” Now he didn’t want to quit.
In answer, Tash whirled and launched a roundhouse kick at Sam, at around three-quarter strength. Certainly much faster than she'd been going during the sparring. Sam's arm lashed out and down in a perfect block, deflecting her leg harmlessly away from his body. He'd have a massive bruise on his forearm tomorrow, but in a fight if that blow had landed he'd have broken ribs.
She smiled, "Oh, absolutely. Only two lessons in, too." She could tell that he felt inadequate a lot of the time, and perhaps there were some areas of his life that could use improvement, but for the most part Tash felt he simply lacked confidence.
She lobbed a towel to her student, and they shared a seat at the edge of the weapons table where they had talked the other night. Before tonight’s session had begun, she thoughtfully set out two bottles of icy water. Sam handed her one. The cold felt luscious on his fingertips. He twisted the cap off and sipped. A drip of sweat hit the base of his neck and trickled over his pecs. Straining, he looked down and grinned. He’d worked hard to produce that sweat. And there, under the shirt, tangled in the hairs about his nipple, was the shiny silver necklace that Tash had given him. He tugged until it slipped through the v-neck, ripping out three of his chest hairs but meting out no pain. He let the cross dangle weightlessly over his moist fingers. There were some dangers in the world mere brawling would never eliminate. Victory would require trust. Trust was faith. He smoothed the chain over the outside of his shirt, whereupon it twinkled and reminded him of a place called Bethlehem.
“Thanks for this,” he said.
Tash smiled and shook her head. "No thanks required. It may just save your life one day. Especially..." she looked at the healing marks on his neck, relieved that there were no signs of fresh ones. *Though,* she thought ruefully, *they don't always stick to the neck.*
She continued, "Especially with those bites you had." She fixed him with a stare. "Have you noticed any other 'shaving cuts' since Saturday?"
“Not a one,” he said. “Course, I haven’t shaved since Saturday.” He smiled at his little joke and rubbed his stubble. If only his problems were as simple as razor burns. If only. He crammed the necklace back into his shirt and regarded Tash grimly. He needed to stop beating around the bush, to always trust his mentor with the horrible things he knew. “But I almost got worse than a shaving cut last night. Had myself a wolfman problem - wolfmen. I was chased by four of them, Tash, can you believe it? Werewolves! I was so scared. Man! I met a friend of yours: Jade. She totally saved me. She’s got this good luck charm thingie, did you know that? It shoots fire and lightning and…“ He lost himself in the telling, his waves and his kicks relating more of the story than his words. He could have rambled on for another five minutes but Tash, nodding sympathetically, had already heard this tale.
Tash found it fascinating how different Sam's telling of the werewolf attack was from Jade's. Earlier today when Tash had finally caught up with her friend, Jade had told her about how she met Sam and arranged the apartment with Victor. But Jade's version had far less fur and blood in it.
Sam trailed off when he saw Tash's amused look. He blushed, crestfallen. "Oh, you already know, don't you?"
Tash patted his hand with her gloved one, "It's okay. I chatted with Jade earlier. But I think I liked your version better." She gulped down some more water from her bottle and looked at Sam speculatively. "So, any idea why those werewolves were after you particularly?"
He snorted with sharp irritation. “Because I’m me,” he said. “Sometimes I get the feeling that everyone wants me for dinner. And I don’t mean as a guest. I mean as dinner. This is a crazy town.”
Tash had to agree with him there. "Yep, none crazier, I reckon." She was quiet for a few moments, lost in memories before she shook herself. "Well, that's the second lesson done. Tomorrow night, bring your stake. Might as well train with the one you intend to use."
She stood, stretching her muscles. It was almost 11:30 and she wanted to go hunt tonight, since she hadn't last night. "And I'd like to meet your roommate sometime, too. Come over for a visit, ok?"
“That’d be swell, thanks for the offer. Her name’s Reah,” he said, wanting to hug Tash. He refrained. “Anyway, tomorrow sounds good. I can’t wait to show you Thumper.”
Tash blinked. "Reah?" she asked. "Has an accent?" Sam nodded. "Works in a weapons shop?" Sam nodded again, slower, surprise showing in his face. "Yeah," Tash smiled, "I met her the other day. Bought a crossbow from her shop," she explained. Sam's mouth quirked a little in wry acceptance of the coincidences life seemed to throw his way.
And then there was the second name. "Thumper?" she queried incredulously. She raised an eyebrow. She asked with a sinking feeling, figuring she already knew the answer, "Is that the name for your stake?"
“Yes, Thumper!” he announced. “I’ve got her in my locker. Um, I mean ‘him.’ Hesch said Thumper was a him.”
Tash blinked again. It would never occur to her to name any of her weapons, and while she knew some named their swords the thought of naming a stake seemed quite bizarre. Still, if Sam wanted to call his stake Thumper, then Thumper it would be.
And someone called Hesch had given the stake to Sam. She hadn't heard of anyone called Hesch, but it might be worth her checking the name out. "That's great. Well, bring Thumper tomorrow," she said, smiling. "Did Hesch say why he - she? - gave you the stake?"
Sam buckled over. That was funny. Big, fat, dentist-deprived Hesch, a she? The picture popped in his brain, but he felt the need to correct it. Hesch definitely did not wear pantyhose. Tash seemed to understand, even before Sam said, “No, no… Hesch is a ‘he.’ Albert Hesch. He’s a cab driver friend I know. Assuming he’s still my friend. He was kind of being a jerk today." What had that been about? Why would a friend turn on him like that? Would Reah turn on him too? Honestly, there was something innately gruesome about Sam’s personality that caused people to hate him and monsters to hunt him. He straightened up. “Anyway, if you can’t wait for tomorrow, I can show you Thumper now. Want to see?”
Tempting as that offer was, Tash figured she could wait until the next night to see one more sharpened lump of wood. And the hunt beckoned. "Thanks, Sam, but tomorrow will do. It's getting late now so we probably should pack it in." She collected her gear and flashed a smile at Sam. "And I'm really pleased with how you're coming along already. I'm looking forward to tomorrow night's session."
“Me too.”
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
Monday, 15th August 2005 – 8:00 pm - 11:00pm
Ellie rolled up outside Mantheana's huge old house.
"Big, huh?" Ellie murmured to herself. She hopped neatly off her board and walked up the large stone steps. Ellie was dressed in the usual; three quarter length baggy, black trousers, a green T-shirt, neck tie and studded leather bracelets going almost halfway up both her arms.
She pushed the ornate structure that she guessed was probably a doorbell.
Mantheana came to the door dressed in a long black skirt and black bodice.
"Good evening, do come in." She smiled courteously and opened the door wide for them. "Maria's in the living room playing with Yasha. Food is in the kitchen. If Maria misbehaves then send her to bed. Sorry if you get roped into tea parties."
"Are you sure you knows vhat you are doing?" Mantheana's face was full of concern.
"Yeah, I've done it before.” Ellie fished for an answer that would help reassure Mantheana. "Plus I've had a lot of training so Maria should be safe with me."
"Good. I'm ready to go." Mantheana took a long glance back into the house. "Bye Maria, I'll be back soon!" she called. There was a faint, "Bye Mama," which seemed to satisfy Mantheana.
Ellie grunted and wandered off in the vague direction of the living room, skateboard still wedged under her arm.
After shutting the door behind her, Mantheana walked down from the house and carried on walking down the street.
*****
After finding with great shock that Mantheana did not own a television, getting bored with watching Maria continuously talking to her doll and getting edgy with being watched constantly by Yasha, Ellie decided that she would take a look outside. She told the bemused Maria that she was going outside, picked up her board and walked through the back door.
On finding a large paved area complete with steps and railing she set to work on the current stunts she had in the works on her skateboard. After much flipping and grinding she almost fell off her board at the sight of Maria sitting patiently at the top of the steps, stroking the docile Yasha.
"Um… Shouldn't you be inside?" Ellie didn't want Maria to catch a cold.
"Nome…" came the little reply.
"Aren’t you cold?" Maria was again, only in her night dress.
"Nome…" This was not working. Ellie tried a different approach.
"Aren't you afraid of things that go bump in the night?" That ought to get a little girl of her age inside out of the dark.
"Nome," came the constant but calm reply.
"Uhuh… Why?"
"Mama says I shouldn't be afraid of things that go bump in the night."
"Right. Did she tell you why?"
"Yes. She said that anything that went bump in the night was either too stupid to notice walls, can't stay upright or just can't see in the dark."
"Oh."
"Whatcha doing?"
"For crying out loud just go inside, you’ll freeze then I get blamed and don’t get paid and we don’t want that to happen.”
"Yes'm." Maria stopped swinging her feet and stood up. "If you'll come play with me."
"Fine!" Ellie scowled, picked her board up and stamped inside.
"How d'you do that?" Now inside, Maria had lost interest in Miesha and found new interest in Ellie.
"Do what?" Ellie was ticked off about having to stay inside.
"That thing. On the board. With the weelies."
"Skateboard? Practise. And balance. I take it you don't skateboard?"
"Nome. I can do this." Maria put her feet in a wide stance and leant backwards until her back arched and her hands touched the floor beneath her. She had done a crab. "Mama taughted me. Who taughted you to skateboard?" Maria straightened out and sat down, an inquisitive look upon her face.
"I did. David gave me the board though."
"That your Papa? You have a Papa?"
"Well, foster dad."
"Aww. What happened to your un-foster-papa?"
“Uh-” Ellie fell silent for a moment then finally replied “He died. When I was about your age.” She paused again to think. “Why the sudden interest?" Ellie tossed her hair from her face.
"I just wanted to know," mumbled Maria, who was now fiddling with Yasha's ear, "what it's like to have a Papa."
"Oh. Did your Papa eh... die?
"Oh no! Nothing as bad as that. He just never bes here." There was only the tiniest amount of sadness in her voice. Maria didn't miss what she never had. But she wanted to know what it was like.
"Did he and your Mom divorce?"
"Nome. Mama says they were never married in the first place. He just walked away. He never camed back." Maria paused. "Were your Papa's nice? Did they be nice to you?"
"Yeah I suppose…” Ellie paused before adding, “Some of them were… things I shouldn’t say to a four year-old,” she sighed.
"Oh. That’s good then, that some did be nice." Then in true almost five-year-old style, Maria showed the length of her attention span. "Mama says you're Jess' slayer."
"What? Oh yeah, not yet. I'm just waiting to see… Maybe one day I'll be the Slayer. So now I have to train… and baby-sit apparently."
"I'm not a baby." Maria stuck out her bottom lip with distaste.
"Yeah?" Ellie stifled a laugh.
"Betcha I could be a slayer."
"Uhuh? Who's gonna train you?"
"Well…Mama trains me in ballet… she says she can handle a sword…"
"Yeah, but you need more than a sword and a preddy skirt pipsqueak."
"Yes, but… you could teach me…?"
"Uhuh, so you can run out in the middle of the night to go hunt ghouls and then your Mom can yell at me? I don't think so." Ellie crossed her arms in mock stubbornness.
Maria's lower lip trembled uncontrollably. She let out a quiet sniffle. Her eyes sparkled with tears.
"Yes'm." She picked up Miesha and started walking up to her room.
Hit with an involuntary pang of guilt, Ellie called out, "Wait. I'll give you a couple of tips, but that’s it yeah?"
Maria turned round, her face forlorn. "Really?" She gave a long sniff and brightened up.
Ellie pulled a stake from her pocket and stood up. She signalled for Maria to come over with her finger and as she came close she began. “Okay, so this, my friend is a stake. Whatcha do is when a big mean vampire comes near and tries to eat you, you shove it through his heart. Got it?” Maria just nodded.
At this Ellie threw herself back onto the couch and put her earphones back in her ears, turning up the volume of the music so she couldn’t hear Maria.
Maria, pleased with her new toy, decided she was going to check the entire house for anything that might inadvertently scare Ellie.
Ellie noticed Maria wondering off with her stake looking ready to pounce on any evil beings that were in the house. Without realising she was shouting she said “Maria! I never said you could keep my stake! I need it! Where the hell are you going?”
"I was just going to make sure it's safe for you, Ma'am." she replied dropping the stake to the floor.
“Uhuh… and stop calling me Ma’am – it’s Ellie. Where’s the food?” She asked as she took the earphones out of her ears and went to pick her stake up and pocket it.
"Um. There's some in the kitchen. Cold things are in the pantry and," Maria took on a secretive tone , "there are cookies in the cupboard." She grinned.
“Uhuh.” Ellie smiled happily. “Thanks.” And she took herself off to the kitchen followed closely by Maria. “You're not big enough to reach the cupboard, huh?”
Maria grinned the devilishly little but sly grin of a child. "Depends how good at climbing I feel." She stopped in front of the cupboard that contained the elusive cookies.
“You're not seriously gonna try that?”
Maria nodded and Ellie gave her a glare, opened the cupboard, took a cookie for herself and handed the box to Maria.
Maria took a cookie from the box, put it on the table and the box on the work surface. She then disappeared into the pantry and returned with a bottle of milk. She opened a cupboard and found a glass. After filling it with milk she offered the bottle to Ellie.
“Nah, I’ll live off water. Where does this go?” Maria trundled into the pantry followed by Ellie and she put the bottle where she was shown. “You know, you’re a pretty smart kid.” Ellie grinned.
"Mama says you have to be smart or the world will outwit you." said Maria from under a white moustache.
“Uhuh. Isn’t it late? You should be getting to bed soon.”
"Probably… Mama will be back soonly anyway." Maria wiped her moustache off on her sleeve and placed the glass on the side. She walked into the living room to sit next to Yasha who was sitting by the sofa.
Just then there was the rattle of keys in the lock. Ellie picked Maria up and went to see who it was.
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
Monday, 15th August 2005 –- running upto 11:00pm
Mantheana started her walk home. It was a brisk walk, in the manner some one might take when they were cold. Mantheana was cold, possibly because she was not wearing a cloak so she was not wrapped up as warm. But this would have no effect given that she had no heat to insulate. The night was enjoyable. She could hear traffic in the distance and night birds called above her. She sat down on a bench to look at it all. For such a broken city, it could be quite pleasant sometimes. She almost retracted that thought when a drunken vampire camp swishing round the corner.
He smelled of beer, bacardi and various other alcoholic beverages that probably shouldn't be drunk in such large quantities in such a small gap of time. This mixed with the fact that he hadn't been alive for quite a while, and in that time it did not seem that he had had the courtesy to bathe. Mantheana remained deadly quiet in the hopes that he might stumble away without noticing her. These hopes, she learned, were misplaced as he turned round and stared at her.
"Hey-ay!" he drawled. Mantheana continued to look straight ahead, ignoring the drunken pest.
"I said Hey!" he repeated, getting nearer and giving Mantheana a look difficult to decipher, as he appeared to be having trouble focusing.
"And I did not reply!" said Mantheana abruptly, annoyed at his untimely interruption.
Pleased with finally getting a response, the vampire moved into pickup vocab. "Hey, didn't I see you somewhere before?" he asked clumsily, leaning one arm on the bench.
"Yes," said Mantheana in an irritated tone. "That's vhy I stopped going there." She gave him a piercing look and stood up.
"Heyyyy!" He swayed back onto his feet. "Wherrrrrre... are you," he pointed drowsily at Mantheana, "going?"
"Avay from you I think." She took a step in a direction that was away from him but he moved closed still. The stench that enveloped him was unbearable. "Back off or else!"
"Or… or else what layyyydy?" he rolled, breathing out into her face.
Mantheana held her breath. She was going to have to clock him one. She opened an eye to find that his face had become the hideous mask of lumps and bumps that it became on most vampires.
Just then he fell to the side with a yelp, swinging his arm round and catching Mantheana on the shoulder, sending her to the ground. A man stood near with a large plank of rotting wood in his hands.
"She said back off, ok?" He dropped the wood.
The vampire's face had turned back to a vaguely more human façade as he fell unconscious from a combination of all the alcohol and the wood that had so recently smashed into his head.
"Hey are you all right miss?"
Mantheana looked the man up and down. He was dressed in a scruffy, untidy but not dirty fashion. His hair was a longish mousy-brown bundle of waves. His cheekbones dipped into a chin covered in stubble on it and his blue eyes looked back at her through the darkness.
Mantheana stood up cautiously, taking his hand for help. When she was on her feet, he asked again, "Are you ok Miss?" His eyes flicked down to the body lying still and back to the young lady he had just helped.
"Yeys, thank you. I hate the drunks round this area." Mantheana gave a thankful smile.
"I hate the drunks round most areas. They just lower the grade of everything. What's the point of downing so much of that stuff?"
"Sorrows to drown I expect," she replied to the question before realising it was probably rhetorical. She idly wiped the area where the vampire had touched her shoulder on the way down with her sleeve.
Noticing her disgust he made it clear he agreed. "Man he smells. I mean I thought I had it bad with some of the guys at the gym but Jeesus! I don't know wha-" He noticed what she was wearing. "Just back from a party?"
"Excuse me?" Mantheana was a little taken back by this question. She hadn't been expecting such a question, and wasn't quite sure how he could tell.
"The dress. Not exactly common clothes around here-" He noticed her hurt look at this comment and tried for a comeback. "Not that you don't look good in them or anything it's just…unusual."
"I'm unusual," came her reply with a quirky grin. This was normal dress for her.
"I see. Well, there aren’t many teenagers I know that would be out here all alone at this time of night. Specially in this neighbourhood."
Mantheana couldn't help herself. "I'm not a teenager! I'm twenty years old for your information." It was close enough. And true in a way. She mellowed. "It is on my vay home. I vas just listening to the city vhen that lout came around the corner." She pointed to the corner and her hand brushed against his.
"Jesus! How long have you been out here? You're freezing cold!" He took her hand just to feel whether hands really could be like ice and still on a living body.
"I'm always cold. It is fine. Don't vorry." She tried to move away from the man getting too close. She didn't like people being close.
"No here, take my coat." He shrugged off his large tattered jacket and placed it over her deathly pale shoulders. "'I'm used to the cold. Besides its not that cold out anyway." He laughed and gestured that he was fine in his shirt.
Mantheana looked at him. He meant well. She was uncomfortable in the situation, but she did not want to be rude. Instead she gave a shy smile and wriggled into the warmth of the coat. "Spaseeba-- Thank you."
"Um… Let me walk you home yeah? I just don't want any drunks getting carried away again Ok?" Her face sank a little, but not obviously.
"Da," she replied although a hint in her voice suggested that she thought help was unneeded.
"Sorry?"
"I mean yeys. Sorry, my lingo slips sometimes. You'll have to excuse me." She looked away, flustered.
"Ah. I see. Where are you from? Or what do you speak?" He was genuinely interested. This scared Mantheana. She didn't like people being interested in her.
"Oh, Russia. I can speak most languages except, ironically, English. I probably should have stayed in France, but I heard it was easier here."
"Easier? To do what?" *Again with the questions.* Mantheana was silently cursing polite conversation. *To fit in. To get one with things. To hide.*
"Oh nothing. Figure of speech I suppose." She turned abruptly up the next road. It was decidedly more pleasant than the alleys they had been down so far. The houses were no longer shabby apartments, but aged old houses, covered in vines and cobwebs. "Nearing my stop I'm afraid." Mantheana stopped outside a house. "Thank you for walking me home. And helping me earlier."
"It was a pleasure. I'm Bowen by the way. Bowen Shore. My apartment's just down the road." Bowen smiled cheerily.
"I'm Mantheana Alashkov. You know where I live."
With that she walked up the steps to her house and unlocked the door. Ellie came to the door holding Maria. She planted some cash in Ellie's outstretched palm as Maria was handed over. Ellie walked down the steps and off into the dark but could still be heard from the rolling of wheels that slowly faded away. With Maria sleepily resting on her hip, Mantheana kissed her cheek lightly and waved in the doorway at Bowen who was waiting patiently at the bottom of the steps.
Then she turned and shut the door. Only then did she notice she was still wearing the man's coat. She looked outside but he had disappeared. Mantheana took Maria upstairs and put her to bed.
"Who was that Mama?" Maria asked dazedly.
"A man who walked me home." Mantheana smoothed the covers over Maria's little form.
"Not Papa?" The hope in this question was glazed over with sleepiness.
"Not Papa. Baby, I don't know if we'll ever see Papa, Da?" Mantheana kissed her goodnight and stood up from the bed.
"Da," came the barely audible response, and then there was just breathing.
Subconsciously Mantheana scratched her right wrist. The itch was only small and tickley, so discreet she did not notice what she was doing. But still she scratched her wrist. Then she went to bed.
Area 51's Olympic Drinking Team
*** MONDAY, 15 AUGUST 2005 - LATE NIGHT***
Galen was actually grateful for Goethi’s party after spending a good portion of the day being interrogated by Majestic Command. It would provide him with a chance to relax. They didn’t learn anything from him, of course. He had, on the spot, concocted an elaborate story whereby a once-reliable information source would have provided information that the Dr. was being set up. Galen began working off the record because of the sensitive nature of the accusations being made. Only long practice at cover-ups enabled him to create a coherent fiction, and maintain plausible deniability that he was investigating Project Lazarus.
Though Goethi’s parties were legendary and news traveled quickly of them, they had several other interesting qualities about them. They were rare events, occurring only once every few months. Even then every member of Command, with the exception of the pervert known to members only as the Scotsman, detested the parties. As a result, the Scotsman was the only member to know in advance about every party, and did what he could to hide them. Still, they tended to be broken up, especially when The Contest started. There was only one time when they decided to fully endorse one of his events, making him chief coordinator: the celebration of Majestic 12 actually preventing an apocalypse.
The result was that the party became the subject of gossip and rumour, The Contest a subject to be bet upon, and for the just over two dozen people who showed up, a way to find a partner for the evening. Nobody knew what Goethi studied, just that he was the agent in U.C. Sunnydale who was in charge of planning the parties used to allow the Initiative to operate.
Galen ran into Circe on the way in the rec center, noting that she did not bring Frank with her this time. It was difficult to hear what she was saying while entering due to the heavy metal that was playing. About two dozen total agents were present, including the Scotsman who was in the middle of a game of pool with a young but attractive female agent. Naturally, he was there to get a companion for the night. “Almost afraid to see what Goethi would do if he had more time to plan,” Galen yelled to Circe, in order to be heard above the music.
“Oh, the last one was three months ago,” she yelled. “Spent a week planning. We all got a nice reprimand when Command broke it up. Had to work the next day as well, despite the hangovers.” Galen laughed at that, then regretted it. He had to appear before command again the next day, and everyone knew what was to come.
The next hour was spent trying to catch up on what was going on with some of the people he knew from earlier. There was a great deal of yelling that went on, and bouncing between pool games. Galen controlled his drinking, as he would need his stamina later. Lucky and Jocasta showed up, Lucky with his arm in a sling. As usual, Lucky had managed to get shot on assignment.
Eventually the music was turned down. A few people slipped out. It was a corruption of a religious ritual, and one that tended to get people in trouble, but Goethi did it in every party anyway. He rolled a large barrel into the middle of the room, then stood on a table. “All right, folks,” he called. “We have something to celebrate, and you know what that means!”
Circe, Lucky, and Jocasta all dragged Galen to the middle of the room with Goethi, despite his protests. Two other brave individuals came up to join in the celebration. The mead in the barrel would be more than sufficient for the ritual celebration. Mugs were filled and passed around. Now the music was silent, and others would begin slipping out. A few would be betting on who the last person standing would be. Goethi was the first to hold out his mug. “To whatever Goddess melted the ice king’s heart!” he called out. A chorus of “hail” echoed from the drinkers and even some observers, when deep drinking commenced.
Jocasta held up her mug next, and toasted the “Irish luck” that Lucky brought with on missions, despite his tendency to be wounded. Another shout of “hail” and drinking followed. Lucky toasted his home of Newfoundland as “the last bit of Avalon,” and pointed out that despite the way the accent sounded, he was Canadian and not Irish. Still there was a chorus of “hail” and drinking.
One of the other agents started to make a toast before heading off, having had too much to drink before the contest began. A ruckus of laughter came from the audience, some of which now began to slip out. The Scotsman had already left with a woman. The alcohol went to work on Galen and despite his better judgment held up his glass. “To most kind, beautiful, lovely woman in the world,” he called out. Some clapping accompanied the chorus of “hail,” followed as usual by more drinking.
Circe toasted fate, as she always did on the first round, believing that everything was predestined. Specifically, she hoped fate “would be kinder to Griffin’s new girl than the last.” The chorus went out, drinking commenced, and the other brave soul passed out. With the first round complete, the five quickly found themselves alone and continuing the drinking ritual.
As the ritual demanded, everyone had made a toast now. A second round could now begin, Goethi kicking it off as he always did. When they ran out of Gods to toast, it would likely turn into a boasting match, until none of them were left standing. Goethi thrust his mug out again. “May the ice king’s heart remain melted,” he yelled, unable to resist needling his friend once more. The usual chorus and drinking followed.
“I hate to break up the teasing of a friend,” said Circe, raising her mug. “But we can only do that for so long. So instead, let’s toast the greatest gift of the gods… to beer!” So they continued through the second round. Lucky picked up the theme and praised wine; Jocasta passed out after starting to toast something. Galen was the last one left, so raised his mug to them not getting caught yet.
Things quickly degenerated into the boasting match for the third round. Goethi boasted of the time when he grappled with Tango barehanded and lived to tell the tale. Circe took the opportunity to bow out gracefully and start back to her quarters after Lucky passed out, almost taking her to the floor.
Galen soon found himself alone with Goethi, both of them continuing to drink. Neither man was thinking very clearly at this point, and Galen was barely remaining conscious. It had been a very long time since he did anything like this. “Za know,” Goethi said, placing a hand on Galen’s shoulder. “I don git it… why you don tal’ wit your fends boot dis wo-man. Ya tol us boot Cas, ter all.”
Galen slammed his hand on the table in frustration. Of course they wouldn’t let it rest. So they had spent part of the evening swapping stories about fighting demons, but that happened every day. Falling in love did not. For them, that was a once-in-a-lifetime or twice-in-a-lifetime thing. “Zat,” he said. “Zat is on a need to know basis.”
“Come on, Grif, ya can ‘ell us.” Goethi took another long draught from his mug. Then his eyes widened with a sudden gleam. “Zee what? Demoness?” Galen laughed and emptied his drink over the other man’s head. “Ten wha? Fam pier? Tel- tele- tele- mind reader?”
There was a change in expression in Galen’s face only the sober would pick up on. Had Circe been there, she would have noted a flash of more extreme paranoia than normal in his aura. As it was, he just said, “Ya know, goth… ohhh, just lost my train of thought. Going to sleep now.” Galen glanced over and saw that Goethi was passed out. Galen tried to stand and go back to his quarters, only to stumble into the walls. Eventually, he started crawling towards the door, before using the walls to lean on while going back.
He never reached the door, instead landing on the floor and falling fast asleep.
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
**** Monday, 15th August 2005 – Around 11 PM ****
The door to the apartment opened slightly. Ellie stopped the second it creaked then tried again, and found she couldn’t help but make a sound.
Once inside she attempted to quietly and quickly get to her room before she was spotted, although it would prove challenging.
“Eleanor.” Will stepped from the kitchen, a grave expression on his face.
“Oh shit,” she muttered under her breath.
“Jess?” Will shouted, still staring at Ellie as she wandered about the room staring at her feet.
By now the anger had risen up in Jess; her Slayer had just gone and wandered out of the flat and she had no idea where she was. Jess had searched some of the city and even dragged herself into Bob’s for information but without luck while Will stayed home in case Ellie came back.
Jess tried draining her anger on the punch bag that was hung from the ceiling of the spare room. At the sound of Will’s voice she stopped abruptly and opened the door to the sitting room to see Eleanor.
“Where the hell have you been?!” Jess shouted. *Nope, the anger didn’t go.*
Ellie looked up to the angry face of Jessica. “I was uh- just going out.”
“Oh yeah, just going out? You know what kind of world we live in! You shouldn’t be going out at night on your own!”
“I’m bloody sixteen! I can take care of myself.”
“I don’t think you understand. Maybe if you’re ever chosen, if you ever become the Slayer, then maybe you can fight a gang of demons out for blood or vampire or anything else for that matter!”
“I wasn’t exactly anywhere I could get hurt.” Ellie’s face was dark, half covered by her hair. She paused and moved from the weight of one foot to the other. “I was at Mantheana’s, babysitting if you must know.”
“I must! You can’t go out by yourself!”
“I can…I’m a Slayer…I can deal.”
“You overestimate your power, Ellie. You’re strong compared to some sixteen year olds, you work out, but you don’t have Slayer strength. Yo- How the hell did you meet Mantheana?”
“She er…phoned up. Wanted you to babysit Maria.”
“So you didn’t tell me, instead went yourself without letting me know?”
“Yep,” Ellie said grumpily then began to wander over to her room.
“Where are you going?”
“To my room.”
“No. We need to talk,” Jess said, putting an arm on Ellie’s shoulder to stop her tracks.
“You’ve already talked… no, wait, that was shouting.” Ellie grabbed Jess’ arm and twisted it to get her off her.
“I wouldn’t do that again. Go to your room,” Jess said sternly.
“Nope,” she said bluntly.
“Please,” Jess glared beneath a furrowed brow.
“Whatever.” Ellie walked to her room again causing as much fuss as possible on her way and slamming the door hard. A second later there was music; heavy metal and as loud as possible.
Jess sighed and wandered over to the couch slowly. “Will.”
Jess took a seat and cupped her face in her hands. Will quickly sat beside her and put an arm around her shoulders.
A minute later Jess removed her hands from her face slowly and sighed. Tears were brewing at the corners of her eyes.
“Hey, it’s okay.”
“I can’t do this. I can’t even control her. She’s been here for not even a day and she’s already wandering off without telling us where she’s going. I can’t….”
“Shh, Jess, it’s okay. You couldn’t help it. People have had this problem with her before. She just needs to settle down.”
Jess looked into Will’s eyes then gave him a tight hug. “I don’t know what to do.”
“There’s nothing you can do you haven’t already done, Jess. It’s not you who’s the problem.”
“I just-“
“Hey. I’ll talk to her tomorrow morning, clear this up.”
She pulled away from his shoulder and gave a weak smile. “Thanks.”
Beginnings?
***Monday, August 15, 2005 – 6:30 p.m.***
“African Heart,” Chinaka's voice sing-songed into the other end of the phone.
“Hello, Chinaka. It’s Parasol.” Parasol smiled. She couldn’t help but be proud of Chinaka for choosing such a compelling name for the gallery.
Uncomfortable silence.
“Hi, Auntie.”
More silence.
Parasol let it lay for a minute. She felt Chinaka's discomfort, but short of giving her answers Parasol wasn’t ready to give, Parasol knew she couldn’t allay Chinaka’s concerns.
“You were out like a light when I left yesterday afternoon. Haven’t seen you since.” Chinaka didn’t mind being accusatory. Parasol was avoiding her. Chinaka didn't like it.
Parasol ignored Chinaka’s stinging tone and tried to be as breezy as possible. “Yeah, I was. Good girl. You got to the gallery early on a Sunday. But I missed your opening the drapes.”
“You like that?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“I didn’t know if it was the right thing to do. I do it because… because… well, I just hate thinking that you always miss how beautiful sundown is in LA, with the smog and all.” Chinaka was sincere; she truly pitied Parasol’s loss of the daytime.
“It’s the right thing to do, Chinaka,” Parasol said gently.
Aha!! Chinaka jumped feet first. “What’s the wrong thing to do?”
*Girl can turn on a dime.* Parasol didn’t really want to get into this right now. There was something about yesterday’s dream that still greatly disturbed her. She remembered the part about her mama *sniff*, but there was something else to the dream lurking at the edges that she couldn’t quite grasp. Since the dream, her hunger wasn’t assuaged by Mr. Kleinsman’s kosher blood, of which she had consumed nearly a gallon. This was a visceral, vampire kind of hungry. And for some reason London and the Cadre kept popping up in her thoughts.
Dead, dry telephone air.
“No, don’t, Parasol,” Chinaka sniped. “Don’t say a word. As usual not a clue.” Parasol could practically hear her tapping her foot with impatience. “As informative as this conversation isn't,” Chinaka continued, “I’ve got a business to run.”
For the millionth time in speaking with Chinaka lately, Parasol sighed heavily. “Which brings me to why I called. Did the computer come yet?”
Chinaka was annoyed but relieved. Business was always good ground on which to speak with Parasol. When they did communicate during these past two very awkward weeks, it was about business and it was always productive. Parasol knew her stuff. Chinaka begrudgingly changed gears. “Nope, not yet. It’s supposed to be delivered tomorrow. A company tech is gonna hook us up and network it to the register.”
“You got the Quickbooks?”
“Yeah. They’re gonna install that too.”
“Well then I’ll be there Wednesday after dark.”
“Not tonight or Tuesday?”
“No.”
Silence.
“And why not? Are we in business together or not?”
“Of course we’re in business. I’ve got something to take care of.”
“What? Some sort of twisted Bill W. vampire stuff?” Chinaka snorted.
Parasol issued her million and first sigh. “No,” she lied. “Just something to take care of.”
“Fine. See you Wednesday night.”
Parasol pulled the telephone away from her ear at the angry disconnection. She stood for a moment looking out of the window onto her quiet street with the handset in her hand thinking of those two crackling inches of space between her lips and London’s mouth. During her last stint in LA she'd visited a bar over in Alhambra. Seedy joint where the netherworld bought watered-down scotch and blood stepped on so many times it was practically pink and info was for sale. If she followed her nose, she was sure she could find it.
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
Monday, 15th August 2005 – 11:30pm
Tash skipped lightly down the stairs from the training room, still suffused with a warm sense of satisfaction. Sam's lessons really were coming along well. She was keen to see how well he went with a weapon in hand for tomorrow night's lesson. She opened the door to her apartment and bounced in, ready to greet Victor with a huge grin. Empty again. The grin faded a little as she dumped her gear on the table. *Now where has he gone?*
Victor sat in his office with the lights out. He wasn't sure what to do. Every second he did nothing was another second the hunter was preparing. He wasn't sure if he should tell Tash; she might use it as another excuse to not deal with her problems.
He heard her bound down the hallway and enter their flat. *You should go and talk to her.* * Not that you will, but you should eat her.* *I need to do something.*
Victor rose and walked across the hall. He paused briefly at the door and centered his thoughts. Over the past month he had begun to do that because he found that his inner turmoil not only upset her, but was reflected in her thinking as well. He opened the door and stepped in. He knew he had a concerned look on his face and he could sense her defences rising.
Tash turned as the door opened and her grin faded completely at the look on Victor's face. She sighed mentally and prepared herself for yet another lecture. But since she hadn't gone hunting the previous night, the urge to do so was overwhelming her now. She refused to be deterred.
She pasted a fresh smile on her face and tried to make it genuine. "Hey, cutie," she greeted him.
Victor gave a half-hearted smile he didn't feel and walked over to kiss her. He wasn't much in the mood to tell her anything. He could predict the outcome of any conversation without much effort. *If you aren't going to eat her, why don't you leave her?* *Shut.... * Victor waited a beat or two. Hunted. She needed time. That might be the solution he needed.
The thought played across his mind like wildfire as he considered all of the ramifications. Tash could not help picking it up as they were kissing. She drew back, her face a mask of anguish.
"Wh..." she whispered. She stood still for a moment, her stomach knotting as she tried to control the reaction within. He wanted to leave her? *Get a grip, woman. You're not some blubbering idiot.* She swallowed and tried again, "Why?" she asked simply. She closed her eyes. She had a feeling she knew the answer, or part of it, and could already feel a tiny spark of anger flare deep within her.
Victor was sad, but he knew it had to be this way. He sighed, "There is more than one reason. The most pressing one is that the Society of Ulle is after me again. This is a master huntsman and my staying here endangers not only you, but everyone in this building."
Tash opened her eyes, surprised. She hadn’t expected this. The tiny spark of anger sputtered and died, only to be reborn a moment later. "Society of Ulle? But Sorrow..." No, she had to be wrong. Surely Sorrow would have nothing to do with this. She drew a breath. "And the other reasons?" she asked archly.
"Are not important right now," Victor finished her question.
"I think they might be," Tash pressed. "Tell me all of it before we talk about the Society."
Victor ignored her pleas for more information. He was not about to risk her losing focus on this topic. They would talk about that after this was resolved.
"What is important is that I not be sitting here doing my work behind my usual desk where a high powered rifle will blow a hole in my cranium. And possibly you if you are standing near me. I have to go someplace only you and I know about. I was thinking Tempest's former apartment. I've been paying the rent on it since..." he let the sentence trail off along with the memories. "You know where it is, and no one would think to look there."
“Fine, if you've got a hunter after you, I agree - finding a hiding place is a good idea. I could go with you and watch your back. But that wasn't what you were thinking... you want to leave me." Saying the words made it almost unbearable. Had she really been that horrible to him lately?
"It actually makes more sense for you to stay away from me," said Victor, "Any Hunter who connects you to me will use you to find me. I trust you to be circumspect about contacting me. Can you agree this is a wise plan?"
"Dammit, Victor," Tash was starting to grow angry. "No, we can't." She stepped back a pace or two and hugged herself. "This guy will find you no matter where you go. And if you're alone..." she shook her head and spoke in a quieter tone, "No, I don't think it's a good plan at all." She looked at Victor, accusation in her eyes. "Why won't you tell me what you were really thinking?"
*Because she won't listen to what you are saying.* *Because she's a bitch.* *Because I love you too much to hurt you.*
"I'll tell you. But promise me that you will not get angry. Do you trust me enough to tell you the truth even if it might hurt you at first? Do you believe I would be hurtful to you unless I had to?"
Tash looked at Victor and her expression softened fractionally. "Victor," she said his name carefully, "I trust you and believe that you love me enough for that. But," she looked away for a second before meeting his eyes again, "I can't promise not to get angry. This rage is like a living thing that boils up inside me, and it scares me that I can't seem to stop it."
Victor closed his eyes. He could hear the pain in her voice and he struggled to keep his voice even and calm, "I know. Tris thinks that you are trying to suppress the memories of Ohenewaa. By doing that they are eating you from the inside. I can show you some meditations to use to reflect on all of that time, and deal with them in a controlled fashion, but you must deal with them. I think you need some time to grapple with them alone."
"So there it is again," Tash started quietly, her voice cold. "Everyone seems convinced that bitch is responsible for all of this." Her voice started to rise, "But she's dead and gone. The evil died with her. I don't need to see it - don't want to touch it." Tash could feel her heart racing and glared at Victor as he took a step forwards. "No," she cried, backing away, "I worked it out earlier tonight - dunno why I never saw it before. When I hunt, it's more primal; I've lost my detachment. But it's not because some evil witch is controlling me, it's because I finally care if I live or die. I love you, and have something to risk now." Some part of Tash could see the fallacy in her arguments, but she ignored it.
"Listen to yourself, Tash!" Victor said firmly, "I love you too, but this is more than that. If I am wrong, then I am wrong, and I can accept that. But I am not going to let you use me as an excuse to continue abusing yourself. That much is clear."
Victor stepped back and let the space between them grow cold with the emotions, "I love you Tash, and I have never loved anyone or anything before. We are so right for each other in so many ways, but I can only show you the way off this path you are on, I cannot make you follow it. If you want help I can give it. So can Sorrow. But it is up to you to ask for it. I'll be moving while you are out hunting."
Victor turned and stood still. He was waiting for Tash to say something. Anything to make him stay. He desperately wanted an excuse to change his mind.
Tash could feel the weakness in Victor's resolve. She loved him and needed him. He was her anchor. But the rage had risen and would not be denied. "Great!" she spat, "Piss off, then. Run with your tail between your legs, see if I care." She whirled, knocking her training gear off the table as she stormed to the bedroom to grab her weapons for the hunt.
Victor stood there afraid to move. She had made her decision. He hoped she would finally begin to understand herself and work on the problem rather than ignoring it. He slowly moved to the couch and sat down. The wood of the sofa complained at the weight, but Victor ignored it. He was lost in the weight of his own burdens.
Tash moved blindly, changing clothes and stuffing stakes into her pockets. She checked her crossbow by rote, her mind a maelstrom of furious thoughts. She left the bedroom, fully kitted up, and strode into the lounge room. She faltered slightly as she spied Victor sitting forlorn on the couch. She paused for a moment, just staring at him, her face reflecting her conflicting emotions.
Victor turned slowly when she didn't move. He looked into her eyes. He wanted to back down and say he was sorry, but he could not do it. "Tash, can we..." *Finally get this over with!* *Kiss and part as friends?* "...talk about this?" It sounded lame even as he was saying it.
"What's left to talk about?" Her voice was so strangled it was almost inaudible. She held her arms out from her body, "Look at me. I'm a hunter. I go hunt. So I'm not so calm about it as I used to be." She shrugged. "Now you've decided that I've got some major psychological problem, but your solution to that is to dump me. Yeah, you must love me a whole bunch," she said sarcastically. She could feel the pain her words caused and wanted to stop. Wanted to say the right words to make it all better. But instead she found this hateful, hurtful stuff coming from her mouth. "So run off and try to hide from this guy, and hide from me. And you'll get yourself killed 'cause you're alone, and then I'll be alone again. But I'm alone now, aren't I? You've already left me." She couldn't bear to see the pain in Victor's eyes any more, so she turned and ran from the room, wrestling with the door to the outside and the hunt. To her release.
And he let her go.
***
An hour later Victor was still sitting on the couch. He had this strange feeling in his gut that he could not quite explain. He had wept some, moped some and even considered smashing everything in the building. Eventually he just sat there. The voices in his head were taking turns ridiculing him and comforting him. He was sure he had done the right thing. At the same time he was angry he had not done more before coming to this course of action.
Finally Victor stood, and walked into his office. He pulled down the suitcase with the herbs and potions, and the second case that had held his clothes and things. He pulled out a few basic outfits and packed. Then pulled out the huge rip-proof nylon sack and packed up the stone tablet. Victor glanced at the words. The first line stood out for him ”...time will come when you will need more than life.”
Victor pulled the tablet out of the sack. He carried it back into the lounge and stood it upright next to her door. *She needs more than life right now. I hope it will help her.* He pulled out a piece of paper. And wrote...
He taped the short note to the tablet and locked the door, carrying the two cases with him.
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
Tuesday, 16th August 2005 – 12:30am to 3am
For a long time Tash ran blindly, not caring where she went. Thoughts whirled around her head, circling like hungry piranhas and triggering conflicting emotions. *Stupid man! He’ll be killed… I can’t believe he said he’d just leave me… Him and Sorrow – they’re ganging up on me with this stupid Ohenewaa business… Stupid man! What’ll I do if he dies? … I’ll bet it was all lies – he never really loved me at all. I was just part of his stupid experiment… Damn, he didn’t even try to stop me – or follow me… I wish he’d stop insisting there was something wrong with me… Oh, God, he’s left me! … I love him so much, I can’t bear to live without him… Going off alone – he’ll be killed… Stupid man!*
Finally both her thoughts and her body ran out of impetus. She leant against a run down building and simply cried. Then as the magnitude of her loss hit her, she began to bawl, sliding down the wall to sit at the base hugging her knees to her chest. Her frame shook with great, wracking sobs that seemed to wrench themselves from her very core.
People passed her by on the street, none daring to stop or even look at the distraught woman wailing her heart out. L.A. at night was a place where people kept to themselves and minded their own business.
Tash had no idea how long she sat there after her howls died down. She stared blankly before her, not noticing the passers-by. Eventually she wiped her face angrily with the back of her hand, smearing the tears over the soft leather of her gloves. She heaved herself to her feet and walked on autopilot, wandering the late night streets with unseeing eyes.
Her first hint of danger came after she was deep into the alleyway. The scuff of a shoe on the stone behind her caused her to halt. She waited, listening. Two behind her. She sighed and tuned into her telepathic sense and felt the cold, dark sensation of vampires. Fine.
She turned as they were making their approach. One curled his mouth in a feral smile, “Hey, girlie, you out kinda late, ain’tcha?”
His companion nodded, “An’ all by hersel’, too. Such a shame…”
Tash sighed again. She could barely be bothered with these creeps. The first walked casually towards her, still pretending to be human. Tash rolled her eyes and snatched a stake out with lightning speed and plunged it into his heart.
Through the cloud of dust, Tash saw the other vampire’s eyes widen, “You dat black hunter bitch we heard ‘bout.” He began to back away.
In happier times, Tash might have been tempted to make a smart-aleck reply. But tonight she just pounced forward and swept the vampire’s feet out from under him. She dropped a knee on his chest and readied her stake. She winced as his dirty fingernails scratched her face, but moments later her knee thudded to the ground as the creature exploded into minute particles.
She stood and scanned the alleyway. Nothing else stirred. She intoned flatly, “Hooray for me. I got me some vampires.”
She gave a half-hearted snort. Great. She’d not only stopped feeling over-excited by the hunt, but she seemed to have stopped feeling anything at all. Whatever. There were more vampires out here to find. Better go find them.
*****
This wasn’t exactly what she’d been hoping for.
She’d been jumped by six vampires. Even on a good day, she didn’t like to face more than three or four at once by herself. In fact, truth be told, four was pushing her luck considerably. Still, she’d go down fighting.
Two piles of dust littered the ground, and two of the remaining vampires sported nasty burns from the holy water. One had half a crossbow bolt protruding from his chest – must have missed by mere millimetres, dammit! It was the other two she was more worried about.
They’d grappled with her, forcing her to the ground. It was at times like this she wished she had Slayer strength. Still, one plays the hand one is dealt. And right now she’d been dealt a bunch of crap. These vampires seemed to know who she was, too. Black Veins, she figured. After killing Jem’s piece of cold comfort the other night, Tash guessed the vampire leader was gunning for her.
One of the vampires bashed her head repeatedly against the ground, making her vision blur and her ears ring. Another one sat on her legs, stopping her from kicking out at her assailants. A third reached for her throat, but snatched his hand back, hissing as the cross she wore there scalded his flesh. The fourth made a derisive noise and yanked the chain from the back of Tash’s neck. Through the pain in her skull she barely felt the dragging burn before the chain snapped.
Bared fangs loomed before her. And Tash didn’t care. She knew she was about to die. But she simply didn’t care. She closed her eyes and waited for the peace death would bring.
*****
From his vantage point, Deon watched the troupe of vampires enter the alleyway after Tash. He shook his head. He didn’t know what was up with her, but he’d seen her disgusting display on the street earlier. He drummed his fingers impatiently against a wall and sighed before navigating his way across the street to rescue her from her own stupidity. He had plans – she wasn’t allowed to die yet!
He watched the fight dispassionately from the alley’s entrance. She really was performing terribly tonight. She only managed to get two before the others subdued her. And that first shot! He couldn’t believe she’d missed. He tut tutted to himself.
The four vampires looked up as he moved forward, making his presence known. At first they were startled, then they relaxed when they saw he was just a kid. Deon smiled. Others almost always made the mistake of underestimating him because of his apparent age.
“Push off, pipsqueak,” one of the vamps growled. “This is our f…” The vampire never got to finish his sentence.
Deon dusted his hands and stared at the remaining three vampires. They let go of Tash, who was barely conscious. She curled into a ball and let the pain take over, hardly registering the events around her. The three advanced on Deon, who just smiled and proceeded to make short work of them.
Tash felt a hand gently shaking her shoulder and opened her eyes groggily. The alley was dark and she could hardly focus, but a face gradually swam into view. A familiar face. A boyish face which smiled at her lovingly. “Shh,” Deon said, “It’s all just a dream…”
Tash blinked. Her head swam and the darkness rose to claim her. Before she finally passed out she managed to whisper, “What are you doing here, Pat?”
"In Country" The E! True Hollywood Story
***Monday, August 15, 2005 – 11:30 p.m.***
As Chinaka turned the MGB left onto her street, Orinda Avenue, she reached for the garage door opener she kept under her seat and clicked it. She turned into the driveway. Her headlights illuminated the empty garage. *Figures.*
Entering the house through the door from the garage to the kitchen, she dropped her keys on the counter. She stopped at the fridge for a glass of milk and steeled herself against the yucky sight of the glass bottles of blood stored on the door. Chinaka looked heavenward and opened the door.
The fridge door was empty. Completely empty. Chinaka looked around scanning the kitchen for the bottles. She found them empty and rinsed by the door in the recycling bin. There were nearly two gallons in the fridge when she left this morning. Parasol had consumed that much? Not that she was all that familiar with the eating habits of vampires, but she couldn’t drink a couple of gallons of anything in one day. Chinaka poured herself a glass of milk, knitted her eyebrows and slowly walked out of the kitchen, sipping and wondering.
Chinaka plopped down on the comfy couch in the den and flicked on the television, surfing the 200 plus channels her cable service offered. As usual, nothing of interest was on. Baretta on Nick At Night, some E! True Hollywood Story tragedy about Dorothy Dandridge’s demise, faux roughnecks on MTV, Tom Cruise trying to act in some Vietnam diatribe film on the War Channel – nothing. Chinaka yawned, musing how she never got Tom Cruise, with all those teeth and that power laugh – and the Nicole thing still bothered her. Cruise never understood that he wasn’t an actor. He was a movie star.
Chinaka unassed the couch and toured the house, turning off lights. She was dead-dog-tired. Although the shop was opened for business, there was still a lot of setting up to do, especially without Parasol’s help. *Grrrr—Arrghh* She shook her head, sucked her teeth and headed up the stairs to fall face first into her bed.
*******
Chinaka’s unit was pinned down 20 klicks outside Da Nang, jungle breathing fire. Chinaka pulled off several rounds at the lights flashing from enemy fire about 50 yards away, praying none of the unit got in the way. Nothing else to do. Fucked up firefight all around. Gunfire and mortars, close quarters wails from throats slit. Chinaka heard RoRo scream as the 82 mm disintegrated the hootch to the left that an hour ago was a bar. RoRo was acting bartender. Chinaka hollered for Landis to call in their position so what was left of the unit could get the hell out of this cluster fuck. Landis didn’t answer. An explosion then a burst of light. Landis was only half there, lit-up, horn still in his hand. No one or way to get help. Chinaka crawled in the mud to where the hootch used to be, figuring it was safer than unscorched earth. Head down. Ammo screamed past. Chinaka passed the not-much-left of Carlysle, Morris, Sallie. "Oh, my God – is that you Dinkins?" Chinaka crawled next to Dinkins, grabbed his flack jacket and yelled his name in his ear. “Dinkins! Dinkins! Brother! Brother!! You can’t die on me man. Can’t die on me man. You can’t leave me!!” Chinaka’s head bent to the shoulder of the bits and pieces that once was Dinkins and wept as the world hissed armageddon all around.
“Aaaaand…cut. Check the gate. Print it. Chinaka – you were great. Friggin’ great. You make me look all kinds of good.”
Chinaka pulled her face from Dinkins the dummy’s shoulder and her body from the muck. “Was it good for you, Oliver? ‘Cause it was sooo good for me.” Chinaka sloshed toward the director. “But I can do it again. If you want a tight shot, like, just on my face. Y’know, weeping over the remains of my best friend kinda thing? CAN I GET A WATER HERE?”
“CAN WE GET THIS WOMAN SOME WATER PLEASE!!” The director’s hands were chopping in the air at her. “No. No, babe. That was great. Just great. And I like your idea about the tight shot.”
Chinaka took off the helmet, completely self-satisfied.
She watched as the director turned and walked away for a discussion of the tight shot set up with the DP. He stopped mid-stride, turned back to her and asked “Only, can you be more street?” and took off again with the DP.
*Huh?* Chinaka hustled to catch up to him. Some blond girl of about 12 ran beside Chinaka and handing her a bottle of Evian.
“Street?” Chinaka gasped, out of breath from keeping up.
The director kept up his insane pace, sent the DP off with his marching orders and conversed with the first A.D. on the walkie. He stopped and then turned to Chinaka. “Yeah, you know…more jive.”
Chinaka caught up short to avoid running him down. “Jive?”
The girl, still beside Chinaka, grinned at her and echoed, “You know – jive.”
Chinaka felt defenseless, leaking self-esteem from every pore. “Oliver, I don’t understand what you mean.”
The director motioned Chinaka closer. The girl came closer, too, bending her head in as he whispered conspiratorially, “You know, more…um…Black.” The director then stalked off again screaming obscenities into the walkie.
The blond child whispered up at Chinaka, “You know, more…um…Black. You’re Black, aren’t you Chinaka? Or is it colored? Or Negro? Or African-American? What do I call you this year, because I never really know.” The little girl batted her lashes innocently.
*What the f…* Chinaka took an incredulous look down into the girl’s face, asking in her most impatient tone, “Who the Sweet Fanny Adams are you child?”
“I’m the director’s daughter, so you’d better be nice to me or else, poof, no more close-up.” The child spoke to Chinaka slowly, as if Chinaka were impaired in some fashion. “My daddy asked if you can be more street? More jive? In a word – more Black?”
Chinaka was about to check this Hollywood brat with something rash enough to kiss her career goodbye when she heard a man’s voice coming from behind her. “That’s a ridiculous question, little girl.” The voice came from beside Chinaka’s right ear. Inexplicably, Chinaka couldn’t turn around, but she cocked her head to the side and listened as he went on.
“You’re asking this woman to portray your vision of what a Black person is, which entails adjectives such as ‘street’ and ‘jive;’ terms that I must add have not been uttered since ‘Starsky and Hutch.’ Terms obviously garnered from the same misinformed source that perpetrated the image of the happy-go-lucky, musical, lazy, tap dancing comedian maid mammy knee-grow whose boyz-in-de-hood aspire to nothing more than loose shoes and tight nookie.” Chinaka still couldn’t turn around. A crowd of movie set gofers, lackeys and assorted yes-men gathered to watch. He continued spectacularly.
“Chinaka is self-defined; your snotty little query about what term a historically disenfranchised race uses to comfortably refer to themselves, and more importantly, what term they are comfortable for you to use to refer to them, notwithstanding. Chinaka IS Black, and therefore has, by dint of existence, attained your and your daddy’s request.” Now THIS was a diatribe. Chinaka’s shoulders jerked back and forth trying to twist, so the face of her champion would be within view.
The costume assistant whistled softly and whispered, “No he di’int.”
“Considering Chinaka’s role as a soldier in this film, I would think your daddy’s foremost concern would be to request more hard, more butch. You know – more male. But then that would get in the way of the scene your daddy added; the one where she walks around in a jungle hut, in war-torn Vietnam, 25 miles from the De-Militarized Zone, with her tits hanging out! As the producer of this film, I think I’ll go discuss this with ‘your daddy’ to rectify this travesty.”
Angels sang and the crowd went, “Oooohhhh.”
Chinaka rocked back and forth attempting to unhitch her body from the space it stubbornly occupied. She desperately needed to turn around to see who was speaking the exact words racing through her mind but didn’t have the courage to say. Not one to let the upper hand pass, Chinaka pursed her lips, raised her eyebrow and looked down to the little girl. Chinaka thought the little girl’d run away in tears to go tell her daddy about her very public dressing down, but all she did was stand there and smile, the corners of her mouth turned in the cutest curly-cues. She really was an adorable girl.
The man belonging to the voice then rushed past Chinaka before she could get a look at his face. All she saw was the back of a tall broad shouldered man, with brown hair in dire need of a haircut. Chinaka, the crowd and the young girl stared at the man tromping through the muddy location set yelling to everyone around him, “GET ME OLIVER OR SOMEBODY DIES!!”
The drama over, the crowd dispersed and the set went back to its usual hustle and bustle.
The girl turned back to Chinaka who was still nailed to her spot. “My, my. He is breathtaking, don’tcha think, Chinaka? Stood up for you like he was your lover – and didn’t you land in the honey pot – he’s a producer, too! You can’t act worth crap, Chinaka, but you’re gonna be a star.” The girl held her hands up, thumbs and forefingers framing Chinaka’s face in an imaginary camera lens.
“Wow, if only you could find a man like that in real life, imagine what you could do – besides him, of course. If you ever see him, you better be as fatale a femme as you can, dearie.” Chinaka was startled to feel the girl’s hand softly curling into hers. The child’s voice whispered up to her, gentle as clouds, “Now, wake up, Chinaka…wake up…wake up…wake up…wake up.”
*****
“MMMMmmmm!” Chinaka stretched her arms out and twisted her body to awake herself. She sat up in bed and looked out of her window. It looked like Disney had ordered the view. The sun was shining brightly, big puffy clouds drifted lazily by the frame of her window and the sweetest bird sat on her sill chirping a delightful tune. Chinaka took in a deep breath and let it out in a satisfied sigh. She threw back the covers, swung her feet to the floor and stretched again. This was going to be a great day.
mariah and ryan lay off
***** Tuesday, August 16, 2005, 1 am *****
Ryan greedily drank the vial of potion before him and settled down on the pillows strewn on the floor. In moments he would be back in the dream, back with Daye, seducing her once again. He had come to need these nightly sessions as much as he wanted them. The more time he spent in the dream, the less his hunger plagued him. As he closed his eyes, his face and body reverted to his demon form, and the Night Walker slept.
*****
Ryan stood in Mariah’s temple, neither she nor Daye anywhere to be found. He didn’t know what was going on. Mariah usually was waiting when he came, ready to guide him to Daye’s dreams, to begin to manipulate her. Tonight he stood alone, and he had no idea where Mariah was. As Ryan waited, his impatience grew. He began to pace angrily about the temple, glaring into the darkened corners. After an endless, frustrating wait, Mariah skipped into the room. She was cheery, her smile beguiling and beautiful. Ryan rushed over to her, full of fury.
“Where have you been?!” he demanded.
Mariah glanced up at him, surprised. Her expression grew cold. “I was busy, Night Walker,” she sneered. “You have no right to question me. I do not work for you.”
Ryan’s dark silver eyes gleamed in his face. He could not believe this insolent child. They had an agreement. “Maybe not,” he growled, “but I have work to do, and I need you to get it done. We are supposed to be turning Daye, or have you forgotten?”
Mariah shook her head, her expression deadly. “I forget nothing,” she hissed. “I am busy tonight; actually I shall be busy for a while. If you can’t get to the girl during the day, then we’ll just have to lay off for a while, won’t we? If I don’t take care of the Brotherhood, then your work will have no meaning. Do you understand me?”
Ryan nodded, once, decisively. He was seething, but he could sense the anger and power growing in Mariah. It would be foolish to test her patience, especially here in this place where she was ultimately in control. “Yes,” he cultured his tone to be more pleasant. “I understand, Mother. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. You are, of course, right. We must do this the right way. Thank you for showing me my error. How long do you need? When should I come back to you?”
Mariah looked pensive for a moment. Then she smiled brilliantly. “Give me a week or so,” she replied. “I should have new information soon, and if I’m correct, we may be able to complete the project with your lover sooner than we thought. I will come to you when I am ready to resume the visits.”
Mariah turned from him and stepped up to her dais. She was dismissing Ryan and he knew it, but he dared not show any anger or annoyance. He needed this little bitch, but he would not always need her.
Ryan turned and left the room, striding into the light.
*****
Ryan sat up in his darkened apartment and glanced at the clock above the television. It was still early, only about 2. He rose and resumed his human face, hunger suddenly gnawing at him. Grabbing his coat, Ryan left the apartment in search of something to tame the beast within.
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
* 6:30pm Monday 15th August - 1am Tuesday 16th August *
After the meeting with Victor, Sorrow took a cab to his apartment. Once there he took a shower and washed the day's grime from his flesh. He inspected the long, slightly pinkish line that ran across his chest and, though there was still a little tightness as the skin pulled, it was much better than it had been that morning. Sorrow smiled at himself in the mirror. Another day, two at most, and even this reminder would be gone. The smiled vanished, *I should never have let that vampire get so close.* An inch deeper and Sorrow would have been in significant danger.
Sorrow put on a set of sweats and walked into his training room. Against one wall was his Kenjutsu equipment, comprising a bokken and a variety of iaito and katana. Sorrow stood in the centre of the mat, took a couple of slow cleansing breaths then began. Starting with T'ai Chi to loosen the body, the slow meditative motions stilled Sorrow's churning mind, as the concerns of the day steadily faded to inconsequentiality. Hovering within a network of energy flows while his body continued his exercises seemingly unattended, Sorrow's awareness slipped amongst the web effortlessly, smoothing the flow here, tightening a connection there. His daily routine had maintained the balance, but here and there he found snarls, eddies and blockages, especially amongst the artificial channels that represented the power of D'Nethk'Quan. He smoothed out the snarls, calmed the eddies and dissolved the blockages, leaving behind a blazing matrix of power. His skin was covered in a faint sheen of sweat when Sorrow's eyes opened. Momentarily at rest while he focused his senses, Sorrow then moved explosively into his empty hand training.
He started simply, flowing through basic kicks and punches, then building on these basics to move through increasingly complicated chains of strikes. His hyper aware senses reported each tiny misstep, every slight overbalance, and as the program progressed, he returned again to the basics and corrected his errors, never repeating exactly the same sequences of strikes, avoiding predictability, building spontaneity. Sorrow finally returned to stillness, breathing heavily, sweat dripping from his body. He moved into a warm down period, keeping himself limber as he let his heart slow and calm. When he was ready, he went to the swords and took down an iaito. Tying the blade to his waist, Sorrow returned to the centre of the room and again sought a moment of stillness. That stillness ended not with an explosion but with measured calm as Sorrow smoothly drew his blade and began the kata. He moved with perfect clarity, delivering each blow with absolute certainty. Eventually he switched the iaito to a shoulder sheath and continued the kata until his arms, wrists and back were afire. Sheathing the blade for the final time he stood, waited for a moment, then returned the training sword to its place on the wall.
Sorrow performed a much longer set of cool down exercises then took a second, almost scalding shower. After getting dressed, he armed himself and went out into the night.
*******************
Sorrow had no intention of engaging in a significant hunt, even with his magical advantages such a strenuous period of exercise had tired him, but he did want to kill at least one possibly two vampires and an appreciation for where they laired in the city was always helpful. With that in mind, he had found a cemetery about half an hour away from his apartment. It was late, after midnight, so hopefully few if any vampires would be around. Sorrow drifted amongst the headstones like a wraith and despite the scent of death that clung everywhere somehow he knew that vampires laired in three of the crypts. None of them however were occupied, their owners no doubt out hunting in the city.
Sorrow moved on, taking time to note where the darkened alleys were, the little nooks and shadowed alcoves that could hide a vampire and its meal. Some time later Sorrow found what he was looking for. A single vampire, young to judge from its clothes, was stalking a couple. He shadowed the trio for about ten minutes and when he was certain of their path dashed down a side street to get ahead of them. When the demon surprised its prey and dragged the young woman into an alley, Sorrow was waiting. He uncapped a bottle of holy water and splashed the contents across the vampire and its prey. The demon thrust the young woman from him and howled as the water ate into its skin.
"Now I have your attention."
The blood drinker switched to game face and rushed Sorrow, who hadn't drawn his mystic blade, nor did he have a stake to hand. Instead he sidestepped the rush, entangled the vampire's legs with one of his own and shoved its shoulder. It went down in a sprawl; Sorrow stepped back to give himself room and smiled tightly at his prey. Sorrow had no doubt if Tash could see him now she'd accuse him of risk taking, but this was more the practise Sorrow was so badly in need of.
The vampire rose and attacked, trading blows with Sorrow, who despite the monster's strength and speed easily held his own. Slowly Sorrow's greater skill began to show; for all the vampire's instinctive understanding of how to fight it couldn't match Sorrow's skill. Two quick jabs stunned the vampire for a second, giving Sorrow the time and space to unleash a kick into the vampire's midriff. As it staggered backwards, Sorrow pressed his advantage. A trio of blows kept the vampire reeling and Sorrow pulled out a stake.
The vampire was not quite ready to die however, and seeing death in his attacker's hand it surged forwards. Knocking Sorrow's thrust aside it growled and drove a clumsy but powerful blow into his jaw. Sorrow barely had a chance to roll with the punch and the blow knocked him off his feet and across the alley. The vampire was on him in seconds using its weight and greater strength to pin him to the ground. It growled in victory.
"Hunter...hunted, time to die."
The vampire reared back as Sorrow's last-ditch headbutt caught it full on the nose. Though the blow lacked real power or leverage it freed Sorrow's hands. Twisting his hips as his hands thrust at the vampire Sorrow managed to roll away. Sorrow came to his feet with Hizashi in his hands. *Time to stop playing with this thing.* The vampire moved warily; in its experience swords weren't supposed to glow and despite the impossibility of it the feel of the light on its skin made it itch as if it were the last dying rays of the sunset.
Taking advantage of the vampire's caution Sorrow glided forward, feinted, then disembowelled it. Sorrow watched the growing horror on the vampire's face as it collapsed into dust from the stomach. Sorrow sheathed his blade.
*Next time use the sword from the beginning!*
Twinkle twinkle little dream...
He strode confidently through his dream. He strode confidently through everywhere. It wasn't a particularly interesting dream. He was in a house. It seemed vaguely familiar. But maybe he had not seen the building from this angle before. The sourceless lighting of the corridors started to fade, making him edgy in the darkened passageway. He wondered why he could find no one else.
Just then he heard a noise. He concentrated and listened until he recognised it as the sound of a child's music box. Its twinkling tune, although merry, could not help but be chilling. He began to track down the sound. It seemed to come from the end of the corridor. He sped his pace towards it, although this did not seem to decrease the time it took him to get there. The darkened ending was always too far away.
He turned back to see how far he had come. This wasn't obvious because he had not looked behind him at the start, and the passageway seemed to go forever in the other direction, the marker-less walls showing him no milestone. The music was louder now. He remembered it as an old nursery rhyme he had heard long ago. Its tune was continuous and melodic, coming round to play the morbidly sparkly little tune again and again. He turned round, only to find his nose almost toughing the door he had earlier been trying to reach. Then above the music box came another sound, high and piercing, the brief laughter of a small child. His hand moved to touch the door handle and…
He woke up. He was sweating and breathing heavily, his heart beating up a mean drum riff in his chest. He looked in the bed beside him. The young woman was sleeping peacefully, her golden locks draped around the pillow like spun gold. He took a look at her to make sure she was asleep and then got out of bed. He dressed and took a handful of things and shoved them in the pocket of his long coat. With that, he walked out the front door. He had been itching to do this for a while now. It was time to move on.
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
Tuesday, August 16, 2005. Early morning.
With Kristen playing Mariah
-------------------------------------------
Though sitting on a park bench in the quietude of his mind, Sam knew that this must be the building on Poplar Avenue wherein he labored and lived. He’d been moping around the second floor all shift long, not once considering his duties as janitor. Just hangin’, he was, daydreaming himself into harmony. No rush. Tranquility was here, and it wasn’t going bye-bye. It lifted him high. Next stop: Heaven, mother. What a rush.
Rush, Sam, rush. Then he remembered his job. In six hours, he had polished nothing but the bench. T’was five minutes to quittin’ time, which meant he had to get fast to work. See Sam Rush. But he found that he couldn’t stand up from the park bench, and the mop was no longer where he left it on the grassy loam. He couldn’t remember which chemical to use on the floor of the spacious training room. He couldn’t remember anything.
Thumper the Magic Mop floated into his hand. The time clock “whumped” away the minutes, and Sam was sitting up now, he was standing now, now he was mopping, he was mopping, he was fretting. Time was bleeding. The floor was made of driftwood and chewing gum. He fought it, he fought it, the strands of his mop catching under the splinters, and he kept remembering. He was remembering all the chores he’d clean forgot about, a list growing large. Mr. Tek was standing behind him, growing larger, cracking his fiery tongue over Sam’s shoulder: “You’re late, you’re late, you disappoint me, son, I’m putting you up for adoption, get out of my building, sleep outside on the unloving street, dateless, penniless, motherless.”
Stop, Sam, stop!
Because none of this was real. It had only been a dream.
He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly at the blue stars. He sat up. He could barely see through the chirping night. But it wasn’t night. The black sun hung directly overhead, making the world purple. Midday was here. Right off Sam knew something was out of place because he smelled licorice. He tasted the awful clingy grossness of black licorice. He never ate licorice.
Why oh why was the Griffith Observatory singing in its toony car alarm voice?
A light hit his retina, so bright it made a terrible clang, the thump of an industrial time clock. “Come home, Sam, come home,” a voice said.
Sam’s eyes were finally, finally opening to a sun that really was the sun. It was, wasn’t it? He was awake? He squinted. He sat up, growing certain that he no longer was dreaming, though there was indeed a car alarm playing boisterously off yonder. Sinuses still clinched by the imagined smell of licorice, Sam dropped both feet to the brick walkway. He was in Griffith Park. This was his favorite bench. How odd to have nodded off like that. Dreaming about dreaming unsettled Sam, because it made him question his waking life. “Row, row, row your boat,” he murmured. He was glad to—though his head was swimming—be cognizant and still employed. Mr. Tek had never been there, though Sam could smell the man’s cologne lurking in the licorice scent. Thankfully, dreams were not reality. Unfortunately, that meant his dreams of tranquility had been unrealistic too. Wouldn’t it be nice, he thought, if it were possible to half-waken; that is, consciously bring the good dreams with him while leaving the bad parts to never mind? Real life was returning, and Sam felt heavier.
The air was nippy.
Yes, he was awake and this was actuality; a yellow sun, children laughing in the playground, and of course dolphins sailing through the shallow grass. The golden path under his feet was shimmering. It lead far away, and Sam used his hand for a visor… he saw a sparkling city in the distance, silver-ish spires against an emerald horizon. He marveled at a sudden urge to be there, because there was no place like home.
A little girl pranced by, a girl he knew. She had herself a shiny red ball, of which she beamed proudly but did not bounce, not once. She stopped and looked at Sam, holding the ball close. She was his friend, more than a friend.
“Hi,” he said, ashamed to look at her. “Hi, Mom. Am I fired?”
Mariah smiled warmly at Sam, her expression affectionate and forgiving. "Silly boy," she said, tucking her ball under her arm. It was shiny and the exact same color as her pretty, frilly, velvet dress. When Mariah smiled two dimples danced in her cheeks and her dark blue eyes sparkled. "I can't fire you. I need you, Sam. You're the only one who can help me. You do want to help me, don't you?"
Mariah's smile turned uncertain. She watched Sam closely, the beginnings of tears swimming in her eyes.
Janitorial work became a distant scene, not forgotten, but not a part of his life. His mother’s tears, however, were present and dangerous. “Of course I want to help you, Mom. I’d do anything for you. You’re my mom, my mother. My Mariah.”
Mariah beamed at him, all trace of sadness disappearing at his words. "Good," she said, sitting next to Sam on the bench. "That's very good, Sam. You care about Mother, don't you? So many of the others care more about themselves. You're different. I like that. I need that. I need you, Sam. I need you to take care of me. Can you take care of me, Sam?"
He’d never been asked to take care of someone before. “But, Mother… I… I will. I promise. What do you want me to do?”
"Play with me, Sam," Mariah grinned, and suddenly they were sitting on the swings. Calliope music played nearby and a clown was passing out balloons to the others in the park. Mariah and Sam started to swing, higher and higher. Mariah laughed. She spoke, her words soft in Sam's ear. "You'll play with me all the time, right?"
He looked down into her face, her soft cheeks poised, and he felt warm. The air had tightened around him, chasing the gooseflesh back into the skin. An encompassing sensation of love rose up into his chest and neck, and he floated there.
“Momma?” he heard himself say, “can I have a balloon?”
Mariah and Sam stood before the clown, his brightly painted face grotesque as he leered at them. "Yes," she said, nodding to the clown. He handed Sam a balloon. "It floats," the clown hissed. Mariah took hold of Sam's hand, her small fingers gripped in his large ones. She gazed up at him, full of love and laughter. Her dark eyes were rich with knowledge. "Soon, Sam," she said conspiratorially, "I will be free from this strange place. Will you walk with me then?"
“Guide me. I’ll always be here…” The pitch of his voice was rising in steps. He held the balloon with great pride. He’d do anything for Mom, right? Anything?
“Always,” he said.
Mariah nodded in satisfaction. Sam would do just fine. He had no ambitions other than to please. He was just what she'd been looking for. Now, was he smart enough to accomplish what she needed? Could she get rid of Wyatt so soon?
"Sam," Mariah said, "I have something I need your help with. Can you help Mother?"
They floated along, the underwater sounds of the unexplored sea accompanying them. "I will, I promise. Just say you love me.."
"Of course, I love you, Sam," Mariah crooned. She was sitting on a red, silk strewn dais, Sam's head resting in her lap as she stroked his hair. "You're my best guy. You're going to have to be very smart, though, Sam. I know you can. You will remember everything I ask you to do and do it just so, won't you?"
Sam stared into the luster of the balloon. He was thinking, "Yes." He looked at Mother, knowing she had heard him. He said, "I'm ready."
Mariah smiled down at him. She nodded indulgently. "Yes," she said. "Yes, Sam, you are. I want you to come to the Brotherhood soon. Do you understand? Soon, you must come to them. They will be ready. They will need you. You will lead your brothers, Brother Sam. You will help to midwife Mother into this world. Won't you like that, my darling Sam?"
Mariah leaned forward to brush a soft, gentle kiss on Sam's temple. Her touch was cool and soothing.
Sam allowed the sensation to linger. He was nodding, pacified like a baby in the arms of Mother. “How will I know where to find my brothers?
"You know," Mariah replied, placing her hand on his forehead. Suddenly, he did. "I will come to you again soon. We will go to the birthplace, Sam. I will show you my world. Then I will teach you what you need to know. Soon, I will be born unto you, Sam. Then we will always be together. Won't that be wonderful?"
She was beginning to fade. "Don't go, Mother,” he said, “don't go back to Dad. Dad hates us."
"No, Sam," Mariah said softly, "not back to Dad. But I have to go. It's tiring this way. That's why you have to help me to be born. So I can be with you always. This is too hard. I can't keep it up for long. Only after my birth will I be able to stay with you. That's why you have to go to the Brotherhood. They need you as I need you. Soon, I promise, Sam."
"Okay." His bottom lip was protruding. "I-I love you, Mother. Good-bye. I won’t let you and Dad down again. I will do everything you ask.”
Everything, anything, always.
Daye gets a late night call
Daye was sleeping deeply when the phone rang, waking her. Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, she groaned. The glowing green numbers read 2:07. Outside the closed bedroom window darkness covered the city. Daye rolled over and grabbed the phone receiver as it continued to shrill.
“Hello?” Daye’s voice was hoarse with sleep.
“Miss Blaise?” The voice on the other end was one that Daye did not recognize, but it was an official sounding one.
“Yes, this is Amanda Blaise,” Daye replied. “Is there something wrong?”
Daye sat up pushing the tangle of long, red curls from her face. Despite the fact that she had only been asleep for few hours, she felt better rested than she had in a while.
”There’s been a break in at your shop,” the man explained. ”I’m with the security company. We need you to come down and take a look. There doesn’t appear to have been anything taken. We think the alarm scared them off.”
Daye nodded, yawning sleepily. She threw back the covers and slipped out of bed, padding towards the closet with the phone pressed between ear and shoulder.
“I’ll come right down,” Daye said. “I can be there in about 20 minutes.”
”All right, ma’am,” the security officer said. Daye hung up the phone, throwing the cordless receiver back on the bed. She pulled a pair of well worn jeans and a soft blue sweater out of the closet and took them into the bathroom. Daye splashed some cold water on her face and pulled on the clothes, draping her cream silk negligee over the towel rack. With any luck, she’d be able to climb back into it before too long.
Daye made it to the shop in record time, luckily not running into any trouble along the way. When she arrived at Bibliophile, there were two security patrol cars parked in front and a small group of uniformed men stood by the front door with notepads open. Daye approached them.
“Excuse me,” she called out. The men glanced up at her and one, a young man with golden blonde hair and a surfer boy look, detached himself from the group to come over to where Daye was standing.
“Are you Miss Blaise?” the man asked, his gaze raking her speculatively. Daye noticed his appreciative smile, and for some reason, it tickled her.
“Yes, I am, Officer …?” Daye let the question hang in the air.
“I’m Officer Doyle,” the man replied. “If you’d follow me, we just want to show you the security tapes and make sure that there isn’t anything missing inside.”
Daye followed the man into the shop. They stopped inside the door and Daye could see someone had begun searching for something. There were books strewn across the floor, ripped from the usually neatly stocked shelves in an obvious hurry. Daye was dismayed at the mess. She didn’t have the energy to clean the place up herself, so she would have to leave it for tomorrow and the shop would not be open in the morning.
Daye quickly searched through the things on the floor and made a short perusal of the rest of the shop. Standing and brushing herself off, she turned her attention back to Officer Doyle. “I don’t think anything is missing,” she said. “I’ll have to clean this all up in the morning, and I’ll have a better idea then.”
Doyle nodded, making some notes. “All right. Well,” he gestured towards the back room, “if you’ll follow me, we have a tape of the break in. It was probably random punks looking to score something they could sell for drug money, but…”
Daye understood. She followed the man into the back of the shop and sat down on the sofa while he turned on the television and VCR. Daye leaned forward, watching the grainy video closely. She gasped when she caught sight of the thieves. They were people she recognized. Well, maybe not people, but rather creatures, vampires. Jem and the Black Veins to be precise.
“Do you know them, ma’am?” Officer Doyle asked. He was watching her intently.
Daye glanced up at him, having nearly forgotten he was standing there. “Oh,” she said, schooling her features to hide her surprised recognition, “no, I don’t. Of course I don’t. I don’t associate with criminals as a general rule.”
The security guard blushed at her arch tone. “Right,” he nodded. “Well, then, you’re free to go. We’re pretty much done here. One of us will come by in the morning to make sure nothing was stolen.”
Daye nodded, rising to shake the hand Officer Doyle extended to her. “Thank you, Officer,” she said. Daye followed him out of the office and waited while he and his crew gathered up their things. Once they had everything together, the men departed. Daye waited until they had driven out of sight, then surveyed the damage once more. There was a lot to do, but glancing at her watch showed her it was nearly 3 am. She really needed to get home and get some more sleep. She would have to call Joshua early and tell him what had happened. They would have to fix the place up before they could open tomorrow.
Daye locked the shop, double checked the door, and headed out into the dark street, more than ready to get back to bed.
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
Victor strode purposefully down the street carrying his bags. He fell into that angry stride that all those who have a heavy heart get. A steady rhythm of steps that echoed the thoughts in his head, it punctuated all of the voices arguing at once looking to place blame or divert the pain of his actions.
*Her fault needs help nothing I could do should have eaten her when she is ready why didn't I stop her better off without her what else could I do she is hurting too why not go back fuck her.*
A car pulled alongside Victor. It paced him for a while. Victor saw it; he was just trying to ignore it. When he reached the end of the block he set down his bags and turned to the driver. "What!" he barked at the man.
"Whoa! Not trying to butt in, pal, but you look like a guy on hard times, and I thought I'd offer you a ride."
The driver, a rugged looking black man, smiled and pointed at the empty passenger seat of the sedan. "I was where you are, pal, not that long ago. Consider it paying back the universe for getting me through it. You don't even have to say it, I can tell. She threw you out."
Victor was almost ready to argue with him, and then thought about what was going on. Here was someone genuinely trying to help. He didn't mind walking, it wasn't that far, but the ride would make it easier to think.
Victor nodded. He placed the bags in the back seat and walked around to get in the car. He opened the passenger door and the man picked up a sawed-off shotgun from the seat and pointed it at Victor. "Tag. You're it."
The gun exploded and threw Victor into the street. The man peeled tires, pulled forward and slammed on the brakes about eight feet away. Victor was starting to stand up as the car backed up and slammed bumper first into his head. He slipped beneath the tires as the car rolled over him.
He rolled in the street as the car cleared him. He stopped, poised to pounce as he faced the headlights of the car. The man revved the engine. Victor charged the car. The car retreated and whipped around into a bootlegger turn and fled down the street.
*That must be Xavier,* Victor thought as he stood and brushed himself off. *And he stole my bags. Dammit!* He was mad at himself, mad at Tash, mad at Xavier and he was just plain mad.
Victor wasn't in any mood to track the hunter but he had shown his style. This was a hunter who counted coup. He had one point and Victor didn't want to allow him another one. Xavier would keep coming and scoring points until he could make the kill.
Victor surveyed the damage from the shotgun. He had a deep score mark across his chest from the slug. Had the shotgun not been sawed off it would have probably penetrated his armor.
Xavier was alone this time but that didn't mean he didn't have allies. He was probably watching the house and had been taken by surprise by Victor's departure. He had just taken the opportunity presented. *That’s why he didn't have a high-powered rifle or holy water prepared.*
*I need… a hug? A snack? A new face.*
He hated to go back into hiding again. He really hated to lose this disguise as well. *Nothing I can do about it at this hour. Best bet is to lay low and see about approaching it in the morning.*
Bultmann Towers loomed over the dark street. Victor pulled out the key he had kept since February and unlocked the glass doors. Inside, a security man Victor had never see before looked up at him, "Can I help you sir?" he said.
Victor looked down at his tattered shirt then back at the man, "No, just having a rough night. I'll be staying here a while. If anyone asks for me, Victor Tek, then you don't know me. There are only two people I want to see if they come looking.
"The first is Natasha Brookes. Yes, write that down. The second is Tristan Barrington. Anyone else, and I do mean anyone, and I am not here and you don't know who I am."
The man dutifully recorded everything but as Victor started to head to the elevators he held up a hand for Victor to wait. "Sir, that fine and I'll be happy to honor your instructions. But could you please supply some ID as well?"
Victor didn't drive, and he had never been asked for identification before. He didn't have any. People didn't ask Victor for ID; they did what they were told. Victor turned and looked the young muscular man in the eye. "You witnessed me open that door with this key. If you want to follow me to the penthouse I will use this key to open that door. And once I have shown you the contents of the closet and demonstrated for you that the clothing in said penthouse is indeed mine, then I will kick you in your ass and send you back to your desk where you can keep out the people that I asked you to keep out… namely everyone except those two names I gave you."
As he spoke, he stepped closer and closer to the desk until he was next to the desk, then he proceeded to push the desk towards the wall behind it. He didn't waver or show any signs of effort, and the guard scooted his chair at first, but soon was out of it and backing up trying to avoid tripping over the chair until he had to move or be crushed.
"Are we clear?" asked Victor.
"C-c-c-clear sir. Welcome home."
Victor huffed, spun around and went back to the elevators.
***
The next morning, Victor rode the elevator down to the lobby and headed out. He had thought he would call on Kate. She had provided a passable glamour the last time he needed one and hoped she might be able to cook up a good one to replace this one. Perhaps there were magics to alter the appearance of a glamour. He didn't know. Much of magic was pretty colors and arcane gestures to him. *Much like computers,* he thought with a chuckle.
In the street he started to hail a cab when a sparkle from a nearby building caught his eye. Victor jumped to one side as the concrete of the sidewalk kicked up dust and chips and left a sizeable divot in its place. *Sniper!* The move had come before the thought. Victor darted across the street dodging cars with blaring horns and into the building where the shot had originated. By the time he reached the roof, the sniper had gone. He had left a calling card, however: a chalk 'X'.
*This guy will be a lot of trouble. Each time it is a test. Each time it is a match between us. He sees me as a target, and I am not seeing him as a predator but as an annoyance. That will change. Now.*
Victor headed down the stairs and back into the street, another human mingling with the herd. But he could feel the predator watching him. He could feel its eyes upon him. He had not been hunted like this in a long, long time.
*Feels good.*
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
Tuesday, 16th August 2005 - 3:30am
Tash drifted on a sea of pain. Her skull felt as though it had been split open like a watermelon. Bright lights stabbed her eyes and she could just make out the corner of a building. Slowly her brain registered that it looked familiar. Home. She frowned. How had she come to be here, lying outside her apartment building? She vaguely recalled a sensation of movement, of being carried. Pat? Why did Pat's face come to mind? She dreamt he'd rescued her. *Who was it really?* she wondered.
The effort of keeping her eyes open became too great and she closed them against the agony lancing through her head. Maybe she could just have a nice nap.
Daye walked briskly home from the shop, tired and frustrated. *Why would those idiots break into Bibliophile?* she wondered. *What were they looking for?*
Daye was deep in thought when she came upon the Poplar building. She almost missed seeing the person lying out front. Cautiously, Daye approached the still figure, wary that this was some sort of trick or trap. Daye came up to the figure on the ground and bent slowly down. She gasped at the sight that greeted her. There lay Tash, covered in bruises and blood and unconscious. Gently, Daye reached out and shook the other woman's shoulder.
"Tash?" she spoke softly, "are you awake? What happened?"
Very faintly, Tash could hear her name being called. But she was so warm and cosy here, she didn't want to move to answer it. Then the voice came again, more insistent. She said, "Go away and let me sleep," but it came out of her mouth as "Mrrmmmm."
Daye considered what she should do. Tash was really messed up. She needed to be healed, but this was not the place to attempt it. Victor would probably be inside anyway, so it would be best to take Tash up to her apartment. Deciding, Daye picked Tash up and hurried inside the building. *Heavier than you might think,* Daye thought, struggling to get her friend up the stairs to her apartment. Once they had reached the door Daye set Tash down and knocked, waiting for Victor to let them in.
After a few moments, Daye began to wonder if Victor was even there. She placed her hands on the door and cast a quick spell to sense who was inside. To her surprise, the apartment was empty. "Where could Victor be at this time of night?" Daye wondered aloud, bending down to begin to search Tash for a key to the apartment.
Someone was searching in her pockets, Tash was sure of it. What was that? Victor?? She heard his name, but it was a woman talking. She tried to bat away the hand that was rummaging through her clothing, opening her eyes a mere slit. All she could see was a large blurry shape. "Mrmmphh," she groaned as she tried to tell whoever it was to fuck off and leave her alone. Was that shape Victor? Maybe he'd come back? Why would she think that? Oh. Yes... he'd gone. Run off and left her. "Z'you V'rrr?" she asked.
Daye couldn't really understand what Tash was saying. She thought maybe she was asking about Victor. Daye came upon the keys. "Tash," she said, rising to unlock the door, "it's me, Daye. I don't know where Victor is. I'm going to get you inside and take care of you. Don't worry."
Daye managed to get the door unlocked and open. She bent and struggled to pick Tash up once again, stumbling inside and laying the other woman on the floor inside. The interior of the apartment was very dark. Daye turned away to close the door and tripped over something large near the door. She swore loudly, just managing not to fall over. Daye shut the door and searched around, quickly finding the light switch. With the light on, Daye could see that the object was a large stone slab with a paper taped to it. Daye saw no sign of Victor anywhere, but she saw no sign of trouble either.
Daye turned back to Tash, wincing at the sight of her in the harsh light. She was worse off than Daye had guessed outside. Sighing, Daye picked Tash up off the floor and deposited her on the nearby sofa. Daye bent over her and examined Tash carefully.
The worst of Tash's injuries appeared to be the one on the back of her head. Blood was oozing from that and a lot had caked and tangled in her hair. Daye sat back, opening her spell pouch. She removed a number of herbs and quickly began to mash them together in her hands. Finally, when she was satisfied, Daye eased Tash up and placed the poultice she'd prepared on the wound. Then Daye placed her hands over it and closed her eyes, sending her will forth to heal Tash.
Tash was feeling quite distressed. Her head hurt and someone kept jostling her. She couldn't seem to make her limbs move or make herself understood. Then a soft lassitude crept over her and the pain began to subside a little. Her anxiety faded with the pain and after a few minutes she felt she could open her eyes fully. The bright light stabbed through her eyeballs and pierced the back of her brain, but she could discern the shape in front of her a little better.
"Daye?" she croaked. Her eyes rolled with the effort of keeping them open. "Wha' h'pened?"
Daye let go of Tash's head, nearly tumbling off the couch. She felt completely drained. That was one of the biggest healings she'd done in a long time. *Actually, I don't think I've ever healed anything that bad before,* Daye mused. *My magic is a lot stronger than it used to be.*
"I'm not sure, Tash," Daye replied. She rose slowly to her feet and moved to sit on the floor. "I found you outside on the stoop. You were unconscious. And Victor's not here."
Victor. Fresh tears welled in Tash's eyes. She could remember the fight they'd had. The stupid, horrible things she'd said. And the things he'd said. She slowly raised an arm to shield her eyes from the glare in the room. "He's gone, Daye..." The tears fell silently down her cheeks. After all the crying she'd done tonight she didn't think there could be any more, but they ran down her face in rivulets.
Daye's eyes grew round at the sight of this tough-as-nails vampire hunter crying on the sofa. "Gone?" Daye repeated. "Wha... where... I don't understand. Where did he go? What happened?"
Tash drew a deep, shuddering breath and tried to hold onto the feeling of calm that Daye's healing had engendered. "He left me. Simple as that. I was upset, and went out to hunt..." Tash tried to recall the night's events after she left the flat. "I guess I was too distracted. Got surprised. Dunno after that..." She preferred to think about the vampires. It was a much safer topic than Victor. If she thought about him too much, she knew she'd break down completely again.
"Oh, Tash," Daye's face was filled with sympathy. "Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry. That's hard."
Daye considered for a moment. Tash was clearly a mess. She could probably use someone to talk to. Daye stood up. "Let me get you a cup of tea, and then you can tell me what's going on."
She hurried into the kitchen and quickly brewed up some tea, adding herbs for healing and calming effect. She came back into the living room and found Tash still lying on the sofa with her arm thrown across her face.
“Here," Daye said, setting the teacup on the coffee table. "Now, what happened? What could you possibly have fought about to cause Victor to leave? I mean, you're soulmates."
Tash sighed. Daye wasn't going to let this go. She drew another deep breath. Might as well get this over with. She squinted against the bright light at Daye and started.
"He's been trying to get me to cut down on my hunting lately. He has some crazy notion about it all. But tonight he told me someone was in town hunting him. Then he said - well, he thought it, really - that this was a good chance for him to leave me. I heard that thought. And he gave me some bullshit about wanting to protect me from this other hunter, and give me space to work out why I can't stop hunting. But I could feel he didn't mean to come back, and he never said he would come back. He's gone and I need him... I don't know how to stop feeling the way I feel when I hunt. But all he wants to do is lecture me. And I love him so much, but he's gone and if he doesn't get himself killed by this guy it won't matter 'cause he's not returning anyway..." Tash's babble died as she inhaled a lungful of air and the words caught in her throat. She tried to continue, but couldn't for the cascade of tears.
Daye didn't respond at first. She sat back and digested what Tash had said. Victor was a demon, but she had seen them together. It hadn't seemed to her that he would want to hurt Tash in any way. And Tash was really emotional, more so than Daye had ever seen her. Even after she'd nearly been devoured by the weird old witch and her snake, Tash had been less upset. Losing someone you loved was really hard, but Daye had a sense that Tash's feelings were really out of control right now.
Daye stood up and came over to where Tash sat sobbing. She gently pulled the other woman into her arms and spoke soothingly to her. "Tash, you have to get yourself under control," Daye said. "This isn't good for you."
"Oh, Daye," Tash sobbed, "What am I going to do?" She sniffed, and tried to think more rationally. "The main issue is the hunting. It's been getting crazy lately, Daye. I used to be so calm when I faced vampires. Now it's..." she finished in a whisper, “it's like I look forward to it. Get excited by it." Tash swallowed. "I know he's worried, but I get angry when he talks about it." Thinking back to Saturday night and her fight with Sorrow, she added, "Or anyone else, for that matter."
She looked at the tall redhead, "Tonight was the first time for ages that I didn't care about the fight. But this wasn't like the old way. Victor's gone. I just felt empty tonight."
Daye's concern grew steadily at Tash's words. She had heard about Slayers who lost their cool, who became addicted to the adrenaline rush of the kill. Those girls inevitably drove themselves harder and harder until they ended up making foolish mistakes and getting killed. Daye didn't want Tash to do the same. "Let me guess," Daye said. "You go out to hunt a lot more now than you used to, right? Every night, maybe? It's like an addiction, you know. And you're not the first person this has ever happened to."
Tash grabbed onto that as a drowning person would grab a straw. So there was something else. Victor and Sorrow were wrong. There was a reason for her feeling the way she felt that had nothing to do with voodoo. She looked at Daye through her drying tears and nodded.
"Yes, every night. Except last night. Victor…" her voice caught in her throat at the mere mention of his name. "I agreed not to go hunting last night and we went out instead." Her shoulders slumped, "But I wanted to go hunt." Tash closed her eyes against the residual pain for a minute before continuing, "But you say this happens? To Slayers, I presume? How? Why? What do you do to fix it?"
Daye nodded, her face a mixture of concern and sympathy. In the past, rogue Slayers - ones that went off their training and began to kill for pleasure - had been imprisoned by the Council. Sometimes, they could work through their problems, but sometimes they couldn't. Daye recalled with shame that not all Slayers died fighting off vampires or demons. Still, she'd read the files of more than one Slayer. She knew a bit about this.
"Yes, there have been Slayers in the past who have been overcome by 'bloodlust.' Sometimes, they manage to regain control. But invariably this is caused by something, some event, some ordeal usually, which puts terrible emotional strain on the girl."
Tash stared at Daye for a second, then sagged back on the couch. The anger tried to flare, but she was too tired, too battered, and too drained emotionally and physically to give in to it. She'd clearly picked up Daye's thought as the woman had spoken of ordeals.
"You think it has to do with that witch, too, don't you?" She shook her head, then regretted the move as it made the room spin slightly. "It can't be. I've refused to think about all that evil." She glared at Daye balefully. "You're all wrong," she whispered.
Daye sighed. Before Tash could hope to get any better, she needed to acknowledge all that had happened to her this summer in the clearing. She needed to admit that she had been abused and overpowered. "Tash, you sound angry, and you look angry," Daye began. "You have every reason to be angry. But not at me. I was there, remember. I put my ass on the line to save you. So did Victor and so did Galen. If we don't want to see you throw your life away, there's a reason for that. We all care about you. Right now, maybe more than you care about yourself."
Daye paused, unsure if she should continue. But, she couldn't see the point in letting it go there. "This summer, in that clearing, you were nearly killed. Brutally. And you were violated. The things you thought you knew about your life, about your past, they were forever altered. That's a big deal. It's bound to have emotional ramifications. So, yes, this is about that witch. And you have to acknowledge that if you hope to get your life back together."
Daye paused once more, taking a deep breath. She plunged on. "Because, right now, you don't have much of one, do you? Victor's left you, you're lying here, badly beaten, and part of you is probably wishing that you were still out on the hunt. That part of you is always wishing you were out on the hunt. No matter where you are, or what you are doing. What kind of life is that, Tash? What kind of joy is in it? The Slayers who became obsessed with the hunt never lived too long after that. Sometimes, vampires got the better of them, true. But sometimes, the lust for blood became so intense that they crossed the line. When that happened, it was Watchers who came for them."
Tash lay on the couch, opening her mouth to protest, then closing it again as Daye's diatribe continued. But the words hammered home. 'Victor's left you.' Victor had left her. That alone made her want to curl up and die. Finally she realised that Daye had finished speaking and was looking at her expectantly.
"So I was almost killed in March. I've been there before. I was almost turned seven years ago, but I didn't go crazy. And my past hasn't changed. It was still vampires that killed my family. It doesn't matter that they were manipulated." Tash stared at the ceiling. "And I was still hunting normally for a couple of months after that." Not exactly true, Tash knew - she had started to feel edgy only a few weeks after the ritual. Soon after she'd managed to bury those memories. Her brain skittered away from that thought. Just didn't want to approach that. She felt angry at herself for even starting to think about that.
"I'm not angry," Tash lied, without even realising it. "I'm just frustrated. Everyone seems to think the same thing, but I'm sure that's not it." She sighed. "And I'm not going to throw my life away. Tonight I was just distracted," Tash murmured.
*And I wanted to die, didn't I? When I thought it was all over, I was grateful. But that was only because of Victor.* The thoughts clamoured in Tash's brain. She turned her head to stare at Daye again. "So, apart from killing them, was there any other solution the Watchers found for this?"
"Well, first off, they had to stop denying the truth," Daye replied, frustrated. "You admit there's a problem, but refuse to trace it to its logical source. Yes, Tash, you were nearly turned seven years ago. But they failed to really get to you, right? You were left with scars, physical scars. Ohenewaa did more than hurt you physically. She invaded you. A part of who and what she was is still inside of you. Tash, you can't ignore that. Don't you see? Those memories, they are going to change you."
“No!” Tash interrupted loudly. “Those memories aren’t doing this. I’ve made sure of it.” She struggled to sit up, ignoring the splintering pain in her skull. She flopped back, frustrated and angry. Really angry, now.
"Dammit, Daye. She was evil, so I pushed those memories away where they couldn't hurt me." Tash was almost yelling now, "That's not it!"
Daye laid a hand gently on Tash, soothing. Tash had "pushed" the memories down where they couldn't hurt her. Daye laughed mirthlessly. "What does that mean, Tash?" she asked. "You pushed the memories where they wouldn't hurt you. Where? They are a part of you. No matter how deep you repress them, they're still inside of you."
Daye sighed, a long, exasperated sound. "You can't ignore them. You have to deal with those memories. It's the only way you'll get better.”
She paused, rubbing a hand over her now throbbing temples. After the major healing she'd just done, she was quite tired again. “Once you admit what's going on here, then we can try and work it out. Sometimes, a Slayer who'd gone over the edge could be brought back. I said that before. It's the truth. They would have to face their demons, and fight the urge to kill for pleasure. There are some things they all did. Exercises, of a sort. Meditation usually helps. But you have to fight the right demons first."
A knot of fury had settled in Tash's stomach. But she was too worn out, too numb from the night's events to ride the wave of rage as she usually did. Everyone was saying the same thing. The rational part of her brain nagged at her, suggesting that maybe it wasn't the case that everyone else was wrong and she was the only one who was right. Her head felt heavy. She just wanted to sleep.
"Maybe you're right, Daye. Sorrow and Victor have been telling me the same thing." Tash just wanted Daye to be happy and leave her in peace. She was tired of arguing about this. She smiled at her friend. "I'm so tired, Daye. I want to rest."
Tash could feel Daye's suspicion at her sudden acquiescence, and tried to think of something else to say to alleviate Daye's worries. She rolled her head to the side and something behind Daye caught her eye. The Stone of Ghortab. Her eyes widened. Tash felt her heart pounding. Victor would never leave the Stone behind. Surely? She pointed to the piece of paper stuck to it. "Daye, what's that on the Stone?"
Daye turned around to look at the stone she'd nearly tripped over when she'd first come in. She rose and walked over to it, pulling off the piece of paper and opening it. It was a note. "It's a note," Daye explained, carrying it back over to where Tash lay, "from Victor." Daye held the paper out to her friend.
Tash took the note with a trembling hand, almost afraid to read it. She swallowed and glanced down at it. Dearest Tash, it started. She closed her eyes, then opened them and read the whole note.
Her heart skipped beats as she read, and tears welled once more in her eyes. He wasn't leaving for good? But...? She thought back to the fight - that awful, horrible fight. Maybe she had misunderstood. She smiled up at Daye who was looking at her with concern. "He says he'll be back." Tash looked at the Stone. She might not believe the note, but the Stone was incontrovertible evidence.
Daye smiled gently. "That's good," she said. "I don't know Victor as well as you do, but I didn't think he'd just abandon you. He probably just wants to give you some time and space to work things out for yourself."
Daye could see how drained Tash was. She understood, because she felt the same way after this ordeal. Daye wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for the rest of the morning. A glance at her watch showed her it was almost 5 am. And she was way too tired to even think about walking the rest of the way home. *I left my bag at home,* Daye thought. *So a cab's out of the question. Maybe Drew can come pick me up. I'd really like to see him anyway.*
"You should get cleaned up and get some rest, Tash," Daye said. "If you'll let me use the phone real quick, I can get out of here and let you get to sleep."
Tash smiled wanly, clutching the note to her chest. "Thanks, Daye. For everything. I..." Tash didn't want to think what might have happened to her had Daye not found her. And now she had something to live for again. Tash settled for another smile. "Just thanks."
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
Tuesday Morning...
Xavier watched from the department store window as the demon ran across the street and into the building where his beater had fired the shot. He had given explicit instructions: shoot then run. The Society's records were clear that this demon was a class-A threat. The shotgun blast and being hit by a car had not even slowed it down. Xavier wasn't about to argue.
The saleswoman that had been watching him like a hawk came a step too close. He looked her in the eye. "Lady, I ain't stealin' so leave me alone," he said to her in a fuck-off voice.
"I wondered i-if I you needed help," she said nervously.
Xavier smiled, "I was just leaving," he said to her. He smiled at her and was gratified to see her take a step back. *That's right, don't get too close to the black man,* he thought.
Xavier walked out into the street and across to the demon's building. The doorman nodded to him as he strode through the doors and stepped purposefully to the desk. The young man behind the desk looked like he had been there too long that night. *Close to time for him to go home. Good. He won't want a lot of messy arguments and complications.*
"Long night?" Xavier asked politely.
"Yeah," the man said before looking up. He straightened in his seat and tried to look attentive, but the bags under his eyes just made him look overworked. "More than a little strange, too."
"Well I hope this isn't going to be too hard to take care of," continued Xavier. He reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a badge and sheaf of legal sized papers. "I'm with the Federal Marshall's office, and I have some papers to serve on a fugitive that goes by the name of 'Victor'. He's wanted in Nevada for kidnapping and murder, and I am here to serve him and take him back for trial."
Xavier watched the man's eyes twitch. The thought processes were tumbling and he could tell the guard was on the fence. *Just another push.*
"Ever been to Vegas?" he asked.
"No," the guard replied.
"Well they have these huge hotels were people come to have a good time. They are sort of a combination casino and amusement park. Well a lot of people come and visit these hotels. A lot of people. Every once in a while some of them don't leave. Guys like this Victor character move into a room with some happy couple hoping for nice vacation… you married? Have a girlfriend?"
The boy nodded, wide-eyed.
"Well guys like Victor they move in and take over. They hold the couple hostage for days, playing the games on the other guy's credit card. They charge room service. They help themselves to the other guys wife…"
The guard took a long swallow. Xavier smiled. "It doesn't happen often, and a lot of times it is just some drifter. They have dozens of hideouts that they keep paying for year round. It’s a lucrative business. And if the husband gives you too much lip about banging his wife, then…" Xavier drew his thumb across his neck.
"Anyway, when we catch these guys - it's tough, I tell you; they go around bullying people because they hardly ever carry ID - we like to make sure they get the full treatment. Lethal injection, I think. Anyways it’s a lot better way to go than what they do to these tourists."
The guard caved, he didn't even ask to see the papers. He led Xavier to the elevator and was jingling keys before they even got to the top. *The demon must not have paid him enough.*
It burned Xavier that he spent his every dime hunting these creatures who lived without worry or care for money. Xavier supposed that in some ways they were better than welfare because they were at least conspicuous consumers. He'd never hunted a non-feral demon that didn't live in style.
He dropped $10 on the guard and said thanks as he walked into the demon's lair without even looking back. *Bastard lives better than most: laptop, good furniture, huge space, and the Penthouse. I'll enjoy taking this one out. It's bad enough that he lives as human he has to live in this ritzy place.*
Xavier was glad Sorrow had tipped him to the place on Poplar, but he had not mentioned this place at all in his caveats. *Fair game.*
Xavier went to the phone and placed a call. Within minutes, three other "Marshals" were there to help him set up his gear. *Welcome home, Victor. Tag, you're it.*
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
~Hospital~ July 18th, 2005
Derek woke up with a sigh of relief and still feeling a little pain from the day he got attacked. He saw a person sitting in a chair next to his bed and jumped.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," the stranger said.
"Who are you? How did you get…?" Derek said. He stopped as he became aware that he was in a hospital.
"I was hired after, um, you disappeared. Well, that's what we thought anyway. You were found lying on the street. We didn't know what happened to you. You were in the hospital as a John Doe. An officer spotted you lying on the bed in this hospital. So, are you okay? You've been lying on the bed for five years."
*Five…Years? * Derek was speechless. It seemed like yesterday he had been attacked.
"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself, I am Lt. Kendrick. The Captain asked me to look in on you. We all have been. Guess I got lucky."
Derek started to get up but was weak. He spoke, and his voice was raspy and cracked, "Weird, I woke up yesterday, fine. And, I was at home wasn't I?"
Kendrick moved to stop him. "You better rest for a while. I'll get a doctor. Stay there."
Derek still could feel some pain. He struggled and finally managed to stand. He tried a few wobbly steps as he tried to remember where he was before he had been attacked by the demons.
"I should go for a walk." He thought, "If I can walk."
~Wolfram & Hart that AFTERNOON
Wolfram & Hart was long gone. The building remained but the people who used to work there were missing. Derek stood outside the building still in pain. He was on the way to open the door. He saw no one there. He was about to leave when a security guard saw him wandering around the building.
"Hey! If you are looking for someone here, there's no one left," the security guard said. Derek's mind fought the fog of pain, and came up with a plausible story.
"I am detective from the LAPD. What's happened here?"
"You're a detective. You should know. The PI Angel went psychotic. Killed all those cops? And the lawyers. Sheesh. What a mess. Anyways, there's nothing here but ghosts now."
"Uh, thanks..." Derek replied confused. Five years. Derek looked back at the security guard, but he left. Derek struggled with disorientation and a lot of confusion.
As Derek staggered away, the guard turned and went back to his watch with the huge gaping wounds on his back and his organs hanging out.
~Hospital~ EVENING
Derek went back to the hospital. He didn't even remember there being one here. If that taxicab with the bald driver hadn't known where to take him, he'd have still been wandering; confused about what had happened over the past five years.
"Hey! There you are!" Kendrick said. Derek jumped again, his heart racing. "Whoa, are you making it a hobby of scaring me?"
Kendrick guided him back to his room. "Here's a doctor. We've been wondering where you went. So, doctor, how is it possible that Derek here just 'woke up' after five years?"
The doctor said that there was still a lot about coma states that they didn't know and that it wasn't unheard of for patients to suddenly awaken after many decades. In the end they decided to keep Derek for observation for a few days, and if they didn't find anything wrong, they would let him go.
Kendrick was very open, "While yuou were walking, I called the Captain. He told me that you can come back to work on light duty since you are still alive. Once the doctors clear you of course, and that I will be your new partner."
"Why you, Kendrick? I mean I don't know you, and you don't know me from John Doe." Derek's head was pounding, and he wanted some drugs. He didn't want to sleep, he was afraid it might be five more years before he woke up.
"The captain has some cases he thought you'd be interested in. Light stuff. I begged him to let me get involved because I've heard about some of your cases, and even though you are not feeling well, it seemed a lot more interesting than the usual cases I've got. He also said to take it easy." Kendrick sipped his cup of coffee. Derek sat there stunned.
This was going to take some getting used to.
~LAPD Building~ Aug 6th 2005
It had been two weeks of tests, two more weeks of physical therapy, and days and days of tests and psychologists, but this was the day. The first day back to work. Derek and Kendrick entered the building together and the crowd of cops shouted at him, "HEY! Rip Van Winkle!".
Derek felt annoyed but let the jokes pass. "Sleeping beauty, Blinken & Nod, Sandman". all of the jokes flew all day long. Derek wanted to feel really angry, but instead he felt dead inside.
Kendrick stopped Derek about a dozen times during the day to ask him if he was all right. Derek lied to him. The pain never seemed to go away. It was always there. It wasn't an ache like a stubbed toe, or a sharp pain like being shot. It wasn't even that dull burn that comes from a hard workout. It was just… pain. Derek tried to figure it out but it just skittered away from him.
Derek finally spoke. "I am all right. Just that day, I felt weird. I woke up the day before you came to visit with… sorry… the day before I went into a coma… with no pain. But now… I think it… never mind."
Kendrick looked confused. Derek just ignored him and left.
~Alley near Wolfram & Hart building~ MIDNIGHT Aug 15th, 2005
Derek had been doing his job for two weeks. In that time he had managed to solve 12 cases that had left the other cops scratching their heads. *Light duty my ass!* The Captain was back to using him as a human crime computer. His own personal Sherlock Holmes. He was never assigned cases; he was just used as a 'consultant' for the police force.
*They didn't care about me all that time at all. They just wanted their whiz kid back.* Derek stopped, took a deep breath and unballed his fists. He relaxed his shoulders. He did a few katas to regain his focus. He was doing police work. It didn't matter who solved it, or who got credit as long as justice was served.
He was walking by the same place he had been attacked by the demons five years ago. He had only just begun to realize where he was walking when something passed by his eyes real fast. Derek hesitated and mumbled, "What the hell is going on now?"
Derek suddenly felt agony and anger. Derek could barely stand the intense feelings when they were suddenly gone. Derek looked around and couldn't see anything. He shook it off and headed home.
Dreams and Prophesy
******Tuesday Morning******
Kate was running. It felt like she had been running forever. Her trainers made a slapping noise against the hard marble floor as she ran. The corridor seemed endless, a long, never-ending tunnel of shiny white stone. The surface was so highly polished that it reflected the light almost as well as a mirror. From far in the distance a low roar erupted followed by a series of high pitched screeches. Kate’s head swung back over her shoulder as she continued to run in a desperate attempt to see the creature that was chasing her.
She couldn’t see anything other than the same expanse of corridor that lay in front her. When Kate turned back she caught a glimpse of the darkness that had surrounded her while she’d turned away. But she’d been running too fast to stop in time. Before she realised it Kate had stepped over into the darkness and was falling fast. The air whistled past her ears as she plummeted, faster and faster.
Suddenly an arm reached out and grabbed her. Kate’s body swung wildly in the air, her feet kicking out into space. “It’s a test Kate,” said a familiar voice. “We throw you in the deep end to see what you will do. Will you sink or swim?”
“I can’t swim!” cried Kate helplessly. She looked down to see the crashing waves leaping into the air. Returning her gaze to her rescuer she could just make out the line of his face; it was Christian. In the darkness Kate could see Thalia stood at his side.
“Let her go, brother. She is not one of us any more. She wanted to do this on her own, like a nomad.”
“But look at her, she’s all dead inside.” Christian’s grip slackened a little and Kate slipped further towards the water.
“It isn’t dead, it’s empty. You made me that way remember?” said Kate softly.
“Let her go” insisted Thalia, “then we can go get gelati.”
“Sounds good. Sorry Kate, but, you know how it is.”
Christian shook Kate’s hand free and turned away. Kate held onto the smooth rock surface for a while but she didn’t have the strength to pull herself back onto the ledge.
Galen knelt down and stroked her hand softly. “Why don’t you let me help you? You should have asked me.”
“You’re not strong enough. You work for the government.”
“That’s demonic all right; I should probably do some press ups.” Galen took out a cigarette and lit it. He inhaled deeply. “Want some?” he asked, offering the stub to her.
“Not right now,” said Kate as she struggled to pull herself up. Galen shrugged and began to turn away. “Wait!” she called out, “where are you going?”
Galen stopped and looked back. “I can’t tell you. I have these important things to do and you get in the way. Now hold tight and I’ll get back to you later.”
“I’m slipping,” said Kate as her hands slowly lost their hold on the rock.
“That’s right honey keep gripping,” said Galen as he walked away.
The rock suddenly gave way and Kate slid into the water with a splash. Her body sunk at first, her hair and clothes swirled around her. Then she bobbed to the surface. Kate breathed in deeply, gulping in the air. She splashed around wildly as the sea churned and boiled in a raging tempest.
“Look! She floats! That makes her a witch!” cried out a tall black woman from the shore. Kate recognised her as Tash although she had a 25-foot python wrapped around her.
“Does that make her a witch?” asked her companion. His long horns curled about 10 inches above his nine-foot stance.
“Witches burn like wood, and wood floats like a duck, so… if she weighs the same as a duck she’s made of wood.”
“And a witch?”
“Yeah.”
“Makes perfect sense,” said Vrithetek, his red eyes glowing affectionately. They watched a few moments longer while Kate sank back under the water and re-emerged several times, then they linked arms and began to walk away. Tash shuffled, dragging the snake behind her.
On the ocean a small boat reached level with Kate as she thrashed around. A small girl with blond curls sat with her legs dangling over the edge. “You should watch for the squid around here, it isn’t a safe place to drowned.” Mariah pressed her hand against Kate’s head, ducking her back under the water for a few minutes. Then she let go and Kate returned, gasping, to the surface. “Do your friends not save you?”
“They normally wait till the end, make the big dramatic entrance,” spluttered Kate as she fought to keep her head above water. “Aren’t you here to save me?”
Mariah laughed to herself. Was this girl to be the only opposition she was to expect? A weak, confused little witch who still didn’t have a clue what was going on? It was too easy! Why she could kill her right now this instant. Mariah toyed with the idea; it would get her out of the way. So far this girl was the only obstacle she could see getting in her way. She laughed again at how pathetic that seemed, that she had even expended so much energy on such a mortal! Mariah decided against killing the witch now. Maybe she could use her later on; she certainly had a lot of untapped power just waiting to be manipulated by the right person… Besides, her untimely death might arise more suspicion than she wanted at the moment.
Mariah sweetly smiled at Kate. No, let her push her nose in where it wasn’t wanted. She could always dispose of her later if she became too much of an annoyance. Mariah giggled as she grabbed Kate’s hand and pulled her towards the boat; she actually enjoyed delving into the memories of these pitiful mortal ingrates. It was fun to watch them squirm and fight against their inner demons.
Kate shuddered involuntarily as the child touched her hand and for a brief moment she felt a chill creep across her flesh. Looking into the little girl’s eyes she saw a fleeting glimpse of something otherworldly, but as soon as it had appeared it vanished. When Kate was in the boat the girl had disappeared. The boat creaked and groaned as it bobbed across the water. Kate closed her eyes.
A vice like grip settled around her neck and pulled her up from the boat, “Hey Red, we’ve got to stop meeting like this!”
Kate screamed in terror as the vampire sunk his fangs into her neck and drank deeply…
************
Kate awoke sharply from her sleep. Small beads of sweat trickled down her forehead and her skin was clammy with perspiration. She sat still as her heartbeat slowly returned to normal, but even though the horror of the dream had been so vivid it was already becoming a distant memory.
She stifled a yawn and climbed out of bed, pulling her robe on. She found the whole situation very disturbing. Normally Kate always remembered her dreams but lately she couldn’t recall anything. And yet she knew they must have been bad because of the way she felt immediately upon waking. A small voice inside her head rose up against her misgivings and suspicions, *Nothing is wrong, of course nothing is wrong. You're just having a few restless nights that’s all, nothing to worry about.*
Kate wandered into the bathroom and began brushing her teeth, the quiet voice repeating its insistent message. The words didn’t even feel like her own any more but Kate was so tired and confused over so many things lately she didn’t have the strength to question it. She was missing Galen so much it hurt. She missed feeling his warm body wrapped around her own in the night. She missed snuggling down next to him watching television and the way he would play with her hair. Kate sighed as she replaced her toothbrush in the holder.
She was about to return to the bedroom when she noticed a red mark on the side of her neck. She frowned and brushed her hair aside to look at it more closely. It was actually two red marks, and also a few small bruises like fingerprints around her throat and shoulders. Kate frowned again and held her fingers against the two marks. She could feel the throbbing beat of her pulse beneath. Kate continued to look in the mirror. For a split second she swore that she saw something in there, beyond the glittering reflection of the glass, something deeper. Eyes that shone with a child-like innocence yet contained a darkness that was beyond time. Kate shook her head and a girlish laughter filled her ears momentarily.
Kate slid to the ground and held her head between her knees, pressing her back against the vanity unit and waited for the spinning to stop.
my coat... yeah... my coat, thats it...
tues morning
Bowen coughed nervously. He didn't know exactly what he was going to say. He was on Mantheana's doorstep. What would he say? I just happened to be strolling through this oh so swell neighbourhood and happened to spot your house. Hmm. She still had his coat. He had to knock some time. So he did.
The door opened with a long un-oiled groan. He was left looking into thin air. Then he looked down to find a small girl looking blankly up at him. Reminiscent of a small Alice in wonderland, he recognised her as the little girl Mantheana had held to her hip the night before.
"Who," she pronounced, "are you?" Her wide eyes shone up at him in an inquisitive manner. Bowen tried to fight off mental images of big blue caterpillars.
"I…err…I'm…" he started, but just then Mantheana came into the shade beside the door.
"Maria, vot have I told you about answering the door, you don't know who might be there and…" Mantheana looked up from Maria to find Bowen standing in the doorway. "…Oh. Good morning Mr Shore."
"Hi… err I was just walking… and err… I wondered if...err…" A string of mumbles flowed disjointedly from his mouth.
"Vould you like to come in, Mr Shore?" Whether she felt comfortable with any man in her house, her mother had taught her precise manners from a young age and shutting the door on any one who didn't want to kill her went against everything she knew.
Bowen nodded and, thankful to get out of the stammering rut he had dug himself into, walked inside, closing the door behind him.
Mantheana picked up Maria and moved to the living room where she offered him a seat and a drink, both of which he accepted thankfully. While Mantheana went into the kitchen to put the kettle on, he sat down to find he was being watched very carefully by the small girl who was sitting on the rug near his feet next to one of the biggest dogs he'd ever seen.
"Hullo," he said cheerfully. "I'm Bowen, who are you?" Her expression remained blank and she continued to stare at him, her head resting on Yasha's great side. "Err…" he started again but Mantheana returned.
"The kettle is on, you'll have to vait a little vhile." She smiled and sat down herself.
Bowen was curious about the child on the floor. *Sister? Cousin? Or what? Daughter?* "Who is this? Your little sister?" Bowen nodded his head towards Maria, who was beginning to look quite dozey on the floor.
Mantheana laughed as she made her reply. "Don't be silly! Maria is my daughter!"
"Really?" *Daughter! She's only twenty. Must have only been like sixteen when she had her!* "So she's what? Four? Five?"
"Maria is four. She is going to be five soon, aren't you baby?" Maria nodded, causing Yasha to give her a disgruntled look and then put his head back down.
"Wow. Sixteen is really quite young to settle down and start up a family." He blurted out with out thinking.
A flicker of something passed through Mantheana's face. It could have been sadness or anger, Bowen couldn't tell. He immediately regretted what he said. "I'm sorry I was just-" he began.
"No. I err… It's just… he… vee never… settled down together." Mantheana tried desperately to make 'he bloody up and left me' into a respectable sentence.
"I'm sorry. It's really none of my business." Bowen could see this was a sensitive subject for Mantheana and was sorry that he let his curiosity get the better of him.
"It is fine. You didn't know." Mantheana tried to get off the subject. "The kettle vill be boiled." She got up and moved to the kitchen. Bowen followed.
He watched as Mantheana took the kettle off the stove and poured it into two cups. After adding milk she picked them both up and gave one to Bowen. As he took the cup, it was all he could do not to jump at the huge contrast in temperature. The cup was hot from the boiling drink it contained but Mantheana's hands were like ice.
He thanked her for the drink and took a sip. He looked her up and down. She was wearing a tight black dress that suggested class. The style was not unlike the one she had been wearing the night before. *Did she wear this kind of thing all the time?* Now he could see her in the light, he saw how pale her skin actually was. Her dark hair was wavy and her eyes an exquisite shade of what he couldn't decide whether he would call crimson or maroon. He tried for some polite conversation.
"So when did you move here?" He certainly hadn't seen her around, but it wasn't often that he was in such a classy neighbourhood.
"A couple of months ago. Maria and I moved over from England." Mantheana held her drink like the elixir of life in her hands, feeling the heat from the liquid through the palms of her hands. "You?" She smiled and took a sip of her drink.
"Oh, I came here years ago. I used to live in Canada, but LA was the city of angels they said, so I had to come see." He grinned. "What did you say you worked as?"
"I didn't. I haven't vorked for so long. I vas thinking of taking up ballet again. But I have never got around to it."
"You used to dance then?" Conversation was working. *Keep to her interests.*
"Ahh yes. And I enjoyed it so. But it was all such a long time ago. I only dance at home." She looked down into her cup embarrassed slightly by the situation.
"You should take it up again. If that’s what you enjoy." Bowen brushed a chunk of his unruly hair out of his face. Mantheana walked past him and put her cup on the side. He followed her lead as she walked back into the living room and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Maria staring at him intently.
Quietly he said to Mantheana, "Is there any specific reason why she keeps staring at me like that?" His own eyes flicked from Mantheana to Maria continuously.
"Who, Maria? Oh she's just curious. I don't have many people round. Least of all men."
*Curiouser and curiouser. Ok, shutting up.*
Mantheana picked Maria up off the ground, sat down and placed her on her lap. Maria, still sleepy from staying up all night, snuggled up in her mother's arms, but did not take her eyes of Bowen for a second. He noticed now she had her mother's eyes.
Mantheana was still not comfortable. She didn't want some man in her house, although Bowen seemed pleasant enough. She wouldn't mind another friend. She just didn't want anything more. More had a tendency to hurt her. She wanted to keep most people at arm's length. She didn't like the way he looked at her. It brought back memories.
"Mr Shore. Vos there any specific reason you came to see me?" She hated to be so blunt, but she had had enough social intercourse for one day.
"Err… Yeah. My coat. I err… gave it to you last night. I think you still have it?" This sounded a solid enough reason. He did want his coat back after all.
"Ah yeys." Mantheana plonked the wide-eyed Maria onto the sofa and went to fetch Bowen's coat. He sat and avoided eye contact with the extremely focused attention of Maria.
Mantheana returned holding Bowen's tattered coat. She stayed standing as he too stood to take it off her. As he received his coat back, again his hand brushed against hers, sending a chill down his spine.
"Thanks." He tucked the bundle under his arm. "And thanks for the drink. And introducing me to your daughter." Scraping the hair back off his face, he smiled a stubbley grin and went to the door. Mantheana, moving from behind him, opened the door and moved with it so she was still standing out of the way of the sun's piercing beams.
As Bowen stood in the door, he bade farewell to Mantheana, placing a crumpled note with his name, number and address on it. She smiled, her eyes shining with a reflection from some unseen light.
"Good bye," she said quietly as he walked down the steps. When she could hear that he was a way off, she closed the door.
Walking back into the living room, she saw Maria had now fallen asleep. Yasha had crawled onto the sofa next to her. She stared at the most precious things to her in the world. Now her eyes shone with tears. Bringing her hand up to wipe her eyes, she noticed that once more, her wrist was red from scratching. The entire area was blotchy apart from the thin white scar she had worn for more than a hundred years. She dabbed her eyes, kissed the sleeping Maria and went upstairs to run herself a hot bath.
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
Tuesday, August 16, 2005. Early afternoon.
Sam crawled out from under a phone book and a pizza box. Was he still dreaming? He rested an arm on the cushion of the couch and focused on these two items. He didn’t recall seeing the phone book during yesterday’s move. He felt disconcerted, wondering if somewhere there was a telephone to complement it. Reah hadn’t mentioned anything about stealing a phone. The pizza, however, he remembered all too well. That stupid pizza Reah had ordered last night after Sam fatally mistreated the salmon fillets, forgot them to their smoldering deaths on the grill. Sure, he remembered the pizza. It was a virtual slap in his chef-face. Oh well. So what if that meant they had to order take-out? And as long as they’d made the decision to order a whole pizza, why not go all the way?
Therefore, at 10:30, Reah and Sam stepped out for a bit of last minute grocery shopping. She lead him down the Safeway snack isle loading his arms with goodies. He had to admit, the girl really knew how to overindulge. In mockery of her award-winning figure, Reah harbored a taste for foods that went “squoosh” and “munch” behind closed, tantalized lips. Sam smiled to himself at the memory of her bulging cheeks. She had sat cross-legged on floor shoveling it in. The girl loved to chew the fat, spitting out crumbs and war stories, the people she’d met, the places she’d visited. All in all, it had been a pleasant housewarming party.
Smiling to himself and rubbing two puffy eyes, Sam used his elbows to stand and started barefoot across the cold, hardwood floor. He kicked aside a beer bottle, then half a box of Better Cheddars, and then a brown grocery bag. It toppled and sent garbage scattering toward the electrical socket. A perfectly good roll of paper towels appeared. On the way into the kitchen, Sam grabbed the tea kettle. He flipped on the sink and waited for the water — rushing out of the nozzle and pummeling a stack of Styrofoam dishes — to turn hot. Steam rose into his face, and Sam remembered.
He’d dreamt last night about work, and something about Griffith Park, and about his mother again. It seemed so real; she seemed so real. But it wasn’t a dream about his true mother, not Sandy. Dennis, his dad, wasn’t in it at all. This person — this “mother” — only felt like his mom. But just as much, she felt like the little sister he never had. Her name would have been, were she ever born, Mariah. Sam knew it somehow; it’d have been Sam and Mariah. Imagine that, big brother Sam.
And Mother Mariah. Why did that ring a bell?
Reah’s moans rose above the wet hammering in the sink. She was stirring behind the television, apparently in need of assistance. Sam turned off the faucet, glancing as he stepped away at the soft, drippy holes that the scalding water had melted through two plates and a cup. He came upon Reah as she was pushing herself up, struggling to haul her knees underneath her belly. She collapsed on her chest. Sam knelt by her side.
“I feel rotten,” she said through her nose. “I’m so-o-o sick.”
“Take my hand. Come on, sit up.”
“Don’t want to sit up. Want to throw up.”
“Oh boy.”
He moved her to the bathroom and propped her against the sink. “Stay there, don’t fall,” he said. “Be right back.” They didn’t own toilet paper yet, so he left in search of the paper towels he remembered seeing just a minute ago. That's right. They were on the floor.
He returned to discover the bathroom door nearly closed. Reah was on her knees, her dirty white stockings visible through the crack, her heels and toes writhing. Grotesque sounds of illness reverberated off the walls of the toilet bowl. Gently, Sam knocked.
“Hello? Can I come in? Here you go,” he said, offering a square of double-ply Bounty. “Brought you something to wipe your face.”
She reached up and dug her nails into his shirt collar, and by its loud, ripping fabric she pulled him close. He stooped forward, trying to stay upright as she hissed, "Stupid, stupid, I blame your stupid fisssh.”
“You ate the salmon? But I ruined it.”
“I thought you said you burnt it.”
“I did. Most of it.”
“Muh…most of?” She unclenched his shirt and covered her mouth.
“Some of it didn’t get cooked all that well,” Sam said.
“When I get better, I’m going…I’m going to kill…I’m going…” She dropped her head over the toilet and finished her statement upon a cataract of yellow and pink chunks. Her hands were made into fists, but they’d missed their chance to pop Sam a good one. Sam backed out of the bathroom.
Reah needed some “Reah time.” Only an emergency would make Sam bother her now.
The television was showing blue screen. They had fallen asleep with Reservoir Dogs, a classic according to Reah, playing in the VCR. Sam didn’t quite get that movie. The scenes jumped a lot, and the bloodiness, once or twice, made him bury his head in Reah’s lap. But he liked the story, what he could gather of it. They didn't finish watching it, at any rate. The last thing Sam remembered was Reah on the floor behind the TV laughing at one of his Pollock jokes. Yep, they’d had fun. They must have passed out around four in the morning, Reah because she was drunk, Sam because he was exhausted. They both had work the next day.
Today.
“Oh gosh, what time is it?” he said in a gasp.
It was 2:45PM, work at 3:00! Grumpy or not, Reah would have to share the bathroom. Sam forced his way back inside, bumping her with the door. While stripping off his clothes he stepped over her heinie. She didn’t notice. Her head was in the toilet, her neck resting on the rim, the back of her hands touching the hard linoleum floor. Sam got into the tub, closed the curtain, and began showering off last night’s decadence. He bucked up quickly as icy, hard water pounded into the small of his back — the water pressure in this building was shocking. Now Sam felt awake! He grabbed the miniature bar of soap and collected his thoughts in a thick, rich lather.
“I’ve got to get moving,” he shouted over the splashing. “Reah, you going to be okay?”
“I’m dyin’, ah’m bloody dyin’ here…your fault.”
“I can’t stay. I have no choice. When I get downstairs—"
“Don’t you ever, ever cook for me again.”
“When - when I get downstairs, I’ll call Joe on the payphone and let him know where you are.”
“I want 7-Up.”
“Last night you said you wanted Pepsi, so we bought Pepsi. Sorry.”
Her voice echoed in the toilet bowl, “7-Up!”
“I can’t go to the store right now. I have to get to work.”
“You did this to me,” she said, “You owe me 7-Up.”
Sam turned off the water and pulled back his hair, still sudsy in spots, dry in others. The showerhead continued to drip rapidly. “Please don’t ask me—”
“Oh God please, S-S-Sam.”
There was no question in his mind that she was at death’s door. He’d suffered from food poisoning before. It was no picnic. He had craved something bubbly too. Bunny had given him 7-Up, hadn’t she?
“Okay,” he said, hop-tugging his blue jeans up around wet legs. “I’ll be right back.”
Three minutes later Sam was shifting from foot to foot inside a dusky little bar down the street. It would have taken too long to get to Safeway, and bars carried soda dispensers for 7&7’s and the like. “I’ll take a large glass of 7-Up to go,” he said, vying for the bartender’s attention. The barkeep was a tall, ugly fellow, thin and muscular. His nametag said “Zeus.”
Zeus glanced away from the glamorous, pale woman he’d been regaling with a droll smile, a casual posture, and the polishing of a rocks glass that was just shy of matching the glow dancing atop his bald head. “Try McDonald’s, kid.”
“It’s too far away, my friend needs 7-Up right now.”
“Calm down,” Zeus said. “Besides, I only got Sprite.”
“Whatever, that’ll be good. Gimme.”
“I would. But you know how it is. This ain’t a take-out joint.” Zeus plopped his pointy chin in his hand, dropped his elbow on the counter, and there, lustfully, he returned all attention to the pale woman. She gave little in the way of an expression that might define her as sentient or living. The scary thing was Sam believed this woman to be merely human, even though she looked like a bona fide zombie — straight out of Frederick’s of Hollywood.
“Please, sir,” Sam said.
“No, kid,” Zeus said.
“I don’t have time for games.”
“Then go away.”
Sam noticed the clock. 2:53 pm. “Darn it, serve me!”
Straight-faced, the woman stepped off her stool. “Oh just give the boy his drink, pal, who are you trying to impress?” She grabbed her purse. “Excuse me, I’m going to the ladies’ room.”
In disgust, the wiry bartender straightened his fingers toward the ceiling and rolled his eyes. He found the strength to stand up straight and step away from what could have been a beautiful friendship. With the woman gone, Zeus reached under the counter and withdrew a brown military canteen. He blew a layer of dust off the cap and unscrewed it, smelled the mouthpiece, and winced. He rinsed it out. Sam would surely go ballistic if this guy didn’t start hurrying up.
“I don’t have any to-go cups,” he said. “That’ll be twenty bucks for the canteen, eight bucks to fill it, and ten bucks for the right to carry it into the street.”
Who the heck was this character, another friggin’ Bob? What was it with the bartenders in this town? “Come on, please, be a guy, Zeus, be a good fella.”
“That’s the price, take it or leave it.”
Sam didn’t have time to respond with anything other than “I’ll take it, I’ll take it, gimme.” He pulled two crumpled twenties out of his front pocket and shoved them, lint and all, at Zeus. He waited for his change.
Zeus tossed the wad of money onto the ledge under the wall mirror. “And two bucks for interrupting me,” he said. “Hold your horses. I’ll get your damn Sprite.”
Sam located the cross necklace and squeezed it nervously through his shirt. Maybe if Zeus turned out to be a vampire Sam would simply stake him and take the Sprite. He didn’t consider himself a violent person, but his sessions with Tash were making him itchy, and he was learning to rationalize the killing of monsters. If they were undead, it wasn't murder. Just like murdering in a dream wasn't really murder.
Oh, if only Mother Mariah were here.
Sam accepted his newly purchased canteen and exited the bar, stage left. He raced for apartment 211, taking the steps three-by-three, and slammed through the door. “Back, Reah!” he shouted. “Got your medicine!”
He found her unconscious, curled up on their comfortable, stolen motel couch. A modicum of relief had crept into her face, but Sam couldn’t leave it at that. By the clock, he had three minutes left to set matters straight. He picked up a crumpled, hardly soiled Pizza Hutt napkin and smoothed it out. He used it to wipe the sweat from her brow, and he watched as a tiny smirk loomed, then vanished. He thought he could entice his sick friend into smiling before he left for work. It would certainly make him feel better about what he’d done. Setting the canteen of Sprite close by on the floor, he lifted her arm and placed it on the cushion. She began snoozing softly and grinning like a baby girl. But Sam wasn’t satisfied. Her eyelids flicked against the sun as light charged through the window into her face. She needed her sunnies. Sam found them sitting on the television set. He positioned them on her nose so that not a ray of light could trouble her sleep. Her grinning became a full-fledged smile; he could see her bicuspids. And after all that, he still had a minute to spare. Excitedly he dug through one of the moving boxes and snatched the sky blue blanket they’d appropriated from Kimmie’s apartment. He pulled it over her shoulder. Reah peeped. She was beaming, now, wide and toothy, goofy and content. Proudly Sam observed her, a work of art and a job well done.
But now he absolutely, without a doubt, had to go.
He flew down the stairs to the employee area and stamped his time card just seconds before the machine “whumped” three o’clock. He’d made it. He was tired all right; a long night of dreaming had taken its toll, but it didn’t much bother him. Working without sleep was becoming the norm. Still, maybe if he cleaned fast he could leave work early today. It was minutes later in the guest bathroom, with a canister of Comet at his disposal, that a sinister thought crossed his mind. What if he told Tash he couldn’t make tonight’s training? Then he could go straight home and catch up on some z’s. That would be nice. Of course, what he really wanted was to continue last night’s dream. He figured that he could force himself to dream about Mariah again. Mariah was ever waiting, ever ready to thrill him with love and compliments. Sam found that he liked compliments, and he loved being loved. There was a first time for everything, especially in the world of sleep.
Obfuscation, Misdirection, Deception
***TUESDAY, 16 AUGUST, 11am***
When Galen woke up that morning, he found that he had what was easily the worst hangover of his life. His mouth was dry, his head throbbed (from everything, sound and light included), and most of all he felt like he could curl up and die. Circe was trying desperately to help the three men recover, only Galen promptly vomited after the first sip of water.
By eleven o’clock he'd recovered to the point where Majestic Command could continue their questioning. The result that was Galen found himself in his current unpleasant position; surrounded by 12 people, hunched over the desk wishing that the man who was currently speaking would just shut up. His head continued to throb, loud noises and light causing more pain. At least his throat was no longer dry. It was easily the worst hangover he had ever experienced.
“….so what we would – director, you have not been given permission to leave!” snapped the man as Galen started for the door. He paused and thought for a moment about what he would do, then decided to stop resisting and vomited right there. It was insubordinate and defensible, since he was just following orders and not leaving. “On second thought, perhaps a short recess is in order-“
“No, that’s all right,” Galen mumbled, sitting back down. Couldn’t this moron stop yelling at the microphone? “We’re safe to continue for another hour now.” He actually hoped that this would be the last time, except a brief recess was called anyway to get the room cleaned. Galen took a few small sips of water, cleaned himself up, then wished that he’d had the sense to drink more water during the contest last night.
When they returned the questioning continued. Yesterday they got the story Galen had skilfully woven for them in detail. Today they intended to look for holes and contradictions. “Now then, Mr. Eldridge,” said an older gentleman with an English accent. “We are quite curious as to why you saw fit to ignore proper channels while investigating this ‘security breach’ you alluded to.”
“I already explained that,” Galen said, wishing they would just let the subject drop and allow him to return to L.A. At the moment, the only thing he wanted more than for his head to stop pounding was to be back there with Kate again. “The source who indicated that there was a breach also indicated that whoever was responsible for the breach had access to records from internal security. Following official channels would have alerted him or her to the attention, giving time to cover his or her tracks.”
“What about attempting to cover up your activities?” the gentleman asked, not giving the colonel any time to jump in. He wasn’t about to let her speak up, not yet. He wanted the truth, and was perceptive enough to know Galen was not being entirely forthright. “Who is this Wiccham woman they say put up money for your bail before the D.A. dropped the case quietly?”
Galen shook his head slowly. Why, oh why was the room spinning again? Didn’t they realise that he was suffering from a terrible hangover? Of course they did. Now his mind was racing. They knew about her! Hopefully his falsification of the records would protect her. “Ms. Wiccham is just a friend,” he lied. The Scotsman began to cough, then had to excuse himself from the room. “She was called rather than one of our people in order to minimize any potential security breach.”
The Scotsman returned with a calm look on his face, then took his seat again, apologizing for the disruption. *He knows,* Galen thought. *He knows all about us, what I’ve done, and he isn’t saying anything. Why?* There were a number of possibilities, but no reason to choose between any of them.
“How much does this Wiccham woman know?” asked another woman, this one in her mid-50s. “What story did you tell her when she came to bail you out?”
“Just that there was a slight misunderstanding,” Galen replied, trying to think of the best lie to use. “There really was an intruder, I dropped my wallet so had no identification, and the police arrested me by mistake. She currently believes I’m in the state capitol, trying to help clear this embarrassing situation up.” Command took the news impassively and he hoped they would not decide she was a threat.
That was when the Scotsman finally spoke up. He usually didn’t talk much in meetings, so nobody usually interrupted him when he finally did speak. “The thing that I think we should be more interested in is this information source the good director here has refused to reveal to us. Does he honestly expect us to believe that, even if this ‘security leak’ really does exist, said leak would be stupid enough to kill a fellow member of the organization?”
“Mr. Eldridge has already made that clear,” the Gentleman interjected, his voice full of disgust for the Scotsman. “Perhaps if you directed as much effort to your position as you did to making time with our female agents, you would understand the seriousness of a possible breach in internal security procedures.”
Colonel Wilson spoke up before anything else could be said between the two men. The last thing she wanted was for this to degenerate into a shouting match. All it would serve to do is drag out the inquiry, which she would be pleased to see end quickly. “Please, there is no need for bickering. I’m sure we can all agree that the possibility of someone making the right documents public in a way that allows them to be authenticated will destroy everything we have spent almost 60 years working to achieve. Director, do you have any hard evidence of this security breach?”
Galen considered the question carefully for a moment. Someone in Command had to be protecting the project, but he still had no idea who. The only hard evidence he had was the shipping records and the papers that were transported. They would be enough to damn the doctor for her involvement, but would not end the project. “No,” he finally said. “I do not. All I had was conjecture from a reliable source.” It was a chance he had to take.
The interrogation continued for several hours, when Command decided to recess. They would reconvene in an hour, making their final decision. Galen would not be needed at that meeting. He started down the hall while the members followed out when the voice of the Gentleman came from behind him. “Mr. Eldridge.”
Galen turned to face him as the Gentleman approached. He was the most liked member of Command for a reason; he was the one who was always most friendly with the agents, almost more interested in behaving like a father to the agents rather than conspiring with the rest of Command. “Yes, sir?” he asked.
“A bit of advice,” he said. “Be very careful, Mr. Eldridge. It would be a shame if an unfortunate accident happened to befall our favourite loose cannon.”
Was he on Galen’s side? Or an enemy trying to use his own paranoia against him? There was no way to know, so he said the one thing he could before leaving. “Thank you.”
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
~LA Downtown Police Precinct-Tuesday Aug 16th, around 10:30 am
Derek Park was sitting at his desk reading through the dead cases on the precinct computer. Kendrick was sitting on the corner of Derek's desk and was reading the box scores.
"Hey, the San Juan Astros won last night!" he said, "I had five bucks on that game. Cool!" He punched Derek in the arm playfully.
Derek didn't look up from the screen, "You buy lunch then."
He was scanning a file filed by Detective Rachel Grey. It was a John Doe body pulled out of Garvey resevoir. It had been tagged as murder because the body had been stripped clean and weighted. Later, after the body had been identified it had been reclassified as an accidental death. For the life of him, Derek could not figure out why.
On a whim he decided to do another search for John Doe cases. He turned up 20 in the past week. Seemed a bit high. Some of them were clearly just unidentified bodies. Bums burned by gang members. Car accidents that were still open investigations. But there were three that just defied explaination.
Each of these cases had been marked as accidental deaths by Rachel Grey and filed as closed. He'd have to go see her and find out what her problem was. This was almost a pattern but Derek didn't have enough pieces. But he had a feeling that Detective Grey did.
Kendrick came back with his third cup of coffee and sat across from Derek. "If you keep staring at that thing you'll need glasses before long," he said.
Derek looked over and saw Kendrick rubbing the back of his neck. Behind him was a youngish woman with long dripping-wet blonde hair. She had a pale complexion and dark circles around her eyes. "Derek? What's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?"
The woman held up two fingers. A drop of water from her hair let go and fell in slow motion until it made an auible "blip!" noise in Kendrick's coffee. Kendrick looked up at the ceiling. The woman was gone. Derek blinked and felt the gooseflesh on his arms rise. He looked over at the screen and clicked the button to display the pictures of the Jane Doe. One of those three cases.
A familiar face was on the screen. It was the girl. Her body, mauled by a shark or some other kind of animal, had sluced out of a sewer pipe near San Gabriel. Jane Doe. No personal effects. Detective Grey. That was a pattern.
"I'm staring at you Kendrick becasue for a second there I thought you looked like my mother." quipped Derek, "Grab your coat, we are driving out to San Gabriel."
Kendrick made mocking laugh faces,and stood up, and he rubbed the back of his neck again, "Man alive! Someone must be doing a jig on my grave!"
Derek stopped and gave him that W-T-F look. Kendrick set down his coffee, and grabbed his coat. "You know. You get a chill when someone walks on your grave. I been getting that for the past five minutes."
Derek looked at the goosepimples slowly returning to normal on his arms. "Me too, Kendrick. Guess we wind up side by side."
Kendrick frowned but let that one go.
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
Xavier helped himself to the comforts of the apartment. He sat in the comfortable chairs and ate a bag of low-fat potato chips he had found in the cupboard. They were stale, but he had skipped breakfast.
He casually watched two of his three associates who were busy setting up his gear. High voltage cables snaked across the floor to the laundry closet and kitchen where they were hooked into the 440v outlets behind the dryer and oven. The canisters of toxins were placed next to stacks of protective masks for distribution later.
One of them, Mick, was drawing a circle on the hardwood floor in charcoal mixed with sulfur and iron. Another lackey, Fred, carrying a load of weaponry up from the van parked on the street opened the door and scuffed the circle.
"Jesus Christ! Watch where you are dragging your feet, Fred!" the hedge-mage Mick shouted.
"Sorry, Mick, didn't see the circle." Fred apologised.
Mick stood up and tossed the weapon bag aside then pushed right up into Fred's face, "If you had 'missed the circle' in the middle of a binding some demon could have eaten your heart and drunk your spinal fluids for a chaser."
"Christ, Mick! I said I'm sorry!" Fred leaned over and picked up the bag.
Xavier watched all this with an amused smile from the chair. Behind him a deep voice said, "Watch those two fuckups, brother. They are gonna get you killed. They did okay hunting Ferals, but this is a crafty one. A bonafide class 'A'. Better make sure they stick to the plan."
Xavier turned around to look into the familiar face of his kid brother Frank. Frank had been with him from the beginning. He was his rear guard. He was the only helper he would never allow to be sacrificed. Frank had been the one who had saved him that night...
---1972 Slidell, Louisiana.
"Francis! Your name is Francis!" the other boys teased the small black child in the playground. A larger black boy came over and punched the lead boy. Hard. He ran and cried to the playground monitor.
"Xavier Darryl Tobias, come here this instant," said the teacher.
He took his scolding in brooding silence. He had done wrong, and would take the punishment. He knew that before he had punched that little punk. But he also knew that his baby brother Frank would not be teased any more. That was worth it.
The two of them walked back from elementary school. He had to hold Frank's hand because mama told him to. Frank hated it. He didn't think that you still had to hold hands when you were six. Xavier was big for an eight year old, though, and he knew that if he at least stood close then he didn't have to actually hold Xavier's hand.
Mom had dinner ready fo rthe boys when they got home. Spaghetti-O's. Frank loved Spaghetti-Os. He liked to use his spoon to push the loops together. Xavier could care less. He didn't mind Spaghetti-O's. He didn't like them or dislike them.
A knock on the back door had Xavier jumping up from the table. It was Jerry his friend from next door. Xavier's mom yelled at him to get back to the table, drink his milk, and ask to be excused. All of which he did in one swift motion and ran out wiping his chin on his sleeve.
Jerry and Xavier rode their bikes down the street to the Bayou. Mom and Dad both had said a hundred times to stay away from the Bayou. They told him stories about the mud that would suck you under the water. And the gators, that would look just like a log and would eat him in a single swallow.
But Jerry and Xavier had to go to the Bayou. It was so... interesting! There were lizards and fish and bugs and... stuff. They ditched their bikes at the edge of the road and climbed down into the woods until they reached the edge of the water. They searched around and found the cane poles they used to fish out here.
Jerry pulled a wad of cloth out of his pants. "Hey X, Check this out!" Jerry always had some cool stuff. He had cigarettes that he stole from his dad, and once he brought one of his brother's nudie magazines. This time it was a knife.
It was the most beautiful thing Xavier had ever seen. It was almost 10 inches long. Well past the legal limit (or so he'd heard). It shone and was sharp too. It had a slender handle made of steel that made it easier to grip.
"My uncle sent this to dad from Vietnam. He said he took it from off one of them gooks out there." Xavier was wide eyed. He knew Jerry's uncle was in the pen for beating the liquor store guy unconscious, but it was the story not the truth that made it exotic.
"Let me see it," Xavier said with reverence. As Jerry handed the knife to him, Xavier just happened to look into the woods and saw his tar-baby little brother walking down the path.
*God Dammnit! And I'm sorry, God,* thought Xavier. Here he had something really cool and once again his little brother was here to make it something they shared. Just once, Xavier wanted to have something for himself.
He stood there waving for his brother to hurry over. Since he was here he had to keep an eye on him. but his stupid brother was just standing there moon-eyed and pointing at the knife. Then Jerry made a strange noise behind him. It was kind of a scream, but it had like a bup noise in it. Xavier looked back and saw a huge alligator dragging Jerry into the swamp.
Xavier didn't know what to do so he acted. He jumped onto the 'gator and started jabbing it with the knife. Frank told him later he called that 'gator so many bad words in two seconds that he learned every bad word he knew that instant.
The 'gator snapped his tail and Xavier went flying. Jerry was in shock. Air was coming out of him as the 'gator squeezed him, but no sound. The 'gator really wanted to get back in the water and drown his meal first. But little Frank had run up and held out one of those bamboo fishing poles to Jerry.
Jerry grabbed it and Frank fell down as the 'gator backed into the water now dragging both boys. Xavier grabbed the knife out of the dirt. The 'gator had marks around his eye where the knife had sliced at its thick hide ineffectively. Frank screamed and cried for his brother but was too terrified to let go of the rod.
Xavier jumped up and ran at the 'gator. He jabbed the beast hard in that eye that was staring at him . It popped and fluids ran. The beast opened its mouth and Jerry rolled out, blood flowing like crazy from his gut.
It snapped at Xavier, ant its jaw scratched him, but it did not close its mouth. Frank had jabbed the soft upper mouth of the 'gator with the pole.
The beast whipped its mouth back and forth, but every time it turned to face Frank he poked it again. Then it snapped shut. Xavier thought it sounded like the huge bible that Pastor Martin slammed shut during his sermons. Like the last word of God.
But in that second, he moved and poked that scaly devil in the eye with that knife. The monster thrashed and threw the boys off and then stopped moving.
Jerry died. Frank and Xavier were in the newspaper and Frank never went into the bayou ever again unless he was with his big brother Xavier. And Xavier, well we know what happened to him.
====
"I'll be careful, I figure one of them will get 'Jerry Rigged' before the night is out." The two men laughed at the private joke they shared. "Jerry Rigged" was using the help as bait.
Fred was setting up a collapsible tripod for mounting some heavy artillery. It was complicated and Fred wasn't having any luck. "Mick! Hey Mick! Can you give me a hand with this?"
Mick was carefully brushing the dust into a perfect circle and did not want to be bothered, "Do I look like your Nigger, Fred?"
Fred got real quiet. Xavier and Frank raised eyebrows at Mick. "Sorry, man, but this is real delicate. If this guy is half the threat you say he is, then I gotta do this exactly right."
"I understand, Jerry" said Xavier, "I'll get Frank to help Fred. You just keep working."
Behind him Fred started snickering.
Tuesday Aug 16th 11:30am
Victor was pretty sure he had the right address. He had never been here before, but this looked like the sort of house that Kate would live in. He walked to the door and knocked. *Nice place,* he thought.
He wasn't sure how she would feel about his request. It was a little unusual. Then again she had provided him a glamour the first time they had met. *She also took out the one before that.* No matter. The most important thing was to see if she even thought she could do what was required. She wasn't as knowledgeable as the WiseWoman, but she was certainly talented enough to accomplish it. *If you are lucky.*
Kate jumped at the sound of a knock at the door. It was then that she realised she must have fallen asleep at the breakfast table; a cold cup of coffee was still cradled in her hand. A second knock sounded, accompanied by the ringing of the doorbell
Kate remembered why she had awoken in the first place. She stumbled towards the door sleepily and peered through the spy hole. Seeing Victor standing on the other side unnerved her at first. She was only ever used to seeing him in times of crisis, she only hoped now was not one of those times. Kate hastily unbolted the door, "Victor!? What is it? Come in..."
"I'm not interrupting or anything am I?" Victor walked in cautiously. He surveyed the old house and admired the comfortable surroundings.
"Nice house, by the way. Listen, I have to ask a favor of you. Mind if we sit down and talk about it?"
Kate nodded and led the way to the sitting room, Victor following closely. She gestured for him to sit down and then eyed the sofa warily as it groaned under Victor's weight.
Kate sat herself down on a chair, trying to shrug off the tiredness she felt. "So, what's the favour?"
Once Victor was sure the sofa would support him, he smiled at Kate. *She looks tired.* "May I say you look great. Your trip to England must have been helpful."
Victor hated small talk, a talent he had to cultivate years ago because of his dealings with humans. It all seemed so pointless. A waste of time. But humans being what they were required a little social buffer between everything.
"I didn't come here to make small talk. I need a new face. You provided a glamour the first time we met, and I was hoping you could make something more permanent or even change the one I am wearing now." Victor looked at his hands. They appeared and worked exactly like normal hands. They were warm and soft. They fit any pair of gloves. They were tender when has making love. If he had to sacrifice that would Tash understand?
Kate frowned, "A new face? What's wrong with the one you have? What's going on?"
Trust. There was that thing again. It meant exposing a weakness to someone. It meant sharing something with a person you could not control. Victor had no choice. This was the turning point. The more she knew the more she was likely to help, and the more chances she had to betray him. She had demonstrated a willingness to help in the past. Victor weighed the alternatives *Trust her. Eat her. Okay.*
"I am being hunted. I have moved out of the Poplar building and it is better that you don't know where until this has passed. But I have worn this face for a long time, and somewhere someone has recorded it. That has always been a risk for me. I have changed a thousand times or more in my lifetime. Janus created this face for me and I have kept it for more than 25 years because it was special. But I must change now or I risk the lives of Tash and all of those who have protected me; including you. I am sorry but I must know if you even think it is possible to create a new identity for me. Because unless you can I have to get going in case I am being followed."
Kate shuddered involuntarily upon hearing Janus' name but she managed to put those feelings aside. "Victor, you have helped me in the past, unquestioningly and putting your own life in danger. I'll do whatever I can to help." Kate rose to her feet and paced slightly, deep in thought. If Janus gave Victor his current glamour she should be able to do it too. After all Janus taught her practically everything she knew about spells and castings...
"It might take some time though. The temporary glamour I first gave you was unstable and incomplete. Something permanent - I'd have to look it up in my books but I'm pretty sure I'd need some sort of potion to help fix the glamour in place."
Victor frowned. That meant he would not have an edge against Xavier. No matter. He had faced uneven odds before. "Thanks, Kate. I trust you'll have something for me the next time we meet. How long will you need?"
“Tonight,” Kate said finally after mentally calculating everything she would need to prepare in her head. Apart from finding the correct spell she would also have to gather the ingredients and brew the potion, as well as setting up the ritual space. It would take a lot of time and hard work but she could do it. “I’ll have everything ready for you tonight.”
"Perfect. That should give me enough time to prepare. I suspect this hunter is close on my trail. He has already found my first hideout. I'll be sure to frustrate him no end by moving once again."
Victor rose and patted Kate on the shoulder, "Thank you for your help. I felt awkward asking for help. I am new to cooperation. I have been operating on my own for a long time. It is good to know that I can rely on help from friends."
Victor started for the door, and Kate rose to accompany him, but as she was reaching for the knob, Victor hesitated. May I use your phone? I have to call Tash and let her know what is happening."
"Sure. Go ahead," Kate said pointing towards the phone set on the hall table. She stood waiting for a moment before realising, "Oh, um, I think I'll get started with my research..." Kate headed up the staircase, "You can let yourself out when you've finished?"
Victor smiled. It was one thing to trust another. But it felt good to be trusted in return. "Sure, Kate. And thanks again."
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
She stood there all alone on the pavement next to the street. She gazed up and down the street for a long time, gathering her thoughts. She was a demon. She didn't feel like a demon - neither did she look like one. To her a demon was defined as an ugly, scaly monster, causing havoc, something like Satan. She didn't feel she fit into that definition.
She was wearing a navy blue jacket with a yellow shirt and a red skirt underneath it. The yellow and red were the symbolic colours of the "Laughing Dogs", the restaurant where she worked. She knew she looked ridiculous in the bright colours which was why she always wore the navy blue jacket over them, which she had purchased cheaply from a flea market.
Standing there all by herself with hundreds of questions crossing her head, she felt out of place. She looked up and down the street again, looking at all those people going to their jobs, homes, high schools. Which one of them was a demon? Was there also an Angel? She didn't know.
Just then a horn blazed loudly and she found herself distracted from her thoughts. It was a car in front of her. Without realizing Tarix had walked onto the street.
"Hey, lady, move out of the way. If ya' wanna die, go jump off a bridge or something, jeez!"
Tarix looked at the car, then hurried past it, crossing the road and going towards her work place.
"I'd like the Double Dog Burger with extra fries", said a man in his middle age.
Tarix scribbled it all down on the note pad. "Will there be anything else with that?" she asked. When the man shook a "no", she walked back to the kitchen and gave the order to the cook. She then looked at the clock that was next to the cash register and noted that it was time for her break.
Hanging her apron on a hook nearby, Tarix made her way to the back door of the restaurant. That was usually where all the employees would go to spend their five-minute break, smoking or gossiping. Tarix usually spent it eating her lunch or day dreaming about who she was.
This time her thoughts were occupied with the question Thule had left her with. *The order of Valor, do I really want to join it?*
"Order of Valor may help you find out about yourself."
*The question is, do I want to know who I really am?*
The answer to that was easier: of course she did.
She knew first she would have to find out more about herself, what she is, what Thule said she is. She would go to her bookstore this evening and research about the "Koolang" demons. The small bookstore had some occult books, limited though.
"Hey Tarix, Johnny told me to tell you that Dill has gone home sick, you will have to work overtime again today."
That was Justin, another employee of the "Laughing Dogs", as well as Dill. Johnny was the manager, the "boss". He was better then the previous "boss" Tarix had faced in New York, though. Tarix didn't know them too well; neither did she feel like she wanted to. She just wanted to be alone most of the time.
Tarix started to utter disagreement, it was the fifth time this week she had to work overtime, but she stopped. *Doesn't matter, at least I'll earn more.*
With that, Tarix sighed and went back inside.
Tarix was walking, hurrying to her work in the bookshop. *I am late, I am late, I hope Joan understands.*
Behind her she heard the sound of footsteps.
*It's nothing, probably nothing.* After the visit from Thule she found out that she had become quite paranoid. *Nothing, it's NOTHING!*
"Hey, baby, where you hurrying off to?" a voice called behind her.
Tarix looked back and found herself staring at a strong man in his 30's with dark hair and a nasty grin on his face. *Ok, maybe it's something but I am sure nothing to freak about.* She was wrong there too!
She started to turn away and then suddenly looked back at the man. His face had turned into an ugly distorted image, so evil it looked. Tarix started to scream but her voice was stuck in her throat and only a gasp escaped.
"Ohhhhh, baby, don't you wanna have some fun?" With that the vampire dove towards Tarix, who was still frozen in her tracks.
He grabbed her and threw her on the ground, trying to tire her out so that she wouldn't struggle. He then towered over her, grabbed her neck and was about to drive in for a bite.
Tarix just lay there as the man towered over her and was about to come in for a bite. Then she felt the similar pressure building in her ears. A pressure forming all over her body, and she started losing control of it.
She faked a kick to his gut, which he started to bloke. This gave her two seconds to easily take her stake and drive it deep into his chest. She then stood back, cold malice in her eyes and fury in her face, and looked at the vampire choking. The vampire stood there for a few seconds and then disintegrated into dust before her eyes.
Tarix was still standing there with a cruel smile on her face. She blinked and looked around herself and then looked at the ground and saw the ashes. *What in the hell happened?*
She had no clue. It was like one minute she was terrorized and the next as if someone had taken over her body and now she just felt as if she was insane. *I killed a man! Oh my God, oh my God!*
She sat down on the ground, feeling dizzy and nauseous. She had no clue what that thing was or what she had become. She just sat there and made up her mind that she would join the Order of Valor. *I need some answers, or I'll go insane, if I already am not...!*
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
Tuesday, 16th August 2005 – Noon
Ernie adjusted the headset and opened his brown bag lunch. He had stopped by the deli next to the motel and picked it up special. Liverwurst. He knew Seb couldn't stand the smell of it. *This will teach him to fuck with me,* he thought, remembering the hot sauce Seb had smeared in the earpieces of his headset.
Sebastian's nose wrinkled as Ernie pulled his sandwich out of the bag. He put the binoculars down and shot a filthy look at Ernie, "That smells disgusting, you know." Seb scowled at Ernie's supercilious smile before angrily refocusing on Kate's house. He sat up suddenly, "Oh, look at that..." They both heard Kate's voice exclaim "Victor!? What is it? Come in...". Seb glanced over at Ernie and chuckled, "Looks like when the cat's away the mouse will play. "
Ernie picked up his binoculars and peered into them. "He's handsome enough. But our Sabrina's a one man girl. According to her file anyway." He set down the binoculars and tuned in the high-gain mics in the house. They listened for a few seconds and exclaimed in trio with Kate's voice, "A new face?"
Seb shrugged and tried to get a view through the curtains, with limited success. After a minute of listening to this 'Victor' explain his position Seb turned to Ernie, "Who the fuck is this guy? 'Thousands' of face changes??"
"This guy must be one of those sub-terrestrials disguising himself as human in order to blend in. I bet he’s actually a non-foot tall demon with horns!"
There was a long pause, then the two men laughed. "Yeah right, I know!" said Ernie. *Still, worth investigating.* Ernie pressed the timestamp machine for the analysis guys so they could go over this with a fine tooth comb.
Seb listened to the sound of the phone ringing as Victor called somebody named Tash...
*****
An insistent noise gradually broke through to Tash's consciousness. She dragged herself out of the deep sleep she was in and fumbled for the bedside phone. The handset dropped with a loud 'thump' and she cursed silently as she hauled it back up by the cord. Finally getting it the right way around she mumbled, "Unnngh... hello?"
"Tash? It's Victor. Sorry I woke you up. I just wanted to call and see if you were okay. You are okay aren't you?" The sound of the thump and her fuzzy speech made him wonder.
Tash's heart thumped as she heard Victor's voice. The cobwebs cleared, though her head felt like it was made of smashed eggshell.
"Victor? Are you ok? I was so worried. I thought you'd... and then I went... but I saw the Stone, and Daye brought me the note. Oh, Victor, I'm so stupid." She tried to sit up, but the movement brought a sharp pain lancing through her skull and she hissed before sinking back onto the pillow.
"Tash? Something’s wrong? You've hurt yourself again haven't you? Wait... no... hold on. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you but you weren't in a mood to talk.” Victor searched his feelings and despite the arguments he knew the truth. “Neither was I. I'm sorry. This hunter is crafty, and I really need to concentrate on this. I love you and I will call you every day. I just don't feel safe telling you every place I go and hide. I'll get him, and I love you."
"I just feel so useless sitting here waiting to see if you'll live or die. There must be something I can do to help - I really think you need someone watching your back. How much do you know about this guy? If he's Society, maybe Sorrow will be able to tell us something about him?" Tash's voice sounded worried, "I don't know if he'll be happy to give us information on this Xavier guy, but surely we should at least ask. He may not even know what's going on."
Victor sighed. "Sorrow is the one who told me. He is walking a razor’s edge on this. He has obligations to the Society, and he feels he owes us too. I know about obligation and I can respect it. If you could ask him about this guy that would be great, but I don't want to risk his standing with the Society. He has to be highly placed. Xavier had to ask permission to hunt here in LA. And before you get angry, I understand why Sorrow had to say yes..."
Tash blinked. "What do you mean, Sorrow had to say yes? You mean Sorrow authorised this Xavier guy to hunt you? After all we've been through with him? Goddam!" Tash's shout was quickly followed by a groan as her throbbing head protested.
"Calm down and listen, please. There was no reason that he could justify to the Society for saying 'no'. He could not put his association in jeopardy for this. It was a gamble, but I have faced these society bozos before. They are used to hunting ferals; wild demons and monsters. I am smarter and better than they are. Sorrow tipped me off, and that was a huge risk for him. I appreciate any help he can give. But his association with the Society means a lot to him. I can respect that, and I hope you will too even if you don't like it."
"How can you be so calm about this?" Tash asked. "I can't believe he'd just betray you like that. You keep saying he's taken a risk just telling you about Xavier. What, they'd issue a reprimand? Fine him? I suppose you'll tell me they'd kill him."
There was a pregnant pause. All Tash could hear was the pop and buzz of the phone line. "Really?" she asked incredulously. "They'd go that far? I'm glad I stayed freelance." Inwardly, Tash was seething at Sorrow, but Victor seemed to accept his actions.
"Hunter societies are all or nothing. If you are not 100% trustworthy to the other members you are a threat to the Society. Sorrow seemed to think this Xavier guy was a loose cannon, but even he followed the protocol." Victor could hear the angry tone on the other end of the phone. "I can't push my association with Sorrow another inch without even more risk to him. But if you could ask for me... that might be different."
Tash's anger at Sorrow mingled with the worry for Victor. "Of course I'll ask. I'll do anything to help. I love you." Tash closed her eyes for a minute, thinking on how close she'd come to just giving up last night. "When I thought I'd lost you..." her voice trailed off. "Just come home safe to me, please," she whispered.
Victor melted inside. He wanted badly to go home to her now. "I want nothing more. If I want to go home to you it will have to be over his dead body. That’s the only way."
Tash swallowed. "I understand. You know how I feel about killing humans, but if it's down to you or him... do whatever it takes, love. I know - you weren't asking my permission. But I understand. But how will I get the information to you? I want to get it to you as soon as I can - I can't let you take more chances than you need to."
"I can't stop by Poplar. Can you meet me later? I am coming back to Kate's tonight. Say 9pm?"
"Umm, maybe." Tash thought out loud, "By then I should be able to get around all right. I'll take a taxi."
"Get around?" Victor was very concerned now, "How badly did you get hurt?"
Tash bit her tongue. Damn, she hadn't realised she'd spoken aloud. "Oh, not that bad, really," she injected a note of nonchalance, trying to wave it off. "Just a bit of a bump. Daye fixed me up pretty well..."
"Tash..." Victor sighed, "Be careful. If you need to talk to someone talk to your friends - Jade, Daye, or Kate. If you need to work through some aggression, spar with Sorrow or Sam... better spar with Sorrow. And know that I love you and want you to be happy."
"I will be careful, love. I was just a bit... distracted last night." Tash could feel her speech slurring as she grew tired. Damn, she needed to sleep some more. "I'll find Sorrow as fast as I can for you, and see if he'll help us." Anger flared up again as she thought of Sorrow's betrayal. "Damn him." She heaved a sigh. "I know - you don't think he had a choice. I just hope if he can betray you to them that he'll feel equally capable of betraying them to us."
“It is not betrayal. He honored the word of the pact with his Society, not the spirit. I doubt there is anything in his Society to prevent him from giving an edge to the hunted, only standing in the way of the hunter. These societies don't plan on the prey being friendly. I think he will help, it just can't be directly to me. That could be considered blocking the hunter."
Tash smiled, "I can only ask." She struggled to keep the phone to her ear. It kept trying to slip out of her fingers and onto the pillow. "Be careful, Victor. I love you. I know I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. But I'll see you tonight at Kate's place, come Hell or high water."
*****
The call ended and Seb could no longer contain his crow of delight. "Hoo-whee! This chick is doing a demon. Wow, wouldn't I love to have a camera in their place! I wonder if he's got a 10-foot long..." Ernie cut him off with a glower. Seb subsided with a mutter, "Gotta get my kicks somewhere... God knows you're boring enough for both of us."
Ernie only dignified his comment with a hurled sandwich.
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
Tuesday, 16th August 2005 – 6pm
Sorrow looked at the ugly bruise on his face and was thankful for his enhanced healing. Tomorrow morning it would be gone but for now it was a visible reminder of just how far he had let his training slide. His problem was that there was really only one person he was felt up to partnering him in training and yesterday he'd set one of his colleagues on her lover, as well as bespelling her Saturday night.
Sorrow doubted Tash'd forgive him the former and guessed she'd be seething for the latter. Still, he needed a training partner and it would be best not to let this fester. He finished getting ready, put his training gear in a bag and headed to the door. He’d call on Tash, he decided. Maybe she'd like to train before she headed out tonight. He smiled, *And it'd give me a chance to show off the apartment.*
He stood outside Tash's door. Two times he raised his hand to knock then stopped and let it fall. Sorrow had an incongruous thought about Dr. Pepper then finally knocked on the door.
Tash was dozing fitfully, trying to ignore the dull throbbing behind her eyes. She was thinking about Victor and fretting. She'd managed to leave a message for Sorrow on Jade's machine before she passed out, but so far she hadn't heard anything. She wondered if he even checked her machine. But Jade would pass it on, surely? Her reverie was broken by a firm knock. Startled, she slid out of her bed, grabbed a long t-shirt and dragged it over her head before staggering to the front door.
"Who is it?" she queried.
"Hi, Tash. It's Sorrow."
Sorrow. Tash felt a small spark of resentment at him, but mostly she was just happy to hear his voice. She unlocked the door and opened it, a broad smile of relief on her face. "You finally got my message, then. Come in, please," Tash opened the door wide. She felt a little nervous. What if he wouldn't - or couldn't - help them?
"Message?" He didn't as a rule check Jade's machine. "No, I actually came over to see if you wanted to train a little before you went out hunting, but I guess you wanted to talk to me about something else?" If Tash wanted to talk to him it was one of two things and he really hoped it was Ohenewaa.
Tash blinked in surprise. "You wanted to see if I'd train with you? Wow. I'd have thought you'd be worried about coming to see me." Tash felt she couldn't stand too much longer, even using the door as a support. She ushered Sorrow in, closed the door behind him and stumbled to the couch where she sat carefully, trying not to let the t-shirt ride up too much. "But I'm afraid I'm not really up to it tonight."
She looked up to where Sorrow was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. She gestured to the other couch before continuing, "Victor called earlier. He told me what happened with you." She breathed in deeply, "And why you had to do what you did."
Tash gazed at Sorrow as he settled himself on the other sofa, her eyes hard coals. "I don't like it. But Victor told me of the consequences. And most importantly, he doesn't seem unduly upset." A small part of Tash was screaming at her to tear Sorrow limb from limb. He'd put Victor in jeopardy. Victor. But she'd had some hours to mull it over, get used to the idea. "But I'm asking if there's anything you can tell me about Xavier that will help Victor. He's out there alone - won't let me go help him directly... I'm not used to feeling helpless."
"No, I doubt any of us are, but Victor's right. Xavier sometimes lacks restraint and you could get caught in a crossfire..." There were a great deal of things that Victor could easily survive, but Tash was much more fragile. Victor’s caution made a lot of sense.
"Still, hopefully he'll have taken my warning seriously enough. It should make Victor’s job easier. As for helping you against Xavier, there's the Society files but beyond that I can't offer much." Tash gazed at Sorrow steadily, giving away nothing. "Look, I can't directly impede Xavier’s hunt, especially if it ends up in his death."
Tash nodded slowly, "I know. Victor told me as much." She raised her eyes to meet Sorrow's again. "You should know I've spent most of this afternoon cursing your name. But really, I'm grateful for anything you can tell me."
Tash sighed. The late afternoon sun was barely dull enough for her to keep her eyes open without the light stabbing into the back of her head, and she closed them for a moment to relieve the pain. She was sitting sideways on the couch so the back of her head wasn't resting against anything. "The thing I want to know is, will there be any repercussions if Victor kills Xavier as a result of information you've passed us? From you, or from the Society?"
"There shouldn't be - we operate independently, selecting prey as we choose. If a hunter dies during a hunt then the rest of us just continue on. Even if my involvement comes out Victor won't be at risk." He understood Tash's fears but there wouldn't be an unending stream of hunters seeking Victor’s life. It would end with Xavier, he was sure of that. "Let me go get the file on Xavier." Sorrow rose and left the apartment.
Tash shut her eyes and lay back a little on the couch, willing the headache to recede before Sorrow came back. All too soon she heard the door open again as he returned. She levered her eyelids open with an effort. "You know, you said Victor wouldn't be at risk if your involvement came out. But what about you?"
"You taken anything for that headache?" Sorrow placed a medicine bottle on the coffee table alongside a disk. "How about a drink?" Sorrow wandered into the kitchen, completely ignoring Tash's question.
Tash laughed mirthlessly. "Somehow, I don't think ordinary painkillers are going to do much for this headache." Tash eyed the disk. "Thanks for getting that. I really appreciate it. But I have to ask: what would have happened if you'd told Xavier he couldn't hunt here? And howcome he had to ask you anyway? Victor said you're fairly high up in the Society..." She twisted a little to watch Sorrow moving about in the kitchen.
"The drug's Imitrex. They'll shift anything, trust me." Sorrow continued to struggle with the coffee maker. "Where do you keep your filters?"
"Second cupboard on the left." Tash sighed in exasperation. "Sorrow?"
Sorrow finished making the coffee then walked back into the lounge. Handing a mug to Tash he settle back into the sofa and sighed. "I'm the ranking member for the Society in the LA area. The position is called Huntmaster. Xavier's request to hunt was a formality. The only circumstances where I could have refused it are if there was already a hunter targeting the same or similar prey, or if Xavier was under censure. Neither circumstance was true so I had to grant him permission."
Sorrow sipped his coffee "As for refusing him, Huntmasters are held to a higher standard than ordinary hunters; Xavier could have called a tribunal. It wouldn't have been a death sentence but I probably would have needed medical attention and Xavier would still have been able to hunt Victor."
Tash knew Sorrow had pretty good mental shields. She wasn't sure if it was that or her concussion, or a combination of the two, but she was getting nothing from him. Even his aura was difficult to read. "Still, it must have been a hard thing to do. Whatever your reasoning, you must still feel responsible for setting Xavier onto Victor." Tash cupped her hands around the mug, waiting for the coffee to cool a little before drinking.
"A little, but in the end I had no choice. Refusing Xavier would not have helped Victor. I gave him permission and warned Victor as soon as I could."
The coffee's aroma drifted into Tash's nostrils and she inhaled deeply before taking a sip. The hot liquid coursed down her throat, warming her. "I'm glad I found out about this from Victor." She regarded Sorrow frankly. "I doubt I'd have been so accepting of this news from you. But I've had time to think, and one of the things that worries me, especially after what you've told me, is what they'll do to you if they find out about this," she nodded at the disk lying on the table.
The movement made her wince and she eyed the bottle next to the disk. No. She needed to be aware later this evening and couldn't risk being zoned out from painkillers. She turned back to Sorrow and watched his features carefully while her question sank in.
There it was, a direct question. He had no activity to avoid it, no way of distracting her. "That's not really an issue is it? It's done, Tash. If it comes up I'll deal with it then but let's not borrow trouble." He'd met his obligations to the Society. Regardless of the consequences, he would do no less for Tash and Victor.
Tash sighed. He'd ignored this question once, and now this evasive answer only confirmed her suspicions. But she couldn't refuse the information. Anything to give Victor an edge... She sipped some more coffee to hide her consternation. "Sorrow, if there are any problems because of this, you know you don't even have to ask. I'll be there for you, and I'm sure so will Victor." She looked at him with a sad smile, "You should have stayed independent, like me. Then you wouldn't be caught in the middle of this mess."
"No, instead I'd have been dead years ago. I found allies where I could, Tash and prior to this the Society has served me well. " Setting his coffee down on the table he looked hard at Tash, "And I won't involve either you or Victor in a matters that arise from this."
Tash gazed at Sorrow for a long minute. He'd tried to kill her while wrestling with his vampire nature, he'd used magic on her the other night and although resistance probably wouldn't have changed the outcome, he'd been responsible for pointing a hunter right at Victor. And yet she felt only a small knot of anger. A cold pit of resentment lay deep in her belly, but it was only the remnants of the rage she'd felt after Victor's call. And now she found herself worried about what would happen to Sorrow as a result of all this. She shook her head. She didn't think she'd ever figure herself out.
“Let's just hope the Society never finds out, then. But if there are repercussions, know that I'll help in any way I can." Tash snorted, "Damn, I hate being beholden to others, but lately it seems I've done nothing but rack up favours." She looked up sharply, worried that Sorrow would get the wrong idea, "And that's not why I'd help, Sorrow. Not out of a sense of obligation. Even if you couldn't assist us with Xavier, I'd like to think I'd still be there in a crisis."
Sorrow didn't see the point in correcting Tash's misperception. To him his obligations were far more than simple favours owed but if that was how she looked on it he doubted he could explain anyway. "I understand, Tash and thank you. Well you won't be hunting with that head and training is pretty much out as well. Has anyone been checking on you while you rested?" Sorrow picked up the two coffee mugs and walked to kitchen. He ran the tap and rinsed them, "Are you sure you won't take the Imetrex? They will clear your headache in no time; let you get some rest. I can pop over if you worried about concussion..."
Tash shook her head as Sorrow walked back into the room. "No, I'll want my wits about me when I take that to Victor. I hope you'll understand if I don't tell you where I'm meeting him..."
She shifted slightly on the couch, "And no, I won't be hunting tonight." The disappointment was overwhelming, but maybe tomorrow she could go. "As for training, I'm working with Sam - damn, I'll have to cancel tonight's session, I guess. But I usually train in the afternoons by myself, if you'd like to join me sometime..."
"Sure, I need the practise," Sorrow ran his hand over the bruise along his jaw, "they're getting a little too close at the moment." Sorrow looked sharply at Tash, "Sam? The janitor?"
Tash eyed the bruise on Sorrow's face. She gave a small laugh. "I’ll see your bruised jaw and raise you a fractured skull... Yeah, that Sam. I'm teaching him self-defence."
Sorrow laughed softly, "Yeah I guess that's a winning hand. You've got a training room in the building then?" Sorrow frowned; working with someone else was always useful, even if it was a total novice. Teaching someone else forced you to break down your actions into simple steps. "I could take him tonight if you like. I'd need to know where he's up to..."
"Yeah, the renovations on the third floor left quite a good-sized training area. One of the perks of being the owner's girlfriend," Tash winked before her expression grew more serious. "But I'm not sure about Sam... He's only had a couple of lessons so far, though he's picking stuff up pretty quickly. I'd rather not switch instructors on him just yet. But tomorrow night, come up with me and I'll introduce you. He finishes work at nine." Tash couldn't help but think this was a much nicer conversation than she'd had with Sorrow on Saturday night.
Sorrow sighed. *Oh well, I guess the next Huntmaster just inherited my workout room.* "That's good to know, and I understand about Sam. Better to get him settled with someone before springing surprises on him." Sorrow glanced at his bag. "Do you mind if I use it? I'm a little off my schedule and don't feel like the trip to my place."
Tash nodded, "No problem. Hang on, I'll put some clothes on and take you up there." Sorrow opened his mouth to protest, but Tash raised a hand to hush him, "No, I need to start moving about a little, especially if I'm going out later." She stood up gingerly and walked to the bedroom, where she found a pair of jeans. She dug out the key to the training room and gestured for Sorrow to follow.
Sorrow let Tash lead the way, surreptitiously ready to offer support if she needed it. As she unlocked the door Sorrow gazed in appreciation on a large well designed training room. "Give me a sec. If I'm going to do sword work I need to get Hizashi."
Sorrow dropped his bag just inside the door and headed downstairs to Jade's apartment. He returned with his blade and set it down on the table before carefully inspecting the room. "This is very nice; I'll be spending a lot of time here if you don't mind?"
Tash had taken up a seat on the long bench that ran along the wall. She hoped she felt better in a couple of hours. "Sure," she beamed, "that would be great. I haven't had a training partner since Matthias first left." She glanced at the key in her hand. "But I keep the door locked since I have some weapons in here. So if you want to use it without me just let me know and I'll open it."
"Sure, no problems about that. I'll probably move some of my Kenjutsu gear in here so I'd prefer it remained locked. Let me get changed and I can start." Sorrow smiled, "Feel free to critique."
Tash smiled wanly, "I'd love to, but I really want to sleep a little more before seeing Victor. I'll be up at 8:30 to lock up, okay?" She stood and closed the distance between them. Each step she took towards Sorrow felt like another piece of her resentment flaking away. "And I know 'thanks' doesn't even begin to cover it, but thanks."
Sorrow smiled, placed his hands on her shoulders and brushed his lips across her forehead. "Absolutely no thanks necessary Tash, none whatsoever." He gave the slightest push, "Go rest then and be careful."
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
Tuesday, 16th August 2005 – 7pm
Tash left Sorrow to it and started to make her way back to her flat and bed. *Damn, better find Sam first.* She had no idea where he was, but cast out her senses to see if she could pick up his essence. Hmm, nothing much up here except a faint hint of Sorrow from behind the door. His shields were incredible. She really must find out how he did that.
She held onto the banister as she descended the stairs, searching for Sam. Finally she thought she felt something as she approached the head of the stairs leading to the first floor. Sam was halfway down, polishing the railing. He looked half asleep, she thought. She had to admit, she probably didn't look much better.
She leaned against the wall. "Hi, Sam."
It took Sam a moment to realize Tash was talking to him. “Oh,” he said, glancing up, “h-h...” he finished saying “hi” in a long yawn. He quelled it with his hand, and the acerbic chemicals saturating his rag overpowered him. His cleaning supplies hit the stairs and rolled to the bottom, and he steadied himself on the banister. Sam hastily inched his way toward ground level. The stairs were shimmering, as in a dream, under every footfall. He feared that he might pass out. Maybe he could sit down on the bottom step and fade away. That would be nice. Peaceful oblivion.
Tash moved as swiftly as she could down the stairs and reached out to steady Sam. His eyes weren't tracking very well, so she suggested, "Sam, take a few deep breaths... you ok?"
He shrugged her off with a scowl. Of course he was okay. What was she implying? “I can handle myself. What, do I look helpless?”
Tash blinked at his sudden anger. "No, of course not. I thought you'd just inhaled some fumes, is all..." She released his arm and stepped back to lean against the wall again.
"I was just looking for you. I'm sorry, but I won't be able to do any training tonight. But tomorrow should be ok. I'm keen to get into some weapons stuff." She surveyed his face as she spoke. He seemed awfully haggard, but after his recent outburst she wasn't game to ask if he was all right.
As much as skipping the training would have pleased Sam, Tash’s suggestion made him angry. “You get to decide when we train and when we don’t? Sure, that’s okay, I didn’t have plans tomorrow or anything. Obviously, Sam doesn’t have a life.” Sleep, sleep would be nice. He picked up his rag and shuddered. He could feel sweat surfacing on his forehead.
Tash took a deep breath. The anger that had faded while she spoke to Sorrow was threatening to rise again at Sam's belligerence. She kept it down, though, and kept her voice calm. "I'm sorry, Sam. I have something else I have to do tonight. I don't like to skip out on an arrangement, but..." She paused, unsure what to tell Sam. "But Victor needs my help."
All the walking and standing she'd been doing over the past little while was taking its toll. She closed her eyes to stop the woozy feeling, but snapped them open again when it only made things worse.
Sam fumed. Victor needed her help. Whatever. They were probably going to be down the hall from his apartment making love, drinking champagne, those trivial things well-off people do while their hard-working employees are cleaning their toilets, polishing their handrails…
There was a big, ugly fingerprint on his newly shined banister! Now he’d have to start over. He frowned, covered the smudge with the rag and started rubbing, putting his back into it. “If you say so. I’ll be here. Whenever you need me, apparently.” His own words scared him. Talking to the boss’s girlfriend like this could get him fired. But so what? Let Mr. Tek fire him! Good.
Tash frowned. She could see the anger radiating from Sam and couldn't fathom why. "What the hell's going on with you, Sam? Why are you so pissed off?"
He wanted her to apologize for neglecting his needs, but the response she gave wasn’t expected. She’d thrown the ball into his court, forcing him to do the talking. He didn’t like it. “Never mind. Just go. We’ll train tomorrow night, I guess.”
Tash reached over and snatched the cleaning rag from Sam's hand. Standing on the step above him, her eyes were level with his. "Sam, I will train with you tomorrow night. I promise." Her voice was controlled, but the rage was underneath. "You look tired, perhaps that's why you're angry." Her voice softened, "Maybe you should pack it in for the day. Get some rest."
She wasn’t behaving right! Why couldn’t she just admit she was wrong to cancel on short notice? He couldn’t look her in the eyes. He turned away, just as a lump appeared in his throat. He’d made it plainly obvious that her behavior was disrespectful. If she were a friend, she would have read his sarcasm and acknowledged that he had a life. Did he have to spell it out for her? She should have asked him — not told him — if they could reschedule for tomorrow night. He was a person, not a doormat. And he hated that she told him in a condescending voice to get some rest. He was a grown man. He could tell himself when to take a nap.
“Easy for you to say, Tash. You don’t have a job. I have real work to do. Do you think Mr. Tek is just going to come in tomorrow and think this is all okay?” Sam straightened up, trying to stand taller than Tash. He attempted a quick impression of Mr. Tek: a strong jaw and a deep, calm voice. “’Sure, Sam, it’s okay that you didn’t finish. Oh? My girlfriend told you to? Hey, no problem. Here, let me give you a raise.’”
Sam held out his hand and waited for Tash to return the rag. She looked fuzzy, like the stairs under her feet, and he wondered which would collapse first, him, her, or the whole darn building.
Tash shook her head resignedly, "Victor's not likely to be here tomorrow, Sam. He's in trouble. And yes, he would understand. He cares about people. So do I. But," she held the rag out for him, "I can only offer help. It's up to you to accept it."
“I don’t need help, I need to do my job,” he said. He grabbed at the rag hatefully to show her he was not willing to be talked to like a child, but after several clumsy attempts he only managed to knock it to the floor. He bent over to pick the rag up, and dizziness took him. He grabbed hold of Tash’s legs to keep from falling over. Consciousness was leaving.
*Shit!* Tash thought. She tried to control Sam's collapse by grabbing onto his shoulders, but in her weakened state she could barely do more than fold with him, cushioning his fall. She landed unceremoniously on her butt and Sam toppled forward, pinning her to the stairs. "Ungh," she grunted.
The sound she made frightened Sam, for it meant he hurt her. How quickly the rage that had been roiling inside his chest turned to remorse. Panicking, he tried to keep his weight lifted, but he lost balance and tumbled to the right, clunking his head on the stairs. The lump in his throat exploded into his skull. The jolt was all Sam needed. He began to sob.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, “Did I hurt you, Tash?” He covered his face and sucked up a wad of snot. “I’m tired, so tired, why won’t she let me sleep, sleep?”
Tash gathered Sam's head in her arms and let him cry. "No, Sam, you didn't hurt me," she reassured him. She found herself rocking him. "You're tired. That's all..." She checked his neck for more vampire wounds, but could see none. So why was he so tired? Who was it that wouldn't let him sleep? Reah??
She sat like that for a time, holding onto Sam as he sobbed and mumbled against her belly. Her head pounded, and she could feel time slipping away, but she couldn't just leave Sam like this.
“You don’t hate me?” he said, allowing his body to melt against hers. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel… I feel…”
"Of course I don't hate you." She could feel him relaxing as she stroked his hair. "You feel what? What is it, Sam?"
He didn’t have a clue. He could barely think, and when he tried his thoughts settled on a drink of water and a nice bed. Or in this case, a couch. Reah would just have to scoot over. “I don’t know, Tash. Can I go home?”
Tash could feel his confusion and anxiety. "Of course you can. But I'm afraid I'm not up to my usual strength today. You'll have to help me." She laid his head gently on the step and stood, then helped Sam upright. He wobbled a bit, but was able to move with an arm thrown around her shoulders. She struggled with him up the stairs and to his apartment door, ignoring the pain the exertion caused through her fragile skull. "The key?" she queried.
Sam pointed to his pocket, but as it turned out, the door was ajar. He’d left for work in a hurry. “I think I can manage from here,” he said, wondering if that was true.
"I've got you this far, I'll see the job done." Tash backed off a little, just keeping a hand on his back as they entered the flat. The place was a mess, an empty pizza box sharing the floor with assorted wrappers and a roll of paper towel. There was only one piece of furniture in the lounge and Tash recognised Reah lying on it, apparently fast asleep. "I'll get you into your bed, Sam. Which room is yours?"
He pointed at Reah, who was snoozing soundly on their couch under the blue blanket. “That’s my room for now. But it’s not what you think. We’re just friends.”
Tash looked at the couch. It was a good size, but she doubted the two could sleep comfortably on it together. The thought crossed her mind, *Dammit, another one.* She sighed, "Look, you'll probably be more comfortable where you can stretch out. You can sleep on one of my couches if you like."
“It’s okay. It’s a very comfortable couch.” How could he possibly walk another twenty feet to Tash’s apartment? He was about to fall asleep standing up.
Tash eyed Sam's couch critically. "No," she decided, "you'll stay at my place. Don't argue," she said as he tried to protest. She turned him around, pulled his door shut quietly so as not to disturb Reah and staggered with him to her flat. She fumbled for her key and unlocked the door, propelling a reluctant Sam inside.
She found a spare blanket and pillow for him, returning to find he'd already curled up on one of the couches. She took off his shoes, propped his head on the pillow and tucked the blanket around his shoulders. Standing back, she surveyed him. *Me and my lost kittens...*
The clock told her it was 7:30. There was an hour left for her to nap before she had to meet Victor. She grabbed the disk from the coffee table and took it with her into her room. Setting the alarm for 8:30, she finally allowed sleep to overtake her.
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
**** Tuesday 16 August - 5pm****
“How did it go?” Jess asked Will as she continued to walk beside him. They’d come out for some fresh air for a while.
“Not too well. Ellie ran out again.”
Jess sighed, “This really isn’t working. I have to talk to her.”
“I’m sorry that my talking to her didn’t work. I asked for a compromise but she wouldn’t hear it. Instead she grabbed her skateboard and was out the door.”
“It’s okay.” Jess stopped in her tracks and faced her brother, a small smile on her face. “We can work something out I’m sure…hope…”
“If not the Council will take her back.”
“They what?”
“They can take her back to England then they can decide whether to continue her training or to end it,” Will answered a little unsettled by his sisters’ harshness.
“I don’t want that. I want to train her. I want to look after her. I want to get on with her.”
“But if you don’t…”
“If I don’t what, Will? You can’t send her back. The Council intervenes too much.” By now Jess was upset again and shouting.
“She is the Council’s. That is her future.”
“Is that all you think of the poor girls you train? The girls who go out and save the world God knows how many times. Saving the Council’s arses in the process?” She sighed and turned away from his face. “You speak like Dad.”
“Jess, please don’t.”
“Don’t what? Speak the truth?”
Will sighed, “I don’t mean it like that. But if we can’t work this out, she’s going to ha-.”
“She’s just a teen. I was like that at that age, you were too.”
“She’s not just a teen, neither were you. You two were born Slayers, maybe not chosen, but still Slayers. She is strong and you saw that the other day, despite her just being a girl.”
“Will, can you just be quiet. I don’t want to do this now, here.”
They continued walking in silence for a fair distance before Will broke it. “She’s just-“
“Don’t, Will, please.” Just then they rounded the corner and came to the park where they guessed Ellie was hiding out for the meantime.
***
“What the hell do you think you’re doing you little mother fucker???” Ellie shouted as she landing a punch in the guy's face.
“Look ‘ere little girlie, I ain’t one to pick on da ladies but yer an exception. You come ‘ere and start somethin’ that ain't good for your rep yer know.” The gum went round and round in his mouth like a cow chewing cud until her punch was returned.
“You though you could get one up on me lil missy. But you ain’t as tough as you think.” She was pinned to the ground and another punch landed in her stomach.
Ellie coughed up as she took the blow to her stomach. After recovering slightly she spoke up, “Would you just leave me alone?”
“I would love ta missy but I’m afraid I can’t.” Another punch landed Ellie’s way.
“Ow!!!!!” Ellie screamed as the punch hit her nose. “Shit!” Her nose began to bleed but she continued to fight without luck. She was still pinned to the ground, struggling to slip from the guys grip.
“Ya ain’t gettin’ away.”
***
Jessica and Will had been walking through the park for several minutes before they came to the skate ramps. Jess looked around and there was no sign that Ellie was there. “Great, she’s not here.”
“Looks that way.” He sighed before calling out to one of the teenagers just stepping down from the ramp. “Excuse me?”
“What?”
“Have you seen a girl around here today? Long brown hair, sixteen, blue eyes?”
“Um, Ellie? She was here a while ago - picked a fight with some townie and went that way,” the boy said, pointing towards a bunch of trees.
Will smiled “That’s the one. Thanks.” He then looked back to Jess who was standing a little further back holding onto Skye’s lead. “I think we’ve found our teen.”
Jess just smiled and began to walk in the direction the kid had shown. After walking through the trees they came to a clearing where they found a guy punching Ellie. She was lying on the ground, bruised and battered with blood streaming from her nose.
“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jess shouted out as she ran up to the kid.
“Hello Miss, ya want somethin’?”
*Gee great. That’s all I need, her to come in and ‘save’ me,* Ellie thought before the guy got up and stood on her fingers.
“Get off her,” Jess said sternly as she came closer.
“What do yer want?” he said as he reluctantly stepped away from Ellie and signalled nothing was wrong by putting his hands up, an innocent expression on his face.
Jess ignored him and went to Ellie’s side offering her support. “You okay?”
“For God's sake no! He fucking broke my nose!” Ellie tried her best to shout between the coughing and splutters.
“Here.” Jess handed her a tissue and Ellie put it to her nose in her best attempt to stop the bleeding. “You’re hurt pretty bad; I think we should get you to a hospital.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it.” Jess extended a hand to help Ellie up but was ignored as she scrambled up to her feet with the only energy she had left.
***
“How are you doing?” Jess asked as she stepped into the small room where Ellie sat on the hospital bed.
“Fine.”
She raised an eyebrow but left it. “You see what I mean when I say you’re not as strong as you think you are?”
“God, how many times have people said that to me today?” Ellie paused, looking to her feet. After a while she raised her head and looked to Jess, a slight smile on her face. “But yeah. I see where you’re coming from.”
“I’m glad we agree on something.” Jess smiled then continued, “Anyway, they said you can go home. We just won’t have any training for a few days, eh?”
Ellie grinned, “Sure, I don’t have anything against that.”
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
Tuesday 16th August 2005 - afternoon
Tarix finished her job at the bookstore and started to leave when Joan, the owner of the shop, stopped her. “Heh, I was wondering. You were looking for books on demons, right?” she said.
“Yeah, do you know where I can find some?”
“As a matter of fact I do. There is a bookstore called The Bibliophile. I’ve heard it has a lot of books on the supernatural. You may find some there.”
“Hey, thanks.”
“I’ll give you the address, go there and see how our rival is doing!” She winked an eye and gave a piece of paper to Tarix.
Tarix laughed, “I’ll try to spy as much as I can.”
Tarix got out of the door and thought that she might as well go to The Bibliophile now, it didn’t seem too late. She followed the address given to her and finally arrived at the bookstore. The bookstore was nothing like the one she worked at; it was larger and had a cozy looking café outside. When Tarix stepped inside, it seemed just as cozy as the café. The bookstore was well decorated and seemed very organized and it had a huge selection. Rows and rows of books lined from the ceiling till the floor.
Tarix walked up to the nearest employee she could find. It was a mousy looking brunette girl that seemed to be puzzled by something.
“Um, excuse me?” Tarix called to her.
She turned around and Tarix saw a name tag on her, which read “Melissa”.
“Yes, can I help you?”
“Ummm, yes. Hi! I was wondering if you…umm..have any books on demons….?”
“Oh yes, of course we do. Bibliophile is very popular for its books on the supernatural. Follow me.” Melissa led her to a section towards the right, which was labeled “The supernatural phenomenon”.
“Here you go,” Melissa said cheerfully, “You’ll find many books of demons here and then some!”
Tarix looked around and felt a little lost. “Umm, Melissa, could you help me find a book on a specific demon?”
“What kind of demon?”
“Well, a race of demons by the name of Koolang.”
Melissa looked thoughtful. “Ummm, tell you what, I’ll call Ms. Blaise, our manager, and she’ll help you out. You just wait here.” Melissa rushed off to find Ms. Blaise and left Tarix looking around the large section of books.
She looked around. Most of the books looked new but there were some that were old and dusty looking. At that moment a woman who seemed to be in her early twenties came towards her. She had red hair that had a slight wave to it and as she came closer, Tarix could make out her sparkling light green eyes. Overall she was very attractive looking.
“Hello. My name is Amanda Blaise. I’m the manager of this little bit of literary heaven. Melissa said you needed help with looking up something.”
“Yes, umm, hi Amanda, I was … ummm … looking for a book on a Koolang demons. Could you help me find one?”
“Hmmmm, Koolangs, you say? Actually I haven’t heard of them. Let’s see I can find it.” She then started to look around the books going through them one by one. Tarix wanted to help so she also started taking books and searching through them. Most of them didn’t have any index so she had to look through them page by page, a tedious method.
Going through the books, Tarix came across many things that were a puzzle to her, including articles on Banshees, simple wiccan spells, reference to the Devil, werewolves, vampires, and many more. Tarix was amazed by the content in the books and curiously started to read some of them.
“Well, I can’t seemed to find anything about them here.” Daye said, interrupting Tarix’s reading. “Are you sure you have the name right?”
Tarix looked up from the book she was holding. “Yes, I am sure.”
“I have some 'special editions' in the back. Let me check there. Wait right here. I’ll be right back.” Saying that, Daye left her and went towards the rear end of the store towards a small case. After a while she returned with a large book.
“It seems there was a race of the Koolang demons, but they have been considered to be extinct long ago, even though there are rumors of some still living. It’s a very rare race of demons, I believe. You can read about them in this section of the book here,” Daye said, opening the book and pointing to some passages. “Take your time. Just bring the book up to the counter when you finish with it.” With that Daye handed her the book and left.
Tarix looked at the book and started to read the passage.
Tarix continued to read the entire page but the passage had digressed and there was no more mention of the Koolang demons. She closed the book and carried it towards the counter where Daye was helping another customer with their purchases.
Tarix came up to Daye and said, “Thank you for your help. This was most helpful.” She handed Daye the book.
“Your welcome. Come back again if you need anything,” she replied quite cheerfully.
“Thank you. I will.” With that Tarix left the bookstore, her head filled with more questions then when she had entered the store.
---
She came to her apartment, and found that the door was once again unlocked. She went in and without looking around said, “Hey Thule, what brings you here?”
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
1:30pm Tuesday Aug 16
Victor strayed into the apartment building. It was basically a hole, filled with the detritus of big cities. Victor walked up the stairs rather than trust the ancient elevator to the apartment building that had been on Sam's paperwork.
He remembered the disheveled look and the desperate smell he had worn that day of the interview, and realized that this was where it had come from. Another month here and he'd have been another one of these castaways.
He knocked on the door first. In places like this it was usually prudent not to surprise people. He could hear a female muttering on the other side of the door. The door opened a crack and he could see a part of a hair curler and an eye surrounded by a facial paste peering through the crack.
"Who are you?" the eye asked.
"I am a friend of Sam's," Victor answered, "I was hoping I could stay here at his place for a few days, but I can see it's occupied. Never mind."
As he turned, he could hear the chain rattling, "A friend of Sam's? Where is he? I miss him. Can you tell him I miss him?"
There in the hallway stood a pink nighty with fuzzy slippers, hair curlers and green goop on its face. Victor guessed she might be attractive but under the layers of sediment it was hard to tell.
A male voice inside the apartment shouted "Hey! Who was that at the door? If it's them damn Jehovah's Witnesses tell 'em to keep their tracts and come back inside. Bring a beer with you too!"
Victor recognized that voice. He'd heard it only a few nights ago. "Al?" Victor walked into the apartment without waiting for the woman in the hall. There on the couch in a pair of dingy boxers, black socks and a white tee shirt sat Albert Hesch.
"Victor. Great, I guess I better get dressed cause you ain't gonna leave before the headache starts. I suppose it coulda been worse, you could be Killjoy." Hesch pulled on his trousers and poked around in the sofa for his shirt.
From the other room the woman re-entered carrying two beers. She handed one to Hesch without a word. The other she offered to Victor who set it aside without looking at it.
"Look, Demon, unless you want to hire my cab, we got nothing to talk about,"
Victor had that strange feeling that he'd been having since the weekend. A small voice behind him asked a question, "So what about Sam?"
Hesch got mad; Victor just happened to be between him and her. He outweighed the fat cab driver by a few hundred pounds so when Hesch tried to shove him not a lot happened. A hairy arm reached over Victor's shoulder at the woman and pointed an accusing finger, "You don't talk about him, remember?"
The woman smiled at Hesch's predicament. Victor blinked at the brilliant light that seemed to radiate from her. It wasn't light, it was something else…a flash. There was a smell, and something else. But it was layered under flannel and facial crème so he couldn't figure it out. It just made his head hurt with its intensity.
He thought of Tash. Victor's mind wandered to her predicament and how she must feel with him being away. Victor reached into a pocket and handed the woman a business card. He said distractedly, "He works here. If you want to talk to him, I suggest you call in the afternoon."
As Victor walked slowly out of the apartment, his mind thinking about Tash, part of his mind could hear Hesch and the woman screaming at each other about Sam. As he was walking down the stairs his mind began to return to normal. This was not going to make a suitable hideout. But the questions intrigued him. Who was that woman? How were Sam and Hesch connected to her?
And even though he did not need to eat or drink, why did he have a desire to go to Denny's?
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
***TUESDAY, 7:45 pm***
The cue ball sprang forward as Galen struck it, giving him the break in the game of pool. He and Lucky were engaged in the second game of the day, double or nothing from the bet of the previous game. Command didn’t want to see Galen right at the moment, instead meeting to decide what exactly to do with him. “Ha, my turn!” Lucky cried out when nothing went into one of the pockets of the table.
Galen observed the almost empty recreation centre while Lucky was lining up a shot, trying to decide whether he wanted to go for stripes or solids. Nobody seemed to be within hearing distance, making it safe to talk. Although Kate was probably right that her restless night a few days ago was nothing, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more. “Say, Lucky, your undergraduate work was in psychology, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was,” Lucky replied, striking the cue. The 3-ball sank, while 15 tottered on the edge. “Well, looks like you’re stripes this time. Maybe I get to win some of my money back, eh? You thinking of looking for a shrink?” he asked while lining up the next shot.
“No, no, not at all,” Galen replied, a little. “I just need to talk to you. Can you keep a secret?”
“Sure. This have anything to do with that girl you refuse to tell us about?” Lucky smiled as Galen hung his head sheepishly. A brief look of concern for his friend came over his face. “Look, Griff, I know it’s been a year, but you aren’t dating a crazy chick, are you?” 15 went in the hole this time, a poor shot on his part.
“No, nothing like that,” Galen replied, walking around the table while Lucky watched. He carefully started to set up his next shot as the two continued to talk. Hopefully, the other man wouldn’t go talking about this to the others. “How much do you know about sleep disorders?”
“Not a whole lot outside of psychological causes,” Lucky replied while Galen shot. He silently swore to himself as another stripe sank, then began furiously scribbling on a piece of paper. “I can direct you to a few sources, though. So, come on man, what’s she like?”
Galen shook his head and scratched. Lucky laughed as he repositioned the ball, getting ready for a few good shots. It was starting to look like he really would get a chance to win some of that money back.
Galen knew they wouldn’t stop until he told them something about her, so figured he may as well. “She’s wonderful,” Galen said. “Smart, funny. When I’m with her, just being there…. It’s like, nothing else matters.”
“You got it bad for this girl,” Lucky replied, as he started working his way up to sinking the 8-ball. At least he was finally getting to hear about the woman. “So, come on man. How’d you meet? You work with her or something? And what’s her name?”
Galen laughed out loud. It felt like another interrogation session. “Kate. How we met is a long story.”
Lucky missed sinking something, and motioned for Galen to continue. “We’ve got the time.”
The pair continued to talk as the game continued, and Galen tried to decide exactly how much of the truth to tell his friend. “You might say we met at work. A couple of months ago, back in that case before they kicked me into administration. I’d prefer not to discuss the details, though. They’re rather painful.”
“Rather painful… oh. Hope you made the bastard pay.” Galen scratched again, allowing Lucky to take over. He was definitly not playing up to par any more. “Come on. You know you have to tell us about her sooner or later. Don’t make us fly out to LA and drag it kicking and screaming out of you. Stop being so vague.”
For once, Galen didn’t think. He could trust Lucky somewhat, and he was right. More than that, keeping up the refusal to talk might draw more suspicion than he already had at the moment. “You should see her some time,” he said, getting lost in thoughts about her. “When she first gets up, she has this really adorable sleepy look that makes you want to just hold her close forever. She’s got these blue eyes that are just wonderful to get lost in. One our first date, she wore this green dress that just…” his voice trailed off as he became more fully lost in thought.
“Sounds like they should call you lucky, instead of me,” replied his friend.
“You have no idea,” Galen said, letting out a deep sigh, almost unable to believe how much he missed her. “She’s just so amazing and compassionate. Not to mention the fact that she’s managed to hold on to her sense of humour, which is almost unbelievable after all the stuff she’s been through, but that’s why I love her.”
Lucky raised an eyebrow, the game tipping more and more in his favour. “Eight ball in the corner pocket,” he called, lining up to shoot. “She part of the organization?”
Galen shook his head no almost imperceptivity. Lucky was surprised enough to that he hit the cue ball wrong, and managed to scratch, losing the game and driving him even deeper in debt. “One more game, for the same stakes?” At Galen’s nod, he grinned wickedly, “Good. I’ll rack while you think about this Kate woman. And are you nuts, by the way?”
“All the evidence points that way,” he said softly. “Look, Lucky, I know about the problems this can cause. She doesn’t know, and accepts the cover story. But if anyone comes after her…”
Although Galen didn’t finish that sentence, Lucky took the hint. He had all but said that he was perfectly willing, if necessary, to kill in order to keep Kate safe. As he finished getting them set up for the third game, he spoke again. “So, you think she’s ‘the one’?”
Galen didn’t have to think about the answer to that question, just how to put it. “After what happened last time – for both of us – I’m not proposing. But yeah, I really do.”
“Told her how you feel?” Lucky asked, while preparing to break.
Galen shook his head again. “No. Just being able to be with her is enough for me. If I knew she wanted to, maybe, but not until then.” They played the rest of the game in silence, until a message came: command had made a decision. Galen could hardly contain his elation when they said he was returning to Los Angeles the next day.
Drew discusses Daye with his mom
***** Tuesday, August 16, 2005 around 4 pm *****
Drew sat in his mother’s immaculate office, feeling like a naughty eight year old. No matter how much time passed, or what he managed to accomplish in his life, being back here always made him feel young and out of place. Right now, he was waiting patiently while his mother finished an “important” phone call. He tried to relax and not allow his discomfort or annoyance show through. Of course, it was hard. He felt that perhaps he should be as important as that damn call. Not that he ever had felt he was. Drew sighed audibly, immediately regretting it when his mother frowned disapprovingly over the phone receiver.
"Yes, well,” Drew’s mother’s tone was firm, “you see that it is taken care of. Then we will all be on the same page. Yes, thank you. Goodbye.”
Drew forced himself not to squirm when his mother replaced the phone receiver and sat watching him for a few moments. He had the strongest urge to check for dirt smudges. *Ridiculous,* he scolded himself. *You are not 8 years old anymore.*
“Andrew,” Charis Langley’s voice was refined and educated. She sat stiffly behind her desk, her grey-streaked golden hair neatly and artfully arranged atop her head. Her smooth, unlined face showed very little sign of her age, and made it hard to believe that she had a grown son. Charis looked entirely too young to have borne and raised a man like Drew. She always wore the classiest clothes, perfectly fitted and styled to her petite frame. When she was young, Charis had been a wild child, a real daughter of the sixties. She and Andrew’s father, David, had actually met on a protest march. They had waited a long time to have children. When Drew came along they settled down, and Dave made his fortune. After Dave made all his money, Charis had straightened up, burying her past indiscretions. That was why she frowned so heavily upon Drew stepping out of line.
“Mother,” Drew responded coolly, trying to bury his feelings of inadequacy, “you wanted to see me.”
Charis nodded. She was frowning. “Andrew, we haven’t seen much of you around lately,” she said. “I suppose you’ve been very busy with your work. Is that it?”
Drew knew that his mother had already found out about Amanda somehow. He loved the woman, but she was nosy, and trying. He was sure the censure in her voice had to do with his new lover, more than his job, although she never had approved of that either. “Actually, Mother,” Drew replied, “I’ve been a bit preoccupied with my personal life.”
“So, you have started seeing someone,” she said, shaking her head. “How long has this been going on, Andrew?”
Drew cringed inwardly. He had been seeing Daye for over six months now, and had never once mentioned her to his parents. He saw them at least once a week usually, and even if they weren’t loving per se, they were a close family. He had planned to bring Amanda around to meet his family, but the timing had never been right. And she was such a free spirit in so many ways, plus she represented the things in his life they so disapproved of. He wanted his mother and father to like Amanda. He loved her, had even considered the possibility that she would be the person he spent his life with. It wasn’t too hard for Drew to envision them married, with a house in the suburbs and 2.5 kids. It was just hard to imagine his parents approving of her. “I met Amanda at her shop in February,” Drew said.
Charis’ brows rose and her mouth drew even further down. Drew could see she was angry, and even worse, hurt. “You’ve been seeing this young lady for over six months, and this is the first I’ve heard of her?” Charis asked. “Is there some reason you’ve kept this girl a secret? Were you afraid we would be unkind to her?”
Drew sighed. He didn’t think they would have been rude. At least, he knew his father wouldn’t have. Drew loved both his parents, but he adored David Langley. Drew’s father was a big, boisterous man, who loved life and everyone in it. He had a special smile and gleam that he reserved for Charis, and Drew knew, because of that, that his mother had that fire too, no matter how much she kept it banked. It wasn’t that Drew thought his mother would be intentionally cruel to Amanda. It was just that she could be so cool sometimes. He hadn’t wanted Amanda to feel uncomfortable.
“No, Mother, that’s not it,” Drew answered. “Honestly, we’ve been so busy getting to know one another, and she has a … complicated life. I meant to bring her around. Really, I did. Then that trip for the university came up and things have been hectic for her since then.”
Charis watched her son closely. She might have been cool to him, but he was her whole life. All the charities and social obligations be damned, it was this quiet, sweet man who held her heart. She could see that just now this girl he had been seeing was causing him some distress. Gently, she asked, “Do you love her, Drew?”
Drew was surprised at his mother’s insightfulness, as well as at her soft tone. He smiled ruefully. “Is it that obvious, Mother?” he asked. “I do. I love her so much it’s got me all tied up in knots.”
Charis nodded. “Yes, I can see that. Are you having difficulties, then?’
Drew settled back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “I honestly don’t know,” he said. “Lately, Amanda … that’s her name … she’s been very busy. And we haven’t spent much time together. And when we do it’s … frustrating. I don’t know why, but she’s been pulling away from me. We used to have such a great relationship. I’ve never felt so connected to another person before. Now… now, I just don’t know.”
Drew sighed and pushed both hands through his hair. Charis listened without speaking. Finally, she stood and came around the desk, perching herself on the edge in front of him. “Are you and this girl having relations?” she asked.
Drew stared at his mother in amazement. A dark flush crept up his cheeks. “Mother?!” he sputtered. “What kind of question is that?”
“A very important one,” she replied. “I may be your mother, but I am an intelligent, adult woman. I know what goes on between two people that love one another. So, I am asking you again. Are you having sex with Amanda?”
Drew nodded weakly. “Well, yeah,” he said. “Of course.”
“And have you been doing so for a long time?”
Drew nodded again. “I suppose so,” he said. “Ever since we went away together. Why?”
“Do you suppose, Andrew Langley,” his mother responded, “that maybe you are taking this girl for granted? You mentioned she has a business, right?”
Drew nodded once again.
“Well, then, I imagine she is very busy,” Charis continued. “Perhaps she is tired. Or distracted. Do you romance her?”
“Romance?” Drew repeated.
“Yes, romance,” Charis said. “Do you buy her flowers? Take her out? Have you bought her a gift to show her how much she means to you? Tried to brighten her day at all?”
Drew considered his mother’s questions carefully. Had he been inconsiderate? He knew that Daye had been tired and overworked lately. Looking back, he realized that rather than trying to make her life easier, he had just been placing more demands on her. He’d been complacent and selfish. Amanda was stressed. He should be doing something to make her feel better, not worse.
“Oh, Mother,” Drew said, “how could I be so foolish? This is the woman I love, and all I’ve been doing is making her feel bad. I keep demanding time and attention, when I should be offering patience and understanding. What can I do to make it up to her?”
Charis smiled, an idea coming to her immediately. “You should get her a gift,” she instructed. “Something special, something that will last, something unique.”
“Right,” Drew agreed. “But what? Jewelry? She’s not really the jewelry type, though. She’s more … bohemian.”
“I know just the thing, dear,” Charis replied. She pulled a piece of paper out of her desk drawer and scribbled something down on it. “Go to this gallery. I think you can find something wonderful for Amanda there. I am on the Board of a nearby community center, and I’ve heard wonderful things about the place.”
Drew grinned. Leave it to his mother to come up with such an original idea. She was right of course. A piece of art would be unique and uplifting. It would be something that Amanda could keep always and take joy from. Plus, it would always remind her of him. And if his mother recommended the gallery, it would undoubtedly have just the thing.
“Right,” Drew said, taking the piece of paper from his mother. “Thanks, Mother, I’ll go tomorrow after classes let out.”
Charis smiled fondly at her boy. “Good, that’s good,” she rose and moved towards Drew, bending to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’m glad you’ve found someone, Andrew. You may think otherwise sometimes, but your father and I want you to be happy. That is all we really want for you.”
Drew nodded. “I know,” he said.
“Now, patch things up with this girl,” his mother settled herself back behind her desk, her mask of dignity back in place, “and bring her round to meet us.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Drew replied cheekily. He gave his mother a sloppy, loud kiss on the cheek, laughing when she frowned and daintily wiped it away. Then he strode out of the room, feeling better than he had in weeks.
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
Tuesday, 16th August 2005 – 8:30pm
She licked her lips slowly as the blood splashed to the ground. The thrill of power shivered through her, almost sexual in nature. She slashed again at the bound figure on the altar as her acolytes danced their own frenzy to the beat of the drums.
Sorrow raised his head as far as his restraints would allow and watched the rivulets of red run from his chest then lifted his eyes to her. She laughed wildly and struck again, driving the knife through his flesh. “This is no less than you deserve,” she hissed as his eyes dulled.
Sorrow’s face melted and it was Victor lying there, his arms held out to her just as her mother’s always did. His voice was plaintive, “Why did you let this happen, Tash? Why did you kill me?”
The drums took on a strange counterpoint. She turned her head to locate the source, only to find herself staring into the eyes of Patrick. He was saying something, but the steady buzzing grew louder and she couldn’t hear him…
Tash flung out an arm and snapped off the alarm. She lay on her side for a moment, staring at the clock. The numbers glowed redly at her.
20:30 She’d set the alarm for some reason, she was sure.
20:34 Hmm, better get up then.
20:39 *Ok, ok…* She flung back the covers and her eyes rested on the computer disk lying on her bedside table. Memory flooded back. *Oh, God yes. Victor.*
She fired up the computer while she ran a quick shower, then munched her toast and slurped her coffee as she watched the printer spew out page upon page of information. The coffee and food – the first she’d eaten all day, so far as she could remember – almost made her feel awake. Her head was still pounding, but marginally less than it had been. She geared up for a social visit – only the gun, a couple of stakes and some holy water – and rang for a taxi. Sam seemed to be sleeping soundly on the couch so she dashed off a quick note for him. Then, pocketing the disk and the folded printouts, she raced upstairs to lock up the training room.
On the third floor Tash reached for the doorknob and paused, then raised one hand. She felt a little strange doing this. The training room had begun to feel like her own personal space, but she didn't want to simply burst in on Sorrow, so she knocked. "It's me, Tash," she called through the wooden barrier.
Tash's voice didn't really register. Still deep in meditation Sorrow continued the slow graceful movements of his T'ai Chi. His forehead covered in a fine sheen of sweat, Sorrow concentrated on untangling the snarl of energy flows that was D'Nethk'Quan.
Tash waited for a few moments, using the doorframe as a support. No sound issued from within, but when she sent out a tendril of thought she was surprised to feel Sorrow’s presence quite strongly. She blinked. *Must have his shields down.* Shrugging, she quietly opened the door and peered around the edge.
Sorrow’s bare back was to her, sweat glistening on his skin. He was moving gracefully through the complicated forms of advanced T’ai Chi and she watched for a moment. She didn't want to disturb his concentration, but the taxi would be arriving any minute. She stood just inside the door and coughed quietly, "Uh, Sorrow? I'm going... have to lock up."
Tash sensed Sorrow had heard her this time and she waited as he completed one final sequence before returning to perfect stillness. As Sorrow's awareness focused on his surroundings he carefully raised the fortress that protected his psyche. He looked towards Tash and smiled ruefully. "Hi, you wanting to lock up already?"
"Well, I've got a taxi coming in a sec..." Tash looked at the key in her hand, then back at Sorrow. She hated to relinquish control of her sanctuary, but he didn't look like he was ready to finish just yet. She inhaled deeply and spoke before she could change her mind. "I can leave the key with you, if you aren't done yet," she offered.
"If you don't mind? I'm only about a third through..." Sorrow hoped he could stay here. A trip to his apartment would break his rhythm. If Tash preferred to lock up he might as well call it a night.
Tash walked to Sorrow and pressed the key into his hand. "Sure, that'll be okay. I don't know how long I'll be. When you're done, bring the key down - if I'm not home, just keep it and I'll collect it later."
She surveyed the room and sighed. "Amazing how just one day of not being able to train makes you miss it. But," she snapped herself out of her reverie, "I can't hang about here. Places to go, demons to see…"
“Thanks. You're lucky it's just one day." Sorrow left the rest unspoken. There was a fragile peace between them right now and he didn't want to damage it. "Be careful."
"I'm always careful. Well," she smiled ruefully, touching the back of her head gingerly, "almost always." She didn’t dare let Sorrow know just how close to death she’d been before Daye’s healing – it would only trigger another argument. Instead she turned for the door, calling over her shoulder, "I'll see you later for the key."
Tash burst out of the front door of 1318 Poplar Avenue to the accompaniment of an impatiently honking horn. She bobbed her head apologetically as she tumbled into the cab’s interior. Kate’s address was duly issued to the scowling driver and Tash sank back on the upholstery, grateful for the few minutes’ respite she’d have during the journey. Her eyes closed and she let herself drift in limbo, lulled by the taxi’s motion.
Season Two: Aug 6 2005 - Jan 6 2006
That pesky demon, Victor, had been gone twenty minutes. Kimmie’s Forever Young Hydrating Facial Mask, by now, was traveling in thin, hardened strips through the L.A. sewers. And it had been five minutes since Hesch returned under the pretext of needing to get something he’d forgotten in the glove compartment. He showed Kimmie a speeding ticket dated March 5, 2000. She bought that. Shortly after, they got started. Hook and sinker they cast themselves to the fluffy quilt and began bobbing up and down, two spawning fish tangled in the same line of deceit.
But Maddy would not suffer neglect. Hesch's short visit had not been enough.
The bitch’s horn reached the apartment just as Hesch flung his weight off the girl. They lay panting on their backs sucking up the saliva they’d mixed and matched during two short minutes and two lingering seconds. In another five and five they’d be dry. Hesch stared at the ceiling and wondered what happens to the wet, sticky after-mess of fornication. Time sweeps it into thin air, out of sight, yet allows its fragrance to haunt the purlieu. You can sniff your arms for days and smell nothing extraordinarily offensive. Then you can perhaps yawn in a crowded checkout line at Safeway and catch a guilty whiff of the devil’s business.
After all these months, Hesch was back under the sheets with Kimmie. It made as much sense as the holiest of Earth’s sextons peddling nudie magazines in-between watering the garden and ringing the bell for Sunday services. Not a lick. But Hesch liked how it sounded anyhow, the poetry of how he’d just rung this treacherous girl’s bell—and rung it well, according to her curled toes. Her labored breaths pleased him, as did the toiling of her fingers through his wiry chest hair. Then, unfortunately, she rested her chin on his sternum and began speaking the nonsense that young girls speak and mature men tolerate. He brushed her ruffled hair in and out of her eyes while listening for key words such as “soul mates,” and “future,” and “don’t you think?”; and following each he gave the incumbent nod into his double chin. “Yuh hum,” he said. He also listened for valuable words such as “oh,” and “please,” and “now.” Those words meant it was finally time to re-play the perverse sexton routine. Kimmie was the misguided confessor stripped of her plaid skirt, yet hampered by remorse and an open-toed pair of high heel shoes.
He rolled on top of her and pressed her small body an inch below mattress level. Her face turned red. She tucked her fingers under his yellow, 50-inch waistband and peeled the Joe Boxer Licky Smilies to the back of his thighs. Shivering against naked air, Hesch grinned into her dainty kisses. Then she placed her long nails on his bottom, and he chuckled like a schoolboy running out to play. They were re-manufacturing what she called love. He simply thought of it as just. He’d earned this. Screw vengeance.
Possibly, he could ignore Maddy’s roars for another sixty seconds. The sound of her horn rose four stories to rattle his skull. The bitch was persistent, flashing her ultra-hateful brights as if they were under the spell of a car alarm on the blitz. He could see the sky outside the window turn day-night-day in rhythm with the ringing of Kimmie’s bells. Even with his eyes closed tightly. Even when he buried them in Kimmie’s subtle breasts, he saw Madeline’s face and index finger. She was saying, “Your fate is my fate. We are married. Come home.”
Kate, Victor and Tash Face Change
Tuesday, 16th August 2005 – 9pm
Victor checked his watch for the dozenth time that night. He sat in the bushes of one of the large houses watching carefully for any signs of pursuit. He had been keeping an eye on the van parked near the end of the street and could tell from the slight motions of the vehicle that there was someone inside. But it didn't look like the hunters. He could not say what would make it look like the hunters except that he had remembered the same van from when he was here earlier in the day. Dopeheads possibly, but the sweet odor of pot wasn't in the air. Victor briefly considered checking it out personally, but when Vrithetek started chanting ’Meals on Wheels’ he decided against it.
He looked at his watch again. It was time.
Kate stirred the cauldron once more as the brew bubbled happily on the open fire. The potion had been slowly melding for hours now, so much so that a crust of black had formed over the cast iron base of the pot. The kitchen looked a wreck with jars containing various dried herbs, powders and... other things. It wasn't worth going into what the other things were. Kate wiped her brow with the back of her hand and picked up a small jar containing a thick black liquid, opened the jar and spooned out a good measure into the potion. The brew hissed and churned of its own accord, sending a flurry of red smoke out of the pot and up the chimneybreast.
Kate sighed. She hadn't expected that. *Well at least it'll give the neighbours something to talk about,* she mused.
Victor knocked on the door looking over his shoulder just to make sure. He waited for the long seconds it took for Kate to open the door. When she did he smiled. She had a broad gray smear across her forehead. He pointed to it as he chucked and said, "Been busy in the kitchen?"
"Oh, uhm..." muttered Kate as she wiped at the smudge on her face. "Yeah well, it's um, been kind of... hectic. But under control." Kate added hastily at Victor's concerned look. "Everything is under control." Kate sighed tiredly and led Victor towards the kitchen.
Victor wrinkled his nose, "Ew. Smells like burned popcorn. What is this you are brewing up?"
"Oh, that'll be the calamus root, or maybe the lizard’s tongue. Perhaps I should add more nutmeg..." Kate wandered over to the bubbling pot on the stove. "Aunt Mariah always said if a potion smells funky, add more nutmeg. She was a crazy gal..."
Kate brushed a few damiana pods from her spell book and read down the page. "Looks like we're right on schedule. I prepared a ritual space upstairs in the attic; it has better vibrations."
Victor looked up in spite of himself, "Sounds good. I asked Tash to stop by here too. She has some information for me. That won't be a problem will it?"
"Not at all..." said Kate, hardly listening as she breathed in the fumes from the potion. She turned away and sneezed a couple of times. "Oh, that's done it," she coughed. Kate carefully distilled some of the liquid into an empty bottle and quickly corked it. The potion released a swirling red gas inside the jar. Kate glanced up at the clock. "Okay, well, now's about as good a time as any. If you're ready?"
The taxi rolled to a stop outside Kate's place. As Tash leaned forward to pay the driver, she checked the clock in the taxi. *Hmm, not too badly late.* She walked to Kate's door, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. It felt as though she was being watched, but a quick look around revealed nothing out of the ordinary, even with her senses extended. Tash shrugged and pressed the doorbell, her stomach fluttering at the thought of meeting up with Victor again. She felt like a girl on a first date.
Kate heard the doorbell ring just as she was about to head upstairs. She quickly ran over to the door and opened it. "Tash, great to see you again, come inside. Quickly. Yes, we're about to begin, don't have much time you know..."
Victor paused in the foyer and looked at Tash. She was not dressed for hunting and looked quite beaten. Her eyes had bags beneath them and there were bruises visible even through her deep brown skin. To Victor, however, she was gorgeous.
"Good to see you. Glad you could come," he said. He knew the words were inadequate, but for some reason he found it hard to say everything he wanted to say to her. When she took her first few steps into the house, he stepped up and hugged her.
Tash melted into his embrace. It felt like she'd come home. Breathing a sigh, she said, "I've been so worried about you. It feels like we've been apart for ages, not just a day." She reached up and kissed him, long and fully. Finally the passionate kiss ended, and Tash pulled back, breathless. Kate was off to the side, pointedly staring the other way. With her arms still wrapped around Victor, Tash smiled, "Sorry, Kate. I thought I'd lost him..."
"Aww, don’t be silly," Kate said smiling, "there's nothing like a good long kiss.... except an even longer kiss." Kate blushed slightly and then pointed upstairs. "But I really think we should be getting started." She led the way up the stairs. "Time waits for no man, er, woman... or demon."
Victor squeezed Tash as they walked up the stairs and let go quickly when she winced. "Are you all right? You sounded rough on the phone."
Tash grabbed Victor's arm to steady herself when he relaxed his grip. "Nothing I won't recover from. I'm a big girl," she said, but she did not loosen her grip. Victor was not inclined to argue right this instant. "Did you talk to Sorrow?" he changed the subject.
Tash nodded and patted her pockets. "I've got plenty here. Hopefully enough for you to deal with him." She pulled on Victor's arm, stopping his ascent for a moment. She bit her lip, "Please, be careful. From what Sorrow said this guy won't give up until he's got you." They resumed climbing, "Yeah, I know. You'll be as careful as you can. But I just stress out, Ok?"
"As you say, I'll be all right. I'm a big demon." He kissed her forehead and helped her the last few steps. They followed Kate through the house to a room that had obviously been prepped. It had a conjuring circle inscribed in the center and incense was burning, the purifying vapors forming swirls in the air.
Tash looked around at the paraphernalia filling the attic. "What exactly are you guys going to do here, anyway?"
Kate looked at Tash for a beat, then at Victor, "Oh, I thought you knew." Kate cleared her throat as she began to light the candles. "Well, she's your girlfriend..."
Victor looked down at Tash who was waiting for a Damn Good Explanation. He had not even mentioned it to her - it had all happened fairly quickly. "Tash. I have asked Kate to change my glamour." Victor paused to gauge her reaction.
Tash blinked. For a minute the room was perfectly still but for the faint hiss of the candles. She had to admit, she was shocked. But it made sense. Victor's disguise was just that - a disguise. She smiled cheekily, "Hmm, do we get a choice of style?"
Victor chuckled, "Yes, my love. Anything you want... anyone you want, as long as it isn't conspicuous."
"What do you guys think this is? Male order?" Kate shook her head in dismay. Some people never took the intricacies of magic seriously. Most thought it was just a lot of pretty colours and arcane gestures. Kate bit her lip; she missed the company of her fellow wiccans... and Galen. She missed Galen right now...
She sighed. "Victor if you stand here..." Kate positioned him in the centre of the circle. "And Tash if you just, urm, don't stand anywhere near the circle??"
Tash gave Victor a quick peck and moved away. As she passed Kate, she whispered, "This isn't dangerous for him, is it?" Before Kate could answer, another thought popped into Tash's head. "And, will it be as... real as this one is?"
Victor spoke as he entered the circle, "Kate, if it is I'll be forever in your debt. This has been the most incredible glamour I've ever been privileged to wear. Wisewoman did an amazing job. I'm sorry to see it go, actually. But I have worn the same disguise since 1977, and this one has got to go."
Kate breathed calmly in and out, in and out. She didn't really need all the extra pressure Tash and Victor were piling on her; she knew how important this was. She closed her eyes and focused, inhaling the rich incense. When she opened her eyes again the room had changed and shifted, taking on a new alternate sense of balance.
Kate stepped towards Victor, but remained outside the circle. "Now, close your eyes."
Tash sat on the floor, glad to be able to rest. She leaned against a wall, stayed quiet and watched the proceedings with interest.
Victor did as he was instructed and closed his eyes. He could hear the presences of Tash, slowly breathing with that little catch of excitement, and Kate with deep cleansing breaths, controlled and regular.
Kate slowly circled around Victor, keeping her arms low at her sides. She halted directly in front of Victor and raised her arms, stretching out her hands towards his face. "Let the object of objection become but a dream, as I cause the unseen to become seen..."
Kate chanted the words over and over again as slowly ran her hands down the sides of his body, tracing the outline of his body in the air. As Kate continued to chant and move her hands, the air around Victor began to shimmer, his visage becoming blurry and unstable. Gradually the glamour melted and vanished leaving Victor in his true demonic form.
Victor felt the electric shimmer of energies around him. He stood in the true form of a G'rnathan Battle Fiend. Nine feet tall, covered with spiky greenish armor that had a yellowish sheen to it. His horns reached nearly to the ceiling above his head. Sharp talons extended from his fingers and feet. His outfit, no longer burdened by the magic of the former glamour, ripped into shreds. Victor pulled it off and flung the rags aside.
"I know you are busy, Kate," Victor said in a human voice incongruous from this glowing eyed monster, "but please hurry. I am uncomfortable exposed like this."
Tash had seen Victor's demon form many times, but only when she was able to break through the glamour by touch. She'd never really seen him at this distance where she could appreciate the full impact. She watched his aura play around his body and a small smile curved at her lips. This was the being she loved. Her eyes shone and she caught Victor's glance as he stood nervously in the centre of the circle. She'd never seem him so discomfited and she tried to reassure him with a grin.
Kate smiled encouragingly at Victor. "Don't worry, it'll all be over soon enough." She picked up the glass bottle containing the potion and uncorked it. The red gas oozed out and mingled with the stale, sulphuric air of the attic. Kate took her athame in her right hand and dipped the blade into the potion. It shone brightly, glowing - almost appearing to be alive.
She traced the blade around Victor, carefully painting the mixture on all seven chakras until Victor's body began to glow with the strength of the potion. Kate took a step back, out of the circle. Victor's image was blurred and obscured again as the concoction formed together to create a sort of shell. Kate laid her tools down to the ground then stood tall and raised her arms.
"Harken as the spell is cast! Queen of Heaven, Queen of Hell
Victor opened his eyes. He looked at his hands first. Brown. They were a rich brown color. *Well that's new.* He smiled at Tash. She had an odd expression on her face, "How do I look?" he asked.Hunter of the Night
Lend your Power unto the Spell
And work your will by Magic Rite!
By all the power of Land and Sea
By all the Power of Moon and Sun
I call the Earth to bind my Spell
Air to speed it well
Bright as Fire it shall glow
Deep as tide of Water flow
Count the elements fourfold
In the Fifth the Spell shall Hold!"
"Wow," was all Tash could say. A handsome black man stood before her. A naked handsome black man. She spoke to Kate without taking her eyes off Victor. "Did you choose the glamour, Kate, or did the spell choose itself? 'Cause either way, it's done a bangup job."
"Erm, Victor, maybe you should cover yourself up..." Kate tried to avert her eyes from Victor's virile naked body while also stifling a smile. *Yes, it was a 'bangup job' all right,* thought Kate, trying hard NOT to let her gaze rake in the fruits of her labour. She handed Victor a blanket and then began blowing out the candles. "Well it's not exactly how I expected. Maybe I added too much liquorice root... oh well, live and learn..."
Victor looked over at the shredded clothing. He took the blanket and wrapped a makeshift toga. "Kate, do you have anything here I can borrow?" he asked.
“Of course, I always carry a selection of men's clothing just for this occasion." Kate smiled again, "Or maybe Galen left something you could borrow..." Kate led the way downstairs to her bedroom while Victor and Tash both followed.
Tash slipped an arm through Victor's. He certainly looked different. He felt different. He even smelled different. "How do you feel?" she asked him.
"I feel... different. And the same too. It’s hard to explain. Remember how I used to stomp around the apartment? Listen." Victor rocked back and forth, "No creaking floorboards or thumping. And look at this...” He dragged his fingernails across the wallpaper. "That might have left marks before. I wonder what else is different?"
Tash grinned, "Oh, I'm sure we'll have fun finding out." They reached Kate's bedroom and Victor followed the witch in. Tash leaned against the doorframe for a second after he passed, hoping he didn't notice how much she'd been using him for support.
Kate rummaged around the room trying to remember where Galen might have left his clothes. She looked in the wardrobe, the drawers, even the bathroom. Finally Kate looked under the bed. She pulled out an armful of various clothes and dumped them on the bed. She sorted through them, taking out various items she thought might fit Victor's new guise.
"Oh, I was wondering where that shirt got to..." Kate murmured to herself as she held the shirt against her cheek and sighed. It was still imbedded with Galen's cologne... Kate put it to one side, "There are a few things here that might fit. They're a bit crumpled, I'm afraid..."
Victor was used to being able to fit any article of clothing. He picked up a pair of denim jeans and pushed a foot into the leg. The sounds of tearing fabric startled all of them. Victor looked down at the pants, which now looked the size of a child's jeans.
"Well, that is a little different," he said. He pulled the jeans off and laid them on the bed. For all the world they looked completely normal. When he picked them up and held them to his waist they were obviously far too small. "Looks like clothing will need to be sized differently from now on."
Kate grimaced, looking at the ripped jeans, "Oh man... Galen is gonna kill me, those were his lucky pants..." She giggled to herself, "We used to say that he always got 'lucky'... urm, never mind."
Kate rummaged through a few things and tossed Victor a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. At least they would stretch. "I guess there are a few peculiarities in this glamour, but without knowing what this 'WiseWoman' did, I'm not too sure how to rectify them."
"Not a problem, Kate, Janus' glamour was the same way. It’s great. I wore that one well into the 90's before I had to replace it." He gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, I am in your debt."
Victor walked over to where Tash was leaning comfortably on the doorframe. "Well, how do you feel about a man in tight sweats?" Victor stood showing exactly how tight the sweats were.
Tash straightened up a little and tried to ignore the pain in her head. She ran her hands appreciatively down Victor's brand new chest. "You know, it wouldn't matter what you looked like. Hell, I don't care if you have a glamour at all. But," Tash grinned, "I have to say I'm not complaining." She couldn't resist the urge. She had to know how he felt. She reached up and offered her lips for kissing.
Victor leaned in. *It’s shorter. Hm, no flush, I can only guess this won't show emotions like the other one.* He started with a gentle kiss, which soon grew into an impassioned embrace. *Hm, no sweat either. Good. Hated that part. Not sure I like the smell; guess I'll get used to it.*
Tash's weariness vanished, her pain forgotten, as Victor's passionate kiss continued. *Hmm, he tastes different, too. But still nice.* Tash pressed her body against his as she felt the heat grow. It was nice to feel this way without the uncontrollable urgency she got after hunting.
The kiss ended, and Tash drew back to gaze into his face. It seemed relatively impassive, but there were small hints of the emotion she was sensing from him. Sighing, Tash buried her face against his shoulder, *Hmm, a little shorter, too.* She relaxed in his embrace for a moment, letting the world recede for a brief instant before they had to start worrying about hunters, vampires, and death again.
Victor had to steady her as she relaxed. She had been badly wounded recently and was probably being held together with moxie and magic. Victor lifted Tash and laid her on the bed. As he laid her head down he could feel the huge lump on the back of her skull. "Kate? Have anything left for some healing? I think Tash is having a problem."
[/]The Healing Touch
******Tuesday, August 16th 2005 - 10pm******
Kate prepared to clear her psychic channels. She was pretty drained from the glamour spell - add to that the fact that she hadn't been sleeping all that well since Galen had gone, *Damn, girl! It's not been two days, get a grip!* and she was feeling pretty much out of it right now. Still, Tash looked pretty much out of it too, and Kate always felt loath to refuse a plea for help.
She spent a few minutes centring herself, focusing, channelling. Since the ordeal with Serapis she was finding it a little more difficult to concentrate, to tap into her energy channels. Kate flexed her fingers, a slight glow already beginning to build there, and delicately touched the wound at the back of Tash's head.
Tash watched worriedly as her friend prepared. Kate looked worn out - but she didn't want to disturb her concentration. She gripped Victor's hand tightly, feeling the new texture, and winced slightly as Kate touched the damaged part of her head.
Much as she hated Victor knowing just how badly she'd been hurt, she knew Kate could work best if she had all the details. "I had a fractured skull, but Daye healed the worst of it for me. I think there was some internal bleeding, too..." This time the wince was from Victor's involuntary flexing of the hand that held hers. Tash continued doggedly, "My symptoms now are headache, dizziness and a little nausea."
"Daye did a good job," said Kate as she allowed her hands to gently explore the wound. *A very good job. I didn't realise she had this level of power,* thought Kate for a moment before allowing her mind to become fully consumed with the task of healing.
Her long, pale fingers flowed over Tash's dark skin, standing in a stark contrast. The slight glow had grown to something more substantial as Kate increased her concentration. There wasn't much that really needed to be done. Chances were that Tash was just dehydrated; her symptoms would probably sort themselves out if she just rested up a while.
Kate laughed to herself at that thought, *Yeah, Tash rest up for a while, that's gonna happen. About as likely as you not running yourself to exhaustion to help your friends...* Kate sighed.
She moved her hands around the front of Tash's head, her fingers brushing lightly against her skin. After what felt like a further ten minutes Kate broke contact with a slight indrawn breath. "How do you feel?" she asked while helping Tash to sit up.
Tash assessed herself. "Yeah, the headache's mostly gone. And I can think a little better." She smiled at Kate, "Thanks. I don't know what I'd do without my witchy friends."
Victor clasped Tash's hand. "I had a feeling you were hurt worse than you let on. What would have happened if Daye hadn't been there?"
He started to say more, but Tash put her free hand to his lips. "She was, and I'm okay," she said quietly. "We can talk about it later."
Victor looked unhappy, but he subsided. There was quite a lot he wanted to talk about 'later'. He turned to Kate, "And I echo Tash. ‘Thanks’ seems inadequate. Without trying to sound melodramatic, you may well have saved my life tonight."
Kate stifled a yawn, trying not to think about all the clearing up she still had to do before she could go to sleep that night. "Anytime, Victor. I only hope this buys you enough time to get the drop on this hunter guy."
Tash rose from the bed, feeling a little unsteady, but far better than she had. "Victor, I've still got all this information on Xavier for you, too. We should go through it."
Victor surveyed Tash for a moment, "I think we need to get you home to bed. To rest!" he admonished at Tash's sly grin. "I can go over the profile there."
Tash nodded. "Ok," she agreed.
Victor left the room to ring for a taxi and Tash turned back to Kate, "Thanks again, Kate. And I feel so rude - I didn't even think to ask. How's that man of yours doing?"
"Oh, umm, he's okay. Actually he's out of town for a few days." Kate began fumbling with the items of Galen's clothing that were still strewn across the foot of the bed. "I really miss him actually and he's only been gone two days. How lame is that?"
"Oh, not lame at all." Tash thought of Victor. "I know what it feels like to miss having your love around." She shook herself, "But he's coming back soon, right? I don't suppose he told you where he was going? Not our Mr. Secretive..."
Kate felt a stab of pain in the pit of her stomach at that. No, she didn't have a clue where Galen was. She was his girlfriend, his lover and she didn't even know where he was. She barely knew why he'd been called away, only something about an inquiry, and he might lose his job because of it. Kate looked away, concentrating on folding over the sleeve of a sweater that she held in her hands. "Sure he's coming back," she all but whispered. She was silent for a long moment, lost in her own thoughts before she looked up. "You're right though, I don't know where he is."
Tash cringed inwardly at the emotional reaction she felt from Kate, "Oh, I'm sorry, Kate. I should learn not to be so blunt, sometimes." She put an arm around Kate's shoulder and squeezed. "But he seems all right. I just hope he's being careful. We don't know anything about who he works for. I've already had one friend torn by divided loyalties..." Tash didn't want to think of Galen being forced to betray any of them the way Sorrow had to with Victor. She gave Kate another squeeze, "He'll be back soon, and maybe then he'll be able to tell you more?" Tash knew it was a vain hope, but Kate looked so crestfallen.
Kate looked doubtful, “Galen has this habit of acting first and thinking second,” Kate said with a sigh. “Actually it’s one of the main things I love most about him. It just drives me crazy that he constantly gets himself into these dangerous situations without a thought as to what it’s doing to me.” Kate had to fight hard to control her emotions. “I don’t want to lose him Tash… I love him.”
“I know. I can see your aura glow whenever you mention him. Or think about him," Tash's smile was knowing. "I'm sorry, you just project so much when you think about him. The way I do with Victor." Tash sighed. "You think you have it bad? At least your boyfriend's human." Tash hugged Kate, "Again, thanks for everything. I feel heaps better, and though it was a bit of a shock, I think I could get used to Victor's new body." She dropped her voice, "Can't wait to test drive it."
Kate laughed out loud at Tash's conspiratorial wink. "See, there are some advantages to having a demonic boyfriend," she giggled.
Suddenly Victor popped his head back in through the doorway. "Taxi's here," was all he said. He could see the women must have been having a 'conversation'.
Tash smiled at his new visage and let go of Kate. "Bye, Kate. Thank you. Please let me know if there's anything you need... mad warlocks to thwart, that kind of thing." She winked. "But seriously, anything at all... you know I'll be there. But for now, I'm being ordered home to 'rest' apparently."
She and Victor descended the stairs and entered the waiting taxi. Victor spoke to the driver, "1318 Poplar Avenue, Alhambra," and Tash waved out the window to Kate as the taxi rolled down the street.
Kate closed the front door as the taxi turned the corner at the end of the street. Then she wandered into the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of wine, looking dejectedly at the array of jars and bottles still scattered around, not to mention the large cauldron still poised over the now smoking fire. Kate sighed. She’d have to neutralise that before she could dispose of it, then there was the circle in the attic, that would need to be closed...
She drank down the wine and poured herself another glass, carrying it to the bedroom. Pulling off her own clothes she crawled beneath the sheets. Gathering Galen’s shirt, she pulled it on over her naked body and breathed in the masculine scent. It smelled so good. Kate finished her wine and snuggled down into the blankets. Everything else could wait until tomorrow, right now all she wanted to do was sleep.