Mother's Gift
JuliaL
-----------------------------((Part Two))-----------------------------
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
"The Road not Taken" - Robert Frost
-----18 Months Later-----
Teresa shrugged deeper into the thick, warm folds of her down coat,
and kept her hands in her pockets, wishing again for a pair of gloves.
She half-considered shutting down her heart and breathing, but the sun
was shining dully through the clouds despite the cold and it would be
an unwelcome drain on her energy to go about in full vampire mode
during the day. The small sigh that escaped her lips hung as a fine,
misty cloud in front of her face. She rubbed her reddened fingers
against each other. What reason could fate possibly have for making
this journey any harder than it absolutely had to be?
The countryside in this part of Kyrgyzstan was atrocious--bleak and
rocky, seemingly without respite from the awful gray monotony. Loose
rocks occasionally slipped underneath her feet, but never quickly
enough to surprise her. The sky, hung low with thin snow clouds, was
only a few shades lighter than the land, but considerably more active.
Even with no trees to rattle through, the wind whistled eerily above
her head, and tugged at the few strands of raven hair that escaped the
rough leather cord she'd tied the whole mass back with.
Still, she kept a steady pace. Something she'd never felt before
tickled at the unique blood that pumped through her veins--a freezing,
icy feather's light touch. Nearing another Immortal was a far more
physical thing--the momentary and almost completely overwhelming
buzzing of all the senses like static electricity. Sensing a vampire
was a sort of irritating, icy fire on first contact that gave gradually
way to a simple knowledge that another was still there, then
disappeared completely. This... it excited her, urged her on with its
silent call. It was the only way she knew which way to head at all.
Here, she knew who she was supposed to be looking for, she imagined,
but where... when, barely for what reason--a decayed scrap of paper in
an ancient book in a language she had hardly known how to decipher.
Another gust of wind shrieked wildly, pushing her forward along with
another sheet of thick clouds which blotted the sunlight completely,
bathing the land in murky, charred tones like old, dried blood. Teresa
allowed her body to change as natured demanded. It took only a couple
of minutes for her heat to drain away, and the chill of the dying
winter day no longer affected her. As she continued to walk, the sun,
hidden, dipped below the horizon, casting a pinkish glow on the high
tops of the clouds. Something caught her eye to her left, a flash of
color, greens and dusky blues, which was startling enough in this land.
Teresa walked on with a slight smile tugging at the corners of her
lips. *Jump at a patch of flowers, O brave one?*
An hour or so after sunset, the clouds parted just long enough to give
her a quick glimpse of the silvery moon and sparkling stars before
moving in again. Closing in on midnight, the first, tentative flakes
began to fall, silently, and the miles continued to melt away under her
light step. The sensation was growing stronger, urging more,
demanding.
Almost completely without warning, a slight rise in the ground all but
hid the large, dark entrance to a cave -- she couldn't sense how large
it was, or how extensive, but the urge to enter it was overwhelming.
She didn't fight against it.
Inside it was warm, an almost unexpected comfort, given the remoteness
of the area. Teresa expected it to be little more than a hole in the
ground. There was also light. Not much, certainly, but enough to know
that someone besides herself was there, and the glow was not simply
part of some luminous illusion thrown back by the smooth, worn walls.
Unless she advanced a few steps more, it would be impossible to judge
what was beyond the next turn. Yet she knew with the same sense that
told her she was not alone that the subtle, tranquilizing presence was
intentional -- and dangerous to the unwary.
Calmly, she pulled her sword form the hidden folds of her coat and
allowed herself to slip into game face. In a flash of movement, Teresa
eliminated the distance between herself and the yawning opening to the
inner caves. Her sword was met with, and effortlessly blocked, another
before her eyes had even adjusted to the complete and utter absence of
light.
Another blow fell slightly to her left, and it would have gone right
through her heart if not for a quick step to the side. Teresa's first
real blow met flesh; and was followed by the definite sibilant hiss of
a wounded vampire. "Alright, whoever you are-" Teresa began, more than
a little annoyed after searching for so long. And yet, she could not
even see his name... This time it was her turn to hiss. A sudden
array of ultra-bright, white lights, worse than the noon sun on a clear
day, blinded her. She barely managed to avoid the blade to her lower
gut by bringing her own, apparently longer blade forward and stopping
it just short of its.. his, neck.
Teresa panted at the same rate as the boy in front of her, she having
returned to more or less human so that her eyes could take the intense
glare. "This is a fine welcome. Do you greet everyone this way, or am
I just special?" When she felt a timorous intrusion, as if the one
doing the searching had no knowledge of what he was doing, into her
mind, she turned it away and pressed the newly sharpened blade a little
more firmly against the vein just under the boy's jawbone.
"You're early," he offered.
"My timing had never been perfect," Teresa quipped back, her eyes
taking on a dangerous golden tinge as this time his mind tried to
invade hers and she was distracted in turning him back. "I've been
searching for you, I think," she managed to lace her words with doubt
as to the correctness of her guess, "For almost a year. You have no
idea, obviously, how hard it is to translate coded third century German
interspersed with some sort of Latin and arithmetic like I've never
seen before."
She sensed before he moved when he was about to reposition his sword
about a foot and a half through the other side of her abdomen. "You
are a feisty little thing, aren't you?" Teresa frowned, her eyes never
leaving his. "Drop your sword."
Breathing, giving her a speculative glance, he did as she demanded.
The small weapon clattered obscenely against the bare stone floor of
the cave, and she allowed him to take some of the pressure off his
neck. "What is your name?" she asked, knowing better than to actually
call him boy. The light in his eyes was far older than his countenance
suggested. Still, she'd seen older -- a few anyway, and something that
had always been present in such aged souls was missing--she could not
put her finger on what.
"Azrael," he answered simply and softly.
"The angel of death according to some," she supplied, looking at him
with a raised eyebrow, or what passed for a raised eyebrow in her
vampire face. "Not the original, I assume."
"No," the other Immortal answered without missing a beat. "And your
name is?"
"Teresa Knight."
A small shudder seemed to go through the perpetually scrawny frame of
the boy kneeling in front of her. "So you are the one I was supposed
to teach. I'd no idea..." He seemed to be fishing for something, a
long forgotten or long-buried memory from a time well before she was
more than a prophecy.
"You're still early. I'm not prepared yet. The books-"
Teresa could sense that he was going off on a tangent, and completely
ignoring her, so she stepped back and removed the blade from under his
chin to bring him back to the here and now. He looked up at her,
questioning, and she finally took the time to have a good look at him.
He was small, thin boned, with large dusty aquamarine eyes set deep in
a face that seemed to suggest he'd rarely had enough to eat at the time
he'd become Immortal -- probably around eleven or twelve years old. He
wasn't tall, but his wrists and ankles seemed all out of proportion
with the rest of his body. The hands that were splayed on the ground
were smooth as a child's, and he was still very much in body a little
boy. A disheveled shock of uncombed, roughly cut, burnt-cinnamon
colored hair hung into his eyes and almost to his shoulders where it
escaped from what seemed to be a string of deep green leather.
"My thanks, Lady," Azrael got out as he stood awkwardly.
*His social skills are archaic. I suppose that's what comes from
living in isolation for so long.* Teresa offered him her hand, but he
barely looked at it, choosing instead to keep his fragile male ego
intact. Rolling her eyes expressively, Teresa knelt down and retrieved
his sword. "I believe we've gotten off to a bad start," she said,
examining the unimpressive construction of the light weapon she had
just defended herself against. "What do you say we declare a temporary
truce, since it's so patently obvious that we have been looking for
each other most of our lives?"
Azrael responded with utterly simplistic seriousness, missing entirely
the note of laughter in her words. She had meant it as a joke, he,
however, nodded gravely and reached for his sword. "Agreed, m'lady."
Wanting to blink in wonder, but keeping her reactions perfectly
concealed, she did as he wished, and relinquished the blade.
Fixing a tight stare at the back of his head as the Immortal turned
away from her and headed for a slightly darker passageway near the rear
of the cave, Teresa attempted to discover what exactly it was with him
that she found so disturbing. Certainly, their first meeting had
started with his attack of her, but that she could have dealt with
easily, had it been the only thing wrong. There was nothing
particularly usual about his physical make-up--he could have blended
into any modern-day crowd without a problem. Only his eyes showed
differently, and anyone who had lived for more than their fair share of
days displayed the same characteristic. The various small
eccentricities she had seen were nothing to bother her for long. Even
the way he acted around her, hesitant, almost as if he was wondering if
she was really the right one, was nothing she hadn't come across
before.
As he rounded the corner, disappearing completely from the blaze of
light and leaving her standing alone in the enormous cavern, Teresa
realized that it was something very few indeed would have missed at
first glance. She had been trying to read too much into him, and shook
her head lightly in wonder. He trusted. He trusted far, far more than
anyone his age, and she guessed that he must have been around to see
the turning of the first millennium into the second, should be able to.
She held the ability to take his life in a heartbeat, had given him no
reason at all to think her anything more than a cold, distant creature,
and still, he trusted her enough to turn his back on her. *Either he
knows something I don't, or he is the most vulnerable person there ever
was.* Both thoughts scared her, and she hurried after him, into the
back chambers of his home.
"I hope you'll find your accommodations satisfactory," Azrael smiled,
holding out his hand to her as soon as she stepped through the small
natural doorway. "The books say only that you would be female, young,
and 'dark and fair as coal against new-fallen snow'."
"You know more about me than I about you." Teresa took in the sight
of a small, almost barren room without blinking. It reminded her of a
picture she'd once seen of a medieval cubicle within a monastery; there
was a bed, a table and chair, and a small wooden trunk snug against the
wall, but nothing else. No television, no computer... *I've gotten
along well enough without them for this long. Why not awhile longer?*
"Scrolls," he answered, poking into the room's corners, not looking at
her. "The codex. You have a part. They said you'd find me, not I
you. I should not have doubted. The Triami Library - you must have
found it right quick. Watchers always know. They will be pleased
later."
This time, when Teresa attempted to Look into Azrael's mind, she
encountered only a sort of churning confusion without resistance. With
a shiver, she pulled out. His mental deterioration was nearly the same
as Drusilla's, though she guessed that there had been no Angelus to
tear his mind to bits.
"Yes, I was at the library. That's how I knew to come here." Teresa,
getting no response from the boy-vampire-Immortal, walked up right up
behind him. Instead of moving, Azrael continued to jab his finger
against a slightly darker chip of rock near the floor, mumbling
something under his breath. She crouched down next to him, and,
motherly, took hold of his hand. Instantly, his entire body stiffened
exactly like a child who's found himself caught with a hand in the
cookie jar. "You haven't seen anybody else in a long time, have you?"
"No."
"How long?"
He was silent for awhile, and, against her better judgment, Teresa
nearly glanced into his thoughts. She was spared by his sudden
scratching of his head, and the puzzled expression on his face.
"What year is this?"
"It's January of the year two-thousand and one."
To her surprise and amusement, he began to count on his fingers. She
waited patiently until he got to the fourth count of both hands, then
her mind began to drift. Though she had poured over every obscure bit
she could find in every modern and ancient text that hinted at having
some answer, this had not been what she was expecting.
"One hundred and twelve."
Teresa was startled out of her thoughts. His syntax was too modern;
his vocabulary was... no, who was she to judge that? But his
clothes... They had to be modern, didn't they? She must've heard
wrong; that had to be it.
"Excuse me?"
Azrael looked at his hands again, and nodded with finality. "One
hundred and twelve."
His shirt was plain, and white, with nothing to distinguish it at all
from any of the other thousands upon thousands of shirts that had been
produced around the world for the past twenty years at least... Come to
think of it, she had no idea how old that particular design was, and
there was absolutely no advertising of any kind on it... The pants
looked like walnut brown corduroy... Maybe, but that didn't seem
possible...
"Are you telling me that you haven't met another human being,
Immortal, demon, vampire, or any other sentient creature since 1889?"
"I believe that was the year." Azrael suddenly brightened, and jumped
to his feet as the impulse hit him. "Yes. One hundred and twelve
years ago I left everything else behind. That was a very good year. I
remember that year." Teresa merely watched as he stopped short, and
announced, "I must go now. I will return shortly." With that, he left
the room, not looking back.
She waited a few moments, to see if he'd return as shortly as he'd
seemed to imply, then, chuckling, flopped carelessly down on the flimsy
bed. A thin cloud of dust rose from the woolen blanket. No matter,
she didn't need it anyway; not only was the cave warm, even in the far
rear, but as long as she remained in her vampiric state she had no need
to keep her own internal heat up.
How long had it been since she'd started on her search? It felt odd
to finally be here. Maybe this would turn out to be just another dream
in the endless nights of dreams. It felt too good to be true, and, at
the same time, unreal. It had been a year and a half ago, almost to
the day, that she'd left Sunnydale for the second time, desperately
clutching a few papers and one precious map against her side.
That last day in Sunnydale had been the worst-the wound to her heart
was healed over, but the stake had left her weakened. She'd eaten
enough to feed an army of teenaged boys, then finished off with three
days' supply of blood. A few hours of only mildly disturbing dreams
had been enough to wake up just as the sun way setting with a fresh
mind. Five minutes to pack everything she had with her. Ten to take
the last few things she wanted from her house. It wasn't hard at all
to hitch rides half way across the country.
All of her stuff except for the absolute essentials had been left
behind in Chicago, under lock and key. Hopefully it was still there.
She had nothing of any great value, really, except to herself. It was
the usual give and take. Anything could happen, but it probably
wouldn't. She'd given up worrying about the possibilities after a
couple of weeks.
From Chicago she'd spent three miserable days trying to figure out
where to go next. For hours she'd read and reread all that Giles had
given her, with no better ideas than the ones she'd started with.
There was the prophecy of her coming, and Angel's soul being returned;
a few paragraphs about a "girl child born to light reborn to darkness"
that seemed to be studies in contradiction; and some of the few
mentions of aberrant vampires who had either retained their souls or
had, after a time, tried to repent. It was the map that had taken most
of her time and had drawn her interest back hour after hour.
Finally, after a few minutes of moral debate, she'd found the
youngest, slowest, and most impressionable authority in the city and
gotten herself a passport and a plane ticket to Europe. If she got a
few odd looks on the plane, it was because of her morose behavior, and
nothing more. Touching down in Paris should have been the delight of
her still young life, even if it was complicated by her inability to
speak French. There was beauty, yes; but there were also so very, very
many people. One thing she'd learned-four days without sleep and the
continuous mental hum of millions of people contributed remarkably well
to looking like a heroin addict on her last legs. As soon as she could
choose a direction, she was gone.
After that, it had been near endless searching. All over France,
across Spain and Portugal, then she'd had to double back to spend a
couple of very fruitful weeks in Rome before heading north, to Germany.
Over the months, she'd learned how to listen intently to the surface
thoughts of people as they talked, and no longer doubted her ability to
get the gist of any modern language within a few days. It helped,
though not as much as her knowledge of Latin. She chuckled quietly,
remembering how often and vociferously she'd had to fight for those
classes. A waste of time indeed.
Sometimes she bothered herself more than anyone else did. It was a
constant annoyance, knowing that whatever she did, it made little or no
difference. No one would care unless she failed, and she didn't even
know what she was doing. Finding food wasn't hard, especially with
money, but blood was always hard to come by. Some nights it would seem
that each person that passed her by was a more delectable morsel, each
aching to satisfy her sharp fangs and the howling of her personal
demon. As long as she ate enough, her will held out against the
temptation. Only a few times had she had to resort to a quick suck at
someone's neck. They'd all been older men, after a young, nubile girl
for a quick bang in a dark alley; she could have done far worse than
leave them a few pints paler.
Weeks had gone by as she'd meticulously scanned the German
countryside, looking for anything - any grove or mountain or cave -
that might possibly hide a building big enough to house every bit of
data gathered by the Watchers of the Slayers, the Immortals, and
another group of the same name that monitored the balance between
demons and Hunters, up to the fifteenth century. The texts she'd found
in Rome had been insistent on this being the area of the fabled Triami
Library. No one else that she came across had any knowledge of its
existence.
The night she'd found it had been clouded over, making it hard, even
for her, to see. Only occasionally would the moon peek out from behind
the thick, fleecy clouds and cast a little light. It had been a
complete accident, actually. If she hadn't stooped down to wash her
face in a tiny trickle of a stream, she would have missed the heavy
wood and iron door half-buried in the ground.
Her first impression was a wave of putrid air that hadn't been touched
for centuries. After choking and sputtering for awhile, she'd shut
down the Immortal functions of her body and went without breathing or
heartbeat. Inside, once she'd dug the rest of the dirt away from the
only visible entrance, there hadn't even been the little natural light
to help her. She'd stumbled around, nearly blind, until remembering
the flashlight she'd stowed somewhere in her backpack, near the bottom,
thinking that it might be useful if she ever got into such a situation.
Ten minutes later, after twice searching everything in her bag, she
finally admitted defeat and left the dark, vaulted room that she could
tell extended meters above her head. As long as there was no immediate
danger, she could come back in the morning with all the supplies she
needed.
The next day was overcast, but humid, and she could see clearly her
own slight footprints around the stream. She hadn't even bothered to
hide the load of dirt she'd dug away from the buried entrance.
Careless, probably, but she'd been Listening every single moment for
any mind within miles of hers. There had been no one, and even now she
felt blessedly and brilliantly alone.
Ducking into the long abandoned room, Teresa had been able, from the
sunlight filtering in from above, to see that she'd only scratched the
surface of her find. The door she had come through had been overgrown
with the same grass and vines that covered the utterly normal looking
hill that loomed above. She'd found what must have been an outside
stairway leading to a broad upper balcony in the largest room she had
ever seen. Enormous columns supported the middle of the vaulted
ceiling, and tremendous beams ran up and down at regular intervals
along the walls. Huge windows-some plain glass, the rest ornate
constructions, cut and stained to depict biblical and historical
scenes-ran between the beams. They had probably been the finest pieces
of their day, but to have stayed intact under the loads of earth
pressing in from all sides have to have taken a touch of magick. She
didn't doubt that she would find symbols of protection running along
the outside of the panes. No light shone through them, just the
dullness of deep brown dirt.
Trying to keep her excitement under control, she'd flicked on one of
the several battery powered lanterns she'd brought with her and set it
on the ground next to the open door. This was the very place that
scholars had spent lifetimes looking for, and she had found it in well
under a year. Either luck had finally been on her side, or it was
simply the right time for it to be found. Perhaps when she was gone it
would sink back into the ground like some behemoth beneath the waves,
only to resurface when there was a need once again. She remembered
smiling at the thought. This was no longer some long-lost fable, told
over and over again until it became legend. It was real. The stone
beneath her feet was real. It could be measured and tested and
documented. It wasn't going to disappear again; not if she could
possibly help it.
That first day she'd done nothing but explore, grateful, after finding
her way down to what had been the ground floor and leaving behind the
sunlight, for the long-lasting brightness she carried with her. It
certainly beat holding onto a sputtering, dripping candle for hours on
end. Each turn in the labyrinth of passages that wound further back
into the earth brought more into view. Once, she came upon a corridor
that felt like it must be at least partially above ground, but laying
her hand against the smooth wall she had met only cool dryness. It was
the same wherever she went, and it had to be the lack of any moisture
and the constant temperature that kept everything so perfectly
preserved. After that, she always shut the door tightly behind after
entering. It wasn't her goal to destroy the work of centuries.
Though people flowed around and sometimes even over the enormous
treasure beneath them, none were aware of its being there, let alone
the strange girl, her face slowly growing ever more pale, that had come
to call it something like home. Whenever she absolutely had to leave
the library, not more than once a week, she meticulously disguised the
entrance and hid any footprints. The constant darkness lent itself
well to letting her vampire nature nearly full reign, until she could
tell without thinking if the sun was up in the sky, and how long it
would be until sunset. With no people to intrude on her thoughts, it
was hard sometimes to remember why she had been seeking this place at
all. Then another nightmare would come. They always did. And she
would remember.
Every once in awhile, Teresa had contemplated calling somebody across
the long void of ocean and land between them. Giles, maybe; or Methos.
Angel would be the easiest-their bond meant she could touch his mind
almost effortlessly and sometimes without realizing it. If she would
have had someone, a friend, the task of looking, day after day, though
the old and sometimes fragile manuscripts would have been easier. Even
someone who could just be there to share her happiness whenever some
small clue presented itself would have been nice. Someone who knew how
to keep his thoughts quiet, and not scream into her mind...
Some of the texts she had had no choice but to put aside as
unreadable. The English and Latin she could read with little problem,
even if they had been written in a time when people spoke far
differently than they did now. She knew enough Spanish and French, by
now, to grasp the basic ideas of anything written in those languages.
German had been her first priority, and the dictionary, tapes, and
books she had managed to purchase were some of the few thoroughly
modern things she'd had since coming. Even with five languages, she
knew she was missing a lot. There was Hebrew, which she recognized but
had no idea how to start translating, and Greek, which had tried and
failed to find any sort of tutorial on.
Even when she couldn't read the words on the pages, occasionally she'd
come across some wonderfully detailed map or chart that led to another,
sometimes more manageable volume. She would have lost track of the
days, except for her nearly perfect memory. Whenever she could, she
would work for days on end, not stopping for sleep or sustenance.
Exhausted, and still desperately seeking any concrete meaning for her
continued existence, Teresa was always glad to forget what she had seen
in her dreams upon waking.
Slowly, she had realized that she spent more and more time each day in
one section of the library, and, more often than not, what she was
reading repeated what she'd already known. It was only after she
brought three enormous books together that it dawned on her: all of
them had been written by the same person. True, there was no signature
that she could make out, no author's notes at the back, but they were
all in the same small, neat handwriting that tended to wander and
become scrunched together toward the edge of the page.
At first glance there was nothing to tie the volumes together. Two
were bound in leather, but one looked more worn than the other; one was
covered with a heavy, orangey-brownish colored cloth. The paper and
ink on each were of different colors, and one had obviously been
stopped half-way through and finished with a different color. Even
going through them, they seemed disjointed. Had these, in fact, been
copies? There was a feeling, as she handled them, that they were more
than they appeared.
Two days, four hours of sleep, three bags of blood, and seven thousand
Calories later, Teresa was no closer to unraveling the mystery and
decided to take a break. She opened her mind slightly, forcing on
herself the mental exercise that she had given up what seemed ages ago.
She cast her thoughts outward, and met the nearest people-a family, all
asleep in their old, vine-covered home. Their peaceful slumber brought
a smile to her face. Next was a couple that had married shortly before
her arrival. They certainly weren't sleeping, and she passed them by,
grinning and letting them enjoy their privacy.
In the modest town about fourteen miles to the north, most of the
inhabitants were either sleeping or just settling into bed. She was
glad. Usually hitting a mass of people meant confusion and an aching
head. With their thoughts peaceful, she could pick out those who were
still fully awake and alert. There were the gas station attendants and
a couple of college students at home on vacation; a small family all
awake with a fretful child that she soothed as much as she could.
Teresa could all but see the mother holding her tearful baby thanking
her lucky stars when the infant quieted.
She took in a deep breath of the cool, still dusty smelling air of the
library, and closed her eyes as she searched further. Out across the
German countryside, across knots and snarls of humanity, over the broad
seas, until she reached Paris, and the pulse and thrum of activity
there. Uncertain numbers of human souls blended together, each trying
to press itself forward, each being forced into the background by the
sheer weight of those around it.
Shuddering inwardly, she sped past the metropolis, going as far as she
could possibly push herself. Somewhere near London the thoughts lost
all distinction, each fading into a mist that was impossible, without
any definite purpose in mind, to penetrate. She hadn't attempted such
a stretch for a long time, and was surprised at how fluidly it came.
Not pausing even a moment, she focused all her mental abilities to
seeking out those who were closest to her heart-Giles first, then
Buffy, Richie, though he detested her very existence, Duncan, Joe, far
off in Seacouver, Angel, sleeping out the sunlight, and finally Methos.
They were all there-light, distorted by distances which she had never
before attempted to bridge, but present nonetheless. Breathing a sigh
of relief, she drew back into herself slowly, leaving them none the
worse for her curiosity.
In a few seconds, only the beautiful silence of the countryside-
deserted at this time of night-occupied that portion of her thoughts
that made her so vulnerable and, at the same time, more powerful than
she would ever dare to be.
Teresa opened her eyes to the faint glow of a fading electric lantern,
and rolled on to her side. The three books she had read cover to
cover, knew practically by heart, were right there. If she could make
nothing more of them tonight, she would leave the library and give the
location to Giles and Joe. They each get a place in their respective
Watcher histories, though she would get nothing. That was alright with
her. She'd be around to see when they were nothing but history.
What had she gotten out of them exactly? They were stories and
legends of Immortals, vampires, and demons come together, but not in
any organized fashion. Generally, it seemed, such meetings resulted in
the permanent deaths of one or the other party. Very few of the
Immortals who were turned survived the experience sane. Demons and
vampires conspiring together had brought about some of the greatest
human tragedies in recorded history, and some that she'd never heard of
before. Immortals thrown into the mix were either evil already or very
shortly corrupted. Those few who weren't often took their own lives to
end the tortures visited upon them. A creature that would bleed,
scream, and die, then come back to life, was considered a wonderful
toy.
Immortal children were considered the choicest, and most coveted.
Really, she wasn't much more than a child, in body at least. Her
physique was that of a teenager, viewed in a cold, objective light,
though it was absurdly easy to fool the rest of the world into thinking
she was older.
Child vampires were rare... There was one story of a band of them come
together, who had leave their nest shortly after the arrival of a
stranger who insisted that, despite all evidence to the contrary, he
was not a vampire. What had been the exact words? It was so short a
passage...
Teresa opened the topmost book to near the back. It was the chronicle
of a young Watcher she was after, who had devoted his entire life to
seeking out freak vampires. He had already been studying the small
cult of vampire children when another... she found it.
"Three days from Easter last. Among the coven was
a great commotion. This Watcher was able to observe
what he took to be a new fledge. The boy, perhaps
of eleven or twelve years, is near the age of the
eldest-appearing, though there were more distinguishing
marks including a mulberry coloured splotch near the
left ear. He is possessed of dark hair and rustic
dress. Though this Watcher was unable to ascertain
the cause of the dispute, his belief is that the boy
may be an unauthorized creation by a junior member of
the coven.
"Five days from Easter last. The new fledge, who from
this point on this Watcher will identify as Baker in
his thoughts, since he presents no other name, and none
of the others seem inclined to provide him with one.
Again, last night, there was a ruckus from the coven,
and this Watcher hastened to observe. The hour was
growing dark, yet the fledge refused outright to take
up the Hunt. Perhaps there is something more here than
this Watcher was able to observe at first.
"Six days from Easter last. Were it not for the iron
leadership of the child-vampire Lupercus, by this time
the coven would long have fallen to disorder and decay.
Emelia, by the usual quirks of her character, last night
challenged Lupercus for leadership of the coven. Very
quickly the fight was deemed worthless, as Lupercus has
close on to five centuries greater in age than Emelia. All
arguments are hushed, and even the smallest among them
seem ill at ease around the strange, silent new fledge.
"Seven days from Easter last. The strange fledge has gone
missing. No signs of his corporal form have been observed
by this Watcher, and he does not, at this time, hazard a
guess as to the nature of his disappearance.
"Thirteen days from Easter last. It is with regret that this
Watcher admits to falling behind in his scribing without just
cause. Every night the coven has been out in force, and
'tis only the great distances they go that keeps the good folk
of the surrounding villages free from suspicion. From break
of day to close of day, great wailings emerge from the sole
windowed chamber of the weir, though none so comprehensible as
to enable this Watcher to make heads or tails of the mystery.
Perhaps it is the strange fledge, bound within the room, that
produces such awful cries. Of special note, one of the senior
members of the coven, a little one whom the others call 'Alescia',
has not returned from the previous hunt.
"One fortnight from Easter last. Truly a remarkable occurrence,
perhaps to such a degree that this Watcher will receive a place
in the histories. Let the facts of the night be told in plain
detail here, so as to set the fresh upon the page whilst in my
thoughts. At nearly mid-day, long after this Watcher had finished
with his Journals and had retired, he was quite rudely awoken by
a crash of dishes within the small pantry. Though thieves or
vagabonds he had expected, the true sight which greeted him was
such that his nerves are still strung tight as bow-cords. As he
sprung from his bedchamber with nothing but nightshirt and boots
for garments, he was forced backward by the considerable strength
of none other than the strange fledge observed previously.
'Mark well these words, Watcher,' he said. 'My dream was but one
and I am the first. Not vampire, to walk in the daylight. Not
Immortal, to be forever human. I am not the one to bind them.
There will come another and she will need me. The prophecies of
her coming are many, but scattered. Some day she must come to
me.' With that, this incredible being thrust into this Watcher's
hand a cloth covered with markings and map-work. 'I should have
been the Teacher. Something has gone wrong.' He proceeded to
press his hand over mine. 'The wait will be long, but she will
come. I do not doubt. Copy this, and spread the word near and
far. I will be there when the time is ripe. Fare thee well.'
There were no more words, but in an eye-blink, he was vanished."
There was nothing more to the narrative. Teresa could only guess that
the Watcher had been killed shortly after finishing that last entry,
and anything more that had been said was lost forever. There wasn't
even a note to mark his passing. At the bottom of the page, however,
was something she had overlooked in the countless hours she had spent
in research. Drawn in brown ink now mostly faded on the light brown
page, was a map. The names were unfamiliar, but the topography was
distinctive. If this was not a part of the puzzle to her existence,
than perhaps nothing was. She had left the library that same night,
not looking back...
Right now, that page, that book, was in the backpack propped against
the foot of the narrow, dusty bed she was occupying, and the library
seemed a million miles away in space and time. Her golden, vampiric
eyes calmly took in the bleak, gray wall opposite her, then the equally
gray ceiling, and then floor. She had spent so long searching for
this, hoping it would give meaning to a life that felt meaningless.
What else could he tell her that she did not know? Did she still want
to know? Had the journey been an end in itself? The sensation of
another approaching roused her from her thoughts.
The dark-haired head of Azrael popped into her chamber with no
introduction other than what nature had provided him. "I'm ready,
Lady, if you'd like to come with me."
Teresa hesitated only a moment, still wondering if she shouldn't run
as fast as her legs could carry her for the cave entrance. If she
could simply find a way to keep to the shadows, to the edge of society,
she might live a long, long time. What had Giles asked her?
*'Everyone asks, sometime in his life, who he is. How do you know that
you will not be disappointed with what you find?'* Ignorance is
bliss... but knowledge is power. Taking a deep breath, she stood up,
and allowed Azrael to lead her into the dimly lit corridor.
----
"You've not heard the entire prophecy," Azrael said suddenly, gazing
at her. He fingered the coarse, white cloth of his shirt and seemed to
grow very thoughtful and distant at the same time. "All the
prophecies. Parts of prophecies, pieces of prophecies... Some come
true and some just look like they come true and others fall all to
bits..."
"I've only heard the part about myself," Teresa interjected, trying to
stem the flow of his nonsense words until that they finally stopped.
She cast her eyes toward the rows and rows of ancient volumes occupying
every available space in this cavernous library that he had lead her
to. Libraries seemed to be taking up her life lately, though that
wasn't entirely disagreeable. "And only by second hand. You said
there were many prophecies?" When he didn't answer, she prompted him,
"And one shall come from a peaceful land..."
As if that had unleashed some sort of floodgate, Azrael half closed
his eyes, stood, and began to recite:
"And one shall come from a land of war. He shall be one who society
has forgotten, a beggar boy with no name but that of an angel. Once
taken, twice taken, he shall be an innocent still when brought to the
darkness by a creature of light--for he must be taken by the vampires.
With no guide but the past, one dream, his book is written in the blood
of a hundred tyrants and a thousand nights. Two into the whole shall
he be powerful, but forbidden forever to be but one or the other, and
never was he one like us. To find him is to look into the bleakest
lands of a crumbled empire, far from the places of plenty, and the sky
shall announce his presence. His name shall be Teacher, and it is he
who must prepare for her coming."
Without taking a breath, he continued on.
"And one shall come from a peaceful land. She shall be one alien to
society, an outcast, and the taste of death has once filled her heart.
With mother's curse, the old soul shall be awakened within her breast.
To seek her, you will not find. Better to wait upon her coming into the
new land. On both sides of the battle, she shall acquire friend and
foe, but before the winner is declared, one from the side shall turn to
the other. Her blood is none, but her blood is sweet as nectar to the
dark ones. And she must be taken by the vampires. Afterwards, she will
not be one of them, nor one of them, and never she was one of us, but
like the power of one of them and one of them combined. Two into the
whole shall she be powerful. The Slayer's second shall know her by
sight of raven and flickering candles, but the angel shall know her
first by raven and scars. Before the angel drinks, he shall make her
drink of Hell. Nine from the sides shall come searching for her, and
the Watchers. Three to darkness, three to light, three to the shades
grey. With help from the three to the shades grey, she must choose
between the darkness and the light. The will is hers, and hers alone.
To rule in the darkness or make beautiful the light. Her name shall be
unspoken, and her heart shall always be alone. Two the same and
separate and together at once, contained in one, her choice will
determine the fate of the future."
Teresa imagined that she felt all the blood within her veins freeze.
Azrael appeared to have gone into a trance, and only the whites of his
eyes showed beneath the lids. Hearing the entire prophecy said aloud
was disturbing enough, but more horrible still, to her, was the utter
blankness of his mind. It was hard to stop the near reflex that kept
her from mind from locking itself within her own skull. Instead of
stopping, as she fully expected him to, he continued with what must be
more of the prophecy.
"Those whom love hath bound together, must in blood and pain be
forged. By impossible acts she will further their bindings, so that
the cycle can continue as it has since before the tides were
separated."
Something of this sounding vaguely familiar, like a memory she had
long forgotten perhaps. She knew that there was more coming.
"And by fire and storm shall the populace be tried for their crimes of
childhood. And by quake and ice shall the populace be tried for their
crimes of youth. And by famine and plague shall the populace be tried
for their crimes of maturity."
Azrael paused in his recitation just long enough that Teresa thought
he might be finished. *If this is just one of the prophecies, I may
leave tomorrow. I can spare the year and a half. Hell, I could
probably spare a century and a half.* She shivered again, and he shook
off the hold.
"For in the last days a man will emerge from the sands of a morbid
land, and he shall be called Evil. And his eyes shall attract the
nations; men will fall before him and bow to his will of their own
volition. Woe to she, woe to he who falls against his will. Only
those who have given themselves unto him shall be allowed into society,
and outcasts are torn to pieces... The past shall be forgotten, except
by those who remember from times long gone by, and those who are fated
to die. Mortals fight side by side with Immortals, and the vampires
and the Slayers shall fight side by side with demons."
Somewhere along the line, her stomach started taking on a mind of its
own. She hugged her arms around her waist, trying to stop the nausea
from impairing her ability to listen.
"And the world shall not remember nor rejoice nor mourn the passing of
one age, and wake as if from a dream..."
Azrael blinked his eyes a few times, so that they came back into
focus, before finishing.
"And the agony of the fall of the one who shall be unnamed shall go
unrecorded in the great story, as she rises and walks. For it is her
lot. Forever to be Alone."
Teresa looked through hooded eyes that would have thrown daggers if
they could. She wanted to strangle the little urchin until his eyes
popped out of their sockets and his tongue turned blue. She wanted to
carve him into pieces to be fed, one by one, to every vile creature of
the land and sea. She wanted to break every bone in his tender little
body one by one and laugh as he screamed. She did nothing but swallow
the bitterness that rose in the back of her throat.
***How alone can a telepath be?***
The boy jumped at the intrusion of another's thoughts into his own,
his lungs working frantically to pump oxygen through the body that
thought itself still alive. His scrawny neck showed the action clearly
as he gulped down air, the veins standing out in stark relief. Quickly
his fingers sought out the chair directly in front of him for support.
His eyes, as they turned to meet hers, were full of uncertainty and
fear.
"I would help you if I could," he said quietly, backing away mentally
as well as physically from Teresa's subtly threatening posture. "I
wanted to be the Teacher. I cannot, but I think you know who can help
you better than I."
"Oh?" Teresa didn't bother to hide her irritation. *I wish I wasn't
such an idiot. Always alone... Fuck that. Why do I even bother?*
"Tell me now, because I'm going as soon as I'm able."
"Lupercus." He grimaced saying the name, then more at her expression.
"Why him? I thought he's the one that locked you away."
"He did."
"Then why on earth would you want me to do anything but kill him?"
Azrael blanched as white as she'd ever seen anyone but herself go, his
eyes wide and childish in fear. "No, please don't do that. I would
tell you, but I can't. My.. my.. I.. can't... Can't tell you. My
tongue is tied. I used to know, but I've forgotten." He looked on the
verge of tears, desperate to make something known, yet unable. "The
coven is just outside of Paris now. He's still there. I can feel
it."
"So what about the other prophecies?"
He looked at her slowly, then cast his eyes upward, slowly circling
the room. Teresa lifted her own gaze, and saw that the room had
somehow enlarged upward, or there had been the illusion of a ceiling
previously. Books. More books. Yet more books. And she was fed up
with them. Their eyes met back level at the same instant.
"All those?"
"All."
He saw the stormy mixture of emotion creep into her eyes; the
desperation and anger and hopelessness all at the same time. In his
muddled thoughts, he could recognize only that he was failing in a duty
he had spent centuries in preparation for. There was something more he
was supposed to say, or do, but he couldn't figure out what. He had
known it long, long ago. Something had gone wrong with this cycle, and
he could not fix it.
"You're thinking," she said without emotion.
What could he do to convince her? Something ached to be said, but he
could not say it. All the prophecies needed to be read. She needed to
know them by heart... *What have we done wrong?*
"Stay... here?"
Teresa snorted at the likelihood of her complying with that particular
request. "You're out of your bloody mind. Give me one good reason."
"You... you've spent so long looking for me already. What, what
difference could another day, another night make? You are im-immortal.
One year makes no difference to our kind."
"Our kind..." She chuckled lightly. "And what kind would that be?
Immortals? Vampires? Or do you mean this select little club of
somewhere-in-betweens?" Azrael remained silent. "Or is that yet
another little thing you are forbidden do discuss?"
Azrael could only shake his head, his mind clouding so that ordered
thoughts were all but impossible to attain, and repeat his request.
"Please stay? Stay the day and leave when the sun has set?"
So many emotions in so little time... would she always be plagued by
such instability? Hadn't there ever been another like her? One who
could truly help? Teresa dragged a hand over her eyes, and knew that
she would have to sleep under the unrelenting rays of sunlight if she
left now - peeling red skin, horrible blisters, and all the pain that
went with them if she had to spend the whole day outside. Maybe it
would be cloudy. *Why me?* It had been days since her last rest, and
the fatigue was telling.
"I will stay until the sun sets. If you can think of anything to keep
me here, tell me before then. If you don't..." She took a slow breath,
then let it out thoughtfully, determined not to sink into a fit of
madness - speaking to him without words, that had was madness. "I
don't want to see you again before the Fates pull us together." He
nodded his apparent agreement, and she sighed. "I will be going to
Paris next, I guess, though why I would possibly want to return there
is beyond me." She smiled, then without warning thudded her forehead
against the hard wooden table before her in an entirely teenage gesture
of amusement at overwhelming futility. "No, it's not. It's a
diversion, or a challenge. It's a chance that I might find out more
about myself. It's a direction." When she started giggling, Azrael
blinked in confusion and moved a bit closer - hesitantly at first, then
knelt down and crept to her side so that he could see into her face.
Her eyes, glittering with gold, met his and she stopped giggling, but
not smiling. "And if anyone wishes me a life in interesting times, I
will personally rip his throat out."
Azrael smiled, though in the vague, uncommitted way of someone who
hasn't understood. "What do you think you will do, once you've gone to
Paris?"
The smile disappeared as quickly as morning mist on a hot summer's day
- the sort of change that made one wonder whether there had ever been a
real difference. The mind did play tricks... "Must you spoil my
momentary spot of brightness?" From the hurt expression on his face,
as well as the emotion that radiated from him, she knew he had not
meant any harm and mumbled an apology. "I don't know. It depends on
what I find there."
He shook his head, trying to explain more clearly, and failing to find
the words. "That's not exactly what I mean."
Teresa arched one eyebrow in perfect if unfelt disdain. "If you'd
like me to, I could simply pluck the question from your mind." A smirk
completed the illusion.
"No, no, no, no," Azrael said hastily, backing off and nearly
stumbling in his urgency to get away from her and the imminent danger
she posed. "I... I..."
The slow smile that graced her features was tired, but honest enough.
"Don't worry. As much a monster as I am, I don't usually intrude
beyond the surface-most thoughts unless I have a damn good reason."
"I can't root around in a person's mind like that," Azrael said
quietly, casting his eyes away and apparently forgetting his original
question. Teresa did not feel inclined to offer any more of an answer.
"Though I hate to interrupt your impending five minutes of gloom," she
said, standing. "And part of me would truly adore spending the next
seventy years delving into the mystery that is myself, I am in need of
a few hours sleep before I leave." The boy-vampire-Immortal continued
to stare off into space, taking no notice of her rising, or abrupt
departure as she strode from the cavern.
Azrael hung his head tiredly, unable and, for once, unwilling to sort
through half-sane thoughts and visions. He had been waiting for
centuries for her to arrive, and felt keenly the sting of her
rejection. Perhaps, if he had been just a few years older when the
vampires had come for him...
-----
Out in the hallway again, Teresa achieved a few steps before sinking
to the cool natural stone floor. It was simply too much to keep up the
appearance of normalcy, even for her - she felt as if every bit of
energy had been drained from her body, leaving only a heavy, helpless
carcass behind. The uneven pressure of the hard rock against her rump
seemed to anchor her body in place, while her mind, though free, was
too tired to do anything. Calls met up with walls of silence, but she
could not spend her entire life at the point of exhaustion.
Surreal - the past hours - too insane to be true. She would certainly
wake in a few minutes, wouldn't she? to find herself curled safe and
warm in an otherwise empty house - her father away on one of his
innumerable business trips. Even then, there had been good times.
Now... Libraries, vampires, Immortals, and rows upon rows of prophecies
dreamed up by untold ages of seers... All to be cleared away and
forgotten over a leisurely breakfast. Yet she found herself still
trapped in the same reality, and reluctantly forced herself to
her feet.
Half stumbling, half running, Teresa made it back to her tiny cell and
collapsed onto the bed, completely unaware of the cloud of old dust she
raised with her activities. *Best to get it over with quickly, and
forget this as soon as possible.* What she didn't realize was that she
was trying to cope with a sudden emotional overload, after so long a
wait. As her lids slid shut, the image of the hundreds of volumes
overhead came back to mind. *Sometimes the future is best left
unknown.*
Knowing, somehow, that she would be safe from all but her innermost
foes, Teresa slept.
-----
Later that day, some four hours before sunset, Azrael crept into the
room where Teresa had finally fallen asleep. He'd waited, for hours,
always patiently, for her mind to open to him. It never had, and now
she was beyond him, her mind locked tightly around the coils of a
restless sleep.
What he saw confused him for a moment or two. Teresa's pale form was
spread out on the bed, covered, but shivering and sweating at the same
time. Her eyes were open and glassy, unseeing, as if she was under
some great strain that took all of her will to control. Her fingers
clenched and unclenched around the fabric of the bedspread.
*Nightmares.* He realized. *Scary dreams.* He thought for a moment,
then silently moved toward the side of her bed. *I can fix that.*
Carefully, he put out his hand, the fingers glowing with some sort of
warm golden light, and touched lightly her uncovered forehead.
Where he'd touched, the ashen skin colored briefly with warmth, life
-- the pulse of innocence. It spread, and as it spread, disappeared.
There was not a trace to mark that anything had ever happened, except
that Teresa's eyes closed, and the racing, frantic beat of her dreams
dropped down into peace... The breaths that had gasped with each
intake ceased altogether, and, almost unnaturally beautiful in its
utter happiness, a smile played at the corners of her lips.
Azrael answered with a smile of his own, his eyes lighting with a
spark of hopefulness that he had not allowed himself to feel since she
had first revealed to him how powerful she really was. Even if she
would never know it, he could make her happier. *No more nightmares
tonight, chosen. Sleep easily.*
He left the bedroom with no more disturbance than when he had arrived,
and, with the ease of much practice, descended the unlit stairwell to a
chamber deep beneath the surface of the earth. His fingers touched
ordered rows of jars and little tin canisters - the sort that would
have been found in any decent early Victorian apothecary. None of
them, however, contained medicine. Dumping the contents of two tins
onto a nearly clean portion of the floor, he squatted down, and took a
small pouch from inside his shirt.
In the completely lightless cavern, it would have been impossible for
anyone else, even Teresa, to see the markings etched in white on the
small ivory chips that Azrael took from the pouch with exquisite care.
Even he could not see them as the flew from his fingers to land amid
the dust-like substance spread over the floor. But he could sense
them. He knew with an intuitive awareness which had landed where, and
what face they were showing. After a moment's disbelief, he moaned
softly, and drew his finger through the soft substance beneath. It did
no good, and altered nothing, but it relieved some of his sorrow.
-----
Teresa awakened to an unaccustomed feeling in her skin and the back of
her eyes. There was a sort of delightful, rippling heaviness that
wanted to pull her back down and sink into quiet slumber once again.
Instead of a moment of panic and insecurity as she adjusted to a
reality that was more safe than her nightmares, she felt warm, and
delightfully alive - the strong, warm thrum of blood beat coursed
through her. Feline-like, she yawned, and stretched luxuriously until
she felt the tendons popping at the excess. Where was she? Did it
matter? The thought came back to her that this was what it had felt
like, that single time she had awakened as a vampire without
conscience, and without caring. So utterly and so completely normal...
Then, in a wild rush, the past caught up with her, and she breathed a
small breath of amusement - not stopping to wonder why. *Sunset, or I
would not have woken. It would be best to go now, and not even look
for him.* Teresa knew, somehow, that now that the flare of anger had
passed, if she saw him again she might not be able to resist the
temptation to press everything from him. There was enough pain on her
hands.
Quietly, Teresa pulled on her warm coat, and looped the straps of her
bag over her shoulders. She felt for the sword at her side, and
welcomed its comforting presence. There was no sound, other than her
soft breathing, and no movement, other than her quiet treading, as she
crossed maneuvered her way back to the cave entrance. She couldn't
quite keep from looking back into the stillness just before the exit.
Had the years led her to this, and it was a disappointment, or had she
merely caught a hint of a scent of a mystery which drew her, all
unknowing, toward it? If she had woken up to see a field of stars as
her only cover, and the ground as her bed, it would have almost made
more sense. All a dream, to be forgotten or remembered by the
dreamer's whim. Even with the rock under her hand, and the scent of
still air in her nostrils, it might be a dream. Shaking her head, she
stepped outside, into the cold night air that accentuated the myriad of
stars above, and the seemingly endless emptiness ahead. Teresa broke
into a run, faster, and faster - as fast as her legs would carry her
and still it was not enough. Away.
-----
By the time that Teresa reached the outskirts of Paris, she had
decided that she could not-would not-continue her search beyond this
Lupercus fellow. She had already discovered so much... perhaps she
simply needed time to sort everything out. And that was the one thing
that she had in abundance. To her chagrin, she had found herself
running short of cash upon re-entering "civilization." Soon she would
have to implement a few well-chosen strategies, or risk spending a few
years in the gutter-not something she looked forward to with any
enthusiasm.
She mumbled a barely audible thanks to the bus driver as she stepped
off, then cast her gaze slowly around. For once, the flood of
impressions that she received upon focusing was controllable-surprising
and a little disconcerting. A woman passed her, preoccupied with her
own thoughts in the dim dusky light. ***Late, late, late. The meat
will be bad by the time I get home. I shouldn't have left it out.***
The thoughts intruded upon her own, unbidden, but after a second she
was almost able to shut them out. A darkly mustached man nearly
brushed her shirt as he hurried along, not looking where he was going.
Here was one city, and there was an entire world. She could do
anything, be anything, become anyone she wanted - remake herself, if
she decided to. No, she knew, shaking her head silently. Before
disappearing into the mists, she had a few things left to do. At the
top of her mind was a boy-vampire - a vicious, soulless killer, if the
stories held any truth - and there were hundreds of years missing.
Though she barely noticed the cold, several people who did eyed the
curious girl walking past them with surprise. Most shook their heads,
and a moment later remembered nothing of it. Those who stopped to
watch a few seconds of her easy, flowing gait, would perhaps puzzle
over it briefly, then return their attention to whatever else needed to
be done. Teresa wasn't bothering with keeping herself hidden, or
unobtrusive. She stood out in the crowd of evening passengers like a
circling tropical raptor among arctic lemmings - unknown, slightly
threatening, but hardly enough to detract them from their chosen paths.
She started wandering; the sort of aimless, pointless meandering that
most people, given a chance, will do. There was no family expecting
her, no teachers or professors demanding of her, no jobs or business
obligations to tie her down to any one location. Had there not been
the lingering shadow of an event now well and truly cemented into the
past: inalterable, unchangeable, she might have been able to enjoy
herself.
Teresa was faced with the unenviable task which she had assigned
herself: finding a single mind of which she had no prior contact, and
no direct knowledge of, in the frightfully confusing menagerie that was
Paris. She could, of course, simply slip, rodent-like, into the sewers
and begin her search there. Not all the noxious fumes or biohazardous
waste products in the world would kill her, yet she felt no inclination
to go that route.
Paris, like most cities its size, and even more particularly, its age,
had a thriving nocturnal community ranging from the most harmless of
sprites and goblins-though even they were not good to cross unless one
knew what she was doing-to various were-beasts, vampires, and demons
far more dangerous and sinister than she had yet dealt with. That she
might rank with them crossed her mind, but she could not bring herself
to think of it more than that. Even if she were, technically, one of
their kind, she would have to tread lightly. Immortals were another
consideration, and one she wasn't taking lightly, but even if they knew
a thing about the demonic side of the grand city, chances were she
would end up in a fight before one told her a thing. On the other
hand, were there was an Immortal, there was usually a Watcher...
Finding Lupercus was not worth loosing her life, her powers, or her
soul, and she fiercely doubted that any she found would take cash,
check, or credit card. Sidestepping a young man with the smell of
alcohol on his breath, Teresa nearly laughed out loud. All that she
had she carried on or with her-just let them try to take it! She
didn't exactly have a load of guilt weighing down her hands from
slapping it out of some unfortunate vampire. She'd put up a bloody
good fight, if she felt like it.
The thought of blood brought up another nagging problem - the gnawing
hunger that bit at her insides. The sharp scents of vinegar and aged
cheese, and of fresh bread and spices wafted to her nostrils from some
nearby establishment. At any other time, she would have turned
instantly for something so obviously inviting, but tonight it only
turned her stomach, resulting in her complexion taking on an unusual
greenish tinge. Her mouth watered for something less substantial but
utterly more satisfying; something she had not been allowing herself
much of recently. It had been less than a minute since she had passed
that drunk...
The crowd that lingered around her was enough still that her abrupt
reversal of direction, especially since she did not collide with the
person immediately behind her, was forgotten almost before it had
happened; it was simply one of the innumerable little things that
humans did for no apparent reason.
Teresa caught up with the man without a problem, the unsteady gait and
mute, glazed eyes marking him as a target to anyone with have a mind to
think in those terms. He should be grateful, she thought. She would
leave him a few pints lighter then dump him somewhere where he was
unlikely to be found. He would almost certainly wake up in the
morning, which was more than he would get from many.
Unnoticed, uninterrupted, she lured him with the lightest touch of the
hand away from the press of people. Who would have let him out like
this, she wondered. He was not as young as she had first thought, but
rather lacked the deeper wrinkles to the forehead and around the sides
of the mouth that usually come from two or three decades of
responsibility. A happy-go-lucky drunk, most likely, who managed with
luck and a smile to get through life and would then die alone and
unmourned. A thick, partially combed mop of dark brown hair topped his
head, and his chin was rough with stubble. His clothes were coarse and
dirty and lacking in any hint of class, but that made no difference to
her.
The various sounds and scents of the place, now that she took the time
to notice them, were heady-pungent almost to the point of being
overwhelming-but not entirely unpleasant. As the awareness of her
immediate surroundings increased to a point far beyond anything the
ordinary human sensory system could appreciate, the corresponding
mental onslaught dampened to something approaching a gentle murmur on
the outskirts of her consciousness, like the little stream running not
far from one's house whose sound, at first, is constant, but after
awhile is not noticed. To live always like this, she almost wanted to
cry for a half of a second. Not to hear them always so loud! To be
able to not care!
Every one of her senses was geared into a state that left her little
room for rational thought. She was every bit the wary predator; the
one who took to death as naturally as to breathing, but knew in its
heart that at any moment the tables could be turned, and that there was
no one to beg mercy from; no one would care for her.
She had little experience with this - had had so short a time to be as
a vampire aught - to exist in that sweet moment, that incredible
illicit thrill of the heartbeat singing in two heads at once. How
could she begin to think that anything could be better than this? Her
eyes shone golden with the large black pupil standing out against the
unnatural color; her mouth tingled and she ran her soft tongue over the
keen little fangs that grew in readiness for their task. The beast in
her cared enough to silence the noise, but she could not become like
all the rest - could not let it rule her - would not be the demon. She
embraced it, and it hated and loved her in equal measure.
Summoning a bit of restraint, Teresa pushed the man bodily against the
grit and grease encrusted brick. The first signs of fight in him made
themselves known as her hand, absurdly strong for all its delicate
beauty, restrained him. She would not damage him unless she had no
choice.
Not quite knowing what she was doing, she focused a part of herself
into him; she brought her eyes to his. Teresa felt some obscure thrill
rise as their gazes locked and, for the first time, an amazing
knowledge of power came over her; a power not so much destructive as
persuasive. What could she do? If she wanted him to bend silently to
his last breath, she felt he would have done it willingly - like a hare
dazed to immobility and waiting patiently for the serpent to strike, he
quieted.
Delighted, she never looked away from his face - ugly as it was, still
possessing a certain beauty all its own. When she reached with fingers
that had extended to pick up the tiniest vibrations of blood coursing
through the limp arm she sought. Every trembling millimeter of her
skin begged her to sink the fangs that ached with need to pierce the
neck, to slip like two tiny daggers into the carotid, to let the hot
liquid gush unhindered into her mouth and pool around her tongue, to
stain her teeth and lips the color of crimson life. The demon raged,
the vampire smiled, the Immortal allowed, the human, if it was still
there, or ever had been, she could not hear, and Teresa, unable to
resist the demand entirely, with a fingertip turned his head aside so
that she could run teeth over hot, pliant flesh.
Why had she ever thought to deny herself this? How long had it been,
from a human being breathing under her own eyes and not some cold,
dead, plastic container? Hadn't it been like this the first time? Why
not simply do and be done with? Kill, and dispose of the carcass like
so much dead meat? Because, and the thought was enough to tear her
lips, unwillingly, away from the skin that so certainly would have
yielded the very next moment, she wasn't, and could never be, like all
of the others.
Before she could think again, or change her mind-she knew that now she
could not simply walk, or run, away-Teresa brought his sun browned
wrested to her lips and almost cried out at the overwhelming surge of
ecstasy as her mouth closed around and fangs impaled themselves. As
fast as his heart beat, she could not get it fast enough; instead, she
sucked with a certain ferocity which she had never before displayed
with her victims. How long? One mouthful. Another. Another. Too
fast! But was it too much? She did not want to stop; could not...
No, it was not yet too late, and Teresa was strong-strong enough to
gasp and force herself away before the heart began to falter and the
face grow ashy pale in death. Her legs gave out from under her and at
the same time she lost whatever had been keeping her as she was, drunk
with power. The rough, dirty pavement scraped her hands, which healed
so instantly that she felt only the sting of regeneration. A few feet
away, the man, released completely from her hold but reeling as much
from his blood loss as Teresa was from the unexpected intensity of the
feeding, slid along the wall until he came to a sitting position.
For a few moments of blissful lethargy, Teresa did nothing but remain
- half sitting, half sprawled across the hard ground - where she was
and breath in the now deliciously scented air. That had been truly
unbelievable. Was it the place or the time; the man? More likely, she
knew, it was the almost total abandonment, the wild joy, after such a
prolonged period of abstinence. She smiled, and though she did not
turn her head, it was for him, and with newfound gratitude. Slowly,
she could hear again, both the man's steady pulse and the other, more
insistent pulse of the city around her. The latter pulled her back to
the freshly bitter wound of reality. First, however, she ran her
tongue along her lips, capturing the last remaining traces of liquid,
and over the little fangs that, even when she was relaxed, never quite
went away.
She dragged the man's unconscious form to the nearest door, found it
locked, opened it anyway with a bit of force, and deposited him gently
against the cool, shaded wall of some little used back room. Even if
somebody was to discover him before he woke, she would see only a drunk
who had fallen asleep in an unusual location; and anybody who saw the
bite - two deep, slightly ragged holes still weeping a little red which
was smearing on the wrist, framing the tears from the rest of her teeth
- would think it had come form some species of animal.
Teresa, buoyed and fortified by a good meal, set back out into the
city with more optimism and a bit of a buffer to protect her mind - one
of the more fortunate side effects of the blood high. Had she thought
more about it, Teresa would have known that she had reached her
decision, and that she was going to be staying in Paris, come Hell or
high water, until she found the truth!
-----
"Left!"
"Which left?"
"Your left!"
Buffy whirled, her stake finding the vulnerable chest of a newly risen
vampire. She staggered forward a final step despite the incredible
impact of the weapon into her chest, her hands half raised in defense,
before dissolving. A large wedding band and two smaller rings dropped
to the ground right in front of the watching Slayer. Buffy stooped
down, found the wedding ring and one of the others, and balled them up
in her fist.
Angel, knowing what she was going to do, remained out of the way, just
looking. He watched as she knelt down next to the freshly disturbed
earth, scooped a little aside, and deposited the small sum of gold and
gems into the cold ground-it was the only way for her to honor the
memory of the dead that she had never known as the living, once the
body was nothing but a small amount of dust drifting on the wind.
"You want to get something? Coffee?" Angel took Buffy's hand as she
wordlessly came up to him. The fell in step, walking along silently
until Angel was almost certain that she had decided to ignore him.
"Angel?"
"Yes, love?"
"What was it like?"
Something about the little ritual must have sparked one of her more
philosophical moods.
"What like?"
"When you first woke up..." She twined her fingers tightly around his,
pressing the warm into the cold, the sign of her still almost childlike
need to know. "Most of them are just like animals, like they can't
think beyond the next few minutes. Did you remember who you were?"
"Not for the first few days," he answered truthfully, no longer
ashamed as he might once have been to reveal something so intimately
related to his origins. "None of us really do. If the sire cares at
all, he'll stay with a new fledging until it can think for itself
again." Of course, there were always a few exceptions. "How about
you? You never told me what it was like when you woke up."
"It felt weird."
Angel couldn't help but smile.
"I didn't know that I had actually died at first. I'd never felt like
that before, but... I don't know how to describe it. It hurt-my lungs
especially-but I never thought for a second until Duncan and Adam
showed up that it was anything but Xander and his CPR." She turned
slightly and offered a grin, which Angel laughed at. He knew Buffy
suspected that Xander would never forget that time, even if it hadn't
exactly been what he wanted. He himself remembered it quite well, and
was just a little amazed that Buffy could be so nonchalant about the
whole affair. Then again, their deaths hadn't exactly been the same.
The piercing, childish scream shattered the almost perfect silence at
the same moment that Buffy became aware of the skin-tingling sensation
of another Immortal, and for a split second, she expected to see the
pyrotechnic display of a full-fledged Quickening. Without even having
to look at each other, she and Angel took off in a ground eating dash
toward the sound. Before either had time to collect their wits, they
found themselves fighting a half dozen vampires, all of them
fledglings, who had managed to surround a dirty and bleeding scrap of a
boy. If he hadn't been the Immortal Buffy had sensed, he would have
been dead long ago. As it was, he was barely holding his own.
Buffy cracked one vampire, a gangly, black haired, dark skinned
female, across the nose and felt the bone underneath shatter instantly,
drops of cold blood splattering everywhere. It grunted, spinning back
from the impact, but before the Slayer could fish the stake out of her
sleeve and end that one's meager existence forever she was grabbed from
behind by another who might easily have been the first one's in life
sibling. She whipped her head backward and felt her own skull connect
sharply with the much more sensitive vampire brow ridges.
The first vampire to turn away from the boy and attack Angel ended up
a pile of dust within a few seconds. The next landed a pitifully
ineffectual kick to his shins that did not gain it even a few more
seconds of life. A third, the youngest among them if they had all been
turned as recently as he guessed, took one look at where her friends
had been, and then took off running. Smarter than the rest. Angel
didn't bother to go after her. After assuring himself that Buffy had
her two well under control, he pulled the only remaining vampire off of
the boy, thinking grimly that they might be too late. He could see
fresh purple bruises rising on his skin, and one arm was bent at an odd
angle. If he had already been bit...
Angel had very little trouble plunging a stake through the vampire's
back and straight into the heart without preliminaries. It instantly
dissolved into a cloud of fine particles, coating the boy's blood-
sticky skin. Just as Buffy ran up behind him, Angel caught the kid,
fainting, in his arms. They both got one quick glimpse of very large
eyes before they rolled back in his head and the body went limp and
lifeless.
Catching Angel by the shoulder, Buffy started to take a hold of one of
the kid's arms. He tried to grab her arm, to stop her. "Buffy, he's
already dea-"
"He's like me, an Immortal," Buffy cut him off abruptly. "He'll wake
up in a few minutes."
Wordlessly after that, they hurried him to the nearest available
shelter.
-----
Teresa Knight found herself back in the library.
True, it wasn't the library she had been in just a few weeks ago. Nor
was it same library that she had spent so many months of diligent and
obsessive research in. It only vaguely resembled either of them,
having been built only one hundred and twenty years before. Late
Victorian styled inlaid wood panels glowed warm, buttery gold and wheat
across the highly shiny surface, and books that were probably new or
nearly so when the place was first built lined the shelves that
extended far above her head. In each little shadowed nook elaborate
handmade carvings found homes, and in most of the more illuminated
spaces paintings were set in heavy gilt frames. It smelt of old polish
and even older paper, and she loved it.
It hadn't been terribly hard, for all her worries, to this place. The
second night, two nights ago, drawn by the live blood smell from one of
her unconscious victims, a common vampire-sandy brown hair, typical
pale skin, dumb as a rock-had ventured a bit too close for its own
good. She'd grabbed him roughly by the scalp and broken his nose
before she started to ask questions. And after she'd gotten what she
needed, she'd put a broken off chair leg through his back. Her bit of
community service.
Now she was wondering why she'd done it. She could hear his thoughts,
plain as any human being's; they were not the same, but not so terribly
different. She could not allow herself to become like them, but it
wasn't her job to kill them either. She wasn't the Slayer.
No one was left in the building except for a single librarian in the
front room. It was after hours, but not having seen anyone come in,
the old man had not come back where she was to look for anyone. In a
minute, she heard his footsteps shuffle across the floor. The lights
went out, bathing the place in the weak, ineffectual gleam that
occasionally worked its way in from the streets through the windows.
Where she was, not a spot of light was cast for nearly twenty feet. It
would be the same in the daytime. This was where the entrance was, she
was certain. Out of her sight, a doorknob turned, a door creaked, and
then all was silent as the age withered librarian left the building,
unaware of the nest his precious daytime residence hid.
Hopefully he never would be.
Teresa felt something akin to relief as she was able to reveal her
vampire face, and the surge and shift of abilities within her that
accompanied its appearance. She could see clearly all of a sudden. It
had not been startling the first time it had happened-the severe
increase in visual acuity, the colors shifted slightly toward red as if
viewed through a tinted film, the slightest movement, even in her
extended peripheral vision, catching her attention-but it had been when
she'd tried it afterwards-after she left them. A lot of things had
caught her off guard back then.
Also, the smell, faint, but definitely there, of open, underground
spaces lingered in the calm atmosphere. Only a vampire, or another
demon of some sort, would be able to detect it, hidden as it was under
so many other overlying scents. If she could determine in which
direction the concentration was stronger, she would be able to find the
entrance. Like some sort of animal with its nose to the air, she
picked her way back a few steps into the gloom. Her hand touched a
smooth panel, then rapped on it gently. It was almost too simple,
giving off a hollow sound that she could hear if she listened closely
enough. It was little wonder to her that they were known.
After a few seconds of nothing, when she felt she might simply be
forced to pry the wood loose and leave a few unsightly splinters to
mark her intrusion, something started to happen. The door, as that
was, indeed, what it was, swung outward on hinges that were so
perfectly concealed that she almost doubted they were there.
One thing was there, though. Actually, two things were there, and
they did not look very happy to see her. Dropping back into a
defensive position, Teresa barely had time to hiss before being
attacked by two unnervingly strong demons who wore the faces of
children hidden underneath their yellow-gold eyes and calloused ridges.
----
Angel held his figurative breath as Buffy wiped the last smears of
blood away from the boy's scrawny neck, showing him clearly that where
there had been bite marks only moments before, there was now only
smooth, rather lightly tanned skin. The various cuts and bruises that
he knew he had seen were all gone, and somehow even the bones in the
kid's arm had shifted back into position and healed, all without his
noticing.
"I thought you said he would wake up in a few minutes," Angel said,
sounding, despite Buffy's reassurances and the obvious healing taking
place, uneasy. There was still no heartbeat, and he had been dead for
nearly ten minutes. For all the death and carnage a vampire could
cause, it was very rare to see one in the company of a dead body-to get
rid of it was an instinct of disgust almost as strong as the bloodlust
that usually lead to its presence. Even Drusilla, mad as she was, had
taken care to deal with the drained carcasses she left behind, even if
it meant simply dropping them then getting away.
For the first time since they had taken him in and hauled him to the
nearest empty warehouse, Buffy sounded uncertain. "I thought he would,
but I don't know. Maybe it takes longer for kids, or something. Maybe
we should try giving him some chocolate. It always used to wake me
up."
He laughed once. "Have any handy?" Then he blinked rapidly as she
reached around for the tiny backpack she had on and swung it around,
her face a mask of seriousness as she said, "Well I did have-"
They were distracted by the boy's sudden intake of breath as he sat
bolt upright. At the same time, his heart reanimated, racing to pump
new blood around his starved body and to heal the last remaining
damage. Looking rather groggy and unsteady, he tried to roll off of
the high table they had set him on. Buffy grabbed hold of and held on
to the boy's shoulders until his eyes opened and until first he stopped
thrashing around and second, a small amount of recognition came into
his wide open and terrified eyes.
None of them made a sound, but when she finally let go, he instantly
swung his legs around and tried to bolt away from them.
"Oh no you don't." Angel, with a well-timed burst of his vampiric
speed, was around the table and in possession of a struggling, kicking
Immortal child before either of them had a chance to blink.
"Let me go let me go let me go!" The boy kicked backwards, knocking
Angel's knees with his sneakered feet, but he only tightened his grip.
Buffy spoke up. "Don't you think you're being even a little
ungrateful?"
"Let me go," he demanded again, now sounding as sullen and immature as
he looked.
"You would have woken up in a ditch, or worse, if we hadn't brought
you here."
He quieted down enough that Angel let his feet touch the ground.
Buffy put a hand on his shoulder. "How long have you been an
Immortal?"
"What?" His face was contorted with confusion. Buffy and Angel gave
each other a look that said volumes; most clearly, "uh oh."
"What's your name?"
He looked worried for a second, and Buffy decided that she knew how he
felt-alone, apparently, and being interrogated by two perfect
strangers, even if they had just rescued him from a bunch of blood
sucking demons. She knelt down in front of him.
"You can trust me. I won't hurt you; I promise."
He scuffed the toe of his shoe in the dust, casting his eyes down.
She barely heard his mumbled reply.
"Kenny."
-----
Teresa was more amused than anything else. After a few seconds of
intense fighting, the vampires who had attacked her had proved to be
barely more than fledglings. At most, they had been turned a few years
before she was born. One, the smaller of the two, was lying,
unconscious, underneath a pile of enormous encyclopedias. The other
she held a few feet out from her body, not letting it get close enough
to kick. The hooded sweatshirt it was wearing gave her the perfect
grip without too much danger.
"Puisque vous avez tellement évidemment échoué dans vos fonctions, et
votre vie est maintenant confisquée, inquiétez-vous pour me dire qui
vous êtes et si Lupercus est dedans?"
The little demon flailed uselessly in Teresa's steady grip, warranting
a sharp crack across the cheek. The clear red outlines of her palm
showed for a minute, then disappeared, but the throbbing lasted far
longer.
"Cora Lee, childe of Susan, of the line of Lupercus," she said
finally, conceding unwillingly to a superior force. Either way, she
felt, to give in to a foreign vampire who must be several centuries
old, at least, and to face Lupercus later, or to struggle against her,
meant death. At least she knew what was waiting for her at the hands
of her master.
Teresa's grin was feral, displaying just a little more fang than was
strictly necessary, appearing every inch the concentration of evil.
She was delighted by the lengthy address, sensing that it was their
equivalent to name, rank, and serial number. Though Cora hadn't
answered the second part of the question, she was enjoying herself
enough that she didn't deliver another jolt of pain, and instead
replied in the same formal manner.
"Teresa Knight, childe of Angelus, of the line of Aurelius."
Cora Lee's eyes, bright orangish-yellow as they were, widened almost
impossibly far in her true face. Teresa knew, as fast as the little
girl-demon thought, that she had heard rumors - almost legends, now, of
Angelus, who had once been the most vicious and merciless killer in
Europe. Half-remembered fragments about his sire, Darla, and hers,
Aurelius, came to mind, but Teresa didn't have time for a useless
sideshow. The girl had seen nothing first-hand, and she did know where
Lupercus was. It was all that she needed.
Not bothering with the waste of time that was more idle chit-chat,
Teresa stepped forward and into the perfect darkness inside the wall.
-----
The afternoon sun was shut out of the house with heavy blackout
curtains. Behind them, a few of the windows had been painted over, but
most remained exactly as they had been when Buffy and Angel had first
moved in. None of them had to be - the bedroom, where Angel was
sleeping right now, was in the basement.
Kenny was sitting at the kitchen table, happily snacking on a huge
peanut-butter and jelly sandwich, potato chips, and soda.
"Xander always did say a growing boy needs his nutrition," Buffy
grinned, ruffling the boy's sandy hair. "I guess I just didn't believe
him until now."
Kenny grinned widely, showing off a smile decorated with crumbs and
sticky purple smears. He'd told her slowly, over the last few hours,
how he had ended up vampire bait in Sunnydale, California.
His parents (she didn't interrupt to correct him) had died five months
ago in a car accident. He'd been with them at the time, and knocked
out in the crash, but had woken up afterwards. That had been the point
at which he'd fallen silent, and Buffy had tempted him back with
macadamia nut cookies. The police had shown up after a few hours, but
not before he'd watched his mother slowly bleed to death, not able to
do anything to help. (A big glass of cold milk.) In the hospital, no
one was willing to tell him anything, and the doctors had kept asking
him questions about how he'd gotten away without any injuries. Then
the police, and finally a guy with a funny looking tattoo on his wrist,
had asked him the same thing. He'd gotten scared, and ran away from
the hospital, taking nothing with him but the clothes they had given
him and a worn blanket. Ever since then, he'd been running, trying not
to stay too long in the same place. (The sandwich and chips, then soda
as well, after a small pleading look.) He'd been slowly working his
way west, and had turned to Sunnydale after hearing that nobody sane
would look for him there. "And that's about it," Kenny had shrugged,
and gotten back to his food.
Buffy's grin softened to a smile that was tinged with sadness. *He's
just a kid, and I've been an Immortal for less than three years. I'll
have to talk to MacLeod and Pierson.* She looked at him again. *And
Joe. If he was right about the guy with the tattoo, the Watchers were
after him, and not doing a very good job of it. Joe and MacLeod were
back in Seacouver, she'd heard last, and Adam had been living with
Willow in Los Angeles for the past few months.* She smiled for a
moment, remembering the last time she has seen her friends. They were
perfect for each other. She would be seeing them again soon enough.
Though the silence wasn't bothering her, Kenny started to fidget in
his chair, pushing around the crusts from the bread that he had
insisted on tearing off. The first time he glanced at her, she missed
it, but the second they met eye to eye, and he looked expressively over
toward the large television set in the next room.
"Can I watch tv?" He asked politely, seeming at once reluctant to
leave his seat without her permission and incredibly anxious to see
what was on. With a smile, she nodded. She could only imagine how
long it had been since he'd last had a chance to just be a kid.
Flashing another of his heart-melting smiles, he hurried out of the
room.
*He can stay here for a little while, but I can't take care of him.
I'll call MacLeod tomorrow and see what I can do.* With the sounds of
the television starting to nibble away at the edges of her attention,
Buffy shook her head, then turned and checked the fridge. Angel's
blood supply was getting a little low, but she decided she'd rather be
the willing 'donor' than have much of it around right now. Hopefully
Kenny hadn't yet figured out that Angel was anything but human. She
twisted the ring around on her finger. A week. They'd start arriving
then. Maybe she could take care of him for a single week.
The dim, flickering light from the cartoons racing across the screen
just barely illuminated Kenny's eternally young face. No one could see
him, no one knew what he really was.
A childish smile slowly turned to a smug, self-satisfied smirk.
----
It was evident from the amount of dust and cobwebs lining the
passageway that not only was it little used, but that like most
vampires, the group that controlled it wasn't much for housecleaning.
There was almost no light, but given her current state, she didn't need
much. Cora Lee dangled in front of her like a dead fish held by the
tail for market, rotating slightly, and giving no audible response to
Teresa's absent questioning, but thinking loudly enough that Teresa was
almost certain the walls should be vibrating around them. Very, very
long walls. They had left the civilized, familiar feel of the library
long behind.
"How much longer did you say it would be until we got to Lupercus?"
She didn't expect an answer in the traditional sense, but got more than
enough. A hundred feet or so ahead, the tunnel would take a sharp
turn, almost completely doubling back on itself, but heading downward,
further below the city streets. When she reached it, she navigated
around the thin lip of earth as if she had been making the trip her
entire life.
"You know," Teresa said after a few more minutes had passed and they
were still in the tunnel, "I'd almost swear that you didn't like me or
something. Why on earth could that be?" Cora Lee cringed a little,
expecting any number of tortures-vampires weren't famous for their
rationality, and any imagined insult would be enough. Hopefully as
soon as they reached the large cavern she'd be able to wriggle free and
disappear.
"Doubtful. You see, in case you hadn't figured it out already, I'm
holding you hostage. You're probably not worth much to them, but if
all else fails, you'll make a handy shield for a minute or two. Just
until I can find the one I'm looking for."
Cora Lee was entirely silent, but the blood from her latest kill
drained from her face, leaving it ghostly white. No one had challenged
Lupercus since his last opponent had been whipped down to submission.
They'd all heard the screams. It took a lot to break a creature who'd
been around since before Charlemagne. But who else but a child-vampire
would want to be the leader of a child-vampire nest? Teresa wasn't
exactly an elder, but she appeared old enough to survive, alone, in the
human world.
Teresa could sense an ending, an abrupt opening of the tunnel into a
large, open cavern. The air was thick with layers of old refuse and
bungled attempts to mask the odor. The light was dim, barely adequate
to show a jumbled arrangement of mismatched chairs, couches, tables,
and a few old boxes spread haphazardly through the cavern. Her sudden
appearance took the four vampires lounging comfortably in the mess
entirely by surprise. All of them, three little boys and one girl
appearing to range in age between five and eleven, were up and in game
face by the time she took two steps.
"You're dead this time Cora Lee," the smallest of them hissed,
sounding half pleased and half annoyed, barely sparing the newcomer a
passing glance. He ran his tongue over his descended fangs,
anticipation glittering in his oddly dark orange eyes. He stepped
forward, the others falling in behind him.
The sound of Teresa's unusually rumbling, fang-baring snarl brought
their attention from their little lost lamb to her dark predator. In
her hand, Cora Lee tried to shrink away from the approaching quartet,
willing to try for any protection, however uncertain. She hadn't been
so scared since the night she'd been out shopping with her mother, and
they'd been separated in the crowd. The next thing she knew, Susan had
grabbed her and dragged her into an unlit closet...
Stephan growled, turning his upper lip so that he resembled the canine
from which he'd earned his nickname. Who did this little tart think
she was, barging in like this for what could be only one reason? He
hadn't survived nearly two centuries as an underling to an ancient fool
only to be reduced to nothing by a fledgling who was too old for them.
Displaying a quickness he rarely showed off, he kicked the leg of a
worm-eaten table, shattering it and providing several handy bits. He
expected that he'd have it in hand and in her heart before she had a
chance to attack, but instead he found his head in a rather
uncomfortable grip and his hand carelessly crushed, the wood
splintering into the flesh.
"You have horrible manners little boy," Teresa whispered into his ear,
breathing cold breath along the side of his face. "How about I teach
you a lesson?" She wrapped her arm under his chin, and dug her hand
across his face, twisting it so that a tiny amount of pressure would
snap the neck. A sudden movement, and she might snap it whether she
wanted to or not.
Cora Lee found herself on the ground, unharmed. She took one look at
the tableau in front of her, then scrambled to her feet and fled back
up the tunnel, unnoticed.
Teresa turned, holding the completely unresisting Stephan in her arms
as she did, so that they were facing the others. "Now, I'd love to
stay and chat with you all, but I'm here to see someone and-"
Stephan felt a burning shaft of pain go through his stomach as he came
to rest on top of a foot long stake, landing hard as Teresa spun him
from her grasp. He hissed at the sensation, but didn't dare to move.
He was near them, coming closer, and Teresa whipped around, eyes
flashing, focusing on the far end of the cavern and the largest dark,
open mouth out of it. He didn't know who she was, only that there was
someone causing a disturbance, and he wanted it stopped. Vampires or
not, as long as they stayed with him they would obey the few rules he
set down-
The cavern was eerily still the moment Lupercus appeared. There was
not a breath drawn in the entire space-the others either too shocked or
two scared, Teresa taking in sensations as a sponge absorbs water until
she was full, and had no choice but to set all her energy to processing
the information. Had any of them thought to attack her in those few
seconds, she could have been brought down easily. By the time the next
move was made, Teresa had regained herself.
He was nearly as she'd expected. Turned at twelve or thirteen years
old, he had the slim, strong, graceful body of a child who had not yet
started adolescence. As plain and washed out, as forgettable as Azrael
had been, Lupercus was remarkable. His short, dark sable colored hair,
perfectly trimmed to a childish cut, shone luxuriously even in the
half-lit gloom, a sharp contrast to nearly colorless skin that, to
Teresa's sensitive eyes, displayed a tracery of fine bluish-purple
veins under the surface. His features were finely sculpted, almost
feminine, with deep, liquid brown eyes rimmed with thick lashes. She
imagined that had he lived ten years more, he would have been the most
gorgeous man she had ever met. He was beautiful already. With two and
a half millennia of life, he'd had plenty of time to exploit those who
would like nothing better than to take advantage of his appearance of
innocence.
"Teresa Knight." She said, inclining her head slightly to the master
vampire. "I know who you are, Lupercus, and I've been searching for
you."
Lupercus returned the nod, displaying no emotion in response to the
intruder's bluntness. "You seem to have the advantage of me, Miss
Knight. What have you been looking for?"
"Answers."
"From me?"
"I'm not what you think."
Teresa's vampiric guise disappeared, to be replaced by her own brand
of beauty. At first she caught a hint of annoyance from those around
her, mostly from Lupercus, but with the first heartbeat, even he was
caught by surprise. A few strong pulses later, she drew in a long
breath, and her body temperature began to rise above that of the
surrounding atmosphere. Two of the underlings hissed, uncertain
whether they should run or attack. None of them moved.
"I'm something far different from you."
She felt something remarkable occurring - the invisible barriers of
Lupercus' mind slowly clouded, shutting off his thoughts from hers,
quieting the cavern just that tiny amount more. This time it was her
turn to blink with surprise, and she instantly snapped back to the way
she had been a few moments before, indistinguishable from any other
vampire. Trying to salvage a bit of control over the situation, she
pulled herself straighter.
"I want answers."
He narrowed his eyes, sensing, for all the presence she put forth,
that there was still more bluff than bite to her words. She couldn't
possibly be what he had thought at first. "You've come here uninvited
and unannounced. What makes you think I will answer anything?"
In less than a heartbeat, Teresa was at Lupercus' side, one hand held
loosely at the back of his neck. He might be able to prevent her from
doing anything, and then again, might not. She could kill him. How
could she? He hadn't expected that, hadn't anticipated... For the
first time in a very long time, he felt fear stab like a cold knife
through his belly. She shouldn't be this strong, this young.
"Because I would find it a -pleasure- to throw you around like a rag
doll for a few hours before I stuck a stake through your heart? Because
I could wait until daybreak, when everyone returns, to humiliate you in
front of them all? You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Teresa was all but
purring. "Because I could drag you out into the morning sun without
batting an eyelash, hmm?" She grinned ferally, releasing him and
stepping back. "Because you're such a -nice- person?"
As he stood there, rubbing his neck like a little boy, she ran her
fingers along a nearby table top, tapping them as they went along,
somehow able to make even that simple motion full of bottled menace.
"Because Azrael said you knew the answers..."
Lupercus, recovering as much dignity as he could, started barking out
orders. "Stephan, Marc, Sylvia, Martin... go for a hunt. Stephan, I'd
advise that you get somebody to check on that stake for you." When
none of them moved to comply, he fixed them with a glare that nearly
would have frozen Teresa's heart, had she not been the indirect cause
of it. "Don't let me see you again until you think I've forgotten why
I hate you." Again, they were perfectly still. "GO!" As if they had
shared one brain between them, the four instantly scrambled out,
Stephan slipping once as he pulled the stake out of his gut.
"Now," Lupercus said, perfect calm returning instantly despite
everything, "I find myself in the unenviable position of having to
either comply with your demand, for answers, as you say, or to fight
you, and possibly loose, as you've already demonstrated." He
continued, taking in the figure standing casually in front of him.
"I'm a reasonable man-"
"Vampire," she interrupted.
He went on as if she had said nothing. "I'll tell you this much right
now-I know what you are." She raised an eyebrow, but he couldn't tell
if she was impressed or simply scornful.
"So you know that's why I've come?"
"Why else would you be here? What else would you be looking for?"
"How much else might a two-thousand, five hundred year old vampire
know?"
A small smile slipped across his face. The living-undead. She was
slipperier than a fish, as she deserved to be. On his part it had only
been a guess. Still, if she did not know the magnitude of her
abilities... "Touché. You have questions; I have answers. Let's make
a deal."
"Let's I remove your spinal column through your nostrils."
"I would really prefer that you did not. I think you'll agree with me
that that would benefit neither of us." She did not respond, so he
took her silence as acquiescence and continued. "It's a very simple
deal, really. Nothing big, nothing important, and I will tell you all
that I know about what you are."
"Everything?" She sounded hesitant, and at the same time, deadly
serious. He nodded, the very picture of gentlemanly honesty. "What do
you want from me?"
Lupercus chuckled quietly. She acted as if he was going to remove a
limb or some such nonsense. Far from it-he wanted something far more
valuable. "Promise me your protection."
"My what?" her voice cracked with amazement. She felt her jaw drop,
and shook her head, trying to rationalize things. "You want my what?"
She must have heard him wrong, she decided, or he had not said what he
intended to.
He very nearly laughed at her reaction, but covered well, taking her
hand in his smaller one and starting to gently lead her back toward the
unlit tunnel he had come from. She followed, unresisting.
"You'll understand better soon, but what I'm asking you for is your
protection." Again, surprise rippled over her features, but this time
it was more subdued. "There is always the chance that you will never
need to keep up your end of the bargain. The group could turn against
me tomorrow, pin me out in the sunlight while you're far away and
unable to help. Even if they don't realize it, together they are at
least as powerful as I am." He smiled. "Fortunately for me, it isn't
in a vampire's nature to work together with others. Their selfishness
is my saving."
"So I have the power of a master vampire after two years, and I can
stand the sunlight, so what? You don't need me to hang around you like
a bodyguard, and I'm not willing to spend eternity following you like
some sort of whipped puppy dog. It sounds to me like you're not saying
exactly what you mean and," she halted suddenly in the pitch darkness,
forcing him to stop as well. "For some reason, I can't see into your
thoughts. You're blocking me."
A small success. She wasn't going to be fooled, though. It had been
a while since he'd had a real challenge, one that didn't involve the
attempted hostile takeover of his small group. The others either hated
him or were terrified of him.
"Let's call it one life in exchange for another, then. I tell you
about your life, you agree to save mine should the situation ever
arise. I'm not the sort who's out to destroy the world-I've had plenty
of time to do that. If I wanted to, I would have tried long ago."
Teresa flinched a little. "The truth is, I enjoy life. If you ever
find me staked out for the sun, you will take me out of harm's way. If
some demon decides I would make a good chew toy, you will rescue me."
He began to head back into the corridor, and she didn't protest. "If
I'm being attacked by a Slayer, you will ensure that I make it through
the encounter."
"Just you?"
"Me and nobody else."
Teresa didn't answer for a minute. *It's wrong. I shouldn't.* She'd
watched enough television to know that promises like the ones that
Lupercus was asking for now always turned out to be something far more
sinister than they sounded. A few days ago she might have laughed at
him, but right this second-
"I promise."
It was done. She had agreed, and it was as unbreakable as if she'd
signed the contract in her own blood.
They came to a small crack of light in the complete inky darkness.
Lupercus gripped at the edge with his fingers, and it slowly widened as
the door disappeared into the wall. He held it opened, and gently
guided her into the warm, golden glow of the ancient room.
"You won't regret this, Khimaira."
(End part2)