March 18th
Victor paid the contractor for the repair of the building and looked skyward at the clearly new brick and windows on the third floor. As the man was climbing into his truck a red, white and blue Fed-Ex truck pulled up to the building.
The delivery man ran up the steps. "Mr Tek?" he asked.
Victor nodded and looked at the letter. It was from the lawyer in Boston. He opened the letter and smiled. The White family had agreed to sell the building. It would soon be his. Victor sat on the front steps and chuckled to himself.
He had never in 2000 years owned a home. He had had property, he still had land and buildings all over the world, but they were never home. This place, however, felt like home.
He patted the rough stone of the building affectionately and walked inside. He welcomed the chance to see what would happen. His "skin" itched where his armor had finally molted. The new armor was growing in quickly but he felt vulnerable. He could no longer rely on its protection for another month or more.
He walked into Tash's apartment and gave her a gentle hug. He was happy for the first time in a long time.
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20 March 2005
Daye loaded everyone into the van and drove back towards the city. There was little conversation on the ride home, with Victor just holding Tash and her allowing him to. Before too long, Daye was dropping the weary couple off in front of the building on Poplar. Once they had made their way safely inside, Daye turned to Agent Eldridge. "Is there someplace I can take you?" she asked. "I figure at this point going home to sleep seems somewhat pointless."
Galen considered the offer for a moment. His car would still be at the Irish bar, and going back there this soon would look suspicious. Still, the thought of going home to sleep did appeal to him. "If it's not too much trouble, would be very appreciative if you could drop me off at my apartment. It's about 30 minutes away from here. By the way, I don't think we've ever been introduced formally."
Daye realized he was right. It was funny how little things like introductions got lost in the shuffle when gigantic evil snakes and mad voodoo priestesses showed up. She grinned. "True, Agent Galen. I don't think Victor ever even mentioned my name," she said. "Must have been other things on his mind. Can't imagine what. In any case, I'm Amanda Blaise. My friends call me Daye."
"Please, just call me Galen, Ms Blaise," he replied, figuring it was best to be more formal. "Thank you for whatever that thing was you gave me back there. Had a bit too much to drink." Despite the beginnings of the hangover, he was grateful for becoming sober so quickly. A moment later he wasn't as the reason he had turned to drink in the first place came to mind.
Daye pulled the van away from the side of the street and headed out. "Okay, two things," she said. "First, where am I going? And second, do you replace your blood with alcohol on a normal basis or was this a special occasion?"
Galen laughed at the second question as he got in the van with Daye, and gave directions to the apartment building. "And yes, this was a special drinking occasion." The depression was starting to return, which should have been expected - trying to drown problems only taught them to swim.
Daye glanced at him, frowning. "So, you got drunk for this special occasion?" she asked. "Tell me, Galen, what occasion do you normally celebrate by getting piss drunk and puking in front of perfectly respectable book shops?"
"Have you ever wanted to be with someone, but found each other at exactly the wrong time?" Galen asked, torn over how much to reveal and how far he could trust this woman.
Daye started at his question. It almost seemed to pertain to her and Drew. She felt so drawn to him, but now Ryan had come back to her. He said he wanted to start over and she had to decide what she should do. Drew was someone she could so easily love but now she didn't know if that was the right thing to do. She sighed heavily before responding. "You know, it's funny, but that's something I've been thinking a lot about lately," she replied. "Right now, I'm sort of wondering if there is a right time for two people to find each other."
"So, tell me, Agent, have you found the right person?" Daye tried for a lighter tone. "Can you shed some light on the subject. Maybe together we can muddle it out."
"It's possible," Galen said, recognizing the lie for what it was. No, he was certain he had. "She's gone, though. Not dead, just overseas and with my luck, will never see her again. Mind if I smoke?" As he said this last, he pulled out the pack of Salems in his pocket.
Daye wrinkled her nose. "If you must," she said. "So, what did you do to drive the girl across the sea? Drink yourself into a coma?"
"If only it was that simple," he replied, rolling down the window. "It was just bad timing is all. She lost someone close to her, and we starting talking for a while. Then, next thing I know, she's flying to England."
Daye considered what he'd just said, when suddenly she remembered something about him. "Wait, I just realized where I've seen you before," she said. "You were with us when we rescued Kate a few weeks ago, weren't you?"
"How exactly did you get involved in all this madness?" she asked. "Aside from the distillery smell, you seem pretty straight laced to me."
"Can't tell you how exactly I got involved." The complete answer to that question, Galen reflected, was classified so intensely that the fact it was classified was secret. "But yes, was there. Let's just say that FBI policy prohibits discussing details of the case." Trying to change the subject, Galen smiled and tried to lighten the mood. "It's like Reagan said. The eight scariest words in English are 'I'm from the Government, I'm here to help.'"
Daye laughed at that. "I don't think it's just the government," she said. "The organization I'm a part of acts like fire will fall from heaven if any unnecessary information is shared. I've actually learned to keep a lot of my own activities to myself for the sake of my sanity."
"Sounds like 'deny everything' should be your motto." Galen shifted uncomfortably in the seat. Still, he could understand security perfectly fine. His thoughts kept turning back to Kate, regrets about everything over the past few weeks. Maybe if he had done or said something different, things wouldn't be the way they were. "Gods, how I miss her. Perhaps it was just never meant to be."
Daye heard his muttered words and sympathized. "Do you think that is part of the problem?" she asked. "Some women have a hard time dealing with a lack of communication. We tend to think it symbolizes a lack of trust." Daye was silent for a moment. Finally, she said," Sorry. This may not be any of my business, but you seem to need someone to talk to. I have this nasty nurturing side. It's always causing me trouble."
Someone to talk to would be nice. Galen's instincts told him that Daye was someone who could be trusted to remain silent for the most part. There were some things that couldn't be said. "Some things are worth getting in trouble over. Especially if you can afford to have that nurturing side." He let out a sigh before going on. "Yes, it could be a problem. Not sure how well Ka - she takes silence on some things."
Daye noticed the stutter and it occurred to her, crazy as it might be that he might be talking about someone she knew. "How long have you known each other?" she asked.
"About three weeks," Galen confessed. "I know, it seems crazy, but..."
Daye counted back in her head. The timing was right. The worse that could happen would be that she was wrong and she looked foolish. *What the hell.* "Uhm this woman wouldn't be Kate, would it?" she asked.
Galen answered by finally getting around to lighting his cigarette and lowering his head. Daye had essentially offered a shoulder to cry on, and he felt a need to do just that. Galen's answer was one word, barely above a whisper. "Yes."
Daye was shocked. With Luc's death only a few weeks ago, Galen's timing was pretty bad. She didn't know quite what to say. "Wow," she responded. "I wasn't really expecting to be right. That's a surprise."
"As I said, bad timing," Galen said. "What about you? Have any better luck finding the right person?"
Daye snorted. "One too many, I think," she said. "So, you love her? Seems kind of sudden."
"Yes, well, in my line of work we often don't have the luxury of time," Galen replied then realized he had said too much. "Yes, I think I do."
"Then why is she on the other side of the ocean?" Daye asked. "Do you think she loves you?"
"I don't know. Will only say her reasons are... family related." Galen mentally kicked himself as regrets came to mind again. Would she have stayed if he asked her? If so, could he have actually done that in good conscience?
Daye grimaced. "Family related?" she repeated. "As if anyone in that damn coven has any right to make any demands of her. Well, you need to convince her to come home. She doesn't belong there, and if you love one another, guilt has no place in it."
"Too often the ones we love are taken from us unexpectedly," Daye was thinking of Ryan now. "When and if they come back, the timing may never be right again. You need to fight for her, for you both. I for one am in your corner if you mean to make her happy. There's too little happiness in our world."
Galen didn't answer, but sat there in silence for the rest of the trip, being tugged in multiple directions. Part of him wanted to say that she was right, to try to call her. If necessary, to call in every last favor he had to find her and beg her to come back in person. The other... the other said that he had no right to think that. All he had to offer her was a shield of lies to guard a life he could never discuss. This other part said that despite wanting nothing more than to make Kate happy, he didn't deserve her.
"Thanks for the ride," Galen said when they reached the apartment building and got out. "Will have to take your advice under consideration." His apartment never felt more lonely more lonely when he entered it.
Daye watched Galen walk up to his building and walk inside. He seemed so dejected. She felt for Galen and Kate too. Maybe when she was in Ireland, she would try to contact her friend. Daye wasn't sure what she could say, but her very nature demanded that she try.
Mid-Season One: Jul 06, 2005 - Aug 06, 2005
Sunday, 27th March 2005
Sorrow grimaced as the Egyptian cab driver looked back at them again while jabbering away in a dialect he barely understood. He'd lost count of the number of pedestrians they'd almost missed and he was pretty sure this guy wouldn't know an indicator if it came up and hit him on the head.
Finally, the journey came to an end and Jade and Sorrow stepped out into the night air. Sorrow took a couple of notes out of his wallet and handed them to the driver who promptly screeched off into the night, endangering a further couple of asses along the way.
A hot, dusty breeze made Jade cough as she looked up at the nondescript structure in front of her. Sorrow had mentioned earlier that they were going to a bar called Kakasha. Jade didn't see any sign boards but since it was the only building she'd seen for several miles, she figured this was it. Pretending to tie her shoe lace, Jade reached down and gave the dagger she had strapped to her ankle a reassuring pat. According to Sorrow, this Malik person they were meeting was a friend. One, however, could never be too careful. If the past few weeks had taught Jade anything, it was that.
Sorrow led her towards the building's front door. Just before they entered, he said softly, "Be careful love. The locals aren't all that used to seeing women in bars, even foreigners like ourselves. Just stay close to me and keep your eyes down... We'll leave as soon as Malik gives us what we came for." Jade rolled her eyes but nodded in understanding. Bowing her head, she took Sorrow's arm and they entered Kakasha...
Entering the building they were struck by a wave of heat. Lit by traditional lamps the bar was overwhelmingly hot. The air was filled with fragrant smoke and the sound of a ney swirled through the haze...
"Tristan!" A middle-aged man boomed from behind the bar. He rushed towards them and caught Sorrow by the shoulders.
"Malik..."
"Come! A drink! It has been too long! We shall get drunk tonight... As to why you are here, you can put off telling me till tomorrow..."
Malik pulled the younger man towards the bar, poured two drinks, handed one to Sorrow and picked up the other. Throwing back his drink, Malik fixed a stern eye on Sorrow when he failed to do the same. Smiling, Sorrow lifted the glass in a mock toast and followed suit.
However, before Malik could pour them another round, Sorrow took the bottle away. "I don't have time to get drunk tonight." He said softly.
The older man finally seemed to notice Jade. "Ahhhh... I'm sure the little lady wouldn't mind for one night if you were too intoxicated to," he made a gyrating movement with his hips and guffawed, "perform?"
Jade's cheeks pinkened even as her eyes narrowed. Deliberately ignoring Sorrow's earlier instructions to behave meekly, she spoke up. "Tris darling, I thought you said this man was a good friend? He evidently doesn't know you well, does he, if he thinks that a couple of whiskey shots could hinder your," she cleared her throat and mimicked Malik's hip thrust, "performance?"
Instead of being insulted, Jade's sarcastic comment had the opposite effect on the Arab. Malik roared with laughter and slapped Sorrow on the back. "Your woman's got spirit and a razor sharp tongue hidden within that beautiful package eh! I envy your good fortune my friend..."
"Indeed you should. Razor sharp it is, but that's easy to overlook when one considers it's other talents." Sorrow's raised eyebrows spoke volumes as Jade choked and sputtered. Knowing her well enough to see a sharp retort coming his way, Sorrow placed his hand over her lips and shook his head before turning back to Malik. "Jokes aside my friend. We need to talk. Not here though, we'll need a little more privacy..."
***********
Wednesday, 30th March 2005
"So there'll be a jeep waiting at El Quseir ?" Sorrow shouted of the sound of a turboprop.
Malik smiled. "Yes Tristan. There'll be a jeep, supplies, all the military passes you'll require and a map to take you to the tomb at Marsa Alam."
"Great!" Sorrow embraced the Arab man. "Thanks my friend, I owe you one."
"Yes. How many does that make?" Malik drew back and Sorrow closed the door of the tiny plane he and Jade were taking down to Marsa Alam. The noise of the engine rose as the plane taxi'd towards the runway. For a few frightening moments, it seemed like they'd just go over the edge of the runway. Jade's stomach clenched as the plane shuddered horribly... Then with a stomach churning jolt, they lifted into the air...
Richard
***Date Fluid + 1***
About an hour before sunset in room 118 of the Best Western on I-40-W (right before the I-25-S turnoff), Parasol woke up famished. She knew what she was going to do. She didn’t particularly like it, but the drive in her was not going to be quelled by good intentions.
She threw back the covers from her body. Of course, they didn’t keep her warm. There was no heat to trap. It was more of a habit with her, and she liked the feel of the sheets.
Parasol went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, tempering it to just above scalding. It would heat up her flesh and give her, for a few moments, the feeling of life.
Stepping out of the shower, she took a towel from the rack over the john and caught the sight of the towel hanging in a triangle in mid-air in the large mirror behind the sink. The humor of the sight distracted her for a moment from her hunger and she giggled. She looked down at her body. Yep. She was there as she always was. Then she frowned. The reflection thing was tricky. She never liked it. Absenting her from the world.
Okay, now she was pissed and in a better frame of mind to do what she had to do.
Parasol dried off and walked to the bedroom and sat down on the bed. She rummaged around in her suitcase and pulled out her moisturizer, which she put on her face and body – H2O Plus Smoothing Body Complex with AHA – best brand on the market. Parasol turned the tube over to read the back. “A naturally fragranced, pH-balanced complex that helps remove dead surface skin cells while moisturizing.”
Parasol snorted. Ludicrous, really, but she imagined her skin was softer. Then again, she died relatively young while all that youthful moisture was in her cells. Her body was held in stasis, stuck in its time.
Perched naked on the edge of the bed with the ceiling fan above her turning, Parasol looked down at her painted toes against the haphazard pattern of the carpet and got lost in reverie. She considered the sight of watching her daughter, Chinaka, growing up and growing old. She watched as Chinaka’s body blossomed, strong boned like Loxum’s, held in amazing posture on that African frame as she moved into womanhood, and shifted and sank as she grew old, her face and skin never wrinkling but sagging into a receptacle for those African bones. Parasol squeezed her eyes shut hard and shook her head to evaporate the memory.
All the while, Parasol stayed the same, caught in that moment in time when she died. She often felt the adrenaline pumping through her at the moment of her death still in her system. She felt it last night as she was driving through the desert. That’s what made her feel so alive, while her daughter and her daughter’s daughter were dust in the ground.
*All right, Camille,* she told herself. *I’m hungry. Stop thinking about that.*
Parasol sighed and stood up, still naked. She walked over to the telephone on the nightstand and placed the call to the front desk.
“Front desk.”
Good. It was that backwoods jerk that checked her in, the one who looked her up and down and asked her a million questions and implied that Parasol was in the hotel to conduct business of the nasty sort.
“Hello, front desk. This is Parasol Smyth in room 118. Listen, I have a bit of a problem here.”
Silence.
Parasol’s conscience was dissolving.
“Yes, well, I wanted to take a shower and well, there’s no water coming out of the faucet.” Parasol thought a shy giggle was in order.
Long pause.
“That’s impossible. You turn the knobs all the way?” he condescended.
Parasol thought, *It’s “that’s impossible, MISS,” you moron.*
Parasol did her best breathy “Why, yes, both are turned all the way and, *another giggle* no water.”
She hated the damsel-in-distress route, but it always, but always, worked.
Long sigh from the other end of the phone. “Well, I can send a handyman around in about an hour.”
“Well, see, that’s going to be kinda too late. I have to get on the road,” Parasol intoned sweetly.
More silence.
*Right. Time to bring out the big guns, even though it's gonna prove the jerk’s insinuation correct.*
“I have to meet my girlfriends at this club up I-40 by the airport by…” Parasol took a quick look at the clock, “nine o’clock, so, you understand, I have to be on the road in an hour.”
More silence.
“We’re dancing.”
Ten-hut. “Ohhhhh!”
*Bingo.*
"Well, Miss. Tell you what. Give me a minute to find one of my staff…”
*Like he has a staff other than the obvious.*
“…to cover the front desk and I’ll take a look at it myself.”
“Thank you, Mr.?”
“Call me Richard.”
“Thank you Richard” Parasol all but cooed and hung up the phone, disgusted. She really didn’t know which was worse: what she was about to do, or what she just did.
*Chivalry is just…dead. Phht. Stripper-in-distress.*
Parasol was mad. And she was very, very hungry.
*****************************************
Richard had spoken to her on the phone for a few minutes before he remembered her. He nearly dropped his britches. Well, that’s when he nicened up. He’s never nice on the phone. Usually, it’s some old hag that says she needs help. And they cry and they whine. And they want an extra soap. Or they want an extra towel. Or they can’t get their tv to work, probably to watch the XXX channel with their henpecked husbands doin’ don’t-want-to-imagine-what in that creepy tv light. The women that end up staying here are just like his razor-mouthed hag of a wife. Give ‘em an inch and they’ll take a mile, is what he always says. He just sends Jualito to “help.”
But once she let slip that she had to meet her friends at the club by the airport, well, he knew it had to be to strip. The only one in the whole godforsaken hole of a Best Western that could even think about doing something like that was that pretty colored girl with that figure. You don’t see many like her around these parts. Hell, you don’t see none. He knew she was up to something like that, even though she had tried to act all hoity-toity when she checked in. He could smell a workin’ girl a mile off. The ones around town acted the same way to him, like he wasn’t good enough for them.
He wasn’t gonna let an opportunity like this just sail by. Not with one that didn’t know him. Not while Little Richard was still workin’. God, he hoped Little Richard still worked.
Oh, yeah. He’d turn her faucet on, all right. And he’d still make her pay for the room. After all, he was a business man -- Night Manager at the I-40 Best Western, right there at the I-25 turnoff.
********************************************
Parasol was so focused on her hunger that she barely heard the knock at the door. Her muscles felt dry. She was blinking over sandpaper. She could feel the bones rubbing against each other in her joints. There was grit in her mouth. And then, of course, there was the good old-fashion stomach rumbling.
She stood up from the bed and went into the bathroom, pressing herself face first to the wall to the left of the doorway across from the mirror and said as sweetly as she could manage, “It’s open. Come in Richard. I’m in the bathroom.” She leaned her forehead against the tile and turned her head to look at the emptiness of the mirror.
Parasol didn’t hear the words that Richard was saying, but she could tell they were smarmy. Something about pretty colored girl (*Colored girl!? What is this – Utah?*) and fix your pipes, heh-heh-heh. Parasol felt her face wrinkle into hills and valleys. She could smell his sour sweat. She heard the thunk-thunk of his pulse. She saw his body outlined by its heat right through the shoddy workmanship of the plaster wall.
*Happy meals with legs. Who said that?*
He was still talking. Parasol felt that adrenaline rush through her body. She’d drain him bone dry.
*Yap. Yap. Yap, moron.*
**************************************************
Richard’s heard that sweet voice and imagined it yelping his name. He went on in the room like he was told and looked around. Her suitcase was open on the caddy. Good Godamighty, her underwear was sittin’ right on top. Well, she was a stripper for sure if she had that kind of underwear. He nearly fainted but instead thought the thing to do, especially since he was fingering those lacy pinnings, was to compliment her. That’s what he read once in this man's magazine the vice president of some software company had left in the lobby of the hotel. The article was called something like “What Women Want” and he read it over and over, his sweaty hands bleeding the ink right off the page.
“You know, I knew right off that a pretty colored girl like you might have some business over by the airport. Too bad the shower broke. But don’t you worry. I’m here to fix your pipes.”
And Richard chuckled. He was having mind movies. All that brown skin against his pasty white skin, except, of course, for his left arm; the one he hung out the window of his Taurus. Old habit.
Richard heard her in the bathroom. It sounded like she was breathing real hard. Hell, maybe he wouldn’t have to talk her into this after all. Maybe she was thinking about him, too. Maybe.
“Sounds like you’re having a hard time in there. Maybe I can help. I brought my wrench, here, so’s we can get your pipes fixed in no time flat.”
He crossed the doorway of the bathroom but didn’t see her. He looked in the mirror to the right and the room was empty. Well, hell, where was she? He still heard her breathing, hard.
Richard ran one more mind-movie through his head involving the both of them in the shower and the water running over that smooth skin and afterwards going home to his wife with a mile-wide grin on his face and then doing it to her too. He started to turn to his left to see the rest of the bathroom and heard a growl. Did she have a dog in here? Because he didn’t know if he told her, but pets weren’t allowed at Best Westerns.
*********************************************
A growl escaped from Parasol before she could edit it. She grabbed Richard just as he was turning to her. Her left arm went over his and held his torso against her. His right arm flailed, grabbing at the bathroom counter for anything he could reach. She grabbed it and pinned it against his body, the hand firmly clapped over his mouth. They were in the middle of the bathroom and she could see the incredulity in the man’s eyes as he watched himself twisted abnormally alone in the mirror.
Parasol whispered into his ear, “Oh Richard, were you dreaming of us being this close? All of our limbs wrapped around each other like this. You can’t see me, but I’m naked behind you.”
The mirror showed his eyes weeping with fear.
“You thought you were gonna come up here and get you some, dincha?”
She licked his neck tasting salt and the tang of fear. She almost hated herself for how good it tasted, like caviar on little toast rounds with a dollop of sour cream. She knew this was what she did, how she continued to be. All thoughts of God and Chinaka and her grandchildren retreated to the cellar of this existence. She looked at Richard one last time in the mirror and his eyes were peaceful.
Parasol closed her eyes and savored the moment before she would feel the oxygen from his blood in hers and she wanted to say a prayer.
*********************************************
Richard was still mad about the dog when something stronger than his big-ass goldbricking WWF wannabe brother-in-law Jimmy grabbed him under his left arm and he couldn’t move. She must’ve had a man in here, and they were trying to cold-cock him for his wallet. Too bad for them, though, ‘cause all he had was maybe twenty dollars and about three maxed out credit cards. If it came to this, hell, he’d let her have the goddam dog. She didn’t need to have her man do this. It was probably her pimp. He heard about this kind of shakedown. He read about it in that man's magazine that software fella left. The article was called “Fear the Inner City” or something like that.
He saw the hair dryer on the bathroom counter and went to grab for it when another arm grabbed his arm and glued it to his body, clamping the hand over his mouth. Well this was just great. He couldn’t even holler for Jualito, though it’s doubtful he’d do much good. Jualito was about 5’2”. Jualito’s claim to fame, from hear tell from the whores who wouldn’t touch Richard, was Jualito’s parts down there. Come to think of it, Jualito was at his house right now. Richard had hired him to do some work building that fence his razor-mouthed nag of a wife wanted between their property and those stuck-up neighbors his wife hated. Jualito could only do it after his shift at the Best Western which, lately, was when Richard was at work. Wait a minute. Well, goddamn. Jualito was doing his wife. His pretty wife. His delicate wife. Boy, could she cook. The idea of the two of them together scared the bejesus out of him. Richard looked in the mirror and only saw himself twisted up like an “S” and he began to cry despite himself.
And then he heard her voice in his ear. Little Richard sprang to attention. Not so much to her words, but that breath in his ear always did get him going. His sweet wife used to do that when they used to make out in his car. ‘Cept, this breath was cold. Which could be good. That magazine said women sometimes like ice. It was an articled called “How Women Like Ice” or something like that. He bet he’d like ice.
Her voice said she was naked!! Naked! Lord-a-mighty, this was some game. There wasn’t no pimp; just a turned on invisible Amazon behind him, trussing him up to have her way with him. Damn, wait until Jimmy heard about this.
The woman’s voice said something else but he didn’t right hear it. All he could think about was that magazine that fella left in the lobby. He had read it cover to cover. Had cheesecake pictures in it, too. Talked about all kinds of sex games. Richard had a feeling he was in the middle of one right now. So what if his wife was screwing Jualito. That was small potatoes. He was playing Sexopoly with an invisible colored stripper who seemed to know what she was doing. Richard damn near unhinged his left shoulder reaching around to get a big ol’ handful of that sweet round colored…
**********************************************
Parasol finished what a vampire might approximate a prayer to God, and started feeling guilty.
*Damn,* she hated this part. Why couldn’t she just be more like Darla? No regrets, no guilt. She was a demon, dammit, and she was so hungry she could barely breathe – not air, mind you – because she didn’t need it, but it’s the point of the thing.
Parasol was in the middle of this Calvinistic train of thought when she felt Richard’s left arm move and…
He grabbed her ass. He grabbed her ass. He grabbed her ass.
*************************************************
Parasol threw her suitcase in the trunk of her car and slammed it shut. She got in her baby, shuffled through her CDs for one to reflect her mood.
“Ahh, this calls for Metallica,” she said out loud, fired up her ridiculously muscled car and merged onto I-40 West.
Reaching The Tomb
Saturday, 3rd April 2005
The fishing village that made up Marsa Alam was like a throwback in time. Terracotta tiled, white-washed buildings baked in the sun... The breeze carried with it the smell of the sea and attempted to cool even as the sun beat mercilessly down.... The road was surprisingly smooth, if somewhat narrow, and ribboned along the coast of the infamous Red Sea.
Jade gazed idly out the window at yet another beach resort as their jeep sped past and promised herself that she'd come back when this "finding a cure" business was over. Jade tried not to wince when Sorrow took a sudden sharp turn and hurtled down a pot-hole-riddened dirt road. Thankfully, the bumps and jolts smoothed out relatively quickly and Jade noted with some surprise that they were now travelling on the desert, with sand dunes going on as far as the eye could see.
The heat was stifling. Sorrow knew that Jade was as stiff and sore as he was from their long drive from El Quseir. "Not long now." He said, reaching over to brush her flushed cheek...
Within minutes, the desert swallowed them whole. The sky was a perfect eggshell blue and the sand seemed to stretch on around them forever.
Sorrow kept a close eye on the GPS system. Since leaving the road, he'd lost any sense of direction and the only things that stood between them and a painful, thirsty death were a few microchips.
The hours passed and the sun continued to beat down upon the desert. Then it appeared... They crested one long sand dune and there before them lay the shattered columns that lead to the all but buried tomb of Sayyed ash-Shazli...
Sorrow drove down into the little valley and stopped. "Let's get the shelter set up then we can explore..."
**********
About half an hour later, Jade stepped out of the makeshift tent they had erected. She'd changed into a pair of khaki shorts and braided her hair into a long plait down her back. Sipping from a bottle of water, she made her way to where Sorrow stood. His shoulders were tensed and his profile was grim as he looked towards the ruins and she knew that he was worried about the task they had ahead. Jade wished that Sorrow had agreed to take a few more men along with them but he'd been adamantly against the idea.
"There isn't anyone I trust enough to risk taking along with us... Nor are there many who know enough to be of help. Having that kind of backup would be more of a burden then anything else."
At that point, Jade had not contested his words any further. She knew that distrust was only part of Sorrow's determination to see this through alone. Another part of him looked at this perilous quest as a atonement for whatever wrongs he had done back in LA.
Now, however, Jade wished she hadn't been so understanding. The tomb looked practically impenetrable and God only knew what other dangers were concealed on the inside. The info their research had turned up on Sayyed ash-Shazli had been sketchy at best. All they had to guide them was a rough map of the tomb's layout... The Scrolls of Erishkigal were purported to be at the heart of the structure.
Sorrow checked the ropes one last time making sure the rough journey hadn't abraded them. After packing the hammer, pitons, ropes and various other supplies, he grabbed the two torches, handed one to Jade and headed towards the entrance. "Let's go."
**********
Despite having been exposed to the harsh elements for centuries, the shattered columns that flanked the procession to the tomb’s entrance still showed the marks of the forces that had broken them. "Can you feel it?" Sorrow asked softly. The hum of magic was all around, hanging in the air like a promise. Jade nodded. Her senses were not as acute as Sorrow’s when it came to this but even she could feel the mystical energy that seemed to permeate the tomb’s surroundings.
Sorrow ran his hands over the broken stone that had once sealed the entrance. The damage had been caused long before modern archeologists had discovered the tomb, probably by looters after the gems and artifacts buried within. What he and Jade had been able to find out about the previous digs suggested that it had ended badly. If their information was correct, there was at least one doorway in the tomb left unbroken.
Sorrow threw down a couple of shovels. "We’re going to have to clear that sand before we even try to go in. Don’t want to risk a sand slide burying us or blocking the entrance while we’re inside. Hopefully it won't be too deep...”
The sand was, however, quite deep. Jade and Sorrow were soon perspiring from their efforts. After about an hour of backbreaking work, they managed to uncover enough of the entrance to get inside. Sorrow shone his torch down into the stygian depths then turned to Jade. "Ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be I guess..." Jade gave him a plucky smile and tried to focus on something other than the previous expeditions that had left no survivors. The tomb and the mysteries within it had claimed so many lives over the years that it was believed to be cursed. The locals stayed away from it and even science took a step back, unwilling to sacrifice anymore of its members in its bid to excavate Sayyed ash-Shazli's treasures.
Sorrow tied the ropes securely around the jeep. "I'll go down first. Wait for my signal, and then lower yourself slowly using the rope. I'll catch you at the bottom." He smiled and kissed Jade quickly before gripping the torch between his teeth and disappearing into the black hole that was the entrance...
Jade shined her torch down the abyss and saw that it was about a fifty-foot drop. *Positive thoughts my girl!* She instructed herself sternly. *What's that Mom use to say? Positive thinking is half the battle won... Please, let this be one of the times when Mom's advice is right.*
A sudden jerking movement of the rope and the flashing of a torchlight signalled that Tristan had reached the bottom. Taking a deep breath, Jade grit her teeth and lowered herself in. *Here goes nothing... Don't look down... don't look down...*
The last "last" post before season two........
February 28, 2005. An evening with a cab driver.
The sun fluttered through the necks of the buildings as twilight beckoned Alhambra to sleep. Under the shadows, all mortal rules were off. One by one down the line, the street lamps popped on, and new rules began peppering the dusty world. Rule #1: anything can happen in L.A. Rule #2: there are no rules. And Rule #3: stand firm; run for your life; keep good company in the hours of darkness. Albert Hesch never bothered to learn the rules of the day, however, where the darkness was forgiven its nightly sins. There were just too many mortal rules, and none of them made a speck of sense. Hesch preferred the night. At night, the rules numbered three.
The small, stick’m clock on his dashboard now read 5:20 PM, the cusp of day and night, in weak, digital numbers. A mist had been coagulating all afternoon.
After twenty-four years of driving a big-city taxi, Hesch had decided there couldn’t be more than five types of people in all of the world. The first three were of little consequence, mere variations of the haves, have-nots, and hold-ons. Rather, Hesch concerned himself with the obscure types: the letting-go’s and the gonna-gets. These were desperate folks, suicidal folks, though often killers, and generally worse. The night shift seldom presented anyone else.
It had been slow today. Not much income. . .
Luckily, at 5:28, he found himself a have—a hulking man—much fatter than Hesch himself—crawling into the back seat. Money in human form. He wore a silvery leisure suit, and he smelled of cigar.
Hesch knew how to handle this type. He flipped the meter. The fare flashed zero dollars. Then it started the count-up. “Where to?” he said.
“Woah, hold up there, fella,” the man replied. “You just make your pudgy fingers reset that thing, can you manage that, can you, huh, huh? I don’t start getting charged ‘til after we get going, not before.”
“Too late. Clock’s ticking.”
“No.” The man folded his arms, revealing two gold cufflinks, each the size of a Christmas candy mint. They were both inscribed with NFL in bold black letters. “Set it back to zero, cabbie. Then we’ll talk destination. Are you understanding me?”
Hesch folded his arms to mimic the man's defiance. Then he started humming to himself "You Can Call Me Al" (a song he shared with Kimmie only three months ago). It may have been a childish maneuver, but the haves hated to be ignored, so it hit the guy where it hurt.
“What is your name?” the have-man said through ultra-white teeth. “You will reset that meter right now when I say you do, got it? Don't you know who I am? Look at my face. Do you?” He paused, wheezing into the back of Hesch’s neck. It was uncomfortably steamy in the cab. Raindrops had begun hitting the roof in thunks. Still, Hesh ignored the mere mortal man.
“You don’t, you actually don’t," the man said, his voice quaking. “Smell my cologne. That’s B1 For Men. My shoes cost more than your whole paycheck. Look at me when I’m talking to you! I vacation with John Madden. I fly to Hawaii for lunch. I am a free man. You…you’re a peon. Do you know I can have your job? I will buy this cab company and fire your sorry ass.”
Hesch had heard this routine before. “Will you now?” he said.
“You bet your ass I will. Look again. Now do you know who I am? Sure you do. I am your master.”
Hesch resisted informing his passenger that he didn’t actually have a boss. In fact, he owned the Hesch 24-Hour Cab Service; this was his cab—or was it that his cab owned him? He rushed that last thought from his mind, subsequently feeling quite liberated. He turned around in the seat. “Hey,” he said, calmly pointing a finger, “you. Yeah you. . . asshole.”
“What did you call me, peon?”
“Let me explain it real clear.”
“I—”
“I chauffer fifty passengers a day—cops, black suits, scientists, teachers, old people, young people, voodoo people, and hoodoo people. And that’s just the daytime routine. The rules change at night. I’ve driven for adolescent demons that would remove your dick and fetch it home to their pus-faced mammas."
"What? Demons? W--"
"I’ve witnessed the annihilation of entire broods of vamps at the hands of Christian crusaders. I’ve stared full-grown demons in the eye and witnessed my own epitaph painted in guts and juice. I've seen the future. I've seen it all. You dare ask me if I know who you are? Yeah, I know who you are. You’re the sixth kind.”
“The what?”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Why, you son-of—”
“I know your type.” Hesch’s voice raised to drown out the man’s. “You don’t get no respect at home, so you have to mess with working stiffs—me. Sports announcer, huh? I know you. You’re just a small, plain, little mortal worm who needs someone—anyone—to listen to you scream. I can arrange it so you’ll scream till the end of time. Just tell me how bad you want it, and I'll show you who you are.
“Want me to restart the meter?” Hesch slapped the red button. The meter went “00.00.” He said, “There. Got your wish. Now get out."
“You fuc—”
“Out!”
Of course, as it always happened after Hesch delivered one of his "big bad mortal -vs- puny mortal" speeches, the passenger trudged out of the vehicle, swearing revenge, and as always, he rudely left the door wide open. Rain began flowing in, wetting the plastic seat. Hesch hit the gas and the car lurched forward; the door slammed shut. Abrupt acceleration was his servant.
That had been the simplest type of customer. But things usually got complicated after dusk.
Hoping only to eat his Big Mac uninterrupted, Hesch parked the taxi down the street two blocks from the hole. Yes, the hole. A couple days ago, a large hole had opened in the street outside the boarded up Woolworth’s. Baffled officers had surrounded the hole with yellow police tape and sawhorses. Under orders, two of the cops and a fireman had bravely ventured into it--not one of them came out. Rumors collected that the tragedy had been an act of God. Bolder rumors declared Satan to be in charge. The L.A. Spy, a cross-town tabloid, purported that the hole was The Gateway to Hell. Certainly, it was possible. The one thing everyone agreed on was that the hole was dangerous. Therefore, over the last few days, this street became a lonely one, the perfect place for a cab driver to enjoy a fast lunch. Hesch threw the yellow wrapper into the back seat and started peacefully jamming handfuls of French fries into his mouth.
The hole was little more than a curiosity to him. Many such phenomena were likely to appear in L.A. They had time and again. Hesch started in on his apple pie with one hand, continued devouring his fries with the other.
At a quarter to six, he was interrupted by a clicking on his back window. Another passenger. He set aside his pie and tapped the release button with his elbow. The back door opened, and a lanky figure entered the cab.
It wasn’t human, not anymore. It hadn’t a speck of flesh on it. It was a skeleton-thing. Hesch cleared his throat to make room for a burp. He wiped his lips and studied the rear-view-mirror. The thing’s skull was blackened, bloody-white in spots. Hesch hoped this was the letting-go type. Easier to handle, that type. He didn’t want to have to fight for his existence tonight.
Hesch started the meter running. He said, “Where to?”
As it turned out, the thing wanted a ride to the Poplar area. Its intent was to re-bury itself, give up on its unlife, in the graveyard located out that way. So “out that way” Hesch drove. Steering in silence, Hesch found himself wondering where in the world the Slayer was. Since the destruction of the Sunnydale Slayer, everyone knew that the next Chosen One was bound to emerge. But when, where? L.A. could really use a Vampire Slayer to lessen the number of demons. Not that Hesch held especial animosity toward demons, but they left stains and rips in the apolstery.
And good luck collecting cash from demons! The rules were different at night.
The graveyard looked cold. Rain plummeted into the mud. This is where a Jem's notorious group of vampires lived, so Hesch was all too happy to be going sooner than he'd arrived.
“Okay, bone-boy," he said, "end of the road. Out you go.”
The skeleton coughed up a wooden coin from its eye socket and promised Hesch a future favor in exchange for the ride. Yeah, right, Hesch thought. Maybe when I'm in the grave. The skeleton was called Wiggins, and this was the name carved around the coin's edge. Hesch popped open the glove compartment and tossed it in. It rolled over two of Killroy’s business cards, a plastic AA card, and settled under the long, thin silver knife that he once used to dispose of a werewolf, a very hungry passenger. The werewolf had been a gonna-get. Wiggins, on the other hand, had turned out to be the simple letting go type.
Thank God.
Hesch screeched away from the graveyard. He might let go himself, one of these days, if only unrequited love were not molasses in disguise.
At 8:30, back in the commercial district, a girl invited herself into Hesch's cab. She was bundled up in a red, hooded jacket. She told Hesch to take her to “the historic part of town.” This was the code for cab drivers in-the-know to take a passenger to After Dark. Hesch knew where to take her, and why to take her, and how much he instantly hated to whom he was giving a ride. In the mirror, he incredulously watched the girl remove her hood. It was her, alright, all five-foot-five, a hundred and thirty pounds of her.
The meter started counting. He started driving. Fast.
“H-How are you, Kimmie?” Hesch said. His heart skipped as he re-checked the mirror. Now this type he didn’t know how to handle at all. “You're looking…pretty.”
“Thank you, gorgeous sir. I know.” She touched his shoulder. “Do I know you?”
“You should!" he said, quite amazed, even though he knew her faults to a fault. "Er, ah, don’t you?”
“Hm. Nope. Refresh my memory.”
She squinted. She seemed to be looking at the back of his balding head. He fingered the sides of his hair, trying to look his best—but if she couldn’t remember those two glorious months they’d spent loving each other, then why bother? The girl didn't even remember his name. It figured. Why would she? She never loved Hesch in the first place. Could she; was it in the realm of possibility that she could love a man beyond the beat of a moment?
“My mistake,” he said solemnly. “Thought I recognized you.”
“Oh. Okay then. Whatever.” Kimmie faded out from the conversation in total contentment. She was watching the city and the storm pass by her window.
It was time for Hesch to add a seventh type of person to his list. Now he recognized the existence of assholes as well as “Kimmies”: complete, total, shallow bitches from Hell. Kimmie was a CTSBFH, and she didn’t even know it.
Oh, she’d get her punishment soon enough; she’d be sorry for dumping Hesch. . .once that kid--Sam Aubrey--got off his ass and started pulling her strings. The demon Killroy had promised Hesch at least that much pitiless pleasure. She wouldn’t forget. A single vengeance demon possessed a far better memory than all the Kimmies in the world combined. A vengeance demon was serious about her work. It would happen.
And then it would be over, his imprisonment to this cab. For the second time tonight, he willed from his mind the reality of being owned by a machine. No time for it. But he promised himself to remember his predicament later, to dwell on the fact that he was mystically chained to an automobile.
Later.
“Okay, miss,” he said, “After Dark, coming up, stage left.” He swerved to the curb and rolled down his window and pressed the button that opened the rear door. He said, "Out."
Kimmie hopped out. She strolled up to the driver's side and leaned on the mirror. “Gracias, cutie. . .”
“'Cutie,' is it?”
“Aw, you have no idea." She inhaled until she couldn't hold another drop of air. "It's so-o-o cute that you don't know just how cute you totally are, you cute, cute man-oh-man!" she exhaled. She kissed his cheek with lips so icy they made Hesch melt. “I owe you, ‘kay? I don’t have any cash, per se, but, you know, it’s okay, isn't it, just this once?"
“Okay.”
“Remember: I owe you a big one."
"Of course."
"Tell me, cutie, what's your name?”
“You can call me Al.”
She fell into laughter, saying, “Heh-heh-hey! Just like the song.”
“Just like the song.”
“Paul Simon, right?”
“Sure,” Hesch said, tapping the button and, in short spurts, inch by inch, rolling up the window. "Good of you to remember." Behind the rising partition, he mustered a moment’s courage. “You’ve said that to me before, you know."
"I have not, you lie!" she said in a giggle.
"You really don’t know who I am, do you?"
“Should I?”
"Look at my face. Look."
She looked. "Sorry. Really, should I know you? Tell me."
“No," Hesch said, feeling the hurt all over again.
“Suit yourself.” Kimmie turned to leave, but stopped, looked back. “Are you sure I don’t know you?” she asked. “You kind of do look familiar. You have the nicest ears. They are so small and so, like, totally cute.”
“No. You don’t know me. Thanks about the ear-thing, but no.” He gave her a big, cavity-ridden grimace.
“Love ya, Sal,” she said pleasantly. "Bye."
Sal.
Great.
The window found its seal. The rain started hitting the roof hard. Outside, Kimmie bundled up, but she didn’t rush for cover. She stared at Hesch through the trickles of rain and the glare of the streetlamp off the window. The skin above her eyes furrowed. For a moment, she almost seemed capable of regret.
Quit while I'm ahead.
Hesch dropped his sneakers on the gas petal, the cab lurched forward, the back door flew closed, and soon he was racing away for the sake of his life. He fixed his nose on the slick yellow lines in the road and breathed heavily, swerving through imaginary traffic, gaining speed, gaining his dignity. Kimmie would probably be screwing some new Fascion cultist within the hour. It was her job. Whom she would not be screwing, though, was Sam Aubrey. Great gods, if that kid only knew. She was going to break his heart, not the other way around. Justice would not be served any time soon. Things would get ugly before they got righteous. In the meantime, the company of darkness would keep Hesch hidden, safe, all rules suspended. He pushed the hurt from his mind. He replaced it with vengeance. Redness streaked his eyes as Kimmie's image shrank away in the mirror on the door of the cab. Hesch was sitting firm, of course, but inside his heart he was on its knees. He was re-re-re-reflecting about why his mistress had rejected him. She looked so far away, now, far down the road. The hurt zoomed up behind him.
In times of reflection, heartaches were sometimes closer than they appeared.
***
Sam’s eyes shot open. He was wet.
Sweat.
Regret.
Fear. . .
Over what he and Kimmie had done.
Sudden despair.
Blindly, he threw his arm toward Kimmie. He found the pillow, instead, dented, empty.
Alone.
Nothing appears closer to one’s heart than "alone."
Taking a Chance
******Sunday, 12th June 2005******
Kate and Daye walked slowly in the grounds of the castle; much time had passed since the séance in the dungeon had taken place. Gradually the bad vibrations permeating the old ruin had begun to vanish and eventually disappear. Although not wanting to get in the way of Drew and Daye’s ‘work’ Kate had gratefully accepted their invitation to remain in Ireland, at least until they could be sure that the exorcism had been successful.
Kate was planning to return back to England the next morning, she’d received word by post a few days earlier that the remaining Council Elder’s had a matter of some urgency to discuss with her. This was her last evening in the castle so they were taking advantage of the sudden change in weather and enjoying a turn in the grounds. The warm evening sun was still hanging high above the horizon, casting long shadows across the rolling green hills. Kate had just informed Daye of all the problems with the Coven back in England, how she hadn’t planned on staying so long but felt bound by a sense of duty and obligation.
Daye too had news, of all the events in Los Angeles concerning Tash and Victor, and the new arrival of Jessica Travers, an old friend of Kate’s from her days of training with the Watcher’s Council.
They finally came to a stop to admire the view across the lake, the dying sun reflected off the water making it appear golden. Daye sat down under the shade of an old oak tree, while Kate knelt by the waters edge, trailing her fingers across the mellifluous liquid, creating tiny ripples in the placid pool.
Daye watched Kate for a few minutes in silence. She could see how torn and sad her friend was, and she felt the need to do something to help. After all, she owed her life to this woman. Daye thought of the conversation she’d had with Galen before she left L.A. Finally, Daye cleared her throat to get Kate's attention. "Look, maybe it's none of my business, but it seems to me you don't owe anything to the Coven. Not even to Luc's family."
Kate stood and turned towards Daye, frowning slightly. “They were the only family I had Daye, for the past eight years they were all I knew, all I wanted to know.” She sighed, the pain of her guilt weighed heavy on her.
“And Luc’s family, they treated me like one of their own. I never had a family of my own, not that I remembered at any rate. You know how it is? The Watcher’s Council took you in too, when you were alone, they gave your life a sense of purpose. That’s what the coven gave me – a purpose… and a family.”
Daye felt frustration well up in her. She had once thought this way, but after Ambrose had Ryan killed, she’d a change of heart. No one who could hurt you that way deserved your loyalty or your sacrifice. Fighting the anger brewing in her, Daye would attempt to convince Kate of that truth.
"I understand all too well how you feel," Daye said. "As a matter of fact, let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, a novice witch was taken in by the Watcher's Council after the loss of her mother, her only family. A dashing Frenchman from the Council came to Ireland and whisked the girl away to a fairy tale life on a rambling estate, where she was taught and coddled, and treasured. One day, she met a handsome young man while walking in the forest. As it turned out, the girl fell in love with the man and also came to find out he was a demon. Unfortunately, the Council has a strict policy about demons; they must be destroyed, no matter what. So, although the girl's lover was kind and good, he was considered an enemy by the Council, and when they found out about him, the Frenchman caught the demon, tortured him, and apparently put him to death. This was despite the girl's protests. In the end, she stayed with the Council, because she knew nothing and no one else, but she learned a valuable lesson. The only people we are obligated to are the ones that deserve it. Simply because someone has shown you kindness in the past does not entitle them to dictate your future."
Kate grimaced as Daye told her story, she knew the woman was Daye herself and could feel the bitter hurt flow through her in waves as the words poured out of her mouth. Kate sunk to her knees, sitting a few yards from Daye under the tree. She ran her hands back through her hair in agitation.
“You’re right, of course you are… I’ve dedicated almost half my life to the Coven, and they turned their back on me when I needed their support the most. I… I just don’t know what to do anymore. I know things can never go back to how they were, but if I leave then what? Where do I go? What do I do? The Coven is my life, it’s my home…”
Daye frowned, unable to believe what she was hearing. "Are you kidding me?" she asked. "Who are you? You're certainly not the woman that came across the Channel to save me from some uncertain fate. That woman was not afraid. You, whoever you are, are hiding behind duty and obligation because you're afraid to start over. In L.A. you've already made a new start. Maybe you thought it was just a temporary thing. Maybe you didn't mean to make any connections, set down any roots. But the truth is, you have. You've made friends. We care about you. Not just me, although I owe you my life. But all of us, Tash, Victor, Jade, all of us. We need you as much as you need us. We've formed a strange sort of family out there. Now, what, you're going to run away from that and hide in the Coven house because you're afraid of what might happen. People die, Kate. All the time. Luc died. It's not your fault. Serapis and Janus and their followers, they used you. They killed Luc. He died because he wanted you to live. You going to hide out there and give up your life for the Coven? What's that going to prove? That you loved him? Please, you're making a mockery of his sacrifice. Luc would want you to be happy."
Daye paused, watching Kate closely. This torment was unnecessary. "And I think there is a miserable federal agent back in L.A. that would give anything to make you happy," she said gently. "This self imposed exile is only hurting you both."
“I am not afraid of anything!” cried Kate as she rose to her feet indignantly, “well maybe sea monkeys, but they are just weird… and… and wait… …what did you just say?” She floundered a little, sinking back down on the ground as she felt her knees go weak.
Daye had to smother a grin at Kate's outburst. It was good to see her full of fire. Despair did not suit her friend very well. "I said, Galen loves you," Daye replied a bit smugly. "Don't you think you should go back to him and give him a chance? Or do you think a person should wallow and mourn for all eternity? I mean, am I making a mistake being with Drew? I loved once and lost, maybe, by your count, that's all the happiness I'm entitled to."
Kate frowned again in confusion, “just wait a minute, w-when did you speak to Galen, and, and how… I mean… He told you he loved me?” Kate couldn’t believe what she was hearing, she’d been trying for months to try and put her feelings for Galen out of her head, convinced he would have long forgotten about her, now here Daye was, saying things she’d scarcely allowed herself to hope for.
Daye suspected from Kate's tone that she was not opposed to the idea of Galen. Going on that assumption, she decided to play up his suffering a bit. "I met your delightful young man when we helped Victor rescue Tash. The poor dear had just come off a bender, trying to drown your memory in a bottle. He was totally sick and sauced. Shame on you for breaking his heart."
Kate stifled a smile, looking away decorously, she bit her lip trying desperately not to laugh. “Sounds like Galen…” she smiled. She fiddled with her hands nervously, she’d wanted for so long to talk to someone about how she felt, but no one at the Coven would have approved of her having such feelings for another man so soon after the death of Lucien.
“It all just happened so fast,” Kate explained earnestly. “I mean, there wasn’t anything going on between us, not at first. He was just helping me, he knew how I was feeling – after Luc died – and it, it helped to have someone who’d been through all that too, you know?” Kate looked away again, smiling to herself. “And then, I don’t know… …he’s so… caring, and he makes me laugh and… and he’s very handsome…”
Kate smiled again, then slowly her smile melted away and she looked sad and morose. “But it was too soon, I know there’s no such thing as perfect timing but… it was too much, I was still grieving and falling…” she halted mid-sentence her words hanging in the cool afternoon air, “…maybe it was cowardly of me but I just couldn’t cope with both of my feelings, it was tearing me apart inside. I so wanted to do the right thing by Luc, and show him how much he meant to me, but I couldn’t do that while Galen was there. Does any of that make sense?”
Daye felt heartsick at Kate's words. She knew how it felt to love someone so much and lose them. For a long time after Ryan died, she had felt that staying with the Council was a betrayal. She had simply not known where else to go. Finally, she had come to realise that no matter what, Ryan knew she loved him. Obviously she had been right. Ryan had miraculously returned from the dead still in love with her.
"Oh, Kate," Daye moved to put her hand on the other woman's shoulder," I understand how you feel, believe me. But Luc knows how you feel. Wherever he is, you don't have to prove it to him. He would want you to go on living. And as for his family and the rest of the Coven, well, if they can't understand that then, pardon me saying so, but screw them."
The two friends stood in silence for a moment, as the sun gradually began to sink beyond the horizon.
“I never intended to hide away in the Coven” said Kate stoically, breaking the silence. “I never intended to stay so long! I was just going to sort things out, talk to Luc’s parents and then take my leave. It’s just when I got there, things had fallen apart so rapidly, and the people there – the families, my old friends – they needed my help, the way you did, how could I have refused them?”
“Then you have repaid any obligation that you still owed them, you should consider yourself free Kate, you don’t owe the Coven anymore than what you’ve already given them. You have a life of your own to lead, and a man who loves you waiting in Los Angeles. Take a chance, what have you got to loose?”
Resignations
******Saturday, July 30th 2005 – Sindell Hall, Warwick, England******
Kate stood alone in the Chamber of Elders – it was one of the oldest and most elaborately decorated rooms in the whole of Sindell Hall. Thick, heavy blue velvet drapes surrounded the high windows, old renaissance style portraits of former Sindell members - Elizabeth Bradwell, Alizon Device and Lorenz Hoffmann to mention but a few – lined the spacious walls. Even more impressive – the Coven’s Book of Shadows, believed to be almost ten centuries old and holding every spell and incantation this impressive collective of wicca had ever come into contact with. Kate walked over to where it rested on an oak lectern in the centre of the room. She’d read from the book before, but never had she been alone in its presence. She ran her hand over the old leather cover. There were all kinds of symbols carved into the hard binding, Kate recognised some of the more common mystic runes, the others were unfamiliar…
Kate quickly turned as she recognised the familiar vibrations of Christian and Hestia – the two remaining Council Elders – as they suddenly entered the room. Kate hadn’t met either since her return to Sindell almost five months ago – since then the two had been busy disputing various politics with other coven elders. Most recently they had been negotiating with the Elders of The Order of the Black Crescent – a French coven based in Normandy. Kate was quite angry actually, she’d returned back to England over a month ago, only to find the Coven Elder’s were overseas. Only now had they returned home and had requested an attendance with Catherine immediately.
Hestia looked more haggard than normal as she marched into the room, her lengthy robes trailing behind her. Her long greying hair was tied loosely to the back of her head; she extended a hand out towards Kate as she approached.
“Sister Catherine, how grateful we are for your patience, we apologise for not being here to receive you upon your return from Ireland but… …pressing matters, I’m sure you understand…” She took Kate’s hand and then motioned for her to follow them to a large desk at the other end of the room.
Kate followed dutifully. Christian and Hestia sat on one side, Kate the other. They sat in complete silence for what must have been almost ten minutes. Both Christian and Hestia continued to look from one another and then towards Kate, they seemed hesitant and very nervous. Finally Christian laid his hands on the table and leaned forward.
“Sister Catherine, we, we were glad to hear that you were… that you did not receive injury…” he cleared his throat and continued, “…in Ireland… it is good to finally see you again.”
“Yes it’s good to see you both again too,” said Kate after a long pause, “…and in more congenial circumstances than before. I think it must have been, let me see… oh yes… it must have been my trial – the last time we all met – when you sentenced me to death.”
Hestia looked uncomfortably towards Christian. “Catherine we realise you must feel a certain amount of hostility towards us, especially considering…”
“Considering you tried to have me killed?” Kate’s voice was blunt, her words echoing accusingly around the room. “You know I still wonder just which method of execution you would have gone with, I think there’s a nice traditional touch to being burnt alive don’t you?”
“What we want is to make amends for all that,” said Christian, rising to his feet. “Catherine, Sister Hestia and I have discussed this for a long time and in light of the good work you’ve done here over the past five months…”
“I didn’t do that for you,” interjected Catherine quickly. “I did it for the thousands of people who still work and depend upon Sindell for their livelihood as well as their spiritual guidance.”
“Either way, it shows just the kind of self-less devotion that we require. Despite everything that has happened to you Catherine, people see you working here, with us, for the greater good – they respect that, it shows good character, solidarity – something we need right now.”
Hestia rose to her feet and stood next to Christian. “We weren’t able to think of anybody else who could better fill the void left by Serapis. Catherine, we would like you to join us on the Council of Elders. You’ve more than adequately proven your worth.”
Kate also rose to her feet shaking her head in dismay. “You are amazing you know that? After everything that you have put me through, you put those closest to me in danger – Lucien is dead because of the ‘mistakes’ you’ve made! And you want me to stand by you like none of that happened?”
Hestia again looked nervously towards Christian. “Catherine, we need you – the coven needs you, and you need us too if you’re being truthful. If you are honest with yourself you’ll see, we are the only family you’ve ever known, you can’t turn your back on us now.”
“Just watch me,” said Kate, she didn’t feel angry anymore, instead she felt a perfect calm resting deep in the pit of her stomach. “Thanks for the offer and all,” she continued “…but kindly go to hell.”
“What?” Christian looked dumbstruck at Kate’s frank and blatant refusal.
“The only reason I stayed so long was to ensure that people like Inanna and Kernun and Herne, people who have worked hard all these years, wouldn’t suddenly find themselves living on the streets because of the mistakes that you made in allowing yourselves to be manipulated for the past twenty years by the likes of Serapis and Janus. I have played my part for you; I’ve talked sweetly to every coven elder from Christchurch to Salisbury Plain, I’ve lied to help cover up the mess you have created here and I won’t do it anymore. I’m through, from here on in I go it alone.”
Christian sank back down into his seat; he was silent for many long minutes – deep in contemplation. “Very well, we shan’t stop you if it is your wish. What do you… require from us?”
Kate sat down in her chair and leant across the table “Only that which I am owed as a long standing member of this coven and as an initiate of the Inner Circle.”
“The arrangements shall be made as usual,” said Christian briskly, he opened a drawer in the desk and took out a set of papers. “I was hoping this day would never come – when I would see you leave us…” He took out a pen and began making amendments to the set of papers in his hands. After a moment he passed them over to Kate. “I trust that figure is what you had in mind? As a ‘long standing member of this coven and an initiate of the Inner Circle’ you could expect no less?”
“This is all very reasonable,” said Kate looking over the papers. “Just one thing…”
“And what would that be?” said Hestia sharply.
“I want a permanent residency visa for America,” Kate hesitated for a moment then continued, “…I intend to leave as soon as possible.”
“For the best in my opinion” spat Hestia bitterly.
Christian shot her a silencing glance. “I can’t say that I’m not a little disappointed in your decision to leave us Catherine. You could have had a very promising future here; however, your terms are acceptable. We’ll get administration to draw up the appropriate paper work immediately – it may take a few days… with the Watcher’s Council doing what they do best – watching, and closely too.”
“I intend to return to Los Angeles in the next week, can you have everything arranged by then?”
Hestia looked ready to say something but she thought against it, again the two Elder’s glanced at each other before nodding their heads in agreement. Kate watched as Christian amended the contract, then without a moment’s hesitation she signed her name.
Christian smiled forlornly; he folded up the contract and slid it into the pocket of his robe. “Thank-you Catherine, I wish you well on your journey, maybe we shall meet again someday.” Kate rose to her feet smiling slightly in satisfaction, she extended her hand out towards Christian, her palm facing forward. He reluctantly placed his palm against hers and they linked hands. “Blessed be sister.”
Hestia rolled her eyes at the amicable scene. Kate turned and headed towards the door, Hestia watched her leave as Christian sunk even further into his seat. Suddenly a cruel smile curled her lips. “Sister Catherine…?” she called out, Kate stopped half in the room, half out of the doorway. “What about Inanna?”
Christian looked up; Kate halted in the doorway, Hestia continued to smile. After a long pause Kate turned and closed the door as she left the room.
As Kate left, Hestia turned to face Christian, “And you really think we can trust her to keep quiet? She knows so much about us Christian, she has the power to expose us!”
“She has her money, and her freedom” sighed Christian, “soon she’ll be in America, she’ll have a new life and won’t need us anymore. Besides while ever we still have Inanna she won’t risk exposing us.”
Hestia frowned then sat down. “I hope you’re right.
No Place Like Home?
******Friday, 5th August 2005 – Los Angeles, 11:54pm******
Kate dropped her bags in the hallway and sighed. She was home. She flicked the light-switch, *Damn no electricity.* It was hardly a surprise Kate had left in such a hurry that she hadn’t made any arrangements for when she should ever decide to return.
She picked up the telephone handset – no dial tone. Kate yawned as she picked up her luggage and headed upstairs to her bedroom, she was tired and aching after the eleven-hour flight. Everything had happened in such a hurry, one minute Kate was bartering for her freedom from the Coven, the next she was being rushed from her leaving party to the airport.
Kate wandered into the bathroom to brush her teeth, she turned the tap, the pipes gave a creaking groan and coughed up some brownish slime that made Kate jump back in surprise.
She sighed in annoyance and threw her toothbrush into the sink. “Why do I even bother?” she said out loud in irritation. Kate tiredly stumbled her way back into the bedroom and threw her bags on the floor before collapsing on the soft bed.
Everything else could wait; right now all she wanted to do was sleep…
Lacheley
***Date Fluid + 1 -- Later That Night***
Just outside of Flagstaff, Parasol got an idea. Actually two ideas. She pulled the Sunliner over to the side of the road to investigate the feasibility of Idea One. When the car stopped, she leaned over and reached for the maps in her glove box and then twisted and reached in the back seat for the copy of the Arizona Sun.
The moon was full and she had no need of any other light.
She unfolded the map of the Southwest halfway so just the remainder of her trip to LA was visible. Okay, she had just passed Winslow, Arizona. *Wasn’t that in “Starman”?* So…the I-17 turnoff was about 60 miles away. She looked at her watch. She could be in Phoenix well before dawn.
She folded up the map, like all women do, and put it back in the glove box. She pulled apart the Arizona Sun and looked over the front page of the sports section. Not finding what she was looking for there, she licked her middle finger and turned to the next page.
*Okay. Luck be a lady.* Parasol dug that term. She knew firsthand that Luck was just no fun when she was a whore.
She found the box scores for the National League, couldn’t help but see that her Cubbies were in the basement – again, and found that the Diamondbacks were indeed playing tomorrow night, AND at home.
Parasol put down the paper, leaned her head back on the headrest of her baby and looked up at the sky.
The National Pastime was a particular passion of Parasol’s. The smell of the park, all that green grass, the food, the way the sound of the bat smacking the ball ricocheted around the park, the strategy. And she adored ballplayers. They were usually so big and strong and dumb. *”Dumb’s” the wrong word.* They were simple, uncomplicated. They liked what they liked and didn’t act like they liked what they had no use for, especially back before they got all that insane money. *Yeah, simple.* She may have turned into an Annie if the games weren’t mostly played in the day. A blood-sucking Annie, but an Annie nonetheless.
She saw the great ones play: some in the majors, some in the minors, some in the Negro Leagues, some in the AAGPBL. In her nearly 170 years on the planet, Bank One Ballpark was the only major league field she hadn’t been to. A side trip was definitely in order.
Parasol put the Sunliner in gear, cranked up Metallica, *I can’t believe that bonehead grabbed my ass* and careened to the I-17-S turnoff.
**********************************
The next night, Parasol bought a lower level clubhouse seat to watch the game, which pretty much was uneventful; a pitcher’s duel without much action, except for that triple play in the bottom of the 7th. The ballpark, for all of its bells and whistles and a swimming pool (phtt), didn’t hold a candle to Yankee Stadium.
Parasol waited until nearly all the people had left the stadium and walked from end to end on the lower level. The park maintenance was busy picking up trash. The vendors were packing up.
*What’s the hell’s a California Pizza Kitchen doing at a ballpark?*
When she reached the first base line end of the horseshoe shape of the park, she looked down into the bullpen. A kid of about 20 wearing a clean D-Backs uniform was throwing balls at a thoroughly bored catcher. Parasol walked down the steep stairs to take a closer look.
He felt eyes on him and looked up to see Parasol watching him. He blushed and went back to a pretty pathetic attempt at a curve ball.
Parasol continued to watch him.
He tried about four more curve balls and looked up again to catch Parasol’s level stare. He blushed again. The catcher was yelling at the kid that he’d never get to pitch, throwing cheese like that. The kid yelled back that he was a fastball pitcher. Curveballs suck.
Parasol tilted her head to the side.
The kid looked up at her and blushed yet again. He shook his body to realign his uniform and other athletic bodily equipment and threw a stinky curve that caught the dust about a foot in front of the catcher, bounced up and caught the man high on his thigh, way too close for comfort. The catcher, no longer bored, swore a blue streak at the poor kid, threw down his glove and stalked off toward the clubhouse. Halfway across the field, the catcher remembered his glove, cursed loudly again and growled out a warning to the boy that he’d better bring his glove in or else there’d be hell to pay.
The young pitcher looked like he was gonna cry.
“You’re dropping your shoulder,” Parasol said.
The kid looked up at Parasol. “Ma’am?”
“You’re dropping your shoulder. Right before the ball leaves your hand.”
“Ma’am?”
“What – am I speaking a foreign language? You. Are. Dropping. Your. Shoulder.
Parasol sighed and walked down to the seats right above the bullpen about 20 feet above the kid, put her hand on the railing and jumped down into the bullpen, landing with a light puff of the dust.
The kid’s mouth was hanging open. “How’d you do…?!”
Parasol rubbed her hands on her jeans and walked over to the kid, grabbing him by the shoulders and turning his back to her to see the name on his uniform. She walked around to stand in front of him.
“Lacheley. What’s your first name?
“Um…um…um.” His voice was deep but still had a crack in it.
“Never mind. Lacheley, you’re dropping your shoulder. It’s taking the torque out of your arm and the spin off the ball and the spin bends the trajectory. Not to mention that dropping your shoulder telegraphs what’s coming to just about everybody in the ballpark including the batter. Don’t you watch baseball movies?”
“Um…um…um.”
Parasol turned and started walking toward the plate in the bullpen, bending down and picking up the discarded glove on the way. She put it on as she walked. It was way too big, but it would do. She got behind the plate, turned around, hitched up her jeans despite their tightness and squatted, pounding her fist into the glove to make it fit a little better.
“DON’T…” she pointed the glove at him, “drop your shoulder.” She put the glove out in front of her giving Lacheley a target.
“Um, ma’am…”
“Parasol.”
“What?”
“My name’s Parasol.”
“Oh, that’s pretty. It’s an umbrella right?
“Yeah. An inanimate object. Now, throw,” and she put the glove out again.
“Um, ma’am, I can’t…”
“Parasol. Why not?”
“Well, ma’a…Parasol. I throw pretty hard. I don’t want to, you know…hurt you.”
“Lacheley?”
“Yes, ma’a… Yes.”
“How high’s that wall behind you?”
Lacheley turned to look at the wall up to the seats behind the bullpen.
“I dunno, about 15 feet.”
“Lacheley. It’s painted right over there on it. See. It’s 22 feet, 7 inches.”
“Ohhhh! I was wondering what those numbers were.”
“Lacheley.”
“Yes….Parasol.” He grinned proudly.
“Did you see me jump from 22 feet, 7 inches down here?”
“Yeah, how’d you do…”
“And see these boots?" She stuck her right leg out from the squat. Lacheley nodded at her.
“Manolo Blahnik.” Lacheley stared at her blankly. “See how high these heels are?”
“They’re nice.”
“For four hundred dollars, they’d better be ‘nice.’ Did you see me land on my feet in these four hundred dollar four inch heeled ‘nice’ boots.”
“Yeah.”
“Am I hurt?”
“Not at all. How’d you…?”
“Lacheley! Don’t…drop…your shoulder.”
He stood on the pitcher’s mound and looked up the wall and down the bullpen at her squatting behind the plate. Lacheley decided.
He bent over looking at the glove in her hand. He swirled the ball in his right hand behind him, finding the stitches. Lacheley placed his right foot on the rubber, stood up and wound up. Following his body naturally, he kicked his left knee up nearly to his shoulder, put his hands high above his head, and reared back on his right leg. As his right arm was swinging down and out, right before the ball left his hand, he felt the place where his shoulder dropped…and just didn’t drop it.
The ball tore ass down the bullpen to the glove in Parasol’s hand, flying straight as an arrow until about 4 feet before the plate and then sailed outward in a perfect arc into Parasol’s glove to her left and thunked it, right in the middle.
Parasol lazily stood up. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”
Lacheley was on the mound, mouth hanging open, not believing what he had just done. “Lordy!” was all he could sputter out.
Parasol walked the length of the bullpen to Lacheley on the mound, throwing the ball back and forth into her glove and stood right in front of him. Lacheley was beaming and mimicking his windup over and over, making sure to not drop his shoulder.
“Satchel Paige taught me that.”
“Who?”
Parasol walked up the small incline to Lacheley standing on the rubber of the mound and looked at him evenly. She asked him softly “How old are you Lacheley?”
“Twenty-one and a half."
Parasol raised an eyebrow. "And a half?"
"Well, yeah, twenty-two in November.”
“How long you been playing ball.”
“All m’life.”
“How long’d you spend in the minors.”
“Didn’t. Got recruited by the D-Backs right out of Arizona State.” He grinned.
“Betcha make a bunch of money.”
Lacheley blushed. “Yeah, I do. At least for me it is.”
Parasol put the ball in his glove and placed her hand on his face. She drew her lips towards his and kissed him, really hard. Parasol held onto him, the back of his head mitted in her glove, and pressed against the entire length of his body. He kissed her back, really hard, and his curve ball throwing right arm pulled her against him tightly. Parasol really did adore ballplayers.
She let him go, walked over to the 22 foot 7 inch wall, hopped it to the first row of seats and looked down at him. His mouth was hanging open again.
“How’d you do…”
She tossed the glove down to him. “I’m a vampire. Lacheley?”
“Yeah?”
“Look up Satchel Paige, okay?”
Lacheley shrugged his shoulders. “Okay…Hey, thanks!” And went back to pantomiming his newfound curve ball.
*******************************************
Parasol walked to the parking lot, got in her baby and set off I-10-W to implement Idea Two.
The Tomb - Phase One
Saturday, 3rd April 2005 (Cont'd)
Sorrow had never had trouble being underground before but this place was giving him the creeps. The walls around them were covered in geometric patterns that looked off... He kept seeing strange shapes out of the corner of his eye and the feeling of power in this place was getting worse.
Their initial worries about being unable to the find the right route to the Scrolls were unfounded. Even though the tomb was a warren of dead ends and false paths, Sorrow hadn't even needed the map. Getting to the door before them had been so easy since it practically called out to him...
"No idea how we get through this. Any suggestions?" Sorrow whispered as he tapped at the door with a hammer.
Jade slowly ran her hands over the door. it was mirror smooth, unmarred by time. "I doubt we're breaking through, something tells me brute strength isn't going to work here." Jade's fingers continued to glide over the stone until she felt a tiny hitch. "Here..." Jade grabbed Sorrow's hand and guided it to the small imperfection. "Do you feel that?"
Sorrow nodded, his fingers traced out a circular ridge about a handspan wide. *This is almost too easy!* He pushed at it and with a grinding sound, the door began to retreat.
A wind suddenly howled through the corridor, blowing dust everywhere, the force of it catching Jade and Sorrow unawares. The couple tumbled backwards with Sorrow turning his back on the gale and wrapping his arms around Jade to sheild her from the storm... The air rapidly became opaque and suffocating. They couldn't take a breath without the gale blowing sand and God alone knew what else into their air passages. A film seemed to form in their mouths, making them gag viciously.
Coughing, sputtering and temporarily blinded, they covered their faces as best they could as they searched wildly around for a place to hide and take shelter. Sorrow recalled seeing a small grotto - scarcely more than a slit in the wall - on their way in. Since the screeching wind and the clouds of dust, sand and grit made it impossible to talk, he simply grabbed hold of Jade's arm and yanked her towards it. It was by pure luck that he found the opening, considering that visibility within the confines of the tomb was practically zero. With a silent prayer of thanks, Sorrow ducked in, pulling Jade in after him.
Strangely, the minute the both of them were out of harm's way, the sandstorm stopped. The silence that descended was almost eerie in comparison to the howling that had gone on before.
Jade opened her smarting eyes and looked up... Sorrow's puzzled expression mirrored her own and he motioned for her to stay behind him as he cautiously ventured out. Back to back, they edged towards the mirrored-surface door again. Jade's eyes darted around, searching their surroundings for any further threats.
The wind had uncovered several skeletons they hadn't seen before. "Poor bastards must have choked to death in the storm." Sorrow said softly, his words causing Jade to frown as realisation struck her.
"Tris, do you remember the night before we left Cairo, Malik told us the locals believe that three spirits guard the treasures of Sayyed ash-Shazli's tomb?" She paused briefly. "He laughed it off and called it the Arab-style version of or some other fairy tale... But what if he was mistaken? We didn't really take him all that seriously then but what if the legend of the three spirits isn't a fairy tale after all? It all fits!"
Sorrow's eyes were glittering. He too had reached the same conclusion. "The first spirit was that of an evil Warlock with the ability to control the elements of earth, water and air," he recalled, "and who fed on the flesh on the humans that died from his sorcery... Since man has always been subject to the whims and fancies of nature and the elements, there is no way to fight him, especially since the Warlock has no physical form... I think the only reason we escaped death this time was because we did the thing man has always done when faced with something as indestructable as nature. We ran and hid." A wry smile spread across Sorrow's face. "And we waited for the storm to past before we came back out."
"So cowardice was the way to go." Jade squeezed his hand before nodding towards the door in front of them. "Although I prefer to think of it as knowing which battles are worth fighting... I don't care how we got through phase one. We did, that's all that matters. What say we move on towards number two? What do we know about that spirit?"
"Other than it's powerful and set to destroy any intruder? Not much..." Sorrow took out a canteen of water out of his pack and drank a few mouthfuls. They continued to move cautiously back down the corridor, past the dried husks of previous explorers. The sense of power in the place practically doubled as they crossed the threshold of what Sorrow knew now was a portal...
The geometric patterns that adorned the walls gave up all pretext of normality on the other side. Around them was a riot of Escheresk optical illusions that sought to distract and confuse the eye... The wind picked up again though this time it merely blew the dust from the floor to reveal yet more patterns. Disoriented, Jade clutched at her head and stumbled, falling onto all fours.
"Close your eyes!" Sorrow instructed sharply as he did the same, forcing himself to concentrate on using using his other senses to guide them. With Jade's hand firmly in his, Sorrow trailed his other hand along the wall. They inched their way forward, carefully testing the ground ahead. After what felt like hours, Sorrow hand trail into empty air.
"It's just opened out on the right." Sorrow's words echoed into a vast space.
"Same on the left!" Jade replied.
They opened their eyes and shone their torches into a vast rough-hewn chamber. Once they stepped in, a grinding began behind them, making them jump. They whipped around and could only stare helplessly at the entrance as a door of solid rock boomed shut.
*Where the hell did that come from?!* Sorrow shook his head in bewilderment. Pushing against it proved to be as futile as he thought it would be. "Well, there goes the only visible escape route, as far as I can see..." He wasn't too sure if they were going up against ancient magic or battling against genius boobie traps. *No point mulling over that. There's nowhere to go now but forward anyway...* He turned back and inspected his and Jade's new environment.
Sorrow whistled, "They didn't hide this under the sand." The chamber must have been at least a hundred feet wide by a similar distance long. The ceiling was maybe forty feet above them. He and Jade spent abour fifteen minutes searching the walls but could find no other opening leading to or from the chamber other than the one they had entered by.
A low rumbling began. "What's the bet that that Warlock has got us right where he wants us?"
Mid-Season One: Jul 06, 2005 - Aug 06, 2005
Saturday, 3rd April 2005 (Cont'd)
Jade shook her head as she walked further into the chamber, straining her ears, trying to determine where exactly the sound was coming from. This seemed somehow different from the sandstorm the first spirit had conjured up and she didn't think they'd get past this one as easily as they had the previous barrier. *That had been sheer luck anyway!* Jade mentally berated herself for not paying more attention to Malik when he had spoken of the tomb's legend... *That'll teach me never to scoff at fairy tales and make believe again...*
"Well, if it's not the Warlock, then my money's on malevolent guard number two." Sorrow crossed the chamber, making his way toward Jade. "I've been thinking about that conversation we had with Malik... And I think I vaguely remember him saying something about fire and..."
CRACK! The granite floors suddenly split open, revealing molten pools of lava bubbling and hissing away beneath them.
"Tris!" Jade screamed, rushing forward as the ground beneath Sorrow melted away into a gust of steam. He lunged sideways towards a stone ledge and managed to grab onto it, but the terrible heat was making his palms slick and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold on for long. Beneath him, the fiery lava inched closer... Sorrow could feel the heat singe the soles of his feet but he didn't dare shift, afraid that his hold might slip and that he'd end up toppling head first into an agonising, gruesome death.
"Go up! Get off the lower ground!" He shouted to Jade, terrified that the lava would continue to eat away at the floor. "Don't come too close! It's dangerous!"
The muscles in Jade's arms bunched as she scrambled up one of the chamber's walls. The surface was jagged, full of jutting edges that made for convenient footholds while she climbed... Making her way towards the ledge Sorrow was grabbing onto, Jade's initial gratefulness soon turned into trepidation as she realised - too late - that some of the edges were lethally sharp...
Gasping in pain, Jade tried to ignore the bloody gash on her arm and continued doggedly towards Sorrow. Finally, she was less than three feet away. "Tris," Jade balanced herself as best she could on a narrow outcrop of rock no more than a foot wide and bent down cautiously, "Give me your hand... Don't argue with me!" She snapped impatiently when he started to shake his head. "We don't have the time! Now, I can't pull you up but I can hold on to you till you manage to find find some sort of foothold and climb up yourself."
Sorrow's teeth were clenched and his eyes were worried but he nodded. Dangling as he was, mere inches from the lava, he didn't really have much of a choice. As it was, the skin on his feet and ankles was painfully raw and blistered from the heat. Sorrow concentrated solely on Jade as she braced herself and reached both hands out towards him... His fingers felt welded to the rock they clung to but he forced himself to relax and to soften the grip slowly...
Sorrow leaped, using what lower body movement he could to propel himself at Jade. In that split second before his hands found hers, he was all too aware of the fiery pool below him... *So this is what hell looks like.* He barely heared Jade's yelp of pain when his weight wrenched sharply on her injured arm.
Sorrow held onto Jade for dear life while his feet scrabbled for purchase on the red hot stone. Finally finding a foothold, Sorrow gritted his teeth against the pain and pushed upwards. Jade pulled with all her might and moments later he was perched next to her on the rocky ledge.
" I know this might not be the most appropriate time, but have I ever told you that I love you?" Sorrow said as he bent to kiss Jade.
When he pulled back, a little breathless, she smiled at him. "You might have mentioned it but I never mind hearing it again."
Jade took Sorrow's hand and they slowly got to their feet to look around the chamber. In the reddish illumination, Sorrow could see an outline in the far wall. Had the lava not provided its glowing light, they would never have noticed it. He pointed to what he hoped would be an exit from this pretty good imitation of hell. "Do you see it?"
Jade nodded. Her eyes scanned the cavern... Here and there in the molten sea were islands of solid ground. "There's a path," she said. "We need to get back to the chamber entrance..."
The climb was agonisingly slow and extremely perilous. Long before they reached the tiny island of ground in front of the entrance, both Jade and Sorrow were covered in dozens of cuts and abrasions.
"We need to hurry, the magma is still rising..." Sorrow looked at Jade's sweat slicked and very worried face. "We can do this."
As the molten rock slowly covered the lesser protrusions, they jumped from isle to isle in a parody of the games Jade remembered playing in her younger years. By the time they had crossed the cavern, the lava had covered the ground near the entrance and it was only the slight slope of the cave that allowed them a brief respite.
Sorrow ran his fingers along the outline in the rock, desperately trying to find some lever or switch to open the door. At such close proximity, the outline they had seen earlier was not visible and Sorrow had not been able to determine its exact location before.
"Hurry Tris..." Jade pressed back against the wall as the magma flowed ever closer.
"Where is it... Where is it..." Sorrow chanted over and over as his hands came up empty time and again.
"It's almost on us!" Jade's frightened cry tore at Sorrow. Then suddenly, he found it - a rocky spur just to the side. He pulled it and as a hidden door opened, Jade and Sorrow fell through it. The door ground closed, shutting out the heat and light, leaving them in a cold damp place...
February 28, Late Evening
Kimmie had slipped out again without saying good-bye. It was impossible to say when she'd be back. In darkness, Sam dropped his feet off the side of the bed and stared through the open door. The living room lights had been left on.
It was late. He'd slept all day. It was as if Kimmie had sucked the life right out of him.
He rubbed his eyes, moved his hand to this throat. Everything about his body felt barren. He touched his collar bone. Sore. Flakes of skin collected on his fingers. The girl had really worked him hard. If only he could remember. Last night was all but gone from his mind. All this waiting for Kimmie to become a part of his life simply had to stop. Sam had a larger mission to accomplish. Over the past few weeks, it had become clouded, but he still had a cheating wife to find. He hadn't forgotten.
Of course, now he was a cheater, too, wasn't he? Technically.
Sam stood and moved to the corner of the room where he kept his metal safety box. Inside were a handful of resumes and a single letter of recommendation that Sam hoped would help secure a job. Before finding Bunny and Bill, before finding Kimmie, Sam was going to have to find a means of income. He was broke.
He stumbled to the kitchen, lifted the box of Rice Crispies and poured. An explosion of dust hit the bowl. It settled to reveal that he was out of cereal.
Suddenly aware of his own nakedness, he moved across the chilled kitchen tile to the refrigerator. He opened it, cleaned the sleep from his eyes. There was mayonaisse. There was milk. There was bottled water. There was a rumbling in Sam's stomach and a shiver building behind his neck.
He sighed, a murmur rising along with it. "Gosh. I really, really, really need a job."
Daye discovers some things about herself.
***** Saturday, June 18, 2005 *****
Daye stood in the small room and looked around, a slightly bemused smile on her face. Before her were the remains of an ancient cradle and a few tattered toys. She could see that this room had been used as a nursery many years ago. There was an innocence and peace here that the rest of the castle still couldn’t quite match. If she listened hard enough, she could almost hear the sound of children playing in the room.
Daye closed her eyes, concentrating as she leaned on the doorjamb.
*****
A bright eyed boy and girl raced around the nursery, darting in and out of the streams of sunlight filtering in through the window carved in the stone wall. The girl shrieked and giggled as her playmate growled, pursuing her with claw-like hands extended. They continued to play this game of chase, whirling around the room, and seeming to age a bit with each pass of the doorway. To the invisible observer, it was sort of like watching time-lapse photography.
After a time, the boy and girl had achieved a sort of pre-adult vision, her blossoming in a pretty, pert way and he broadening slowly into manhood. They stopped racing about and took up more serious pursuits, studies and duties and the like. Soon, they stopped coming to the little nursery, having become too adult for the fun and frolic of youth. Until, one evening, with snow filtering past the closed window, the boy and girl, now a man and woman, strode in together carrying two sleeping children, each with a head of red-gold curls. They lay the babes in the cradles, and watched them sleep in silence. Then they faced one another, sharing a secret smile and walked out of the room together.
*****
Daye opened her eyes, amused at her own fancy. She had imagined the brother and sister that might once have used this little room, and in her mind now she could recall many details of their lives. She found these distant cousins delightful and fascinating.
*****
Daye and Drew sat at a small table in a cozy restaurant in the village, sharing a meal and quiet conversation. Daye glanced up, surveying the quaint room, with it’s homey furnishings and the lovely paintings on the wall. Her eyes were drawn to a portrait of a young man and woman, with very similar features, on the wall by the cheery fireplace. She stared at them, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. Finally, when the server came to take away their dinner plates, Daye felt compelled to ask about it.
“Excuse me,” she said, “but who are those people in that painting?”
The server glanced over at the picture on the wall, smiling proudly. “They’re Lady Shanna and Lord Tagh. They were brother and sister. More than a hundred years ago, they shared reign in the castle. They were twins, well loved and historically said to have been responsible for the prosperity of this village. You might say their our ancestors, as it is said they each married one of the villagers, breaking custom and beginning the local tradition of a classless governing body here. They set up the village council and even members of the Blaise family had to be voted in. They were a kind, democratic pair. We owe a lot to them. And we never forget.”
Daye listened to the man, picturing the boy and girl from her dream. These were her cousins, Shanna and Tagh. She had envisioned them in the nursery where they grew up, and much of the man’s words were like faint remembrances to her. She had seen something in the castle that day, somehow picked up the history of that room, just by concentrating on it. She was bemused, but delighted by this new found talent. When she and Drew went back to the castle that night, she started exploring, with her eyes closed and her heart open.
Daye reveals some of what she's learned.
***** Sunday, June 26, 2005 *****
Daye lay cradled in Drew’s arm on the soft grass beside the lake. They had closed up equipment and files early and opted to eat a light dinner outside, amongst the beauty of the castle’s grounds. Daye was feeling languid, full of good food and warmth. She sighed as the sun slowly set, leaving the little glade awash in the last of the day’s light. Drew was absentmindedly rubbing his hands up and down her wool clad arms, warming her from the slight chill in the breeze. In the distance, they could hear the sounds of night birds and animals stirring from their rest.
“It feels so different now,” Drew whispered in her ear. “So peaceful.”
“It is different now,” Daye replied. “My family is finally at peace.”
“I am amazed by everything that’s happened here,” Drew said. “Being with you challenges my very belief system. It proves my practical mind was way off base. I never imagined the things you are a part of really existed. Witches, ghosts, magic spells, it’s all more than I could ever have expected.”
Daye smiled wistfully, wondering what it was like to be innocent. All her life, she had known that there were things other people didn’t understand about her and her mother. She had known about the other worlds most people thought only existed in stories. She had walked in one of them. And after joining the Watcher’s Council, that knowledge had only grown. Meeting Drew had been a sort of revelation to her, that there could be someone so intelligent who was ignorant of so many things. Now, being with her, that ignorance, that innocence was being tried.
“Are you sorry?” she asked.
“Sorry?” Drew repeated. “Why? What did I do?”
“You met me,” Daye replied, sighing. “That’s going to change your life, you know.”
“It already has,” Drew said. “But, I knew the day we met that I would never be the same, Amanda. I had never found myself so attracted to someone after such a short time before. Falling in love always changes a person.”
Drew turned Daye so he was looking into her eyes. “And I love you.”
Daye’s eyes misted with tears. She couldn’t believe what he’d just said. They had not known each other that long, and even though she knew he cared for her, she hadn’t expected that level of commitment so soon. For a moment, she was too overwhelmed to speak. Drew made her very happy, but she hadn’t allowed herself to consider the idea she might already be in love with him. She stood and began to walk slowly around the grove. Drew watched, thinking that telling her might have been a mistake.
“Daye, don’t get upset,” he said. “I’m rushing you. I can see that. I don’t expect you to say anything. It’s just…awkward, that’s what it is.” Drew had stopped talking to her, Daye could see that. He was pacing, now.
“You idiot, you don’t tell a woman that’s just recovered from near death that you love her without some warning,” he berated himself. “She doesn’t know what to say now. I mean, you’re a sweet guy, relatively good looking, and God knows the sex is nice, but seriously love. What were you thinking? And now you’re talking to yourself. You look like a stark raving lunatic.”
Daye was laughing by this point, completely charmed by his sudden bout of self doubt. She walked over to him and took his hand, placing a chaste kiss on his mouth. “Stop, Drew,” she ordered. “I’m not trying to think of a way to let you down easy. I just hadn’t thought about it. I like being with you. I like talking to you. As a matter of fact, I just plain like you. I haven’t considered whether I love you. Things have been a bit hectic for me the last couple of months.”
Drew nodded. “Well, of course, I know that. Most people would be a bit flummoxed from having been trapped in a warped Midsummer Nights’ Dream.”
“It’s not just that,” Daye replied. “I should tell you some other things, I guess. You have a right to know.”
Daye and Drew sat back down, and she started out by telling him all about the Cloch Closan and The Coven of Sindell, Ryan, and finally, the Watchers. When she finished, he looked a bit shell shocked.
“Are you okay?” Daye asked.
Drew nodded. “I think. Is there anything else?”
Daye shook her head. There really wasn’t anything, except, she hadn’t actually explained much about Ryan. She hadn’t told him much about her friends in L.A. either. There were demons, vampire hunters, and what all in the mix, but she hadn’t told him that. She hadn’t mentioned the strange things that had been happening to her since Kate brought her back either. Still, she had laid a lot on him. She hesitated to say more for fear of overwhelming him. It would be better to reveal everything a little at a time.
“In that case, Amanda,” Drew said, pulling her back into his embrace, “I think the conversation part of our evening is at an end. Let’s move on shall we?”
“Did you have an itinerary for this outing?” Daye teased.
“Sure,” Drew was lazily trailing kisses over her face and neck. “Uhm, I planned dinner, after dinner revelations, and post revelations sex. Didn’t you get the memo?”
Daye relaxed against Drew, running her hands over his body as he worked his own brand of magic on her. Later, much later, when they had returned to the castle and climbed into bed, Daye fell asleep wondering whether or not they would be able to find accommodating patches of wilderness when they got back to L.A.
Yet another "last" post.
March 1st.
Last Sunday’s want ads quaked in Sam’s hands. Perhaps this was because he’d woken up late for his first day of work-hunting and, therefore, had to hurry into his best pair of dirty clothes on the way out of the apartment. His shakiness was probably, in part, heightened by the four espressos that Kimmie’s money bought—a twenty dollar bill he’d found glued to the bottom of the jar of golden mayonnaise. (Occassionally such things could be found in the refrigerator.) Certainly raw nerves played their part. His skin felt positively frigid. What if he couldn’t find a job? What if Kimmie decided to throw him out into the cold? Could Sam deal with homelessness? Bob Wedge once said, “Kid, looking for work’s worse than actually workin’.” Some sayings were so close to being truisms they gave Sam the blues. Reality could be scary. He touched himself for warmth, fighting a sense of despair. His fingertips were cool against his beating chest. How was it possible that his insides could house a gallon of hot coffee and still acquiesce to the icy beating of butterfly wings? Shuddering, Sam rubbed his shoulders and glanced about the room.
The Bibliophile café, located in-between Kimmie’s apartment building and Bob’s bar, was nearly empty. Four other patrons shared the room with Sam. Two of them, a couple of old-timers, made statues of themselves over an aging game of chess. Sam did not like chess. Too complicated. Kind of stuffy, too. And people who owned chessboards usually considered themselves intellectuals. Sam finished his espresso, thinking, I’ll take them in a game of checkers any ol’ day.
Sam walked into the Highland Avenue Subway at a quarter of one and asked the girl who was working there for an application. She didn’t pause in constructing a steaming foot-long sub; still, her plastic-wrapped hand fell astray, groping below the counter, then returned with a thin stack of papers. The girl slipped them through the gap between the sanitation glass and the countertop of shiny steel. Next, her hand dove into the onion reservoir.
Sam glanced over the application. It was three pages deep!
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Sam said. “There are math questions here.”
The customer, a portly woman in a business suit, regarded Sam with disbelief, but the Subway girl said, “Just fill it out.”
“I didn’t know, um, I’d be required to take a quiz.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t think I’d be working at a Subway after obtaining my Masters.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam said. “May I use your calculator?”
“Now that would defeat the point of a quiz, now, wouldn’t it?”
The espressos were starting to disagree with Sam. The room momentarily shifted around him. But with a burst of courage, he improved his posture, fought off the dizziness, and started beaming as though he were the proudest new applicant Subway Inc. had ever seen. “I make very good sandwiches,” he said.
“I’m sure you do.”
“I use ketchup.”
“Did you say ‘ketchup’?”
“Yes. And cheese, of course. Can’t forget the cheese.”
“Well we don’t have any ketchup!” she said. “Can you count change?”
“Yes, ma’am. I can.”
“What’s your deal? Do I particularly strike you as a ‘ma’am’ or something?”
“Yes, ma’am, you do.” Sam showed her his meticulously brushed teeth so she could see he was into hygiene. He'd already made it abundantly clear that he respected his elders. She looked to be about 26 years old.
“Oh man…” The girl exhaled loudly and drew her forearm to her head. She was careful not to touch the sanitation glove to her skin. Sam, all the while pleasant, wondered if she was about to have some sort of nervous breakdown. Looked like the pressure was getting to her. She should try pulling green chain sometime; that was tough work! But Sam recognized that these thoughts were negative. He couldn’t afford to be negative.
“If you hire me, will I get to wear one of those neat shirts, ma’am?”
“Sure, fine, okay.” She lost hold of a short cackle. “Use a calculator, I don’t care. I need someone for the swing shift. I can’t keep working these doubles.”
“Great!” Sam turned with his application in hand, then stopped, turned back. “Ma’am?”
“Yes?”
“May I borrow your calculator? And a pen?”
She slapped a slice of bread on top of the hot meat. Sam withdrew in astonishment, but never broke his courteous smile, which wasn’t easy to maintain, because the girl honestly looked like she was on the verge of a conniption fit. She pressed the sandwich into place with her palms and the meatballs gushed out the sides. In one swift stroke, she shoved this mess into a baggie, tossed it on the counter, and accepted cash from the woman in the suit. All of a sudden, Sam wasn’t sure if he wanted to work here. He’d be better off getting a job that didn’t require its employees to lose their marbles.
The customer zipped up her purse and held the baggie daintily, as if she were holding a goldfish. She leaned close to Sam and said, “You can borrow my calculator, young man.”
Sam let the application float to the floor. He exited the establishment quickly, politely, smiling always. Ol’ Sam Aubrey was, if nothing else, brimming with people skills. He just had to prove it.
Someplace else.
The Alhambra Community Transit (Green Route) dropped him off on Main and 5th at 2:25 PM. He spotted a Denny’s and decided to give the place a try. The employees were moving about with alacrity, busy performing the after-lunch cleanup. The morning manager was standing behind the register. He was counting tickets. Sam looked up into his demonic face and felt the butterflies, again, bustling against the walls of his stomach. He suddenly had to pee.
“Something wrong, sir?” said the manager, whose nametag read “Mr. Washington / Asst Mngr."
“I’m sorry.” Sam stepped back. “I. . .”
“Yes, sir?”
“I thought I might get an application.”
“Oh. I see.” Mr. Washington reached into the drawer at his knees and felt around. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect you to be. . .black. . .I guess.”
The manager stood upright—taller than before—and leaned forward, resting his weight on the countertop. He bore two elephantine arms. “I prefer to think of myself as an African-American. You would be a Caucasian. Okay?” A busboy moved past them carrying a bus tub. “And that’s Chu. Chu is an Asian. If you have any hope of working here, you better learn these terms right off the bat.”
“Oh. I see.”
“What is it now?”
“Well, it’s just that, um, if I’m a Caucasian, that would make you a Negroid, wouldn’t it? And it stands to reason Chu should be called a Mongoloid. Technically.”
Mr. Washington instantly laughed, his teeth glowing yellow, his eyes ablaze. “Oh man. You’re a regular genius, aren’t you?”
His curious reaction satisfied Sam. Sam liked it when he received compliments for his occasional spurts of logic. It was a rush. “On the other hand," Sam said, "if you’re an African-American, that would make your busboy an Asian-American, not an Asian.”
“Uh-huh." Mr. Washington's joviality flew away as quickly as it had come. The man’s new expression scared Sam a little. Sam wondered if the man had confused his meaning. “And what does that make you, boy?”
“I guess that makes me a. . .I guess I’d be called an Anglo-American.” Sam’s father often used that term. “Anglo” had been a pleasant word around the house when Sam was growing up.
Sam was on a role: “But I don’t think your busboy’s an Asian, or else he’d be living in Asia. And you’re not living in Africa, are you?”
“No. I’m not.”
“There you go!” Sam said. “Now we’re talking.”
“And you’re not living in ‘Aglo.’ Are you?”
“Hm. Good point.” Sam decided he’d impressed the manager enough. Time for business. “So do you mind if I have that application now?”
“Naw. Here. Take it, boy.”
Though he handed Sam the application with extreme pleasantness, Sam didn’t know what to make of the man’s underlying grimness. Mr. Washington told Sam to return the paperwork to the general manager. He said, “Mr. Badda-Shakymuni will be in tomorrow morning at 10:30.”
“Thanks!”
“Oh! And. . .be sure to tell him all that stuff you just told me. I think he’ll be very amused.”
“Okay!” Sam said, finally bringing his lips to a close, but ne’er frowning, always happy. Things were looking up. He’d probably land a job here by the weekend at the latest. For a black man, Mr. Washington seemed a decent fellow. Sam looked forward to working with him. It would be an experience, that’s for sure! This man didn’t seem at all like a nigger. Once again, Dad was wrong. Dad was a racist. Not Sam.
Sam started whistling a happy tune. Things were going to be okay.
What are those Glowing things anyway?
23 February, 2005
Victor sat on the couch in Tash's apartment and stared at the glowing orbs in the suitcase. He had no idea where the souls to fill them had come from and he didn't want to interrogate them either. Deep inside Vrithetek was doing the mental equivalent of salivating.
*Don't worry. Everyone was busy; they'd never know if there were 12 or 13. I can barely remember (slurp) and I have (slobber) counted 287 times. Just one...the little girl. She’s the tastiest one, I'm sure. No, better yet! The priest. Like a deep red wine he'll be. All that guilt and frustration at being so pious. MMMM.*
Victor shook his head but the urge was strong. He reached out a hand and it hovered over one of the orbs. Inside he could feel the confusion and terror within. The soul of a businessman angry at this turn of events because he'd be late for his meeting. Another soul next to it called to her daughter, and elsewhere in the case a daughter called for her dad.
Victor was unsure what to do. He could try to free them but there was no guarantee they'd escape or carry on to where they belonged. This was not a natural death, so it made things uncertain. He reached into the case and was about to lift one of the orbs when Tash came out of the bedroom.
She'd awoken groggy. *Need coffee,* was all she could think. Coffee would solve the world's problems, she was sure. It would erase the memory of the nightmare in the grove. It would rebuild the third floor. It would tell her where Matthias had disappeared to. It would return everything to normal. She sighed. If only it were so easy.
Still, coffee would be good. No, necessary. Her brain felt stuffed with cotton wool. The place in the bed next to her was cold. She wondered if Victor had even bothered to lie down next to her, or whether he'd stayed up all night. She couldn't remember much beyond staggering into the flat and collapsing onto the bed.
She started to sit up and gasped. Damn, she'd forgotten about her ribs. The ribs that Sorrow had broken. Sorrow was something else the coffee wouldn't really fix. She looked down to see a stark white bandage standing out against her dusky skin. She didn't remember strapping her ribs - Victor must have done that for her. She smiled. Victor. The thought of him was enough to dispel much of the weariness she felt in her soul.
More carefully, she eased herself from the bed and stood. Her muscles protested a little at this activity, but shower and coffee would help. That was one thing coffee was good for. She could faintly hear Victor moving about in the lounge room and walked down the hall to greet him.
The smile died on her lips along with the light in her eyes when she saw him. He was cradling one of the Orbs - soul prisons he'd called them - in his hands. And she could feel the struggle within him. The strength of his desire for the soul was overpowering.
"Victor?" she called softly.
Victor dropped the orb back into the case, and it clinked noisily on the others inside. He felt guilty even though he had not done anything wrong. And yet he had held that soul and could feel it warming him inside. Like a hot bowl of soup on a winter's day it made him feel comfortable (if the commercials were to be believed). He could almost smell the purity and goodness in these souls. It was as though they had been selected carefully like lovingly baked chocolate chip cookies.
Victor looked over his shoulder at Tash and tried not to look as guilty as he felt. "I don't know what to do, Tash. It's like they are a gift, but one with a sinister purpose." His voice wavered a little in his indecision, "What can I do?"
Tash padded towards her lover, anxious to help him but unsure how to go about it. She reached the couch and knelt gingerly next to it. Next to him. She gazed into the case resting on the coffee table. The Orbs seemed to glow with a pure inner light. One especially shone with a luminescence that was almost blinding. She reached out a gloved hand, but drew it back without touching them.
"I know you have no idea how they got like this. Who would have filled them?" Tash's eyes bored into Victor's as she spoke.
"I have no idea, " he said.
He turned back to the case, his face lit by the soft golden glow. She had never realised how his angular features gave him a devilish look when lit that way.
"These souls were taken suddenly. They do not know they are dead. They are all wondering how they got from the freeway to the orbs. If I release them they may not find their way beyond. And I can't...shouldn’t eat them...that would destroy the souls. I...I...don't know what I should do!" he sobbed.
Tash rested her head against Victor's shoulder and let him cry into her hair. "Damn, I was hoping there'd be an easy way to release them. That all I had to deal with was you." She kissed the side of his neck, marvelling once more at the authenticity of his taste and texture.
"You know we have to release them. Let them go on to where they were meant to go. We just have to find a way to ensure they know to move on." She stroked his hair, ignoring the twinge the movement made in her ribs. "You have to stay strong."
"Okay, how do I do that?" he said with a bit of sarcasm in his voice, "I was only concerned with eating them all these centuries. I am not at all sure how to make them move along or even if it is possible."
Victor pushed the case a little farther away as if its proximity was more than he could resist. He stood up, drew Tash to her feet and walked her into the kitchen where he kept his eyes on the case over by the couch but could not reach it.
"The souls are easy to release. They can be smashed and that releases anything inside it. There are rites and rituals to select specific displaced souls and place them inside an orb, but those don't really guide the souls to their final destination.
“I only know about the final destination from what other souls have told me...a darkness drawing them in, or a tunnel with a bright light. I cannot see these things but they have been described to me. But they do not always come.
“Souls that are not directed somewhere just go nowhere. They wander around as less than ghosts. They are in a limbo state. I sometimes see them clustered around people or huddled in familiar places but they can't escape. I can't even reach them when they are like that. It seems to be a horrible and lonely place. And it is forever.”
Tash found herself on autopilot, making coffee as Victor explained the difficulties facing them. She shivered as he described that horrible purgatory state. They couldn't run the risk of these souls ending up like that. The coffee was ready to pour as Victor finished. She cradled the warm mug in her hands and blew on the dark brew before taking that first heavenly sip.
She looked up at Victor, standing before her with his face crumpled. Despair and uncertainty were etched on it. And longing. He was like a heroin addict desperately trying not to have that one last hit. She knew that case represented a terrible temptation for him. She had to remove it before he succumbed.
"Maybe I could help? If I touched the orbs..." Tash knew she didn't have to explain more than that. Hell, she didn't know what to explain. She had no clue how to go about this. But she had to try.
Victor frowned, "I don't know that would be a good idea. I used these orbs for when I was forced into hiding. The times I was hunted or between distant places. They have been filled and re-filled dozens of times each. Each life they have held might have left impressions. They would be memory bombs to you.
“If there were some way to call the powers’ attention to them; if there was some way they could be judged as if it were their natural time, then they would be taken as it was selected to happen."
Tash swallowed some more of her coffee to hide her consternation. She was stumped, she had to admit. The only other course of action she could think of would be to take Vrithetek into herself to see if his augmentation of her powers would enable her to guide the souls. But she wasn't sure that would work, and she really didn't want to run the risk of hosting Vrithetek again. The power rush last time had been almost too much for her. She shivered again, and placed the empty coffee mug on the kitchen bench to avoid dropping it.
Sighing, she finally answered Victor, "I don't know, love. I just don't know enough about souls and the afterlife to really do anything constructive here." Her heart sank at Victor's crestfallen expression. Gods, he'd really been counting on her to come up with an idea. And she couldn't deliver.
She grabbed his hand and held it to her lips before saying, "I can hide them for you. It'll give us time to think of a way to deal with them. I don't like the thought of them being trapped in those orbs, but we have to be sure they won't suffer if we let them go. Maybe Daye or Kate know something about this? I'll ask around. I have plenty of contacts in St. Louis still..." Tash stopped, aware she was beginning to babble.
She kissed him, "I'll hide the orbs." She smirked and pressed her naked body against his, "And do whatever I can to take your mind off them."
Duh!
24 March, 2005
Tash strolled through the shopping mall, letting the light and noise wash over her, revelling in her freedom. For four days she had been cooped up in her apartment, but today she had decided she needed to go for a walk. Alone. Unwatched.
She caught sight of her reflection in a shop window. The face in the glass looked drawn, haunted. *Dammit, I need some fun.*
An hour later she was feeling much happier. She had a stunning new outfit and come hell or high water (or apocalypse) she’d go out with Victor tonight. It was time to shake off the unpleasant memories that filled her head.
Then she stopped as a familiar sound impinged on her consciousness. She found herself swaying, then beginning a few steps of a dance. She forced her limbs to cease their involuntary movement. What had triggered this?
There. The music shop. Someone had put on a cd of African tribal music. Drums. The beat was reminiscent of the vodoun funeral rites. Suddenly angry, Tash was about to stalk off when a thought tickled the back of her brain.
Funeral drums.
Death rites.
The orbs…
She’d been trying for a month to find some way to deal with those poor, trapped souls. Now she had the answer. Ohenewaa had given her everything. She knew rites, rituals, benign ceremonies as well as evil necromancy. She stood in the middle of the mall and slapped her forehead.
“Of course!” she exclaimed.
The other shoppers bustled around her, ignoring her exclamations. The people of LA were used to dismissing far more disturbing things than a wild-looking black woman talking to herself in the shopping centre. Tash whirled and entered the music shop.
*****
25 March, 2005
Tash closed the door behind Victor. For a time she’d have the place to herself while he was off buying fittings for the new upstairs apartments. She checked for the umpteenth time that she had everything. From what she’d been able to dredge up from the vodoun witch’s memories this should be a fairly simple process. She snorted. Yeah, easy when you knew how.
Her earlier efforts had already resulted in her discovering exactly who was in each orb. That freeway ‘accident’ … she was almost certain the demon Talhu must have been responsible. It made sense – he’d want to tempt Victor from his current path, return him to the ‘good old days’ when the two of them had terrorised the countryside. Tash was very glad Talhu had disappeared into the Nether Arch. She had no idea where he might be, but at least it wasn’t Earth.
Soon the ingredients were gathered in her lounge room. The cd player was primed. She pressed play.
The drums started slowly as Tash lit the herbs bundled in the two small braziers. The scented smoke curled gently upwards. Between the braziers nestled the Thesselan Orbs. Thirteen of them, glowing with varying degrees of intensity.
Her oiled, nude body glistened as the sunlight through the windows reflected off her skin. She began to sway, a little self-consciously at first, then sinuously as the rhythm of the drums permeated her consciousness and the memories rose to the fore. She could remember performing hundreds, if not thousands, of such rites. The ritual to send the spirits of the deceased on to their final resting place with the ancestors.
The pace quickened and Tash began the central steps of the dance. A language she’d not known until four days ago poured from her mouth as she uttered the sacred words. The heavy scent from the burning herbs filled the room. Filled her nostrils. Filled her brain.
Part of her wanted to fight this. She felt her senses detaching from reality, and it frightened her. She hated to feel out of control. But it would be temporary, and it was a way to free these unfortunate souls. The only way she knew of.
So she let herself get caught up in the fervour. The smoke, the pounding drums, her own movements and chanting all combined to reduce her to a pure state of being. She no longer felt her own body. She no longer had any thoughts. She just was.
At the height of her gyrations she scooped up the first orb. She murmured the crucial words to it before hurling it to the floor. Time seemed to stop for an instant. Tash stood still, her arms flung out.
The fragile crystal shattered. As the soul spiralled upwards Tash felt it brush past her. She breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, it knew what to do. It was going home.
Only twelve to go.
Mid-Season One: Jul 06, 2005 - Aug 06, 2005
28th March, 2005
Melissa pulled over her car about a mile from the old converted windmill. Getting out of the car she watched the police finish removing the last vestiges of their investigation. She doubted they would find anything of interest. The now deceased occupant of the windmill had been a powerful magician, and his murder would not have been a simple matter. The ministry kept an eye on those independents it knew of and the death of one so powerful was always of interest.
Finally a little before sundown the last of the police vans left the scene. Waiting a few more minutes for twilight to settle across the landscape Melissa carefully drove towards the old mill. Once there she left her car and spent a few minutes prowling around the grounds. She could feel the fading echoes of wards spells, although not unusual in itself the fact that they had been sliced through without significantly disturbing their orientation was. *Definitely an expert then.*
Melissa warily continued her inspection of the gardens; she knew of perhaps a handful of magicians who were sufficiently adept to pierce the wards, and had no desire to run across any surprises whoever had done this might have left behind. Once she was certain no hidden traps lay in wait for her Melissa walked up to the door. Although there was a lock it was old and easily picked. Stepping inside Melissa spent more time checking for anything unexpected.
The only thing surprising was the sense of peace in the building. Death by violence left residual energies in the place it occurred, Melissa could read those energies like a book often she was able to perceive the entire sequence of events leading up to a death. Here though there was nothing, not even the sense of anyone living here.
Melissa sighed; it was becoming obvious that whoever had murdered the old man was a skilled magic user who had taken step to protect their identity. She would spend a few more hours making sure but she had seen enough to be reasonably sure that whoever had done this hadn't left any clues
******
30th March, 2005
Alastair swivelled back towards the entrance to the room and fixed his eyes an his aide
"Well?"
"The police turned up nothing substantive, they are putting it down to a bungled robbery."
"The ministry?"
"They sent an investigator, she reported that the murder was committed by a skilful magician or powerful demon but she was unable to identify who or what did it."
"So there is nothing leading to us?"
"No."
"And Egypt?"
"Matters are progressing as we expected."
"Good"
Days Later. . .
March 10th, 2005.
All the weeks Sam had wasted since arriving in L.A.!
All afternoon Sam had been mourning his predicament. All afternoon he had been sitting on the bench in Griffith Park watching the crazies go about their lives. Then Hesch appeared, the late sun scorching behind the man’s head, making him a gargantuan shadow. “Come on,” Hesch said. “You need a ride.” But Sam replied that he didn’t have any money. “Come on,” Hesch repeated. “I have too much time invested in you already. I ain't going to let you waste it." Sam had resisted, but next Hesch hit him with a very convincing cliche: "Will you hurry up? The meter's running." Still, Hesch kept the cab meter off during the drive. He was the closest Sam had come to finding a friend.
“I hear you’re looking for work," Hesch said.
“Where did you hear that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s that stack of applications in your hand.”
“Oh.”
“Any luck?”
“Nope.” The Denny’s had said nope, as did Bob’s Big Boy, as did Bob’s Bar, except Bob Wedge just laughed, and that meant nope, no way in Hell was he going to hire an ex-mill-worker named Sam.
“So I hear you met Killroy.”
“I did,” Sam said. He didn't want to ask where Hesch had heard that, especially if Hesch had been talking to Killroy herself. The vengeance demon didn't seem to respect Sam, while Sam still had hopes of making Al Hesch into a friend. But only if their time together amounted to minutes, not hours. Given enough time, people started to see Sam for what he was, a dope. A dope to be said nope to. “Uh, so, maybe you should take me home now.”
“Home already?”
“I’m hungry."
"How are you eating? I know for a fact that Kimmie doesn't eat. Er, I mean: she eats out."
"She's got food. I broke the lock on her pantry. It’s dusty, but there’s a lot of canned broccoli in there.”
"You broke the lock?" Hesch seemed impressed, like Sam wasn't capable of violence. "Broccoli isn't a man's meal, you know that, don'cha?"
“My mother always used to say, 'Broccoli is best.'”
“How adorable." Hesch shot a glance into the mirror and raised one of his bushy eyebrows at Sam. “Let’s go get a chili cheese dog. I’m buying. Then we’ll talk about finding you a job.”
“It’s getting late. I like to be home by dark.”
“Boy, this is L.A., not Iowa.”
Sam wanted to scream at Hesch for not warning him. Why didn’t he just come out and say this city was filled with monsters and demons? Sure, he mentioned Killroy, but he didn’t explain to Sam just what to expect. It was making Sam sick again to think about the realities of the night. “I need to go home,” he told Hesch, “I think I’m going to throw up.”
“Then roll down the window, kid,” Hesch said. “You'll feel better. Then I'll take you to a place I heard about. It's a new business. Who knows? There might be a job for you.”
“What kind of job?”
“Trust me."
“Is it entry level? I don’t have many skills.”
“If my guess is right, this is the sort of business that will teach you all you need to know. At least when it comes to getting my revenge.”
“Your revenge?” Sam asked.
“'Your revenge,’?” Hesch asked back.
“No, you just said ‘my revenge’ like you had to get revenge against somebody.”
“No, I said your revenge. Against your ex-wife. You do still want revenge against your ex-wife, don't you?"
Sam was confused. "No. Yes. No, you said, that you wanted me to get your revenge, meaning you: Al Hesch."
"I said your revenge, meaning you: Sam Aubrey."
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.”
“No. You said—”
“Do you want to pay for this cab ride yourself?” Hesch shouted. In the mirror, his eyes were panicky.
“No,” Sam said.
“I said ‘your’ revenge, okay? Okay?”
“Okay.”
How could Sam argue with his stomach doing twists? The cab pulled into Alabama Alhambra’s Drive-Through just as Sam stuck his head out the window. The voice box said, “Welcome to Alabama’s, may I take your order?” and Sam threw up green broccoli bits and milk, his entire brunch.
Hesch was wrong. He had said ‘my.’” But Sam just couldn’t argue anymore. His ears filled with Hesch's laughing and the garbled inquisitions of the voice box. He threw up everything, and then more, and then nothing. He ended in dry heaves. Silence and shudders and tears.
Oh my.
The voice box said, "So I've got a chili cheese dog, a large fry, a jumbo Dr. Pepper, and two apple pies. Will there by anything else, sir?"
Hesch gave Sam a backward glance before answering:
"Nope."
Idea Two -- Cimarron
The rest of Parasol’s road trip was uneventful; four lane highway straight as rails to LA. Hand hanging over the wheel of her baby, she took the opportunity to follow the dominoes of her thinking to Idea Two. She saw Quartzsite, Arizona fade in her rear view.
Nothing but miles upon miles of dry flat desert. And not the romantic Midnight at the Oasis desert. We're talkin' Denny’s and Dairy Queen, Ralphs and Roto-Rooter desert, iron flat between mountain ranges. Towns on the highway populated by humans whose only view to the rest of the world is cable.
This desert doesn't have art galleries or independent bookstores. It doesn't have opera or Indian-Persian-Greek-Nouveau Anything-Soul Food restaurants. It has Velveeta and Miracle Whip. High cuisine is Black Angus and damn glad for it.
*Frankly, I rather like Black Angus. Only restaurant that believes I want my steak that rare. Hmmm, Blythe already? Good, I’m in California,* she mused.
Parasol didn’t feel superior, though. She felt everybody had to make their own way through life and strange as it may sound from someone whose existence is fundamentally parasitic, she thought as long as they didn’t hurt anyone… But, you don’t get to be 170 years old being a fool. This was survivalist, right to bear arms, "You colored?" country and Parasol tried her best to keep a low profile; no mean feat for her car.
Which brought Parasol to Idea Two.
Los Angeles was not new to her. She made the trip many times from horse to covered wagon to broke-down jalopy to train. In 1865 on her way west by horse with Dresser to buy property, they got stuck at Ft. Seldon, New Mexico under attack from “Injuns.” Their lives, or at least Dresser’s, were defended by one of the first encampments of Buffalo Soldiers in the Wild West. Parasol hated watching those magnificent soldiers and glorious aboriginals killing each other. It seemed so pointless. But a fight is a fight and more than a few Indians died beneath her teeth that night.
Actually, she lived in Los Angeles during the 40s when Central Avenue was the West Coast’s Harlem, full of life and art and music and ribs. That’s when she met the object of the implementation of Idea Two, Mrs. Luck Prosper.
*Desert Center already? Boredom travels fast.*
Mrs. Prosper was a Haitian woman, old as air in 1944 when she met her and Parasol suspected was still old today. She did all that Santa Ria geechee mess that Parasol, for the most part, had no use for: chicken feathers, goat’s blood, throwing bones, curses, spells – that kind of geech. Mrs. Prosper knew what Parasol was immediately. She laid eyes on Parasol in the M&Ms soul food joint on Crenshaw and whispered in her ear “le souffle de l'enfer.” Parasol looked up at the decrepit old woman leaning over her table and tilted her head. Hell’s breath; that was a new one.
They became not friends exactly, but mutually respectful acquaintances. Parasol was well aware of the degree of evil she, a vampire, could level but she did it herself and only when necessary. Mrs. Prosper was something else altogether. She solicited evil; they had a personal relationship. She asked it in her home to “sit a while” and traded things, valuable personal things, for what evil could accomplish on her behalf.
Mrs. Prosper was a powerful old woman who had no fear of Parasol. Parasol was a guest at her house many times, mostly because the old woman remembered the era when Parasol was human, and Parasol liked reminiscing with her.
On one occasion, Mrs. Prosper pulled out from behind her plastic covered couch a large box made of what looked like skin stretched over bones. The old woman opened the top and looked in, poking around with her boney fingers, muttering French, sending chills down Parasol’s spine. Mrs. Prosper sighed, closed her eyes and held her head back. She suddenly opened her eyes and looked at Parasol with fear in her eyes for the first time. She told Parasol that she was different from other vampires. Mrs. Prosper wouldn’t tell Parasol what the difference was or how or why. Parasol desperately wanted to know but didn’t want to pay whatever the price might be; evil’s coffers were full enough of her dearest items.
*Coachella. Palm Springs. Banning. Redlands. Pomona. LA – at last.*
Parasol exited the 105 at Crenshaw, heading south to El Segundo, then east to Cimarron. She turned down Cimarron and pulled the Sunliner onto a side street and got out. Parasol hoped she caught Mrs. Prosper home and willing to cast this one spell.
Many abilities were attendant to the affliction of vampirism. Parasol particularly grew to like the ability to lurk. She could literally disappear into shadows. She could be wearing bright “’ho’ red,” as her mother called it, but if Parasol wanted to melt into the dark, she and the colors would just fade to black.
Parasol walked up Cimarron Avenue, lurking in the shadows of the trees lining the quiet street. Parasol looked at her watch. She had a couple of hours until sunrise, enough time to get what she needed from Mrs. Prosper, find a hotel and at last, contact Chinaka. A man from the house right behind her slammed his front door and headed for his car; probably off to work at the post office or driving a bus. Parasol froze in the shadow of the palm tree. He was less than 10 feet away from Parasol as he backed the car down the driveway. He looked dead at her, didn’t see her and drove off. *Lurking is…just...neat.*
Parasol walked across the street to Mrs. Prosper’s house, heels clicking on the pavement. She kept her eyes sharp, looking around; there was something unique on the street, out of place, but it stayed on the outskirts of Parasol’s attention.
Halfway across the street, she heard a crash. All senses turned up high, Parasol ran to the side of the house on the wall of the garage and hugged it close, sliding along the wall up to a window where light was shining through.
Parasol peeked through the half inch under the drawn shade just as the light went out. In the dark, she could see that the room was bare and littered with papers and debris. She sensed several people in there, but she just couldn’t see anyone through the tiny vantage, except for someone that was curled in a ball on the floor. Its shape was too young to be Mrs. Prosper, but the old woman was tricky. It could be her.
Parasol slid along the wall back the way she came, all the way around to the rear of the house. The back door was to her right and opened. She stepped to the door gingerly, ears pricked up to hear anything from inside the house. Her back to the wall beside the door, she rolled her head against the jamb to just get the peripheral of her eyesight around the door. Seeing nothing, she turned her head a little farther into the doorway. Nothing.
She turned a little farther, shifting most of her weight to her right leg. Still nothing. Feeling reasonably safe, she pivoted on her right leg to move most of her body into the doorway and promptly got a face full of leather-clad fist bursting stars behind her eyes.
*Idea Two? BAAAD.*
Before the last of her consciousness faded away, she took a look up into the face of an economy-sized vampire all in leather, vamped out, grinning and grabbing her by the lapels of her jacket, and she passed out.
Idea Two -- Caught
“Well now, ain’t you fine? She’s fine, ain’t she?” Parasol heard a slight West Indian patois at the edge of consciousness.
“Fine.”
“Fine. I’d drink her bath water.”
Parasol scrunched her eyes closed to allay the pain behind her eyes. She smelled old bloody breath and opened one eye to see Gigantor Guy squatting five inches from her face. She hung her head and opened the other swollen eye as much as she could. She looked down to regard her position.
Parasol was propped sitting on her hip on the floor, twisted with her knees to the left and her hands tied by rope to her feet to the right. She tasted her own thin blood in her mouth and wanted to spit, but her mouth was duct taped shut. She looked around the room. The room was empty save for a small table and chair by the wall leading to the front door. The body she had seen through the window was still curled up about a foot away from her. She still didn’t know if it was Mrs. Prosper. There were two other skinny vamps beside Gigantor Guy standing in close proximity, looking down at her.
“I’m gonna drink you without the bath water back,” Gigantor whispered at her, mouth open, smirking at her.
Parasol coughed through her nose and looked at the body beside her.
A voice with a thicker West Indian lilt came out of the shadows of one of the bedrooms of the house. “No, that’s not the old geechee woman.” The voice walked into the scarce light of the room. “Happily, all the old geechee women are finally dead, including Mrs. Prosper.” Parasol looked up to see a vampire, cleanly if modestly dressed. He had his hands in the pockets of his chinos as he walked toward her.
Parasol hung her head.
The vampire walked over by Gigantor Guy and tapped him on the shoulder. Gigantor sighed, stood up and strode to the table and hung a butt cheek on it. The table whined about it. He continued grinning at her. The chino vampire took Gigantor’s place, squatting beside her. The two skinny vamps scurried off into the bedrooms. Parasol could hear things falling and being thrown, as if they were looking for something.
“All the old geechee women – they got greedy with life, d’y’know. But – do you really care?” he asked.
Parasol watched him.
“Where do you know Mrs. Prosper from? I’m just curious. You don’t seem like the kind of girl who would hold truck with such a geechee woman. Oh, that’s right.” He fingered the tape on her mouth. “You can’t really answer,” he said with mock sorrow.
Parasol continued to watch him.
The vampire sniffed at her hair and twirled a curl around his fingers. “Ahh, but then you’re not a girl.”
Parasol looked at him through her hair with even eyes.
“We didn’t really expect you, pretty vampire,” he said quietly. “But as long as you’re here, perhaps you can help us. If I take that tape off of you, will you promise to behave like the lady I am very, very sure you are?”
Gigantor Guy piped up. “Um, Ken?”
“Sshhh,” Ken hissed and shook his finger. “Did I not distinctly instruct there was to be no mention of names!” He turned to Parasol and sighed. “Now we will surely have to kill you. But we can still take the tape off, no?”
Parasol looked at him and finally nodded.
Ken gave her a ragged smile and ripped the tape off her mouth. “OW!!” Parasol screamed. Ken looked back smiling at his cronies. She took the unguarded opportunity to shift her body a bit, just enough to put her ankles and hands a little further out of view.
“Nice touch…Ken.” Parasol moved her mouth around to get the muscles going. “What’s your pet mammoth’s name?” she croaked.
Ken whipped his head back to Parasol and stood up sharply. “Please refer to my brother as Mr. Pet Mammoth – if you don’t mind.”
“Oh. So…who got the brains in the family?” Parasol asked sincerely, twisting her right hand further right loosening the ropes a bit.
Ken chuckled, “Actually, those other two in there share it. You’re awfully cheeky for one who will shortly be blowing in the wind.”
“Family night. Touching.” Parasol smiled. “So what are you doing in Mrs. Prosper’s house?” Parasol continued twisting her left wrist, loosening the rope.
Suddenly, the body lying with its back to the room, moaned and shifted closer to Parasol, laying its head and hands on her wrists and feet. The vampires seemed a bit startled but disinterested.
*Dammit. Don’t move! Dammit…Idea Two? Baaad.*
Suddenly, Parasol felt small fingers touching and working at the knots in the ropes. She didn’t dare look down. There was something familiar about the body. She knew the vampires had bitten it; she smelled blood on the body.
Ken regarded her with pursed lips. “You’ve been so rude, I don’t believe I should tell you.”
“Aw, come on Ken. You said before, maybe I can help you?” The fingers continued to work at the knots.
“Say you’re sorry for calling my pet mammoth a pet mammoth.”
Parasol looked at the vamp she came to lovingly think of as Gigantor Guy and said, “I’m sorry Mr. Pet Mammoth.”
“There, Mammoth, you see. She’s sorry.”
Mammoth sulked, “She doesn’t mean it. And anyway, how’d she know my name.”
Ken looked at his brother incredulously, and said dryly, “Lucky guess.” He turned to Parasol, “It was a lucky guess, right?”
“Right,” Parasol nodded, “lucky, lucky guess.” Her hands were free and her feet about to be.
Ken suddenly kicked the only chair in the room, breaking the legs off. He stooped down to pick one up and walked purposefully toward Parasol. “Well – clever, and fine, as you are…”
“Ken, wait – wait,” Parasol shouted. “Are you looking for a box made out of skin and bones?”
Ken screeched to a halt. Pet Mammoth stood up from torturing the poor table. Frick and Frack ran out of the bedrooms.
“Yes! Yes!” Ken was thrumming. “You know the Cadre D'âmes?”
“Obviously,” Parasol said coyly. “So, please drop the coffin nail or,” she sang, “I’ll never te-ell.” She smiled, regarding all of them cheerily.
Idea Two -- Surprise
Ken dropped the chair leg. “I really didn’t want to kill you, sugar, dontcha know.”
“And I really didn’t want to die. It’s nice when things work out, isn’t it.” The fingers had finally worked the knots in her hands free. Parasol kept them behind her until an opportune moment when she might gain the upper hand.
“Now about the Cadre D'âmes.” Parasol continued. “Before I go giving up my only advantage, I want to know why YOU want it.”
The vamps all looked at each other.
“That’s okay. Talk among yourselves. I’ll stay here,” and she started whistling the Jeopardy theme.
Ken hitched his head to the bedroom and Mammoth and the Brain Brothers followed him in. Parasol waited until they were all in the bedroom and looked back at her hands and feet. They were free. She picked up her hands and shook them, getting the muscles working. If she was going to fight four vamps, she had to be in better form than she was. Keeping her eyes on the door to the bedroom, she bent over and whispered in the body’s ear.
“Thanks, whoever you are. Did they drain you?” Parasol’s eyes were still glued to the bedroom door. “Listen – there are four of them. I can most likely take the three that don’t tip the house. Mammoth is another story. If you’re strong enough, I could probably use some help.”
Parasol glanced down for a hot second and took her breath in sharply. Smiling wanly up at her through matted hair was her great great great great great grand-daughter.
“Don’t worry, Auntie Parasol. I’ve got a pocketful of Holy Water.”
Idea Two -- Two Great Minds
“Chinaka!! What are you…” Parasol hissed.
“Not now, Auntie Parasol.” Chinaka rolled away from Parasol and shakily grabbed the other three legs of the broken chair. She smiled weakly. “They won’t expect me to help,” and handed one leg to Parasol. “Just stay out of the way of the Holy Water.”
The vampires were arguing loudly in the bedroom.
Parasol blinked her eyes several times to get used to the notions whirling around her head. Chinaka was here in Mrs. Prosper’s house, she was probably a couple of quarts low, she knew that Parasol was a vampire, AND they were probably both going to die here – Parasol into dust and Chinaka from blood loss, if she was lucky.
The vampires were flinging names at each other.
Parasol was thinking hard. She wanted Chinaka to live past her 24 years alive, not a vampire. She looked at the bedroom door. They’d be coming out any second…any second. Parasol wracked her brain for an idea that wasn’t numbered two. An idea…any idea. She looked at the floor. She looked at the bedroom door again. She closed her eyes…and the logic god blessed her.
Mammoth was accusing the Brain Brothers of stealing his bike.
“Chinaka?” she whispered. Chinaka nodded. “You’re going to have to have a truckload of trust here. We’re not going to die here, I promise.” Chinaka looked at her with trusting eyes. “You’re really weak, aren’t you?” Chinaka nodded again. “Okay…Okay…please, please, please…trust me.” She looked levelly at Chinaka and vamped.
Chinaka’s body recoiled from Parasol. Parasol bit at the middle finger of her own left hand and pinched it, bringing her blood to the surface. Parasol looked into Chinaka’s wide eyes and said, “Only a half of a half of a drop. We need you stronger.”
Chinaka shook her head no.
“They bit you, I didn’t. It’ll just make you strong enough to fight them.”
The Brain Brothers whined Mammoth deserved to get his bike stolen for telling Marlene Williams that they liked her.
“Please trust me, Chinaka.” Parasol pleaded. “I’ve known all of you all of your lives.” Parasol looked desperately at the door.
“Chinaka, I want to cradle your granddaughter,” Parasol whispered, with a catch in her voice.
Ken called Mammoth a big baby.
Tears sprang to Chinaka’s eyes and she put her arms around Parasol’s neck. Parasol gently pulled Chinaka’s arms from around her and squeezed her finger again to bring the blood. She took the fingernail of the pinky of her other hand and divided the blood drop once and divided that again with the nail of the pinky of her other hand and touched Chinaka’s lips with it.
“Lick your lips.” Parasol felt her face unvamp.
Mammoth yelled who made Ken head vamp in charge.
Chinaka said, “I don’t feel anything.”
The vamps started making sounds like their issues were over. The women could hear them moving toward the door into the living room.
“I don’t think you will. Okay, stay down as long as you can, stake anyone you can who’s not me, and use the holy water to guide the fight.” Chinaka nodded and rolled over with her back to the room, chair legs against her torso in the front of her. Parasol put the other chair leg behind her, twisted her knees left and grabbed her ankles to the right, and started whistling the last phrase from the Jeopardy theme.
The vamps entered the room.
“Have you guys ever thought about family counseling?” Parasol quipped.
Ken sighed. “The Cadre D'âmes holds something of value to us,” and said no more.
“Well, duh. You really ought to see if you can sublease that brain from Frick and Frack.”
Mammoth snarled, “We’ve decided that’s all you need to know. That and you get to live.”
“Really? ‘Cause it sounded like you decided you want your bike back. But, okay, living’s good.”
Ken smiled. “It is, love,” then hissed through clenched teeth, “now where’s the Cadre D'âmes?”
Parasol pulled her feet slightly from under Chinaka’s head.
“Ken, honey, I’ll tell you…but you gotta loosen the ropes a little.”
“Tsk, tsk.” Ken shook his finger at her.
Parasol smiled. “I just want to get my thong out of my ass.”
They smiled at each other, walked over to her and bent down to get a closer look.
*I know what boys like…boys like.*
Parasol could hear the adrenaline pumping against her eardrums and vamped. She swiveled on her hip, swinging her legs, smacking Frick’s left ear into Frack’s right. She reached behind her, grabbed the chair leg, hopped her weight to her knees and swung her arm up. She let go of a primal grunt and drove the chair leg into Frick’s heart then Frack’s before Ken and Mammoth could get it together to move. They exploded to dust all over their brothers.
Mammoth put his hands up to his face wiping what was left of his brothers out of his eyes and sobbed. Ken’s eyes were big as saucers. They both vamped.
Parasol jumped to her feet, reached down and pulled Ken to his feet. He smacked her arm, sending the leg bouncing across the carpet. She balled up her fist and hit him on the bridge of his nose. He tried to back up toward the other side of the room. Parasol wouldn’t let him go and hit him again in the same spot for good measure. He backed up some more and she hit him again.
When she was about to hit him for the fourth time, Mammoth grabbed her arm whirling her away from Ken and started toward her yelling and moving his arms up and down like a diseased crow.
Ken wailed at Mammoth, “Kill her. Kill her.”
Mammoth was just about to grab Parasol’s lapels again when a bottle of holy water exploded on his boots, setting them smoking. Parasol had to skitter out of the way to miss the splatter.
All three of them looked over to the other side of the room. Chinaka was standing up at her full height, two more bottles of holy water in her hands, stakes stuck in her waistband, eyes aflame and looking for all the world like Xena.
“Get away from my auntie, you big ass mother…”
“Chinaka!” Parasol warned and ducked around to the other side of Mammoth, arm out waiting to catch the other chair leg Chinaka was throwing to her as she was running past the fray. It connected smack in the middle of Parasol’s palm and she drove it into Mammoth’s heart through his back. It sounded like someone fired a gun and Mammoth flew into a ton of dust.
Parasol was spitting out Mammoth dust as she whirled to deal with Ken, but caught only the sight of Chinaka standing in front of his disintegrating frame.
Chinaka’s chest was heaving and she was looking hard at the space Ken had just moments ago occupied. She was sweating profusely and the veins in her arms were visibly pumping.
The room was suddenly quiet.
Parasol’s face went back to normal. She walked over to Chinaka who was still looking at the space where Ken was. Parasol could smell the blood in Chinaka’s body, full of adrenaline and endorphins. Had Chinaka not been product of her offspring, it may have been too much to resist. But as it was, this woman before her was what Parasol had chosen this vampire life for. Chinaka was magnificent.
Parasol pulled Chinaka’s hair back to look at her neck. The wounds had already healed, no doubt a side effect of the drop of blood. The two women looked at each other, hugged tightly and then quietly walked down the hallway out of the front door.
They stood on the front walk of the house.
“So, I’m not going to be a vampire?”
“No, sweetie, you have to take a good long drink of the vamp that bit you.”
“Good, although your blood is kinda kickin’.”
Parasol smiled and took a hard sniff. “It’s gonna be dawn soon. I’d better find a hotel or something. The house is too far away. You moved into the house, right?”
“Yeah. It’s beautiful.” Chinaka was quiet for a moment. “You can smell sunrise?”
“Yep. The way you can smell rain.”
They walked a little farther down the walk.
“Chinaka, what the hell were you doing at Mrs. Prosper’s?”
Chinaka looked chagrined. “I wanted a protection spell.”
Parasol got worried again. “A protection spell!? What for?”
“That.” Chinaka pointed to the classic MGB Parasol had passed on her way in.
*That’s what was out of place…*
“A car! You risked your life, messin’ with that hoodoo geechee mess for a car!”
Chinaka was defensive. “Yeah. But look at her. She’s a really sweet car and this is LA. Hey…” Chinaka continued, “what were you here to see Mrs. Prosper for?”
“Um…well…nothing...really.” Parasol suddenly became concerned with the lightening sky. “We were old friends.”
“Riiight. You still got that Sunliner, dontcha?”
“Yes…well…”
“Uh, huh. Run that innocent mess past someone who didn’t DRINK YOUR BLOOD.”
Parasol smiled at Chinaka and they stood silent at the curb for a few moments, looking at the MGB.
Chinaka chuckled. “What is it about us folks and our rides?”
“Hey dollface, we just do it like that. Gimme a ride to my baby?”
Mid-Season One: Jul 06, 2005 - Aug 06, 2005
Jade lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, trying desperately to calm her heart. Shifting slightly, she felt something crunch beneath her shoe. "Errrm... Tris?"
"Yes... Wait a minute..." When Sorrow managed to get his torch working, the beam illuminated hundreds, maybe thousands of insects crawling on the floor in front of them... "Jesus! Get back!" Even as he spoke, Sorrow was on his feet...
Jade was already scrabbling backwards. The wound on her arm had started to bleed again from her jerky movements but that, at the moment, was the least of her problems. Unless she was sadly mistaken, besides the Scarab Beetles inching towards them, the creepy-crawlies also included the deadly Buthus Scorpions... Since the fatality from these insects' poisons increased with its numbers, such masses of them could mean a rapid and extremely painful death for them both.
"Jade! The sulfur! Fling the damn sulfur at them!" Sorrow wasn't too sure if that would work but he reckoned that they had nothing to lose. Jade fumbled around for the packet of sulfur powder she'd kept in her waist pouch and ripped it open. With a heave, she scattered the entire bag in a protective arc around them.
At first, it seemed that did the trick. The insects' advance halted and they seethed around the circumference of yellow powder, almost as if they were deliberating about the extent of harm the sulfur posed and shirking away from it... However, Jade and Sorrow's relief was short-lived. Apparently, the effect of sulfur on members of the insect kingdom was not as dire as it was on reptiles.
"It's not working! They're crawling straight over it!" Jade's voice was hoarse with fear.
"Keep your movements slow when you back away..." Sorrow cautioned as his eyes snapped left and right, searching for a means of escape. They were in a straight underground tunnel of some sort that stretched on for about a hundred meters.
Sorrow saw a golden glow coming from what looked like a door at the far end and figured that was where they needed to go - that was the heart of the tomb... The problem now was how to get over the fifty foot carpet of Scarabs and Scorpions they had in front of them.
Try as she might, Jade could not still the trembling in her legs and prayed that they'd hold out a little longer. Riveted as her eyes were to the floor, Jade failed to notice that she and Sorrow had retreated all the way to the end of the tunnel until her back brushed against the wet, creeper-covered wall.
"Oh gross! Huh? Wha-" As she lifted a hand to brush the slimy, dripping root away, Jade jumped as it suddenly vised around her wrist. Before she could yank herself free, several others slithered around her waist. "Tris!" Jade screamed, struggling futilely against their hold.
Sensing that their prey was within their grasps, the Buthus Scorpions' pincers started to make small "clicking" noises, their tails glistened with venom as they came closer... Less than ten feet separated them and Jade...
Hunting knife in hand, Sorrow slashed frantically at the snarls that held Jade imprisoned. He managed to cut through several of them and freed her before the roots, somehow sensing a new threat to their wellbeing, curled themselves in a stranglehold around his own arms, shoulders and legs.
Sorrow's knife clattered to the floor as he choked and released his grip on it to pull at a creeper wrapping itself around his neck... He dragged the offending vine from his throat only to have more shoots "attack", their slippery feelers coiling into an unbreakable, smothering web.
With nowhere to run, Jade's freedom had been brief. She was once again thickly ensnared and practically indistinguishable from the tunnel wall, so thick were the roots and creepers. The only part of her visible was her face, which was bone white and filled with fear.
Sorrow concentrated on his fallen knife, faltering slightly when the vines continued to tighten their grip and unconsciousness threatened. *Get a grip!* He snapped at himself mentally, all the while fighting down the rising panic. Slowly, the knife rose into the air.
Click click click click! Even as the knife sawed at the stems that bound them to the wall, the scorpions moved closer... Though Sorrow was managing to keep their throats clear of the vines, they were held immobile, with no means to escape the masses of lethal insects which were now barely two feet away.
Sorrow took a deep breath and let the knife fall from his mind grip. There were too many vines and he would need something more drastic to free himself and Jade. He had avoided using magic before, not wanting to risk the backlash crippling or hindering him when they were so far away from civilisation. Now, it was apparent that he had no other choice.
Gritting his teeth, Sorrow closed his eyes, unblocked the channels of his magical energy and focused on the vines. Knowing that their growth and movement was unnatural and driven by powerful magic, Sorrow sought the source of that magic. Upon finding it, he severed the link with a blast of pure power.
With a loud hiss, the vines withered away, crumbling into a dull grey powder... But it was too late. As the vines fell away from their bodies, Jade's anguished cry echoed down the tunnel. A couple of scorpions clung to the flesh of her thighs. Sorrow watched in horror as the stingers flicked forward repeatedly, piercing through the skin.
Lunging forward, Sorrow yanked the scorpions off and flung them aside. Jade whimpered as agony flared through the limb and would have crumpled onto the floor had Sorrow not been holding her up. An unspeakable rage rising in him, Sorrow laid his lover down gently and whipped around to face their predators, his face contorted with fury. *I've had enough of these games!*
Mere meters away lay a lake of red hot magma. Sorrow reached for this ready source of heat and flame, he incanted and brought it from there to here...
A blazing holocaust of flame leapt down the corridor. It incinerated every scarab, scorpion and insect that lay between Sorrow and his goal. It turned the walls a dull cherry red and sucked practically every last molecule of oxygen out of the corridor...
Just as quickly as they flared up, the flames died and air rushed back into the tunnel. The walls clinked as they slowly cooled, yet Sorrow hardly noticed. He looked at the two scorpions that had survived his incandescent rage and ground them to a pulp. He then bent down to cradle Jade in his arms, careful not to touch the two angry red circles that marred her legs.
"Tris..." Jade's voice was barely more than a whisper. "You... used magic... The backlash..." Her hand reached out for his just as it hit. Sorrow doubled over, the sharp pain stabbing repeatedly through his skull, making him gag and retch.
With a supreme effort, Jade sat up and dug out a small bottle of pills. Crawling over to Sorrow, she tried to hold him still as she placed two Imitrex capsules in his mouth and tilted his head back. He swallowed hard then curled his body around hers when she collapsed, unable to do anything else as he waited for the worst of the agony to subside.
Finally, Sorrow pushed himself upright and lifted Jade into his arms. "Hold on love. I'm getting us out of her now. Just hold on till we get you to a hospital!" Jade's skin was icy and she was fading in and out of consciousness. The venom from the stings was already beginning to affect her nervous system and Sorrow guessed that without treatment, she would probably die within a few hours. The thought filled him with a cold terror and he kicked at the stone door in frustration when it failed to budge.
"No..." Caught up as he was in his own private despair, Sorrow did not feel the slight pressure Jade was applying on his arm till she choked out that single word.
"What?"
"No." She repeated more empathically. "You can't give up now Tris. We've come too far and been through too much to turn back and leave without the Scrolls now." Jade's voice might have been weak but the stubborn determination behind it was unmistakable. "I'm fine... Ok," she admitted, "not that fine, but I can still bear with the pain... This is the only chance we've got Tris. We can't just let it go!"
Sorrow hesitated, the turmoil he felt evident on his face...
there is no date: This is a "What If?" story...
What if Talhu didn't COMPLETELY escape through the Cloch Cosan?
-----
Talhu fell. It was only about 8 feet, but the sand he landed in wasn't soft by any stretch of the imagination. He laid there in the warm sand for a moment before sitting up and pulling the crossbow bold out of his head. * That hurt like hell * he thought as he was passing out from the pain.
He woke up and it was dark. He had no idea how long he'd been asleep. The trampling feet of the army that had marched on him had smashed his watch. He looked around for the first time and saw all the way to the horizon. There was nothing but sand and weird scrubby bushes as far as he could see.
He looked into the sky and saw one moon. * Must be an alternate dimension; a counter Earth. At least its not a Hell dimension. I guess if it’s a counter-earth then the compass points are probably the same. I wonder what's different here? I wonder if they have donuts that fall from the sky or they don't have the letter "J"? *
Talhu walked across the desert. He'd have flown or cast a speed spell but he thought he had better conserve his strength. There was no telling how long he'd be out here. The second day he saw a contrail in the sky. * They have planes. That’s a positive sign.* he thought.
The sun was drying him badly. His eyes were swollen and his skin had shrunk so that they bulged out of his head. His lips were beginning to withdraw from his teeth. He'd been to this stage before back in the old days and he'd had to spend a few days eating serving girls as they brought water and oils to soak in. He wasn't sure how long it would be before he could eat again, so he kept on walking and drying up.
He was sure it was a mirage. And when he got there he realized that the shimmering water he'd seen was indeed a trick of the heat. But the dried up lakebed was evidence that he would have no relief from the brutal heat any time soon. Talhu fell down and laid face down waiting for the sun to dry him into a mummy. It was a boring life, but mummies got found from time to time. Whoever found him he'd drain and keep going.
It took less time than he thought. Only eight days later he heard a helicopter fly over. He could not move because the fluid that filled his joints had dried up and his body looked more like a skeleton than a human. He was actually glad to see them because the vultures that had come and pecked at him before deciding he was inedible were beginning to piss him off.
Talhu could not open his eyes and doubted that he could see anything even if he could. His eyes were dried up raisins in his head by now. But helicopters worked out of places where there were lots of happy meals on legs. * Who was it that said that? * he wondered idly.
Talhu listened in on the conversation as they flew back:
Voice 1: You have to be kidding, another one? What s the matter, they don't teach them how to fly? And why do you think they keep crashing here?
Voice 2: If you ask me its because Earth is right at the edge of a tricky jump point or something. I think they aren't told about it and they get caught in the gravity well and crash.
{a sound of someone slapping a helmet}
Voice 1: You have GOT to stop watching the Sci-Fi network. That stuff has corrupted your brains. I think it’s the oxygen in the atmosphere. It's corrosive you know. I think it makes their ships break down.
Voice 2: Yeah look what it did to this one.
Voice 1: Nah, this poor guy was dehydrated. He's probably an abductee who escaped from the wreckage. OR maybe he was a "truth seeker" who got lost. Funny thing, if he'd gone another 30 miles he'd have found more truth than he could shake a stick at.
Voice 2: (laughs) Oh yeah, the saucer flight line. Bet he would have felt vindicated for all his paranoia and mistrust over the years. Well, before the sharpshooter shot him that is.
Voice 1: (laughing) Yep, I love seeing them come over that ridge, "Its all true! Ugh!" then THUMP into the sand.
Voice 2: Except that one guy, remember him?
Voice 1: The bomb guy?
Voice 2: Yeah! That one. He came over the rise and burst into flame. Whatta you think that was?
Voice 1: I think he was a vampire, if you ask me. It did happen at dawn.
Voice 2: I think his brain overamped from the truth and he spontaneously combusted. It could happen.
Voice 1: (a little condescending) Don't you think that if there was a way to make people spontaneously combust that they would have figured it out by now? Be real. Spontaneous human combustion is a myth. Vampires are real.
Voice 2: Yeah, and demons and stuff. I know. So what do we do with these bodies when we find them? I never done anything like this before.
Voice 1: I really don't know. I think the eggheads take them into their labs and dissect them. If it's human they take the bits and feed them to the menagerie. If not then they go into pickle jars for study later. (he tapped Talhu with a boot) This one isn't fit for eating. (laughing) unless you like beef jerky!
Voice 2: (Cracks up) Ha! Beef Jerky! That’s a good one!
Talhu had had enough of this witty banter, and was actually relieved to feel the helicopter setting down. When the hands of the two men touched him he drained them without even a twinge. He felt the vitality rush back into his desiccated body. He felt his eyeballs pop back into shape and his joints go from rigid to stiff to moving fluidly again. His lips and face relaxed into a normal shape and he felt pretty good for the first time in more than a week.
He hopped out of the helicopter bay as 4 MPs ran forward with guns and pointed them at him. He dropped and rolled under the craft and stood on the other side and ran about 5 steps and stopped. The Apache helicopter hovering in front of him with the Vulcan cannons mounted on the nose of it had persuaded him to hold his ground.
Men in hazmat suits came out and guided him into the nondescript hanger and down into a gleaming stainless steel lab. They took him into a chamber separated by thick Lucite panels. Once outside the sliding door locked and Talhu stood there wondering who these guys were, and how the hell was he going to get out of this mess.
* 'They' are the US Government Department of Supernatural and Extraterrestrial affairs. The DSE. The DSE has "quarantined" you. And I can tell you that they will feed you and keep you clean. You might even get to like it. But the bottom line is, you don't get to leave. *
Talhu hated telepaths and sent a blistering feedback wave that a Yogi in Burma had taught him. He knew it must have caused a bit of a headache because the voice stopped. * The DSE, huh? Well he'd get out. He had fed, and while not full, he was powerful enough.
He began to raise the temperature of the stainless steel walls. The Lucite blistered and bubbled. He saw small flicks of fire at the edges, and one of the panels was beginning to shift. The zinc rivets melted and places of the wall glowed red. The security panel sparked as insulation on wires melted and shorts occurred.
He was still and concentrating. The waves of heat made the air ripple and twist. Then a bright spike of pain coursed through his body. He lost control of the heat and his clothing burst into flames. His flesh blistered, peeled and began to char in places. Cool foam poured into the room and the heat began to subside. Talhu heard someone say, "Simple spellcaster. The mind spike made him lose concentration. Be sure to set up the neural static field around him until he gets the idea."
Talhu was soaking in a bathtub full of greenish liquid. His burns were just puckered places on his skin now, so he must have been here a few days. There was a man in a lab coat and thick black horn rimmed glasses sitting at a desk behind one of those Lucite panels.
"Mister Demon Spellcaster. So nice of you to have joined us."
"Pravus"
"Mr. Pravus, then. The Department of the Supernatural and Extraterrestrial Affairs has quarantined you for the good of the public. You do not have any rights under the US laws because you are not human. Therefore you do not have any appeal. We are not trying to study you, recruit you, or even reform you. We might, if it suits us or if you prove to be a problem, attempt to kill you, but frankly it's too much bother. So we never do. You can't escape. You can't kill yourself. Judging from the physiology report I have, you can't die. So you are a permanent guest.
"Every week you'll be introduced to a prisoner who has been sentenced to death and you can eat them, sex them, drain them, convert them or whatever it is you do to them. Our doctors have determined you have no digestive system. That’s always a flag for your kind that prey on humans."
"You have been given the designation 'Demon 56926'. However, if you care to illuminate us onto who and what you are, that will help us determine how to best deal with you. If you cooperate and if it is possible we will deport you to your home dimension. Do you understand your situation?"
Talhu sat there in the tub of green fluid. In a low voice he said, "I get it. I'm fucked"
The man stood up from his desk and straightened the stack of papers in front of him. "Yep, I'll note the intelligence on your record too. Not everyone gets it the first time," he said as he walked out the door leaving Talhu alone, trapped and in a tub of goo.
Mid-Season One: Jul 06, 2005 - Aug 06, 2005
In the end, it was the simple fact that there was no way back that made up Sorrow's mind. Behind him was solid stone door they had no apparent way of opening, and beyond that was a red-hot lake of lava. Onwards was the only choice he had. Sorrow held Jade tighter; despite the heat that leaked through the barrier he had raised, Jade was shivering with cold.
"Hang on love, we're almost finished." Fighting the nausea brought on by his use of magic and light-headed from the painkillers, Sorrow walked unsteadily down the corridor.
When Sorrow stepped into the chamber beyond, he gasped. Laying Jade down, well away from the entrance to the room, he shone his torch around the circular chamber. He was surrounded by gold! Every surface was covered in gold - the walls, the ceiling, even the floor... Sorrow quickly unshuttered his torch, turning it into a simple lantern... The light it cast reflected from every surface, filling the vault with a rich warm glow. The radiance revealed a simple obsidian sarcophagus at the very heart of the chamber.
Sorrow stepped up to the coffin and ran his hand along the gold inlaid slab that sealed Sayyed ash-Shazli's final resting place. Avoiding the razor sharp edges of the lid and ignoring the dire prediction of doom written atop the sarcophagus, Sorrow slid a crowbar out from his pack and, using it as a lever, used every ounce of strength he had to heave the slab aside.
It crashed to one side with a resounding boom and split into three pieces...
Within the tomb lay the desiccated remains of Sayyed, his limbs weighed down with iron chains. Around a hole in his chest, there was the withered remains of what could only have been a stake. Sorrow's eyes narrowed before he forced the dried flesh away from the body's upper jaw to reveal the fangs of a vampire.
Sorrow stood there in shock before a low moan from Jade reminded him of how little time there was. He searched the casket and eventually found an ivory scroll case, its ends capped with yet more gold. Sorrow placed the case reverently in his pack before turning his attention to the remainder of the vault. His search, accompanied by Jade's small whimpers of pain, felt like it took hours when in fact he found the second exit from the chamber in a matter of minutes.
He wasted precious time trying to decipher a way of getting the door open. There were no catches, no hidden switches nor any magic bindings that he could sense. Finally, going on a hunch, Sorrow withdrew the crowbar again and dug it into the almost visible gap between the chamber's golden walls and the exit. Gritting his teeth, Sorrow wrenched it down hard... The screeching sound of metal warping proved that a little brute force was all that was needed to push the door open.
Sorrow, having gathered Jade in his arms, stepped out of the vault to find themselves in the alcove they had sheltered from the storm in. *Somebody has a real sense of humour...*
'******'
Sorrow drove like a madman; he had frantically packed away their gear, practically throwing the shelter and their supplies into the jeep. The moon shone down and turned the desert a cool silver but Sorrow had no time to appreciate it as he raced through the sand, raising a cloud of dust that could be seen for miles.
Jade, seated next to him, had gone from mumbling incoherently to being deathly quiet. *Oh God, she's not breathing!* Sorrow's hands gripped the wheel as he ground to a stop, cradled Jade in his arms and cupped her face... searching for some sign that she was alive. In the mystical light of the moon, her skin was almost translucent, giving her an ethereal, unearthly glow. To Sorrow's panicked state of mind however, Jade looked lifeless... Had he not spotted the barely discernible rise and fall of her chest, he'd have truly believed that his love was lost to him forever.
"Tris..." Jade's voice was not audible, nor was she conscious, but Sorrow saw her lips form his name and that was enough to fill him with renewed hope. Making her as comfortable as he could in a jeep, Sorrow continued his fervent race against time, clenching and unclenching his fists till his knuckles were white.
To keep himself from going crazy from the long ride, or perhaps, in a wild bid to ensure that Jade stayed with him till they got to a hospital, Sorrow started talking to her. "I've got the Scrolls. Can you hear me darling? I've got the Scrolls... Once you get rid of this damn poison in your system, we'll return to England and see if we can find someone to help us decipher their inscriptions and get that cure we've been after..."
Though Jade made no response, Sorrow continued his ramblings. "The desert looks so different at night. So beautiful, like you darling. I've told you that before, haven't I? The day I met you... You were in XY... I thought you were so beautiful." His eyes misted over slightly at the memory and a semblance of a smile tugged at his lips. "You were wearing this short red skirt. I had to force myself to stop staring at your legs when you came out from behind the store counter and walked towards me..."
Tears mingled with sweat as the distance between them and civilisation slowly melted away. "Don't you dare die on me now my love... Not after we've come this far." They were almost back in town and Sorrow knew he wouldn't be able to bear it if he lost Jade now. The thought of it was too painful to even contemplate. Exhausted from the emotional and physical burdens of the last 24 hours, Sorrow was no longer had the frame of mind to keep up a coherent conversation. His only words as he struggled to keep going forward were, "Hold on... hold on... hold on."
March 21st, late morning.
Her skin smelt slightly of chlorine as Reah stepped out of the shower. The woman with the shrill voice was standing outside, arms crossed and foot tapping irritably on the puddled floors of the local swimming pool change rooms. She scowled at Reah.
“There’s a two minute limit on the shower time!” The woman scorned.
“There’s also two showers. Do the math!”
The woman practically snarled at Reah as she pushed past the woman and sprayed herself with the deodorant she stole from a supermarket the other day. Hm, roses! She smiled to herself on an excellent choice and proceeded to get changed into her usual jeans, a loosely fitted white top with a tie up back, her strap-up boots, and finished by throwing her coat on.
Picking up her sunnies and empty wallet, she made her way to the car park and took off on her bike. The traffic was reasonably light for 10:30 in the morning as she wound her way through the streets of LA. Her stomach had begun mild tremours again, despite the feed she gave herself the night before. Technically it wasn’t a great feed, but considering her ways of survival over the past two weeks, it was a banquet of Subway fit for a king. She had purposely saved ten dollars of her money for the night before this interview so she could have a decent meal, the other $29.45 was stretched out for the two weeks before that.
Reah prayed to nearly every god that may or may not exist that she got this job, because she now had NO money left whatsoever and she thought she may be starting to catch something from the giant rat that had recently moved in with her into her current so called residence. Times were not good!
She glanced back at the small piece of what was left of the napkin she got two weeks ago from that bar tender, Bob. There was an address scribbled out by Reah and a new one written next to it: ‘1532 Bundy Drive.’ She’d phoned up this Joe guy the day after she went to the bar. He didn’t sound very Italian, but then again she didn’t necessarily trust Bob to tell the truth anyway, but he told her to turn up to this address on today at about 11am for an interview.
She was running reasonably early, but then again she had nothing else to hold her up. The building was insight up ahead, it looked like your run-of-the-mill warehouse. A bit of crap lying here and there, a broken window, although it looked like a bit of work had been attempted to try and fix the place up.
Reah parked her bike around the side of the warehouse out of view. She then made her way around the building trying to locate the main entrance.
***
It had been close to two weeks since Sam filled out the application for Assistant Manager. Just today, March 21st, he received the call. It startled Sam. The clamor shot into his chest and hung there as he picked up the receiver, his hand trembling. It was the first time he'd ever heard Kimmie's phone ring. The voice on the other end was goatish, curt, and after it identified him as "a Mr. Sam Aubrey,” it told him to show up at 1532 Bundy Drive for an interview, 11 AM sharp. Sam arrived at the unpainted building at 10:35.
Inside, the place was still under construction, debris everywhere. Not much had been done to it since the day Hesch had taken him to get an application. There’d been a stack of app.’s by the door. Sam snatched one and left without exploring the place. But this time, since he was early, he had a chance to take in the ambiance. It was large, dark, and Sam had to slip into his musty green jacket, for the room turned out to be colder than the weather. “Hello?” Sam called out. “I’m here. Sam Aubrey. Hello?” No answer. His feet echoed as he moved toward a wall of folding chairs.
Sam brushed the sawdust off the foremost chair. It screeched with rust as he unfolded it, and a jolt of hideousness ran up Sam’s spine. He eased himself onto the seat with his manila folder, which was filled with copies of his resume and the letter of recommendation that Mr. Battle had, years ago, written about his better qualities. Sam pulled one out and held it upright as though it were a diploma encased in glass. He pursed his lips, getting reacquainted with all the good things about himself one man in a million considered true, once upon a time:
To whom it may concern:
Allow me to introduce to you Samuel Brendan Aubrey. He attended all four of my art courses here at Grants Pass High and may I say he’s a very good student. When Sam asked me to write this letter for him, I thought to myself, How am I going to write a letter of recomendition? After all I’m not an English teacher. I don’t know much about writing.
But then I thought OKAY! I can do this. He’s worth the effort.
Sammy’s not a straight A student, I’ll say that much. But he’s sure good at trying. He is never late. He always arrives on time. He’s a very time-oriented person and if you hire him, he’ll always be there on time. You should hire him. He tries a lot.
Sammy is very punctual. And heknows how to hold his own against all sorts of trying situations. He never gives up. Like the time when a group of the seniors were picking on him because of a picture he drew about a naked man.
They all said he was gay, but by golly he stood right up and said NO I’M NOT. It’s you guys who are gay. I’m not gay. (Sammy sticks up for himself, so I think he’d be a good employee for you. He never gives up when he’s got his mind set on something. He is as good as his word too.)
I hope you consider Sammy seriously as a potential applicant. He’s the best. I’m glad I gave him a C. Even though his artistic skills were lacking. I could have given him a D, but a kid with such a good attitude deserves better. I give him an A for effort.
Thank you.
If you have any questions regarding Sammy, please don’t hesitate to call me at 541-555-3531. I’d love to tell you more about him.
Sincerely, John Battle.
Grants Pass High
It was a nice letter. Sam wished he had a way with words like ol’ Mr. Battle; the man wrote like he talked.
Sam longed for those days--not the days in high school, per se--but the days in Mr. Battle’s art class. Sam didn’t exactly care for drawing, but he loved the old coot. Mr. Battle didn’t even seem like a teacher. He was more like a great guy who happened to be teaching a class. That brand of kindness, Sam could really use. L.A. had not been especially kind.
Suddenly his face felt itchy. Seconds later, he sneezed—his lips almost exploded as a result. It hurt.
Dust.
Wiping his eyes, Sam glanced around at all the sawhorses and stacks of lumber, mammoths in the darkness. There was a light behind the tarp-covered counter and a door behind it. Sam was preparing to walk over to it and say hello when he heard a creak. . .
Then main door to the building opened. Sam spun around to see a girl peeking in. He dropped his folder, and the papers fanned out across the dirty floor. The girl laughed, approached, and bent down to help him pick up his mess. Together they stood. She was almost as tall as Sam, which was no easy feat of nature, because Sam had been the tallest in his class.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Here for the job?” the girl asked.
“Yes.”
Sam moved to shake her hand, but the girl stepped back, not at all pleased. Sam froze; was it his clothes? Did he smell? Was it his hands, dirted by the folding chair?
The girl said, “Ew-ew!”
“What?”
“You’ve got. . .a. . .”
Sam dropped his folder again and threw both hands to his face, groping his cheeks for the inadequacies that alarmed her. He couldn’t take part in an interview if his face was dirty. “What? What?” he whispered. “Is it. . .OH NO. . .” It wasn’t simply dirt, was it? It was worse.
The girl’s own face was writhing, repulsed, and she said, “You’ve got a booger.”
Of course, now that he’d touched himself, his face was not only covered in snot, but grime as well.
Reah made an excuse to look away from the booger-covered guy while he composed himself. She found herself taking one of the rusted up folded chairs leaning against the wall and straightened it out with a loud screech and a bit of effort.
She looked back at the guy who was now straightening out his clothes and brushing the dust off. Reah suddenly noticed the clothes this guy was wearing. What a dork. She could barely contain the laughter building up inside. He was wearing corduroy pants, a silky shirt that looked as though he had stolen it from a girl’s closet. I'd ask to borrow it if it didn't smell so much! He was also wearing some Vans sneakers, they looked kind of new!
"So...what's your name?" She managed after choking down her silent laughter.
Sam wiped his face and eyed her askance. She was checking Sam out. . .up and down, looking impressed. Apparently she’d gotten over the snot incident. She was smiling to herself, so Sam felt much less inclined to lie. “I’m Sam,” he said. “You?”
"Reah!" She restrained from shaking his hand, given that he'd just wiped unpleasantries of his face with it. She moved her chair around and sat on it backwards. She hoped she got this job, and now there was competition too. She glanced back at Sam. How much competion he was though, she didn't know. Just keep smiling. So long as he didn't steal Reah's chance, he seemed nice enough.
Reah pulled out her lucky throwing knife and began picking at her finger nails to neaten them up. " So what do you do?"
Sam thought about that for a moment. “If I get the job, I’ll let you know.”
At that moment, a voice shot between them: “So, you’re here. Both of you. . .”
Reah looked up to the new voice that broke their conversation. A tall, slim Italian guy stood before them. He had geled black hair, shaded brown eyes, and was wearing a dark green trench coat and black jeans.
Reah quickly put her knife away and she got up to introduce herself, she didn't really know what else you do in an interview! "Hi! I'm Reanna Kossinton!"
Joe looked her up and down. "Indeed you are." He turned his gaze to the guy who was sitting down not far from Reah, "And you must be Sam."
Sam didn’t like the looks of this. It was as if Joe had hired her on the spot with nothing but a filthy, disgusting sneer. Reah didn’t seem to mind. Sam had to act quick if he were to make a good impresson. He leapt up. The chair scratched loudly against the floor. Sam moved from it with his resume in one hand, the letter from Mr. Battle in the other. Here, sir, you-you can read this. Go ahead. . .read it. . .”
Joe took it and stepped aside, and Sam found he could breath again, now that the man’s attention was off of Reah. And Joe did give it a looksie, nodding all the while. He handed it back to Sam.
“It was. . .interesting,” he said.
Sam cringed inside himself. “Are you sure? You didn’t look at it very long. Did you get to the part about me being punctual? I’m very punctual.”
“I’m a fast reader.”
Joe didn’t read it at all, did he? How awful Sam felt. He was going to lose this job to a girl. And she didn't even have a letter of recommendation. Or a resume. Sam gave Reah a supportive smile, desperately holding back his accusations.
Sam seemed to be pained about something. It looked as though he was trying to smile, but his mouth was quivvering and his left eye was twitching, he seemed ready to cry. She beamed inside at the thought that Sam didn't get the job, then was hit with a sudden pang of guilt that she actually thought that, and he was a nice guy! But no way am I about to sacrifice my job to make him feel better!
The guilt came again, and was beginning to annoy her. She needed a distraction from the feeling, "So what exactly is the job?"
Joe glanced back at her. She noticed she was actually slightly taller! "Basically I'm opening an Armoury." Reah's ears perked up. "Your basic job would be something of an Assistant Manager. Although for now, time will be taken up by readying the place."
He gestured around the warehouse.
Reah's eyes sparkled with delight. This job has my name written all over it! “If it helps, I've been training in Martial Arts all my life, and I have knowledge of a range of weapons!"
Joe grinned.
Sam was horrified. Why did Hesch even tell him about this place? Armory? What was an Armory? Like. . .chain mail? Knights and stuff? What? How could he compete if he didn’t even understand the job? It wasn’t fair! But Sam raised his chin. Giving up was not the answer. “Uh, sir,” he said, “can I get my interview now? Not to be rude, but I was here first. I’m very punctual.”
Joe pulled his eyes from Reah as though they were a Band-Aid on her lovely, tanned skin. He glared at Sam, was almost pained by the interruption. “You just completed your interview,” Joe said.
“Oh. H-How did it go?”
“Ever hear the phrase ‘Don’t call us. We’ll call you’?”
“I see.” Sam looked at Reah, entirely unable to keep the bubbling from his eyes; he was never going to find work. He was going to have to hitchhike back to Oregon. And yet, it wasn't Reah's fault. “Congratulations,” he said to the her. “The best applicant won. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime."
Reah groaned and guilt hit her hard and fast! Fucking conscience! "Umm!" She wasn't sure what she was going to do, but the guy was nearly in tears, he looked...broken! "Joe! Can I call you Joe?" He nodded smiling, "Are you sure you only need one person? Not two?" She was struggling, "I mean...ah...I was talking to him before, and...um...he seems nice...a-and organised!"
Joe raised a dark eye brow in question, then glanced at Sam who was beginning to sob ever so annoyingly, "My point is..." Reah continued, "he seems dedicated enough! He would be good for...serving customer people!" Oh man am I struggling! "He's nice enough for it" She gave Joe a big trying grin.
Joe was shaking his head, Reah's heart sank, "I'm sorry Reanna, but Sam just didn't meet the qualifications." Guilt was giving Reah a migrane now.
"GOD DAMN IT, JOE JUST GIVE HIM A JOB!"
Reah blinked, surprised at her outburst. An outburst that could of cost me a job!
Joe seemed pretty taken aback by her outburst. He figured it must be pms or something. Best not to argue! He sighed, "Fine!" He breathed. "Sam?"
Sam paused, not believing what he’d just heard. “I’m. . .hired?”
Joe was shaking his head, but he was saying, “Yeah. . .sure. . .sure, Sam. I can always use. . .someone else. . .for something.”
Sam wiped his face again. His sleeve was covered in dust, tears, and mucous. Kimmie was going to kill him. Her shirt was the only clean garment he could find. “Thank you! I won’t let you down. I’ll do anything you need.”
“Anything, huh?” Joe closed his mouth and smirked knowingly.
“I won’t let you down,” Sam said, shaking Joe’s strong hands. For a moment it felt as though his new boss’s arms were going to fly out of their sockets.
Joe turned his smirk toward Reah as he said, “Okay, Sam, I know you won’t.”
Reah seemed pleased. Sam let go of Joe’s hand and immediately took Reah’s. He shook her firm grip, then kissed her knuckles, and in a calm controlled voice, he whispered, “Thank you.”
Reah blushed and giggled. He was a dork, and that beautiful shirt looked like hell now. So much for borrowing it! But he was nice. "Your welcome!" she whispered back.
Well. . .
Sam decided it was time to be going. Joe agreed to call him when he was needed, which he promised would be soon, but for the time being, Reah needed to be oriented into the business. Sam exited the building using a professional gait, but below his feet was air, and he was gliding.
Hesch was waiting outside, the engine running.
“Albert!” Sam hurried to the open window of the cab. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, I got the job!"
“I know,” Hesch said. “Need a ride?”
Sam climbed into the back, and his friend Hesch headed for Kimmie’s apartment building. Hesch left the meter turned off all the way home.
Downtime, spanning March 21st to June 5th.
March 21st
Sam replaced the malodorous silk shirt on the hanger in Kimmie’s closet. In doing so, however, he gave up his fears that she would be angry with him for sullying it without asking. In place of this fear, he found curiosity. How had her shirt fit him in the first place? Kimmie was petite. Had she been fat once? She would have been nearly as big at Sam. Perhaps she’d gone on a Weight Watcher’s diet before he'd met her.
March 25th through May 28th.
Sam didn’t stop submitting applications after the day Joe hired him. The fact was, Joe only called him whenever there were boxes to be moved or a strange package—sometimes the size of a breadbasket, sometimes the size of a guitar—to be delivered. Sam was beginning to wonder if he were involved in some sort of drug scandal. But it was idle wonderment. And the money kept him afloat, even if Joe’s lack of employee respect did not.
The nice thing about working at the armory was Reanna Kossington. Reah was wonderful, in fact, because she talked to Sam like a person, not a goofball, and when she laughed at his stupid jokes, she threw back her short hair, and a myriad of blond highlights floated down, capable of mesmerizing even the most jilted of men. Most impressively, she was capable of helping Sam move Joe’s giant crates. She was a girl who belonged to herself, and that Sam wished he could emulate. It was she who suggested that he design business cards for the store. He remembered just enough from Mr. Battle's commercial art class to get the job done. Even after Sam screwed it up, misspelled words here and there, Reah placed her tanned fingers on the the back of his hand and said, "It's okay. Let's try this, instead." After the project came back from the printers, she told Joe that the artistic genius had been all Sam's.
Just maybe, Hesch was not his only friend in Los Angeles.
After each working day, Sam went home feeling more confident in himself. From time to time he asked Hesh, who gave him numerous free rides, to cruise the downtown area, the long way home. Sam scanned the clothing stores as they passed. He sighed at the long black coats in the window of Hot Topic, because those were what Reah wore. When Sam walked through the door of his apartment, he peeled off his ragged, green winter coat and threw it in the corner. There it would stay throughout the summer months. He didn’t care if he ever saw it again.
May 28th turned out to be quiet. Joe didn’t leave the usual "I need you this afternoon" message on the answering machine. It must have been some decency lying dormant in Joe, because May 28th was Sam's birthday. Sam rented Spiderman 3 on VHS and watched it humorlessly until bedtime. Again, as always, he celebrated his holidays alone.
No Mom, no Dad.
No Bunny, no Kimmie.
No one.
June 5th.
Kimmie walked through the door at 8 PM. Sam looked up from his spot on the couch. He slipped his bar of chocolate in-between the cushions and pulled a pillow over his belly. He'd been starting to show.
“Hiya,” she said, bound by good cheer. “Miss me?”
Sam looked away. It was if he'd remarried. “Look what the cat dragged in,” he said, crossing his arms over the pillow.
“Well that doesn’t sound like the nice guy I know.”
“Well maybe you don’t know me anymore.” Had she ever known him? She was never home. She’d practically given him this apartment. Who knew how the rent was being paid?
“Aw,” she said, plopping next to him. “What’cha watchin’?”
“Melrose Place. That okay with you?”
“Sure,” she said, shaking her head. “That okay with you, love?”
“No! No it isn’t. I don’t think you care if it's okay with me. I don't think you care how I'm doing in the littlest bit.”
“Sure I do, Graham.”
Graham?
“My name is not Graham.”
“Oh. Are you sure?”
“I know my own name.”
Kimmie’s face glazed over. “I could have sworn I had a Graham living here.”
“I’m Sam. Sam Aubrey? Can you say that for me? Sam? The guy you slept with.”
She tugged at his chin, forcing him to look at her. “Sure I remember you, Sam. Everyone loves Sam. They all think you’re great down at After Dark.”
She was toying with him. “I’ve never been to After Dark," Sam said. "You keep saying how you want me to meet all your friends, but do you ever take me to see them?”
“Of course I have." Kimme honestly looked confused. “A good ten times--um, well five times, at least. Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember meeting Miss Eriantha?”
“Who?”
“Eriantha, silly. The lovely woman who said you were so nice. 'The life of the party.'”
“I swear, either you are crazy, or I am." Sam stood up. He didn’t need this girl lying to him. “I’ve never been to this religious group of yours. Believe me, I’d remember. You tell me about it, but you never deliver. Got news for you, Kimmie, I never wanted to join your little cult."
"You said you did."
"I was being nice."
"Oh."
"But now. . .yeah, go ahead, show me. Take me there.”
“Well, okay. If you insist."
"I do."
"But you’ve got to promise me that you’re not going to act mean like this. They all love you at After Dark. They say you’re. . .sweet.”
“I promise. I'm Mr. Nice, okay?” Sam rounded the couch and dove into a pile of dirty laundry, muttering, "Don't tell me about nice, I'll show you nice." At the bottom, he found his green jacket, smelling like rot. “Let’s go. I’m ready.”
“Are you sure you promise to be nice?”
Sam lunged for Kimmie’s arm and yanked her up. Her shoulder popped. “Let’s go show them how nice and sweet I am.”
“Okay, okay.” She didn't resist as he dragged her toward the door. “But if we do this, you have to promise that you won't forget this time.”
“I don’t see how I’ll be able to forget.”
As they stepped out into the hall, Sam noticed that Kimmie's eyes were at nose level. She was taller than he remembered. And her breasts seemed larger. One night, months ago, he had held them with great interest. It was as if she'd gone ahead and had breast implants. But that wasn't all that troubled him. “Kimmie,” he said weakly, “did you. . .dye your hair?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten my hair color.” Now it was her turn to be annoyed. “I swear, Graham, you’re acting so goofy all of a sudden.”
Sam forced her down the stairs, across the long carpet in the lobby, and out the security doors. They reached the curb, the bus stop. There, under the transit sign, they waited. They were going to After Dark, for sure. It was going to be a night that Kimmie would never forget.
June 6th.
Sam slept all day. Some days were like that; he felt drained.
He went out only once, hitting the video store up the street. He spent that evening watching Spiderman 3. For months, he’d been making up excuses why not to rent it. But tonight, by golly, Ol' Sam Aubrey was going to relax, pop some corn, and watch a movie like a regular person. No more looking for work and no more pretending to be working a legitimate job for Joe Maffia. And no more waiting for Kimmie to show up; this he promised himself again and again. That girl hadn’t been around since April. Tonight belonged to Sam.
He settled down with an over-cooked bag of popcorn, the burn filling his nostrils and Danny Elfman’s music, his ears. The credits were rolling. His muscles were aching, so he dropped the remote and began pinching at the tension in his neck. He managed to smash most of a handful of corn into his mouth. The kernals that didn't make it sprinkled down his t-shirt, hit his undewear, and scattered. He tried to catch the mess, but in doing so discovered something most terrible collecting in his crotch.
The fragments of popcorn were pink.
His hand was bloody! In terror, he checked out his arms, also stained, then slapped his face, hoping to find the source of the bleeding. He touched what felt like four or five scabs rising from his neck, below his left ear.
“Oh my lord,” he muttered. “How in the world did I do that?”
Mid-Season One: Jul 06, 2005 - Aug 06, 2005
***March 21st, 2005: Post interview***
After Sam had left the warehouse, Joe informed Reah of the future plans for the Armoury. Apparently they would be housing all types of weaponry, both old and new, metal and wooden, projectile and hand manoeuvred. Reah considered herself blessed at this moment for having the ability to swallow, but even still, a towel was needed at close call.
Joe led Reah over to a tarp covered counter, guiding her with a hand hovering just above her lower back. There was a slightly opened door behind the counter with light coming from behind it, although it wasn’t open enough for her to be able to make out what was behind it. Can’t be that special with the door left wide open for all to see! Joe bent down behind the counter and pulled out some rather large rolled up sheets of paper. He brushed some sawdust off the counter and spread the sheets out on it. They were plans for the warehouse.
Joe, standing reasonably close, marked out the changes that were to be made to the warehouse in the following months, and gave her a description of what she would basically be required to do during this period of time. He also went through explaining the security measures, lockdown areas, and the different storage areas that were lain out in the plans. There was lots of nodding involved on Reah’s behalf. Most of the information that she’d just been given was lost to the hype that she had landed a job.
It was then that Joe led Reah through into the room just behind them. Just as she had expected there was nothing much of great importance in this room, just a stack of broken things; tables, chairs, picture frames, some old buckets. From the plans, this room was to be made into a holding area for bladed weapons. The main room they just left was going to look something of a possible training/sparring area. Reah stood just inside the doorway playing with the door that looked as though it was nearly ready to pack up its bags and collapse, and watched Joe as he gestured along the walls to where future racks would be placed, all the while not taking his smirking gaze off her.
"So. Do you have any questions?" He asked as she continued fidgeting with the door.
"Um…just one."
"Yes?"
"I was just wondering," she pulled her eyes from his gaze, looking at the door swinging back and forth and watched him out of the corner of her eye, "well…hoping really…"
"Mhmm!" He continued to smirk as he took a couple of slow steps closer to her.
"I don’t mean to sound too forward and needy, but…"
His sudden grip on the door halted its compulsive swinging. She lifted her head as he leaned in closer to her….
"Could I please get some money in advance?"
He faltered in his move, paused, then straightened, looking slightly confused.
"I’m sorry! I didn’t want to ask, but I’m a little short at the moment and I need to rent a place out for the night, not to mention my need for food!"
Joe still seemed to be in a bit of a daze as he continued to stare at Reah, his head slightly tilted now.
"Joe?" Reah moved her head from side to side keeping her eyes directly on Joe’s, watching for a sign of response, "Joooe!"
He suddenly blinked and shook himself from his daze, "What?" Rubbing his eyes in the way most confused people do, "Um…money…ah, yeah sure! Whatever." Scratching his head, he paced back a few steps, thinking for a few moments, then turned to face Reah again, "Wait. Rent? Find? You don’t have a place?" She shrugged. "You know, LA ain’t exactly cheap, especially if you’re only using one weeks pay. You could stay here!" He suggested, gesturing widely.
"Do you have a spare room?"
"Second level."
"Spare bed?"
He breathed in, "Not as such." There was a glint in his eye Reah didn’t pick up on.
"Ah! There! You see? I’d be sleeping in your bed if I stayed here."
Joe rubbed his chin staring thoughtfully towards the ceiling, all the while watching Reah at the edge of his vision. "Hm, really? That hadn‘t occurred to me!" A smile crept onto his face.
Reah grinned, "Good thing there’s at least one of us here to do the thinking, eh?" She winked at him. "But it’s alright. I was only going to find some cheap ass motel for the night, not an actual unit straight away. Then I’ll just keep staying in motels until I actually find a place I like!"
"You don’t want to stay in one of those in this city," He protested, "There’s an alarming amount of sleazes, not to mention other…things…that hang around those places!"
She knew the types of ‘things’ he was referring to, but that wasn’t a problem…only money was, Damn money. "I’ll be fine. I know how to handle myself. Besides, considering I’ve been sleeping inside an abandoned building for the past couple of weeks with a giant rat for a room mate…I’d consider a sleazy motel with lurking…things…a step up!"
Joe could only stare at her for a couple of minutes, O…kay. "I’d prefer if you didn’t!"
"Well, I’d prefer all…things…to just dematerialise off the face of the earth! But we don’t always get what we prefer…o-or wish…." She paused. Joe stared blankly at her. "Ok! Bad example! The point is that I can look after myself."
Joe sighed and threw up his hands, "Ok! Fine. Just make sure your on time to work in the morning. That Sam guys punctual you know! I don’t want to be left here alone with him. If your not on time I’ll…"
"Fire me so that Sam’s your sole employee?" She cut in teasing. He stood there with his mouth open, still hanging in mid sentence. Reah grinned.
Joe closed his mouth and sniffed. After a while he spoke again, "I guess you’ll be wanting your money then so you can start looking for a top of the class, sleazy motel?" She nodded, still grinning. He sighed and pulled his wallet out of his coat. Opening it up he handed Reah a few hundred dollar notes.
Reah thanked him and smiled as she made her way back out of the warehouse to her bike. Before she jumped on, she fanned out the money and counted, Ten? What the? She counted it again to make sure, Hang on…nine! No wait… She found another hidden note behind one in the middle that missed her count Ten!!! "Shit! Thank-you-Joe!"
Joe shook his head as he watched her leave, "Women!" He then decided that he’d had enough of working for today, even though it was only just after twelve and he hadn’t done much in the way of work. The interviews were work enough for him. He sat back in one of the not so broken chairs and smiled to himself as he contemplated the different jobs he could give that Sam guy.
Mid-Season One: Jul 06, 2005 - Aug 06, 2005
***July 13th, 2005...12:36pm***
The wooden crate sat alone and waiting at the opposite side of the room. Reah stood, staring at it from the other end, crowbar ready in hand to make her move. No body else was in at the moment, Joe had gone to organise something, he left at about eleven and said he’d probably be back around three, and Sam was out at lunch, it was just her and the lone standing crate. Silence held through out.
She cracked her knuckles, disrupting everything, and with a sudden burst she yelled out and charged at the crate. Five metres off she dove for it, crowbar held straight out in front in both hands as she jammed it into the wood and tore open the crate's lid. Throwing the crowbar aside, it landed with a clang as she began rummaging through the packaging, straw and foaming things flying every where…and paused, "Ooh! Machetes!" She brushed aside some more of the packaging and drew out one of the long sword like knifes, it was heavy as expected, but Reah was still able to practise a few forms with it.
Joe had specifically told her not to play with the stock, just unpack and stack. But Joe wasn’t there, and what Joe didn’t know, Joe wouldn’t find out. Reah grinned, Even if Joe did find out, I’d easily be able to get out of it! She stopped doing forms and moved over to the weaponry case and gently placed the machete in the provided space below the katanas, then continued back to the crate to get a couple more machetes to stock up. She loved her job.
Reah was about to move the crate back into the storage area when she heard footsteps in the outer room. She assumed it was Sam, considering the Armoury hadn’t even opened for business yet, Hm! He only took a half hour break…how very odd! Brushing the straw from her pants and top, she made her way out, "Hey, you’re back early from lunch considering…" her sentence trailed off as she noticed the bulky stranger looking around the room, his gaze landing on Reah as she came in. "Oh! Sorry! I thought you were someone else. We’re actually not open for business yet, but if you like, Sam made up some business cards, if you want one I can write the…"
"I’m looking for Joe Mante." He cut Reah short.
Rudeness! She kept her face composed as she caught on what he’d said, Mante? "I’m sorry, you must have gotten names mixed up. There’s no one by that last name here."
The man reached inside his coat, Reah’s heart jumped thinking he was reaching for a gun to blow her head off for no good reason, instead he pulled out a piece of paper and made his way over to Reah, shoving it in front of her face, "This man."
Reah frowned at the picture, it was Joe, But why would Joe use a different last name? She shook her head, figuring it was the smartest thing to do, "I’m sorry. I haven’t seen this guy before!" You don’t just change you name without good reason.
The man looked at her suspiciously, obviously her claim that she didn’t know who he was talking about wasn’t enough, he needed visual proof. "Look, if you don’t believe me, why don’t you wait about half an hour and my manager, Joe should be coming back from lunch. Then you can see I’m telling you the truth." She watched the man's face as she talked, it was a solid as a rock, no emotion whatsoever.
Finally he exhaled. "Sounds reasonable." With that he strolled over to the old set of rusted folding chairs, we still need to replace those Reah cringed in advance before the rusted screech of the man unfolding a chair filled the room. He sat down, and waited, massive arms crossed on his chest. Reah sighed, she had hoped the man would just take her word for it when she offered for him to wait for Joe’s arrival. She decided to stay in the same room and keep an eye on him while she checked off the items on the delivery sheet. This should be interesting!
The man hadn’t moved the whole half hour. Reah had finished checking off the items a while ago now and had proceeded to doodle on the paper instead to hold up the appearance that she was working, not watching.
There was a creak from the main entrance, Right on time! and Sam entered the building. "Joe!" Reah greeted staring straight at Sam, she got up from behind the counter and made her way over, "How was lunch? You have a visitor!" She continued to stare at as naturally as she could for the massive mans sake, yet as intent and cooperation seeking on Sam’s behalf.
Sam's head stopped moving before his feet did. In abashment, he handed her the chilli cheese dog she'd asked him to bring back. The visitor of whom Reah spoke stood up with his gorilla arms arched at his coat pockets, his fingers the size of potato wedges. He was holding a photograph.
"Joe?" Sam said. "Me?"
Sam changed his tune. "Right! I'm Joe. Hello, uh, sir, man. Uh, large fellow. Good to know you."
Sam leaned in close to Reah, whispering, practically screaming, "What are you trying to do to me?"
Reah smiled, "You see! This is Joe. Joe, this is…" she stared at the massive man, hoping he’d introduce himself.
As usual his face was as solid as stone when he held out his hand to Sam’s and replied, "Tony." Reah winced at the grip he appeared to have and felt pity for Sam. "You have a nice set up here. I hope you business goes well." His voice was emotionless as he got pleasantries out of the way. He released Sam’s hand, "I must continue on now." He turned to Reah, "Sorry to take up your time." With that he strode out between the two and exited the building.
Reah slumped and heaved a sigh of relief, Sam appeared to be trying to resuscitate his hand. "I think Joe has something to tell us!" She said as she turned to go back and unpack some more crates, patting Sam on the shoulder as she walked past.
"What was that all about?" Sam said. "Hey, I don't mind playing Joe for you, and I don't mind getting your lunch, and I really don't want to sound ungrateful, but I have to say something. How come I'm the guy who gets sent on all the weird, sketchy, nobody-else-wants-it type jobs? All I've been doing for months is sit at home waiting for the boss to call to say he's got a job for me."
Reah paused on her way back to the crates, chilli cheese dog half shoved in her mouth. She turned back to stare incredulously at Sam, "Mmwr…" She swallowed, "Uh…What?" Sounding surprised at Sam’s sudden questioning, then smiled, I think he may have been hanging around me too much! This looks like a possible backbone…a small one!
Sam's slumped, and again he was recognisable as Sam Aubrey, lackey, fool, maybe even Reah's friend.
"Look," he said, "I'm super sorry I snapped. I don't want to lose this job. I've just got to know that I'm going to be able to come to work and not get killed. Can you understand that?"
Reah couldn’t help but laugh at his sudden mood swing, brief as it was. "Look it’s fine Sam, I actually found it quite amusing!" She smirked. Sam still seemed slightly troubled. She walked back to him to give him a hug and a pat on the back, careful to hold the chilli cheese dog out of danger of falling on his shirt. "I’m not sure why you always get the dodgy jobs…when you do get them." She paused and thought, "Maybe Joe has some unfortunate disease called ’Pollus Uppus di Assus’ or ‘Bastardus Mannus’, and you’re unfortunate one who gets the back fire." She shrugged, "Sorry. I’m not that good with words…as you know. But don’t worry, I can yell at Joe if you want me to. Hey, that’s how I got him to hire you!" She smirked, "He’s not that hard to sway." She gestured to him to follow and help her unpack and stack more crates.
Sam smiled back at her, "Thanks. Is the chilli cheese dog good?"
Reah managed a mumble around her mouth full she’d just taken, "Murfep!" She grinned wiping some sauce from her mouth, giving him a thumbs up and swallowed, "Bloody unreal!"
Sorrow's Vigil
Wednesday, 13th April 2005
The face that stared back at Sorrow was haggard. He winced at the greyish tone of his reflection's complexion and ran a hand over the stubble that darkened his jawline. How long had it been since he last shaved? Sorrow wasn't sure... A rumbling in his stomach reminded him that he wasn't sure when he'd last eaten either. He vaguely remembered grabbing a cardboard-like cheese sandwich from the cafeteria yesterday... Or had that been two days ago?
Closing his eyes, Sorrow bent down over the sink and washed his face with the tepid water dribbling from the tap. God, he hated hospitals... He'd sooner cut off his right arm then spend time in any medical facility. But this time was different. This time he was there to keep a vigil on Jade, who'd been in a coma since their arrival ten days before...
The doctors - incompetent, pompous bastards in Sorrow's opinion - claimed that they'd managed to extract all the venom from Jade's wound. None of them could fathom a reason for her still being unconscious. "It's just one of those things. All we can do is wait it out. It could be days or months..." Everything they'd told him had been related in the vaguest terms possible, which basically told Sorrow they didn't have a clue how to go about saving Jade. Never in his life had he felt so helpless. He couldn't even risk taking Jade to another hospital since the doctors were adament about her not being moved. "We wouldn't want to risk aggravating her condition even more, would we?" It'd taken all of Sorrow's restraint not to beat the smug, cold look off the man's face.
Sighing, Sorrow walked slowly out of the bathroom and back into Jade's private ward. The afternoon sun was coming through the blinds, casting warm rays of light onto Jade's face. *She looks like she's just sleeping... Any minute now, she's going to wake up and smile at me. Like she used to do in the mornings after we made love.*
Sorrow dropped into the chair beside Jade's bed, the same one he'd been sitting in day after day. Taking Jade's frail hand in his, Sorrow pressed it against his cheek. "Please darling," he said. "Open your eyes." It was a plea he'd made countless times without receiving a response. "Come back to me... Please come back to me..." The feeling of helplessness and ineptitude built... and built... till it became an overpowering wave of pain... and Sorrow finally succumbed to the tears he'd held in check since he and Jade had left the tomb.
*This is my fault. Me and damn obsession to find a cure! What use are the Scrolls to me if I lose Jade? Why the fuck do I need a future if she's not around to share it?!*
Sorrow gripped Jade's fingers feverishly. "You can't die. Do you hear me? I won't allow it! You promised me we'd have a future together and I'm holding you to that promise!" He knew he sounded like a spoilt child and that he was practically babbling but he didn't care. For over a week, Sorrow'd contained his fears, believing that he had to be strong for Jade's sake. Since she was still unconscious and self-control evidently hadn't worked, he was giving full reign to his emotions.
Breaking down totally, Sorrow laid his head next to Jade's on the pillow, hot rivulets running down his cheeks and whispered, "Take me with you... I want to go with you..."
*************************
Tash smiled as she said, "Is that chocolate I smell? Mmmm, brownies. You know, I sometimes think all the world's ills might be cured by chocolate." Jade bubbled with laughter and even though it was only the first time they'd met, she sensed that she and Tash were going to be close friends...
Sorrow stood there - handsome, dark, brooding - contemplating the Blood Carnelian crystals Jade had brought out for him. *Hmmmmm, this guy knows his stuff. Taste, as well as looks. Definitely gay. Drats!*
Jade's heart ached with guilt and her eyes brimmed with tears as she looked at Matthias. "Arthur was the kind of husband girls dreamed of - wise, handsome, loving, kind. But beautiful as he was, he wasn't Lancelot... Forgive me..."
"I wasn't trying to protect myself. I was worried that I might be putting you at risk just by my being here." Kate's eyes pleaded with Jade to understand as they sat with Lucien in XY.
A Fyral demon launched itself at Jade, only to meet the sharp silver end of the dagger she’d whipped out from her jacket. Withdrawing the blade from its neck, she kicked it back against a trio of vampires, sending the four fiends spiraling into the fighting pit.
Disturbing as her dreams were, the turmoil Jade felt was visible to no one as she lay unmoving and expressionless...
Sorrow's emerald green eyes were intent as he bent his head to kiss Jade softly on the lips. "I love you..."
"Blind and bound, crushed and cursed... Childe of the damned, come do your worst..." As the wiccans' magic formed a strangling coil around Jade, lacerations appeared on her arms and shoulders. Her dagger clattered uselessly to the ground and she fell to her knees.
Sandstorms... Lava lakes... Hundreds, no, thousands of shiny black scorpions... Pain... White hot, unbearable agony coursing through her entire body. Cold... Shivering in Tristan's arms. She was falling... Falling into a neverending pit of darkness. Down and down... She would never get up again...
"Noooo..." The word came out as a soft sigh.
Sorrow's head snapped up. "Jade?"
Jade's 25th birthday
Saturday, 17th June 2005
Exquisite Persian carpets covered the floor, complimenting the heavy gilded wooden furniture and the billowing curtains of sheer chiffon. The room brought to Sorrow's mind a Sultan's harem, especially with the glow and the fragrance of numerous sandalwood-scented candles anointing it.
Crossing over to the window and looking out at the now quiet city of Cairo, Sorrow once again gave in to emotions that constantly got the better of him. He had spent hours berating himself for being weak and for this lack of control but to no avail. He could not seem to hold back the tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.
"Take me with you... I want to go with you..."
Weeks had passed yet the devastation Sorrow'd felt when he'd said those words was as real to him now as it'd been then. He'd known during all those weeks when Jade had been fighting for her life that he would lose her in the end... The doctors had told him repeatedly not to give up hope, but he had, he had known that she would go. As he'd held her in his arms and told her over and over how much he loved her, Sorrow'd known that in the end she would leave him. But he had never told her that; instead he had made full use of the short times she was conscious to make her smile with the awkwardness of his words, and had brought colour to her cheeks when speaking of their love. And he had made her cry because he cried, and now he wondered if he was going to cry forever...
"I love you Tristan..."
Sorrow heard her voice, and the unshed tears gathered in his eyes as a huge lump formed in his throat, choking him. "I love you too, Jade," he whispered. Sorrow closed his eyes and prayed.
"Thank you," Sorrow said over and over. "Thank you for the love. Thank you for her beauty, for her strength, her will and determination. Thank you for letting her be mine, for the love in my own heart..." He looked up at where Jade was sitting quietly on the chaise lounge behind him and as his eyes blurred, he added, "But thank you, most of all, for letting her live."
Her face was serene but still a little drawn and tired. "What are you thinking?"
"How fortunate I am," he answered, crossing the room and reaching out for her hands to pull her into his arms.
"That I'm still alive?"
Sorrow nodded.
Jade looked lovingly into his eyes before pulling his mouth to hers. "You were crying," she said. "Again."
"Yes." Sorrow's mouth tilted into an ironic smile.
She brushed the droplets away, knowing that like always, it took a great deal for Sorrow to give in to his tears; he always felt as if he had to be strong for her sake these days. This wasn't the first time he'd wept, nor would it be the last. What had happened to him in the last few months would have broken many other men, and if she had died, maybe it would have been the end for him.
When Jade had been so ill, she'd seen the spirit in Sorrow fading, dulling his eyes and extinguishing the light in his soul - and it was that that had given her the will to wrest herself from the hands of death. And now she would be there for him always.
Holding Jade, Sorrow didn't trust himself to speak for quite some time. His heart was too full. But at last he leant back and said, "Some people believe that love, real love, is experienced by very few, and that to attain that love, you must know pain and suffering and heartache. If they are right, if the depth of love is measured by the depth of suffering, then what I have for you is a very great love indeed."
Gathering Jade close again as the antique clock in the dining room struck midnight, he moved his lips softly over her closed eyelids and tasted the salt of her tears. "Don't cry darling... It's your birthday after all..."
Mid-Season One: Jul 06, 2005 - Aug 06, 2005
Thursday, 11 July 2005
Sorrow dialled a number and waited for the Malik to pick up the phone.
"Hello?" Malik's voice rumbled across a line that popped and crackled.
"Malik, its Tristan..."
"Tristan! I heard about what happened to Jade... How is she? Is her tongue alright?" Sorrow could hear Malik's smirk.
"As sharp as ever my friend. You can test it when we get into Cairo tomorrow..."
"You have found what you sought?"
"Yes... Malik, I need another favour. What I've found is rather difficult to miss..."
"How difficult are we talking Tristan?"
"Very difficult... I need to get it to London. Do you know..."
"I may know of someone who could help, but that kind of service definitely won't come cheap!"
"Set up a meeting. We'll discuss price when I get in tomorrow."
*************************
Saturday, 16 July 2005
The gold-capped case containing the Scrolls of Erishkigal lay in a glass cabinet illuminated by harsh fluorescent light. A young blond haired woman reached her gloved hands into the cabinet and slowly began to unscrew the end-cap.
"The markings would suggest a Sufi origin, probably around the 12th or 13th century. Where did you say you got this again Tris?"
"Lucy, you really don't want me to answer that question. Please, just be careful..."
Lucy continued to delicately unscrew the cap and when it finally came free, Sorrow felt some subtle magic dissipate. Lucy carefully set aside the gold cap and reached for a set of tweezers. As she teased the parchment from the case she spoke again. "You know, they say someone finally broke into the Sayyed ash-Shazli tomb in Southern Egypt. Authorities over there are pretty unhappy..."
"Lucy..." Tristan raised his voice slightly.
Lucy sniffed slightly then continued to draw out the thick parchment that made up the scrolls. "The standard of preservation is absolutely astounding!" The sheet of parchment, covered on both sides in finely drawn cuneiform lettering, came out whole. "I think you've found a fake Tris. There's no way you'd get this text on the real scrolls from this case. Plus the level of preservation, this parchment looks practically new!"
Sorrow gave a small self-satisfied smile. "No... I think I've found exactly what I was looking for..."
*************************
Thursday, 28 July 2005
Professor Edward Tissingdon opened his door and greeted Sorrow warmly before beaming at Jade, "Ah... So this is the beautiful Jadyn, Tristan has spoken of you..." He leant forward and placed a kiss upon her cheek. "Come in, come in, both of you. I have wonderful news!" Jade and Sorrow followed the professor into his cluttered office. Scattered across every surface were papers and books.
"Tristan, you really need to tell me where you got this text! Do you have the original clay tablets? If we could authenticate the source, it would be the find of the century! Scholars would be poring over them for years!"
"Edward, we've been over this already. I can't tell you anymore than I already have. My backers won't countenance revealing the source at this time..."
"Humph! Have you any Idea what it is you've found?"
"I've an idea. My Sumerian is sketchy..." Sorrow rolled his eyes.
"Yes, and whose fault is that? If you hadn't spent so much time studying obscure Latin and Greek verses..."
Sorrow's abrupt laugh cut off Edward's diatribe before he really could get started.
"Please, you said you'd made progress on the translation..."
"Yes, yes. I have, but you must remember Tristan, it's only a preliminary overview. Our knowledge of Sumerian writing is far from complete. The texts we have learnt the language from cover a much greater sweep of time than the works of Ancient Greece or the Roman Empire. And of course, the later writings contain Akkadian words as well..."
Sorrow gave Edward a pointed look.
"Well, you know all that. The text contains the various rites and rituals pertaining to the worship of Erishkigal, the Sumerian Queen of the Underworld. They cover a wide range of blessing, seasonal rituals and funerary rites, all in tremendous detail... If we could be certain of their origin, the text it would give us a wealth of knowledge on the religious lives of the Sumerian people. Tristan, please where did you get this?"
Sorrow shook his head and smiled a little sadly... "We're looking for any rituals concerning Akhkharu."
"Ah, That old chestnut again... My dear boy, really, I know you've spent a great deal of time researching the various legends about vampires but please!"
"Are there any?" Sorrow's voice was soft; he had no desire to renew this particular argument.
Edward took a long look at Sorrow and having measured the depth of Sorrows determination sighed. "There is one ritual. It's a part of the funerary rites." Edward reached over to his PC and twisted the monitor towards Jade and Sorrow. "Here, you see," Edward pointed towards a section of the text, "It details how to purify a body after it has been inhabited by Utuk Xul and thus has risen as a Akhkharu It is used prior to the main rites."
Sorrow's face blazed with triumph. "It covers the ritual in detail?"
"Yes, great detail..."
"Edward, I need this translated immediately. The incantations, the ritual elements, everything! Do you understand?"
"There are far greater..."
"Immediately! If you can get this for me, I might be able to convince our backers to reveal the source."
"Really?" The professor's eyes gleamed. "I'll get right on it."
"Thank you, Edward."
*************************
Sunday, 31 July 2005
Edward had been as good as his word. Sorrow had spun some tale to him about the scrolls that would prevent any authentication of their origin and Edward had sighed in resignation. Sorrow regretted the betrayal but he was desperate. In spite of the holy water, the holy wafers and the bindings he had in place, his demon was finally pushing to take control and as a result, Jade and he were sleeping apart again.
The betrayal had brought him to the brink of success though. He had the description of the ritual before him and none of the elements would be difficult to come by. Indeed, many would consider the ritual primitive, though Sorrow himself preferred the term primal. The simple fact was that apart from the language, any half capable voodoo priest with sufficient motivation could have created a similar ritual and Sorrow had no doubt it would have been just as effective. *I don't know any voodoo priests though so the point is pretty much moot!*
Sorrow smiled to himself and started to make some calls. Six years ago, he had started down the path of D'Nethk'Quan. He knew every occult supplier in London and many in Europe. It would take a few days to get what he required but in the end, it would not prove to be difficult...
Mid-Season One: Jul 06, 2005 - Aug 06, 2005
Tuesday, 2 August 2002
Gathering the materials for the ritual had taken only a couple of days but nearly a week had passed before Sorrow was satisfied that Jade could perform the ceremony correctly.
"Tris, I know you want me to do this but I'm not sure I have the power to..."
Sorrow placed a finger on Jade's lips, silencing her. "Love has a power all of its own. You can do this."
"But it's in Sumerian! I still think we should wait till we get back to L.A before we do this. At least then, with Tash, Victor, Kate and the others around, we won't be alone if anything goes wrong."
"Jade, you know the words, you know their meaning. No, you aren't fluent in the language but you do understand enough to get this right!" Sorrow brushed his lips against Jade's cheek and felt his demon rise in response to that briefest of contact. "We're running out of time. I seriously doubt if this can wait till we get back to L.A and set things up over there. So there's no one else, Jade. Trust yourself!"
She nodded, worry shining in her eyes.
They gathered up the materials and took them up to Sorrow's ritual space on the second floor. As Jade crossed the threshold into the room, she felt a ripple pass through her. "Oh! What was that?"
Sorrow looked quizzical for a moment, then smiled. "I performed the last ritual of the D'Neth'Quan in this room - it has left echoes in the very walls..."
"But won't that disturb this ritual?"
"We'll do a cleansing," Sorrow looked towards Jade, "Don't worry. I've performed other rituals in here since and none of them have gone awry."
Sorrow prepared and lit the brazier, poured a wide circle of salt around the area, then performed a general cleansing to rid the circle of any malignant energy that lingered. Finally he waited beside the rings bolted to the floor for this particular ritual. He watched Jade place the blessed candles around him. On the small table beside the brazier, she placed the various herbs and incense as well as the consecrated dagger that would be used to bleed him. Finally, she took out the small sculpture that would represent him and placed it on the table. When her preparations were complete, she turned to Sorrow, biting her lip a little she whispered, "I'm ready."
Sorrow nodded, undressed then lay down. Jade bound him to the rings then placed a small bowl by his left wrist. She stepped anti-clockwise round the circle of candles as she spoke a slow sonorous incantation in ancient Sumerian. With the candles lit, Jade returned to the brazier and scattered incense into the glowing charcoal. The bitter scent of mehr flooded the room.
Jade gathered up the remaining herbs and, scattering a portion of them upon Sorrow's naked body, spoke a second incantation. When that task was complete, she returned to the table and took up the sacred oil. Speaking a third incantation she anointed Sorrow's body with the oil. Jade could feel the power beginning to stir in the room. The ritual steps she had carried out upon Sorrow's body she repeated upon the statue, taking care not to stop incanting as she did so.
A second flow of power began to build within the room and as Jade continued to incant the two flows snapped together. Jade relaxed the first part of the ritual had been completed successfully.
Sorrow remained silent while Jade completed the ritual binding. He watched now as Jade took up the sacred dagger and placed a shallow cut across his wrist... Perhaps a pint of blood flowed into the bowl before Jade tightened a tourniquet and stopped the bleeding. Jade's voice never stopped as the intricate Sumerian words flowed off her tongue. She stood and placed the blood next to the statue. Dipping her fingers into the blood, she marked the statue's heart with it then raised her voice in an appeal to Erishkigal. Jade felt the connected flow of power pulse as the blood soaked into the alabaster.
Jade raised the bowl over the statue and poured out the blood, watching as the stone greedily soaked up every last drop and turning a pale pink in the process. Sorrow watched as Jade returned and loosened the tourniquet, letting the blood flow into the bowl again. She bled him a total of four times. Finally, light-headed with the loss of blood, Sorrow lost himself in hallucination...
*************************
He found himself upon a cracked and dusty plain, surrounded on all sides by thorns. Trapped before him in the thorns was a great coal-black wolf. With a dry rustling, the barbs parted and the wolf leapt at him, fangs bared and snarling. Sorrow thrust his forearm into the wolf's ravenous jaws; the force of the wolf's leap drove forced him off his feet and he fell backwards into the thorns.
The wolf worried at Sorrow's left arm while the claws on its hind legs raked his stomach. Sorrow drove his fist into the wolf's chest again and again but to no avail; the beast's grip refused to yield. Razor sharp teeth continued to tear at Sorrow's flesh, turning his belly into a mass of open wounds, and thorns pierced deep punctures into his back. Finally, Sorrow jabbed his thumb into the wolf's left eye, causing it to yelp in pain and release him.
Trying to remain on the creature's blind side, Sorrow circled towards the left but the thorns hampered his movements. Attracted by his blood and pain, they rustled closer, tightening the circle and clinging to his back. Snarling ferociously, the wolf darted forward in a bid to tear at Sorrow's knees. Instead, it gained only a mouthful of thorns, causing it to shy back to its original position, where it stood its ground and growled. Sorrow smiled. He understood. So when the circle of thorns inexorably tightened, Sorrow stepped backwards and let them claim him.
Like a mass of slithering serpents, the thorns ran up over his flesh and wrapped themselves around him, piercing through every inch of his flesh. Through his mind-shattering agony, Sorrow was aware of the wolf's futile attempts to reach him. Smiling one last time, he threw his arms open wide.
The wolf leapt and Sorrow gathered it into his embrace. His torn left arm held the struggling animal against his body whilst his right had drove into the flesh of its belly, just below the ribcage. The flesh parted after the third blow and Sorrow reached into its chest cavity. The wolf was now in a frenzy to escape - it yowled in pain, snapping and roaring in pain as the thorns that pierce Sorrow's arm tore at its skin. Sorrow's hand closed upon the wolf's heart. Holding the still beating muscle in a vicelike grip, Sorrow twisted his hand and tore it from the wolf's chest...
There was an explosion of dust. When the cloud cleared, Sorrow was left pierced, bleeding and holding the wolf's heart, which crumbled away the second it was punctured by the remaining thorns. Sorrow breathed in deeply. The beast's foetid breath dissipated, the air was suddenly light and fragrant. Around him, stretching all the way to the horizon, thousands upon thousands of red roses bloomed.
*************************
It was nearly dawn... Jade continued to chant, her voice hoarse and barely more than a croak. The power that linked Sorrow's body and the statue had surged back and forth through the night but now something had changed. With one final gush, it snapped and Jade felt some unutterable darkness flow into the effigy while something ineffable settled back into Sorrow's suddenly quiescent body. A wind arose from nowhere and the candles were suddenly snuffed out.
"Tris?" Jade whispered when the first light of dawn filtered through the windows. She reached out to touch her lover's pale face. *Did it work? Is he alive?* Her fingers were trembling as she brushed the tips against Sorrow's cheek and she almost burst into tears of relief when she felt a faint huff of breath emitting from his mouth.
The room was quiet save for the sounds of their ragged breathing. Jade laid her head on Sorrow's shoulder, trying to warm his chilled body. When the golden rays of sunlight touched the blood red statue, a sudden burst of light had her gasping in shock. Even as she inadvertently reached out to touch it, the crimson sculpture exploded in a cloud of dust.