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marysuevirus2019-08-07 08:40 pm
ladydeathfaerie) wrote in marysuevirus2019-08-07 08:40 pm
The Mary Sue Virus: Before Death
Title: The Mary Sue Virus: Before Death
Fandom: Anita Blake universe
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: not much. just some language, teenaged girls being mean to one another
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of LKH. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.
Author's Notes: so... hey. here's a fic absolutely no one wanted or even asked for. at least i wrote something?
The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death - Index Link
"I need a problem dealt with. A few discreet inquiries have made it clear that you are the man to deal with my particular problem," the voice told him over the phone. He got touches of arrogance from the smooth tones in that voice, letting him know he was dealing with a Grade A Asshole. It almost made him want to hang up, but some instinct told him to keep listening. That he wouldn't regret it. Those were the kind of instincts that kept him alive, so he stayed on the line and kept listening. "I have a mess that needs to be cleaned up. I'm more than willing to pay above and beyond your standard rate in exchange for quick results and little to no fanfare."
"What kind of problem?" he asked. Not that he cared. It was more to sound like he wanted the job than to actually know. If the asshole on the other end was willing to pay his fees, he wasn't above parting a fool and his money. One way or another.
"One that refuses to go away. One that requires your special talent." There was a touch of firmness to the voice that said the asshole didn't want to give away any more. It made alarm bells ring at the back of his head. He gave a moment's consideration to why that was, then brushed it aside as unimportant at the moment.
"Six figures," he replied without emotion.
"I can meet your demands," the man assured him.
"Six figures is the starting rate," he returned. "The length of the job and the difficulty will add to it. You're sure you still want to hire me?"
"I need this mess dealt with yesterday," the man replied steadily.
"I'm going to give you an address. Send all the pertinent information you have there. I'll be in touch in the next few days."
"Thank you. I'll await your call." There was something in the man's voice that set off those warning bells again. He paid them a little more attention this time. Something about this job didn't feel right. Of course, there was nothing stopping him from taking the man's money and then taking his life if this whole mess went south.
That was always an option. Always.
~*~*~*~*~
The low hanging branches of an old elm provided the perfect spot for spying without being seen. Too bad it didn't come with soundproofing because his jaw ached from clenching it so tightly. It was a struggle to not yell a few expletives right then and there. The packet of information he'd gotten from his client had contained everything in it he'd needed to find his prey. Name. Residence. A description along with a grainy black and white photo. Vague reasons why said prey needed to be taken care of. But it hadn't been goddamn enough and he wanted to strangle his client.
Because said client had forgotten to mention that the target was a teenaged girl.
He stared through the leaves as the teenaged girl in question hurried away from the big building that served as the school's gymnasium. The school uniform she wore had been put on hastily, the tie hanging undone from her collar and the top two buttons of her dress shirt left unbuttoned. Her head was down, sunlight glinting off the long length of deep red hair, arms wrapped tightly around a bag that she kept pressed against her chest. Years spent doing this job and studying the nature of his targets told him that the girl was stressed. Anxious. Unhappy. That picture suggested she hardly looked like the kind of trouble someone would pay him to deal with. He knew from experience, though, that looks could be deceiving.
Harsh, tittering laughter brought his attention to a gaggle of girls several feet behind the lone girl. Even across the distance he could tell they were the mean girls. There was always one group amongst the student body that made life hell for those who they felt were beneath them. And there was always that one special someone that they took great joy in tormenting. And the redhead trying to hurry away from them was their special someone. The lone girl put her head down even further and increased her pace. It was too bad for her that a second group of girls came around the side of a building just then and cut off her forward escape.
He watched as his target came to a halt and glanced around her. Despite the distance between them, he could see the firm set of her shoulders and the tightness of her grip on the bag she held. She might not have wanted to get into a confrontation with the mean girls, but now that there was no way to avoid it, she'd decided she wasn't going to be an easy target. Curious. "Where are you going in such a rush, Solomon? Don't you want to hang out with us?" one girl asked, stepping away from the crowd. Obviously the mean girls' leader.
"I have homework, Amelia," the girl said steadily. Her grip on her bag hadn't loosened and he saw her intent in her posture. Even across the distance.
"But the day isn't over. Its only lunch time," Amelia replied, casually closing the distance between them. He could see that she had something in one of her hands and wondered if the girl could see it, too.
"I'm not hungry."
"Really? And after I brought you some lunch," Amelia said, her tone suggesting she was hurt. Then her smile split into a leering grin and she lunged forward, her occupied hand coming up toward the girl's face. Amelia's intended victim ducked down while launching herself toward the other girl, driving her shoulder into Amelia's stomach and pushing her back several paces. The girl's arms shot out to wrap around Amelia's thighs, then Amelia was flat on her back in the grass, the other girl sitting on top of her. A fist swung and caught Amelia on the cheekbone, snapping her head to the side. "Ow! You bitch! You hit me!" Amelia accused, a grating whine in her voice.
He watched as the girl shifted her weight around, putting a foot in Amelia's belly as she shoved to her feet to face off with the rest of the crowd. A single glare from her saw the gathered girls shrinking back in fear. Then she turned her attention back to Amelia and once more put her foot in the girl's abdomen. It effectively stopped the Amelia's attempt to rise. "You're right. I'm a bitch. And I did hit you. I'll do it again. I told you last time you tried to pick on me that I'm done being your personal punching bag. You and your friends won't touch me again."
"What are you going to do to stop me?" Amelia asked, glaring daggers up at the girl standing over her. There was a touch of red at the corner of her mouth, telling him that the girl had hit her hard enough to cut the inside of her tormentor's cheek on her teeth.
His target glared back in return, and he saw in the set of her lips that she would do something horrible to Amelia. It made him wonder what variety of monster he was dealing with. She obviously wasn't a vampire because she was out in full daylight. And she attended a private Christian academy. There were crosses on her uniform and on every single one of the buildings around her. He knew that religion and crosses didn't mix well with vampires. For all he knew, the school sat on consecrated ground.
A shifter, maybe. That was a possibility. But it wasn't likely, as she would have probably hurt Amelia much worse with her punch. And he'd managed to get a look at her school records, which were outstanding. Nothing to indicate she was missing classes because of the full moon and the unavoidable shift that came with it. He knew there were other things out there that made people scream in terror. But the girl didn't seem to tick any of those boxes. She certainly hadn't ticked any of his boxes yet.
"I will bury you alive," the girl promised. There was nothing in her voice to suggest she was lying. In fact, he was willing to bet she absolutely meant what she said. But the girl caught under her foot obviously thought the girl was yanking her chain. Because she started laughing.
"You? You can't do anything to me, Solomon. You're pathetic and weak," Amelia barked out, laughter coloring every single one of her words. He watched as her body tensed in preparation of launching an attack against her opponent. She even started coming up off the ground. But something stopped her, jerked her head back down to the ground forcefully enough that the other girls gathered around them gasped in shock.
Well, now. That was interesting.
"I am not weak, Amelia!" the girl snarled. She climbed up off her opponent and turned, eyes darting around until they landed on something in the grass. He couldn't see what it was, but she scrambled toward it and scooped it up, then returned to the other girl, who was just coming to her feet. His target slammed into the girl, her hands coming up so that one grabbed Amelia's chin and squeezed. Amelia cried out in pain, mouth opening as the other girl's fingers dug into her flesh. The target's other hand came up and slammed over Amelia's mouth. Whatever it was she'd picked up out of the grass saw her tormentor struggling against her hold.
Amelia's would-be victim shoved Amelia back until she reached the end of the girl's arm, then a knee came up and caught Amelia in the abdomen. The girl cried out even as she doubled over, hands coming up to close over her abused belly. Something flew out of her mouth to land in the grass. Amelia dropped to her knees, gagging loudly. It served as a signal to the other girls to try and close in on the girl who stood in the middle of their circle.
"Ladies! Enough!" a shrill voice cut across the group, bringing everyone to a stand still. Every single head turned toward the owner of the voice. A stern looking older woman wearing a starched suit in dark blue was staring at them. The only touches of color to it were made by the white collar at her throat and the golden cross that rested against her chest. The girls were all silent. He was sure that even the birds in the tree above him had fallen silent out of fear. "All of you. Off to classes or lunch. Now!" The woman turned her attention to the two girls at the center of the group. "Miss Solomon. Miss Turner. Come with me, please."
The chill tone of her voice carried clearly across the distance. The group of spectators dispersed immediately. Another woman, younger than the first but still clad in the same strict suit that suggested it was some kind of a uniform, appeared from behind the first woman and hurried over to help Amelia Turner to her feet. His target moved stiffly to gather her bag, glaring daggers at all of them. Still, she followed after the group dutifully. But not before casting a quick glance behind her.
When the girls and women were gone, when natural silence had settled over the clearing, he drew a set of binoculars from a pocket inside of his coat and used them to focus on the broad expanse of grass where the fight had taken place. The skimmed over the shock of white cotton that lay forgotten in the grass, letting him know exactly what Amelia Turner had been ready to feed his target. Something else white moved in the breeze. A piece of material or some of Amelia's hair or...
Or a skeletal hand that shifted around, looking for something to hold on to. He lowered his binoculars and considered for a moment what he'd just seen.
Things had just gotten very interesting.
~*~*~*~*~
"You failed to include some pertinent information in the packet you sent me," he said into the phone. His voice was all the colder for the lack of inflection, the lack of emotion behind his words. And he knew that the client knew it. For a moment, there was nothing to be heard, then the faint sound of material shifting against a leather chair. An unconscious sign of fear.
"I don't know what you mean. I sent you everything you needed to know to earn your pay. A name. A place to find the target. Your payment." He could tell that the man was choosing his words very, very carefully.
"You didn't tell me that the target is a teenaged girl," he replied steadily.
"I didn't think that was pertinent," was the response.
"Of course its pertinent. I don't kill children." He made sure there was distaste in his words. Then he spoke again, making sure that the coldness in his tone carried across the line. "And I don't like being lied to."
"Are you telling me that the girl is still alive?" the man asked, blatantly ignoring the threat laced into his words. The man's voice was higher, letting him know that his answer was beyond important.
"For now," he said. "But you should explain to me why you failed to tell me my target was a teenaged girl before I decide that you're the bigger monster." This time, the threat in his words was implicit. And he didn't bother to tell the man that he'd already made that determination. He just wanted to know why someone would pay him to kill a teenaged girl.
"Because she's filled with evil. The devil has touched her and left his taint upon her soul. She needs to be destroyed before she can spread that taint to the rest of God's children," his client replied. It was the absolute belief in the man's voice that told him he was dealing with a lunatic. It made him wonder if the man thought he had no clue he'd been hired to kill his client's daughter.
"She's a child," he said, making sure to drive the point home. And he was pretty sure she was far from the monster her idiot sire had painted her to be. He needed to do more research, obviously, but he was pretty sure he knew what was going on. If his research supported his thoughts, then he'd have to alter his plans and come up with a new course of action.
"She's evil," the client hissed into the phone. There was a moment when it felt like he wanted to agree, but it faded as quickly as it had come. His lips pressed into a flat line that would have scared the man on the other end of the line, had he been able to see it. "She needs to die! I paid you to kill her! Do it!"
'You paid me to kill a monster," he replied, voice flat. "You'll get your money's worth." He tapped a button on his phone and ended the call, then turned the thing off. Let the piece of shit stew for a bit. Maybe he'd figure out that he'd just been warned of his impending death.
Then again, he didn't have high hopes of such an event happening. The man was a crazed idiot, after all. And he certainly wouldn't know the truth if it jumped up and bit him on his sanctimonious ass. Putting thoughts of his client aside, he turned his attention to the puzzling young girl who had been tossed into his lap. If she was what he thought she was...
The world had just gotten a little more interesting.
~*~*~*~*~
"I hate them. Every last one of them. They're all fucking useless hypocrites who wouldn't know Christian charity if it jumped up and bit them on their big, fat asses." The girl's voice came from just ahead. It sounded petulant and tired. It sounded lost and sad. Her tone made him wonder how long she'd been dealing with this kind of treatment, and he found himself hurrying his pace just a little. He didn't want to lose her, now that he'd found her.
It had taken him a little longer than he was willing to admit to figure out where the girl had gone after escaping from her dorm. Of course, it had taken him longer than he was willing to admit to figure out she'd snuck out of her dorm. He wasn't surprised that she'd do such a thing. What little he'd seen of her life at school suggested she had few, if any, friends. He didn't think she was intentionally a loner, but he'd seen with his own eyes how people reacted to someone they considered strange. It was already a strike against her that she was smart. Her grades spoke of a quick mind that soaked information up like a sponge. No one liked someone who made good grades without really studying. Her otherworldly talents, and he was beyond certain she had said talents, only set her farther apart from her peers.
So he wasn't surprised that she'd broken curfew and snuck out. Honestly, he'd have been surprised if she hadn't snuck out of her dorm. What he was surprised by was that she'd managed to do it under his nose. He was going to have to ask her about that some day. If he got the chance. He planned on getting the chance. Because the more he knew...
After his last conversation with his client, he'd done some deeper digging than he'd done the first time around. Not that his last dig for information hadn't been thorough. But he'd realized he'd somehow missed a hidden and important layer to the man's life. Digging into it had been an eye opener. He'd known he was dealing with a first class shitbag, but he hadn't know just how big a shitbag.
He stopped before he reached the edge of the trees, deciding to remain hidden in the shadows, and stared out at the clearing just beyond. The girl was sitting on a large vault carved out of marbled stone. At the head was the statue of an angel, looking pale and serene in the light of the moon. From where he stood, he could see several animals settled patiently on the ground, staring up at her expectantly. There were several dogs, a pair of cats, and a bird. He couldn't see her face clearly, chin resting on arms that had been crossed over her upright knees, but he felt certain she was staring down at them.
He knew her audience was dead. It wasn't any one thing that spelled it out for him because all of them looked perfect. But he just knew. He'd seen this trick a time or two. They looked life-like, not a single bit of fur out of place. Their eyes glittered as they stared at her, tails thumping or flicking, wings fluttering. "I hate it here. You guys are the only friends I have," she told them softly.
One of the dogs whined in sympathy, inching forward so that it could push its nose against the bottom of one foot. "I wish I could go home," she told them. There was a weariness in her words that suggested she'd said them far too many times, that she knew better than to utter them but couldn't seem to stop herself. "But I don't have a home to go to. Do I? He doesn't want me in his life. I upset his wife. His family. Like that's my fault? He's the one who fucked around on his wife."
The same dog whined again, nudged her foot with its nose again. One of her hands reached out absently and rubbed at the animal's head. "I should run away. Go someplace where no one knows me and try to make a life for myself," she muttered. He could hear longing in her voice. He thought maybe she might have tried it once. But the girl had no money. No car. No resources at all. She'd probably gotten as far as the bus stop, then been forced to turn around and go back to the school. If she'd done something like that, she hadn't gotten caught because it wasn't in her file. And every single disciplinary action taken against her had been noted in her file. There were so many of them. It was no wonder she hated being there. The sadistic bitch of a nun who ran the school had a predilection for the paddle. "When I'm finally able..."
Her words were cut short by a bell ringing in the distance. The girl's head came up and craned around to look back toward the school. "Shit. I have to get back. Sister will be checking beds soon. If I get caught out of my bed after curfew again... I wish I could set that old bitch's paddle on fire."
The girl slid off the vault and stared at her beastly gang of followers. "You guys go back to sleep. I'll come see you again when I can. Promise." She turned and fled back toward the school without even checking to see if the animals did as she'd said. He had to draw back into the shadows to avoid being discovered when she crashed into the trees. When she'd passed him by, he stepped back out onto the path and stared at where she'd gone.
When he looked back to the cemetery, the animals had disappeared.
~*~*~*~*~
"Blake here," the voice on the other end of the line said in a brusque, business like fashion. He bit back the smile that came and prepared himself for the coming conversation.
"Ms. Blake. My name is Edward. Perhaps you remember me?" he questioned lightly. There was a moment's pause, then he heard the woman breathe out softly.
"I'm not likely to forget someone who takes a flame thrower to a vampire's nest. What can I do for you?" she responded steadily. The flame thrower did tend to make an impression. He was glad it had, because he would have hated to have to eat up valuable time refreshing her memory as to when and where they'd met. And why.
"I have some questions for you. I'd appreciate it if you could give me honest, thorough answers to them," he told her.
"I'll do my best. What kind of questions?" There might have been a touch of something like skepticism in her voice.
"Questions about the dead," he informed her. He swore he felt a little knot of tension undo itself with that statement. As if she'd been expecting him to ask something else. He didn't wait for her to invite him to continue, instead putting forth his first question with little time wasted. "Are all people who can raise the dead called animators or is there another classification for them?"
She paused a moment, as if trying to gauge why he'd be asking such a question. "There is another classification," she admitted finally. It sounded like she hadn't really wanted to answer such a question.
"Which is?" he pressed politely.
She didn't hesitate this time. "A necromancer."
"And what's the difference?" he asked.
"An animator is capable of raising a zombie from its grave. They can give it the ability to follow instructions and answer questions. But most people can tell that the zombie is exactly that. A zombie," she began. He heard something rattle on her end and wondered briefly if she was playing with something to soothe her nerves or if it was something else entirely. "A necromancer is someone who can do all of those things. But with the added bonus of making the zombie look like its alive. Like its a living, breathing thing."
"How common is a necromancer?" he asked.
"Not very. I don't know of many necromancers today. Most everyone who works for the major animating companies are animators."
"But not you," he said, dead certain of the answer.
"No. I'm more than an animator. Why do you ask?" There was a touch of anger in her words, as if she resented his line of questioning. Maybe she thought he was trying to feel her out or something? After all, she didn't know him from Adam.
"When did you know you were a necromancer?"
"When I was a teenager."
He put forth his next question, despite the fact that he could tell she was getting ready to call him on his line of questioning. "How do you tell the difference? What things would you look for?"
"The quality of the zombie. The ease with which its raised. How alive it looks and how much intelligence you find in its eyes. Why do you need to know? What is all this about?" she asked. There was an edge to her tone that told him she was tired of playing twenty questions.
"Research," he told her. It wasn't technically a lie. He swore he could hear her getting angry across the line. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Blake. You've been very informative and very helpful. Have a good evening."
He hung up before she could say anything else and turned his phone off. He needed time to consider what he'd heard and process it. To compare it with what he'd seen over the past couple of weeks.
The girl, Katherine Solomon, had managed to sneak out almost every night after curfew. And every night, she went to the little cemetery where the dogs and cats and bird sat with her and offered silent companionship. Unconditional friendship. Every night, the beasts looked as if they were still alive. Ever since her encounter with Amelia Turner, he'd watched and studied and tried to determine if his eyes had been playing tricks on him or not.
It was possible. He could have seen some bit of white material waving in the gentle breeze the day she'd confronted Amelia Turner. He might have mistaken a shredded cloth for a waving hand. He'd been at a distance that day, after all. He hadn't been able to clearly see if it was a skeleton's hand or not, to clearly determine if she'd somehow brought a skeleton's hand to the surface to grab hold of Amelia Turner's hair.
But the days of watching her with her little menagerie in the cemetery had convinced him that he hadn't been seeing things that day. He was certain now, more than ever, that Katherine Solomon was at, the very least, an animator. But the conversation he'd just had with Anita Blake made him adjust that belief. The Solomon girl was a necromancer. And he had no doubt that the girl's father, a man who was clearly pious when it suited him to be so, was embarrassed by his daughter's ability. He'd said she was cursed, that she was leaving messes behind where ever she went. But he'd yet to see signs of said messes. Either she had more control than her father thought, or she hadn't had cause to raise a human zombie.
Maybe raising the animals nightly kept her powers from leaking out all over things. He'd have loved to ask more questions of Anita Blake, but he didn't want to tip his hand until he was certain what he was dealing with.
He had more pressing matters to deal with. The girl's father wanted results. He wanted the girl dealt with. Yesterday. And the more time that passed, the more he realized that he'd been taken for an idiot. That left him feeling less than charitable toward the good Reverend Solomon. And now his brain was filled with ideas that he wasn't sure he had the right entertaining. Because the truth was, he was starting to think that Katherine Solomon was more valuable alive than dead. She could prove to be an amazing asset. Her father, on the other hand, was nothing more than a liability.
All he needed to do was come up with a reasonable solution to this problem that would benefit him and the girl. He just wasn't sure what that solution was.
Yet.
~*~*~*~*~
She wasn't in the cemetery. He knew she'd come this direction, but there was no sign of the girl in her favored spot on the vault. And there was no sign of her little menagerie, either. The cemetery was completely empty and he had no idea where to find the girl.
He blamed her idiot father. He'd been on the phone with the piece of crap when he should have been waiting for the girl outside her dorm. He wouldn't have even been sure she'd left her dorm if he hadn't seen her ducking between two of the campus buildings on her way to the thick copse of trees that ran between the school and the cemetery. Of course he'd had to waste valuable time skirting the property to get to the trees in order to keep someone from seeing him. Which meant he'd lost the girl.
Shit.
He needed to find her. He'd done a lot of thinking over the past few weeks, between rounds of watching the girl, and he was sure he had things figured out. A plan that would be mutually beneficial to the both of them. He just had to, you know, find the girl. And give her the option. Because the more he conversed with her shit stain of a father, the more he felt that the girl had done nothing wrong. She'd been born and that had been enough for her religious zealot sperm donor. Some discrete inquiries into the girl's life before coming to a school that was the physical equivalent of emotional constipation had painted a picture for him that he hadn't much cared for. It looked as if the girl was as unliked in her father's home as she was in the school to which he'd banished her. All for the simple act of existing.
The girl was no monster. That prize went to her father. He'd deal with him at another time. For now, he had to find the girl.
"Oh, no. Oh, no. No no no. Not now. Please not now. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Please not now."
The words were a soft prayer, filled with fear and confusion. They came from his right, which started his feet moving. There were several large mausoleums to his right, which cut off a good portion of the cemetery from view. He had his weapon in hand before he started moving, feet as silent as possible on the uneven ground. Fortunately, it was spring and the grass was thick and full, cushioning his steps as he took them. Hiding his presence for just a little while longer.
He rounded the last of the stone mausoleums and found himself standing behind the girl. She was surrounded by a half dozen zombies, all of them eyeing her as if she was some prize treat. It was possible they thought so, given the girl didn't seem to have any control of them. It made him wonder briefly if she had no clue what she was capable of. That thought died the next moment, leaving him filled with the realization that this was what Solomon had been referring to as a mess. Which meant the girl had absolutely no idea that she was the reason the zombies were there. She was untrained and spilling power all over the place. His research had told him that much.
"Tell them to go back to their graves," he ordered softly, bringing all eyes his way. The zombies stared at him as if he'd just been moved to the top of the menu. The girl stared as if she'd never seen another human being before.
"I don't know what you mean," the girl replied, voice desperate and frightened.
"Tell them to return to their graves. Put your power into your words. Make them bend to your will," he repeated. There was a little more force in his words this time. A little more authority. He had a sneaking suspicion the girl would respond to it. One of the zombies took a shuffling step toward him. "Do it now."
"I don't know how," she confessed, panic lacing her words.
"Put authority into your voice. Think of what you want them to do. Tell them to do it. Order them. The way he orders you," he insisted. The girl bristled at his words, but it had the effect he'd hoped it would. Her shoulders settled and her spine straightened. He watched her hands clench at her sides, then she stretched her fingers out and put her hands against her thighs.
"Go back to your graves. You're not needed here," she told the zombies. They paused in their shifting, stumbling movements to look at the girl. He couldn't see what look she wore on her face, but he could well imagine what it was. There was a touch of the same authority in her voice that had been there when she'd been dealing with Amelia Turner. "Go back! Go back to your graves and trouble me no more!"
He didn't feel anything. Nothing seemed to change. And yet... The zombies halted altogether, then the ground at their feet boiled and swallowed them whole. Less than a minute later, the zombies were gone and he was alone in the cemetery with a young, untrained necromancer. The girl whirled to him, a smile on her face. A smile that died the moment she saw the gun in his hand. The moment she realized it was pointed straight at her heart. The girl staggered back a few paces. "Who are you?"
"The man who was hired to clean up your messes," he told her evenly. She blinked at that, gaze dropping to the barrel of his gun before returning to his face.
"Ah," she replied quietly. Her face was pale, all color drained away with the realization that he had been sent by her father to kill her.
He watched her a moment longer, curious at her lack of concern. Oh, he knew she was afraid. The fact that she'd lost all color said as much. But there was none of the emotion on her face. Nothing to tell him what she was thinking or feeling. Not really. In fact, there might have been some acceptance in her posture, as if she'd been expecting it. Frowning at the idea that the girl was aware that her father wanted her dead, he holstered his weapon and motioned with his now empty hand toward the ground at her feet.
"No one's dying here tonight," he told her, earning him a confused look. "It would be a waste to take your life. Because you're special in a way few people are. What you have, Katherine Solomon, is a gift. A very rare and very unusual gift. And there is so much more for you in this world than you can even begin to imagine. And I want to help you achieve it."
She frowned at him. "A gift? What kind of gift? He told me I was cursed. Touched by evil," she replied quietly.
"You're not touched by evil. You're touched by a father who is an idiot. I plan to help you change that."
She eyed him a moment before crossing her arms over her chest, one hip cocking in a pose he recognized as stubbornness. "And why should you want to help me? Why not just shoot me and collect his money?"
"I've already collected his money. And I've dug into his life, and yours, enough to know that he's a self-righteous asshole who deserves to loose a little more of his money."
She studied his face a few seconds, then nodded as if agreeing with him. "So what did he do to you to make you want to double cross him like this? You could have just shot me and gone your merry way and no one would have cared." There was a tone in her voice that said she fully believed it.
"I would have cared. I'm not in the business of killing kids. Especially if the person who hires me turns out to be more of a monster than the child." He crossed his arms and looked her up and down. "I know that it would chap his ass from now until doomsday to know that you did not, in fact, die like he'd planned."
"Why?" He knew she wasn't asking about her father. She was asking why he planned on sparing her.
He sighed and considered giving her the easy answer or giving her the truth. The truth won out. He didn't think lying to her would do either of them any good. "Because you have a gift, Katherine. A gift so few people have. And it will take you places. But you have to learn how to refine it. Use it properly. It will open doors that you never even knew existed. Because you don't deserve to die simply because some idiot who doesn't understand you says you do. Because he pissed me off and I can use you, and your abilities, to my advantage."
"And if I don't want you to help me with this gift? With these doors its supposed to open for me? What then? You gonna put on between my eyes?"
"Nothing like that. You'll go your way. I'll go mine. But that will leave your father the option of hiring every single bounty hunter out there. And one of them will take the shot. One of them will not hesitate over the fact that you're a kid who doesn't know what the hell's going on. One of them will kill you. And you'll never see it coming." He paused and let her absorb what he'd told her. Offered her a faint smile, little more than a quirk of his lips at the corners. "If you decide to accept my help, you won't have to worry about your father. You'll continue your education uninterrupted. Then college. Then the sky will be the limit."
"Why would you help me? Don't tell me you're being charitable. Poor little freak girl needs help. Let me make her life better. That doesn't seem your style. So what's your deal? What do you get out of this arrangement?" There was bitterness in her voice as she asked her questions, but also resignation. As if she expected nothing else from him. Maybe she didn't. Maybe that was all she knew.
"You'll owe me," he replied steadily. It was a full answer. Yet it wasn't. His favors always came with a steep price. She'd have to decide if it was worth it. She was smart, though. Smart enough to know that he wasn't treating her like a charity case simply because it was in his nature. He liked that. He liked that she was smart. It would make things easier later on. If she accepted, of course.
"So... what? I trade one devil for another?"
"Trust me, Miss Solomon," he said, letting a cold smile spread across his face. "I'm the lesser of the two evils." Then he fell silent and let her consider his words very carefully.
"What do I need to do?" she finally asked after an age of silence.
"Go back to your dorm. Pack your things. Walk out the door. Never look back," he started. She gave him a look that plainly said she didn't think she'd be able to simply walk out the door. He offered her a smile again. "Trust me. You'll be able to do it. I'll be waiting for you on the street, down at the corner where the maple tree grows."
"The one that got split in two by lightning?" she asked.
"That's the one. Pack your bags. Walk out the door. Meet me there in twenty minutes. We'll move you to another school. We'll start you on your new life. You'll get a new identity. New everything. I'll make sure you're taught about your powers. And later, after you've finished your schooling and you're ready to move on, your life will belong to me."
She stared at him a moment, then her eyes narrowed. "If you try to get into my pants, they'll never find the body," she warned him. He chuckled at her words.
"Don't worry, Miss Solomon. Your body is safe with me."
She frowned at him a little longer. "Fine. Deal. Anything has to be better than this shithole."
He nodded and made a motion toward the school with one hand. She started forward, then stopped and frowned at him. "What do I call you? What's your name?"
"The monsters call me Death, Miss Solomon. You, however, can call me Edward."
Fandom: Anita Blake universe
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: not much. just some language, teenaged girls being mean to one another
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of LKH. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.
Author's Notes: so... hey. here's a fic absolutely no one wanted or even asked for. at least i wrote something?
The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death - Index Link
"I need a problem dealt with. A few discreet inquiries have made it clear that you are the man to deal with my particular problem," the voice told him over the phone. He got touches of arrogance from the smooth tones in that voice, letting him know he was dealing with a Grade A Asshole. It almost made him want to hang up, but some instinct told him to keep listening. That he wouldn't regret it. Those were the kind of instincts that kept him alive, so he stayed on the line and kept listening. "I have a mess that needs to be cleaned up. I'm more than willing to pay above and beyond your standard rate in exchange for quick results and little to no fanfare."
"What kind of problem?" he asked. Not that he cared. It was more to sound like he wanted the job than to actually know. If the asshole on the other end was willing to pay his fees, he wasn't above parting a fool and his money. One way or another.
"One that refuses to go away. One that requires your special talent." There was a touch of firmness to the voice that said the asshole didn't want to give away any more. It made alarm bells ring at the back of his head. He gave a moment's consideration to why that was, then brushed it aside as unimportant at the moment.
"Six figures," he replied without emotion.
"I can meet your demands," the man assured him.
"Six figures is the starting rate," he returned. "The length of the job and the difficulty will add to it. You're sure you still want to hire me?"
"I need this mess dealt with yesterday," the man replied steadily.
"I'm going to give you an address. Send all the pertinent information you have there. I'll be in touch in the next few days."
"Thank you. I'll await your call." There was something in the man's voice that set off those warning bells again. He paid them a little more attention this time. Something about this job didn't feel right. Of course, there was nothing stopping him from taking the man's money and then taking his life if this whole mess went south.
That was always an option. Always.
~*~*~*~*~
The low hanging branches of an old elm provided the perfect spot for spying without being seen. Too bad it didn't come with soundproofing because his jaw ached from clenching it so tightly. It was a struggle to not yell a few expletives right then and there. The packet of information he'd gotten from his client had contained everything in it he'd needed to find his prey. Name. Residence. A description along with a grainy black and white photo. Vague reasons why said prey needed to be taken care of. But it hadn't been goddamn enough and he wanted to strangle his client.
Because said client had forgotten to mention that the target was a teenaged girl.
He stared through the leaves as the teenaged girl in question hurried away from the big building that served as the school's gymnasium. The school uniform she wore had been put on hastily, the tie hanging undone from her collar and the top two buttons of her dress shirt left unbuttoned. Her head was down, sunlight glinting off the long length of deep red hair, arms wrapped tightly around a bag that she kept pressed against her chest. Years spent doing this job and studying the nature of his targets told him that the girl was stressed. Anxious. Unhappy. That picture suggested she hardly looked like the kind of trouble someone would pay him to deal with. He knew from experience, though, that looks could be deceiving.
Harsh, tittering laughter brought his attention to a gaggle of girls several feet behind the lone girl. Even across the distance he could tell they were the mean girls. There was always one group amongst the student body that made life hell for those who they felt were beneath them. And there was always that one special someone that they took great joy in tormenting. And the redhead trying to hurry away from them was their special someone. The lone girl put her head down even further and increased her pace. It was too bad for her that a second group of girls came around the side of a building just then and cut off her forward escape.
He watched as his target came to a halt and glanced around her. Despite the distance between them, he could see the firm set of her shoulders and the tightness of her grip on the bag she held. She might not have wanted to get into a confrontation with the mean girls, but now that there was no way to avoid it, she'd decided she wasn't going to be an easy target. Curious. "Where are you going in such a rush, Solomon? Don't you want to hang out with us?" one girl asked, stepping away from the crowd. Obviously the mean girls' leader.
"I have homework, Amelia," the girl said steadily. Her grip on her bag hadn't loosened and he saw her intent in her posture. Even across the distance.
"But the day isn't over. Its only lunch time," Amelia replied, casually closing the distance between them. He could see that she had something in one of her hands and wondered if the girl could see it, too.
"I'm not hungry."
"Really? And after I brought you some lunch," Amelia said, her tone suggesting she was hurt. Then her smile split into a leering grin and she lunged forward, her occupied hand coming up toward the girl's face. Amelia's intended victim ducked down while launching herself toward the other girl, driving her shoulder into Amelia's stomach and pushing her back several paces. The girl's arms shot out to wrap around Amelia's thighs, then Amelia was flat on her back in the grass, the other girl sitting on top of her. A fist swung and caught Amelia on the cheekbone, snapping her head to the side. "Ow! You bitch! You hit me!" Amelia accused, a grating whine in her voice.
He watched as the girl shifted her weight around, putting a foot in Amelia's belly as she shoved to her feet to face off with the rest of the crowd. A single glare from her saw the gathered girls shrinking back in fear. Then she turned her attention back to Amelia and once more put her foot in the girl's abdomen. It effectively stopped the Amelia's attempt to rise. "You're right. I'm a bitch. And I did hit you. I'll do it again. I told you last time you tried to pick on me that I'm done being your personal punching bag. You and your friends won't touch me again."
"What are you going to do to stop me?" Amelia asked, glaring daggers up at the girl standing over her. There was a touch of red at the corner of her mouth, telling him that the girl had hit her hard enough to cut the inside of her tormentor's cheek on her teeth.
His target glared back in return, and he saw in the set of her lips that she would do something horrible to Amelia. It made him wonder what variety of monster he was dealing with. She obviously wasn't a vampire because she was out in full daylight. And she attended a private Christian academy. There were crosses on her uniform and on every single one of the buildings around her. He knew that religion and crosses didn't mix well with vampires. For all he knew, the school sat on consecrated ground.
A shifter, maybe. That was a possibility. But it wasn't likely, as she would have probably hurt Amelia much worse with her punch. And he'd managed to get a look at her school records, which were outstanding. Nothing to indicate she was missing classes because of the full moon and the unavoidable shift that came with it. He knew there were other things out there that made people scream in terror. But the girl didn't seem to tick any of those boxes. She certainly hadn't ticked any of his boxes yet.
"I will bury you alive," the girl promised. There was nothing in her voice to suggest she was lying. In fact, he was willing to bet she absolutely meant what she said. But the girl caught under her foot obviously thought the girl was yanking her chain. Because she started laughing.
"You? You can't do anything to me, Solomon. You're pathetic and weak," Amelia barked out, laughter coloring every single one of her words. He watched as her body tensed in preparation of launching an attack against her opponent. She even started coming up off the ground. But something stopped her, jerked her head back down to the ground forcefully enough that the other girls gathered around them gasped in shock.
Well, now. That was interesting.
"I am not weak, Amelia!" the girl snarled. She climbed up off her opponent and turned, eyes darting around until they landed on something in the grass. He couldn't see what it was, but she scrambled toward it and scooped it up, then returned to the other girl, who was just coming to her feet. His target slammed into the girl, her hands coming up so that one grabbed Amelia's chin and squeezed. Amelia cried out in pain, mouth opening as the other girl's fingers dug into her flesh. The target's other hand came up and slammed over Amelia's mouth. Whatever it was she'd picked up out of the grass saw her tormentor struggling against her hold.
Amelia's would-be victim shoved Amelia back until she reached the end of the girl's arm, then a knee came up and caught Amelia in the abdomen. The girl cried out even as she doubled over, hands coming up to close over her abused belly. Something flew out of her mouth to land in the grass. Amelia dropped to her knees, gagging loudly. It served as a signal to the other girls to try and close in on the girl who stood in the middle of their circle.
"Ladies! Enough!" a shrill voice cut across the group, bringing everyone to a stand still. Every single head turned toward the owner of the voice. A stern looking older woman wearing a starched suit in dark blue was staring at them. The only touches of color to it were made by the white collar at her throat and the golden cross that rested against her chest. The girls were all silent. He was sure that even the birds in the tree above him had fallen silent out of fear. "All of you. Off to classes or lunch. Now!" The woman turned her attention to the two girls at the center of the group. "Miss Solomon. Miss Turner. Come with me, please."
The chill tone of her voice carried clearly across the distance. The group of spectators dispersed immediately. Another woman, younger than the first but still clad in the same strict suit that suggested it was some kind of a uniform, appeared from behind the first woman and hurried over to help Amelia Turner to her feet. His target moved stiffly to gather her bag, glaring daggers at all of them. Still, she followed after the group dutifully. But not before casting a quick glance behind her.
When the girls and women were gone, when natural silence had settled over the clearing, he drew a set of binoculars from a pocket inside of his coat and used them to focus on the broad expanse of grass where the fight had taken place. The skimmed over the shock of white cotton that lay forgotten in the grass, letting him know exactly what Amelia Turner had been ready to feed his target. Something else white moved in the breeze. A piece of material or some of Amelia's hair or...
Or a skeletal hand that shifted around, looking for something to hold on to. He lowered his binoculars and considered for a moment what he'd just seen.
Things had just gotten very interesting.
~*~*~*~*~
"You failed to include some pertinent information in the packet you sent me," he said into the phone. His voice was all the colder for the lack of inflection, the lack of emotion behind his words. And he knew that the client knew it. For a moment, there was nothing to be heard, then the faint sound of material shifting against a leather chair. An unconscious sign of fear.
"I don't know what you mean. I sent you everything you needed to know to earn your pay. A name. A place to find the target. Your payment." He could tell that the man was choosing his words very, very carefully.
"You didn't tell me that the target is a teenaged girl," he replied steadily.
"I didn't think that was pertinent," was the response.
"Of course its pertinent. I don't kill children." He made sure there was distaste in his words. Then he spoke again, making sure that the coldness in his tone carried across the line. "And I don't like being lied to."
"Are you telling me that the girl is still alive?" the man asked, blatantly ignoring the threat laced into his words. The man's voice was higher, letting him know that his answer was beyond important.
"For now," he said. "But you should explain to me why you failed to tell me my target was a teenaged girl before I decide that you're the bigger monster." This time, the threat in his words was implicit. And he didn't bother to tell the man that he'd already made that determination. He just wanted to know why someone would pay him to kill a teenaged girl.
"Because she's filled with evil. The devil has touched her and left his taint upon her soul. She needs to be destroyed before she can spread that taint to the rest of God's children," his client replied. It was the absolute belief in the man's voice that told him he was dealing with a lunatic. It made him wonder if the man thought he had no clue he'd been hired to kill his client's daughter.
"She's a child," he said, making sure to drive the point home. And he was pretty sure she was far from the monster her idiot sire had painted her to be. He needed to do more research, obviously, but he was pretty sure he knew what was going on. If his research supported his thoughts, then he'd have to alter his plans and come up with a new course of action.
"She's evil," the client hissed into the phone. There was a moment when it felt like he wanted to agree, but it faded as quickly as it had come. His lips pressed into a flat line that would have scared the man on the other end of the line, had he been able to see it. "She needs to die! I paid you to kill her! Do it!"
'You paid me to kill a monster," he replied, voice flat. "You'll get your money's worth." He tapped a button on his phone and ended the call, then turned the thing off. Let the piece of shit stew for a bit. Maybe he'd figure out that he'd just been warned of his impending death.
Then again, he didn't have high hopes of such an event happening. The man was a crazed idiot, after all. And he certainly wouldn't know the truth if it jumped up and bit him on his sanctimonious ass. Putting thoughts of his client aside, he turned his attention to the puzzling young girl who had been tossed into his lap. If she was what he thought she was...
The world had just gotten a little more interesting.
~*~*~*~*~
"I hate them. Every last one of them. They're all fucking useless hypocrites who wouldn't know Christian charity if it jumped up and bit them on their big, fat asses." The girl's voice came from just ahead. It sounded petulant and tired. It sounded lost and sad. Her tone made him wonder how long she'd been dealing with this kind of treatment, and he found himself hurrying his pace just a little. He didn't want to lose her, now that he'd found her.
It had taken him a little longer than he was willing to admit to figure out where the girl had gone after escaping from her dorm. Of course, it had taken him longer than he was willing to admit to figure out she'd snuck out of her dorm. He wasn't surprised that she'd do such a thing. What little he'd seen of her life at school suggested she had few, if any, friends. He didn't think she was intentionally a loner, but he'd seen with his own eyes how people reacted to someone they considered strange. It was already a strike against her that she was smart. Her grades spoke of a quick mind that soaked information up like a sponge. No one liked someone who made good grades without really studying. Her otherworldly talents, and he was beyond certain she had said talents, only set her farther apart from her peers.
So he wasn't surprised that she'd broken curfew and snuck out. Honestly, he'd have been surprised if she hadn't snuck out of her dorm. What he was surprised by was that she'd managed to do it under his nose. He was going to have to ask her about that some day. If he got the chance. He planned on getting the chance. Because the more he knew...
After his last conversation with his client, he'd done some deeper digging than he'd done the first time around. Not that his last dig for information hadn't been thorough. But he'd realized he'd somehow missed a hidden and important layer to the man's life. Digging into it had been an eye opener. He'd known he was dealing with a first class shitbag, but he hadn't know just how big a shitbag.
He stopped before he reached the edge of the trees, deciding to remain hidden in the shadows, and stared out at the clearing just beyond. The girl was sitting on a large vault carved out of marbled stone. At the head was the statue of an angel, looking pale and serene in the light of the moon. From where he stood, he could see several animals settled patiently on the ground, staring up at her expectantly. There were several dogs, a pair of cats, and a bird. He couldn't see her face clearly, chin resting on arms that had been crossed over her upright knees, but he felt certain she was staring down at them.
He knew her audience was dead. It wasn't any one thing that spelled it out for him because all of them looked perfect. But he just knew. He'd seen this trick a time or two. They looked life-like, not a single bit of fur out of place. Their eyes glittered as they stared at her, tails thumping or flicking, wings fluttering. "I hate it here. You guys are the only friends I have," she told them softly.
One of the dogs whined in sympathy, inching forward so that it could push its nose against the bottom of one foot. "I wish I could go home," she told them. There was a weariness in her words that suggested she'd said them far too many times, that she knew better than to utter them but couldn't seem to stop herself. "But I don't have a home to go to. Do I? He doesn't want me in his life. I upset his wife. His family. Like that's my fault? He's the one who fucked around on his wife."
The same dog whined again, nudged her foot with its nose again. One of her hands reached out absently and rubbed at the animal's head. "I should run away. Go someplace where no one knows me and try to make a life for myself," she muttered. He could hear longing in her voice. He thought maybe she might have tried it once. But the girl had no money. No car. No resources at all. She'd probably gotten as far as the bus stop, then been forced to turn around and go back to the school. If she'd done something like that, she hadn't gotten caught because it wasn't in her file. And every single disciplinary action taken against her had been noted in her file. There were so many of them. It was no wonder she hated being there. The sadistic bitch of a nun who ran the school had a predilection for the paddle. "When I'm finally able..."
Her words were cut short by a bell ringing in the distance. The girl's head came up and craned around to look back toward the school. "Shit. I have to get back. Sister will be checking beds soon. If I get caught out of my bed after curfew again... I wish I could set that old bitch's paddle on fire."
The girl slid off the vault and stared at her beastly gang of followers. "You guys go back to sleep. I'll come see you again when I can. Promise." She turned and fled back toward the school without even checking to see if the animals did as she'd said. He had to draw back into the shadows to avoid being discovered when she crashed into the trees. When she'd passed him by, he stepped back out onto the path and stared at where she'd gone.
When he looked back to the cemetery, the animals had disappeared.
~*~*~*~*~
"Blake here," the voice on the other end of the line said in a brusque, business like fashion. He bit back the smile that came and prepared himself for the coming conversation.
"Ms. Blake. My name is Edward. Perhaps you remember me?" he questioned lightly. There was a moment's pause, then he heard the woman breathe out softly.
"I'm not likely to forget someone who takes a flame thrower to a vampire's nest. What can I do for you?" she responded steadily. The flame thrower did tend to make an impression. He was glad it had, because he would have hated to have to eat up valuable time refreshing her memory as to when and where they'd met. And why.
"I have some questions for you. I'd appreciate it if you could give me honest, thorough answers to them," he told her.
"I'll do my best. What kind of questions?" There might have been a touch of something like skepticism in her voice.
"Questions about the dead," he informed her. He swore he felt a little knot of tension undo itself with that statement. As if she'd been expecting him to ask something else. He didn't wait for her to invite him to continue, instead putting forth his first question with little time wasted. "Are all people who can raise the dead called animators or is there another classification for them?"
She paused a moment, as if trying to gauge why he'd be asking such a question. "There is another classification," she admitted finally. It sounded like she hadn't really wanted to answer such a question.
"Which is?" he pressed politely.
She didn't hesitate this time. "A necromancer."
"And what's the difference?" he asked.
"An animator is capable of raising a zombie from its grave. They can give it the ability to follow instructions and answer questions. But most people can tell that the zombie is exactly that. A zombie," she began. He heard something rattle on her end and wondered briefly if she was playing with something to soothe her nerves or if it was something else entirely. "A necromancer is someone who can do all of those things. But with the added bonus of making the zombie look like its alive. Like its a living, breathing thing."
"How common is a necromancer?" he asked.
"Not very. I don't know of many necromancers today. Most everyone who works for the major animating companies are animators."
"But not you," he said, dead certain of the answer.
"No. I'm more than an animator. Why do you ask?" There was a touch of anger in her words, as if she resented his line of questioning. Maybe she thought he was trying to feel her out or something? After all, she didn't know him from Adam.
"When did you know you were a necromancer?"
"When I was a teenager."
He put forth his next question, despite the fact that he could tell she was getting ready to call him on his line of questioning. "How do you tell the difference? What things would you look for?"
"The quality of the zombie. The ease with which its raised. How alive it looks and how much intelligence you find in its eyes. Why do you need to know? What is all this about?" she asked. There was an edge to her tone that told him she was tired of playing twenty questions.
"Research," he told her. It wasn't technically a lie. He swore he could hear her getting angry across the line. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Blake. You've been very informative and very helpful. Have a good evening."
He hung up before she could say anything else and turned his phone off. He needed time to consider what he'd heard and process it. To compare it with what he'd seen over the past couple of weeks.
The girl, Katherine Solomon, had managed to sneak out almost every night after curfew. And every night, she went to the little cemetery where the dogs and cats and bird sat with her and offered silent companionship. Unconditional friendship. Every night, the beasts looked as if they were still alive. Ever since her encounter with Amelia Turner, he'd watched and studied and tried to determine if his eyes had been playing tricks on him or not.
It was possible. He could have seen some bit of white material waving in the gentle breeze the day she'd confronted Amelia Turner. He might have mistaken a shredded cloth for a waving hand. He'd been at a distance that day, after all. He hadn't been able to clearly see if it was a skeleton's hand or not, to clearly determine if she'd somehow brought a skeleton's hand to the surface to grab hold of Amelia Turner's hair.
But the days of watching her with her little menagerie in the cemetery had convinced him that he hadn't been seeing things that day. He was certain now, more than ever, that Katherine Solomon was at, the very least, an animator. But the conversation he'd just had with Anita Blake made him adjust that belief. The Solomon girl was a necromancer. And he had no doubt that the girl's father, a man who was clearly pious when it suited him to be so, was embarrassed by his daughter's ability. He'd said she was cursed, that she was leaving messes behind where ever she went. But he'd yet to see signs of said messes. Either she had more control than her father thought, or she hadn't had cause to raise a human zombie.
Maybe raising the animals nightly kept her powers from leaking out all over things. He'd have loved to ask more questions of Anita Blake, but he didn't want to tip his hand until he was certain what he was dealing with.
He had more pressing matters to deal with. The girl's father wanted results. He wanted the girl dealt with. Yesterday. And the more time that passed, the more he realized that he'd been taken for an idiot. That left him feeling less than charitable toward the good Reverend Solomon. And now his brain was filled with ideas that he wasn't sure he had the right entertaining. Because the truth was, he was starting to think that Katherine Solomon was more valuable alive than dead. She could prove to be an amazing asset. Her father, on the other hand, was nothing more than a liability.
All he needed to do was come up with a reasonable solution to this problem that would benefit him and the girl. He just wasn't sure what that solution was.
Yet.
~*~*~*~*~
She wasn't in the cemetery. He knew she'd come this direction, but there was no sign of the girl in her favored spot on the vault. And there was no sign of her little menagerie, either. The cemetery was completely empty and he had no idea where to find the girl.
He blamed her idiot father. He'd been on the phone with the piece of crap when he should have been waiting for the girl outside her dorm. He wouldn't have even been sure she'd left her dorm if he hadn't seen her ducking between two of the campus buildings on her way to the thick copse of trees that ran between the school and the cemetery. Of course he'd had to waste valuable time skirting the property to get to the trees in order to keep someone from seeing him. Which meant he'd lost the girl.
Shit.
He needed to find her. He'd done a lot of thinking over the past few weeks, between rounds of watching the girl, and he was sure he had things figured out. A plan that would be mutually beneficial to the both of them. He just had to, you know, find the girl. And give her the option. Because the more he conversed with her shit stain of a father, the more he felt that the girl had done nothing wrong. She'd been born and that had been enough for her religious zealot sperm donor. Some discrete inquiries into the girl's life before coming to a school that was the physical equivalent of emotional constipation had painted a picture for him that he hadn't much cared for. It looked as if the girl was as unliked in her father's home as she was in the school to which he'd banished her. All for the simple act of existing.
The girl was no monster. That prize went to her father. He'd deal with him at another time. For now, he had to find the girl.
"Oh, no. Oh, no. No no no. Not now. Please not now. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Please not now."
The words were a soft prayer, filled with fear and confusion. They came from his right, which started his feet moving. There were several large mausoleums to his right, which cut off a good portion of the cemetery from view. He had his weapon in hand before he started moving, feet as silent as possible on the uneven ground. Fortunately, it was spring and the grass was thick and full, cushioning his steps as he took them. Hiding his presence for just a little while longer.
He rounded the last of the stone mausoleums and found himself standing behind the girl. She was surrounded by a half dozen zombies, all of them eyeing her as if she was some prize treat. It was possible they thought so, given the girl didn't seem to have any control of them. It made him wonder briefly if she had no clue what she was capable of. That thought died the next moment, leaving him filled with the realization that this was what Solomon had been referring to as a mess. Which meant the girl had absolutely no idea that she was the reason the zombies were there. She was untrained and spilling power all over the place. His research had told him that much.
"Tell them to go back to their graves," he ordered softly, bringing all eyes his way. The zombies stared at him as if he'd just been moved to the top of the menu. The girl stared as if she'd never seen another human being before.
"I don't know what you mean," the girl replied, voice desperate and frightened.
"Tell them to return to their graves. Put your power into your words. Make them bend to your will," he repeated. There was a little more force in his words this time. A little more authority. He had a sneaking suspicion the girl would respond to it. One of the zombies took a shuffling step toward him. "Do it now."
"I don't know how," she confessed, panic lacing her words.
"Put authority into your voice. Think of what you want them to do. Tell them to do it. Order them. The way he orders you," he insisted. The girl bristled at his words, but it had the effect he'd hoped it would. Her shoulders settled and her spine straightened. He watched her hands clench at her sides, then she stretched her fingers out and put her hands against her thighs.
"Go back to your graves. You're not needed here," she told the zombies. They paused in their shifting, stumbling movements to look at the girl. He couldn't see what look she wore on her face, but he could well imagine what it was. There was a touch of the same authority in her voice that had been there when she'd been dealing with Amelia Turner. "Go back! Go back to your graves and trouble me no more!"
He didn't feel anything. Nothing seemed to change. And yet... The zombies halted altogether, then the ground at their feet boiled and swallowed them whole. Less than a minute later, the zombies were gone and he was alone in the cemetery with a young, untrained necromancer. The girl whirled to him, a smile on her face. A smile that died the moment she saw the gun in his hand. The moment she realized it was pointed straight at her heart. The girl staggered back a few paces. "Who are you?"
"The man who was hired to clean up your messes," he told her evenly. She blinked at that, gaze dropping to the barrel of his gun before returning to his face.
"Ah," she replied quietly. Her face was pale, all color drained away with the realization that he had been sent by her father to kill her.
He watched her a moment longer, curious at her lack of concern. Oh, he knew she was afraid. The fact that she'd lost all color said as much. But there was none of the emotion on her face. Nothing to tell him what she was thinking or feeling. Not really. In fact, there might have been some acceptance in her posture, as if she'd been expecting it. Frowning at the idea that the girl was aware that her father wanted her dead, he holstered his weapon and motioned with his now empty hand toward the ground at her feet.
"No one's dying here tonight," he told her, earning him a confused look. "It would be a waste to take your life. Because you're special in a way few people are. What you have, Katherine Solomon, is a gift. A very rare and very unusual gift. And there is so much more for you in this world than you can even begin to imagine. And I want to help you achieve it."
She frowned at him. "A gift? What kind of gift? He told me I was cursed. Touched by evil," she replied quietly.
"You're not touched by evil. You're touched by a father who is an idiot. I plan to help you change that."
She eyed him a moment before crossing her arms over her chest, one hip cocking in a pose he recognized as stubbornness. "And why should you want to help me? Why not just shoot me and collect his money?"
"I've already collected his money. And I've dug into his life, and yours, enough to know that he's a self-righteous asshole who deserves to loose a little more of his money."
She studied his face a few seconds, then nodded as if agreeing with him. "So what did he do to you to make you want to double cross him like this? You could have just shot me and gone your merry way and no one would have cared." There was a tone in her voice that said she fully believed it.
"I would have cared. I'm not in the business of killing kids. Especially if the person who hires me turns out to be more of a monster than the child." He crossed his arms and looked her up and down. "I know that it would chap his ass from now until doomsday to know that you did not, in fact, die like he'd planned."
"Why?" He knew she wasn't asking about her father. She was asking why he planned on sparing her.
He sighed and considered giving her the easy answer or giving her the truth. The truth won out. He didn't think lying to her would do either of them any good. "Because you have a gift, Katherine. A gift so few people have. And it will take you places. But you have to learn how to refine it. Use it properly. It will open doors that you never even knew existed. Because you don't deserve to die simply because some idiot who doesn't understand you says you do. Because he pissed me off and I can use you, and your abilities, to my advantage."
"And if I don't want you to help me with this gift? With these doors its supposed to open for me? What then? You gonna put on between my eyes?"
"Nothing like that. You'll go your way. I'll go mine. But that will leave your father the option of hiring every single bounty hunter out there. And one of them will take the shot. One of them will not hesitate over the fact that you're a kid who doesn't know what the hell's going on. One of them will kill you. And you'll never see it coming." He paused and let her absorb what he'd told her. Offered her a faint smile, little more than a quirk of his lips at the corners. "If you decide to accept my help, you won't have to worry about your father. You'll continue your education uninterrupted. Then college. Then the sky will be the limit."
"Why would you help me? Don't tell me you're being charitable. Poor little freak girl needs help. Let me make her life better. That doesn't seem your style. So what's your deal? What do you get out of this arrangement?" There was bitterness in her voice as she asked her questions, but also resignation. As if she expected nothing else from him. Maybe she didn't. Maybe that was all she knew.
"You'll owe me," he replied steadily. It was a full answer. Yet it wasn't. His favors always came with a steep price. She'd have to decide if it was worth it. She was smart, though. Smart enough to know that he wasn't treating her like a charity case simply because it was in his nature. He liked that. He liked that she was smart. It would make things easier later on. If she accepted, of course.
"So... what? I trade one devil for another?"
"Trust me, Miss Solomon," he said, letting a cold smile spread across his face. "I'm the lesser of the two evils." Then he fell silent and let her consider his words very carefully.
"What do I need to do?" she finally asked after an age of silence.
"Go back to your dorm. Pack your things. Walk out the door. Never look back," he started. She gave him a look that plainly said she didn't think she'd be able to simply walk out the door. He offered her a smile again. "Trust me. You'll be able to do it. I'll be waiting for you on the street, down at the corner where the maple tree grows."
"The one that got split in two by lightning?" she asked.
"That's the one. Pack your bags. Walk out the door. Meet me there in twenty minutes. We'll move you to another school. We'll start you on your new life. You'll get a new identity. New everything. I'll make sure you're taught about your powers. And later, after you've finished your schooling and you're ready to move on, your life will belong to me."
She stared at him a moment, then her eyes narrowed. "If you try to get into my pants, they'll never find the body," she warned him. He chuckled at her words.
"Don't worry, Miss Solomon. Your body is safe with me."
She frowned at him a little longer. "Fine. Deal. Anything has to be better than this shithole."
He nodded and made a motion toward the school with one hand. She started forward, then stopped and frowned at him. "What do I call you? What's your name?"
"The monsters call me Death, Miss Solomon. You, however, can call me Edward."
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I had to remind myself about the name...forgot she was a Solomon at the time. :) LOVE the fight scene with Amelia, and the zombie 'appearance'...and, of course, Edward catching on to who/what he was going to be dealing with. ;)
Still blows my mind Daddy hired Edward in the first place...oh the events to come!
And the scene in the cemetery...
I just freaking love this prequel! I wish I was a better commenter but...LOVE it and SO glad you did this! :) (Feel free to play in this 'verse all you want...;) )
xxoo!
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honestly, i had to wonder what their initial meeting had to have been like. i don't know if this is exactly the best meeting between the two. i feel like its missing something. or whatever. but this is what came out and i'm pleased to have managed it after so long of nothing.
at any rate, i'm glad you enjoyed. i've got a couple ideas in my head so there are a few more stories to come. maybe.
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I cannot express how much I love those two lines.
I know I said that I was good with 6k words, but ... please can I have some more? *bats eyelashes* Seriously. I'd love to see more of Aedan and Edward's relationship(friendship?) evolving.
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i don't know how great the first line is, but i absolutely love Edward's line. and i felt it was a perfect way to end the whole piece.
you and Cat will be the death of me because she wants more in this universe. (i have two fics started for it. i have plans for at least one more. possibly. we'll see) i kind of thought it was mostly done with it.
but i'm starting to think this is the universe that holds my heart closest. dunno. we'll see.
thanks for taking the time to read, bb.