The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death
Sep. 12th, 2017 09:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladydeathfaerie posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
marysuevirusTitle: The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death
Chapter Forty Three: Of Dreams and Nightmares
Fandom: Anita Blake universe
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: graphic sex and violence, language, anything else i can toss in.
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 Sues are the sole property of their originators, Ginevra, Dazzledfirestar, Nanaea, SilverFoxChan and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.
Author's Notes: okay. this one is probably a lot gory. you have been warned
The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death - Index Link
All Saints was a smallish, neatly arranged shop that sat quietly in the corner of an unassuming strip mall, waiting patiently for people to notice it. That was the impression Rhia got of the store front when she pulled into a space before it. The second impression she got, as she stepped through the door, was that there was subtle, gentle magic filling the place. Not the heavy, abrasive magic of those who pulled and took what they wanted from nature. The soft, pleasant magic that came from someone who had worked with magic for a very long time. Someone who had magic flowing in their veins. The magic on the air called to the magic that she carried within her, teased and tempted it to come to the surface.
It was a pleasant looking place. More importantly, it was a pleasant feeling place. Rhia couldn't explain it in words. But stepping through the door was more relaxing than being outside on the sidewalk. The shop's atmosphere was calm and serene, welcoming to any who dared step inside. Rhia suspected that this was because she'd come to the shop with no ill-will in her heart or foul deeds planned out. Something told her that the shop wouldn't be quite so accepting if such was the case.
She could tell, just with her first glance, that All Saints wasn't what one would call a typical voodoo shop. In fact, it was as far from what the uneducated thought a voodoo shop looked like. The aisles were neat, not cluttered, and everything was organized by some method she'd yet to pick up on. Of course there were things that anyone could recognize on sight. Little dolls that many would call voodoo dolls in one bin. They were generic looking poppets, without eyes or hair or even clothes. No defining features what so ever. She knew enough to know that the practitioner was responsible for adding such things in order for the doll to do its job. She spied gris gris behind the counter. Stoppered vials and bottles containing different colored liquids occupied an enclosed case on the wall, kept behind intricately designed metal doors. One corner had many different bolts of brightly colored material. Some was a single color. Some was patterned.
Scented candles lined one wall, in all colors and sizes. Several of them had been set up behind the counter where the register was located, each one flickering with a soft golden flame. Their subtle perfumes mingled together and created a relaxing, hypnotizing scent that could probably put anyone in a haze if the right words were spoken. The windows were decorated with sun catchers of various shapes and sizes, and sunlight was pouring through some of them to paint rainbows along the opposite wall. There were antique chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting mellow light around the shop's interior. The entire place was bright and cheery and the absolute antithesis of every occult shop ever showed in a movie or television show ever.
All in all, Rhia felt like she was wanted there.
A beaded curtain covering a doorway into the back parted with a sharp clatter to admit Christophe into the room. The wooden beads beat out an excited rhythm, the tone low and almost drum-like. The musical sound only served to relax her even further.
Christophe spied her instantly. His face split into a broad grin, his teeth sharply white against the darkness of his skin. His arms swept out to his sides to motion around them. "Welcome, little witch, to my temple. What brings you to my door? This is not your chosen path," he said by way of greeting.
"I came to discuss something with you, Christophe. I need some advice," she told him.
He studied her a moment, the smile waning before he gave a nod of his head and moved across the shop toward the door. "Something tells me that this requires all of my attention. Any distraction would be unwelcome. Allow me to close the shop up, then we'll retire to my kitchen. I'll make tea and you will tell me why you have come to me with such important, heavy questions."
She wanted to say that he didn't need to close down because of her, but the look he shot her let her know that he wouldn't be swayed. So she kept the words to herself and waited as he turned off the neon sign that hung by the door, then turned the lock to keep any unwanted visitors from entering while they were occupied. Then he returned to where she stood and held a hand out toward the bead-covered doorway. Rhia offered him a smile before starting forward.
The other side of the doorway was a utilitarian backroom, obviously the shop's office, with industrial shelves lining three of the four walls. The fourth one had a desk with a sleek, thin laptop on it. Several monitors lined the open space next to the desk, each one showing a different angle of the shop and even of the exterior of the building. There was a closed door next to the desk, to which Christophe motioned wordlessly.
Rhia opened the door and found herself standing at the foot of a stairwell. It headed up toward the second floor. She put her foot on the first step and started climbing to what she suspected was his personal apartment. The stairs did not creak under her feet. Nor did they creak under his. The walls were painted white, but she could see, just barely, that there were thin lines painted along the walls in a shade of beige that almost blended in with the white. She suspected most people would never see them. But Rhia could see the magic pulsing in them as they scrolled in lazy circles before sliding in and out of one another. They looked like giant knots, which led her to believe that they were meant as protection. She was tempted to reach out and run her fingers over one of the lines, but didn't. She thought it might be considered rude and she wasn't sure she wanted to risk mucking up his magic.
A door at the top of the stairs stood open. Rhia stepped through the open portal into a short hallway. The floor beneath her feet was wood and the walls were covered with wallpaper. It was a very pale robin's egg blue, with tiny images imprinted on it. She suspected, as with the stairwell, the images were meant for protection. His staff rested in a corner, while a row of hooks held several coats. Half a dozen pairs of shoes rested on the floor beneath them. She moved up the hall toward the door at the end.
They stepped out of the hall into his kitchen. It was bright and cheery, with buttery yellow paint that had been accented with a paper runner along the ceiling. The runner was covered with vines and flowers in orange, yellow, and red. A table large enough to seat four occupied one corner, beneath windows that were open to allow fresh air into the room. A stove and fridge were opposite, with cupboards set between them. The sink was on the third wall, along with more cabinets. Fresh herbs hung from a rack on the wall, drying and waiting for use. "Please. Sit. Allow me to make tea."
Rhia took a chair at the table. Christophe bustled past her, one hand reaching out to take hold of a shiny tea kettle sitting on the stove before he headed to the sink. He filled the pot, then returned it to a burner on the stove. He turned a knob even as he reached for a cupboard door. Rhia was not surprised to find that one shelf of the cabinet was filled with different types of teas. Christophe glanced at her over his shoulder a moment before going back to his tea stash and taking one box out of it.
Silence settled around them, comfortable and companionable, as Christophe went about the ritual of making tea. Rhia used the time to gather her thoughts, to figure out how she was going to approach with him her reasons for being there. She was fairly sure he might try to change her mind on the decision she'd made, but that was to be expected, all things considered. She might not have come to him at all, if not for the fact that Christophe was one of the few people she knew who would understand everything that was clogging up her brain. So she waited patiently as he brewed their tea, his rich voice echoing throughout the kitchen as he hummed softly to himself, and told herself she could manage this.
"Now, then," he finally said, settling himself into the chair across from her. Her hands were curled around a ceramic mug filled with steaming white tea. Not usually her choice, but given that it helped promote relaxation, she could understand why he'd chosen it. She stared at the pale liquid in her mug, suddenly unsure as to why she'd thought it wise to come to him. "Tell me."
His words, much like his voice, were kindly, gently spoken. But there was no missing the command in them. He wasn't going to let her back out now that she was there. Rhia took a deep sigh and did her best to pull her courage to her. "One of my gifts is that I have visions."
Christophe nodded his head sagely. "Clairvoyance is a useful gift, when employed properly."
"Yes," she agreed. Then she sighed and took a sip of her tea. It was mild, gentle, almost sweet with a nectar flavor that teased its way across her taste buds. Rhia savored her first sip, admitting to herself that Christophe obviously knew his teas. "And, sometimes, it can be a terrible burden."
He cocked his head to the side, just a little bit, and gave the appearance of listening to something. Finally, he made a sound in the back of his throat and gave a grim nod. "Yes. Visions of death can be especially frightening."
It was both a statement and an opening, a way for her to bring up the reason behind her visit without any build up. Rhia took it with both hands, grateful for whatever voice guided Christophe's actions. "The demon summoner. His victims have all been natural witches."
Christophe blinked at that, obviously surprised by the news. It looked as if he hadn't thought about it. No one else really had, either. "Natural witches? All of them?"
"All of them," Rhia nodded, took another fortifying sip. "Aedan took me to the first crime scene. She hoped I could give her some insight that the police and her own abilities couldn't. I saw the demon and what it did to its victims."
"The demon plagues you in your dreams."
She nodded. "Yes. At first, I didn't want it to show me what was going on. Too bloody and violent. Too horrible for me. But now, I'm starting to think that the dreams are coming to me for a reason. Because I can help stop the summoner and the demon from killing again."
Christophe sat back in his chair and stared at her. The room was utterly silent, almost uncomfortably so, as his dark gaze remained steadfast on her. She fought not to squirm in her seat, sure that he was seeing right through to her soul. "You plan to offer yourself up as bait for the demon and its summoner."
"It makes sense. I'm a natural witch. And I think, based on what I've seen, the summoner is trying to take power. It would explain why organs are missing. It would explain why the summoner would use a demon to perpetrate the crimes. The summoner thinks the demon can give him or her power. Power that this person doesn't have on their own."
He considered her words. Considered them for far longer than she figured he would. She could see that he was lost in thought, perhaps communing with the loa that were so important to his beliefs and his practice. She sipped her tea and waited patiently. She knew that he didn't like what she was considering doing. But she didn't see how they had any other choice. Natural witches were in short supply. And she knew something that he didn't know. She knew, because she'd seen it in her dreams, that all of the victims had known one another. The summoner was going after a coven of witches. All she had to do was join the coven and make herself known. Attract the summoner's attention. Once that was completed, Aedan could take the sick bastard down and Rhia would send the demon back to its own plane of existence.
It was a simple plan. A good plan. It would work. She was sure of it.
"There is one small problem with this plan of yours," Christophe finally said, pulling Rhia from her thoughts. She had to wonder if he was some kind of mind reader or something. Because it seemed odd that he would say plan when she'd just been thinking it.
"What's that?"
Christophe considered her a moment or two, then gave her a knowing smile. "You will never convince Aedan to let you put yourself at risk."
She hadn't even thought about how Aedan would react. She glanced out the window before giving him a sheepish smile. "Well, we don't have to actually tell her, do we?"
Rhia was surprised to find she was only half kidding.
~*~*~*~*~
He stared out at the unwashed souls milling around beyond the glass of the window. Not that they could see him, of course. The windows were freshly tinted, so dark that no one could see into the office through them. But he was allowed to see everything that took place on the other side. It was a marvel to have the blinds open and the rest of the place on display. He never stopped marveling at the astounding number of people that ended up living on the streets. They came through his establishment by the hundreds. And all of them were willing to believe in his cause.
His cause. It had brought all these lost souls together, had enabled them to find God's Grace in a holy purpose. Once, it had been easy to pursue his cause. He'd been able to move through the seedy underworld of the world's foul, soulless creatures and deliver God's divine judgement and punishment to them. But those ignorant to the spreading evil such creatures brought had welcomed them into their communities with open arms and, with them, a plague that threatened to destroy humanity. Which was why his cause was so important. Why he'd been working for so long to save God's innocents.
He could still plainly recall the first innocent he'd saved. Just a wee baby, only a handful of months old. The poor child had been in the clutches of one of the damned, doomed to a life filled with horror and evil.
Her eyes were blue as the sky, looking up at him with curiosity and wonder. She was perfect, a beautiful, sweet child with cherubic cheeks and a bright smile. Tiny fists waved from within the babe's crib, bubbling coos filling the silence of the room. He reached one hand out to touch her soft cheek and smiled at the laughter that came. "What are you doing here?"
He turned to find her standing in the doorway, face pale as the moon against the darkness of her hair. Her eyes were filled with concern and worry. And a hint of fire. He took a few steps forward, making sure to keep himself between the baby and the demon. "I'm here for the child," he told her simply.
"You can't have her. She's mine," she replied, the fire in her eyes burning higher and brighter.
"I won't let you keep her. You're foul and corrupt. Evil. I will save the child from you and your evil ways."
"You don't belong here. Leave now, or I'll hurt you," she replied. She took a step forward into the room. The child behind him gurgled softly at the sound of her voice. He imagined those little fists were high in the air, waving in response to the spell the demon had put on the wee babe.
"You cannot touch me. My faith in God is absolute. He will protect me. He will save me from your taint."
She sneered at him. "Your God. Your God will not keep me from my child," she said. She took another step into the room, edged closer to him.
"She's not your child. She's my child. She's a being of love and light. You're a creature of evil and darkness. You'll corrupt her. You'll taint her with your evil, and take her away from God's light. I won't allow you to do that."
She gave him a look, let a smile pull up the corners of her mouth. Doing so showed him the long, pointed canines she used to drink the blood of the innocent. "You can't stop me."
He saw the intent in her eyes, knew she was going to try and use her demonic powers on him. He drew his hand from his pocket, lifting the silver cross high by the leather thong he'd threaded through the ring at the top. It halted her in her tracks, when she was barely a step away. The light that came from the holy cross was blinding and he watched her cower back in fear, hands lifted to ward off the cleansing power of God's love. He took advantage of her fear, stepped forward until the silver touched her skin. She screamed, her voice sharp with agony, as it burned her, as it purified the evil from her soul.
Blind instinct saw her pulling away. She tried to retreat from God's holy light. But he wasn't going to let her. He shifted the cross to his other hand so that he could draw the sharpened length of wood he'd brought with from his coat. She was cowering from him, cowering from the divine power of the cross. She cradled her burnt arm with her other hand, soft sobs rising up her throat while she wept the bloodied tears of the damned. She barely had time to glance up at him and take in the stake he held aloft. She lifted her uninjured arm, hand out in supplication, but made no move to stop him as he brought the stake down and plunged the sharpened point directly into her chest.
It took more than one attempt to drive the stake through flesh and bone and into her heart. She screamed as he did so, begged him to spare her. Spewed lies about love between her cries. He paid her words no heed. Instead, he put all of his strength into driving the stake into her heart. The crunch of bone when her ribs broke drew a strangled sound from her throat. Then the point was piercing her heart. Her tears dried. Her sobs died. And her body went still. Taking her head was less work, the blade of his machete as sharp as could be. What he hadn't counted on was the spray of blood that painted the area around her corpse in a glittering arc of liquid red. He wasn't fast enough to escape the spray.
He'd burn his clothes later. Bury the machete.
For now... He said a few words over the corpse before splashing it with holy water. Then he turned to the baby in the crib. The child was now crying, face red as she wailed loudly. He picked her up. Rocked her in his arms. Hummed a tune under his breath. Quieted her down until she stared at him with those amazing blue eyes again. Then he went about packing up the things he would need for her, putting everything into a bag that he slung over his shoulder. After sparing a brief glance for the corpse, he carried the child from the room and off to a better life.
He thought of that child and sorrow touched his heart. He hadn't been quick enough to protect her from the demon's evil influence. The taint had touched the child's soul. Maybe one day he'd be able to finally save her.
~*~*~*~*~
"I don't understand why she won't talk to me," Minette said, not looking up from the papers she was reading over. She was sure Micah was tired of hearing it because she'd only said it about half a dozen times in the last five minutes. It was likely, the way her brain was turning at the moment, that she'd say it at least half a dozen times more before she could put it aside and think about something else.
"I don't know, Minette. I'm not the one who's privy to her thoughts," he said to her. It was a gentle reminder.
Minette frowned at that, though she wasn't sure if he saw it or not. "She's got me shut out. I've never seen her shields so tight. I don't think even Jean Claude can get into her head. Which is saying something."
"And you know this how?" Micah asked.
"Because I can get into his head. And I've asked him about it. I've asked him why she isn't sleeping here anymore. I've asked him quite a few questions about my best friend and even he doesn't have the answers," Minette looked up at him then, letting him see how confused and worried she was about Aedan. "She's never done this to me before. She's never just shut me out and avoided me like I have plague or something. Not since the first time we met."
A frown settled upon his features. "Jean Claude can't get into her head? At all?"
"He didn't say outright that he can't. But the way he reacted to and responded to my questions suggests he can't. She isn't speaking to him unless she has to. And when he tries to talk to her, she shuts him down. He isn't happy about it. And neither one of us understand where this is coming from. I've never seen Aedan act like this before," Minette replied. Micah gave her a look that suggested he might not believe her. She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "Never."
He sighed, shook his head at her. "I don't know anything about that. But what I do know is she's determined to find who attacked you. She's been fielding calls ever since our meeting. I know she's spoken to at least one member of the community who claims to have seen her suspects. Maybe she's so focused on finding your attacker that she doesn't have time for anyone or anything else."
Even Minette could hear the doubt in his voice. Micah didn't believe that anymore than she did. "I've never seen Aedan focus on something so completely before. This is unlike her."
He considered her words. She could see it in the expression on his face. Finally, he gave her a look that could honestly mean just about anything. "She's never been in this position before. She's a licensed vampire executioner. And a Federal Marshal. And Jean Claude's human servant. And a full blown necromancer with more power than any one person should probably have. That's all new and its probably testing her limits. How many murders has she seen since she's been here?"
Micah had a point. Minette could admit that. But she knew Aedan in ways no one else ever would. Not Micah and not Jean Claude. They might think this behavior was not unusual for her, but Minette knew better. In all of the years they'd known one another, all the time they'd spent together, Aedan had never once put anything above her friendship with Minette. Nothing. Not boys or men or murder or zombies. None of it. Aedan was family in a way blood would never be. In a way the men in Minette's life would never be. This behavior simply wasn't like her.
"I don't know. She stopped talking to me about them shortly after the first couple," Minette replied. Then she shuddered as she recalled some of the images she'd inadvertently gotten from Aedan about those murder scenes. To be perfectly honest, Minette had been glad when Aedan had stopped sharing.
"Then its likely that she's hyper-focused on putting an end to them," he told her.
Minette shrugged and tried to give her attention to the paperwork before her. While it was likely that Aedan was hyper-focused on putting an end to the murders, it still didn't follow what Minette knew about the other woman. Aedan had always been open with her. About everything. Well, everything but her family.
That thought saw Minette pausing. The only times she'd ever seen Aedan get weird like this was when the topic of her family had come up. Was it possible all of this weirdness had to do with Aedan's family? Maybe. But Minette had always gotten the impression that her family was dead, that Aedan didn't like discussing them because something horrible had happened to them. It couldn't be anything to do with family. Aedan had long claimed that Minette was the only family she had. Minette had no reason to not believe her. Still, something was up with her friend and she was really worried that nothing good was going to come of this weirdness.
Ugh. Minette was making herself crazy with the way her thoughts kept cycling in circles. It was time to find something else to focus on. A glance at the stack of papers before her told her it wasn't going to be coalition work. So she would have to go with something else. But what?
"Minette."
The softness of Micah's voice saw her lifting her head to look him in the eye. There was something tender and full of understanding there, which made her feel horrible for more or less ignoring him the way she had while her brain had been occupied with someone else. She opened her mouth, intent on apologizing to him for being such shitty company, but he leaned toward her and put a finger against her lips. That action stopped the words from tumbling out. She met him halfway, eyes drifting closed even as the warmth of his breath plumed across her cheek. His lips touched hers in a tentative kiss that prompted her to inch closer and offer herself to him.
The gentle press of his mouth on her own was sweet. And it sent a thrill through her that had nothing to do with any physical need. After a moment or two, his hands reached out to cup her cheeks. Heat curled under his touch, blooming and growing until an echo of that heat coiled low in her belly. She wanted to be closer, wanted to climb into his lap and touch as much of him as she could. Their clothes were in the way. The chairs were in the way. Minette felt a sudden, irrational dislike of clothing and furniture. She couldn't quite stop the growl that rolled up her throat.
His soft chuckle saw her pulling back to stare at him. "Ah. I see what you're doing here."
"Oh? What am I doing here?" he asked, giving her a vaguely amused look.
"You're trying to distract me," she accused.
A smile spread across his face, like a ray of sun coming out from behind the clouds after months of dreary rain, and it did everything alleviate the unease she'd been feeling. One hand reached up and stroked her hair back from her face. "And is it working?"
"I don't know. I don't feel very distracted. Maybe you should try harder."
"I think I can manage that," he murmured. Minette smiled and leaned toward him again, let him press his lips to hers again.
He took her face in between his hands once more, his palms cupping her cheeks as he delivered a soft, sweet, tender kiss. The heat of his kiss and the heat of his touch helped drain the tension out of her body. She felt the tightness ebb away inch by inch until she was left so limp that she was glad she was sitting in a chair.
That kiss seemed to go on forever. Heat and sensation and emotion coiled together, coiled around one another and her heart and mind until she was caught up in him. His tenderness, his stillness, his serenity and his peace. Minette knew she hadn't felt this relaxed since well before the party and she was having a hard time remembering why she had been so tense in the first place.
Micah pulled back when they both needed air and looked at her. "Distracted yet?" he asked, voice a bare whisper in the emptiness of the office.
"I... What was the question?"
He gave a soft chuckle. "I'll take that as a yes. How about we close up for the night and go home? I'll work at distracting you some more."
Minette considered the question for all of half a second. "That... Yes. Yes, let's do that. That's a good plan. Let's do that."
~*~*~*~*~
Her eyes were defiant, despite the redness and the remnants of tears in them. She stared up at him, those green eyes wide and bright and piercing. He smiled at her. Lifted his knife up so she could see it. He knew without looking that the blade glistened in the dim light, that it dripped with her blood. That it was coated in the red liquid. He let her stare at it, let her wonder for a moment or two what he planned to do with it this time. He wasn't sure yet himself, but she didn't need to know that.
Thus far, she'd proved stubborn. Oh, she screamed and cried with the pain. But she wasn't giving him anything else. Nothing that filled that part of him that craved the cries and the tears and the screams of agony. That part of him was why he'd gone from simply inflicting a small amount of pain before killing them to this.
She was spread across the floor like a serial killer's banquet, wrists and ankles bound by silver cuffs that he knew burned her flesh. That didn't stop her from straining against them, from trying to pull them from the floor and get away from him. He imagined that her skin under the cuffs was red and raw. Her arms were pulled up and out, her legs wide and gaping. She was naked, her skin glistening with sweat and thin rivers of blood. The cuts he'd left in her flesh were red and raw. Just staring at the blade that had inflicted so much pain saw her muscles quivering with anxious anticipation beneath her skin. It wasn't enough. He needed more.
He needed to break her.
I'm not gonna lie
I'll not be a gentleman
Behind the boathouse
I'll show you my dark secret
"Go ahead and do what you want to me. It won't matter. You're already dead," she spat at him, the words tumbling from her mouth with vicious glee. He could see in her eyes that she was already reveling in the thought of his demise.
"Shut your filthy mouth, you whore. Maybe, if you'd done that earlier, you wouldn't be in this position now," he hissed at her, doing his best to keep the anger from staining his speech. He must not have succeeded because her smile was maniacal.
"She's going to find you. And when she does, she's going to kill you. She's already told us so. And she keeps her promises! You'll never live to regret what you've done, you sick fuuuu..."
Her words trailed off into a loud shriek riddled with pain. He pressed the blade of the knife harder against her skin, making her hips jump as she tried to pull away from the silver that burned her. He made sure to slide it back and forth against her nether region so that every inch of it was on fire from the touch of the silver. When the cries faded into sobbing whimpers and there was barely any energy left in her attempts to draw away, he backed the blade off and gave her a few moments of relief. The tension slid from her body and she sagged against the floor, if such a thing was even possible.
"She can't do anything to me. I am one of the Righteous and I will pass judgement on every last one of you freaks," he told her, voice low in the silence of the room. Her eyes were clouded with pain when she focused on his face, but he could see exactly what she thought of his statement anyway. She was sure he was insane. He was as sane as they came, and he knew that she would never stop him.
"You're the fucking freak! I never did anything to you," she whispered, pain laced into every last syllable she spoke. "You're the freak, man. You're the one who jumped me and..."
She broke off with another shriek. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she fought again against her bonds. He leaned his weight on the hilt of his dagger, drove it deeper into her thigh. "I am the Righteous," he repeated softly. "And I will see your kind damned to Hell. Every last one of you."
"You're fucking crazy," she got out before a scream tore from her throat. He tugged the blade free of her flesh and held it up so she could once again see it.
"I'm going to break you, whore. I'm going to break you and you're going to beg me to spare your life. You're going to beg me to stop. But I won't stop. The pain won't end until the last breath leaves your chest."
"It'll take more than you have, you sick fuck. I've faced worse than you. I've beat worse than you. Do your worst. You won't break me," she replied vehemently. Then she spat on him, her saliva mixed with blood. It hit him square in the face. He just wiped it off on his arm, then let her see the knife again.
"Let me purify you," he whispered. He gave her a second, just the space of a heartbeat, to try and find the meaning of his words. Then he lowered the blade and slid it home. The screams that rose from her chest were the best he'd heard, so full of agony and pain that it made him hard in an instant. Blood flowed over his hand as the sharp edges of the blade cut into her. He pressed the dagger deeper, pulled it back. Pressed it in again. "I'm going to fuck the evil out of you with this," he told her.
Denn du bist
was du isst
und ihr wisst
was es ist
"Please stop," the voice whispered from behind him. It brought his head up. He saw out of the corner of his eye that the whore's gaze slid away from him, too. He twisted the blade, just a bit, and nearly came when she screamed. But he turned a hard stare his sister's way, infuriated that she was interfering with his fun. "This isn't what we planned on doing. This isn't what we were going to do. This isn't right."
"You would question me in this?" he asked, mildly surprised by her sudden show of backbone.
"She doesn't deserve this," his sister said, voice stronger. "We're supposed to be killing the impure. Not raping them like this." With her words, her eyes went to the hilt of the dagger and his hand curled around it. Both were covered in the whore's blood. All he could think of was pulling the blade free and shoving his cock into her bloody cunt. He should do it. Right there, in front of his sister. To show her that she didn't own his cock. He did. And he would fuck anyone he wanted to. It would serve the little witch right.
"And what do you plan on doing to stop me?" he asked, voice low.
"I'm stronger than you. I can stop you," she replied steadily.
He pulled the knife free of the whore's body, bringing forth another scream of agony. Music to his ears. He lunged at his sister, slashed at her with the knife. She jumped back, but not far or fast enough. The tip of the blade cut across her abdomen, through her clothes to part her flesh. She cried out and dropped to the floor, back arched and fingers curled against the concrete floor. He heard the growl trickle out of her mouth, a warning that she was going to allow the beast to escape. That noise saw him across the floor in an instant. One foot connected with her abdomen hard, sending her to the floor as she whimpered and tried to get the air back into her lungs. "Don't you ever, ever threaten me with that filthy animal inside of you again. I will slit your throat the next time you do. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, brother," she answered dutifully, her sobs soft hiccups of sound.
"Make it up to me," he ordered. She rose to her hands and knees, limbs unsteady, and crawled toward him when he started backing away from her. His actions brought the two of them closer to the whore. He stopped when his foot touched her leg and he held the knife out to her. "Fuck her with it."
His sister hesitated a moment or two before she took the blade from him. Her hand shook a little bit but she wrapped her fingers over the hilt without another word. The whore was watching them with wide, wide eyes. She was so close to breaking. This would be the last straw for her, the one that would break the camel's back. When she did break, it would be so sweet. For all of them.
I can promise you
You'll stay as beautiful
With dark hair
And soft skin...forever
Forever
His sister approached the whore, the knife held almost gingerly in her hand. The whore shook her head. "Please don't do this. You don't have to listen to him. You're stronger than he is. I know what you are. Shift and stop him. Save us both," she pleaded.
He saw the pause in his sister's motions. She was thinking about those words intently, perhaps considering actually attempting to do what the whore had suggested. He waited, certain he knew what choice she'd make. A moment later, her hand tightened around the dagger's hilt and she firmed her chin. "Shut your filthy mouth," she whispered at the other woman. He watched, anticipation and lust rolling through his veins, as his sister positioned herself between the whore's thighs. The knife slid in easily, went deep, drew another scream up the whore's throat.
His sister did as she'd been told. She fucked the whore with the knife, pressing it deep before withdrawing it. Blood ran from between the whore's thighs. Tears ran from her eyes. Her cries moved into shattered, broken sounds that were hoarse and that trailed off into nothing when her air ran out. They would start up again as soon as she could draw breath into her lungs. Her limbs quivered against her bonds, her movements growing weaker and weaker with each thrust of his sister's make-shift phallus.
"Yes. Fuck her. Fuck her to death. Show me how much you love me," he whispered, hand already at his fly. He didn't have to say anymore. His sister knew what he wanted. She shifted her position so that she was on her hands and knees over the whore. The knife had been left in its flesh sheath and blood pooled on the floor between the whore's thighs, around his sister's knees.
He made quick work of her clothes, tugging pants down and shredding her panties in his haste to bury himself inside of her. She moaned long and loud when he shoved himself deep and started fucking.
Es ist mein teil - nein
Mein Teil - nein
Denn das ist mein teil - nein
Mein Teil - nein
He was still pounding away at his sister's cunt when the light went out of the whore's eyes
~*~*~*~*~
She was in the midst of packing up her zombie kit when she felt the touch of the grave against her skin. Aedan whirled, gun coming up in her hand as she did so, only to find herself thrown off her feet and the gun knocked from her hand in the blink of an eye. She hit the ground hard, one hand bouncing painfully off a granite tombstone. Pain shot up into her arm, leaving her thankful that it hadn't been her head. She stared up at her guest. A trickle of fear slid down her spine when she saw who it was, letting her know just how alone and secluded she was in the cemetery.
The vampire standing over her oozed power. She could feel it creeping along her skin and digging into her bones as surely as she could feel the dirt beneath her hands. For a second or two, she was tempted to draw a few zombies from their graves, but they would be of little protection against her unwanted visitor. The white mask with its gold musical notes that he wore told her as much as the weight of his power against her skin did. So she stayed where she was, waited to see what he'd do. Hoped like hell that he really was there in a friendly manner, as the mask suggested.
If he wasn't, she was dead.
"Pardon my intrusion, Miss Kinkade. I mean no harm. I only wish to talk." He was offering her help up with the hand that wasn't holding her Glock. He was offering her that, too.
Aedan considered, briefly, ignoring his hand and letting anger take the lead. But she squashed the idea down and instead slid her uninjured hand into his. He brought her to her feet as easily as a shark cut through the sea, exerting very little strength to do so. She took her weapon and holstered it. She was smart enough to know that she'd never get a shot off if it ended up that she needed it. He'd never allow her the opportunity.
"About what?" she asked.
"Many things. Each one as equally important as the others," he replied. She studied him a moment, then gave a single nod of her head.
"Very well, Mischa. Talk." She went back to putting her zombie kit back together, carefully stowing each item in its rightful place. Even without looking at him, she could tell he was curious as to how she knew who he was. She waited him out, knew he'd get to that eventually.
"You would not rather go somewhere else?" he asked. It was obvious he was offering her the chance to be in public, where there would be witnesses. It prompted her to shrug one shoulder.
"If you wanted me dead, I'd already be dead. You wouldn't have even bothered to announce your presence. So we might as well talk here." She paused and let her gaze slide around the cemetery. "I'm more comfortable around the dead than the living, anyway. So talk."
"There is talk among the members of the council," he began. She shot him a look that suggested he should be more specific. "Talk of you, Miss Kinkade. Talk of your position within Jean Claude's kiss. Talk of how such a thing should not be possible."
She watched him a moment, frustrated by the mask. It hid any hint of expression from view. And she'd learned long ago that people could lie with their eyes. While his gave the appearance of open curiosity, it could have been nothing more than a front. Sighing, Aedan crossed her arms and gave him her full attention. "Go on. Ask. I know you're dying to."
"Did Anita give you her powers?" he asked quietly.
She considered answering him in the affirmative, in using words to tell him what he wanted to know. But she knew that, like the vampires who had attended Jean Claude's party and like Augustine before them, he'd want proof. Physical proof. Which meant showing him. The question was how? How did she show him and make it good? Make it believable. Only one answer came to mind, and it wasn't one she really wanted to go with. But it was the maybe the best option she had. She dug her knife from the kit and held it up, then lifted her hand to show him her fingers and palm. A moment later, she ran a finger against the edge of the blade.
The knife was sharp, so it parted the skin on her finger easily. Painlessly. A drop of blood welled up against her skin. Aedan offered it to him. He stared at her a moment, as if wondering if this was some kind of joke. It made Aedan glad the cut was deep enough that it wouldn't heal right away. A second or two passed before he drifted forward, closing the distance between the two of them in order to gently take her hand in his. She thought she saw him inhaling, but his head dipped before she could be certain. Then his lips wrapped around the cut on her finger and sent her thoughts rushing off in the other direction in confusion.
There was some kind of electric sensation that pulsed through her when his mouth pulled at her offering. He drew more blood to the surface, tilted his head so that he could nick the flesh just a bit with one of his fangs and deepen the cut. Aedan fought against the shudder that brought and wondered if she was going to have to try and fight him off to get her hand back. Almost as soon as she had the thought, he was pulling away from her. His eyes glittered when he brought them up to her face. "Ah. I see the rumors are true. Amazing. I can taste her magic in your blood."
"Really?" she asked.
A hint of a smile teased the corners of his mouth. "Yes. Her magic and your magic are intertwined, wrapped around one another as a runner of ivy wraps itself around a tree or fence post. It is... a heady combination. I can see why Jean Claude is intent on keeping you safe."
Aedan did her best to keep the mention of the other vampire from bothering her. She still wasn't talking to him, but Mischa didn't need to know that. No one needed to know the things that went between them. "After what happened to Anita..." she trailed off, not bothering to finish the sentence. There was no need, when the rest was obvious.
"Speaking of what happened to Anita." She watched as he reached up with one hand and removed the mask, exposing the rest of his face to her view. Something in her relaxed at the idea that he really was just there to talk, despite the fact that she knew that's what his mask meant. "She is the reason I have sought you out."
"Oh?"
"Yes. More specifically, her death. And what it means for you," Mischa said. He was all seriousness, from the tone of his voice to the look on his face to the way he held himself. Which meant nothing good for her. Aedan let her senses spread out around her, looking for the tell-tale signs of lingering vampires or lycanthropes. She didn't feel anything, but that didn't mean there wasn't someone waiting in the wings.
"I see," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "What does her death mean for me?"
He studied her a moment or two before letting that almost smile come back to his face. "So serious for someone so young." There was an expectant look in his eyes, as if he was waiting for her to tell him why she was so serious. She simply stared and waited for him to get on with the reason for his visit. He shook his head and sighed. "Very well. Anita's murder. You do know that there are many people involved in it."
It wasn't a question. Aedan shot him a look. "I was there. I saw the vampires and shifters and humans on the road. I know it wasn't just one big bad."
Mischa nodded, as if expecting her answer or impressed by her intelligence. She didn't care which it was. "There is a cabal at work here. They plotted for a very long time to bring about Anita's demise." He paused here, as if considering the next part of his story. Aedan watched as he drifted across the cemetery lawn, movements silent and fluid like the legendary predator he was. She watched as a pale hand trailed over a particularly tail tombstone, careful to keep his fingers away from the raised cross that sat above the dead's name. "They were satisfied that they'd weakened Jean Claude's power base with Anita's death, and were content to leave things as they were. Until..."
"Until I got pissed off and let my temper get the better of me," she commented. She was well aware that every undead being in the city had felt her powers the night of the party. She was also well aware that news traveled fast.
"Just so," the vampire inclined his head. "Members of that cabal were made aware of your presence, of the intensity of your powers. You pose as much a threat to them as Anita did."
"So I just made someone's list," Aedan said flatly.
Mischa blinked at her, obviously unable to figure out why she wasn't ruffled or upset or any other number of things a person would be when they found out they were the first name on someone's dead pool. "You seem unconcerned."
"I've been on someone's list since I was a small child, Mischa. This won't be any different," she replied.
"You have never been on a vampire's list," he said.
"First time for everything." Her tone was flippant and she accompanied it with a shrug of her shoulders.
He was confused by her attitude. She could see that in the way he watched her. "You should be afraid. There are vampires in this cabal who are far more skilled in the art of death than you are, child."
Aedan considered his words a moment. "So you're telling me that members of your own band of merry murders is part of the group that wanted Anita dead? Good to know. I'll have to invest in a flame thrower."
"Miss Kinkade, I do not think you appreciate the position this puts you in."
"Oh, I understand perfectly what you're telling me. I made a target of myself when I raised all the dead in that park the other night. Tell me you were impressed with my show of power. I mean, that's what the whole evening was about. Letting everyone know that Jean Claude is as strong as ever. I think I accomplished that. Were you one of the ones who thought that the evening's events were planned in advance?"
"I know real anger and fear when I feel it, Miss Kinkade. My particular abilities have given me that talent. You were angry. And afraid. Your friend had just been attacked. You reacted through the only open avenue available to you." There was no judgement or condemnation in his voice. Just simple truth. Perhaps a bit of admiration and respect. He moved positions again, trailing around behind Aedan until he once more stood where he'd started. There was a sense of consideration to him, as if he was trying to remember something and having little luck in it. "You remind me of someone I met once, long ago. It was a memorable occasion, as I have met only a handful of necromancers in my long life. Many of them died by my hand. By order of the vampire council. I was supposed to kill that necromancer, too. But they escaped me. I never saw them again."
"Are you under orders to kill me?" she asked quietly. If he was, she wouldn't go quietly. She'd make it hard as hell for him. She'd fight with every last breath in her body. The thought that she shouldn't have holstered her weapon when he'd arrived hit her again. Too late for that now. All she could do was hope she inflicted some pain before she went.
"If I were, you would never have sensed me in the cemetery with you," he told her, all indulgent smiles.
"Fair enough," she returned and hefted up her kit. "If there's nothing else? I'm beat. I need to sleep soon."
He inclined his head in acknowledgement before speaking again. "You know that there were several members of my elite group at your party. Some of them share the same views as I do. Some of them blindly follow the council."
"Let me guess. The ones that follow the council are part of the cabal that killed Anita and now wants me dead." He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. Aedan could read between the lines. Shrugging her shoulder, she started toward her car. "Very well. You've delivered the message. The vampires want me dead. I need to watch my back. Thanks. I'll take it from here."
"Miss Kinkade, you cannot seriously believe you can defeat my brethren when it comes time to fight." He stopped her with his words as much as with the hand on her arm. She glanced down at the offending appendage before turning a cold stare his way.
"The vampires aren't the only ones who have ever wanted me dead. I doubt they'll be the last. Thank you for the warning. I'll take my chances." Whatever he saw in her eyes, it made him release his hold on her arm. She watched coolly as Mischa stepped back and away from her. She thought she saw a grudging look of respect in his eyes. Then he was just gone, vampiric speed allowing him to disappear in a blur. Aedan waited a moment, let her senses stretch again to check for his lingering presence. When she found none, she heaved a sigh and headed for her car.
Just fucking great. As if there wasn't enough going on in her life. Now she had to watch out for assassins lurking in darkened alleyways. Though, all things considered, she'd rather face a horde of killer vampires than Minette and Jean Claude if they ever learned the truth.
~*~*~*~*~
"Did you mean it?" Her voice was soft and harsh in the silent interior of his cell. He lifted his head so that he could look up at her. It had been far too long since she'd last stepped into the room where they held him, long enough that he'd decided she hadn't bought into anything he'd said the last time they'd spoken. It looked as if he'd been wrong. He was obviously silent longer than she liked because she spoke again. "Did you mean it when you said you'd pray for me. That you'd ask God to give me what I wanted?"
"I did," he replied.
She stared a moment, then nodded. "Thank you."
"Has God given you what you wanted, then?" She seemed calmer than the last time she'd come through the door. Years of reading the desperate and needy, their faces and their bodies, told him that something had changed. It wasn't in her expression so much as how she held herself.
"Perhaps," she said, the word coming slowly as she gave his question some consideration. "I do not see the Master's whore as much anymore."
Interesting. He considered what it could possibly mean. "Do you think something has come between them?" he asked.
"The Master will not talk about it when I ask, but I believe so," the vampire confirmed. There was a touch of superiority in her voice, a hint that suggested she thought she'd won some battle being fought between herself and the woman she so despised. It left him with the idea that the vampire before him was unstable, and he knew he needed to tread carefully. The last thing he wanted to do was upset her. He had no doubt that she could and would visit violence upon his person if he made the mistake of making her mad.
"Perhaps he isn't ready to admit he made a mistake with her?" he suggested lightly, in the hopes that it would see her softening toward him. She gave his words consideration before sighing.
"I do not know," she shook her head and paced a few steps across the stone floor. "I am beginning to believe he will do anything to keep her at his side. When I suggested just the other night that she did not deserve him and he should punish her for treating him so poorly, he told me his relationship with her was none of my affair. His words were callous and cold. I just wish she could go away. If she went away permanently, I could have the Master to myself."
"You hate her that much?" His question caught her off guard, saw her glancing up at him with an easy to read expression. Having the whore leave was what she wanted more than anything else. Poor thing honestly believed that getting the other woman out of her master's life would give her an opportunity at what she wanted most. He knew that it would never happen. But he wasn't about to tell her that. Because a plan was forming in his head, one that would kill two birds with one stone. A plan that would see him back in good standing with his mentor. He just had to convince her to go along with him.
"Yes," she spat, the last bit of the word coming out like a snake's hiss. It was filled with as much venom as one found in a snake's bite, poisonous and deadly to those who fell prey to its bite. All that hatred gave him hope that he would be able to convince her to follow his plan.
"I hate her, too," he told her, modulating his voice until it sounded like he was letting her in on a secret. He watched as confusion showed, for just a moment, before it was walled away behind a blank mask. He didn't know if it was because she didn't want him to see her thoughts or if he'd pushed too fast.
"Why would you hate her? You do not even know her," she asked. He heard suspicion there. Which sent him scrambling for an answer. He latched on to the one that was easiest, that held the most truth in it.
"She's evil," he whispered, as if it was an even bigger secret, one that mustn't be shared with just anyone. She considered that, then took a few steps closer.
"How do you know?" she asked, tipping her head ever so slightly to the side. He couldn't tell what she was doing but he hoped that she didn't see through his partial lie.
"You said she can control the dead. Such powers would never come from God's light. God has told me that such things are evil, that they belong to those who have given up their soul for dark purposes. Your master's servant is evil."
She considered his words. He wasn't sure if she was buying them or not, but he had one more card he could lay on the table. It might be enough to drive that last nail home in the coffin and gain him the vampire's trust. Or, at the least, enough of it to achieve his goals. "She's evil and she can use her powers to corrupt your Master. She'll turn his heart away from you if she stays at his side much longer."
The vampire said nothing, merely stared at him silently with a lack of expression that he'd noticed many of the older vampires wearing. He knew it for the mask that it was, that it was a way to keep others from knowing what they thought or felt. So while he saw nothing on her face, he was fairly certain she was thinking long and hard about what he'd just said to her.
Time ticked by slowly as she stood there, absolutely still. He had no idea what she was thinking, had no clue if she was going to speak to him or rip his throat out. He didn't think he'd overstepped his bounds, but one couldn't be sure when dealing with one of the undead. So he waited, silent and giving the appearance of being eager to please. All of his plans hinged on her believing that he wanted to be her friend. That he wanted to help her. That he wanted to give her everything she desired. And he hoped that she bought the act. Because, if she did...
"I will return," she said quietly, then turned for the door. It wasn't the affirmative he needed. But it wasn't a no. That put him one step closer to regaining access to his mentor. He would take it. And he would continue to hope that she would decide that she could trust him.
The moment she shut the door behind her, he bowed his head and started praying once again. God was listening and He would grant everything he prayed for.
~*~*~*~*~
The sun was coming up over the horizon when Aedan pulled her car into the lot outside her apartment building. Instinct saw her looking back and to the right. The black SUV was there. It had been there every night since the party and the attack on Minette. Jean Claude's doing. If she was still speaking to him, she'd have told him that there was no need because Minette's attacker wouldn't dare come after her. But she wasn't talking to him and she knew he wouldn't believe her. Nor would he listen to her. So she let it go. There was no need to start an argument over something that wouldn't change.
She saw a hand lift and wave, letting her know she'd been caught spying. Looked like Bobby Lee was watching over her today. He was usually the only one who waved at her. The others mostly just stared and took their role as bodyguard seriously. She raised a hand and waved back at him, her actions slow and limp. She didn't care what he thought of it. Assuming he knew that she was on fumes.
She'd been chasing her tail for days now, trying to get a lead on Minette's attacker and his partner in crime. Her message to them had, thus far, gone unanswered. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. It was what it was. Only time would tell on that front. For now, she was bone weary. Not just tired. Exhausted. On the verge of collapse. It was physical, because she'd been pushing herself as hard as she dared without creating any unnecessary problems. And it was mental, because she just did not know how she was supposed to be all these people and do all these things. She didn't think she'd ever get a crime solved. She was just plain ass tired and all she wanted was to curl up in a hole somewhere and pretend the world didn't exist.
Surely it could get along without her.
The knock on the window scared her enough that she jumped and would have reached for her gun if not for the wash of energy that danced across her skin. Aedan turned to the window to find that Bobby Lee was standing there, watching her intently. He looked mildly concerned. She realized she hadn't turned the engine off, nor had she made any move to get out of the car. One hand twisted the key in the ignition, cutting the engine off, while the other reached for the handle on the door and pulled. Bobby Lee was gentleman enough to swing the door open for her while being smart enough to know that he should keep his offers of help to himself
Sliding from the car, Aedan rose to her feet to look at her bodyguard. He subjected her to close, intense scrutiny before giving her a look that made her think of a worried father checking up on his wayward daughter. "You need to rest, Aedan. You're no good to anyone like this. Not even yourself."
She wanted to be mad at him for sticking his nose into her business, but she couldn't. She kind of liked the fact that he was concerned about her. That he was worried about her as a person and not as a tool or anything. So few people in her life these days saw things that way. "I appreciate your concern, but I'll sleep when I'm dead, Bobby Lee. You know there's too much going on right now."
"You've got too much responsibility on your shoulders. You should let him lighten your load a little. He's more than willing to help. He cares about you, you know."
She knew exactly which him Bobby Lee was referring to, and it took everything in her not to get pissed off right then and there. She drew a breath as she put her thoughts in order. As she put her anger aside. She'd explained it to him before. She'd explain it again. She'd explain it until he finally understood that nothing he said was going to change her mind.
The explanation never hit the air. The trill of Aedan's phone broke the early dawn quiet. She shot Bobby Lee a look as she reached for her phone, hoping like hell it wasn't anything serious because she just wasn't sure she could handle any more shit. The visit from Mischa was more than enough to leave her on edge the rest of the night. A glance at the screen told her her hopes were in vain. "Shit."
"Aedan?"
She held a hand up to Bobby Lee even as she thumbed the connection open and put the phone to her hand. "Kinkade," she said briefly.
"I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time," Dolph's voice was tight and unhappy. Not a good sign. She frowned and realized that she wasn't going to make it to bed just yet.
"Its never a good time if you're calling me, Dolph. What do you have?"
"I'm at a crime scene. I really need you to join me here. You need to see this," he replied. His voice was crisp and cool. Clipped. Dolph was pissed. Aedan felt her stomach twist just a little. Nothing good was going to come of this call.
"Send me the address. I'm already on my way," she told him.
"I already texted it to you," he said, then closed the connection. Aedan frowned and returned the phone to her pocket.
"Shit and double shit." Nope. Nothing good was going to come of this. Nothing good at all.
Chapter Forty Three: Of Dreams and Nightmares
Fandom: Anita Blake universe
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: graphic sex and violence, language, anything else i can toss in.
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 Sues are the sole property of their originators, Ginevra, Dazzledfirestar, Nanaea, SilverFoxChan and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.
Author's Notes: okay. this one is probably a lot gory. you have been warned
The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death - Index Link
All Saints was a smallish, neatly arranged shop that sat quietly in the corner of an unassuming strip mall, waiting patiently for people to notice it. That was the impression Rhia got of the store front when she pulled into a space before it. The second impression she got, as she stepped through the door, was that there was subtle, gentle magic filling the place. Not the heavy, abrasive magic of those who pulled and took what they wanted from nature. The soft, pleasant magic that came from someone who had worked with magic for a very long time. Someone who had magic flowing in their veins. The magic on the air called to the magic that she carried within her, teased and tempted it to come to the surface.
It was a pleasant looking place. More importantly, it was a pleasant feeling place. Rhia couldn't explain it in words. But stepping through the door was more relaxing than being outside on the sidewalk. The shop's atmosphere was calm and serene, welcoming to any who dared step inside. Rhia suspected that this was because she'd come to the shop with no ill-will in her heart or foul deeds planned out. Something told her that the shop wouldn't be quite so accepting if such was the case.
She could tell, just with her first glance, that All Saints wasn't what one would call a typical voodoo shop. In fact, it was as far from what the uneducated thought a voodoo shop looked like. The aisles were neat, not cluttered, and everything was organized by some method she'd yet to pick up on. Of course there were things that anyone could recognize on sight. Little dolls that many would call voodoo dolls in one bin. They were generic looking poppets, without eyes or hair or even clothes. No defining features what so ever. She knew enough to know that the practitioner was responsible for adding such things in order for the doll to do its job. She spied gris gris behind the counter. Stoppered vials and bottles containing different colored liquids occupied an enclosed case on the wall, kept behind intricately designed metal doors. One corner had many different bolts of brightly colored material. Some was a single color. Some was patterned.
Scented candles lined one wall, in all colors and sizes. Several of them had been set up behind the counter where the register was located, each one flickering with a soft golden flame. Their subtle perfumes mingled together and created a relaxing, hypnotizing scent that could probably put anyone in a haze if the right words were spoken. The windows were decorated with sun catchers of various shapes and sizes, and sunlight was pouring through some of them to paint rainbows along the opposite wall. There were antique chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting mellow light around the shop's interior. The entire place was bright and cheery and the absolute antithesis of every occult shop ever showed in a movie or television show ever.
All in all, Rhia felt like she was wanted there.
A beaded curtain covering a doorway into the back parted with a sharp clatter to admit Christophe into the room. The wooden beads beat out an excited rhythm, the tone low and almost drum-like. The musical sound only served to relax her even further.
Christophe spied her instantly. His face split into a broad grin, his teeth sharply white against the darkness of his skin. His arms swept out to his sides to motion around them. "Welcome, little witch, to my temple. What brings you to my door? This is not your chosen path," he said by way of greeting.
"I came to discuss something with you, Christophe. I need some advice," she told him.
He studied her a moment, the smile waning before he gave a nod of his head and moved across the shop toward the door. "Something tells me that this requires all of my attention. Any distraction would be unwelcome. Allow me to close the shop up, then we'll retire to my kitchen. I'll make tea and you will tell me why you have come to me with such important, heavy questions."
She wanted to say that he didn't need to close down because of her, but the look he shot her let her know that he wouldn't be swayed. So she kept the words to herself and waited as he turned off the neon sign that hung by the door, then turned the lock to keep any unwanted visitors from entering while they were occupied. Then he returned to where she stood and held a hand out toward the bead-covered doorway. Rhia offered him a smile before starting forward.
The other side of the doorway was a utilitarian backroom, obviously the shop's office, with industrial shelves lining three of the four walls. The fourth one had a desk with a sleek, thin laptop on it. Several monitors lined the open space next to the desk, each one showing a different angle of the shop and even of the exterior of the building. There was a closed door next to the desk, to which Christophe motioned wordlessly.
Rhia opened the door and found herself standing at the foot of a stairwell. It headed up toward the second floor. She put her foot on the first step and started climbing to what she suspected was his personal apartment. The stairs did not creak under her feet. Nor did they creak under his. The walls were painted white, but she could see, just barely, that there were thin lines painted along the walls in a shade of beige that almost blended in with the white. She suspected most people would never see them. But Rhia could see the magic pulsing in them as they scrolled in lazy circles before sliding in and out of one another. They looked like giant knots, which led her to believe that they were meant as protection. She was tempted to reach out and run her fingers over one of the lines, but didn't. She thought it might be considered rude and she wasn't sure she wanted to risk mucking up his magic.
A door at the top of the stairs stood open. Rhia stepped through the open portal into a short hallway. The floor beneath her feet was wood and the walls were covered with wallpaper. It was a very pale robin's egg blue, with tiny images imprinted on it. She suspected, as with the stairwell, the images were meant for protection. His staff rested in a corner, while a row of hooks held several coats. Half a dozen pairs of shoes rested on the floor beneath them. She moved up the hall toward the door at the end.
They stepped out of the hall into his kitchen. It was bright and cheery, with buttery yellow paint that had been accented with a paper runner along the ceiling. The runner was covered with vines and flowers in orange, yellow, and red. A table large enough to seat four occupied one corner, beneath windows that were open to allow fresh air into the room. A stove and fridge were opposite, with cupboards set between them. The sink was on the third wall, along with more cabinets. Fresh herbs hung from a rack on the wall, drying and waiting for use. "Please. Sit. Allow me to make tea."
Rhia took a chair at the table. Christophe bustled past her, one hand reaching out to take hold of a shiny tea kettle sitting on the stove before he headed to the sink. He filled the pot, then returned it to a burner on the stove. He turned a knob even as he reached for a cupboard door. Rhia was not surprised to find that one shelf of the cabinet was filled with different types of teas. Christophe glanced at her over his shoulder a moment before going back to his tea stash and taking one box out of it.
Silence settled around them, comfortable and companionable, as Christophe went about the ritual of making tea. Rhia used the time to gather her thoughts, to figure out how she was going to approach with him her reasons for being there. She was fairly sure he might try to change her mind on the decision she'd made, but that was to be expected, all things considered. She might not have come to him at all, if not for the fact that Christophe was one of the few people she knew who would understand everything that was clogging up her brain. So she waited patiently as he brewed their tea, his rich voice echoing throughout the kitchen as he hummed softly to himself, and told herself she could manage this.
"Now, then," he finally said, settling himself into the chair across from her. Her hands were curled around a ceramic mug filled with steaming white tea. Not usually her choice, but given that it helped promote relaxation, she could understand why he'd chosen it. She stared at the pale liquid in her mug, suddenly unsure as to why she'd thought it wise to come to him. "Tell me."
His words, much like his voice, were kindly, gently spoken. But there was no missing the command in them. He wasn't going to let her back out now that she was there. Rhia took a deep sigh and did her best to pull her courage to her. "One of my gifts is that I have visions."
Christophe nodded his head sagely. "Clairvoyance is a useful gift, when employed properly."
"Yes," she agreed. Then she sighed and took a sip of her tea. It was mild, gentle, almost sweet with a nectar flavor that teased its way across her taste buds. Rhia savored her first sip, admitting to herself that Christophe obviously knew his teas. "And, sometimes, it can be a terrible burden."
He cocked his head to the side, just a little bit, and gave the appearance of listening to something. Finally, he made a sound in the back of his throat and gave a grim nod. "Yes. Visions of death can be especially frightening."
It was both a statement and an opening, a way for her to bring up the reason behind her visit without any build up. Rhia took it with both hands, grateful for whatever voice guided Christophe's actions. "The demon summoner. His victims have all been natural witches."
Christophe blinked at that, obviously surprised by the news. It looked as if he hadn't thought about it. No one else really had, either. "Natural witches? All of them?"
"All of them," Rhia nodded, took another fortifying sip. "Aedan took me to the first crime scene. She hoped I could give her some insight that the police and her own abilities couldn't. I saw the demon and what it did to its victims."
"The demon plagues you in your dreams."
She nodded. "Yes. At first, I didn't want it to show me what was going on. Too bloody and violent. Too horrible for me. But now, I'm starting to think that the dreams are coming to me for a reason. Because I can help stop the summoner and the demon from killing again."
Christophe sat back in his chair and stared at her. The room was utterly silent, almost uncomfortably so, as his dark gaze remained steadfast on her. She fought not to squirm in her seat, sure that he was seeing right through to her soul. "You plan to offer yourself up as bait for the demon and its summoner."
"It makes sense. I'm a natural witch. And I think, based on what I've seen, the summoner is trying to take power. It would explain why organs are missing. It would explain why the summoner would use a demon to perpetrate the crimes. The summoner thinks the demon can give him or her power. Power that this person doesn't have on their own."
He considered her words. Considered them for far longer than she figured he would. She could see that he was lost in thought, perhaps communing with the loa that were so important to his beliefs and his practice. She sipped her tea and waited patiently. She knew that he didn't like what she was considering doing. But she didn't see how they had any other choice. Natural witches were in short supply. And she knew something that he didn't know. She knew, because she'd seen it in her dreams, that all of the victims had known one another. The summoner was going after a coven of witches. All she had to do was join the coven and make herself known. Attract the summoner's attention. Once that was completed, Aedan could take the sick bastard down and Rhia would send the demon back to its own plane of existence.
It was a simple plan. A good plan. It would work. She was sure of it.
"There is one small problem with this plan of yours," Christophe finally said, pulling Rhia from her thoughts. She had to wonder if he was some kind of mind reader or something. Because it seemed odd that he would say plan when she'd just been thinking it.
"What's that?"
Christophe considered her a moment or two, then gave her a knowing smile. "You will never convince Aedan to let you put yourself at risk."
She hadn't even thought about how Aedan would react. She glanced out the window before giving him a sheepish smile. "Well, we don't have to actually tell her, do we?"
Rhia was surprised to find she was only half kidding.
~*~*~*~*~
He stared out at the unwashed souls milling around beyond the glass of the window. Not that they could see him, of course. The windows were freshly tinted, so dark that no one could see into the office through them. But he was allowed to see everything that took place on the other side. It was a marvel to have the blinds open and the rest of the place on display. He never stopped marveling at the astounding number of people that ended up living on the streets. They came through his establishment by the hundreds. And all of them were willing to believe in his cause.
His cause. It had brought all these lost souls together, had enabled them to find God's Grace in a holy purpose. Once, it had been easy to pursue his cause. He'd been able to move through the seedy underworld of the world's foul, soulless creatures and deliver God's divine judgement and punishment to them. But those ignorant to the spreading evil such creatures brought had welcomed them into their communities with open arms and, with them, a plague that threatened to destroy humanity. Which was why his cause was so important. Why he'd been working for so long to save God's innocents.
He could still plainly recall the first innocent he'd saved. Just a wee baby, only a handful of months old. The poor child had been in the clutches of one of the damned, doomed to a life filled with horror and evil.
Her eyes were blue as the sky, looking up at him with curiosity and wonder. She was perfect, a beautiful, sweet child with cherubic cheeks and a bright smile. Tiny fists waved from within the babe's crib, bubbling coos filling the silence of the room. He reached one hand out to touch her soft cheek and smiled at the laughter that came. "What are you doing here?"
He turned to find her standing in the doorway, face pale as the moon against the darkness of her hair. Her eyes were filled with concern and worry. And a hint of fire. He took a few steps forward, making sure to keep himself between the baby and the demon. "I'm here for the child," he told her simply.
"You can't have her. She's mine," she replied, the fire in her eyes burning higher and brighter.
"I won't let you keep her. You're foul and corrupt. Evil. I will save the child from you and your evil ways."
"You don't belong here. Leave now, or I'll hurt you," she replied. She took a step forward into the room. The child behind him gurgled softly at the sound of her voice. He imagined those little fists were high in the air, waving in response to the spell the demon had put on the wee babe.
"You cannot touch me. My faith in God is absolute. He will protect me. He will save me from your taint."
She sneered at him. "Your God. Your God will not keep me from my child," she said. She took another step into the room, edged closer to him.
"She's not your child. She's my child. She's a being of love and light. You're a creature of evil and darkness. You'll corrupt her. You'll taint her with your evil, and take her away from God's light. I won't allow you to do that."
She gave him a look, let a smile pull up the corners of her mouth. Doing so showed him the long, pointed canines she used to drink the blood of the innocent. "You can't stop me."
He saw the intent in her eyes, knew she was going to try and use her demonic powers on him. He drew his hand from his pocket, lifting the silver cross high by the leather thong he'd threaded through the ring at the top. It halted her in her tracks, when she was barely a step away. The light that came from the holy cross was blinding and he watched her cower back in fear, hands lifted to ward off the cleansing power of God's love. He took advantage of her fear, stepped forward until the silver touched her skin. She screamed, her voice sharp with agony, as it burned her, as it purified the evil from her soul.
Blind instinct saw her pulling away. She tried to retreat from God's holy light. But he wasn't going to let her. He shifted the cross to his other hand so that he could draw the sharpened length of wood he'd brought with from his coat. She was cowering from him, cowering from the divine power of the cross. She cradled her burnt arm with her other hand, soft sobs rising up her throat while she wept the bloodied tears of the damned. She barely had time to glance up at him and take in the stake he held aloft. She lifted her uninjured arm, hand out in supplication, but made no move to stop him as he brought the stake down and plunged the sharpened point directly into her chest.
It took more than one attempt to drive the stake through flesh and bone and into her heart. She screamed as he did so, begged him to spare her. Spewed lies about love between her cries. He paid her words no heed. Instead, he put all of his strength into driving the stake into her heart. The crunch of bone when her ribs broke drew a strangled sound from her throat. Then the point was piercing her heart. Her tears dried. Her sobs died. And her body went still. Taking her head was less work, the blade of his machete as sharp as could be. What he hadn't counted on was the spray of blood that painted the area around her corpse in a glittering arc of liquid red. He wasn't fast enough to escape the spray.
He'd burn his clothes later. Bury the machete.
For now... He said a few words over the corpse before splashing it with holy water. Then he turned to the baby in the crib. The child was now crying, face red as she wailed loudly. He picked her up. Rocked her in his arms. Hummed a tune under his breath. Quieted her down until she stared at him with those amazing blue eyes again. Then he went about packing up the things he would need for her, putting everything into a bag that he slung over his shoulder. After sparing a brief glance for the corpse, he carried the child from the room and off to a better life.
He thought of that child and sorrow touched his heart. He hadn't been quick enough to protect her from the demon's evil influence. The taint had touched the child's soul. Maybe one day he'd be able to finally save her.
~*~*~*~*~
"I don't understand why she won't talk to me," Minette said, not looking up from the papers she was reading over. She was sure Micah was tired of hearing it because she'd only said it about half a dozen times in the last five minutes. It was likely, the way her brain was turning at the moment, that she'd say it at least half a dozen times more before she could put it aside and think about something else.
"I don't know, Minette. I'm not the one who's privy to her thoughts," he said to her. It was a gentle reminder.
Minette frowned at that, though she wasn't sure if he saw it or not. "She's got me shut out. I've never seen her shields so tight. I don't think even Jean Claude can get into her head. Which is saying something."
"And you know this how?" Micah asked.
"Because I can get into his head. And I've asked him about it. I've asked him why she isn't sleeping here anymore. I've asked him quite a few questions about my best friend and even he doesn't have the answers," Minette looked up at him then, letting him see how confused and worried she was about Aedan. "She's never done this to me before. She's never just shut me out and avoided me like I have plague or something. Not since the first time we met."
A frown settled upon his features. "Jean Claude can't get into her head? At all?"
"He didn't say outright that he can't. But the way he reacted to and responded to my questions suggests he can't. She isn't speaking to him unless she has to. And when he tries to talk to her, she shuts him down. He isn't happy about it. And neither one of us understand where this is coming from. I've never seen Aedan act like this before," Minette replied. Micah gave her a look that suggested he might not believe her. She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "Never."
He sighed, shook his head at her. "I don't know anything about that. But what I do know is she's determined to find who attacked you. She's been fielding calls ever since our meeting. I know she's spoken to at least one member of the community who claims to have seen her suspects. Maybe she's so focused on finding your attacker that she doesn't have time for anyone or anything else."
Even Minette could hear the doubt in his voice. Micah didn't believe that anymore than she did. "I've never seen Aedan focus on something so completely before. This is unlike her."
He considered her words. She could see it in the expression on his face. Finally, he gave her a look that could honestly mean just about anything. "She's never been in this position before. She's a licensed vampire executioner. And a Federal Marshal. And Jean Claude's human servant. And a full blown necromancer with more power than any one person should probably have. That's all new and its probably testing her limits. How many murders has she seen since she's been here?"
Micah had a point. Minette could admit that. But she knew Aedan in ways no one else ever would. Not Micah and not Jean Claude. They might think this behavior was not unusual for her, but Minette knew better. In all of the years they'd known one another, all the time they'd spent together, Aedan had never once put anything above her friendship with Minette. Nothing. Not boys or men or murder or zombies. None of it. Aedan was family in a way blood would never be. In a way the men in Minette's life would never be. This behavior simply wasn't like her.
"I don't know. She stopped talking to me about them shortly after the first couple," Minette replied. Then she shuddered as she recalled some of the images she'd inadvertently gotten from Aedan about those murder scenes. To be perfectly honest, Minette had been glad when Aedan had stopped sharing.
"Then its likely that she's hyper-focused on putting an end to them," he told her.
Minette shrugged and tried to give her attention to the paperwork before her. While it was likely that Aedan was hyper-focused on putting an end to the murders, it still didn't follow what Minette knew about the other woman. Aedan had always been open with her. About everything. Well, everything but her family.
That thought saw Minette pausing. The only times she'd ever seen Aedan get weird like this was when the topic of her family had come up. Was it possible all of this weirdness had to do with Aedan's family? Maybe. But Minette had always gotten the impression that her family was dead, that Aedan didn't like discussing them because something horrible had happened to them. It couldn't be anything to do with family. Aedan had long claimed that Minette was the only family she had. Minette had no reason to not believe her. Still, something was up with her friend and she was really worried that nothing good was going to come of this weirdness.
Ugh. Minette was making herself crazy with the way her thoughts kept cycling in circles. It was time to find something else to focus on. A glance at the stack of papers before her told her it wasn't going to be coalition work. So she would have to go with something else. But what?
"Minette."
The softness of Micah's voice saw her lifting her head to look him in the eye. There was something tender and full of understanding there, which made her feel horrible for more or less ignoring him the way she had while her brain had been occupied with someone else. She opened her mouth, intent on apologizing to him for being such shitty company, but he leaned toward her and put a finger against her lips. That action stopped the words from tumbling out. She met him halfway, eyes drifting closed even as the warmth of his breath plumed across her cheek. His lips touched hers in a tentative kiss that prompted her to inch closer and offer herself to him.
The gentle press of his mouth on her own was sweet. And it sent a thrill through her that had nothing to do with any physical need. After a moment or two, his hands reached out to cup her cheeks. Heat curled under his touch, blooming and growing until an echo of that heat coiled low in her belly. She wanted to be closer, wanted to climb into his lap and touch as much of him as she could. Their clothes were in the way. The chairs were in the way. Minette felt a sudden, irrational dislike of clothing and furniture. She couldn't quite stop the growl that rolled up her throat.
His soft chuckle saw her pulling back to stare at him. "Ah. I see what you're doing here."
"Oh? What am I doing here?" he asked, giving her a vaguely amused look.
"You're trying to distract me," she accused.
A smile spread across his face, like a ray of sun coming out from behind the clouds after months of dreary rain, and it did everything alleviate the unease she'd been feeling. One hand reached up and stroked her hair back from her face. "And is it working?"
"I don't know. I don't feel very distracted. Maybe you should try harder."
"I think I can manage that," he murmured. Minette smiled and leaned toward him again, let him press his lips to hers again.
He took her face in between his hands once more, his palms cupping her cheeks as he delivered a soft, sweet, tender kiss. The heat of his kiss and the heat of his touch helped drain the tension out of her body. She felt the tightness ebb away inch by inch until she was left so limp that she was glad she was sitting in a chair.
That kiss seemed to go on forever. Heat and sensation and emotion coiled together, coiled around one another and her heart and mind until she was caught up in him. His tenderness, his stillness, his serenity and his peace. Minette knew she hadn't felt this relaxed since well before the party and she was having a hard time remembering why she had been so tense in the first place.
Micah pulled back when they both needed air and looked at her. "Distracted yet?" he asked, voice a bare whisper in the emptiness of the office.
"I... What was the question?"
He gave a soft chuckle. "I'll take that as a yes. How about we close up for the night and go home? I'll work at distracting you some more."
Minette considered the question for all of half a second. "That... Yes. Yes, let's do that. That's a good plan. Let's do that."
~*~*~*~*~
Her eyes were defiant, despite the redness and the remnants of tears in them. She stared up at him, those green eyes wide and bright and piercing. He smiled at her. Lifted his knife up so she could see it. He knew without looking that the blade glistened in the dim light, that it dripped with her blood. That it was coated in the red liquid. He let her stare at it, let her wonder for a moment or two what he planned to do with it this time. He wasn't sure yet himself, but she didn't need to know that.
Thus far, she'd proved stubborn. Oh, she screamed and cried with the pain. But she wasn't giving him anything else. Nothing that filled that part of him that craved the cries and the tears and the screams of agony. That part of him was why he'd gone from simply inflicting a small amount of pain before killing them to this.
She was spread across the floor like a serial killer's banquet, wrists and ankles bound by silver cuffs that he knew burned her flesh. That didn't stop her from straining against them, from trying to pull them from the floor and get away from him. He imagined that her skin under the cuffs was red and raw. Her arms were pulled up and out, her legs wide and gaping. She was naked, her skin glistening with sweat and thin rivers of blood. The cuts he'd left in her flesh were red and raw. Just staring at the blade that had inflicted so much pain saw her muscles quivering with anxious anticipation beneath her skin. It wasn't enough. He needed more.
He needed to break her.
I'm not gonna lie
I'll not be a gentleman
Behind the boathouse
I'll show you my dark secret
"Go ahead and do what you want to me. It won't matter. You're already dead," she spat at him, the words tumbling from her mouth with vicious glee. He could see in her eyes that she was already reveling in the thought of his demise.
"Shut your filthy mouth, you whore. Maybe, if you'd done that earlier, you wouldn't be in this position now," he hissed at her, doing his best to keep the anger from staining his speech. He must not have succeeded because her smile was maniacal.
"She's going to find you. And when she does, she's going to kill you. She's already told us so. And she keeps her promises! You'll never live to regret what you've done, you sick fuuuu..."
Her words trailed off into a loud shriek riddled with pain. He pressed the blade of the knife harder against her skin, making her hips jump as she tried to pull away from the silver that burned her. He made sure to slide it back and forth against her nether region so that every inch of it was on fire from the touch of the silver. When the cries faded into sobbing whimpers and there was barely any energy left in her attempts to draw away, he backed the blade off and gave her a few moments of relief. The tension slid from her body and she sagged against the floor, if such a thing was even possible.
"She can't do anything to me. I am one of the Righteous and I will pass judgement on every last one of you freaks," he told her, voice low in the silence of the room. Her eyes were clouded with pain when she focused on his face, but he could see exactly what she thought of his statement anyway. She was sure he was insane. He was as sane as they came, and he knew that she would never stop him.
"You're the fucking freak! I never did anything to you," she whispered, pain laced into every last syllable she spoke. "You're the freak, man. You're the one who jumped me and..."
She broke off with another shriek. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she fought again against her bonds. He leaned his weight on the hilt of his dagger, drove it deeper into her thigh. "I am the Righteous," he repeated softly. "And I will see your kind damned to Hell. Every last one of you."
"You're fucking crazy," she got out before a scream tore from her throat. He tugged the blade free of her flesh and held it up so she could once again see it.
"I'm going to break you, whore. I'm going to break you and you're going to beg me to spare your life. You're going to beg me to stop. But I won't stop. The pain won't end until the last breath leaves your chest."
"It'll take more than you have, you sick fuck. I've faced worse than you. I've beat worse than you. Do your worst. You won't break me," she replied vehemently. Then she spat on him, her saliva mixed with blood. It hit him square in the face. He just wiped it off on his arm, then let her see the knife again.
"Let me purify you," he whispered. He gave her a second, just the space of a heartbeat, to try and find the meaning of his words. Then he lowered the blade and slid it home. The screams that rose from her chest were the best he'd heard, so full of agony and pain that it made him hard in an instant. Blood flowed over his hand as the sharp edges of the blade cut into her. He pressed the dagger deeper, pulled it back. Pressed it in again. "I'm going to fuck the evil out of you with this," he told her.
Denn du bist
was du isst
und ihr wisst
was es ist
"Please stop," the voice whispered from behind him. It brought his head up. He saw out of the corner of his eye that the whore's gaze slid away from him, too. He twisted the blade, just a bit, and nearly came when she screamed. But he turned a hard stare his sister's way, infuriated that she was interfering with his fun. "This isn't what we planned on doing. This isn't what we were going to do. This isn't right."
"You would question me in this?" he asked, mildly surprised by her sudden show of backbone.
"She doesn't deserve this," his sister said, voice stronger. "We're supposed to be killing the impure. Not raping them like this." With her words, her eyes went to the hilt of the dagger and his hand curled around it. Both were covered in the whore's blood. All he could think of was pulling the blade free and shoving his cock into her bloody cunt. He should do it. Right there, in front of his sister. To show her that she didn't own his cock. He did. And he would fuck anyone he wanted to. It would serve the little witch right.
"And what do you plan on doing to stop me?" he asked, voice low.
"I'm stronger than you. I can stop you," she replied steadily.
He pulled the knife free of the whore's body, bringing forth another scream of agony. Music to his ears. He lunged at his sister, slashed at her with the knife. She jumped back, but not far or fast enough. The tip of the blade cut across her abdomen, through her clothes to part her flesh. She cried out and dropped to the floor, back arched and fingers curled against the concrete floor. He heard the growl trickle out of her mouth, a warning that she was going to allow the beast to escape. That noise saw him across the floor in an instant. One foot connected with her abdomen hard, sending her to the floor as she whimpered and tried to get the air back into her lungs. "Don't you ever, ever threaten me with that filthy animal inside of you again. I will slit your throat the next time you do. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, brother," she answered dutifully, her sobs soft hiccups of sound.
"Make it up to me," he ordered. She rose to her hands and knees, limbs unsteady, and crawled toward him when he started backing away from her. His actions brought the two of them closer to the whore. He stopped when his foot touched her leg and he held the knife out to her. "Fuck her with it."
His sister hesitated a moment or two before she took the blade from him. Her hand shook a little bit but she wrapped her fingers over the hilt without another word. The whore was watching them with wide, wide eyes. She was so close to breaking. This would be the last straw for her, the one that would break the camel's back. When she did break, it would be so sweet. For all of them.
I can promise you
You'll stay as beautiful
With dark hair
And soft skin...forever
Forever
His sister approached the whore, the knife held almost gingerly in her hand. The whore shook her head. "Please don't do this. You don't have to listen to him. You're stronger than he is. I know what you are. Shift and stop him. Save us both," she pleaded.
He saw the pause in his sister's motions. She was thinking about those words intently, perhaps considering actually attempting to do what the whore had suggested. He waited, certain he knew what choice she'd make. A moment later, her hand tightened around the dagger's hilt and she firmed her chin. "Shut your filthy mouth," she whispered at the other woman. He watched, anticipation and lust rolling through his veins, as his sister positioned herself between the whore's thighs. The knife slid in easily, went deep, drew another scream up the whore's throat.
His sister did as she'd been told. She fucked the whore with the knife, pressing it deep before withdrawing it. Blood ran from between the whore's thighs. Tears ran from her eyes. Her cries moved into shattered, broken sounds that were hoarse and that trailed off into nothing when her air ran out. They would start up again as soon as she could draw breath into her lungs. Her limbs quivered against her bonds, her movements growing weaker and weaker with each thrust of his sister's make-shift phallus.
"Yes. Fuck her. Fuck her to death. Show me how much you love me," he whispered, hand already at his fly. He didn't have to say anymore. His sister knew what he wanted. She shifted her position so that she was on her hands and knees over the whore. The knife had been left in its flesh sheath and blood pooled on the floor between the whore's thighs, around his sister's knees.
He made quick work of her clothes, tugging pants down and shredding her panties in his haste to bury himself inside of her. She moaned long and loud when he shoved himself deep and started fucking.
Es ist mein teil - nein
Mein Teil - nein
Denn das ist mein teil - nein
Mein Teil - nein
He was still pounding away at his sister's cunt when the light went out of the whore's eyes
~*~*~*~*~
She was in the midst of packing up her zombie kit when she felt the touch of the grave against her skin. Aedan whirled, gun coming up in her hand as she did so, only to find herself thrown off her feet and the gun knocked from her hand in the blink of an eye. She hit the ground hard, one hand bouncing painfully off a granite tombstone. Pain shot up into her arm, leaving her thankful that it hadn't been her head. She stared up at her guest. A trickle of fear slid down her spine when she saw who it was, letting her know just how alone and secluded she was in the cemetery.
The vampire standing over her oozed power. She could feel it creeping along her skin and digging into her bones as surely as she could feel the dirt beneath her hands. For a second or two, she was tempted to draw a few zombies from their graves, but they would be of little protection against her unwanted visitor. The white mask with its gold musical notes that he wore told her as much as the weight of his power against her skin did. So she stayed where she was, waited to see what he'd do. Hoped like hell that he really was there in a friendly manner, as the mask suggested.
If he wasn't, she was dead.
"Pardon my intrusion, Miss Kinkade. I mean no harm. I only wish to talk." He was offering her help up with the hand that wasn't holding her Glock. He was offering her that, too.
Aedan considered, briefly, ignoring his hand and letting anger take the lead. But she squashed the idea down and instead slid her uninjured hand into his. He brought her to her feet as easily as a shark cut through the sea, exerting very little strength to do so. She took her weapon and holstered it. She was smart enough to know that she'd never get a shot off if it ended up that she needed it. He'd never allow her the opportunity.
"About what?" she asked.
"Many things. Each one as equally important as the others," he replied. She studied him a moment, then gave a single nod of her head.
"Very well, Mischa. Talk." She went back to putting her zombie kit back together, carefully stowing each item in its rightful place. Even without looking at him, she could tell he was curious as to how she knew who he was. She waited him out, knew he'd get to that eventually.
"You would not rather go somewhere else?" he asked. It was obvious he was offering her the chance to be in public, where there would be witnesses. It prompted her to shrug one shoulder.
"If you wanted me dead, I'd already be dead. You wouldn't have even bothered to announce your presence. So we might as well talk here." She paused and let her gaze slide around the cemetery. "I'm more comfortable around the dead than the living, anyway. So talk."
"There is talk among the members of the council," he began. She shot him a look that suggested he should be more specific. "Talk of you, Miss Kinkade. Talk of your position within Jean Claude's kiss. Talk of how such a thing should not be possible."
She watched him a moment, frustrated by the mask. It hid any hint of expression from view. And she'd learned long ago that people could lie with their eyes. While his gave the appearance of open curiosity, it could have been nothing more than a front. Sighing, Aedan crossed her arms and gave him her full attention. "Go on. Ask. I know you're dying to."
"Did Anita give you her powers?" he asked quietly.
She considered answering him in the affirmative, in using words to tell him what he wanted to know. But she knew that, like the vampires who had attended Jean Claude's party and like Augustine before them, he'd want proof. Physical proof. Which meant showing him. The question was how? How did she show him and make it good? Make it believable. Only one answer came to mind, and it wasn't one she really wanted to go with. But it was the maybe the best option she had. She dug her knife from the kit and held it up, then lifted her hand to show him her fingers and palm. A moment later, she ran a finger against the edge of the blade.
The knife was sharp, so it parted the skin on her finger easily. Painlessly. A drop of blood welled up against her skin. Aedan offered it to him. He stared at her a moment, as if wondering if this was some kind of joke. It made Aedan glad the cut was deep enough that it wouldn't heal right away. A second or two passed before he drifted forward, closing the distance between the two of them in order to gently take her hand in his. She thought she saw him inhaling, but his head dipped before she could be certain. Then his lips wrapped around the cut on her finger and sent her thoughts rushing off in the other direction in confusion.
There was some kind of electric sensation that pulsed through her when his mouth pulled at her offering. He drew more blood to the surface, tilted his head so that he could nick the flesh just a bit with one of his fangs and deepen the cut. Aedan fought against the shudder that brought and wondered if she was going to have to try and fight him off to get her hand back. Almost as soon as she had the thought, he was pulling away from her. His eyes glittered when he brought them up to her face. "Ah. I see the rumors are true. Amazing. I can taste her magic in your blood."
"Really?" she asked.
A hint of a smile teased the corners of his mouth. "Yes. Her magic and your magic are intertwined, wrapped around one another as a runner of ivy wraps itself around a tree or fence post. It is... a heady combination. I can see why Jean Claude is intent on keeping you safe."
Aedan did her best to keep the mention of the other vampire from bothering her. She still wasn't talking to him, but Mischa didn't need to know that. No one needed to know the things that went between them. "After what happened to Anita..." she trailed off, not bothering to finish the sentence. There was no need, when the rest was obvious.
"Speaking of what happened to Anita." She watched as he reached up with one hand and removed the mask, exposing the rest of his face to her view. Something in her relaxed at the idea that he really was just there to talk, despite the fact that she knew that's what his mask meant. "She is the reason I have sought you out."
"Oh?"
"Yes. More specifically, her death. And what it means for you," Mischa said. He was all seriousness, from the tone of his voice to the look on his face to the way he held himself. Which meant nothing good for her. Aedan let her senses spread out around her, looking for the tell-tale signs of lingering vampires or lycanthropes. She didn't feel anything, but that didn't mean there wasn't someone waiting in the wings.
"I see," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "What does her death mean for me?"
He studied her a moment or two before letting that almost smile come back to his face. "So serious for someone so young." There was an expectant look in his eyes, as if he was waiting for her to tell him why she was so serious. She simply stared and waited for him to get on with the reason for his visit. He shook his head and sighed. "Very well. Anita's murder. You do know that there are many people involved in it."
It wasn't a question. Aedan shot him a look. "I was there. I saw the vampires and shifters and humans on the road. I know it wasn't just one big bad."
Mischa nodded, as if expecting her answer or impressed by her intelligence. She didn't care which it was. "There is a cabal at work here. They plotted for a very long time to bring about Anita's demise." He paused here, as if considering the next part of his story. Aedan watched as he drifted across the cemetery lawn, movements silent and fluid like the legendary predator he was. She watched as a pale hand trailed over a particularly tail tombstone, careful to keep his fingers away from the raised cross that sat above the dead's name. "They were satisfied that they'd weakened Jean Claude's power base with Anita's death, and were content to leave things as they were. Until..."
"Until I got pissed off and let my temper get the better of me," she commented. She was well aware that every undead being in the city had felt her powers the night of the party. She was also well aware that news traveled fast.
"Just so," the vampire inclined his head. "Members of that cabal were made aware of your presence, of the intensity of your powers. You pose as much a threat to them as Anita did."
"So I just made someone's list," Aedan said flatly.
Mischa blinked at her, obviously unable to figure out why she wasn't ruffled or upset or any other number of things a person would be when they found out they were the first name on someone's dead pool. "You seem unconcerned."
"I've been on someone's list since I was a small child, Mischa. This won't be any different," she replied.
"You have never been on a vampire's list," he said.
"First time for everything." Her tone was flippant and she accompanied it with a shrug of her shoulders.
He was confused by her attitude. She could see that in the way he watched her. "You should be afraid. There are vampires in this cabal who are far more skilled in the art of death than you are, child."
Aedan considered his words a moment. "So you're telling me that members of your own band of merry murders is part of the group that wanted Anita dead? Good to know. I'll have to invest in a flame thrower."
"Miss Kinkade, I do not think you appreciate the position this puts you in."
"Oh, I understand perfectly what you're telling me. I made a target of myself when I raised all the dead in that park the other night. Tell me you were impressed with my show of power. I mean, that's what the whole evening was about. Letting everyone know that Jean Claude is as strong as ever. I think I accomplished that. Were you one of the ones who thought that the evening's events were planned in advance?"
"I know real anger and fear when I feel it, Miss Kinkade. My particular abilities have given me that talent. You were angry. And afraid. Your friend had just been attacked. You reacted through the only open avenue available to you." There was no judgement or condemnation in his voice. Just simple truth. Perhaps a bit of admiration and respect. He moved positions again, trailing around behind Aedan until he once more stood where he'd started. There was a sense of consideration to him, as if he was trying to remember something and having little luck in it. "You remind me of someone I met once, long ago. It was a memorable occasion, as I have met only a handful of necromancers in my long life. Many of them died by my hand. By order of the vampire council. I was supposed to kill that necromancer, too. But they escaped me. I never saw them again."
"Are you under orders to kill me?" she asked quietly. If he was, she wouldn't go quietly. She'd make it hard as hell for him. She'd fight with every last breath in her body. The thought that she shouldn't have holstered her weapon when he'd arrived hit her again. Too late for that now. All she could do was hope she inflicted some pain before she went.
"If I were, you would never have sensed me in the cemetery with you," he told her, all indulgent smiles.
"Fair enough," she returned and hefted up her kit. "If there's nothing else? I'm beat. I need to sleep soon."
He inclined his head in acknowledgement before speaking again. "You know that there were several members of my elite group at your party. Some of them share the same views as I do. Some of them blindly follow the council."
"Let me guess. The ones that follow the council are part of the cabal that killed Anita and now wants me dead." He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. Aedan could read between the lines. Shrugging her shoulder, she started toward her car. "Very well. You've delivered the message. The vampires want me dead. I need to watch my back. Thanks. I'll take it from here."
"Miss Kinkade, you cannot seriously believe you can defeat my brethren when it comes time to fight." He stopped her with his words as much as with the hand on her arm. She glanced down at the offending appendage before turning a cold stare his way.
"The vampires aren't the only ones who have ever wanted me dead. I doubt they'll be the last. Thank you for the warning. I'll take my chances." Whatever he saw in her eyes, it made him release his hold on her arm. She watched coolly as Mischa stepped back and away from her. She thought she saw a grudging look of respect in his eyes. Then he was just gone, vampiric speed allowing him to disappear in a blur. Aedan waited a moment, let her senses stretch again to check for his lingering presence. When she found none, she heaved a sigh and headed for her car.
Just fucking great. As if there wasn't enough going on in her life. Now she had to watch out for assassins lurking in darkened alleyways. Though, all things considered, she'd rather face a horde of killer vampires than Minette and Jean Claude if they ever learned the truth.
~*~*~*~*~
"Did you mean it?" Her voice was soft and harsh in the silent interior of his cell. He lifted his head so that he could look up at her. It had been far too long since she'd last stepped into the room where they held him, long enough that he'd decided she hadn't bought into anything he'd said the last time they'd spoken. It looked as if he'd been wrong. He was obviously silent longer than she liked because she spoke again. "Did you mean it when you said you'd pray for me. That you'd ask God to give me what I wanted?"
"I did," he replied.
She stared a moment, then nodded. "Thank you."
"Has God given you what you wanted, then?" She seemed calmer than the last time she'd come through the door. Years of reading the desperate and needy, their faces and their bodies, told him that something had changed. It wasn't in her expression so much as how she held herself.
"Perhaps," she said, the word coming slowly as she gave his question some consideration. "I do not see the Master's whore as much anymore."
Interesting. He considered what it could possibly mean. "Do you think something has come between them?" he asked.
"The Master will not talk about it when I ask, but I believe so," the vampire confirmed. There was a touch of superiority in her voice, a hint that suggested she thought she'd won some battle being fought between herself and the woman she so despised. It left him with the idea that the vampire before him was unstable, and he knew he needed to tread carefully. The last thing he wanted to do was upset her. He had no doubt that she could and would visit violence upon his person if he made the mistake of making her mad.
"Perhaps he isn't ready to admit he made a mistake with her?" he suggested lightly, in the hopes that it would see her softening toward him. She gave his words consideration before sighing.
"I do not know," she shook her head and paced a few steps across the stone floor. "I am beginning to believe he will do anything to keep her at his side. When I suggested just the other night that she did not deserve him and he should punish her for treating him so poorly, he told me his relationship with her was none of my affair. His words were callous and cold. I just wish she could go away. If she went away permanently, I could have the Master to myself."
"You hate her that much?" His question caught her off guard, saw her glancing up at him with an easy to read expression. Having the whore leave was what she wanted more than anything else. Poor thing honestly believed that getting the other woman out of her master's life would give her an opportunity at what she wanted most. He knew that it would never happen. But he wasn't about to tell her that. Because a plan was forming in his head, one that would kill two birds with one stone. A plan that would see him back in good standing with his mentor. He just had to convince her to go along with him.
"Yes," she spat, the last bit of the word coming out like a snake's hiss. It was filled with as much venom as one found in a snake's bite, poisonous and deadly to those who fell prey to its bite. All that hatred gave him hope that he would be able to convince her to follow his plan.
"I hate her, too," he told her, modulating his voice until it sounded like he was letting her in on a secret. He watched as confusion showed, for just a moment, before it was walled away behind a blank mask. He didn't know if it was because she didn't want him to see her thoughts or if he'd pushed too fast.
"Why would you hate her? You do not even know her," she asked. He heard suspicion there. Which sent him scrambling for an answer. He latched on to the one that was easiest, that held the most truth in it.
"She's evil," he whispered, as if it was an even bigger secret, one that mustn't be shared with just anyone. She considered that, then took a few steps closer.
"How do you know?" she asked, tipping her head ever so slightly to the side. He couldn't tell what she was doing but he hoped that she didn't see through his partial lie.
"You said she can control the dead. Such powers would never come from God's light. God has told me that such things are evil, that they belong to those who have given up their soul for dark purposes. Your master's servant is evil."
She considered his words. He wasn't sure if she was buying them or not, but he had one more card he could lay on the table. It might be enough to drive that last nail home in the coffin and gain him the vampire's trust. Or, at the least, enough of it to achieve his goals. "She's evil and she can use her powers to corrupt your Master. She'll turn his heart away from you if she stays at his side much longer."
The vampire said nothing, merely stared at him silently with a lack of expression that he'd noticed many of the older vampires wearing. He knew it for the mask that it was, that it was a way to keep others from knowing what they thought or felt. So while he saw nothing on her face, he was fairly certain she was thinking long and hard about what he'd just said to her.
Time ticked by slowly as she stood there, absolutely still. He had no idea what she was thinking, had no clue if she was going to speak to him or rip his throat out. He didn't think he'd overstepped his bounds, but one couldn't be sure when dealing with one of the undead. So he waited, silent and giving the appearance of being eager to please. All of his plans hinged on her believing that he wanted to be her friend. That he wanted to help her. That he wanted to give her everything she desired. And he hoped that she bought the act. Because, if she did...
"I will return," she said quietly, then turned for the door. It wasn't the affirmative he needed. But it wasn't a no. That put him one step closer to regaining access to his mentor. He would take it. And he would continue to hope that she would decide that she could trust him.
The moment she shut the door behind her, he bowed his head and started praying once again. God was listening and He would grant everything he prayed for.
~*~*~*~*~
The sun was coming up over the horizon when Aedan pulled her car into the lot outside her apartment building. Instinct saw her looking back and to the right. The black SUV was there. It had been there every night since the party and the attack on Minette. Jean Claude's doing. If she was still speaking to him, she'd have told him that there was no need because Minette's attacker wouldn't dare come after her. But she wasn't talking to him and she knew he wouldn't believe her. Nor would he listen to her. So she let it go. There was no need to start an argument over something that wouldn't change.
She saw a hand lift and wave, letting her know she'd been caught spying. Looked like Bobby Lee was watching over her today. He was usually the only one who waved at her. The others mostly just stared and took their role as bodyguard seriously. She raised a hand and waved back at him, her actions slow and limp. She didn't care what he thought of it. Assuming he knew that she was on fumes.
She'd been chasing her tail for days now, trying to get a lead on Minette's attacker and his partner in crime. Her message to them had, thus far, gone unanswered. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. It was what it was. Only time would tell on that front. For now, she was bone weary. Not just tired. Exhausted. On the verge of collapse. It was physical, because she'd been pushing herself as hard as she dared without creating any unnecessary problems. And it was mental, because she just did not know how she was supposed to be all these people and do all these things. She didn't think she'd ever get a crime solved. She was just plain ass tired and all she wanted was to curl up in a hole somewhere and pretend the world didn't exist.
Surely it could get along without her.
The knock on the window scared her enough that she jumped and would have reached for her gun if not for the wash of energy that danced across her skin. Aedan turned to the window to find that Bobby Lee was standing there, watching her intently. He looked mildly concerned. She realized she hadn't turned the engine off, nor had she made any move to get out of the car. One hand twisted the key in the ignition, cutting the engine off, while the other reached for the handle on the door and pulled. Bobby Lee was gentleman enough to swing the door open for her while being smart enough to know that he should keep his offers of help to himself
Sliding from the car, Aedan rose to her feet to look at her bodyguard. He subjected her to close, intense scrutiny before giving her a look that made her think of a worried father checking up on his wayward daughter. "You need to rest, Aedan. You're no good to anyone like this. Not even yourself."
She wanted to be mad at him for sticking his nose into her business, but she couldn't. She kind of liked the fact that he was concerned about her. That he was worried about her as a person and not as a tool or anything. So few people in her life these days saw things that way. "I appreciate your concern, but I'll sleep when I'm dead, Bobby Lee. You know there's too much going on right now."
"You've got too much responsibility on your shoulders. You should let him lighten your load a little. He's more than willing to help. He cares about you, you know."
She knew exactly which him Bobby Lee was referring to, and it took everything in her not to get pissed off right then and there. She drew a breath as she put her thoughts in order. As she put her anger aside. She'd explained it to him before. She'd explain it again. She'd explain it until he finally understood that nothing he said was going to change her mind.
The explanation never hit the air. The trill of Aedan's phone broke the early dawn quiet. She shot Bobby Lee a look as she reached for her phone, hoping like hell it wasn't anything serious because she just wasn't sure she could handle any more shit. The visit from Mischa was more than enough to leave her on edge the rest of the night. A glance at the screen told her her hopes were in vain. "Shit."
"Aedan?"
She held a hand up to Bobby Lee even as she thumbed the connection open and put the phone to her hand. "Kinkade," she said briefly.
"I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time," Dolph's voice was tight and unhappy. Not a good sign. She frowned and realized that she wasn't going to make it to bed just yet.
"Its never a good time if you're calling me, Dolph. What do you have?"
"I'm at a crime scene. I really need you to join me here. You need to see this," he replied. His voice was crisp and cool. Clipped. Dolph was pissed. Aedan felt her stomach twist just a little. Nothing good was going to come of this call.
"Send me the address. I'm already on my way," she told him.
"I already texted it to you," he said, then closed the connection. Aedan frowned and returned the phone to her pocket.
"Shit and double shit." Nope. Nothing good was going to come of this. Nothing good at all.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-09-18 08:36 pm (UTC)I see the incest twins are still up to no good. For a minute I thought she might stand up to him, but no. Of course not. You know that shit is fucked up, right? lol I feel sorry for Aedan. Damn it Dolph.
Everything is coming together nicely, hon.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-09-18 10:56 pm (UTC)the incest twins will continue to be up to no good for a bit longer. but i can guarantee that something will give. soon. ish. maybe. yes, i know that shit is fucked up. is it bad that i'm kind of enjoying finding new things to write them being fucked up about? also... don't feel too bad for Dolph. you'll see what i mean
thanks, hon. glad you liked it. and thanks for reading!
(no subject)
Date: 2017-09-19 02:11 pm (UTC)Not at all, hon.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-09-19 02:36 pm (UTC)