The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death

[ladydeathfaerie]

Title: The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death
Chapter Fifty Three: The Evil That's Between Us
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: oh, look. some actual, planned for, real plot! just don't let it go to your heads. you never know when i'm going to say fuck it and ignore the plot for personal gain...

The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death - Index Link

Bruce lunged at her with more speed than she'd expected. Minette barely stepped aside in time to avoid being hit head on by him. As it was, he whipped around and came at her again before she'd even really tracked it and it was only instinct that kept her from being tackled to the ground. It looked like this wasn't going to be as easy as either one of them had thought.

She forced herself to shut out nearly everything. She couldn't be concerned with their audience beyond knowing where Bruce's lieutenants were at all times. She wouldn't put it past any of those assholes to try and attack her while her back was turned. For the time being, everyone seemed to be intent on watching Bruce try and take her down. Which was going to be interesting, because Minette realized she had power, but she didn't have much by way of practical usage. Nor did she have any kind of training where fighting was concerned. She was going to have to learn on the fly, and trust in her beast to guide her.

The crowd gathered around them was quiet, though her sensitive hearing picked up the pounding of many hearts. She wasn't certain whose heart pounded in excitement, whose heart pounded in fear, and whose heart pounded in anger. She could hear one or two of them panting, as if trying hard to control themselves in the face of so much power. And someone was struggling against their own beast, their power rising with each pass Bruce made. She had to be careful. And end this quick.

Each time Bruce charged at her, her beast guided her movements to keep her out of harm's way. It helped her taunt him without saying anything. It batted at the power he leaked all over them as if it was playing with a toy. And each time that happened, Bruce's temper rose higher. More power leaked out. And he put more speed into his actions.

One charge saw him hitting her head on. He snarled, voice taking on the low growl she remembered from her days of living in terror under his roof. His arms wrapped around her and tried to force her to the ground. She snarled at him, clawed hands digging into his back the way she'd once seen Bruce use his own paws to dig into a deer. Her claws slid deep, pulling a scream of pain and rage from his throat. He tried to shove her back, but she dug in and let her claws find purchase in his internal organs. He screamed again. Minette reveled in it.

Bruce twisted in her hold, one arm rising up to slam across her face hard. She was left shaking her head, blinking tears of pain from her eyes. It gave him the opportunity to shove her off of him. She felt his power boil up and flood the room, faster than she'd thought possible. By the time she'd cleared her vision, it was to find Bruce in his hybrid form. His jaw, short and feline with a stubby nose and lots of pointed teeth, hung open in a lurid version of a knowing grin. He thought he had an advantage because he'd changed shapes and she hadn't. He thought he'd be able to kill her because she hadn't been able to hold him.

Minette answered his grin with one of her own, letting her claws lengthen. She made a motion with one hand. Come and get it.

Bruce charged again, one arm swinging at her, claws extended and glinting deadly in the light. She allowed her beast to guide her. Something told them that Bruce expected her to duck again, to try and avoid the arm arcing toward her. She could see him already adjusting course to intercept her. So she changed tactics and met him head on, shoulders colliding hard with his abdomen as her legs pumped and churned. It forced him forward, forced him to dig into the wooden flooring with his feet. The sound of wood being scraped and torn up by his claws echoed almost painfully around the room. But she shut it out and concentrated on shoving Bruce away. A single heave practically sent him flying across the room.

He slammed into the wall hard, but it didn't stop him. Even as his spine was connecting with the wall, he was using hands and feet to launch himself off the flat surface and back toward her. He hit the ground hard, took three steps, and launched himself in her direction. A vicious cry of anger rent the air as Bruce aimed for her head.

She ducked just a bit when he got close, making sure he started to fly over her, then she reached out and took hold of his arms. Pulled them so hard she felt them jump from their sockets, and threw him. This time, when he hit the wall, he dropped to the floor and laid there. Stunned. A soft sound saw her turning to meet Lawrence head on. Her claws punched into his chest when he got within range.

His eyes went wide, disbelief plain to see in them. She let her claws shred through his lungs, let them puncture his heart. Everyone heard his breath stutter in his chest, heard the faint noise he made as she tore him apart. She made sure that she pulled his heart out when she drew her hands back. Lawrence dropped to the ground, eyes wide as blood poured out of his chest.

Then she was moving again, this time to meet Bruce head on as he launched yet another attack. He hadn't been down for long, which meant she was going to have to step up her game. She knew without a doubt that Micah was coming, that Aedan was with him. She could sense it as easily as she sensed the shifting energy around her. It warmed her to know that her friends and loved ones were coming to rescue her. But she'd never be taken seriously by Bruce's people if she let Aedan and Micah do the rescuing. She needed to rescue herself, and she needed to do it before they got here. That meant absolutely destroying Bruce and any members of his pard who challenged her. Now.

The beast inside of her made its pleasure with her plan known, a deep rumble vibrating in her chest briefly before her leopard directed her actions once again. This time, when Bruce came for her, she met him head on. Since she was shorter, she could make it past his reach. But doing so would leave her back open. So she caught his outstretched arms, hands on his wrists, and pushed them back toward him. Bruce snarled his displeasure at being held at bay, put more effort into his push. Brute strength won out and she found him pushing her arms away from him, back toward her. He was going to try and pin them to her chest, then lean and in rip her throat out. She could practically see it in his eyes.

She dropped. Kept hold of his arms and went down to the ground on her back. Her legs came up and caught him in the belly. She kicked, using the strength in her legs to send him flying over her head. Bruce slammed into a pair of his lieutenants, hit the ground on all four, then came rushing back at her. Minette rolled and met him head on, let him sink claws into her shoulders so that she could get close to him. A cry of pain rolled up her throat as his claws dug in, lengthened so they could go deeper. He pulled her closer, bringing her in toward his chest. Just as she was hoping he would.

She saw the leering look he gave her, all teeth and tongue as he inched closer to her. He thought he had her, that he was going to win and put her in her place. She let him keep that thought just a moment longer. Let him keep coming closer. Gave him just enough rope with which to hang himself.

His breath was hot and threatening against the fragile skin of her throat, a warning that he was about to take a bite out of it. She knew it was now or never. Pushing aside the pain of his claws digging hard and deep into her shoulders, she turned her gaze up so that he could see the look in her eyes. The absolute lack of anything other than the knowledge that he wasn't going to live to see the sun rise in the morning. She saw it when he recognized that look, saw it when he tried to draw away from her. And that's when she struck.

Since his claws were buried in her flesh, her arms were free to do as they would. She slammed her hand against his abdomen, claws sinking far into his belly and pulling a heavy cry up his throat. Her free hand smashed into his chest, claws sliding easily through muscle and between bone to find his heart. She pushed and pushed, listening with satisfaction as his ribs fractured with a crack, then broke completely. Flesh tore under the pressure her hand applied, then bone was scraping against her flesh as she wrapped her fingers tight around his heart and squeezed. He made some sound, body twisting and convulsing as he tried to get away and tried to stop it from happening all at the same time.

She pulled her hands free of his body, one curled tightly around his heart and the other curled around the length of his intestines. A couple of jerks saw organs torn free and tossed to the floor. Bruce was watching her with wide eyes, disbelief frozen in them. He stood there a moment, as if someone had paused the movie of his life as realization hit him, before everything shut off and he dropped to the floor.

Minette turned a full circle to stare at the pard. The lower members were cowering in a group, probably afraid that she'd turn on them next. Bruce's remaining lieutenants were staring at her, obviously trying to decide if they could take her if they all charged at once. She was pretty sure she couldn't fend them off if they did it. So she decided to halt them in their tracks before they could even manage it.

She gathered her power to her, let it swell until it felt like it filled the entire room. Then she shoved it at the remaining lieutenants until they were on their knees, their faces knit into masks of tension and fear as they tried to fight against it. "Stay down, unless you want to end up like Bruce and Lawrence," she warned. It was something of a surprise that there wasn't any strain in her voice. No sign of weakness. She kind of felt she should sound more weary than she did. She made sure to hold them with her power for a little while longer, just to prove to them that she was capable of besting them, before slowly pulling it back into herself. The remainder of Bruce's lieutenants remained on their knees, head bowed while they panted for breath.

Until two of them broke off, rising to their feet to rush her in a coordinated attack that saw Minette meeting them with a snarl rolling off her tongue. She wasn't surprised by the attack. Nor was she surprised by who launched it. Ambrose and Gene were two of Bruce's oldest friends and two of his strongest lieutenants. She'd known, if any of them were to attack, they would be the likely ones. So she met the two of them head on, claws raised as rage burned brightly in her eyes. Gene stopped when he slammed chest first into her hands, her claws slicing through flesh and bone the way a hot knife sliced through melted butter. The fingers of one hand punctured a lung while the other punched through his bowels. All she had to do was pull, shred just a little, and Gene wasn't going to get up.

Ambrose slammed into her while she was occupied with Gene, the sharpened blade of his hunting knife cutting through cloth and flesh at her side. She growled at him, pain radiating up her side. Then she turned, pulling Gene along with her, and threw the man at Ambrose. They went down in a tangle of limbs, a soft grunt from Gene letting her know that the move had hurt. They lay in a pile on the floor a moment before Ambrose shoved Gene off. Minette saw the hilt of Ambrose's knife sticking out of Gene's gut.

Ambrose stared at Gene a moment, watched as the light leaked out of his eyes to leave him lax on the ground, staring blankly at the ceiling. He turned eyes dark with rage her way. "You miserable little bitch!" Ambrose snarled. His power swelled, filling the room and boiling against her skin. She could feel the change even before it started. In the blink of an eye, a large spotted leopard stood where Ambrose had been, chest heaving and eyes glaring golden death at her. The beast stared a moment before launching itself at her.

For just a second or two, Minette felt the cool night air on her face as she recalled the night Bruce's pard had attacked at Anita's house. It was the first time she'd gotten to use her new powers and she could clearly recall the way the ground had welcomed her as she ran, the way the trees had parted for her. The way she'd allowed instinct to take the lead. She did the same here.

Ambrose hit her with all the force of a Mack truck slamming into a brick wall. The power behind his assault saw them both tumbling to the ground, his furred body on top. She growled when his claws pierced her shoulders and thighs. His mouth opened on a rolling growl, the sound rumbling up from his chest to end on a short roar. Hot breath plumed across her throat, letting her know he planned on ripping it out with his teeth. But he'd forgotten one thing in his anger and his eagerness. He'd attacked her as if she was only human, and he'd left the most vulnerable parts of his body exposed.

"Not so fast, kitty," she hissed. Her claws punched through fur and muscle and bone, spraying the floor and surrounding area with hot blood. He let go an anguished cry and tried to pull away, but Minette flipped him onto his back and drove her claws deeper into his flesh. "I'm Nimir-Ra. And you're nothing, bitch."

A twist of her claws saw the life snuffed out of him. When she pulled back, she took his heart with her. Turning to face the remaining lieutenants, she lifted the glistening mass of muscle up over her head and stared at the rest of them. "You have two choices. You either bow to me and admit that I'm stronger than you. Or you end up like them. I don't have any problems ripping the rest of you bastards apart."

"Careful, Minette. You know talk like that turns me on."

The statement saw her chuckling softly, relief flooding through her. "Its about goddamn time you got here. What took you so fucking long?"

"Had to find a parking place. You know how hard that is when there's a sale on," Aedan commented softly. Minette turned to look at the other woman. And was surprised by what she saw. Aedan looked worn down, so tired that she possibly couldn't be seeing straight. But the gun in her hand never wavered and the look she sent around the room let anyone with delusions of grandeur and murder know she wasn't going to ask questions. She'd shoot. A lot.

Micah stood beside her, looking maybe a little paler than usual. But he was whole and standing there and the most beautiful thing Minette had ever seen in her life. He was watching her with those kitty cat green eyes of his and the smile he sent her when he saw her looking made her heart flutter in her chest.

"This place is a mess," Aedan commented, eyes flicking around the meeting room. When she turned her attention back to Minette, there was an odd gleam in her eyes. "I like what you've done here."

Minette blinked at that. Aedan meant it. Which was weird. A glance toward Micah showed her that he looked slightly concerned, too. "Are you ready to go home, Minette?" Micah asked her.

"Way past ready," she admitted. With Micah there, with Aedan holding a gun in her hand, Minette let her claws slide away so that her hands were simply hands again. The room around them was silent save the harsh breathing coming from what remained of Bruce's pard. He nodded and held out a hand to her. She silently crossed the room and allowed him to pull her to his side.

"So here's what's going to happen," Aedan began, her gaze sweeping the room. She let it come to a rest on the remaining group of Bruce's lieutenants. "I've already placed a call to the local authorities. Seems you boys are going to be paid a visit. Local LEOs weren't at all happy to hear about the little thing you've got going on here. There might have been mention of murder and rape to get their attention. Can't recall as I'm extremely tired. I suggest you give up without a fight. Those boys have an itchier trigger finger than I do. Anyone who runs... Well. They'll have their choice between dealing with Minette here. Or they can deal with me. And if it ends up being me, I will bring Death with me."

Minette watched the remaining men exchange looks at that. Everyone knew who Death was. He was the preternatural world's version of the Boogeyman. When the men turned their faces back toward Aedan, it was plain to see that they were rattled even though they wanted to pretend they weren't. "Oh, trust me. I know Death. He's a friend. Well, as much as friend as he can be. And he doesn't like it when you guys pick on defenseless humans. He kind of hates that. And he can be very, very inventive. I'll just shoot you. Death will torture you."

"What about the others, Aedan?" Minette asked. She had a pretty good idea what the other woman would say, but it would benefit the rest if she said it aloud, so everyone could hear her.

"The submissive members of the pard are free to go. Micah and I were discussing it on the way over and he thinks it would be a great idea if the coalition helped them find permanent pards where they can have family and community and feel safe," Aedan replied. Her glance slid to the group of submissives, all of whom were young women. They cowered in fear, too well conditioned by Bruce and his people. "You're going to need to talk to the police. They'll need your statements to deal with the remaining lieutenants. But once you've given them, you'll be free to go and find new homes. And if the police here give you any trouble, you call me and I'll come help."

"We don't take orders from some human bitch," one of the kneeling men spat.

The hammer on Aedan's gun cocked, the sound sharp and ominous in the near silence. "You know what, fuckstick? I am dead tired. As in nearly asleep on my feet. I don't have the patience for your shit. Say another word and I will put a silver round through your head and then your heart before you can even think about moving. I am that on edge. And the locals... They sure as hell won't do anything. Because I'll just say you tried to attack me and mine. Cops tend to listen to other cops. So consider your next words or actions very carefully."

"You can't do that!" someone spat.

Aedan casually pulled the leather case holding her badge from her pocket, showing it to the kneeling lieutenants. "Try me. Or, you can just get up and run. I'll shoot you and make you disappear."

She said it in such an offhand manner that Minette found herself staring at the other woman. She'd never heard Aedan say anything like that. Minette wanted to think it was a scare tactic meant to keep the lieutenants in line. But staring at Aedan's face, she wasn't so sure. She exchanged a look with Micah, and that brief glance told her that he was wondering the same thing.

"I can hear the sirens, Aedan," Micah told the woman. She nodded and motioned toward the cowering submissives with her head.

"Start moving them outside. They'll have an easier time of it if they can talk to the authorities without these asshats staring them down." The gun motioned toward the kneeling men. Micah didn't argue, but he did send Minette a look that she took to mean she should stay where she was and keep an eye on Aedan. Minette gave a slight nod before letting him slip away from her. She inched closer to Aedan and made a point of watching the lieutenants carefully. Her mind, though, was turning over Aedan's words. Words she found disturbing.

Just what the fuck was going on?

~*~*~*~*~

Craig, the night secretary, gave him a long, considering look before finally waving him toward the offices with one hand. Though his eyes followed their every move, his attention to his conversation never waned. Jean Claude inclined his head briefly before sweeping into the corridor that would take him to her office, his small entourage at his back. There were some faint whisperings from the people waiting in the lobby, but he ignored them in favor of seeking out his elusive prey. She wouldn't be elusive for much longer.

He had no doubt she knew he was coming, had no doubt she'd felt it the moment he'd arrived at Animators, Inc.'s offices. He was mildly surprised that she hadn't tried to slip out the back door. Then again, he wasn't sure if there was another entrance to the offices. As it was, he could feel her energy coming from her office, the thin walls doing little to mask her presence from him. It concerned him that the feel of said energy wasn't as strong and steady as it normally was, suggesting that she still wasn't sleeping the way she was supposed to. Just another topic of discussion to take up with her.

He didn't bother knocking, well past the point of niceties. He simply opened the door and stepped into her office. It was another mark against her that there were no rats in the office with her. His frown deepened. though it was wasted because Aedan was focused on papers spread across her desktop, a pen drifting across one piece as she scribbled something down. The pair of rats that had come with him took up their positions on either side of the door in the hall, ensuring that there would be privacy. One of them even reached in to pull the door shut and give him some privacy. Wicked and Truth followed him into the office, standing behind him silently as he stared at his wayward human servant.

"I told Craig that you weren't allowed in here," she said with a sigh, not bothering to look up from her paperwork. "I'm going to have to talk to him about that."

Her words saw him staring a moment. It said something about the state of their relationship that he wasn't even surprised by her actions. He put that thought aside and took one of the chairs positioned before her desk, gaze intent on her bent head. After a few more minutes of silence, she set her pen down and lifted her head, turning tired eyes his way. "Either say what you came to say or get out. I have a client in-" her gaze cut to her watch. "Ten minutes. I'd like to have my professional face on before they get here." It was implied in her words that time spent with him would make that hard to accomplish.

Very well. If that was the way she wanted to play it. "You left the Circus today. Without proper backup. Without permission. Without telling anyone where you were going."

She gave him a blank stare. "I went to fetch Minette. Don't tell me you're not happy she's back. And seeing as you were sleeping, permission would have been hard to get. I was not without back up. I had Micah with me. And I very likely couldn't tell anyone if I wasn't sure where I was going. Could I?"

She made it all sound so reasonable. As if she wasn't worn thin. As if she hadn't suffered some serious trauma only a few short nights ago. As if Micah hadn't nearly been killed. As if it was all some kind of joke or game to her. As if there weren't people out there trying to kill her and her death would be devastating to so many people.

"Micah should have been resting. He was nearly killed by an insane religious zealot only a few days before." Jean Claude made sure to point that out in an even tone. Surely Aedan would listen to reason.

"Micah could feel Minette when I couldn't." The statement was enough to see him confused. He hadn't thought such a thing was possible, that Aedan and Minette were inseparable. Even more confusing was the lack of emotion in Aedan's voice upon making the statement. As if she wasn't angry about that. "He was along to give me directions. I was the one who was going to do all of the killing. Only there was no need. Minette took care of Bruce and several of his lieutenants once and for all. They're not going to bother her again."

He could only stare at her. He couldn't even begin to process all the things wrong with what she'd just said. And it was obvious that she fully planned on pretending that he had no reason to be upset with her carelessness. If he had any hope of getting her to listen to him, he had to find some way to grab her attention. His brain turned possibilities over and finally settled on one he'd seen Edward use with her. "Chastity," he said, letting power leak into his voice.

He felt the fear slide through her even before she focused on him. She'd gone pale and there was a faint trembling in her hands. Which she hid by pressing them together. "Don't do that. Don't call me that ever again. Never. You sound like him when you do." The last part was whispered, the emphasis on the word 'him' making it sound like a curse.

She was unhappy with him. it was plain to hear in her voice. He pushed away any emotions that brought to the surface. He was unhappy with her for unnecessarily risking her life as she was. He was unhappy with the way thoughts of her being harmed, or even killed, made him feel. She'd ignored his concerns and run headlong from one danger to the next with no care for how it would affect those around her. No more. He was going to put a stop to it. "Now that I have your attention," he drawled, allowing a hint of his displeasure to color his words.

Aedan blinked at him, as if she hadn't realized he was displeased, and sat back in her chair. Surprisingly, she said nothing. But she made a motion with one hand that suggested he go ahead and say what he'd come there to say. How generous of her.

"You cannot keep going on as you have been," he told her in a quieter voice. A gentler tone. "You are exhausted and you are not sleeping. There are threats upon your life and you ignore them at every turn. If I did not know better, I would swear you were tempting death."

She stared at him for a moment. He saw a gleam in her eye that looked almost maniacal. But it slid away and left her stare blank. She shrugged at him. "I have too many things on my plate to stop and take time to rest."

"You are only human, Aedan," he reminded her.

She gave him a look before snorting. He puzzled that over for a few seconds before realizing that she'd just called bullshit on his statement without actually saying it. "You do not think you are human?"

"I've never been only human," she replied quietly. There was a distance in her eyes that suggested she was recalling something from her past. Then the look was gone, her face clearing of thoughts and emotions. She shook her head. "And what I am doesn't change the fact that I have too much to do."

"Aedan," he began, temper starting to rise.

"First, there's this job," she cut across him, voice hard. She ticked off her duties with her fingers, flicking them at him almost angrily. "I have to be Animator, Inc.'s new Anita Blake. It doesn't matter what I tell people. Since I was her protegé, people come here to gawk at me like I'm some goddamn exhibit in the zoo. They expect me to be her, no matter what anyone else says. I get to perform for the 'danes like I'm some fucking side show freak."

There was so much emotion in her voice, so much to sort through. But he hadn't even gotten started when she ticked off her next point.

"Second, there's my job as a Federal Marshal. I get called in to all the nasty, not normal murder scenes where I stare at violent, horrible, nightmare-inducing things that no one should have to look at. And then I'm expected to be a preternatural blood hound and tell them what did it. Why. How to find it. How to kill it. But I'm looked at like some freak of nature. People think I'm evil or some shit." She frowned at him, eyes holding his to make sure he took her point. Then she ticked off another finger. "The man who runs the group of cops I have to work with hates me. He hates everything I stand for because I deal with the vampires. Because my life is tied to yours. Because I lived when Anita Blake died. He's suspicious around me, suspects me of doing heinous things. He wants nothing more than to put me in jail because he hates what I am. So I have to constantly spend energy trying to not be too weird or out there around him. Trying not to piss him off enough that he feels he doesn't need a reason to throw me in jail."

"Third, I have to figure out a way to find the demon summoner and put a stop to them before they kill again. I have nothing to even hint at who it might be. Dolph's people have gone over the information one of the victims managed to leave for us. And the best they've been able to do is narrow it down to a handful of people. They're still checking out alibis, but that doesn't do me any fucking good. Because people lie and sometimes, they're good enough that cops don't catch it right away,"

He wanted to make comment about people lying, but she never gave him a chance. She ticked off another finger.

"Fourth, I have to figure out who wanted Anita dead badly enough to fucking hit her on a deserted road in the middle of the night. With a metric fuckton of people. Because now my ass is on the line. And I really dislike being made a target. But, as yet, I've got no fucking leads so that means I have to expend energy to find them."

She heaved a sigh, making him think she was done with her list. But she leveled a stare on him that held a world of weight behind it. Something she shouldn't have been able to do to someone as old as he was. Yes, she had power, but it wasn't power like he had. There shouldn't have been weight in her eyes. "Finally, I have to figure out just what the fuck this is," she snapped, her hand motioning between the two of them. "One minute, you act like my jailer, treating me as if I haven't got a snowball's chance in hell of staying safe without someone on my ass night and day. The next, you're trying to woo me out of my panties. Frankly, its really fucking confusing and I'm just plain tired of never knowing where we're going to yo-yo to next. Through circumstances well beyond my control, I've been put in a situation that exposes me to every single danger you want to shield me from. I've been turned into a pawn, a show piece, a target, and a burden all in one shitty move. I don't like it. Not one single bit. And while I know that I haven't been the most pleasant of people to deal with, you haven't made it any fucking easier on me."

She paused, a yawn escaping that brought tears to her eyes. When she looked at him again, it was blatantly obvious that she wasn't going to last the night. "You've made it abundantly clear to me that you love Anita. That you miss her. And that I'm most definitely not her. But that doesn't give you the right to ride rough shod over me. I have been on my own for the better part of the past decade. I've had to look after myself. I don't need you to treat me like I'm five. And I certainly don't need you storming in here in order to chew me out when I've got a fucking job to do. I don't have the luxury of sitting on my ass all day because I've amassed a fortune so great that I'll never have to work ever again in my unnaturally long life. I am also not a fucking charity case. You are not going to keep me because you don't like that I'm exposed. I don't need you treating me like a whore any more than I need you treating me like a child. You may feel responsible for me because Anita fucking dumped all her shit on me. But that doesn't mean you own me."

"There is the small matter of my marks. You bear all four of them. That essentially makes you mine. Or have you forgotten?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, I haven't forgotten. How the fuck can I forget that tidbit when you keep shoving it in my face?" She fell silent and glanced at her watch. When she looked up, he could see that she was done with him. "Time's up. My client will be arriving in less than two minutes. I need a moment to put my head back on before they get here. And the next time you show up here, Jean Claude, you either better come with an invitation from me and an appointment to see me. And I will tell you right now, my rates aren't cheap. I'm Anita Blake's protegé, after all."

He rose up to his feet, stared down into her empty face. Let her see the anger simmering in his eyes. Let her see that he wasn't done with this discussion yet. "Remember this, Aedan. You are mine, whether you like it or not. Those marks you bear make you mine. And I do not give up what is mine." She merely blinked at him, as if she found their conversation tiresome. He absolutely did not understand the woman. But she was going to understand that he would not allow her to put herself in danger as she had been. "I will see you when you return home tonight. The rats will stay to ensure you make it home in one piece."

She sneered at him and made a show of going back to her paperwork. Wicked made it to the door and opened it for him. There was a pasty faced young man standing there, staring in confusion at the rats. When he saw Jean Claude, his eyes went wide and he stepped back. Jean Claude breezed past him, Wicked and Truth at his back. The rats remained on either side of the door. He heard Aedan's voice from her office. "Come in, Mister Fullerton."

"Was that the Master of the City? How do you know the Master of the City? Can you get me a meeting with him?" Those words floated out of the office before the door shut on Aedan and her client.

"No. It wasn't the Master of the City. He's much better looking. What brings you to Animator's Inc., Mister Fullerton?"

The door shut on the two of them and it was all Jean Claude could do to stop himself from marching back in there and putting his foot down. He'd deal with Aedan's stubbornness later. After she'd slept. And his anger had slid away so that he no longer wanted to strangle her.

If such a thing was possible...

~*~*~*~*~

LYCANTHROPE KILLING SPREE ENDED!

The headline screamed at him from the top of the front page of the latest edition of the newspaper. He let his gaze skim the story absently, picking out the most important bits. Police were confident that the murders were at an end, despite not having the killers in custody. The article mentioned that a Federal Marshal had been instrumental in bringing the killing spree to an end. There were no names given for the killers, though a list of their victims were included. He found the mention of the minister's family of interest, especially since the authorities had determined no one in the family had been infected with lycanthropy. It was also interesting that there had been a child murdered. A child named Katherine.

He pulled his attention away from the article for a moment to draw the stack of photos from his drawer. His hands shifted them around for a moment until he found himself staring at a particular glossy image. The photo was old, the edges well worn from years of being handled. It was starting to yellow in some places while it was fading in others. The photo held an image of a small child, a girl, with a serious face and sad eyes. She couldn't have been more than five and even then, she'd been serious. He tried to imagine what it would have felt like to lose a child to someone twisted like the people who had been murdering lycanthropes in St. Louis.

He imagined, for a moment, how he would have felt if someone had taken his child from him. If someone had murdered his child. He was certain that he would have done what ever was necessary to find the person, or persons, responsible, and show them the error of their ways. Children were gifts from God, not to be squandered or ignored. If they were good, God-fearing children. But there were those children who fell from God's grace, who welcomed evil and temptation into their hearts. It was a father's duty to do everything possible to save a fallen child from eternal damnation. And how he had tried. He'd done anything he'd been able to think of to save his own fallen child. He realized now, so many years later, that God had sent that child to him as a test, to see if his faith was easily shaken.

He'd proved it wasn't.

He'd done his duty, tried to cleanse the child time and again of the evil residing in their soul. But that child... That child had been entangled in the darkness so well that nothing he'd done had banished the evil from them. Which was why he now searched for that lost child, intent on bringing them back into the fold. Intent on saving them from the darkness residing within them.

He set the photo down, settled it next to the newspaper spread across the surface of his desk. Let his gaze drift back to the article taking up much of the front page. His eyes went back to the name of the little girl who had lost her life to the killers. He found it odd that the killers would go after a man of God and his family. Especially a small child who had done nothing wrong. For that, he hoped that they burned in hell.

At the same time, he hoped that God would lift these killers up and give them a place at His side in Heaven. They'd been doing His work, after all. Ridding the world of the evil and tainted souls who so openly walked among good, normal human beings was a higher calling. Not everyone was worthy of such a task. Not everyone could carry it out with any kind of success. If the article in the paper was to be believed, these killers had managed to kill several of those unholy devils. They were the kind of people he would have welcomed with open arms into his organization.

His eyes drifted to the windows, the blinds opened enough to allow him to see the mass of bodies on the other side of the glass. There was no shortage of the down trodden to convince to do his bidding. No one noticed the lost souls that lived on the streets. No one took notice of their actions or movements. Which made them the perfect instruments of his righteous task. The street people were more effective at helping him rid the world of the demons that plagued it than anyone else he'd charged with such duties.

Thoughts of duty swung his thoughts around to his errant Deacon. He hadn't seen Peter in some days. Nor had he heard from the young man. He was aware their last meeting hadn't gone well, but he hadn't thought Peter the kind to give up so easily when a task put before him proved harder than expected. He'd thought Peter was made of stronger stuff than that. It saddened him that Peter had proved to be weak and incapable of following God's plan for him.

The boy had been headstrong and quick to leap to conclusions. A flaw that could be fatal if not dealt with carefully. But he'd also been righteous and strong in his faith. He'd have learned to curb his rashness, given enough time. He'd have made a good soldier in God's fight against the demons invading the world. He couldn't help but feel that Peter was lost to him now. And for that, he had no one to blame but himself.

Sighing, he glanced at the photo on his desktop. So many members of his flock had gone astray, had run and not looked back. He hadn't thought Peter to be the type to simply run away from a problem. It disturbed him that he had no idea what had sent Peter from his side, where the young man had gone. If he was still attempting to fight God's battles. Perhaps he could have his soldiers keep an eye out, see if they spotted the young man on the streets. Perhaps Peter had taken the fight right to the streets in an effort to make him proud. To enact change. To save the denizens of the world from the evils that lived within it.

He turned the page of the newspaper, moving on to the second part of the article about the lycanthrope killers. Again, he let his gaze skim the remainder of the article in order to pick out the most important parts. He stopped when his eyes hit a particular passage.

A spokesperson for the Master of the City, who has ties to many of the shape shifting groups in St. Louis, issued a statement for head vampire. "The Master of the City, and his people, are pleased that these murders have come to an end. The lycanthrope community is breathing a sigh of relief tonight, and they're resting easy knowing that the local and federal authorities' hard work has brought the killers to justice."

The Master of the City. More like the lead demon. A demon that needed to be purged from the earth in order to save the innocent souls. He'd heard all about the demon's dens of sin. A strip club where the unsuspecting could be lured in and ensnared. A dance club. Unholy places that feasted upon the gentle innocence of their patrons. He'd considered trying to take out the lead demon, but that one was always surrounded by armed guards. His only hope was to find the demon's whore an convince her to talk to him. To tell him where the foul demon hid during the daylight hours. If he could save her soul, that would be that much better. If not, at least he would help send her to the afterlife, along with the blood sucking monster she called her lover.

Maybe Peter was out there somewhere, trying to find the whore for him. Trying to track her down and bring her to him. Maybe he'd come back with the whore in his possession. If that happened, they could work together to get the necessary information from her. And, once they had it, they could work together to cleanse her soul.

Or send her straight to Hell.

~*~*~*~*~

He was sprawled across the thin mattress of his bed when he heard the door open. Prayer had long ago lost its appeal for him, leaving him with little to do to occupy his mind. And despite the fact that a visit from one of his tormenters would break up the tedium that had become his life, he wasn't in any mood to face them just now. So, for a moment, he considered pretending he was asleep. Perhaps doing so would see his visitor simply leaving again without bothering him. But it became, after several long moments, that whoever had entered his cell wasn't going to leave without annoying him. They obviously wouldn't believe any such ruse. He held back the sigh that wanted to come and forced himself to sit up. Forced himself to open his eyes and see who had deigned to step inside his stone prison. He was surprised to find it was the female vampire who had visited him before. It had been some time since he'd last seen her. She looked... lost.

"What's happened, my dear?" he asked. Kept his voice soft so she believed he was on her side, happy to see her. Concerned about her well-being. She said nothing, simply stood there staring at him. But her hands... Her hands were curled so tightly into fists that he thought he could hear the joints popping from where he sat on his sad little cot. If she'd had them wrapped around anything fragile... Well, it would be little more than a misshapen lump now.

She blinked at him, face empty, and said nothing. He suspected that her behavior was related to her most hated enemy, so he waited. Waited for her to decide he was a friend. Waited for her to decide she could talk to him. Waited for her to spill her secrets and tell him what troubled her.

He had to admit, she was not what he'd been expecting. He'd heard stories all his life, stories about how vampires were little more than mindless demons from hell with only blood and death in their hearts. How they were intent on roaming the world and destroying it with their lack of morals and Godliness. He'd heard that they were cold and cruel, calculating. That they took what they wanted with no regard for those around them. That they destroyed every thing and everyone they touched. They were no good, evil. bereft of faith and any kind of code. No ethics, no conscience, no remorse. They were barbaric, demonic creatures that lived only to serve themselves and gave no thought to the mess they left in their wake.

He had yet to see such behavior from any of the creatures he'd interacted with since he'd been caught. Most of them had acted like he was barely worth their time, merely an annoying bit of pebble caught in their shoes. No one had attempted bodily harm. Certainly no one had attempted to drain him of his blood. And they seemed to feel he was an afterthought. Not that it meant anything. They were known to be skilled liars. The things he'd seen could merely be some kind of illusion to lull him into a false sense of security. They might be biding their time until it was convenient to make an example of him among their kind. He could live with that. In fact, he relished the idea of them using him to warn other humans with thoughts of destroying their kind.

Doing so would make him a martyr among his own.

"You lied to me. Your God does not hear your prayers. He does not answer them," she snarled at him, remaining frighteningly still for a few moments while her eyes bored into him. He felt a faint ripple of unease slither up his back. She was as irate as he'd ever seen her, her face thinner than he remembered. The sharp edges of her cheekbones pressed up against the skin of her face, making her face look like something alien. Rage simmered in her eyes and he noticed that her hands were curled into fists at her sides. "He does not answer them!"

Before he could even track it, she was across the room and at his side. She had her hands wrapped around his throat, fingers squeezing down until he could barely draw a breath. And his feet were dangling several inches above the ground. His life was literally in her hands.

He brought his hands up and wrapped them around her wrists, fingers tugging at them futilely. If she didn't loosen her hold soon, he was going to pass out. Possibly even asphyxiate. He wasn't sure that he was ready to face his death yet. He still had one thing left that he wanted to accomplish before he was ready to meet his maker. "Perhaps you must have patience," he managed to gasp out.

"Tell me why I should not strangle you here. Tell me why I should not simply end your miserable existence. You are nothing next to me. No one would miss you, were you to disappear," she said, voice low and empty. Cold. Exactly what he expected a merciless killing beast to sound like. He struggled to find the words that would see his throat released from her hold, but his brain was fighting against encroaching darkness and wasn't being very helpful. And he couldn't draw a full breath to speak the words, even if he had them.

"God... listens," he gasped. "He... hears you."

"Liar!" she spat at him, hands shaking him to emphasize her claim.

"No!" he gasped, this time louder. "God... loves you."

Those three words, hastily spoken, saw her pausing. The hold she had on his throat relaxed just enough to allow him to draw a full breath. The look on her face suggested she wasn't sure she fully believed him. But it was obvious she didn't fully disbelieve him, either. Because he thought he saw a hint of wonder there in her face, in the depths of her eyes. Slowly, carefully, she set him back on his feet and withdrew her hands.

Precious air rushed into his lungs, prompting him to cough. One hand reached up to rub at his abused throat. He was careful to look at her with compassion and understanding. "I was told that I lost God's love and His light when I was changed," she whispered softly.

"Whoever told you that lied," he assured her softly. He made no move to touch her, didn't do anything to draw her ire. He simply stood there and watched her, waiting. Putting together his next course of action. Because another interaction like the one they'd just had and she'd kill him. He'd felt his death in the strength of her fingers, saw it in the emptiness on her face and in her eyes. She'd been so close to ending him then and there. It had only been pure luck that had stopped her before she'd given in to her baser urges. "God loves all His children."

"How do you know?" she asked, eyes pinning him where he stood.

"He told me. He talks to me sometimes," he told her. He made sure that he sounded like he was reluctantly admitting a secret he really didn't want to share. The creature was weak and needed something to hang on to. Thus far, she'd been open to clinging to the words he told her.

"You are no prophet," she said, sounding sure.

"No. No prophet. Merely a man who has devoted his entire life to God. Spreading His word and doing his bidding. God returns my love by talking to me. And He has told me that He loves you, as He loves all of His children. You mustn't give up faith or lose hope that He will not fully answer your prayers."

She studied him a moment, eyes intent as they searched his face. He didn't know if she was looking for a lie or if she was looking for something else. Whatever she was looking for, it appeared she found it. Because she nodded at him. "The whore."

"Yes. God will help you with the whore. If you just give Him a little longer. He has so many prayers that come to Him. So many people who ask of Him." He made his voice gentle. Soft. "I promise, he will help us deal with the whore. And then you'll have your Master all to yourself. But we must be patient."

"I dislike waiting. I have waited so long already," she replied.

"God knows. And He understands. But we cannot act until He gives us the perfect opportunity," he told her. When she turned a look on him that suggested she was going to let her temper rule her, he rushed to add more to his statement. "Just a little while longer. Besides, doesn't your Master watch the whore carefully?"

She considered his words for a few moments before nodding her head. "Yes. He frets over her and he ensures that there is always someone watching her closely. He acts as if she cannot care for herself. Or as if he loves her deeply and treasures her above all others."

"Or as if she has cast her spell over him," he reminded her, his tone quiet. She frowned at that and he saw the creature's hands flex again. He hoped that this time, his neck wasn't in danger. "And that's why we must wait until the perfect opportunity presents itself to us. We have to find a way to get her away from your Master. If we tried to take her when he was near, he'd no doubt try to stop us. If he wasn't close by, removing her would be that much simpler."

She was silent as she considered his words. Silent as she stared at him, a weight to her gaze where it lingered against his skin. He waited her out, said nothing and made himself appear serene. Finally, her hands uncurled and her shoulders relaxed. "I will watch her. And I will wait. If this opportunity you speak of does not present itself soon, you and I will have another visit. And it will not be a very pleasant one."

There was an implicit threat in her words. He nodded at her. "I understand. But have no fear. God will give you that which you ask for."

She stared at him a moment or two longer, then turned and crossed the room. Let herself out the door. When it closed behind her, he slumped down onto the cot and put an arm over his eyes. That had been far too close for his liking. He was starting to doubt his partnership with the creature. She was too unstable, too impatient. She would get him killed before he could turn the whore over to the man.

He knew what he needed to do. He could see that he'd been far too lax in his meditation and prayer. He climbed from the cot once again, this time to go down on his knees on the hard stone floor. The uneven edges cut into his shins and dug at his kneecaps, but he paid the discomfort it brought no mind. In fact, he welcomed it. It helped clear his head and center him. Helped return him to the path his purpose had put him on.

He clasped his hands together before him, bowed his head, and began murmuring his prayers once again. God would hear him. God would grant him his prayers. He would give the woman the break she needed, would see the whore given to the man's people so they could save her soul. So they could drag every last bit of information from her. If she was lucky, she would repent her sins and return to God's light. If not, it would be no loss if the whore died.

And then the man and his people would put the information she gave them to use and they would wipe the demons from the face of the earth. If he was lucky, he'd get a chance to join in on the cleansing.

If not... Well, there was nothing wrong with dying as a martyr for your cause.

~*~*~*~*~

"You're sure. You're absolutely sure?" The voice was soft in the quiet of the large basement, slightly muffled by the hood that covered the owner's face. The large creature caught in the center of the circle stared at the summoner with milky eyes. Those eyes were filled with malice and little else.

"I am sure," the demon hissed. One claw pointed to the picture on the front of the newspaper. "That is our final target."

The summoner looked at the photo. "She doesn't look powerful," he commented. "Does she belong to a coven?"

"No," the demon replied. "She has no coven. But she needs no coven. She has more power than we will need."

The summoner fell silent a moment, staring intently at the image splashed across the newspaper. They weren't so sure that this was the best course of action. The plan had been simple to understand and simple to execute. Wipe out the members of the coven that had told them there was no place for them in their special group. That there was no magic in the summoner to grant them a spot among them. It had not gone over well, especially when one of those members had been their own flesh and blood. How dare someone of their own line deny them what should be theirs?

Of course the denial had left them enraged. Of course it had made them want to hurt people. And that ability had been granted to them, in the form of a tattered, nearly rotting piece of paper that had fallen out of a book they'd purchased from a small, cramped occult shop. It had been located in an early defunct strip mall, all dark windows and dinghy carpeting and towering shelves loaded past capacity with crumbling books that had probably not seen the light of day in many long years. How they'd found it had been beyond them. And they'd never been able to find the place back again. They'd looked.

The book had been a spur of the moment purchase, something about alchemy and power that they'd never fully understood. When they'd first found the paper, they'd thought it was someone's attempt at a failed alchemical formula. So they'd set it aside while they'd tried to work their way through the book. At the end, when they'd finished struggling through a book that was little more than a disappointing pile of crap, they'd picked it and the paper up to toss into the trash.

The book had made it. But the paper... They'd ended up keeping it. Because it had sent a pulse of power up their arm and something in their brain had whispered that they needed to speak the words written on the paper. They'd done just that. And had been gifted with the demon that presently stood across from them, watching them with those malevolent eyes. A demon that had promised them unlimited power, that had then gone on to lay out a plan to help them get the power they so desperately wanted and so obviously deserved.

Which brought them to the here and now.

"You're sure this is the one that will give me everything I ever dreamed of?" the summoner asked quietly.

"Yes, master," the demon hissed. The summoner stared a moment longer before turning back to their servant.

"How do we take her power?" they asked. The demon regarded them a moment, bloody spots of malice locked to their face. And then it smiled, showing of its razor sharp teeth.

And then it spoke.

~*~*~*~*~

"You know the rules, Cassadore." The voice echoed around his private sanctum, literally coming out of nowhere. He didn't bother to open his eyes. He knew exactly what he wouldn't see.

"The rules are going to bring about the end of this world," Cassadore replied calmly, mind still sifting through the images flooding into it. He rarely did this anymore, the speed and intensity of the images usually leaving him with a headache that pounded at his skull for days after, but he had to be sure that he'd Seen right. Had to be sure that he hadn't helped send people to their deaths.

"You are here to observe. Advise when needed. Nothing else," the voice informed him, as if he was unaware of his duties.

"I am here to keep the people of this world safe from the things that we so carelessly allowed to escape and come here." He opened his eyes at this, letting the images fade away for the time being. And found exactly what he thought he'd find. A pale, silver-gold light shining around the room, centered only a few feet from the outer edge of his desk. It floated four feet off the ground, watching him intently though there were no visible eyes. He frowned at it. "If you have come to tell me to stop, you have wasted valuable energy."

"You cannot save these people, Cassadore, They are little more than warmongers and killers. They doomed themselves centuries ago."

Cassadore sighed and shook his head. "That was always your problem, brother. You never saw the good in anything. Nothing but death and destruction. No wonder you always led the vanguard."

"They've been laying waste to this planet since they first climbed from the primordial ooze. Let them finish themselves off. The world will return to the creatures that were here before them."

Settling his hands on the edge of the desk, Cassadore pushed to his feet. The milky white in his eyes swirled away until they shone with golden light, bright enough to rival that of the orb presently in his house. "I will do as I see fit, brother. You spend all your time considering war that you've never taken a moment to watch the people of this planet. Some are bad, yes. But many are good. So many of them try to do the right thing. There are even people here who are willing to die to save those they care about."

"Noble sentiments," the orb said. There was a bit of a considering tone in their voice. "But those few cannot save the world that the others are determined to destroy. So many abominations inhabit this world."

Cassadore waved a hand and an image sprang up between them. One of the many events he had seen in his long life. He let it play, let his guest see the woman in it putting herself in front of danger time and time again. "There are many people like this woman here. Many who are willing to do what is good and necessary to keep others safe from the darkness that always threatens. Do they not deserve the chance to succeed?"

"You know the rules," the voice intoned.

"To hell with the rules!" Cassadore snarled. His hand gestured to the images still playing between them. "This one life is worth as much as the next. And this one." The image changed to a different woman. "And this one." It changed to a third. "And there are so many more people like this who are fighting every day."

"You are not supposed to help them."

"I give them information to help them win their battles. I do not interfere. I do not change the outcome. I only advise. Which is my job," Cassadore replied. "I have done nothing more or less than anyone of my line. You washed your hands of this world a long time ago, brother, willing to let things go as they would. My line never did so. I never did so. Do not come to me now and tell me that I am in the wrong. If you have no desire to help, then return to your petty squabbles and leave me to the realm no one cares for."

"Cassadore," the voice warned.

The gold in his eyes darkened until it had become burnt umber. A wave of his hand saw the images fading into nothing. "This is my realm. It is under my protection and has been for centuries. Do not pretend you care for anything that happens here. The rules have not applied in some time. Begone, Mikail. Go back to your own warmongering. Leave me to try and save my world as I see fit."

The orb pulsed in anger, light swelling to fill the room before fading back to normal. "You will have to answer for your interference, Cassadore. Make no mistake. You will answer for the things you have set into motion here."

"But that day is so very far away. When the time comes, I will answer for them willingly. For now, leave here and do not return. You are not welcome here. Brother." He made sure to sneer the last word for emphasis. The light lingered a moment, hovering in mid air as if it was commonplace for a small sun to simply spring up inside a home. Then it was simply gone, without another word.

Cassadore let his eyes return to milky white and once more took his seat in his chair. The images returned, sliding through his head so quickly that it might have been dizzying. There had to be something that showed him what would happen as a result of his help. There had to.

If not, he wasn't sure he'd be able to live with the idea that he'd very probably sentenced two of the people he was sworn to protect to death.