The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death
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marysuevirusTitle: The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death
Chapter Fifty Six: What the World Needs Now
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: finally. fucking finally! that's all i can say. we get to this. technically, i had a chapter written and ready to go. (its been sitting in my drafts for ages) but i decided that i didn't want to post it all in one thing. so i split it into pieces and built other scenes around it. and here's what we get. whatever this is
The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death - Index Link
"And then the entire stack fell over, leaving Sister Agatha and her desk buried in every last one of the "The Craft is the Life" and "The Blood is the Life" fliers my friend and I had collected. To say the woman looked like she was about to burst into flames just for touching something that tried to convince the morally righteous youth to give in to the dark side would be an understatement. Becca and I served detention with that old hag for a month. But it was worth it just to see her face when we started reading all about how vampirism wasn't evil."
It wasn't so much the story as the look of remembered humor and triumph on Lettie's face that sold the story. The rest of the pride burst into laughter when she finished. Isis had no doubt that everyone was picturing Sister Agatha's face as she was covered in a landslide of pro-witchcraft and pro-vampirism literature.
Lettie was new to the pride, just moved to St. Louis from Los Angeles. She'd only just completed her high school education. Thinking about it made Isis feel old. Not that she was all that much older than Lettie, but it seemed like a lifetime ago that she'd actually been fresh from high school. Lettie had come to St. Louis to petition the pride for membership. Her family had disowned her when she'd tested positive for lycanthropy. Something that wasn't entirely uncommon in their world. But the fact that they blamed the girl for it when it had been forced upon her was the part that bothered Isis. It felt like nothing was getting better for the lycanthropes.
"That was an amazing story, Lettie," Rosamund said, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Lettie smiled, the action bringing light to her eyes. It was obvious to Isis that she'd suffered abuse at the hands of many people who were supposed to have protected her. Isis was proud to have welcomed her into the pride. Already she was having a positive effect on some of the lower members. And, in turn, she was coming out of her protective shell a little more every day. Isis liked that she and her pride had been able to do that.
She snuggled closer to Damian and put her head on his shoulders. It was a rare, peaceful night and the members of her pride weren't battling amongst themselves to try and shift the balance of power. Isis had put a stop to that shit as soon as she'd taken control of the pride. Damian helped her enforce it. She knew that her pride was something of an anomaly, that it was some kind of long standing tradition that pride members constantly battled for position amongst themselves. Isis had decreed it forbidden. Her lions had enough troubles coming at them from the humans. They didn't need to add to those troubles themselves.
Thus far, things were going smoothly. There had been some rough patches back in the beginning. No one had wanted to believe that a vampire could hold position of Rex. There had been some minor challenges to Damian's position. He'd shut them down quickly and easily enough without bringing any harm to the challengers that they'd have difficulty surviving. Her lions were learning to respect Damian. Some of them had already befriended him. Life was as good as it was going to get for them. Because Isis knew that there'd be some kind of challenge coming at them soon. There was always something lurking around the corner. Always some new threat to their well being.
For now, she'd take the peace and quiet while she could. There'd be time to worry about the rest when it finally came.
"Does anyone else have a funny story?" Rosamund asked, gaze sliding around the group as they lounged on Isis' furniture. It was the monthly get together, something Isis and Damian had started as a way to let the pride know that they cared and that they wanted everyone to be a family. They all met up in one place, generally at someone's home, and had a moderately rowdy few hours of chatter and bonding. They'd done the first one at a restaurant, which had immediately convinced Isis that holding their party at a private residence was better, and safer, for all concerned.
Tonight's party was at her condo. They'd ordered in some pizza for dinner and she'd made sure that she'd picked up drinks and snacks from the store before everyone had shown up. So between slices of pie, there was the crunching munching sounds of popcorn and chips being consumed. Isis liked the idea of the get togethers, because they were close and friendly and the pride was her family.
"Hey! What movie do we want to watch next?" Travis asked, voice carrying over the smaller pockets of chatter and the laughter that burst from one or two corners. A glance at her television told Isis that the movie they'd put in earlier was running its credits, letting them know it was time to either change it out or turn the set off. A glance at her watch let Isis know that they should turn the set off and start thinking about heading home. It was late, nearly three in the morning, and some people needed to think about sleep soon.
"No more movies tonight, Travis," Isis said, reluctantly pulling away from Damian's hold in order to sit up straight. She would have happily spent the rest of the evening slouching back against the couch, wrapped securely in his embrace. She loved how she fit against him and how comforting his touch was. Scooping up the remote, which happened to be laying on the coffee table near her knee, Isis thumbed the set Blu-Ray off. Which prompted whoever was closest to the television to start manually changing channels.
Isis was about to turn it off when the images stopped flickering. The channel flipping ended and the screen was eaten up with the face of a reporter who was on scene. Judging by the darkness of the sky behind him, it was full night. But the lights that poured across the scene made a lie of that fact. Bright white lights from the cameras gave the area a false daytime look. In the background, there were red and blue lights that strobed around the area and gave it a slightly menacing feel.
"Reports are still sketchy, but what we do know is that St. Louis' famed Regional Preternatural Investigation Taskforce is already on site. One source claims that the Federal Marshals are on scene, too, but we have no confirmation as yet." The reporter was delivering his words into the camera with a detached precision that suggested he'd never seen the kind of violence that was found at crime scenes. Especially not one that required RPIT's presence.
The screen split and showed an anchor sitting behind the news desk, while the on site reporter was moved to a smaller box up in the corner. A red banner at the bottom of the screen sported one phrase in white: LIVE! BREAKING NEWS!
"Oh, shit," Lettie breathed. Everyone's attention was riveted to the screen.
"What do we know at this point, Calvin?" the desk anchor, a bright eyed woman with a serious expression on her face, asked the reporter on scene.
"We know that the owners of this house are Brad and Sharlene Horton. We know that they were allegedly throwing some kind of party because neighbors reported seeing quite a few people arriving. RPIT has been on scene for some time. So far, nothing has been removed from the premises but quite a few vans belonging to the county morgue have arrived. That suggests that there are several bodies to deal with. Our attempts to ask the police questions have been met with stony faces and a lot of silence. One neighbor, who asked that we not show their face or give their name, said that they saw quite a few children entering the house." The reporter referenced a piece of paper in their hand before returning their attention to the camera. "The initial call to police came in about two hours ago after several neighbors were woken by the sounds of screaming. Some of them were convinced it was noise from the party and elected to ignore it until the silence became concerning. One or two of them came over to check things out and that's when they called the police."
Isis turned the set off, leaving the room in utter silence. She already had her phone in hand, fingers dialing the number through memory. Her heart was in her throat as she listened to it ring. It felt like it took more than three rings for the call to get picked up, her anxiety and horror levels off the map. "Isis. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?" Jean Claude's voice was as smooth as ever and had she not been so amped up, it might have had an effect on her. As it was, the tiny bits of power lingering in it bounced right off her emotional upheaval.
"Have you heard from Aedan?" she asked without preamble. She swore she felt the fear and concern that snapped through him rush at her over the line.
"I have not. I know she had a zombie raising this evening. It should have been over with by now, but it is not uncommon for her to spend the remaining hours of the night at her office." He paused a moment, almost sounded distracted. "Why do you ask?"
"I just caught a live broadcast from one of the local stations. RPIT was called to a crime scene this evening. The reporter was saying it was some kind of party. And he mentioned that a source claims a Federal Marshal is on scene." She paused a moment. Maybe she was over-reacting, but she didn't think so. Aedan was the only Federal Marshal Isis knew of that worked with RPIT. And given how weird she'd been lately... "I don't know if its her for certain, but Jean Claude. There were children at that house."
The last came out in a whisper. Every eye in the place was on her and she knew they could all hear the other side of the conversation as easily as if she'd put the phone on speaker. There was silence from the other end for several long seconds, then Jean Claude finally came back on. "Aedan is there. I must let you go now, Isis. But thank you for calling me and informing me."
The connection was cut abruptly, leaving Isis staring at the phone in confusion. Damian plucked it from her hand and set it aside, then tugged her close. He said nothing, simply wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close. It helped ease the tightness in her chest, the fear that made it hard to think. So Isis opened her arms to her pride in silent invitation. As one, they crowded around her and Damian. She hugged the two who were closest to her and watched, a deep sense of pride springing to life inside of her chest, as arms wrapped around them all until the entire group was enclosed in a mass hug.
Please, God, she thought. Don't let it be as bad as the reporter is making it out to be...
~*~*~*~*~
Her hands shook so badly that it took four tries to get the keys into the ignition of her car. Another two to turn the engine over. Even then, she sat and tried to still the trembling that raced through her. Tried to swallow down the bile that kept creeping up her throat. Tried to hold on to the tears that blurred her vision. She had to hold it together until she could get away from the all-seeing eye of the media's cameras. She could do that. She could...
The thought died as quickly as it had come as she watched reporters speaking into their microphones, watched the scene flash from red to blue and back again from the lights on the squad cars. Her gaze turned to the house she'd just come from and the tremors renewed themselves with vigor. She couldn't keep doing this. She just couldn't. If she had to walk into another crime scene like this last one and pretend that she wasn't touched by the violence people could do to one another, she'd fucking scream bloody murder. She didn't know how Dolph could act like this kind of senseless violence didn't touch him. Didn't leave some kind of mark on his soul.
She felt like she was drowning in all of the blood of the souls she'd been unable to save. That thought was all that was needed to break down the thin, fragile barriers she'd built to keep the horror at bay.
In an instant, the carnage rose up to try and swallow her down. She saw bits of flesh and shards of bone. Vacant eyes. Broken bodies and so much gore. So much violence. So much agony and suffering.
In the next instant, the images were gone, replaced by the cool touch of death. Jean Claude swept through her mind and pushed everything else aside. "No more, Aedan. No more tonight. Let me help."
It had been so long since she'd felt his power touch her like this. So long since she'd let him inside. She'd missed him so much. Missed the feel of his magic stroking along her skin, along her own magic. She needed it more than she needed to keep him at bay. She couldn't do it any longer, couldn't keep pushing him and everyone else out. She just... couldn't. Her spirit sagged as she opened herself to him and let him back into her head and her heart. His magic poured in, brought with it a sense of calm and peace. She hated that she needed him so badly, but there was no way she'd be able to function without him. Not after this horror. So she relinquished control and let him come.
She was filled with the feel of his power, the feel of his hand smoothing along her brow. A gentle kiss to her temple. Even though he wasn't there, she could feel it all as if he sat beside her. It was like diving into a deep, still pool of cool water after being caught in the fury of a forest fire. She wanted to stay there forever, but the world wouldn't let her. Even now, members of the press had realized she hadn't left the area and were moving closer to her car. Cameras were going to flash and she didn't want to give St. Louis and the world the chance to watch her fall apart. They were already watching her so closely.
She shifted the car into gear, intent on pulling away from the curb. "Stay where you are, Aedan. You are in no condition to drive. I would have you home safely. I am coming to you." Jean Claude's voice flooded her mind. She thought she felt a hint of fear in it, but her head was so messed up at the moment that she couldn't be sure.
"I have to get off this street, Jean Claude. The press is here and they're watching me. I'll only drive a couple streets over, then I'll park the car and wait for you," she replied, not even bothering to say it in her head. She could feel that he wasn't sure he liked the idea. But she didn't have much more time to argue. "I promise. I just need to move. I can't let them see me."
His touch came again, understanding and reassuring. "Very well, ma poupette. I will meet you two streets over." Just like that, she was alone in her head and the horror of the past hour or so threatened to return. Aedan turned the wheel and eased the car out onto the road. Focused all of her attention on the mechanics of driving. There were uniforms to keep the street clear, allowing her to drive away unaccosted. At the end of the road, she stopped for the sign, then put her blinker on and turned right. She had no idea where she was going, exactly, but she trusted that Jean Claude would be able to find her.
Five minutes and two more turns later, Aedan pulled the Jeep over to the side of the road and put her head down on the steering wheel. Without something to occupy her thoughts, the images were clawing their way back into her brain, gnawing away at her soul in the process. The tears she'd managed to hold back before welled up and slid down her cheeks unheeded. Jesus fucking Christ. She couldn't do this anymore. She just wasn't strong enough to do this.
She must have been really out of it because she never sensed anyone approaching the vehicle. Had it been someone who intended her harm, she would never have gotten her gun out of its holster in time. One minute, she was lost in the memories of the crime scene. The next, she was being tugged gently out of the car. She had a moment to notice someone getting in behind the wheel of her vehicle, then her face was pressed against Jean Claude's chest. He smelled of expensive cologne, graveyards, death, and magic. She burrowed deeper into his arms.
He smelled like home.
He helped her over to his limosine wordlessly, arm curled protectively around her shoulders. Wicked was there to stand guard at the door, his brother sitting in the backseat. Jean Claude handed her into the vehicle, her hand sliding from his to Truth's so that the other man could help her into the car. She'd barely settled on the seat when he was beside her, his arm slipping around her shoulders again so that he could pull her into him. Aedan went without a fight and turned her face into the softness of his shirt. His free hand came up to rest against the side of her face. No one said anything as the limo pulled away from the curb and began the silent journey back to the Circus.
She only let go of Jean Claude when the car came to a halt and they had to leave the back seat. Wicked was out first, followed by Jean Claude. Truth helped her from the limo, then followed her out into the parking lot behind the Circus. Once again, Jean Claude wrapped an arm around her and tugged her into his chest. Aedan let him guide her into the building, then down the large, uneven steps that took them to Jean Claude's underground lair. She was grateful for his help. She was still trying to push the images of the crime scene from her mind, trying to get a grip on her emotions before they spiraled out of control.
It wasn't until she found herself sitting on the toilet in the bathroom of her suite that she realized she'd gone straight to autopilot. She'd lost all track of time, had no idea just how much time had passed since she'd left the crime scene. Jean Claude must have thought she was in shock because he'd already started water running in the tub. A glance around showed her he'd left the room for some reason. Aedan reached out and turned the water off, not sure that a bath would help, then rose from her seat and forced herself to move. It was much harder than she'd expected it to be.
The bedroom was empty when she stepped out of the bathroom. Sighing, she made a beeline for the mini fridge she kept near her dresser. In the back of it was a bottle of rum, laid on its side to fit into the small space. Aedan pulled it out of the fridge and carelessly splashed far more than two fingers into the tumbler that sat on top of the unit. Then she tucked the bottle away and carried the glass with her over to the bed. Taking a seat on the edge of the mattress, she lifted the glass to her lips. The rum would help far better than a bath would. Maybe she could drink enough to kill every last emotion she had. Being numb would be awesome.
She felt him come this time, felt his power flowing out before him as he came down the hall and stepped into the room. Their gazes met briefly before she turned her eye back toward her glass. It was nearly empty and she couldn't remember drinking it. But there was a slow burn at the back of her throat and in her belly that said she'd swallowed the alcohol down. Maybe there was something to that shock idea after all.
Jean Claude sighed and reached for the glass. She wasn't even aware he'd crossed to the bed. She stubbornly refused to let go of the tumbler, refused to look up at him. She expected a fight from him over it. He settled for sitting next to her instead, his power gliding across her skin in an ethereal caress that sent shivers up and down her spine. He was, for this moment, a gentle and welcome presence at her side.
Five minutes into it, she started to sob.
~*~*~*~*~
Dolph stared at the pile of papers topping his desk. The blank expression on his face suggested he wasn't even seeing them. Not that Zerbrowski blamed him. They'd seen way too much earlier to just shut it off. Hell, his stomach still hadn't settled and he'd been on the job a lot of years. He could just imagine how the younger, newer cops were faring. "Nearly twenty children," Dolph muttered.
"That we know of," Zerbrowski said. That brought Dolph's eyes up to his face. Zerbrowski could see the look that simmered in their depths, prompting him to raise his hands before the other man could speak and tear his head off. "We don't know how many kids where there to begin with. You know the techs said they weren't sure if they'd ever find all the pieces."
Dolph's hand curled into a fist. "I don't need the reminder. I saw what that house looked like. And I doubt I'm going to forget it any time soon."
"I know. I was there. I saw the same shit you saw. But bottling it up inside isn't going to do you any good," Zerbrowski replied quietly. He knew Dolph well enough to know that he'd lock it away. Let it sit somewhere inside and rot. Let it fester until it exploded on him. Until it poisoned him. Zerbrowski wouldn't be much of a friend if he didn't at least try to help. "You should go see the therapist we have on staff. She's damn good."
"You're telling me you go see her?" Dolph sounded surprised by that bit of news. Zerbrowski shrugged his shoulders.
"Its either that or take it home to Katie. She doesn't deserve that," he replied quietly. He considered it for a moment, really thought about what he was trying to get across here. "I'm not saying its going to make everything better. Therapy won't take some of it away. There will always be the nightmares that come up out of the blue to haunt you when you think you're fine. There will always be reminders that you saw something so terrible that it left scars on your brain. That won't go away. But therapy will help make the bad times easier to manage. Less frequent. It'll help you function daily. It'll help keep you from taking that shit out on your marriage. Trust me, its a good idea."
Dolph was silent for a long while, face set in the lines that told Zerbrowski that he was considering what he'd been told. He finally nodded and absently wrote a note on a pad of paper at his elbow. "I'll see about scheduling some time with her as soon as possible."
"It can't hurt. What that thing did to those people, to those children... That isn't something we need to let rule us. We'll always carry the scars that come with that kind of trauma. But we can minimize the scars, make them easier to bear. Less troublesome."
Dolph blinked at him. "You seem to know quite a bit about therapy and what it can and can't do."
"I've been going for a long while, Dolph. Longer than you might think. The shit we see here, in this job... It isn't the kind of shit that mere mortals should have to see. What we witness is the stuff of nightmares. Fights between creatures that might as well be gods, for all the power they carry. You and I were just unlucky enough to end up stuck in the middle of it."
"I'm sure Briggings over in Homicide would beg to differ about that. The way he talks about his crime scenes, you'd think that he was dealing with massacres daily," Dolph said with a touch of scorn in his tone.
Zerbrowski gave a snort that could be taken any way Dolph wanted to. "Briggings is a big dumb dick. He wouldn't know a massacre or real horror if it jumped up and bit him on the ass. His mind would shatter if he saw the kinds of things we've seen. The general public would run screaming if they saw the kinds of things we see. We're the last line of defense against all the stuff that really does go bump in the night and the people who don't want to see the danger looking them in the eyes."
"Maybe you should be giving this speech to someone else. You don't have to tell me that what we deal with is damned dangerous." It was obvious by his tone that Dolph had a particular someone in mind with that statement. Zerbrowski gave a mirthless laugh. Shook his head. "What?"
"You aren't her father, Dolph," he told the man. It shouldn't have been necessary. But it obviously was. Because he'd seen Dolph like this before. When it had been Anita sleeping with the vampires. And the shifters. Zerbrowski had no doubt that Dolph laid the blame for her death at the Master of the City's feet. At the feet of every single person from the preternatural community that she'd ever been involved with. But that wasn't fair to them because Zerbrowski knew that Anita had had her own power, had been looked upon by others as one of those things that went bump in the night. And he saw so many similarities between her and Aedan that it wasn't funny.
"Maybe not, but she obviously needs someone to straighten her out. She's in over her head and she doesn't even realize it," Dolph retorted in disgust.
Zerbrowski shook his head. "She knows exactly how for in over her head she is. But there are a lot of people who expect her to be Anita. Which isn't fair to her."
"I don't expect her to be Anita," Dolph snapped, exhaustion heavy on his words.
"Then stop treating her like she's Anita," Zerbrowski sat forward in his chair. That statement earned him a look, so he held up a hand to forestall any complaint Dolph was about to make. "You do. You treat her exactly like you treated Anita. Aedan is young. All of this is new to her. Which, if I might remind you, you pointed out to her. She's doing the very best she can. But its damned hard because everywhere she turns, people see Anita. Its got to be damn hard to live up to a ghost."
"You're making more of this than you need to," Dolph replied.
"Am I?" Zerbrowski asked. "Did you see her tonight? Did you see her face? She nearly lost it more times than I can count. But she looked at each and every body. Every bit of flesh. Every drop of blood. Every goddamn nightmarish bit of that horror show. And do you know why? Because you expected her to do it. You expected her to man up and throw her personal mental health to the wind because its what Anita would have done. So she walked through every room. She looked at every single bit of victim we found. She catalogued it all. And sometime tomorrow, she's going to wake up screaming in holy terror and there's going to be a voice at the back of her head telling her to suck it up because Anita obviously did it, so she'll have to do it, too."
Dolph frowned, a touch of his anger showing in the way his face darkened a bit. He obviously didn't like being lectured about Aedan and how he treated her. Which was too bad, because he was going to hear it. "If she's so wet behind the ear, how did she get that badge she carries? Why did the feds make her a marshal?"
"Because she's good at her job. Maybe you haven't been paying attention, but I have. I'm a detective, you know. Aedan is careful at crime scenes. She knows what to look for. She knows how to move and what not to touch. And, if that isn't enough to convince you, I had a buddy of mine get me a peek into her file. She was top of her class, Dolph. She's smart and capable. She earned that badge. You're doing her a disservice by ignoring all of that."
Dolph pinned him with a stare and Zerbrowski knew exactly where it was going. "And yet, with all of that intelligence she has, she still shacked up with the city's head blood sucker."
"Where else is she going to go, Dolph? Who do you think she should be dating? One of the guys on the force? You know what its like for women cops. Why would you think it would be any different for her? And when you add in her abilities... It was almost a foregone conclusion that she'd gravitate toward people who understand what it is she can do. But you're so blinded by your own hatred and rage that you can't see that. Maybe you should try pulling your head out of your ass and taking a good look at what kind of life Aedan has to look forward to if she spends it with someone normal."
Dolph stared at him for a moment, face grim. Zerbrowski had no doubt put his foot in it. But he stood by what he said. He'd watched the relationship between Dolph and Anita go right down the crapper. He wasn't going to let the same thing happen with Aedan. Not if he could help it. "Go home, Zerbrowski. You're obviously tired and traumatized by the things you've seen tonight. Sleep and get your head on straight. We'll talk about this more tomorrow."
Zerbrowski stood and headed for the door. Yes. They definitely would.
~*~*~*~*~
"Aedan." His voice was so soft and so gentle, as if he was afraid speaking any louder would leave her shattered and broken. Too late for that. Much too late.
She was just suddenly back in that room, with its brightly papered walls that had been splashed with so much crimson. A child's playroom that had become more like a tomb. The air was thick and heavy with the smell of violent death and blood. And there was so much blood, the floor and walls and ceiling painted bright red with it. It was supposed to be a safe room. Bad things weren't supposed to happen in a chid's playroom. It should have been safe, but that safety was as shredded as the corpses scattered across the floor.
So many bodies. So many families. Moms and dads. Toddlers. Teenagers. Children in between. Their ages had ranged from single digits up to nearly twenty. And every last one of them had looked like ragdolls, torn apart from too much hard play. Limbs had been pulled from torsos and heads...
"Aedan. Stop." Jean Claude was in that room with her, his glossy leather boots covered in blood. Something about that was almost more disturbing than the broken bodies surrounding them. She took it as a good sign that she was approaching a new level of hysteria. His hands reached out, white as snow against glaring crimson, and cupped her face between them. The cool sensation of his skin against hers, of his power touching her, helped push the brightness of the room away. "Do not do this to yourself, ma poupette. Come back to me."
"How did she do it?" she whispered. She was just suddenly back in her room in Jean Claude's lair, sitting on the big bed with him at her side. His palms rested against her cheeks, just as they had when she'd been caught up in the memories of that room, anchoring her to the present. Her hands had started shaking again, the last dregs of her rum dancing around inside the tumbler she still held. He took the glass from her and set it on the bedside table, then put his hand against her cheek again. Aedan lifted her gaze to his and saw confusion staring back at her. "How did she do this every goddamned day? How did she see all of those horrible crime scenes and not go insane? How did she do it? Because I can't. I can't stop seeing it. I can't stop seeing all the blood and the death and the broken bodies. I can't."
"Aedan, please. Do not do this to yourself." Jean Claude's voice was as soft as she'd ever heard it. She looked into his eyes and she saw regret there. She didn't know if he regretted that she had to be part of this or if he regretted being saddled with her. Maybe it was both. "Aedan. You must let it go."
"I don't know how. I see all of it in my sleep! I see every last face in my dreams. I'm living this nightmare and I can't make it stop. I can't do anything to avenge the dead. I can't do anything to save the living. I can't do anything because I'm not her. I can't be her. And everyone expects me to be her. I can't do it. I just can't."
The words came out laced with self-loathing and hatred. She blamed herself. For all of it. If she was better or faster or... anyone else, maybe she wouldn't have been called to another scene. Maybe if she wasn't such a fucking joke, she'd... Jean Claude's power pushed the thoughts back, pulled her from her head so that she was looking up at him. There was such a tender look upon his face that she found herself on the verge of tears again. She didn't deserve that look. Not from him. Not after everything that had happened.
"No one expects you to be her, Aedan. You can only do what you can do. You do not have to be Anita. But you do need to let it go before it consumes you. I know the images are horrific and terrible. And I know that you feel responsible. But their deaths are not your fault. And you have to let them go. You will eat yourself alive if you do not."
"I don't know how," she whispered. He gave her a tender look, one hand lifting to stroke her hair back from her face. The touch was soft and gentle and it helped calm some of the madness consuming her brain.
"Let me help you," he replied. She didn't know what that meant. But she was willing to let him try. Anything so that she could sleep. Real, restful sleep was a hard thing to come by lately and she was starting to wear down faster than she could recover. He shifted closer, the length of his thigh pressed to hers, and pulled her slowly into his embrace once again. She went willingly, let him wrap his arms around her and hold her against his chest. She found herself once more surrounded by his power, by the scents that belonged to him. The smell of death and graveyard called to her necromancy and helped soothe her tattered soul.
Aedan buried her face in his chest and curled her fists around the softness of his shirt, squeezed her eyes shut against the tears in an attempt to stop them. It didn't help. They still trickled out from under her lids, slid down her cheeks to soak into his shirt. One of his hands rested on the back of her head while the other stroked the length of her back in a slow, steady motion that helped pull the tension from her shoulders and her spine.
"You are stronger than the memories, Aedan. Much, much stronger." His voice was so soft she couldn't tell if he'd spoken aloud or if he'd spoken in her head. It didn't matter. She let those words pull her along, let them help push the crimson-stained images aside. "You can do this."
"No, I can't. I'm not..." She broke off on a sob.
"You can," he insisted.
She pulled back to look at him. There was an honest, compassionate look in his eyes that said he meant it. The thought that he had faith in her helped rid her of some of the evening's horrors. Not all, but enough that she didn't see everything with a stain of red coating it. Maybe she'd actually be able to sleep. His faith in her meant more than she was willing to say. But that faith left her feeling as if she was a huge let down. She sniffled and fought the urge to wipe at her nose and eyes in the same manner a small child might. "I'm sorry you got stuck with me."
Jean Claude smiled at that. A real smile, filled with humor and enjoyment. "I am not stuck with you, Aedan. And I am not sorry. Ma petite knew what she was doing when she chose you to take her place. I do not think you were given her gifts simply because you were there at the last moment of her life. I think she passed her gifts on to you because she knew you would follow the path she had been on. She knew you would do whatever you could to keep the people she loved safe from all harm. I do not think she expected you to be her. There was only one Anita Blake. And there is only one Aedan Kinkade. Stop trying to be someone you are not."
~*~*~*~*~
"You wanted to see me, sir?" Matthew asked. The volume of his voice suggested the young man still stood just inside the doorway, awaiting permission to enter the room fully. He nodded, made a motion with one hand that said the young man could step further into the room. Matthew's tread upon the floor was soft, almost inaudible. When he stood next to the chair, he halted and clasped his hands together before him.
"Have we had any word from Peter?" He didn't look at the other man, his gaze still locked on the television screen.
"No, sir. No one has heard or seen from him in more than a month," Matthew answered quietly.
The man sighed and pulled his attention away from the screen for a moment so he could pin the young man at his side with a disappointed stare. "Have you been searching for him?"
"Yes, sir," Matthew replied. The sincerity in his voice was honest and real. The man sighed and shook his head.
"You have no idea what made Peter leave us? No idea what he might be planning on doing?"
"No, sir. Peter never confided in me. He kept his own counsel. Whatever it was that drove him away from us, whatever it was he planned on doing, he never spoke of it with me."
"You've launched discreet inquiries? You have people looking for him?"
"Of course, sir," the young man returned. He sounded earnest.
The man nodded his head and sighed. He was trying to recall his last interaction with Peter, but there was always so much going on. A hazy memory came back. Pictures spread across the desktop. Peter calling their subject a whore. Questions about Peter's commitment to the cause. That had all happened well more than a month ago. He had the feeling that he was the reason Peter had left. Where ever he'd gone, whatever he'd elected to do, it was probably because of the last encounter the two of them had had.
"Do we know if anything big happened around the time of his disappearance?" he asked. He watched Matthew pull a sleek cell phone from his pocket. He couldn't understand the youth's obsession with such things, but then that was the way of the changing generations, wasn't it? The older one couldn't understand something that the younger one took interest in. It had been that way when he'd been a young man. It would be that way when Matthew had his own sons and daughters.
The young man's fingers moved over the flat screen with a rapidness that spoke of much use. A few moments later, he looked up. "The only news worthy events I can find are the deaths of a man of God and his family and references to an attempted fire bombing at the Church of Eternal Life. If anything else of importance happened, they weren't important enough to make the headlines."
"And you checked with all of the normal sources. Not just the papers, but the sites that are dedicated to reporting God's Truth?" the man asked.
"Yes, sir. None of them report anything out of the ordinary. Except those two items I mentioned," Matthew returned.
The man sighed and turned the two events over in his head. He remembered reading about the minister's death, as well as that of his family. The authorities had attributed those deaths to the lycanthrope killers. He didn't know what evidence they had that proved it, but he would take their word for it. At least, for the time being. He wouldn't at all be surprised if the deaths had been arranged by other, more sinister forces in order to silence the Word of God and the messenger who delivered it. Until such theories could be proven facts, he was going to have to keep an open mind.
The bombing of that so-called church, though. That one held his attention. He didn't understand how anyone could call a gathering of demon loving scum a congregation, nor how they could lay claim to being a church. They couldn't worship God. They'd lost their souls when they'd given themselves over to demonkind. The building they called a church was simply that. A building. It wasn't God's house. God didn't live there. He'd never live in a house where demons gathered.
"Is there any kind of information on the second one?" he asked.
Matthew spent several moments staring at his phone before lifting his head. "The article says that one person was spotted trying to set the building ablaze. Those who were inside managed to get out and put the flames out. The party responsible was supposedly caught and turned over to authorities, but there's no mention what the authorities did with the fire starter. Nor what that person's name might be."
"It was Peter," he said.
"Sir?" Matthew gave him a look of confusion.
"The fire bomb. That was Peter. He was trying to show me that he still believes in God's plan. Peter wanted me to see that he still has faith. He wanted me to be proud of him," the man replied.
"Ah. And are you?" Matthew questioned. The man couldn't tell if it was simply a question asked out of curiosity or if there was another reason he'd want to know such a thing.
"Of course. I am proud of all my children when they take God's teachings to heart and use them to save this world from the demons that corrupt it more and more each day." The man waved his hand at the television set, which had been tuned to a local station. Instead of the typical infomercial that ran so early in the morning, the news station had sent a reporter to a large house in a residential neighborhood. There were lights shining from various cameras as each reporter attempted to deliver the story in a more interesting manner than their competitors. The strobing lights of squad cars could be seen tumbling against the background and there was a large cluster of people standing in the yard. "Look at this, Matthew. Look at what happens when people turn away from God."
The reporter was speaking, one hand motioning toward the police behind her as she told her audience about what was happening behind them. "Another murder, Matthew. Another slaughter. The news is reporting that there were several families there. Quite a few children. There is no information about the number of victims. No information on who committed crimes against the innocent. These kinds of things wouldn't happen so frequently if people didn't push God from their lives. If he lived in their hearts and in their homes. The evil of the world wouldn't accomplish such heinous crimes against His children."
The two of them stared at the screen in silence for a few moments. The reporter was answering a question asked by the anchor still in the news room, something about the presence of some person or another. The reporter responded with a shake of her head. "While we know for certain that St. Louis' infamous RPIT squad was called out to the scene, we don't know for a fact that the local Federal Marshal has been on scene. And no one has been able to answer that question for us, though my counterpart for another station has said that they have information from an anonymous source that the local Federal Marshal has been here to view the scene. If that's true, Jane, that means that whatever happened inside of this quiet home was done by something inhuman."
He muted the television and turned to look at Matthew. "Do you hear that? Inhuman. No doubt whatever transpired in that home is the work of the demons. And they can accomplish such foul deeds so easily because too many people have fallen from God's Grace. They're too willing to accept the demons into their lives. This is why our work is so important. Now, more than ever. We have to double our efforts to rid the world of the demons. To prevent things like this from happening again."
Matthew said nothing to his impassioned speech, which made him wonder if the boy was as committed to the cause as the rest of his group. Peter had been part of that group and he had proved his loyalty to the cause. Perhaps Matthew needed a test.
"I am troubled by the lack of information we have on Brother Peter, Matthew. I am personally assigning you the task of finding out what happened to him. I don't care what you have to do to accomplish this task. I don't care if you have to force people to tell you. You will find Brother Peter. And you will bring him back to the fold. Do you understand?" He made sure to put just a little bit of presence in his voice. Just enough to ensure that Matthew would do as he was told.
"Yes, sir," Matthew responded. His voice was faint and soft, letting the man know his suggestion had taken hold. The young man turned away from him and crossed the room toward the door.
"Do not return to me until you find him," the man instructed. He heard Matthew pause a moment before the boy's hand curled around the door knob.
"Yes, sir." With that, he was gone. The man gave his attention back to the television and the reporter, who appeared to be rehashing everything she'd already told them. He would put an end to these killings. He'd purge St. Louis of its demons. And once he was done here, he'd take his mission nationwide. Worldwide. He'd be mankind's savior.
And when he'd done God's bidding, when he'd saved the wretched and the poor from their folly, he'd ask God for a boon. Just a single boon. He'd ask God to bring her back into the fold. To save her and bring her home.
And then he'd show her just what God's Love and Light was like.
~*~*~*~*~
Aedan blinked at that, startled by Jean Claude's words. "Is that what I've been doing?" He gave her a soft smile as he stared at her. She saw, for a moment, that he gave consideration to ignoring her question. But the moment passed and he nodded.
"You have. Perhaps it is because you carry some of Anita within you. Perhaps it is because you fear no one will listen to you if you do not fill Anita's shoes. Perhaps there are other reasons. The reasons do not matter. What matters is that you must simply be yourself." He reached up to brush some of her hair from her face, his fingers grazing her bare skin before gliding through the silken locks. The wash of his power as he did so left her muscles loose and relaxed. He tipped her head back so that he could press a sweet, chaste kiss to her forehead. "I think you will find, if you are yourself, it will be easier to deal with the memories. And do not think that the crime scenes did not affect Anita. They did. She merely learned how to manage them better. You will do so, too, in time."
Maybe it was the way he was looking at her, as if she was something special and not the biggest pain in his ass ever. Maybe it was the touch of his power brushing her own. Maybe it was the remnants of the night's trauma. Maybe it was too much alcohol on an empty stomach. Maybe it was all of it combined. Maybe it was something else entirely. She didn't know. What she did know was that his closeness had woken a hunger in her that she knew wouldn't be appeased with a few pretty words and a kiss on the forehead.
She'd done her best to deny that hunger, to keep it hidden away and at bay. She'd tried so hard to keep herself apart from him. To keep her emotions in check. The last thing she'd wanted to do was give her heart to the man when he had nothing to give in return. But her efforts had all been for nothing. She'd gone and done it anyway, had fallen for him. Her hunger was done hiding. It was done waiting. It, she, needed more. So much more.
There was definitely something between them. It'd been there since almost the very first. And they'd been dancing around it practically since that fateful night in the cemetery after Anita's funeral. She'd done her best to ignore it, because she'd figured it was pointless. Aedan had always assumed that he was lost to his grief over Anita's death to want something more. If he'd given signs that he saw her as more than a tool, she'd missed them. Granted, that had been easy for her to do because she'd been fighting her attraction to him the whole time, along with a healthy dose of fear. Fear of a long ago life that still held parts of her captive. But she'd never seen or sensed anything from him that suggested he'd wanted more from her than her power and what it could do for him.
She wasn't stupid enough to think that he loved her the way he'd loved Anita. She was a pillar used to shore up and stabilize his power base. A tool to help him keep his place in the world. While most men had some degree of affection for a favored tool, not many of them actually fell in love with them. Hell, she wasn't even stupid enough to think that he really liked her. And he had every reason not to like her after the way she'd behaved the past few weeks. But, as had been pointed out to her, her health affected him directly. So it made sense he would ensure that she was mentally and physically okay. She understood that. She was even cool with it. No matter what had gone between them for the benefit of those around them, this was still a business arrangement. Aedan knew that as well as she knew her name. And yet...
Jesus fuck, she was attracted to him. He had to be one of the most beautiful people she'd ever laid eyes on. Sure, she had Anita's memories of him to cloud her own perceptions about a lot of things. But not on this. Never on just how amazingly attractive Jean Claude was. And she knew there was no way she could match his beauty. Not a chance in hell. She was okay with that. But it kind of left her feeling as if she didn't deserve this tenderness from him. Because it felt like the type of tenderness that one shared with someone they loved. Someone they cherished. And she was neither of those things.
But, oh, how she wanted to be.
Aedan was under no illusions about anything in her life now. She knew that before Anita had cast her spell out on that road, she'd been little more than a mediocre necromancer. Two zombies had tested her limits and Anita had assured her that her abilities would get better over time. But it had been obvious that Anita had simply been being nice to her, probably because Edward had brought Aedan to Anita's attention. Everything she was now, necromancer and human servant and all the things that went along with those titles, were hers because of Anita. But none of those things included Jean Claude or his affections. She was smart enough to know that. Still, the knowledge did nothing to quiet her emotions and her hunger.
She'd been silent too long. Had spent too much time inside her head. He lifted a hand so that he could lay it against her cheek. His thumb stroked across the curve of her lips while his eyes took hold of hers. So that he could stare into her soul. "Is something amiss, Aedan?" he finally asked her, that obvious concern back in his voice and on his face.
"No," she shook her head. "No. Just..." Shit. The tears were falling again. He was being so nice to her, nicer than she felt he should be after the way she'd treated him. And she was just so confused. How was she supposed to deal with this? How was she supposed to be near him every day and keep her feelings for him hidden away? That thought brought her up short, filled her with horror.
Oh, god! They could share thoughts because of the marks! What if he could sense her emotions right then and there? She'd had herself locked away earlier, but he'd broken past that when he'd come to her earlier. She hadn't done anything to try and shut him out again, which meant he had access to everything she was thinking and feeling. That thought made her duck her head and hide her face away. She was such a fucking idiot. She'd let her thoughts and emotions get the better of her the one time it was important to keep all of that shit locked safely away behind her shields. And if he's caught wind of them, if he knew... Once more, she found herself crying into the softness of his shirt and she hoped to whatever deity that would listen that he thought it was because of the things she'd seen earlier.
He was silent for a good, long while. Long enough that she thought maybe she'd dodged a bullet with the feelings thing. But the moment some of the tension slipped out of her, his hands found her face and once more lifted it so that they were staring at one another. His eyes were so very blue. There was a tenderness in them that wasn't hard to understand. And she could tell by the look he gave her that he knew. All of it. Everything. He'd picked it all up and he knew. "Aedan."
His voice was much too gentle. His face was much too kind. She knew what was coming. It was there in the careful tone of his voice. The look in his eyes. He was going to put her to bed, tell her that she'd had a far too trying day. Tell her that she wasn't thinking straight. That she shouldn't rush into anything. She was fairly certain that she was thinking the clearest she ever had since she'd ended up in the middle of this whole thing. For better or worse, she wanted him. Maybe she'd never have his affections. Maybe, someday, he'd grow to care about her beyond the very basic. She didn't know. At that moment, she didn't really care. But she did know that it was now or never and she'd regret it if she didn't at least try.
She shook her head, put her hand up to try and stop his words. "Don't."
"Ma poupette, you are not thinking clearly," he cautioned. One hand stroked her cheek gently, as if he meant to soothe any hurt he caused She rolled her eyes at his words. Typical. So predictable.
"This is the first clear thought I've had in weeks, Jean Claude," she whispered. Her fingers tightened in his shirt, held him where he sat though he'd made no move to withdraw. She kept her gaze focused on him, saw that the concern and other tender emotions she'd found there earlier were now gone. In their place was his favored blank mask, his emotions and feelings carefully hidden away from her view. As if to protect her from the things he couldn't give her. Okay. So that pretty much proved he didn't love her. She could deal. She'd spent a lifetime being unloved. She could manage it with him. Besides, it didn't matter anyway. Physical attraction was enough. It would have to be enough. It was far more than she'd had before. Aedan drew a deep breath and took the plunge. "I need you."
The words rushed from her throat so quickly that there was no chance to stop them. Her tongue practically tripped over the saying of them. Part of her wanted to hide away from his knowing gaze. This, none of this, wasn't how she'd wanted to tell him of her feelings. She'd barely just admitted them to herself, hadn't she? And here she was admitting them to him, as if he knew what do to with them any better than she did. She wasn't sure if she was being cute and hopeful or if she was just sad and pathetic.
"You need rest." Even though he said it, he still made no move to pull away from her. Logically, she knew he was right. What she'd seen earlier that evening... It had left her shaken in ways she hadn't thought possible. It had been so bad that Dolph had been nice to her. And Dolph hated her. So the sane course of action would be to agree with him, let him kiss her on the forehead again and then put her to bed. Let him walk out of the room. Shove it all back down into the dark recesses of her brain and never think about what a fucking idiot she'd been again. Sad thing was, she wasn't terribly sane and so there was no way she was going to let him tuck her away and leave.
"Not tonight. Not right now," she shook her head. "The only thing I need is you. Please, Jean Claude."
"Aedan," he began, voice little more than a strained whisper. She thought, for a moment, that he meant to put her aside and tell her that he couldn't give her what she needed. But, as before, the moment passed. His hands came to rest on her cheeks, where they tightened down ever so slightly when tension climbed up his arms. A look akin to pain flashed across his face, a window looking briefly in on some internal battle he waged with himself. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and seductive and flames of desire filled his gaze. "You will not be allowed a reprieve this time, Aedan. Do not start something you cannot or will not finish."
~*~*~*~*~
The door to his cell slammed open, hitting the wall so hard that he thought he heard the stone crack with the force. The female vampire was back, eyes blazing with anger. He collected his thoughts and put his prayers aside in order to give her his undivided attention. Whatever had happened, she was in a mood and he wasn't going to risk angering her further. There was no telling what would happen if he did so. "Tell me," he said softly, making it less a command and more a suggestion.
"He went to retrieve the whore!" the vampire snarled. She'd slammed the door shut behind her, closing the two of them in the small room. It gave them a measure of privacy, even if that measure didn't really allow them privacy. The illusion of it was better than nothing.
"What do you mean, he went to retrieve her? What happened? Was she hurt? Did she do something wrong? Why would he go retrieve her?"
"There was some kind of massacre this evening. The whore works for the police and she was called to the scene. My master received a phone call. Then he left. When he came back, he was escorting the whore to her rooms. He is still there!" she hissed, her voice filled with hatred and jealousy and growing rage.
He studied her carefully. It was news to him that the whore worked for the police. It made him wonder what exactly she did for the police. Maybe he'd ask the vampire later, when she was calmer. For now, he would do best to listen to her complaints and try to calm her temper before she forgot herself and took it out on him. That wouldn't be good. "What do you mean, escorting? Was he doing so in order to see that she didn't fall and hurt herself? Or was he doing so because she had done something wrong and he wanted to ensure she wouldn't run away so he could punish her?"
It couldn't hurt to put that idea in the vampire's head. Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to see her calming. To see her temper drop until he could speak to her without fear of upsetting her so much that she hurt him.
"He was escorting her to ensure she did not fall. She looked as if she would drop to the ground if he released his hold on her. She was pale, as if she had been ill. Or she had seen something too terrible to comprehend. He had his head bent to hers and he whispered quietly in her ear as they walked."
She wanted to rip the whore apart. It was obvious in her words. That meant he had to pick his next words carefully, had to choose the right way to go in order to calm her temper. He studied her quietly, watched as she seethed and waited. It struck him then that she came to him when she was in this state because she trusted him. Despite her insistence that God didn't listen and that he didn't live in this place, she still trusted him. And she came to him when she needed him to reassure her that things would work out the way she wanted them to. "It is troublesome that he's still clinging to her. But that only means her spell on him will be hard to break." Even as he finished those words, her expression turned dark and she stared at him as if he was the source of all her ills. He held up a hand as if to stop her from moving or speaking. "That doesn't mean its impossible. Only that we're going to have to work hard and quick if we want to see her removed from his side before she binds him to her so completely that not even death will break them apart."
"What do we do?" she asked, his words snaring her like a fish on a hook.
"I know a way that we can be rid of her, Once and for all. There are people who would be glad to have her. They would try and rid her of the evil she carries. And if they couldn't..." he trailed off and shrugged his shoulders, as if it was a foregone conclusion. No big deal.
"They would kill her for me?" the vampire asked.
"They would," he confirmed. She stared a moment, silent as the grave as she did so. Then she inched closer.
"What would we need to do in order for this to happen?" she asked.
"We would have to get her alone. Somewhere outside of this place, where the very walls protect her. Somewhere public. And when we get her there, we ensure that the people I spoke of will show up and take her away. They'll return her to God's light or she'll die from the efforts. Either way, her spell on your master will be broken. And he'll be all yours. To do with as you please.
"I will keep an eye on her. If I find something that will help, I will let you know. Then I will help you contact these people. Let them take her and destroy her. I care not. I only care about my master." She stared at him a moment, then nodded her head. She was gone before he could say anything else. Not that it mattered. He had his opportunity. He was going to do everything in his power to ensure he didn't miss it.
Chapter Fifty Six: What the World Needs Now
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: finally. fucking finally! that's all i can say. we get to this. technically, i had a chapter written and ready to go. (its been sitting in my drafts for ages) but i decided that i didn't want to post it all in one thing. so i split it into pieces and built other scenes around it. and here's what we get. whatever this is
The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death - Index Link
"And then the entire stack fell over, leaving Sister Agatha and her desk buried in every last one of the "The Craft is the Life" and "The Blood is the Life" fliers my friend and I had collected. To say the woman looked like she was about to burst into flames just for touching something that tried to convince the morally righteous youth to give in to the dark side would be an understatement. Becca and I served detention with that old hag for a month. But it was worth it just to see her face when we started reading all about how vampirism wasn't evil."
It wasn't so much the story as the look of remembered humor and triumph on Lettie's face that sold the story. The rest of the pride burst into laughter when she finished. Isis had no doubt that everyone was picturing Sister Agatha's face as she was covered in a landslide of pro-witchcraft and pro-vampirism literature.
Lettie was new to the pride, just moved to St. Louis from Los Angeles. She'd only just completed her high school education. Thinking about it made Isis feel old. Not that she was all that much older than Lettie, but it seemed like a lifetime ago that she'd actually been fresh from high school. Lettie had come to St. Louis to petition the pride for membership. Her family had disowned her when she'd tested positive for lycanthropy. Something that wasn't entirely uncommon in their world. But the fact that they blamed the girl for it when it had been forced upon her was the part that bothered Isis. It felt like nothing was getting better for the lycanthropes.
"That was an amazing story, Lettie," Rosamund said, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Lettie smiled, the action bringing light to her eyes. It was obvious to Isis that she'd suffered abuse at the hands of many people who were supposed to have protected her. Isis was proud to have welcomed her into the pride. Already she was having a positive effect on some of the lower members. And, in turn, she was coming out of her protective shell a little more every day. Isis liked that she and her pride had been able to do that.
She snuggled closer to Damian and put her head on his shoulders. It was a rare, peaceful night and the members of her pride weren't battling amongst themselves to try and shift the balance of power. Isis had put a stop to that shit as soon as she'd taken control of the pride. Damian helped her enforce it. She knew that her pride was something of an anomaly, that it was some kind of long standing tradition that pride members constantly battled for position amongst themselves. Isis had decreed it forbidden. Her lions had enough troubles coming at them from the humans. They didn't need to add to those troubles themselves.
Thus far, things were going smoothly. There had been some rough patches back in the beginning. No one had wanted to believe that a vampire could hold position of Rex. There had been some minor challenges to Damian's position. He'd shut them down quickly and easily enough without bringing any harm to the challengers that they'd have difficulty surviving. Her lions were learning to respect Damian. Some of them had already befriended him. Life was as good as it was going to get for them. Because Isis knew that there'd be some kind of challenge coming at them soon. There was always something lurking around the corner. Always some new threat to their well being.
For now, she'd take the peace and quiet while she could. There'd be time to worry about the rest when it finally came.
"Does anyone else have a funny story?" Rosamund asked, gaze sliding around the group as they lounged on Isis' furniture. It was the monthly get together, something Isis and Damian had started as a way to let the pride know that they cared and that they wanted everyone to be a family. They all met up in one place, generally at someone's home, and had a moderately rowdy few hours of chatter and bonding. They'd done the first one at a restaurant, which had immediately convinced Isis that holding their party at a private residence was better, and safer, for all concerned.
Tonight's party was at her condo. They'd ordered in some pizza for dinner and she'd made sure that she'd picked up drinks and snacks from the store before everyone had shown up. So between slices of pie, there was the crunching munching sounds of popcorn and chips being consumed. Isis liked the idea of the get togethers, because they were close and friendly and the pride was her family.
"Hey! What movie do we want to watch next?" Travis asked, voice carrying over the smaller pockets of chatter and the laughter that burst from one or two corners. A glance at her television told Isis that the movie they'd put in earlier was running its credits, letting them know it was time to either change it out or turn the set off. A glance at her watch let Isis know that they should turn the set off and start thinking about heading home. It was late, nearly three in the morning, and some people needed to think about sleep soon.
"No more movies tonight, Travis," Isis said, reluctantly pulling away from Damian's hold in order to sit up straight. She would have happily spent the rest of the evening slouching back against the couch, wrapped securely in his embrace. She loved how she fit against him and how comforting his touch was. Scooping up the remote, which happened to be laying on the coffee table near her knee, Isis thumbed the set Blu-Ray off. Which prompted whoever was closest to the television to start manually changing channels.
Isis was about to turn it off when the images stopped flickering. The channel flipping ended and the screen was eaten up with the face of a reporter who was on scene. Judging by the darkness of the sky behind him, it was full night. But the lights that poured across the scene made a lie of that fact. Bright white lights from the cameras gave the area a false daytime look. In the background, there were red and blue lights that strobed around the area and gave it a slightly menacing feel.
"Reports are still sketchy, but what we do know is that St. Louis' famed Regional Preternatural Investigation Taskforce is already on site. One source claims that the Federal Marshals are on scene, too, but we have no confirmation as yet." The reporter was delivering his words into the camera with a detached precision that suggested he'd never seen the kind of violence that was found at crime scenes. Especially not one that required RPIT's presence.
The screen split and showed an anchor sitting behind the news desk, while the on site reporter was moved to a smaller box up in the corner. A red banner at the bottom of the screen sported one phrase in white: LIVE! BREAKING NEWS!
"Oh, shit," Lettie breathed. Everyone's attention was riveted to the screen.
"What do we know at this point, Calvin?" the desk anchor, a bright eyed woman with a serious expression on her face, asked the reporter on scene.
"We know that the owners of this house are Brad and Sharlene Horton. We know that they were allegedly throwing some kind of party because neighbors reported seeing quite a few people arriving. RPIT has been on scene for some time. So far, nothing has been removed from the premises but quite a few vans belonging to the county morgue have arrived. That suggests that there are several bodies to deal with. Our attempts to ask the police questions have been met with stony faces and a lot of silence. One neighbor, who asked that we not show their face or give their name, said that they saw quite a few children entering the house." The reporter referenced a piece of paper in their hand before returning their attention to the camera. "The initial call to police came in about two hours ago after several neighbors were woken by the sounds of screaming. Some of them were convinced it was noise from the party and elected to ignore it until the silence became concerning. One or two of them came over to check things out and that's when they called the police."
Isis turned the set off, leaving the room in utter silence. She already had her phone in hand, fingers dialing the number through memory. Her heart was in her throat as she listened to it ring. It felt like it took more than three rings for the call to get picked up, her anxiety and horror levels off the map. "Isis. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?" Jean Claude's voice was as smooth as ever and had she not been so amped up, it might have had an effect on her. As it was, the tiny bits of power lingering in it bounced right off her emotional upheaval.
"Have you heard from Aedan?" she asked without preamble. She swore she felt the fear and concern that snapped through him rush at her over the line.
"I have not. I know she had a zombie raising this evening. It should have been over with by now, but it is not uncommon for her to spend the remaining hours of the night at her office." He paused a moment, almost sounded distracted. "Why do you ask?"
"I just caught a live broadcast from one of the local stations. RPIT was called to a crime scene this evening. The reporter was saying it was some kind of party. And he mentioned that a source claims a Federal Marshal is on scene." She paused a moment. Maybe she was over-reacting, but she didn't think so. Aedan was the only Federal Marshal Isis knew of that worked with RPIT. And given how weird she'd been lately... "I don't know if its her for certain, but Jean Claude. There were children at that house."
The last came out in a whisper. Every eye in the place was on her and she knew they could all hear the other side of the conversation as easily as if she'd put the phone on speaker. There was silence from the other end for several long seconds, then Jean Claude finally came back on. "Aedan is there. I must let you go now, Isis. But thank you for calling me and informing me."
The connection was cut abruptly, leaving Isis staring at the phone in confusion. Damian plucked it from her hand and set it aside, then tugged her close. He said nothing, simply wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close. It helped ease the tightness in her chest, the fear that made it hard to think. So Isis opened her arms to her pride in silent invitation. As one, they crowded around her and Damian. She hugged the two who were closest to her and watched, a deep sense of pride springing to life inside of her chest, as arms wrapped around them all until the entire group was enclosed in a mass hug.
Please, God, she thought. Don't let it be as bad as the reporter is making it out to be...
~*~*~*~*~
Her hands shook so badly that it took four tries to get the keys into the ignition of her car. Another two to turn the engine over. Even then, she sat and tried to still the trembling that raced through her. Tried to swallow down the bile that kept creeping up her throat. Tried to hold on to the tears that blurred her vision. She had to hold it together until she could get away from the all-seeing eye of the media's cameras. She could do that. She could...
The thought died as quickly as it had come as she watched reporters speaking into their microphones, watched the scene flash from red to blue and back again from the lights on the squad cars. Her gaze turned to the house she'd just come from and the tremors renewed themselves with vigor. She couldn't keep doing this. She just couldn't. If she had to walk into another crime scene like this last one and pretend that she wasn't touched by the violence people could do to one another, she'd fucking scream bloody murder. She didn't know how Dolph could act like this kind of senseless violence didn't touch him. Didn't leave some kind of mark on his soul.
She felt like she was drowning in all of the blood of the souls she'd been unable to save. That thought was all that was needed to break down the thin, fragile barriers she'd built to keep the horror at bay.
In an instant, the carnage rose up to try and swallow her down. She saw bits of flesh and shards of bone. Vacant eyes. Broken bodies and so much gore. So much violence. So much agony and suffering.
In the next instant, the images were gone, replaced by the cool touch of death. Jean Claude swept through her mind and pushed everything else aside. "No more, Aedan. No more tonight. Let me help."
It had been so long since she'd felt his power touch her like this. So long since she'd let him inside. She'd missed him so much. Missed the feel of his magic stroking along her skin, along her own magic. She needed it more than she needed to keep him at bay. She couldn't do it any longer, couldn't keep pushing him and everyone else out. She just... couldn't. Her spirit sagged as she opened herself to him and let him back into her head and her heart. His magic poured in, brought with it a sense of calm and peace. She hated that she needed him so badly, but there was no way she'd be able to function without him. Not after this horror. So she relinquished control and let him come.
She was filled with the feel of his power, the feel of his hand smoothing along her brow. A gentle kiss to her temple. Even though he wasn't there, she could feel it all as if he sat beside her. It was like diving into a deep, still pool of cool water after being caught in the fury of a forest fire. She wanted to stay there forever, but the world wouldn't let her. Even now, members of the press had realized she hadn't left the area and were moving closer to her car. Cameras were going to flash and she didn't want to give St. Louis and the world the chance to watch her fall apart. They were already watching her so closely.
She shifted the car into gear, intent on pulling away from the curb. "Stay where you are, Aedan. You are in no condition to drive. I would have you home safely. I am coming to you." Jean Claude's voice flooded her mind. She thought she felt a hint of fear in it, but her head was so messed up at the moment that she couldn't be sure.
"I have to get off this street, Jean Claude. The press is here and they're watching me. I'll only drive a couple streets over, then I'll park the car and wait for you," she replied, not even bothering to say it in her head. She could feel that he wasn't sure he liked the idea. But she didn't have much more time to argue. "I promise. I just need to move. I can't let them see me."
His touch came again, understanding and reassuring. "Very well, ma poupette. I will meet you two streets over." Just like that, she was alone in her head and the horror of the past hour or so threatened to return. Aedan turned the wheel and eased the car out onto the road. Focused all of her attention on the mechanics of driving. There were uniforms to keep the street clear, allowing her to drive away unaccosted. At the end of the road, she stopped for the sign, then put her blinker on and turned right. She had no idea where she was going, exactly, but she trusted that Jean Claude would be able to find her.
Five minutes and two more turns later, Aedan pulled the Jeep over to the side of the road and put her head down on the steering wheel. Without something to occupy her thoughts, the images were clawing their way back into her brain, gnawing away at her soul in the process. The tears she'd managed to hold back before welled up and slid down her cheeks unheeded. Jesus fucking Christ. She couldn't do this anymore. She just wasn't strong enough to do this.
She must have been really out of it because she never sensed anyone approaching the vehicle. Had it been someone who intended her harm, she would never have gotten her gun out of its holster in time. One minute, she was lost in the memories of the crime scene. The next, she was being tugged gently out of the car. She had a moment to notice someone getting in behind the wheel of her vehicle, then her face was pressed against Jean Claude's chest. He smelled of expensive cologne, graveyards, death, and magic. She burrowed deeper into his arms.
He smelled like home.
He helped her over to his limosine wordlessly, arm curled protectively around her shoulders. Wicked was there to stand guard at the door, his brother sitting in the backseat. Jean Claude handed her into the vehicle, her hand sliding from his to Truth's so that the other man could help her into the car. She'd barely settled on the seat when he was beside her, his arm slipping around her shoulders again so that he could pull her into him. Aedan went without a fight and turned her face into the softness of his shirt. His free hand came up to rest against the side of her face. No one said anything as the limo pulled away from the curb and began the silent journey back to the Circus.
She only let go of Jean Claude when the car came to a halt and they had to leave the back seat. Wicked was out first, followed by Jean Claude. Truth helped her from the limo, then followed her out into the parking lot behind the Circus. Once again, Jean Claude wrapped an arm around her and tugged her into his chest. Aedan let him guide her into the building, then down the large, uneven steps that took them to Jean Claude's underground lair. She was grateful for his help. She was still trying to push the images of the crime scene from her mind, trying to get a grip on her emotions before they spiraled out of control.
It wasn't until she found herself sitting on the toilet in the bathroom of her suite that she realized she'd gone straight to autopilot. She'd lost all track of time, had no idea just how much time had passed since she'd left the crime scene. Jean Claude must have thought she was in shock because he'd already started water running in the tub. A glance around showed her he'd left the room for some reason. Aedan reached out and turned the water off, not sure that a bath would help, then rose from her seat and forced herself to move. It was much harder than she'd expected it to be.
The bedroom was empty when she stepped out of the bathroom. Sighing, she made a beeline for the mini fridge she kept near her dresser. In the back of it was a bottle of rum, laid on its side to fit into the small space. Aedan pulled it out of the fridge and carelessly splashed far more than two fingers into the tumbler that sat on top of the unit. Then she tucked the bottle away and carried the glass with her over to the bed. Taking a seat on the edge of the mattress, she lifted the glass to her lips. The rum would help far better than a bath would. Maybe she could drink enough to kill every last emotion she had. Being numb would be awesome.
She felt him come this time, felt his power flowing out before him as he came down the hall and stepped into the room. Their gazes met briefly before she turned her eye back toward her glass. It was nearly empty and she couldn't remember drinking it. But there was a slow burn at the back of her throat and in her belly that said she'd swallowed the alcohol down. Maybe there was something to that shock idea after all.
Jean Claude sighed and reached for the glass. She wasn't even aware he'd crossed to the bed. She stubbornly refused to let go of the tumbler, refused to look up at him. She expected a fight from him over it. He settled for sitting next to her instead, his power gliding across her skin in an ethereal caress that sent shivers up and down her spine. He was, for this moment, a gentle and welcome presence at her side.
Five minutes into it, she started to sob.
~*~*~*~*~
Dolph stared at the pile of papers topping his desk. The blank expression on his face suggested he wasn't even seeing them. Not that Zerbrowski blamed him. They'd seen way too much earlier to just shut it off. Hell, his stomach still hadn't settled and he'd been on the job a lot of years. He could just imagine how the younger, newer cops were faring. "Nearly twenty children," Dolph muttered.
"That we know of," Zerbrowski said. That brought Dolph's eyes up to his face. Zerbrowski could see the look that simmered in their depths, prompting him to raise his hands before the other man could speak and tear his head off. "We don't know how many kids where there to begin with. You know the techs said they weren't sure if they'd ever find all the pieces."
Dolph's hand curled into a fist. "I don't need the reminder. I saw what that house looked like. And I doubt I'm going to forget it any time soon."
"I know. I was there. I saw the same shit you saw. But bottling it up inside isn't going to do you any good," Zerbrowski replied quietly. He knew Dolph well enough to know that he'd lock it away. Let it sit somewhere inside and rot. Let it fester until it exploded on him. Until it poisoned him. Zerbrowski wouldn't be much of a friend if he didn't at least try to help. "You should go see the therapist we have on staff. She's damn good."
"You're telling me you go see her?" Dolph sounded surprised by that bit of news. Zerbrowski shrugged his shoulders.
"Its either that or take it home to Katie. She doesn't deserve that," he replied quietly. He considered it for a moment, really thought about what he was trying to get across here. "I'm not saying its going to make everything better. Therapy won't take some of it away. There will always be the nightmares that come up out of the blue to haunt you when you think you're fine. There will always be reminders that you saw something so terrible that it left scars on your brain. That won't go away. But therapy will help make the bad times easier to manage. Less frequent. It'll help you function daily. It'll help keep you from taking that shit out on your marriage. Trust me, its a good idea."
Dolph was silent for a long while, face set in the lines that told Zerbrowski that he was considering what he'd been told. He finally nodded and absently wrote a note on a pad of paper at his elbow. "I'll see about scheduling some time with her as soon as possible."
"It can't hurt. What that thing did to those people, to those children... That isn't something we need to let rule us. We'll always carry the scars that come with that kind of trauma. But we can minimize the scars, make them easier to bear. Less troublesome."
Dolph blinked at him. "You seem to know quite a bit about therapy and what it can and can't do."
"I've been going for a long while, Dolph. Longer than you might think. The shit we see here, in this job... It isn't the kind of shit that mere mortals should have to see. What we witness is the stuff of nightmares. Fights between creatures that might as well be gods, for all the power they carry. You and I were just unlucky enough to end up stuck in the middle of it."
"I'm sure Briggings over in Homicide would beg to differ about that. The way he talks about his crime scenes, you'd think that he was dealing with massacres daily," Dolph said with a touch of scorn in his tone.
Zerbrowski gave a snort that could be taken any way Dolph wanted to. "Briggings is a big dumb dick. He wouldn't know a massacre or real horror if it jumped up and bit him on the ass. His mind would shatter if he saw the kinds of things we've seen. The general public would run screaming if they saw the kinds of things we see. We're the last line of defense against all the stuff that really does go bump in the night and the people who don't want to see the danger looking them in the eyes."
"Maybe you should be giving this speech to someone else. You don't have to tell me that what we deal with is damned dangerous." It was obvious by his tone that Dolph had a particular someone in mind with that statement. Zerbrowski gave a mirthless laugh. Shook his head. "What?"
"You aren't her father, Dolph," he told the man. It shouldn't have been necessary. But it obviously was. Because he'd seen Dolph like this before. When it had been Anita sleeping with the vampires. And the shifters. Zerbrowski had no doubt that Dolph laid the blame for her death at the Master of the City's feet. At the feet of every single person from the preternatural community that she'd ever been involved with. But that wasn't fair to them because Zerbrowski knew that Anita had had her own power, had been looked upon by others as one of those things that went bump in the night. And he saw so many similarities between her and Aedan that it wasn't funny.
"Maybe not, but she obviously needs someone to straighten her out. She's in over her head and she doesn't even realize it," Dolph retorted in disgust.
Zerbrowski shook his head. "She knows exactly how for in over her head she is. But there are a lot of people who expect her to be Anita. Which isn't fair to her."
"I don't expect her to be Anita," Dolph snapped, exhaustion heavy on his words.
"Then stop treating her like she's Anita," Zerbrowski sat forward in his chair. That statement earned him a look, so he held up a hand to forestall any complaint Dolph was about to make. "You do. You treat her exactly like you treated Anita. Aedan is young. All of this is new to her. Which, if I might remind you, you pointed out to her. She's doing the very best she can. But its damned hard because everywhere she turns, people see Anita. Its got to be damn hard to live up to a ghost."
"You're making more of this than you need to," Dolph replied.
"Am I?" Zerbrowski asked. "Did you see her tonight? Did you see her face? She nearly lost it more times than I can count. But she looked at each and every body. Every bit of flesh. Every drop of blood. Every goddamn nightmarish bit of that horror show. And do you know why? Because you expected her to do it. You expected her to man up and throw her personal mental health to the wind because its what Anita would have done. So she walked through every room. She looked at every single bit of victim we found. She catalogued it all. And sometime tomorrow, she's going to wake up screaming in holy terror and there's going to be a voice at the back of her head telling her to suck it up because Anita obviously did it, so she'll have to do it, too."
Dolph frowned, a touch of his anger showing in the way his face darkened a bit. He obviously didn't like being lectured about Aedan and how he treated her. Which was too bad, because he was going to hear it. "If she's so wet behind the ear, how did she get that badge she carries? Why did the feds make her a marshal?"
"Because she's good at her job. Maybe you haven't been paying attention, but I have. I'm a detective, you know. Aedan is careful at crime scenes. She knows what to look for. She knows how to move and what not to touch. And, if that isn't enough to convince you, I had a buddy of mine get me a peek into her file. She was top of her class, Dolph. She's smart and capable. She earned that badge. You're doing her a disservice by ignoring all of that."
Dolph pinned him with a stare and Zerbrowski knew exactly where it was going. "And yet, with all of that intelligence she has, she still shacked up with the city's head blood sucker."
"Where else is she going to go, Dolph? Who do you think she should be dating? One of the guys on the force? You know what its like for women cops. Why would you think it would be any different for her? And when you add in her abilities... It was almost a foregone conclusion that she'd gravitate toward people who understand what it is she can do. But you're so blinded by your own hatred and rage that you can't see that. Maybe you should try pulling your head out of your ass and taking a good look at what kind of life Aedan has to look forward to if she spends it with someone normal."
Dolph stared at him for a moment, face grim. Zerbrowski had no doubt put his foot in it. But he stood by what he said. He'd watched the relationship between Dolph and Anita go right down the crapper. He wasn't going to let the same thing happen with Aedan. Not if he could help it. "Go home, Zerbrowski. You're obviously tired and traumatized by the things you've seen tonight. Sleep and get your head on straight. We'll talk about this more tomorrow."
Zerbrowski stood and headed for the door. Yes. They definitely would.
~*~*~*~*~
"Aedan." His voice was so soft and so gentle, as if he was afraid speaking any louder would leave her shattered and broken. Too late for that. Much too late.
She was just suddenly back in that room, with its brightly papered walls that had been splashed with so much crimson. A child's playroom that had become more like a tomb. The air was thick and heavy with the smell of violent death and blood. And there was so much blood, the floor and walls and ceiling painted bright red with it. It was supposed to be a safe room. Bad things weren't supposed to happen in a chid's playroom. It should have been safe, but that safety was as shredded as the corpses scattered across the floor.
So many bodies. So many families. Moms and dads. Toddlers. Teenagers. Children in between. Their ages had ranged from single digits up to nearly twenty. And every last one of them had looked like ragdolls, torn apart from too much hard play. Limbs had been pulled from torsos and heads...
"Aedan. Stop." Jean Claude was in that room with her, his glossy leather boots covered in blood. Something about that was almost more disturbing than the broken bodies surrounding them. She took it as a good sign that she was approaching a new level of hysteria. His hands reached out, white as snow against glaring crimson, and cupped her face between them. The cool sensation of his skin against hers, of his power touching her, helped push the brightness of the room away. "Do not do this to yourself, ma poupette. Come back to me."
"How did she do it?" she whispered. She was just suddenly back in her room in Jean Claude's lair, sitting on the big bed with him at her side. His palms rested against her cheeks, just as they had when she'd been caught up in the memories of that room, anchoring her to the present. Her hands had started shaking again, the last dregs of her rum dancing around inside the tumbler she still held. He took the glass from her and set it on the bedside table, then put his hand against her cheek again. Aedan lifted her gaze to his and saw confusion staring back at her. "How did she do this every goddamned day? How did she see all of those horrible crime scenes and not go insane? How did she do it? Because I can't. I can't stop seeing it. I can't stop seeing all the blood and the death and the broken bodies. I can't."
"Aedan, please. Do not do this to yourself." Jean Claude's voice was as soft as she'd ever heard it. She looked into his eyes and she saw regret there. She didn't know if he regretted that she had to be part of this or if he regretted being saddled with her. Maybe it was both. "Aedan. You must let it go."
"I don't know how. I see all of it in my sleep! I see every last face in my dreams. I'm living this nightmare and I can't make it stop. I can't do anything to avenge the dead. I can't do anything to save the living. I can't do anything because I'm not her. I can't be her. And everyone expects me to be her. I can't do it. I just can't."
The words came out laced with self-loathing and hatred. She blamed herself. For all of it. If she was better or faster or... anyone else, maybe she wouldn't have been called to another scene. Maybe if she wasn't such a fucking joke, she'd... Jean Claude's power pushed the thoughts back, pulled her from her head so that she was looking up at him. There was such a tender look upon his face that she found herself on the verge of tears again. She didn't deserve that look. Not from him. Not after everything that had happened.
"No one expects you to be her, Aedan. You can only do what you can do. You do not have to be Anita. But you do need to let it go before it consumes you. I know the images are horrific and terrible. And I know that you feel responsible. But their deaths are not your fault. And you have to let them go. You will eat yourself alive if you do not."
"I don't know how," she whispered. He gave her a tender look, one hand lifting to stroke her hair back from her face. The touch was soft and gentle and it helped calm some of the madness consuming her brain.
"Let me help you," he replied. She didn't know what that meant. But she was willing to let him try. Anything so that she could sleep. Real, restful sleep was a hard thing to come by lately and she was starting to wear down faster than she could recover. He shifted closer, the length of his thigh pressed to hers, and pulled her slowly into his embrace once again. She went willingly, let him wrap his arms around her and hold her against his chest. She found herself once more surrounded by his power, by the scents that belonged to him. The smell of death and graveyard called to her necromancy and helped soothe her tattered soul.
Aedan buried her face in his chest and curled her fists around the softness of his shirt, squeezed her eyes shut against the tears in an attempt to stop them. It didn't help. They still trickled out from under her lids, slid down her cheeks to soak into his shirt. One of his hands rested on the back of her head while the other stroked the length of her back in a slow, steady motion that helped pull the tension from her shoulders and her spine.
"You are stronger than the memories, Aedan. Much, much stronger." His voice was so soft she couldn't tell if he'd spoken aloud or if he'd spoken in her head. It didn't matter. She let those words pull her along, let them help push the crimson-stained images aside. "You can do this."
"No, I can't. I'm not..." She broke off on a sob.
"You can," he insisted.
She pulled back to look at him. There was an honest, compassionate look in his eyes that said he meant it. The thought that he had faith in her helped rid her of some of the evening's horrors. Not all, but enough that she didn't see everything with a stain of red coating it. Maybe she'd actually be able to sleep. His faith in her meant more than she was willing to say. But that faith left her feeling as if she was a huge let down. She sniffled and fought the urge to wipe at her nose and eyes in the same manner a small child might. "I'm sorry you got stuck with me."
Jean Claude smiled at that. A real smile, filled with humor and enjoyment. "I am not stuck with you, Aedan. And I am not sorry. Ma petite knew what she was doing when she chose you to take her place. I do not think you were given her gifts simply because you were there at the last moment of her life. I think she passed her gifts on to you because she knew you would follow the path she had been on. She knew you would do whatever you could to keep the people she loved safe from all harm. I do not think she expected you to be her. There was only one Anita Blake. And there is only one Aedan Kinkade. Stop trying to be someone you are not."
~*~*~*~*~
"You wanted to see me, sir?" Matthew asked. The volume of his voice suggested the young man still stood just inside the doorway, awaiting permission to enter the room fully. He nodded, made a motion with one hand that said the young man could step further into the room. Matthew's tread upon the floor was soft, almost inaudible. When he stood next to the chair, he halted and clasped his hands together before him.
"Have we had any word from Peter?" He didn't look at the other man, his gaze still locked on the television screen.
"No, sir. No one has heard or seen from him in more than a month," Matthew answered quietly.
The man sighed and pulled his attention away from the screen for a moment so he could pin the young man at his side with a disappointed stare. "Have you been searching for him?"
"Yes, sir," Matthew replied. The sincerity in his voice was honest and real. The man sighed and shook his head.
"You have no idea what made Peter leave us? No idea what he might be planning on doing?"
"No, sir. Peter never confided in me. He kept his own counsel. Whatever it was that drove him away from us, whatever it was he planned on doing, he never spoke of it with me."
"You've launched discreet inquiries? You have people looking for him?"
"Of course, sir," the young man returned. He sounded earnest.
The man nodded his head and sighed. He was trying to recall his last interaction with Peter, but there was always so much going on. A hazy memory came back. Pictures spread across the desktop. Peter calling their subject a whore. Questions about Peter's commitment to the cause. That had all happened well more than a month ago. He had the feeling that he was the reason Peter had left. Where ever he'd gone, whatever he'd elected to do, it was probably because of the last encounter the two of them had had.
"Do we know if anything big happened around the time of his disappearance?" he asked. He watched Matthew pull a sleek cell phone from his pocket. He couldn't understand the youth's obsession with such things, but then that was the way of the changing generations, wasn't it? The older one couldn't understand something that the younger one took interest in. It had been that way when he'd been a young man. It would be that way when Matthew had his own sons and daughters.
The young man's fingers moved over the flat screen with a rapidness that spoke of much use. A few moments later, he looked up. "The only news worthy events I can find are the deaths of a man of God and his family and references to an attempted fire bombing at the Church of Eternal Life. If anything else of importance happened, they weren't important enough to make the headlines."
"And you checked with all of the normal sources. Not just the papers, but the sites that are dedicated to reporting God's Truth?" the man asked.
"Yes, sir. None of them report anything out of the ordinary. Except those two items I mentioned," Matthew returned.
The man sighed and turned the two events over in his head. He remembered reading about the minister's death, as well as that of his family. The authorities had attributed those deaths to the lycanthrope killers. He didn't know what evidence they had that proved it, but he would take their word for it. At least, for the time being. He wouldn't at all be surprised if the deaths had been arranged by other, more sinister forces in order to silence the Word of God and the messenger who delivered it. Until such theories could be proven facts, he was going to have to keep an open mind.
The bombing of that so-called church, though. That one held his attention. He didn't understand how anyone could call a gathering of demon loving scum a congregation, nor how they could lay claim to being a church. They couldn't worship God. They'd lost their souls when they'd given themselves over to demonkind. The building they called a church was simply that. A building. It wasn't God's house. God didn't live there. He'd never live in a house where demons gathered.
"Is there any kind of information on the second one?" he asked.
Matthew spent several moments staring at his phone before lifting his head. "The article says that one person was spotted trying to set the building ablaze. Those who were inside managed to get out and put the flames out. The party responsible was supposedly caught and turned over to authorities, but there's no mention what the authorities did with the fire starter. Nor what that person's name might be."
"It was Peter," he said.
"Sir?" Matthew gave him a look of confusion.
"The fire bomb. That was Peter. He was trying to show me that he still believes in God's plan. Peter wanted me to see that he still has faith. He wanted me to be proud of him," the man replied.
"Ah. And are you?" Matthew questioned. The man couldn't tell if it was simply a question asked out of curiosity or if there was another reason he'd want to know such a thing.
"Of course. I am proud of all my children when they take God's teachings to heart and use them to save this world from the demons that corrupt it more and more each day." The man waved his hand at the television set, which had been tuned to a local station. Instead of the typical infomercial that ran so early in the morning, the news station had sent a reporter to a large house in a residential neighborhood. There were lights shining from various cameras as each reporter attempted to deliver the story in a more interesting manner than their competitors. The strobing lights of squad cars could be seen tumbling against the background and there was a large cluster of people standing in the yard. "Look at this, Matthew. Look at what happens when people turn away from God."
The reporter was speaking, one hand motioning toward the police behind her as she told her audience about what was happening behind them. "Another murder, Matthew. Another slaughter. The news is reporting that there were several families there. Quite a few children. There is no information about the number of victims. No information on who committed crimes against the innocent. These kinds of things wouldn't happen so frequently if people didn't push God from their lives. If he lived in their hearts and in their homes. The evil of the world wouldn't accomplish such heinous crimes against His children."
The two of them stared at the screen in silence for a few moments. The reporter was answering a question asked by the anchor still in the news room, something about the presence of some person or another. The reporter responded with a shake of her head. "While we know for certain that St. Louis' infamous RPIT squad was called out to the scene, we don't know for a fact that the local Federal Marshal has been on scene. And no one has been able to answer that question for us, though my counterpart for another station has said that they have information from an anonymous source that the local Federal Marshal has been here to view the scene. If that's true, Jane, that means that whatever happened inside of this quiet home was done by something inhuman."
He muted the television and turned to look at Matthew. "Do you hear that? Inhuman. No doubt whatever transpired in that home is the work of the demons. And they can accomplish such foul deeds so easily because too many people have fallen from God's Grace. They're too willing to accept the demons into their lives. This is why our work is so important. Now, more than ever. We have to double our efforts to rid the world of the demons. To prevent things like this from happening again."
Matthew said nothing to his impassioned speech, which made him wonder if the boy was as committed to the cause as the rest of his group. Peter had been part of that group and he had proved his loyalty to the cause. Perhaps Matthew needed a test.
"I am troubled by the lack of information we have on Brother Peter, Matthew. I am personally assigning you the task of finding out what happened to him. I don't care what you have to do to accomplish this task. I don't care if you have to force people to tell you. You will find Brother Peter. And you will bring him back to the fold. Do you understand?" He made sure to put just a little bit of presence in his voice. Just enough to ensure that Matthew would do as he was told.
"Yes, sir," Matthew responded. His voice was faint and soft, letting the man know his suggestion had taken hold. The young man turned away from him and crossed the room toward the door.
"Do not return to me until you find him," the man instructed. He heard Matthew pause a moment before the boy's hand curled around the door knob.
"Yes, sir." With that, he was gone. The man gave his attention back to the television and the reporter, who appeared to be rehashing everything she'd already told them. He would put an end to these killings. He'd purge St. Louis of its demons. And once he was done here, he'd take his mission nationwide. Worldwide. He'd be mankind's savior.
And when he'd done God's bidding, when he'd saved the wretched and the poor from their folly, he'd ask God for a boon. Just a single boon. He'd ask God to bring her back into the fold. To save her and bring her home.
And then he'd show her just what God's Love and Light was like.
~*~*~*~*~
Aedan blinked at that, startled by Jean Claude's words. "Is that what I've been doing?" He gave her a soft smile as he stared at her. She saw, for a moment, that he gave consideration to ignoring her question. But the moment passed and he nodded.
"You have. Perhaps it is because you carry some of Anita within you. Perhaps it is because you fear no one will listen to you if you do not fill Anita's shoes. Perhaps there are other reasons. The reasons do not matter. What matters is that you must simply be yourself." He reached up to brush some of her hair from her face, his fingers grazing her bare skin before gliding through the silken locks. The wash of his power as he did so left her muscles loose and relaxed. He tipped her head back so that he could press a sweet, chaste kiss to her forehead. "I think you will find, if you are yourself, it will be easier to deal with the memories. And do not think that the crime scenes did not affect Anita. They did. She merely learned how to manage them better. You will do so, too, in time."
Maybe it was the way he was looking at her, as if she was something special and not the biggest pain in his ass ever. Maybe it was the touch of his power brushing her own. Maybe it was the remnants of the night's trauma. Maybe it was too much alcohol on an empty stomach. Maybe it was all of it combined. Maybe it was something else entirely. She didn't know. What she did know was that his closeness had woken a hunger in her that she knew wouldn't be appeased with a few pretty words and a kiss on the forehead.
She'd done her best to deny that hunger, to keep it hidden away and at bay. She'd tried so hard to keep herself apart from him. To keep her emotions in check. The last thing she'd wanted to do was give her heart to the man when he had nothing to give in return. But her efforts had all been for nothing. She'd gone and done it anyway, had fallen for him. Her hunger was done hiding. It was done waiting. It, she, needed more. So much more.
There was definitely something between them. It'd been there since almost the very first. And they'd been dancing around it practically since that fateful night in the cemetery after Anita's funeral. She'd done her best to ignore it, because she'd figured it was pointless. Aedan had always assumed that he was lost to his grief over Anita's death to want something more. If he'd given signs that he saw her as more than a tool, she'd missed them. Granted, that had been easy for her to do because she'd been fighting her attraction to him the whole time, along with a healthy dose of fear. Fear of a long ago life that still held parts of her captive. But she'd never seen or sensed anything from him that suggested he'd wanted more from her than her power and what it could do for him.
She wasn't stupid enough to think that he loved her the way he'd loved Anita. She was a pillar used to shore up and stabilize his power base. A tool to help him keep his place in the world. While most men had some degree of affection for a favored tool, not many of them actually fell in love with them. Hell, she wasn't even stupid enough to think that he really liked her. And he had every reason not to like her after the way she'd behaved the past few weeks. But, as had been pointed out to her, her health affected him directly. So it made sense he would ensure that she was mentally and physically okay. She understood that. She was even cool with it. No matter what had gone between them for the benefit of those around them, this was still a business arrangement. Aedan knew that as well as she knew her name. And yet...
Jesus fuck, she was attracted to him. He had to be one of the most beautiful people she'd ever laid eyes on. Sure, she had Anita's memories of him to cloud her own perceptions about a lot of things. But not on this. Never on just how amazingly attractive Jean Claude was. And she knew there was no way she could match his beauty. Not a chance in hell. She was okay with that. But it kind of left her feeling as if she didn't deserve this tenderness from him. Because it felt like the type of tenderness that one shared with someone they loved. Someone they cherished. And she was neither of those things.
But, oh, how she wanted to be.
Aedan was under no illusions about anything in her life now. She knew that before Anita had cast her spell out on that road, she'd been little more than a mediocre necromancer. Two zombies had tested her limits and Anita had assured her that her abilities would get better over time. But it had been obvious that Anita had simply been being nice to her, probably because Edward had brought Aedan to Anita's attention. Everything she was now, necromancer and human servant and all the things that went along with those titles, were hers because of Anita. But none of those things included Jean Claude or his affections. She was smart enough to know that. Still, the knowledge did nothing to quiet her emotions and her hunger.
She'd been silent too long. Had spent too much time inside her head. He lifted a hand so that he could lay it against her cheek. His thumb stroked across the curve of her lips while his eyes took hold of hers. So that he could stare into her soul. "Is something amiss, Aedan?" he finally asked her, that obvious concern back in his voice and on his face.
"No," she shook her head. "No. Just..." Shit. The tears were falling again. He was being so nice to her, nicer than she felt he should be after the way she'd treated him. And she was just so confused. How was she supposed to deal with this? How was she supposed to be near him every day and keep her feelings for him hidden away? That thought brought her up short, filled her with horror.
Oh, god! They could share thoughts because of the marks! What if he could sense her emotions right then and there? She'd had herself locked away earlier, but he'd broken past that when he'd come to her earlier. She hadn't done anything to try and shut him out again, which meant he had access to everything she was thinking and feeling. That thought made her duck her head and hide her face away. She was such a fucking idiot. She'd let her thoughts and emotions get the better of her the one time it was important to keep all of that shit locked safely away behind her shields. And if he's caught wind of them, if he knew... Once more, she found herself crying into the softness of his shirt and she hoped to whatever deity that would listen that he thought it was because of the things she'd seen earlier.
He was silent for a good, long while. Long enough that she thought maybe she'd dodged a bullet with the feelings thing. But the moment some of the tension slipped out of her, his hands found her face and once more lifted it so that they were staring at one another. His eyes were so very blue. There was a tenderness in them that wasn't hard to understand. And she could tell by the look he gave her that he knew. All of it. Everything. He'd picked it all up and he knew. "Aedan."
His voice was much too gentle. His face was much too kind. She knew what was coming. It was there in the careful tone of his voice. The look in his eyes. He was going to put her to bed, tell her that she'd had a far too trying day. Tell her that she wasn't thinking straight. That she shouldn't rush into anything. She was fairly certain that she was thinking the clearest she ever had since she'd ended up in the middle of this whole thing. For better or worse, she wanted him. Maybe she'd never have his affections. Maybe, someday, he'd grow to care about her beyond the very basic. She didn't know. At that moment, she didn't really care. But she did know that it was now or never and she'd regret it if she didn't at least try.
She shook her head, put her hand up to try and stop his words. "Don't."
"Ma poupette, you are not thinking clearly," he cautioned. One hand stroked her cheek gently, as if he meant to soothe any hurt he caused She rolled her eyes at his words. Typical. So predictable.
"This is the first clear thought I've had in weeks, Jean Claude," she whispered. Her fingers tightened in his shirt, held him where he sat though he'd made no move to withdraw. She kept her gaze focused on him, saw that the concern and other tender emotions she'd found there earlier were now gone. In their place was his favored blank mask, his emotions and feelings carefully hidden away from her view. As if to protect her from the things he couldn't give her. Okay. So that pretty much proved he didn't love her. She could deal. She'd spent a lifetime being unloved. She could manage it with him. Besides, it didn't matter anyway. Physical attraction was enough. It would have to be enough. It was far more than she'd had before. Aedan drew a deep breath and took the plunge. "I need you."
The words rushed from her throat so quickly that there was no chance to stop them. Her tongue practically tripped over the saying of them. Part of her wanted to hide away from his knowing gaze. This, none of this, wasn't how she'd wanted to tell him of her feelings. She'd barely just admitted them to herself, hadn't she? And here she was admitting them to him, as if he knew what do to with them any better than she did. She wasn't sure if she was being cute and hopeful or if she was just sad and pathetic.
"You need rest." Even though he said it, he still made no move to pull away from her. Logically, she knew he was right. What she'd seen earlier that evening... It had left her shaken in ways she hadn't thought possible. It had been so bad that Dolph had been nice to her. And Dolph hated her. So the sane course of action would be to agree with him, let him kiss her on the forehead again and then put her to bed. Let him walk out of the room. Shove it all back down into the dark recesses of her brain and never think about what a fucking idiot she'd been again. Sad thing was, she wasn't terribly sane and so there was no way she was going to let him tuck her away and leave.
"Not tonight. Not right now," she shook her head. "The only thing I need is you. Please, Jean Claude."
"Aedan," he began, voice little more than a strained whisper. She thought, for a moment, that he meant to put her aside and tell her that he couldn't give her what she needed. But, as before, the moment passed. His hands came to rest on her cheeks, where they tightened down ever so slightly when tension climbed up his arms. A look akin to pain flashed across his face, a window looking briefly in on some internal battle he waged with himself. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and seductive and flames of desire filled his gaze. "You will not be allowed a reprieve this time, Aedan. Do not start something you cannot or will not finish."
~*~*~*~*~
The door to his cell slammed open, hitting the wall so hard that he thought he heard the stone crack with the force. The female vampire was back, eyes blazing with anger. He collected his thoughts and put his prayers aside in order to give her his undivided attention. Whatever had happened, she was in a mood and he wasn't going to risk angering her further. There was no telling what would happen if he did so. "Tell me," he said softly, making it less a command and more a suggestion.
"He went to retrieve the whore!" the vampire snarled. She'd slammed the door shut behind her, closing the two of them in the small room. It gave them a measure of privacy, even if that measure didn't really allow them privacy. The illusion of it was better than nothing.
"What do you mean, he went to retrieve her? What happened? Was she hurt? Did she do something wrong? Why would he go retrieve her?"
"There was some kind of massacre this evening. The whore works for the police and she was called to the scene. My master received a phone call. Then he left. When he came back, he was escorting the whore to her rooms. He is still there!" she hissed, her voice filled with hatred and jealousy and growing rage.
He studied her carefully. It was news to him that the whore worked for the police. It made him wonder what exactly she did for the police. Maybe he'd ask the vampire later, when she was calmer. For now, he would do best to listen to her complaints and try to calm her temper before she forgot herself and took it out on him. That wouldn't be good. "What do you mean, escorting? Was he doing so in order to see that she didn't fall and hurt herself? Or was he doing so because she had done something wrong and he wanted to ensure she wouldn't run away so he could punish her?"
It couldn't hurt to put that idea in the vampire's head. Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to see her calming. To see her temper drop until he could speak to her without fear of upsetting her so much that she hurt him.
"He was escorting her to ensure she did not fall. She looked as if she would drop to the ground if he released his hold on her. She was pale, as if she had been ill. Or she had seen something too terrible to comprehend. He had his head bent to hers and he whispered quietly in her ear as they walked."
She wanted to rip the whore apart. It was obvious in her words. That meant he had to pick his next words carefully, had to choose the right way to go in order to calm her temper. He studied her quietly, watched as she seethed and waited. It struck him then that she came to him when she was in this state because she trusted him. Despite her insistence that God didn't listen and that he didn't live in this place, she still trusted him. And she came to him when she needed him to reassure her that things would work out the way she wanted them to. "It is troublesome that he's still clinging to her. But that only means her spell on him will be hard to break." Even as he finished those words, her expression turned dark and she stared at him as if he was the source of all her ills. He held up a hand as if to stop her from moving or speaking. "That doesn't mean its impossible. Only that we're going to have to work hard and quick if we want to see her removed from his side before she binds him to her so completely that not even death will break them apart."
"What do we do?" she asked, his words snaring her like a fish on a hook.
"I know a way that we can be rid of her, Once and for all. There are people who would be glad to have her. They would try and rid her of the evil she carries. And if they couldn't..." he trailed off and shrugged his shoulders, as if it was a foregone conclusion. No big deal.
"They would kill her for me?" the vampire asked.
"They would," he confirmed. She stared a moment, silent as the grave as she did so. Then she inched closer.
"What would we need to do in order for this to happen?" she asked.
"We would have to get her alone. Somewhere outside of this place, where the very walls protect her. Somewhere public. And when we get her there, we ensure that the people I spoke of will show up and take her away. They'll return her to God's light or she'll die from the efforts. Either way, her spell on your master will be broken. And he'll be all yours. To do with as you please.
"I will keep an eye on her. If I find something that will help, I will let you know. Then I will help you contact these people. Let them take her and destroy her. I care not. I only care about my master." She stared at him a moment, then nodded her head. She was gone before he could say anything else. Not that it mattered. He had his opportunity. He was going to do everything in his power to ensure he didn't miss it.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-05-11 03:32 am (UTC)I kinda feel for Dolph, and yet...not? Zerb's right. Dude needs some serious therapy and I hope he gets it.
The scene with Aedan and Jean Claude was so emotional - am I sap for tearing up? Her walls crumbling was just so poignant...dammit, here I go again. ;)
And that ending is making me hasten this comment to get to the next chapter...;)
(no subject)
Date: 2018-05-11 03:56 am (UTC)i totally get Dolph's problems with the preternatural world. particularly with the undead. (its a sticking point that carries from the books) but its ultimately a really stupid reason and it just gets in the way of everything. hopefully Dolph can find someone to help him deal with all of those feelings. we'll see.
Aedan is so fucked up right now. just... so fucked up. and the scenes between her and Jean Claude were written... a long time ago. before i even knew where i was going to put it. i think i've done a good job of carrying out the fucked up even though one part was written before the others.
next chapter's there. just waiting...
(no subject)
Date: 2018-05-22 08:34 pm (UTC)What about the Ardeur? Did Aedan not get any of it? Did she get a different flavor? Or is she just really, really good at ignoring it? (You probably already covered this earlier, but ... my memory sucks).
I'm looking forward to wherever this is going. Unfortunately, I prolly won't be able to get to the next part until tomorrow. Oh, and now there's another chapter for me to read too. *sigh* I'll get there. Eventually.
Excellent chapter, hon! I enjoyed every bit of it. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2018-05-22 09:28 pm (UTC)Aedan does have the arduer. she did inherit that from Anita. and, somehow, that bitch has been fucking holding it back out of sheer stubbornness. seriously. i don't know what she's doing. but its there.
i'm glad you're enjoying, sweetie. and no worries. the words aren't going anywhere. so take your time. (will it make you feel better to know that i haven't started the next chapter yet?)
thanks for taking the time to read and comment, bb. it is muchly appreciated.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-05-23 01:15 pm (UTC)A tiny bit, yes. lol *smooches*