The manhole cover was halfway along a stretch of dark and dirty alley, overlooked by high walls that turned the place into a deep canyon. It was empty, but then he'd expected that. Now, while it was night, he could feel the dark energies ebbing and flowing along the alley. A sensitive human might have dreams or visions in a place like this -- and might wake up screaming -- but even the least sensitive would avoid the place instinctively. During the day, there would be nothing here; it would just be another place.
That thought made Vilisant glance up at the sky. How much longer did he have? It hadn't been that late when he'd approached the woman, but time could do funny things when one was traveling the dark river, as he'd done in trying to escape. He bent down, hooked a finger into the metal hole, and lifted the cover. Looking down into the darkness, he could see metal rungs descending to a large concrete pipe with a trickle of water flowing down the center: an ordinary storm drain. Nodding to himself, he lowered the lid and stood.
He circled the manhole three times, extending his awareness into the darkness he could feel flowing out from it. The world around him grew darker with each circuit, even to his eyes. He was moving below the surface of the world again, this time by minuscule degrees, looking for the point where... There.
He laid a hand on the manhole cover, and this time the steel disk lifted of its own accord, floating eight feet into the air. When he looked down, the smooth concrete walls of the pipe were gone, replaced by rough stone.
Vilisant took one last look around, then stepped off the edge and let himself drop.
Showing posts with label Misplaced Savior. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Misplaced Savior. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 17, 2016
Friday, May 6, 2016
No Fate Save Exhaustion
Sandra felt the car slow, and pressed her foot against the pedal to bring it back up to speed. She was starting to wear down. It wasn't just the lateness of the hour, though that was part of it. It was also reaction, to the arrival of the vampire and everything that had followed. I need coffee, she thought.
The hitchhiker had said that they weren't being pursued. If she believed him, then it should be safe to stop for coffee and gas. It might even be safe to find a place to stop for the night. If she believed him...
...And if she had any choice. She couldn't keep driving forever. But it was only a few hours until dawn, and then it should be safe to sleep. If she didn't close her eyes and drive right off the road in the meantime.
She drew a deep breath, and forced herself to pay attention. They were on an empty stretch of highway, there had to be something up ahead. Worst case, she could pull off to the side, grab the blankets from the back, and they could sleep on the seats. "Honey?" she asked. "How are we doing?"
"I know how to make it into a kitten," answered Samantha. "Don't worry," she added. "I won't do it yet. She won't like riding in the car. And she's happy that I'm wearing her." There was a brief pause, and Sandra glanced in the rearview mirror to see that Samantha had looked up to meet her eyes. "We're safe," she said, reverting to her Big Girl voice. "The vampire took them away with him. The one you stopped for is..." She paused, and for the first time in as long as Sandra could remember, her daughter sounded puzzled. "...Is gone. Either he's dead, or he's somebody else now."
"All right," said Sandra. "I'm going to find a place to stop, somewhere we can sleep."
The hitchhiker had said that they weren't being pursued. If she believed him, then it should be safe to stop for coffee and gas. It might even be safe to find a place to stop for the night. If she believed him...
...And if she had any choice. She couldn't keep driving forever. But it was only a few hours until dawn, and then it should be safe to sleep. If she didn't close her eyes and drive right off the road in the meantime.
She drew a deep breath, and forced herself to pay attention. They were on an empty stretch of highway, there had to be something up ahead. Worst case, she could pull off to the side, grab the blankets from the back, and they could sleep on the seats. "Honey?" she asked. "How are we doing?"
"I know how to make it into a kitten," answered Samantha. "Don't worry," she added. "I won't do it yet. She won't like riding in the car. And she's happy that I'm wearing her." There was a brief pause, and Sandra glanced in the rearview mirror to see that Samantha had looked up to meet her eyes. "We're safe," she said, reverting to her Big Girl voice. "The vampire took them away with him. The one you stopped for is..." She paused, and for the first time in as long as Sandra could remember, her daughter sounded puzzled. "...Is gone. Either he's dead, or he's somebody else now."
"All right," said Sandra. "I'm going to find a place to stop, somewhere we can sleep."
Friday, April 22, 2016
No Fate in Twilight
The world passed in bits and flashes: a dark suburban street here, then far behind him; a flash of dirt road, trees on either side, then gone; two footfalls on someone's front porch, before it was lost. Reality surged and flowed around him, and he navigated from island to island in its stream. It was a dangerous way to travel: one misstep, and he could be lost beyond any hope of salvation or retrieval. It was also very, very fast...
...And whatever, wherever it was, this path was also familiar to the things that hunted. He kept catching glimpses of them, sliding and bounding. They avoided the islands but slithered darkly through the stream. Or maybe it wasn't familiar to them. Maybe they were only following him, in the way that seemed most natural to them. Vilisant was suddenly afraid that he'd shown them how to do something that they hadn't known before.
He was inside a warehouse, then gone. He was in a field of high grasses, then gone. He took four steps down an office hallway, then launched himself again.
They were still behind, and he thought they were starting to wind around him. It felt dangerously as if they were becoming part of his path; as if the wild flow of places and spaces around him might suddenly reach up to pull him down, and that it would be them when it did.
His foot touched down in a parking lot, and he pivoted and changed directions completely. He had the brief impression of a dark blot spreading out over the pavement around him, but he was moving entirely in the physical world now. They might still be hunting him, but they couldn't pull him down. He put on a burst of speed, and moved clear of the area before they could emerge. He was spending his energy too fast; he needed blood to replenish it. He wouldn't tire, exactly, and he wouldn't slow; but when the blood ran out, he would stop. And he could feel his body contracting, the flesh withering as he burned through the blood it held.
The parking lot had been out on the edge of a city -- which city, he wasn't sure. He'd been trying to reach Twilight, and Twilight wasn't a city that aligned well with the geography of the real world. Still... having a city nearby was good. The lore of his clan said that once, long ago, the darkness had kept outposts and forts beneath every city and town, and the light had held their corresponding outposts just above them. The struggle between them had been steady, with raids and brawls often erupting into the mortal world. Then one of the Powers had intervened, pulling all those almost-places into a single, labyrinthine city, contiguous and coterminous with the real world but not quite a part of it. After the initial bloodshed, the intrusions of light and dark alike had given way to control by the half-human, once-human species that were and weren't part of the middle world, that were and weren't allied with either side. The city of Twilight, as unsettled and unruly as it might to be, was a balancing point between darkness and light, and a buffer that held them back from direct incursions into the mortal world.
Vilisant hated the place. But it would keep his pursuers off him, and it was easiest to reach from the heart of a city. It didn't matter which one.
Should he try to feed, or try to push through? If he could reach Twilight, he would be safe. Even if he couldn't feed there -- and he probably could -- his clan would find him, and provide for him. But he was hovering at the edge of his strength; if he needed anything extra, if he had to force his way past them, he would falter and fall.
I'll risk it, he decided. He would be in as much danger, or more, if they caught him while he was trying to feed. Better to get to safety first, and worry about feeding later. Damn that woman. If she'd come with me, we could have been gone and back to the citadel before those things ever arrived. He was already moving when another thought struck him, and he chuckled: Wouldn't the Oracle Shiran be surprised if he died on his way to Twilight, before ever marrying his destined bride?
He launched himself over a wall, landed softly on the other side, and remembered what the woman had intended for him. Maybe that would be for the better. The road ahead of him led towards the center of town, and he sprinted along it. For the dead travel fast, he thought. I just hope the dark don't travel any faster...
...And whatever, wherever it was, this path was also familiar to the things that hunted. He kept catching glimpses of them, sliding and bounding. They avoided the islands but slithered darkly through the stream. Or maybe it wasn't familiar to them. Maybe they were only following him, in the way that seemed most natural to them. Vilisant was suddenly afraid that he'd shown them how to do something that they hadn't known before.
He was inside a warehouse, then gone. He was in a field of high grasses, then gone. He took four steps down an office hallway, then launched himself again.
They were still behind, and he thought they were starting to wind around him. It felt dangerously as if they were becoming part of his path; as if the wild flow of places and spaces around him might suddenly reach up to pull him down, and that it would be them when it did.
His foot touched down in a parking lot, and he pivoted and changed directions completely. He had the brief impression of a dark blot spreading out over the pavement around him, but he was moving entirely in the physical world now. They might still be hunting him, but they couldn't pull him down. He put on a burst of speed, and moved clear of the area before they could emerge. He was spending his energy too fast; he needed blood to replenish it. He wouldn't tire, exactly, and he wouldn't slow; but when the blood ran out, he would stop. And he could feel his body contracting, the flesh withering as he burned through the blood it held.
The parking lot had been out on the edge of a city -- which city, he wasn't sure. He'd been trying to reach Twilight, and Twilight wasn't a city that aligned well with the geography of the real world. Still... having a city nearby was good. The lore of his clan said that once, long ago, the darkness had kept outposts and forts beneath every city and town, and the light had held their corresponding outposts just above them. The struggle between them had been steady, with raids and brawls often erupting into the mortal world. Then one of the Powers had intervened, pulling all those almost-places into a single, labyrinthine city, contiguous and coterminous with the real world but not quite a part of it. After the initial bloodshed, the intrusions of light and dark alike had given way to control by the half-human, once-human species that were and weren't part of the middle world, that were and weren't allied with either side. The city of Twilight, as unsettled and unruly as it might to be, was a balancing point between darkness and light, and a buffer that held them back from direct incursions into the mortal world.
Vilisant hated the place. But it would keep his pursuers off him, and it was easiest to reach from the heart of a city. It didn't matter which one.
Should he try to feed, or try to push through? If he could reach Twilight, he would be safe. Even if he couldn't feed there -- and he probably could -- his clan would find him, and provide for him. But he was hovering at the edge of his strength; if he needed anything extra, if he had to force his way past them, he would falter and fall.
I'll risk it, he decided. He would be in as much danger, or more, if they caught him while he was trying to feed. Better to get to safety first, and worry about feeding later. Damn that woman. If she'd come with me, we could have been gone and back to the citadel before those things ever arrived. He was already moving when another thought struck him, and he chuckled: Wouldn't the Oracle Shiran be surprised if he died on his way to Twilight, before ever marrying his destined bride?
He launched himself over a wall, landed softly on the other side, and remembered what the woman had intended for him. Maybe that would be for the better. The road ahead of him led towards the center of town, and he sprinted along it. For the dead travel fast, he thought. I just hope the dark don't travel any faster...
Friday, April 15, 2016
No Fate Save Repetition
Sandra glanced at the figure at the side of the road as her car hurtled by. It looked like a young man, in plain clothes with a simple pack, with his thumb held hopefully up: a hitchhiker. She hadn't seen a hitchhiker in decades, but this was quite the night for unusual events. She wasn't thinking about what might have happened back at the house. She wasn't thinking about what might happen next.
The second time she passed him, she sped up. This was twelve miles further up the road, but she thought it was the same figure: the same dark hair, the same simple clothing, the same small backpack.
The third time she passed him, she slowed back down. If he was just going to keep reappearing, then he wasn't much of a threat... and the last thing she needed was a speeding ticket. Samantha stirred in the back seat, and Sandra asked: "Honey?"
"I don't know," said Samantha, in her Big Girl voice. "He isn't hunting us, not exactly. And he isn't a vampire, or a werewolf, or a sorcerer, or... anything else, really."
"Should I stop?" asked Sandra. She hated calling on her daughter's vision, hated it, but... there was a sense of inevitability to this. If she just kept ignoring him, he would probably show up wherever she finally stopped. She couldn't drive forever.
"I think you have to," answered Samantha, nearly echoing her thoughts.
Sandra made a sound in her throat that was half growl and half groan, and kept driving. Sure enough, she saw him again a few miles later.
This time she slowed, let the car drift to a stop just past him, and waited until he approached.
He came at a normal human walking speed. A ghost? It seemed possible, though she'd never met one.
When he opened the passenger door, she was pointing a gun at him. "Get in," she said, "If that's what you're here for."
He opened the door the rest of the way, climbed in, and closed it. Then, very deliberately, he fastened his seatbelt. The straps settled against him and stayed: he was definitely flesh, though small-built and slim. He looked to be maybe twenty years old. "They aren't chasing you," he said, "but you should still keep moving."
"Who are you?" asked Sandra, her foot still on the brake.
"Nobody in particular," he said. "Not yet. Do you want help?"
"No," said Sandra.
He tilted his head, looking at her sidewise. "Not even from the vampire?"
"No."
"And not from me, either."
"Whatever you might be? Absolutely not."
He didn't react to that, just nodded absently. It might have saved his life: she still had the gun pointed at him, and the ammunition inside was meant to deal with unusual things. Or maybe he's just too damned powerful -- or too damned strange -- to worry about bullets. If he'd so much as turned, she'd have shot him. Instead, he just sat there.
"Then let me leave this," he said, and reached into his jacket. What he pulled out was a small amulet with a simple cord, which he set on the console between them. "It's just a protection. It won't let me spy on you, and it won't cost you anything. Check it yourself -- or run it by someone you trust." He tugged on the latch and swung the door open, then stepped back out into the night. His movements were still slow and casual, still utterly human. He closed the door gently and stepped back, and for a moment Sandra just stared at the dim silhouette of him outside the window.
"We should keep it," said Samantha, from the back seat.
Sandra swallowed. "...Why?"
"It's a good thing. And sometimes it's a kitten."
The second time she passed him, she sped up. This was twelve miles further up the road, but she thought it was the same figure: the same dark hair, the same simple clothing, the same small backpack.
The third time she passed him, she slowed back down. If he was just going to keep reappearing, then he wasn't much of a threat... and the last thing she needed was a speeding ticket. Samantha stirred in the back seat, and Sandra asked: "Honey?"
"I don't know," said Samantha, in her Big Girl voice. "He isn't hunting us, not exactly. And he isn't a vampire, or a werewolf, or a sorcerer, or... anything else, really."
"Should I stop?" asked Sandra. She hated calling on her daughter's vision, hated it, but... there was a sense of inevitability to this. If she just kept ignoring him, he would probably show up wherever she finally stopped. She couldn't drive forever.
"I think you have to," answered Samantha, nearly echoing her thoughts.
Sandra made a sound in her throat that was half growl and half groan, and kept driving. Sure enough, she saw him again a few miles later.
This time she slowed, let the car drift to a stop just past him, and waited until he approached.
He came at a normal human walking speed. A ghost? It seemed possible, though she'd never met one.
When he opened the passenger door, she was pointing a gun at him. "Get in," she said, "If that's what you're here for."
He opened the door the rest of the way, climbed in, and closed it. Then, very deliberately, he fastened his seatbelt. The straps settled against him and stayed: he was definitely flesh, though small-built and slim. He looked to be maybe twenty years old. "They aren't chasing you," he said, "but you should still keep moving."
"Who are you?" asked Sandra, her foot still on the brake.
"Nobody in particular," he said. "Not yet. Do you want help?"
"No," said Sandra.
He tilted his head, looking at her sidewise. "Not even from the vampire?"
"No."
"And not from me, either."
"Whatever you might be? Absolutely not."
He didn't react to that, just nodded absently. It might have saved his life: she still had the gun pointed at him, and the ammunition inside was meant to deal with unusual things. Or maybe he's just too damned powerful -- or too damned strange -- to worry about bullets. If he'd so much as turned, she'd have shot him. Instead, he just sat there.
"Then let me leave this," he said, and reached into his jacket. What he pulled out was a small amulet with a simple cord, which he set on the console between them. "It's just a protection. It won't let me spy on you, and it won't cost you anything. Check it yourself -- or run it by someone you trust." He tugged on the latch and swung the door open, then stepped back out into the night. His movements were still slow and casual, still utterly human. He closed the door gently and stepped back, and for a moment Sandra just stared at the dim silhouette of him outside the window.
"We should keep it," said Samantha, from the back seat.
Sandra swallowed. "...Why?"
"It's a good thing. And sometimes it's a kitten."
Wednesday, April 13, 2016
No Fate Save Concealment
Vilisant waited in the darkness under the world as they flowed through the house. So long as he remained still, he should be safe.
One of them brushed against him, darkness sliding past darkness, and a chill went through him. He had never been certain if he truly had a body here, but whatever he had didn't move, didn't reveal him. It might not be as simple as mind and body, but his reaction didn't betray his presence. He waited.
One of them swept past the chains, and he felt it tangle. Now, he thought, and moved back into the world.
He couldn't see it, even here. It was a blazing darkness, wrapped in the chains meant for him. It writhed without moving.
Vilisant felt his hands twist into claws, his mouth widen and his fangs lengthen. He leapt, clawing and biting, tearing away chunks that were more shadow than substance. If they only had blood-- He was not first to have that thought. If they bled, he could kill them. If they bled, he could drain them. If they bled, he could take their power and turn it against them.
Instead, he would have to do it the hard way... and he had no time for that. The others were all around. They were approaching now, though their paths were not straight. He leapt back, landed in the front hall, and threw himself at the locks on the door. Shadows moved around him as he turned the knobs and opened the door. Desperate, he threw a hand out and flipped on the lights: the front walk, and the front hallway. The not-quite-sounds of screaming silence filled that part of his awareness that wasn't quite his ears as he flung the door open and stepped out into the night.
They were still behind him, following in their twisting, erratic way. He couldn't return to his clan, not with them so close. It would trigger an invasion that might even succeed. No, he would have to lose himself in Twilight, first.
Gritting his teeth, he fled into the night. He hated visiting Twilight. Damn that woman anyway, he thought. If she'd come along, I wouldn't need to do this...
One of them brushed against him, darkness sliding past darkness, and a chill went through him. He had never been certain if he truly had a body here, but whatever he had didn't move, didn't reveal him. It might not be as simple as mind and body, but his reaction didn't betray his presence. He waited.
One of them swept past the chains, and he felt it tangle. Now, he thought, and moved back into the world.
He couldn't see it, even here. It was a blazing darkness, wrapped in the chains meant for him. It writhed without moving.
Vilisant felt his hands twist into claws, his mouth widen and his fangs lengthen. He leapt, clawing and biting, tearing away chunks that were more shadow than substance. If they only had blood-- He was not first to have that thought. If they bled, he could kill them. If they bled, he could drain them. If they bled, he could take their power and turn it against them.
Instead, he would have to do it the hard way... and he had no time for that. The others were all around. They were approaching now, though their paths were not straight. He leapt back, landed in the front hall, and threw himself at the locks on the door. Shadows moved around him as he turned the knobs and opened the door. Desperate, he threw a hand out and flipped on the lights: the front walk, and the front hallway. The not-quite-sounds of screaming silence filled that part of his awareness that wasn't quite his ears as he flung the door open and stepped out into the night.
They were still behind him, following in their twisting, erratic way. He couldn't return to his clan, not with them so close. It would trigger an invasion that might even succeed. No, he would have to lose himself in Twilight, first.
Gritting his teeth, he fled into the night. He hated visiting Twilight. Damn that woman anyway, he thought. If she'd come along, I wouldn't need to do this...
Monday, April 4, 2016
No Fate We Can't Escape
Sandra thought she saw something flicker out of the corner of her eye, something moving outside the window, but she was already accelerating onto the ramp and she couldn't be sure it wasn't just nerves. Nothing should be this close to them, not if the vampire was drawing them off the way he was supposed to.
"Mommy?" Samantha's voice came from the back seat, a child's voice speaking in serious, adult tones. "Did we have to leave him behind?"
"Yes," said Sandra firmly.
"He really did want to protect us."
"He was a vampire, honey." Sandra let her voice soften a little. "That's not the kind of protection we need."
"I think maybe it is," said Samantha. "He has a lot more power than you do, Mommy. And he was scared of the ones who were coming."
Good, she thought. Maybe they'll kill him. She recognized the vehemence of the thought, its defensiveness. Am I really feeling guilty about wanting to steal power from a vampire? She wasn't sure. She hadn't done it, and maybe that was all that mattered. Becoming a vampire might have helped her defend her daughter, but maybe it would have destroyed everything she'd done so far, all the plans she'd laid and steps she'd taken. Maybe the vampire had been right; maybe it would have made her more vulnerable, at least in the short term. "Power isn't everything," she said.
"I wish I didn't have any power," said Samantha. "Then nobody would care what I did."
Sandra kept her speed just above the speed limit, and bit back her first three responses. She wished her daughter had been born mundane, too, instead of with those wise, old eyes and those dismaying insights; she loved her daughter just as she was, vision and all; after the time she'd spent among witches and travelers, studying the enemy and researching defenses, she didn't even know whether having power was good or bad. "It's not that simple, honey," she said, and managed not to flinch when her daughter replied, "I know."
Moving carefully, carrying only the essentials, they left the city behind.
"Mommy?" Samantha's voice came from the back seat, a child's voice speaking in serious, adult tones. "Did we have to leave him behind?"
"Yes," said Sandra firmly.
"He really did want to protect us."
"He was a vampire, honey." Sandra let her voice soften a little. "That's not the kind of protection we need."
"I think maybe it is," said Samantha. "He has a lot more power than you do, Mommy. And he was scared of the ones who were coming."
Good, she thought. Maybe they'll kill him. She recognized the vehemence of the thought, its defensiveness. Am I really feeling guilty about wanting to steal power from a vampire? She wasn't sure. She hadn't done it, and maybe that was all that mattered. Becoming a vampire might have helped her defend her daughter, but maybe it would have destroyed everything she'd done so far, all the plans she'd laid and steps she'd taken. Maybe the vampire had been right; maybe it would have made her more vulnerable, at least in the short term. "Power isn't everything," she said.
"I wish I didn't have any power," said Samantha. "Then nobody would care what I did."
Sandra kept her speed just above the speed limit, and bit back her first three responses. She wished her daughter had been born mundane, too, instead of with those wise, old eyes and those dismaying insights; she loved her daughter just as she was, vision and all; after the time she'd spent among witches and travelers, studying the enemy and researching defenses, she didn't even know whether having power was good or bad. "It's not that simple, honey," she said, and managed not to flinch when her daughter replied, "I know."
Moving carefully, carrying only the essentials, they left the city behind.
Thursday, March 31, 2016
No Fate but the Darkness
Vilisant slipped the last of the chains from his ankles and stepped to the far side of the kitchen. The damnable woman had woven bindings through the steel, and even lying in a pile on the floor they were still trying to hold him in place. True to her word, she had taken the girl and gone, leaving him behind to slow their pursuers.
For a moment he just stood there, almost too furious to move: angry at the oracle Shiran, who had told him he was fated to marry this woman; angry at himself for thinking that she would want his help, let alone be grateful; angry at Sandra for dismissing him. Though that is at least better than taking my heart's blood for her own, or leaving me trapped here. He considered that thought more closely: wouldn't Shiran have been surprised if his fated lover had left him to die?
Then he closed all that away. He still had to protect the girl, no matter how much of a mess he and her mother had made of things so far.
He faded, moving in a direction that ordinary humans couldn't even perceive, sinking into the darkness beneath the world's skin. It wouldn't be long now.
For a moment he just stood there, almost too furious to move: angry at the oracle Shiran, who had told him he was fated to marry this woman; angry at himself for thinking that she would want his help, let alone be grateful; angry at Sandra for dismissing him. Though that is at least better than taking my heart's blood for her own, or leaving me trapped here. He considered that thought more closely: wouldn't Shiran have been surprised if his fated lover had left him to die?
Then he closed all that away. He still had to protect the girl, no matter how much of a mess he and her mother had made of things so far.
He faded, moving in a direction that ordinary humans couldn't even perceive, sinking into the darkness beneath the world's skin. It wouldn't be long now.
Monday, March 28, 2016
No Fate Except Our Character
"It won't be equal terms," the vampire said, but Sandra ignored him. There might have been a note of desperation in his voice, or it might have been her imagination. There might have been a note of admiration in there too, but that was almost certainly her imagination.
"My blood is old, undiluted. You will be stronger than any other new-risen, but you will not have my age. You will not have had time to hone your skills, explore your powers, or adjust to your new perceptions."
She ignored that as well and stepped closer, tracing the movements in her mind: one long cut along the vein, one deep cut to open the vein inside his thigh, and her arm into the bucket of warm water so her blood wouldn't clot. It wasn't quite murder, because he wasn't truly alive. It wasn't quite suicide, either, as she wouldn't truly die. Two quick cuts, and she would be ready -- or more ready -- to defend her daughter.
She placed the blade against her arm.
"My clan will never accept you, never protect you. You will die, and your daughter will be taken."
Not if I'm quick, Sandra thought. Not if I'm strong.
She hadn't moved. She hadn't drawn the blade along her arm, hadn't tried to find the vein and slice it lengthwise.
She wasn't going to do it.
It wasn't her own pain she was afraid of. It wasn't drinking his blood, either. It wasn't even completing his death, however long ago his death had begun -- not exactly. She just couldn't do it. Fighting in self-defense was one thing; draining the heart's blood from a helpless prisoner... Apparently she didn't have that in her, no matter how devoted she liked to think she was to protecting her daughter.
She removed the blade from her arm and called, "Samantha! Grab the Go Bag! We're leaving."
"You can't leave him here, Mom." Samantha was already standing in the doorway, already holding the Go Bag. "They're almost here. They'll kill him before he gets loose."
"Fine." Sandra hesitated. She wasn't that interested in saving a vampire's... existence. But if she wasn't going to finish him herself, it seemed cowardly to leave him helpless for the others who were hunting them. She looked at that not-quite-human face. "If I turn you loose, will you leave us alone?"
"I can't let them take the girl," he said.
"Then distract them!" She stepped around behind him, and fumbled the locks loose from the chains. She dropped the keys when she was done; one way or another, she wouldn't need them anymore.
Samantha was already in the car. Sandra followed, leaving the vampire twisting back and forth to shrug off the chains and rise from the chair.
"My blood is old, undiluted. You will be stronger than any other new-risen, but you will not have my age. You will not have had time to hone your skills, explore your powers, or adjust to your new perceptions."
She ignored that as well and stepped closer, tracing the movements in her mind: one long cut along the vein, one deep cut to open the vein inside his thigh, and her arm into the bucket of warm water so her blood wouldn't clot. It wasn't quite murder, because he wasn't truly alive. It wasn't quite suicide, either, as she wouldn't truly die. Two quick cuts, and she would be ready -- or more ready -- to defend her daughter.
She placed the blade against her arm.
"My clan will never accept you, never protect you. You will die, and your daughter will be taken."
Not if I'm quick, Sandra thought. Not if I'm strong.
She hadn't moved. She hadn't drawn the blade along her arm, hadn't tried to find the vein and slice it lengthwise.
She wasn't going to do it.
It wasn't her own pain she was afraid of. It wasn't drinking his blood, either. It wasn't even completing his death, however long ago his death had begun -- not exactly. She just couldn't do it. Fighting in self-defense was one thing; draining the heart's blood from a helpless prisoner... Apparently she didn't have that in her, no matter how devoted she liked to think she was to protecting her daughter.
She removed the blade from her arm and called, "Samantha! Grab the Go Bag! We're leaving."
"You can't leave him here, Mom." Samantha was already standing in the doorway, already holding the Go Bag. "They're almost here. They'll kill him before he gets loose."
"Fine." Sandra hesitated. She wasn't that interested in saving a vampire's... existence. But if she wasn't going to finish him herself, it seemed cowardly to leave him helpless for the others who were hunting them. She looked at that not-quite-human face. "If I turn you loose, will you leave us alone?"
"I can't let them take the girl," he said.
"Then distract them!" She stepped around behind him, and fumbled the locks loose from the chains. She dropped the keys when she was done; one way or another, she wouldn't need them anymore.
Samantha was already in the car. Sandra followed, leaving the vampire twisting back and forth to shrug off the chains and rise from the chair.
Wednesday, March 23, 2016
No Fate Except The Blood
By the time he woke up, Sandra had him chained to one of the stout steel chairs that normally sat out on the porch. They were incredibly heavy, and hauling one inside had taken some real effort, but this was exactly why she owned them: they were essentially unbreakable, and extremely difficult to move... especially for someone sitting in them.
Her prisoner came awake without any particular reaction. One moment he was unconscious; the next, he lifted his head and looked at her. She could see the brief surge of movement as he flexed his muscles, looking for a way out of his bonds. None of that showed on his face; his eyes were fixed on her, and his expression was utterly neutral.
"You must be pretty experienced..." Sandra let the word hang, thinking, Old. Powerful. "...to get past the wards. And I don't recall inviting you in."
He looked powerful. Some of it was in his build: broad shouldered and heavily muscled, and utterly lacking in body fat. More of it was in the way he had strained against the chains, and the way he sat as if their weight was barely worth noticing. An ordinary man would have had trouble drawing breath, but of course that wouldn't bother him. "I had to bleed two of them," he admitted. "Drain them until they couldn't hold me or alert you. It wasn't easy."
That was good, if he was telling the truth. Sandra didn't know, and at this point didn't much care. If he had found them, others could; and if others could, they would. "And then shut off the light, and then wait in the dark until I came to the kitchen."
"Yes," he said. "I have to take you away from here."
"No," she said. "You don't."
"If you know what I am..." He strained against the chains again, more -- she thought -- to make the point than to try to escape. "...Then you know I'm here to help."
"I know nothing of the sort," she said.
For a moment, he looked completely blank: the wary, alert lack of expression dissolving into a total slackness that more resembled unconsciousness or death. Then he blinked, and face regained expression if not animation. "But you are to be my bride. You and I are destined to be one. You will marry me, and my clan will protect you, and keep the girl safe from those who hunt her."
Sandra shook her head. "No," she said. "I won't. I'll keep my daughter safe, but I'll do it on my terms." She glanced towards the doorway, and as she'd expected she saw Samantha standing there with the old metal bucket they used for scrubbing.
"This isn't the only way, mommy," said Samantha in her little-girl voice. She was seven, dark-haired and precocious even without her other talents.
Sandra crossed the room and took the bucket from her hands, then bent to kiss the top of her daughter's head. "It will work, though, won't it?"
"Yes, mommy." Samantha looked sad. "It will work. It will change you, but it will work."
"Try not to watch," said Sandra, knowing it was futile. Her daughter couldn't help but see -- from her room, from anywhere in the city, from anywhere on the planet. That was why they wanted her, whoever they were. That was why Sandra had to keep her away from them -- even the ones who wanted to protect her.
She carried the bucket to the sink, hearing the patter of bare feet as Samantha retreated to her room. She filled it halfway with warm water, then lifted it out and carried it back to her prisoner. She set the bucket just in front of his chair. "I know how this works," she told him. "My daughter explained it. I let my blood out, and I take yours in, and I become like you." She pulled the knife from where she had clipped it into the waistband of her pajamas. "I'll be one with you," she said. "I'll be part of your clan. Maybe the part they want to hunt down and kill, but at least I'll be dealing with them on equal terms."
Her prisoner twitched, and for a heartbeat she thought he might actually break the chains. Then he was still again, and still her prisoner. "Please," he said.
She didn't look at him. She was busy focusing on what she had to do. It would take two clean slices, if she was lucky: one along the veins in her wrist, to open them in a way that wouldn't close up; and a deeper one into his inner thigh, where the dark blood would come pouring out. She would leave her arm draining into the bucket while she took the blood from his body. She needed his strength, but not as a protector; she needed it for her own.
Her prisoner came awake without any particular reaction. One moment he was unconscious; the next, he lifted his head and looked at her. She could see the brief surge of movement as he flexed his muscles, looking for a way out of his bonds. None of that showed on his face; his eyes were fixed on her, and his expression was utterly neutral.
"You must be pretty experienced..." Sandra let the word hang, thinking, Old. Powerful. "...to get past the wards. And I don't recall inviting you in."
He looked powerful. Some of it was in his build: broad shouldered and heavily muscled, and utterly lacking in body fat. More of it was in the way he had strained against the chains, and the way he sat as if their weight was barely worth noticing. An ordinary man would have had trouble drawing breath, but of course that wouldn't bother him. "I had to bleed two of them," he admitted. "Drain them until they couldn't hold me or alert you. It wasn't easy."
That was good, if he was telling the truth. Sandra didn't know, and at this point didn't much care. If he had found them, others could; and if others could, they would. "And then shut off the light, and then wait in the dark until I came to the kitchen."
"Yes," he said. "I have to take you away from here."
"No," she said. "You don't."
"If you know what I am..." He strained against the chains again, more -- she thought -- to make the point than to try to escape. "...Then you know I'm here to help."
"I know nothing of the sort," she said.
For a moment, he looked completely blank: the wary, alert lack of expression dissolving into a total slackness that more resembled unconsciousness or death. Then he blinked, and face regained expression if not animation. "But you are to be my bride. You and I are destined to be one. You will marry me, and my clan will protect you, and keep the girl safe from those who hunt her."
Sandra shook her head. "No," she said. "I won't. I'll keep my daughter safe, but I'll do it on my terms." She glanced towards the doorway, and as she'd expected she saw Samantha standing there with the old metal bucket they used for scrubbing.
"This isn't the only way, mommy," said Samantha in her little-girl voice. She was seven, dark-haired and precocious even without her other talents.
Sandra crossed the room and took the bucket from her hands, then bent to kiss the top of her daughter's head. "It will work, though, won't it?"
"Yes, mommy." Samantha looked sad. "It will work. It will change you, but it will work."
"Try not to watch," said Sandra, knowing it was futile. Her daughter couldn't help but see -- from her room, from anywhere in the city, from anywhere on the planet. That was why they wanted her, whoever they were. That was why Sandra had to keep her away from them -- even the ones who wanted to protect her.
She carried the bucket to the sink, hearing the patter of bare feet as Samantha retreated to her room. She filled it halfway with warm water, then lifted it out and carried it back to her prisoner. She set the bucket just in front of his chair. "I know how this works," she told him. "My daughter explained it. I let my blood out, and I take yours in, and I become like you." She pulled the knife from where she had clipped it into the waistband of her pajamas. "I'll be one with you," she said. "I'll be part of your clan. Maybe the part they want to hunt down and kill, but at least I'll be dealing with them on equal terms."
Her prisoner twitched, and for a heartbeat she thought he might actually break the chains. Then he was still again, and still her prisoner. "Please," he said.
She didn't look at him. She was busy focusing on what she had to do. It would take two clean slices, if she was lucky: one along the veins in her wrist, to open them in a way that wouldn't close up; and a deeper one into his inner thigh, where the dark blood would come pouring out. She would leave her arm draining into the bucket while she took the blood from his body. She needed his strength, but not as a protector; she needed it for her own.
Sunday, March 20, 2016
No Fate But What We Make...
The kitchen was dark, and flicking the switch made no difference: the light must have burned out. Sandra sighed, and took three careful steps towards the refrigerator, feeling her way by sliding her feet. As she shifted her weight to take the fourth step, and hand came out of the darkness and closed over her mouth.
"Do not fear--" said a soft voice, which cut off in a grunt as Sandra stomped down on its owner's foot, then elbowed him in the belly, then smashed the back of her fist down into his crotch. She pivoted, and caught him in the face with a palm strike just as he started to duck, then grabbed his head and added another knee to the groin and followed it up with a tight, snapping heel-kick that dislocated his kneecap. She could tell from the feel of the impact, and from the way he suddenly collapsed onto his side, gasping.
"Wait!" he wheezed, but she kicked him again anyway: ribs and kidneys, then forearms and head when he curled up to try to protect himself. He tried to roll away, but she followed, still stomping and kicking.
Then Samantha was in the doorway, a tiny figure who should have been utterly vulnerable, even with the intruder on the floor. Instead, with that uncanny knowledge of where she needed to be and what she needed to do, she called: "Mom! Taser!" and tossed something to Sandra. By the time Sandra caught it, Samantha was out of the doorway and gone.
Sandra flipped the taser around, pulled the trigger by feel, and jabbed the contacts into the intruder's neck. Tasers weren't anywhere near as non-lethal as most people thought, but she didn't care. Anybody who had managed to slip into her house unnoticed needed to be put down hard. She held the trigger down, juicing the guy until the batteries ran dry.
"Do not fear--" said a soft voice, which cut off in a grunt as Sandra stomped down on its owner's foot, then elbowed him in the belly, then smashed the back of her fist down into his crotch. She pivoted, and caught him in the face with a palm strike just as he started to duck, then grabbed his head and added another knee to the groin and followed it up with a tight, snapping heel-kick that dislocated his kneecap. She could tell from the feel of the impact, and from the way he suddenly collapsed onto his side, gasping.
"Wait!" he wheezed, but she kicked him again anyway: ribs and kidneys, then forearms and head when he curled up to try to protect himself. He tried to roll away, but she followed, still stomping and kicking.
Then Samantha was in the doorway, a tiny figure who should have been utterly vulnerable, even with the intruder on the floor. Instead, with that uncanny knowledge of where she needed to be and what she needed to do, she called: "Mom! Taser!" and tossed something to Sandra. By the time Sandra caught it, Samantha was out of the doorway and gone.
Sandra flipped the taser around, pulled the trigger by feel, and jabbed the contacts into the intruder's neck. Tasers weren't anywhere near as non-lethal as most people thought, but she didn't care. Anybody who had managed to slip into her house unnoticed needed to be put down hard. She held the trigger down, juicing the guy until the batteries ran dry.
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