OC + NPC Backstory Lore
Word Count: 30,400
The air was thick with smoke. Behind her, the flames consumed what had been her safehouse for the past few weeks. Charlie stumbled, the heat pushing her away, the instinctive fear to get away as fast as possible warring with the guilt that she couldn’t leave them behind… even though their screams died out one after the other. Newborns, fledgelings, Kindred who hadn’t done anything wrong except be Embraced and abandoned. Most of them were younger than she was. Now they were burning. If she’d been home when the fire started, she’d have burned too. Only luck and hunger had kept her from staying where they’d all thought they’d be safe. And she hadn’t even found a safe meal. Cold tears of blood dripped down her face as she turned and looked back at the flames curling into the night, smoke billowing like a funeral pyre – which perhaps it now was. Something moved within the inferno. A shambling, blackened corpse trying to claw its way to the open door, unable to scream anymore because all that was left in its lungs was ash, before collapsing into embers.
Run. They are beyond saving. Save the ones still living.
She turned her back to the fire and ran. All over Paris, similar fires were burning. To the mortal world, it was riots. Arson. Revolution. Whatever they wanted to think and believe. The body count would be much lower than the reality, because the Kindred corpses would be nothing but ash by morning.
Dry your tears until you are safe. The night is not over yet.
It would be far easier if you were here.
Yes. But it is not so. I will guide you how I can. It is your strength that will keep you alive, now.
Her sire’s voice went quiet, but she still felt his presence in her mind. He was indeed still with her. Centuries of knowledge she’d barely even scratched the surface of in the decade or so since she’d been given a second chance at life, and the best he could do was whisper in the back of her thoughts when she needed him most. Not even a year since they’d parted and she felt the emptiness where he’d once been at her side. More screams caught her attention, and she ducked around a corner to see a small group huddled together in the alley, frozen in terror as smoke and flames billowed out of the broken windows barely five feet from them. The bat-like visage of a Nosferatu looked downright terrifying in the shadows cast by the flames, but she powered through the hesitation when she smelled blood. The Nosferatu was supporting a gorgeous young man who looked untouched by ash and smoke, but the man’s face was deathly pale and twisted in pain; another beautiful woman was quickly speaking to him, words jumbling together as she told the man to stay conscious while she held her hands against a deep slash in his side from which a steady stream of blood fell. Toreadors, by the looks of them, as she remembered what Óttar had taught her about how to identify possible clans by appearance and abilities. Another Toreador woman was clutching the lapels of a stocky young man as he held his wrist to the wounded one, giving precious sips of blood to speed the healing. They all looked up as she rounded the corner, fangs bared and eyes glinting in the flames with fear and trepidation. She slowed her pace, forcing herself closer to the fire as it continued to spread.
“I know these streets. The fire will not be stopped by the buildings. Please, this way! Quickly!” She motioned for them to follow the way she’d just come. “You cannot stay here!”
“Why should we trust you?” The rugged young man practically growled the words as he eased his wrist from the wounded Toreador, staring her in the eye like a challenge. There was a weight to his words and his presence, powerful enough that she almost took a step back. An intimidation ability? Now is not the time to fight! “How do we know you won’t lead us to our deaths?”
“You don’t. But you can follow me, or you can stay here and burn. The other end of this alley has been barricaded since two nights ago.” An ominous, wooden groan filled the air. All of them turned and watched as the building leaned sideways, the supports giving under the weight and the damage. “We need to move now!”
The threat of being crushed got the group moving. The injured one managed to stay upright, stumbling along with the Nosferatu’s help as she led them out, weaving between cover as flames, shadows, and shapes filled the night. Their progress was halted when a massive, twisted form of flesh and bone burst through the front of a shop, screeching as it scrambled to regain its footing. It barely looked human, scraps of cloth clinging to its limbs – a vampire powerful enough to shift into a horrendous form, and it was struggling against dozens of wounds that sizzled and smoked. Two human shapes leapt out of the wreckage in pursuit, one a lanky man whose fists dripped with vampire blood and the other man wearing a heavy snakeskin coat over fine silks. Without breaking stride she pivoted and threw herself at the door of the bakery next to her, feeling an immediate ache in her shoulder from the impact but there was enough strength behind it that the door gave way. “Through here, now!”
Her group followed without hesitation, away from the battle, but mocking laughs followed them. They’d been spotted. She led them through the kitchen, past counters covered in dough left to proof, and out the back only to be hit with a wall of ashes. The fire had caught up to them. “Back! Into the kitchen!”
The leader, who by now she assumed was most likely a Brujah, grabbed her arm before she could run past him. “But those others outside –”
“I will lead them away.” Charlie looked him in the eye and rested her hand atop his for just a moment, not prying it off yet, hoping he would trust her again. “Stay in here unless the flames spread. When it is safe, you run. Follow the road until you see a hat shop. Take a right at the corner and don’t stop until you see the gardens. If the gardens still stand, there should be a Tzimice within who can hide you. Tell her Charlene sent you.”
“Charlene…” The Brujah released his grip. “I don’t know how we could ever thank you.”
“Survive. That is all I ask.” She spun on her heel and took two steps before the man spoke again.
“Francois.”
“Until next we meet, Francois.” Then she was moving. Out in the street, the monstrous form that had broken the shop had reverted, leaving the shriveled husk of a woman behind. The two attackers stood over her, both their heads snapping up at Charlie’s appearance. She caught a glimpse of sadistic grins, fangs bared on them both, before she took off like a bullet in the opposite direction she’d told Francois’s group to run. Follow me, now. Leave them be. She heard footsteps and kept a steady pace, slipping a hand under her coat in preparation. The second she felt a tug at the back of her clothes she threw her weight forward and down, taking her pursuer down with her from the unexpected change in momentum. The man sailed over her as she rolled upright, muscle memory from Óttar’s instruction taking over as she recovered from the tumble and drew the stake from the hidden pocket. The man’s eyes widened, mouth opening to shout something, but she plunged the stake into his chest before he could get a noise out. He went limp almost immediately, and she heard a delighted laugh behind her. The other man was enjoying the show. She pushed herself up again, feeling the exhaustion starting to creep in, and started running again. His footsteps followed, and he was fast. A blow hit her square between the shoulders, knocking her off-balance and forcing her to turn the momentum into another tumble, scrambling up and into another alley just as sparks flew from metal hitting brick inches behind her. The man had a sword, probably the same one that had injured the fallen vampire’s horrid form.
Pain flashed across her leg and she stumbled. A whoosh filled the air, and she turned just in time to catch the tip of the blade across her bicep. It burned, making her gasp with pain. The man said nothing, but his sadistic smile and serpentine fangs spoke volumes. Again, he swung at her; she raised her arms in front of her face, feeling the blade bite deeper than it should, leaving wounds that sizzled and smoked. She couldn't help but let out a scream from the pain, wracking her brain for a way out. What else can I do? Am I strong enough to…? It was worth a shot. Peeking between her arms, she sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. “Stab yourself.”
The man’s brow furrowed, confusion replacing the delight, but he swung again. Charlie braced for the impact, but his roar of pain echoed in her ears instead. His swing had missed her entirely, the blade burying itself in his thigh. The look on his face became pure venom, the sadistic joy gone. “Oh, you bitch! I will take immense pleasure in making your suffering last–”
Then he suddenly spun, wrenching his blade free from his leg just in time for a deafening metallic ring to fill the alley. His blade had just barely stopped another from slicing him in half. Looming over them both was a tall, lanky man whose eyes blazed the same crimson shade as his hair, face set in a determined snarl.
“Strange. I mistook you for a man at first. Only a beast would attack a defenseless woman.” The man spoke a language Charlie didn’t understand, but the tone of his voice was cold, measured, and full of disdain.
“Oh-ho, mon cher! You are strong! But you’ve interrupted my fun.” Her attacker pushed the newcomer off his blade, fully turning his back on her. Clearly, he thought the redhead was a bigger threat. “This one is full of hope and kindness. I was so dearly looking forward to breaking her.”
“Then I am happy to disappoint,” the man said, his French slightly stiff and stilted with an accent Charlie couldn’t place.
“You think you can best me, child? I can smell it in your blood; you are younger, and you are weaker. Drop your blade and I shall free you from the binds of your unlife and the lies of your humanity.” The man smiled, fangs on full display, and charged without waiting for an answer. Their blades clashed with enough intensity it hurt Charlie’s ears, but she was too busy with her hands to plug them. Half her attention was on the fight, but she saw that while the attacker was indeed stronger, forcing the foreigner to give ground, the foreigner was faster, more nimble with his strikes. Then the man’s free hand caught the foreigner’s wrist, twisting it as his neck crunched and stretched farther than it should, serpentine fangs reaching for his neck and Charlie sucked in another breath, frozen, caught in indecision. Before she could move, the foreigner’s face twisted and he spat a spray of blood into the attacker’s face. He shrieked, stumbled back as his skin sizzled where the blood covered it, the blade falling from his hands as he convulsed and went stiff. Just as he started to tilt backwards, she lunged – the wooden shard from a broken windowsill she’d found in her scrabble in the alley clutched in one hand. Wrapping one arm around his throat, she held him in place as she plunged the makeshift stake deep into his chest. The man couldn’t even draw breath to scream. His eyes went wide, shock finally overriding the cocky sneer… and then he went limp, eyes fluttering shut even as the blood on his face continued to sizzle. She let him fall then, his skin losing color and muscles losing bulk as the torpor took effect.
Then it was just her and the foreigner, staring at each other. For a moment, she wondered if he’d only fought her attacker to claim her as his kill, but instead of advancing on her, he sheathed his blade and gave her a small bow. It took her a second to find her words. “I thank you, monsieur, for your assistance. His blade… I had not expected it to bite so deep.”
“Are you alright?” He spoke again in the language she didn’t understand. He speaks the new tongue of the Saxons. She pursed her lips. You did not teach me that one. When the man saw she didn’t understand, he cleared his throat and switched to accented French again. “My apologies. Are you alright, madamoiselle? The bite of blood sorcery cuts deep when used to strengthen a blade. It will heal, do not worry.”
She crossed her arms, not able to hide the slashes but very aware of the blood streaking her sleeves and gloves. “I will be fine, thanks to you.”
He seemed to sense her caution, and his expression softened slightly. “Perhaps it will ease your fears if I introduce myself properly. I am Alastair MacKearney. I hail from Ireland, but I am of the clan Banu Haqim.”
Banu Haqim.
The peacekeepers, so to speak. Take caution, but he may be an ally in this moment. But do not linger in his presence. Take your leave when you can. The calmest blood hides the deepest hunger.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur MacKearney. I am Charlene Roche. I am…” She hesitated, but was spared answering by the pops of musket fire and pained cries only a street or two over. They both flinched at the noises and looked at each other.
“Perhaps we can save introductions for later and see how many more souls we can save tonight?” Alastair reached into his coat and pulled a polished wooden stake from an inner pocket, holding it out to her. “Care to accompany me, Madamoiselle Roche?”
A small smile crept across her face, but died just as fast as she thought of how many she hadn’t been able to save in time so far. Two will be better than one. And he is much better with a blade than I am. She stepped forward, took the stake, and nodded.
“Excellent. Let us move.” He gave her a wolfish grin, a mischievous glimmer in his eye; despite her reservations, she couldn't help but admire how handsome he looked illuminated by the moon and flames.
It was one of the longest nights of her life, but with her new companion by her side, slowly the number of fledgelings and childer they managed to save from the flames and the stakes began to overtake the number they didn’t. By the time the sky began to grow light with the impending sunrise, the exhaustion of sleep pulling at them both, she no longer felt weighed down by the losses she hadn’t been able to prevent on her own. However, a different anxiety stirred in her now, besides the ache of hunger from a night spent fighting and surviving. As the two of them finally made it to the outskirts of the city, putting the fires and tragedy behind them, she took a deep breath and finally asked the question she’d been turning over in her mind for hours now. “If it is not too much trouble, Monsieur MacKearney… may I travel with you a little longer? If only for a night or two? My haven was burned and I have no safe place to rest…”
“I would not mind in the slightest. There is a safehouse not far from here that I set up when I arrived. It is quiet, and there are horses if we need to travel.” He offered an arm, and she took it without even thinking. They were both somewhat unsteady, both from exertion and hunger, and it helped to lean against each other as they walked. “Not to sound dismissive of human life, but there will be opportunities to feed before we rest tonight, or if the sun is impatient, tomorrow evening when we wake. And please, you may call me Alastair. We have been through enough tonight that I believe we don’t have to stand on formality anymore.”
“It is much appreciated, Alastair. You may call me Charlene… but to my friends, I also go by Charlie.”
“Well then. I would be delighted to remain in your company for a bit longer, Charlie.” Alastair gave her another sly grin, nudging her slightly with his hip as they walked. That earned another smile from her, and this time she didn’t try to fight it. For the first time in a long time, she no longer felt quite so alone.
It was supposed to be simple. Though he and Charlie had found a sense of stability, if not peace, over the past decade, his duties to his sire and his clan were hung over him like a cloud that refused to disperse no matter how strong the winds blew. No matter where they traveled, a courier always managed to find him with a message or a mission. Sometimes weeks or months would pass between his tasks, sometimes it was a matter of days. Yet through it all, Charlie would wait for him to return. Despite his protests and warnings, she rarely stayed in the haven or safehouse. While she kept her distance enough to not interfere, often staying at least several streets away while he completed his task, he always knew she was close by, waiting to help him clean up and calm down when needed. Over the past few years she’d learned a new skill to soothe him after seeing how ragged and mentally exhausted he could become from pushing his own skills to the limit. When his willpower was taxed, her touch and her words would calm his nerves. It was a balm against the hunger, against the compulsion to seek more injustice to right, and sometimes even against the beast scratching at the corners of his mind.
It was supposed to be just another job. Another human skirmish that Kindred were using as a cover to settle their own petty grudges and rivalries. Nothing severe enough to be noted in the history books; he doubted the fights would even make so much as a footnote in society’s memory. After all, human memories were short. Even committing history to text wasn’t enough. So much was forgotten.
But a breach in the masquerade would not be accepted. So it fell to him yet again, by the charge of his sire, to ensure it did not happen.
And yet, it had not been so simple. The courier’s message had said there were only two offending vampires. So he’d gone in expecting a decent, if annoying, fight. Apparently, in the days between receiving the message and traveling to the city, the vampires had been recruiting. He’d expected two Tremere. He hadn’t expected them to be accompanied by a Lasombra, a Tzimice, and a Gangrel. Of the five, only the Lasombra had the brains to back down after seeing Alastair’s blade fell one of the Tremere and the Gangrel. Unfortunately, the remaining two were not just stubborn – they were skilled. The Tremere’s sorcery was on par with Alastair’s, making her daggers bite just as viciously as his sword. They would’ve been an even match, the battle decided by who struck faster, had it not been for the Tzimice. The two-hit combo of the fleshcrafter’s domination commands chipped away at his willpower while a flock of blackbirds and a swarm of rats pecked and snapped at his eyes and ankles kept him distracted long enough to take more wounds in the fight than he’d received in years. His blood burned, both from exertion and the Tremere’s sorcery. It took a massive surge of energy to push his body fast enough to cut down the swarm of animals faster than the Tzimice could summon them, seeing the vampire’s face and hands shift as their bones crunched, nearly taking on a much larger and stronger form before his blade pierced their heart. There wasn’t enough of his blood coating his blade to end them, but it was enough to send them to torpor. They crumpled, and then it was just him and the Tremere.
They circled each other like the beasts they carried just beneath the surface, drenched in blood neither wished to drink even if doing so would refresh their strength even a little. His hand shook and it took all his focus to keep his sword clenched tight. Dropping it would be his end. The Tremere hissed, her smile long since faded as she watched Alastair cut down her allies. He hissed back. He’d have to end this fast before he burned through the last of his blood. Hunger plucked at his veins already, the scent of both his blood and the Tremere’s hanging heavily in the air, almost intoxicatingly thick.
The Tremere’s head dropped just an inch. Alastair was faster. He lunged before she even pushed off her feet, sword glinting in the moonlight where it wasn’t coated in red. Her dagger came up barely in time to catch it, redirecting the strike to her heart into her shoulder. Nonlethal. She used his momentum to catch him off-balance at the peak of his strike, when his torso was left open. Her hand, fingers tipped with curved claws, sank deep into his stomach. Instantly, a burning, stinging pain spread through him – her blood sizzled on his skin and clothes even as he felt a paralyzing numbness take hold in his veins. It took everything he had to force his limbs to keep moving, barely winning out against the wicked sorcery. I can do that, too. He wrenched his sword free and ran the length of the blade down his palm, imbuing it with a fresh coating of blood. Please, let this work. He exhaled, the paralyzing numbness fading as his blood itself burned in his body. The hunger grew. But when he struck again, a slash across the woman’s chest from shoulder to hip, she screeched as wisps of smoke rose from her body as well. He’d concentrated every bit of sorcery into the strike, watching the edges of her wound sizzle and melt under the corrosive properties of his blood, and for a moment allowed himself a satisfied, cruel smile knowing this would take her down.
But that moment was a mistake, because he’d been watching the wound. Not her hand.
The hand that still clutched the dagger.
As she fell, it sank into his shoulder. The weight of her body pulled the dagger around and down, carving along the socket, severing muscle and tendon and burning with the dregs of her sorcery. The air left his lungs in one pained snarl and he couldn’t muster the strength to draw another breath. His arm went completely numb, knees almost buckling, nearly following his quarry to the ground. But through some miracle, he stayed standing. Barely. She hit the ground, dagger slipping from limp fingers, and did not move again. She was spent. Blood loss and injuries pulled her into torpor. He wasted no time as the last of his strength ebbed, dragging the bodies of the fallen into a bloody pile, not caring if it twisted limbs and exacerbated wounds.
Lips pulled back from his fangs, snarl still present, he fished around his coat pocket for the tinderbox with his working arm until he found it. None of these insurgents would see the sunrise, let alone sunset. It took an infuriatingly long time to light the matches with one hand, but he managed it and tossed it onto the bodies. Their clothes and hair caught immediately, the sudden burst of light and heat driving him backwards until he collided with the wall behind him. He resisted the instinct to run from the flames just long enough to ensure all the vampires were burning, then gave in and ran, clutching his shoulder in a futile attempt to staunch the bleeding. Get out of here. Get back. Stay conscious.
The streets were still mostly empty at this hour, thankfully. Empty of humans and their vitae that would tempt him, give him his strength back, pull him into a feeding frenzy if he lost control – and given his current state, he knew there was a concerningly high chance of that happening. He stuck to the alleys and the shadows, forcing one foot in front of the other, clenching his jaw so tight it ached and his fangs dug into his lip. But he was getting close. Just a couple more blocks.
He stumbled, one arm hanging limp and useless. His shoulder collided painfully with the brick wall, leaving a smear of blood as he forced one foot in front of the other. Keep going. She’s waiting for you. She’ll make it better. The alley tilted in front of him like he was back on the ocean, but knowing he was on land, his legs refused to adapt one way or the other. The hunger ached in his bones and he felt the Beast creeping closer. He had to rest. He had to feed. Sunrise was hours away still but his eyes were growing heavy. He coughed, tasting blood, and spat a thick gob onto the ground. His clothes were drenched in blood, not entirely his, but becoming more his with every passing moment.
Lavender filled the air. Hands caught him as he tipped forward. A soft, warm voice met his ears and his knees almost buckled on the spot. “Doucement, mon amour. Je te tiens. I’ve got you.”
“Charlie…” She smelled so good. Lavender and love and worry. Be careful. Keep your distance. Yet when she slung his good arm over her shoulder to help keep him upright, he leaned in closer.
“Not far now. Keep going. That’s it, love.” Step by step, Charlie led him through the streets. Occasionally, they paused, waiting for a carriage or a group of late-night stragglers to pass by before slipping from one shadow to the next. The haven was close. The entire time, Charlie kept talking to him. Kept him focused on her voice instead of the scents of blood that carried the promise of life and strength for each human they passed… and instead of her own scent. His beast remained caged, but just barely. “Easy does it. There we go.”
He barely noticed when they stepped into the rickety old house, long abandoned by humans. The smell of dust and mildew clung to the air even after they’d left the windows open each night to clear it out. It was hardly luxurious, but it had been a decent enough space for the few days he’d planned on them being in town. Charlie eased him down onto the threadbare mattress and unbuttoned his shirt to get a better look at his injuries, particularly the deep laceration across his shoulder, easing the ruined fabric down his arms until the shirt was off.
“It looks worse than it is,” he said.
“You are a poor liar.” When she tried to move his arm to test the range of motion, he hissed in pain, flinching instinctively. “Oh, mon cher. There would have been no shame in retreating. Must you act as if your life means so little?”
“I do no such thing,” he protested weakly. “But if I failed my duties… if I did not remind them of the price for nearly breaching the masquerade…”
“Then another would be sent in your place. Believe me, Alastair, the disappointment of your sire will be nothing compared to my anger if you are not more careful with your life.” Charlie’s voice was steady, but he felt the way her hands trembled slightly as she plucked at the wound, felt around the shoulder itself, and with a sudden pop, pulled it back into the socket. She tore his shirt into strips and started packing and bandaging the laceration itself as best she could. The bleeding had slowed, but the wounds were deep and polluted with the Tremere’s sorcery still. She was worried about him.
And he was hungry. He had to hunt. She was too close. Smelled too good. He’d have to risk the frenzy with a human. He tried to stand, but his legs were shaking too much to let him rise more than a few inches before he sank down again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, cherie. I just… need a minute.”
“You need to feed, and you are too weak to hunt,” she said quietly. Her hands paused on the makeshift bandage, which was already stained with blood. She held his gaze, and he saw the question, the hesitation, the trepidation in her eyes. In sixteen years together, it had been the one topic they had avoided. All this time, he had respected her boundaries. Never asked, never begged. Despite how incredible her blood smelled, almost as beautiful as she looked, he’d kept his hunger restrained. The secrets in her blood were hers to keep. But he felt his beast scratching at the corners of his mind, the hollow ache in his gut, the dryness in his throat, and the shaking in his body was becoming less from the pain and more from the effort to keep himself from sinking his fangs into her and finally tasting her blood. She could tell. She held his face between her hands, gently, but she clearly saw the desperation fighting with the desire. He tried to smile, to tell her without words he’d be okay, even as his eyes fluttered and his head started to droop. Torpor was pulling at him, his wounds too grievous to stay conscious. If he slept… how long would he sleep? Would Charlie be safe while he was gone? “Non, non, non, s'il vous plaît Alastair! Stay with me!”
He tasted lavender and love when her lips met his. The force of the kiss made his fangs dig into the inside of his mouth, just enough to draw blood and add fuel to the fire inside him. His hands tangled in her hair as if he could pull her even closer even as her hands held his face tight. We should stop. We must stop. Please, get away. You are too close and I am too weak to fight it. But he did not pull away. He couldn’t. Everything else was fading away, his world shrinking to the room and to the two of them and to how good she smelled and felt and tasted. And she wasn’t pushing him away, either. Then she broke the kiss, took a trembling breath, and pushed his head into the crook of her neck.
The moment his fangs pierced her skin, the moment the first taste of her blood hit his tongue, nothing else mattered. He heard her gasp, felt her grip tighten and pull his hair, and he drank deep. She tasted like love and honey and sunlight. It was incredible. It was intoxicating. And he wanted more. A tiny voice in the back of his mind was screaming, telling him to stop, to not hurt her, to let her go. But he couldn’t. His beast had tasted her, too, and it didn’t want to stop.
The frenzy hit like a cannonball. It was a physical sensation, locking his muscles in place, refusing to unclench his fingers from around her. A growl rumbled deep in his chest when she tried to push him off, possessive and annoyed because he wasn’t done, the hunger was too intense, and the only thing soothing the pain in his body was her blood. I need it. I want it. I can’t – I have to stop but I can’t – keep drinking. So good. Drink deep. Drink deep.
“Please… Alastair, please stop…” Charlie’s voice was thin. Breathless. Not from the rush of the bite. From fear. His grip on her was stronger than steel and she was too weak to fight back. He was taking too much. “Mon amour, please…”
There was something in her blood. Something deeper than the sweet honey and heady love now tainted by sour fear that he could almost, almost taste. A mystery. A secret. He drank again, felt her hands drop from his shoulders.
Then her blood was like ice in his body. Like he’d been plunged into a frozen lake, it chilled him to the bone. Instead of warm honey and sunlight, he tasted frigid winter. He was suddenly so cold he couldn’t move, feeling it spreading from his core to his fingers and toes, banishing even the pain and the hunger. What…?
“STOP.” Charlie’s voice was even colder than her blood. The command dug into every fiber of his mind, hooking into his beast and dragging it back into the recesses of his consciousness even as it roared and clawed and demanded he keep drinking. His head snapped back, hands all but pushing her off to fulfill the command. Even then, her blood sang in his veins, calling to him, drawing him back in. He was shaking all over from the hunger, the barely restrained frenzy, the pain of his wounds slamming into him all at once even if the bleeding had stopped and the worst of his appetite was quenched.
“Leave,” he hissed, feeling his fangs scrape against his lips, the word barely intelligible. Charlie’s hair was a mess, her hand pressed against her neck, a thin trickle of blood making its way down her collarbone and staining the hem of her dress. Her eyes were wide, the blue tinged white at the edges from the intensity of her discipline. “Please. Leave. Now.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She climbed unsteadily to her feet, face pale from the bloodloss, and he saw the corners of her eyes turn red from tears she was fighting to keep from falling.
Then she stumbled away, out of the house, letting the door thump closed behind her, leaving the smell of lavender and winter in her wake. He stayed on the ground, back pressed against the wall, wrapping his arms around himself as he shivered and tried to ride the wave until the worst of the frenzy finally passed. Eventually, the shaking gave way to sobs. Charlie… my love, I am so sorry. Please… please forgive me.
He waited, the blood tears long since dried on his cheeks, the frenzy passed, the hunger soothed. He waited until the sky turned from black to blue to orange. He waited until the pull of daysleep became too intense to resist. But Charlie did not return.
***
Alastair woke alone. He half hoped Charlie had somehow made her way back to the safehouse in the minutes before sunrise, after sleep had taken him, but when he opened his eyes he was still alone. Moving hurt; while feeding on her had sped the recovery process, it had not healed the worst of his injuries. As he sat up, he cursed the Tremere and her sorcery. I need to feed. I need to hunt. I need to find Charlie. I need to apologize. I want to kiss her and tell her it was a mistake and tell her how good she tastes – He froze. No. One taste was not enough to form a bond. But he’d taken the first step. A first step that had almost been the last if she hadn’t been able to Dominate him to make him stop. Why couldn’t I stop? I’ve never lost control like that before. I’ve never tasted anything like her before.
He wiped his face, feeling the traces of her blood on his chin and his tears on his cheeks. “You’re supposed to be better than this,” he said to the air. “Pull yourself together.”
His shirt was ruined. His coat had fared little better. But Charlie hadn’t taken her bag with her, nor his. Both their supplies still sat in the corner, a few changes of clothes that were still relatively clean. He crawled across the floor, each movement of his arm sending fresh waves of pain through him, until he reached his pack and extracted a fresh outfit.
Once dressed, he took a few minutes to gather his strength, rouse his blood as best he could, then stumbled his way into the night in search of a meal. I’ll look for her after I feed. That’s what he told himself. But he knew if she didn’t want to be found, he probably wouldn’t have any luck. The only luck he had that night was that the humans’ conflict left plenty of drunk, wounded, and homeless people out and about to make his hunt slightly easier. One night. I’ll look for her for one night. Then I will report to Samira. So he fed. He healed. And he wandered the streets.
One night became two became three. He didn't know why he stayed in town. The job was done. There was no reason to linger. But she still hadn’t come back. He didn’t wander far from the safehouse, staying within a few blocks in case she came back for her belongings. In the meantime, he hunted and he listened to the gossip from the humans and kept an eye out for vampires. Anything to keep himself occupied while he waited. Anything to distract himself from the memory of her blood. Anything to keep the beast sated. Yet on that third night, as he sat on the rooftop and watched the streets, his hands shook when he tried to wipe down his blade. The handkerchief slipped multiple times. Only when he nearly lost his thumb did he give up and sheathe the sword. Sunrise was in less than two hours. The city was just beginning to wake up, which meant it was time for him to prepare to sleep.
He slipped from the roof, landing soundlessly in the alley, and slowly trudged back towards the safehouse. Tomorrow. I will leave tomorrow. I will leave a note just in case she returns.
The scent of lavender almost made him collapse from relief even as it tugged on her blood still in his veins, pulling him towards the source. As it was, he had to brace himself, one hand on the wall, fighting tears as he saw Charlie sitting on the stoop of the safehouse. She looked tired, her hair hanging loose, a shawl pulled tight around her shoulders, still in the same clothes from that night.
“You’re… you’re here,” he whispered. “You’re back. Charlie, my love, I – I’m so sorry. I tried to –”
“I do not blame you,” she said. She stood and gestured for them to go inside. He followed, breathing in her scent, torn between immense relief that she was okay and devastating guilt that he’d driven her away in the first place. Once inside and the door was shut, she turned to face him, expression impossible to read. “We have been so very lucky, Alastair. These past sixteen years have been the best of my life. Both my lives. Despite everything. For so long I was alone… and then you appeared out of nowhere to save my life. I love you, Alastair. I do. But this was too close. I have been so happy, so safe, that I forgot there will always be danger.”
“It was one mistake.”
“Non, amour. There have been many small mistakes we ignored. Every fight you get into, every night that you risk your life for a task laid upon you, every time I see the hunger in your eyes, it is a risk. I let my love blind me to it. I – I know better. I have always known better! One mistake, Alastair, and it was my mistake!” Her voice cracked and she stopped talking. She slipped a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes even though the tears hadn’t yet fallen. “What happens if I make the same mistake again and I am not strong enough to stop you? What happens if you fall to temptation and cannot fight your hunger?”
“You will not, and I will not.” Alastair took a step forward, desperation and fear sending chills down his spine. He could sense where this was going. “It has been sixteen years, Charlie, and not once until now has the bane of my clan threatened us so! This cannot be what comes between us. Please.”
“I should have let you sleep,” she said, and she sounded completely broken. “I should have brought you a human. I should – I should not have fed you. It is not your bane that I fear, Alastair. It has never been you. I swear on my sire’s blood and yours, this is not your fault.”
A tear escaped then, sliding down her cheek. In a flash, he was across the room. The scent of lavender mixed with blood and for one terrible moment the urge to kiss the tear from her cheek filled him but instead, he wrapped his arms around her and leaned his forehead against hers. There was a lump in his throat and he knew his own tears would fall soon, too. She didn’t flinch, nor did she pull away, and he held her so very gently so if she did want to leave, she could. “One close call and you will leave?”
“It is to spare us both. There cannot… there will not be a second.”
A dark thought crept into his mind. “Did he tell you to leave?”
She did not answer immediately. The silence spoke loud enough. He knew. He’d tasted it. He’d felt it. The secrets she so closely guarded had been laid bare to him when he’d fed. It is not my bane. It… it is yours. When she did answer, her voice was so quiet he barely heard it. “He told me to leave the night I met you. He told me to leave you many times. I did not listen.”
“Until now.”
“He… he told me to come back. I was going to leave. But he told me to say goodbye, because I would regret it forever if I did not.” Her hands slid up his torso, up the sides of his neck, held his face so gently that he couldn’t hold in the sob. They stared into each others’ eyes, both brimming with tears. “I thank you, Alastair MacKearney, for giving me more kindness and love in my death than I ever had in my life. But it is time for us to walk our separate paths.”
“Charlie –”
She silenced him with a kiss. His hands tangled in her hair once more. If this is to be the last time I taste you… if this is to be the last time I hold you… they kissed for a long time. They held each other for even longer, neither willing to break the embrace despite knowing it had to happen. Then, finally, agonizingly, Charlie took a step back. Then another. He held on, but he didn’t try to stop her. His hands slid from her hair, down her shoulders, her arms, lingering on her hands. Even through her gloves, he felt the warmth from her blush. And despite the tears still falling from her beautiful blue eyes, she smiled. “We are Kindred, Alastair. Perhaps in time, our paths will cross again. Farewell is not forever.”
“I will never forget you, mon amour. No matter how many years pass. I will see you again. I promise. I will fight to live. Every time I cross blades, I will live so I may see you again.”
“Do not promise me that. Do not fight for me. Do not live for me. Live for yourself, Alastair. A weapon can grow blunt. A weapon can be discarded. A weapon can be broken. You wield a weapon but you are not a weapon. If you are to promise me anything, promise me you will not become a thing of bloodshed and war. You will always remain you.”
“I…” I do not know if Samira will let me. “I promise I will try.”
“That is all I ask.” She stepped back again. Her hands slipped from his, and his arms fell limp at his sides. “Until the tides of time bring us back to one another. Goodbye, Alastair.”
“Goodbye, Charlene.”
She wiped her face once more, gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and walked to the door. She paused at the threshold, and for a second he thought she would turn back so he could see her face one last time. But she didn’t. She let the door swing shut, and he was alone with the smell of lavender.
The red-haired blade of Haqim was last seen in France. That’s what Francois had written to her. Look along the cities that border Belgium and Germany. Perhaps you can find more information there.
So, she searched. For almost four months, she traveled southeast along the borders, asking quiet questions from Kindred she could trade information or favors with. Just enough to ask about a certain Banu Haqim. Never enough to elaborate on why. Some hints proved more useful than others. She was getting close. She was certain, because more and more vampires looked uncomfortable when she asked. More than one even told her to not bother, that asking about the clan of assassins would likely mean they would find her before she found them. But in the end, that was what she wanted.
It was either luck, fate, or cruelty that she found the Toreador instead. Tall, long dark hair, and almost painfully beautiful. Her beauty was matched by her haughty disdain for the simple-clothed redhead walking through the park, having apparently overheard Charlie’s question to the Gangrel she’d found chasing rats in the underbrush. The moment the woman walked closer, the Gangrel’s form shifted into a rat and joined the one he’d been hunting, the swarm dispersing in seconds until Charlie lost sight of all of them.
“Don’t tell me you’re the poor little French girl who followed Alastair like a lost puppy for a decade,” the woman said. Her tone was mocking, condescending, layered with contempt and amusement as she looked Charlie up and down. Her elegant dress and expensive fur coat put Charlie’s threadbare cloak and traveling suit to shame. Everything about her screamed status and wealth. “Still chasing him after all these years? Even after he finally managed to leave you behind for someone better?”
“And how would you define better? By your appearance, I assume you mean by material objects.” Charlie fought to keep her tone even. The woman didn’t scare her at all. But she was already making Charlie angry. “In my experience, those who try so hard to appear important do so because they have little else to fall back on.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed but her false smile remained. “You’re a vicious little thing, aren’t you? No wonder you left such an impression on my man.”
“... your man?”
“Yes. Since he isn’t yours.” The woman placed an elegant hand on her ample chest and gave a small curtsy. “Lara Raith. Steward to the Toreador. And you must be Charlie.”
“Charlene, actually.” Only friends may call me Charlie. “If Alastair is your man, then you know where he is?”
“Of course I do,” Lara said, waving her hand dismissively. Charlie noted, however, that her response came just a touch too quickly. Liar. “And I also happen to know that he’s in a time-out right now. Honestly, his sire is such a bore. The moment she thought he was finally having fun, she decided to step in and put him in a time-out like some naughty schoolboy. Can you believe it? And she blames me for being the one who showed him how to have fun. All I did was help him.”
“And what kind of help means his sire puts him to torpor?” Charlie was consciously keeping her hands relaxed so they wouldn’t ball into fists, because if she let them, those fists would ruin Lara’s perfect makeup. “What fun did you push him into that would bring her ire upon you both?”
“Why do you care? It’s been decades. He moved on. You should, too. It’s unbecoming of you. Don’t… don’t tell me you still have feelings for him?” Lara laughed, but there was no humor to her words. “Do you love him?”
“Why do you care?”
Lara stepped closer until they were only a couple feet from each other. She had a few inches on Charlie and was clearly enjoying it. “I don’t. But I’m curious. The way he talked about you gave me the impression the two of you certainly enjoyed each others’ company. But if you two really loved each other, you would’ve stayed together, no? And yet here you are, looking for him, after he spent years running from the memory of you.”
“Love doesn’t need physical proximity to exist. And he was not running.”
“Perhaps you’re right. After all… he did tell me you were the one who left first.” Lara leaned in slightly, her smile exposing sharp canines. “Couldn’t handle your emotions? Or did you two get a taste of each other and get scared? Decided to listen to the paranoid warnings of old vampires unwilling to give in to their deepest desires?”
“What are you –”
“If he’d truly loved you, he would have married you. But he didn’t. He married me.” Lara’s grin was wolfish, full of cocky Toreador confidence.
Oh. That’s what she means. Charlie’s hands balled into fists. Did Alastair actually tell you about what happened? Why I had to leave? She thinks bonds are… fun. She actually thinks the Blood Marriage is something I would be jealous of…
The audacity of this bitch.
“I never needed to rely on a blood bond for him to love me. He felt that way all on his own. Distance means nothing when time means nothing.” Charlie stared the woman in the eye, letting the tiniest of smiles tug at her lips. “The bond is obsession and infatuation. Tell me, madamoiselle, how did it feel when not your looks, not your touch, not even your blood was enough to keep him by your side?”
Lara stared at Charlie, mouth moving but no words coming out. The silence stretched one second, then two, then five. Just as Charlie thought Lara would maybe turn on her fashionable heel and leave, a stinging pain bloomed across her cheek as her head snapped to the side. The slap echoed in her ears and across the park, drawing stares from a couple of humans out on a late-night stroll. Lara still had her hand raised, breathing hard, splotches of red coloring her cheeks as a Blush forced its way to the surface with her emotions. Charlie took a tiny bit of satisfaction when she saw one of Lara’s perfectly manicured nails now had a noticeable chip in it. “At least he stayed with me longer than he did with you. Tell me, what clan are you with again? Alastair never told me. Or does he not even know because yours abandoned you and the shame clings to you like your humanity–”
Charlie’s fist rammed into Lara’s chest, square in her solar plexus just like Alastair had taught her. The blow didn’t have anything close to Óttar’s strength behind it, but the surprise of the impact was more than enough to make Lara choke on her words and make her almost lose her footing.
Charlie’s hand was tangled in Lara’s hair before she could recover, yanking her head back at a painful angle. “I will say this once, madamoiselle Toreador. If you so much as try to breathe a word of ill intent or slander against my sire or my humanity, I will show you exactly why neither Anarch, Sabbat, nor Inquisition has been able to touch me since I became Kindred.”
Lara hissed, fangs on full display, manicured nails curling into vicious claws aimed right at Charlie’s eyes –
“You are in public, ladies.”
They both froze. Lara’s nails pressed into Charlie’s skin enough to make it sting. Charlie’s fingers pulled hard enough on Lara’s hair to draw blood at the roots. And they stared at the statuesque woman clad entirely in black, hand resting on the hilt of a sword just barely concealed beneath her long evening coat. Her voice held an accent similar to Alastair’s. Her face carried a warning as it slid from Charlie to Lara. “Compose yourselves and take your leave. Miss Raith, you have been given warning before about your conduct in public spaces. Need I remind you of the rules you swore an oath to follow?”
Lara swallowed hard, lips clamping over her fangs. Her hand slowly withdrew from Charlie’s face until it dropped to her side. It took Charlie a conscious effort to unclench her fingers from the death grip they had in Lara’s hair, but she managed it. The two of them stepped apart, staring daggers at each other. Then Lara smoothed her dress, fixed her hair as best she could, and gave the new woman an icy but polite incline of the head. “I had no intention to disrupt the Masquerade nor the peace of the evening. My apologies. I will go now.”
“Good.” The woman stood there, hand still resting on the hilt of the sword, eyes not leaving Lara as she walked away without a second glance towards Charlie. Only when the Toreador finally disappeared from the park did she turn to Charlie. “And you. It has come to my attention that you seek a member of my clan.”
“I… I do. I apologize for my outburst. I should not have risen to her bait.”
“At least you have the wits to recognize your mistake, Miss Roche. You will not find Alastair here. Nor in any city you visit.” The woman finally let her hand fall from the sword, and Charlie relaxed ever so slightly. “But from what I know of your history with Alastair, I suspect you will not stop until you know where he is. Samira decided it was best for him to spend time in torpor to recover from his… past actions and mistakes. I do not know him well, but I know enough that after the two of you parted ways, he spent many years adrift. And that led to poor judgement.”
“Where did Samira put him?”
“You will have to ask her that. She has not told anyone else.”
“Then where can I find her?” Charlie took a step forward, unable to keep the desperation from her tone this time. Finally. I’m so close. “I must know. Please.”
The woman studied Charlie. Her eyes traveled up and down, taking in her appearance. “I can tell you where to find Samira. That is all I can do.”
“It is enough. Thank you…”
“Dearbhail.”
“Thank you, Dearbhail.”
***
The tomb was as lonely as it was innocuous. And it was right where Samira had said it would be. At the edge of a sleepy town where no one would think to look. That she’d given Charlie the location without demanding a boon in return had been a relief and a concern. But the moment she’d laid eyes on Charlie, Samira had known exactly who she was. Alastair must have told his sire quite a bit, if not everything. You may visit him. You may not wake him. That is not your decision. It is mine alone as his sire. Charlie promised she would heed those words. But now, standing in front of the stone slab that contained her biggest regret, her hands shook and her breath hitched. If he really was in torpor, she knew what she would find. Yet a small, illogical part of her couldn’t let go of the idea that he was waiting on the other side of the stone, tired and hungry and emaciated but awake and she could hold him and tell him how much she missed him.
I have to see him. I need to see him. She dug her fingers into the seam around the slab and pulled. It was heavy. It resisted at first and she felt a twinge of pain from a nail almost snapping when her hand slipped. Samira hadn’t said anything about wards, though the thought drifted through her mind for a second. She tried again, adjusting her grip and pulling. The slab still refused to budge – until it shifted slightly. Stone ground against stone as it moved inch by inch until finally, it slid open wide enough for her to slip through.
Inside was dark and musty, damp earth and mildew filling her nose. She blinked several times, eyes straining to adjust without the moonlight overhead. The tomb was entirely unremarkable, the only thing of note being the large stone sarcophagus sitting in the middle. Each step was heavy as she approached. I have to know. I have to know. I need to see. She placed her hands on the lid, feeling how cold the stone was through her gloves. Then she pushed.
The lid wasn’t as heavy. It slid open slowly, dirt sifting from the edges as it moved. Then it tipped over the side and gravity took over. It fell with a heavy thump, sending up a cloud of dust that made Charlie blink and cough until it settled.
Laying in the sarcophagus was a man. A man with red hair that she recognized because even though they were Kindred, even though decades had passed, she would never forget Alastair’s face.
The sight of the once–strong man reduced to a withered husk sent her to her knees, her hands on the edge of the sarcophagus the only thing keeping her upright. He was dressed in the same long coat she remembered, though his underclothes matched the fashion from roughly a decade ago. His sword laid on his chest, clasped between dessicated hands. His face looked as serene as it could with the sunken cheeks, hollow closed eyes, and a gray pallor. The hair she remembered being so bright and lush looked brittle and thin. If it wasn’t for the stake piercing his heart, she could have mistaken him for a human corpse.
“Mon cœur…” she reached one shaking hand out to him, stopping just before touching his face. “How is yours so broken that a stake is needed to heal it?”
Alastair did not stir, nor did he answer. He lay still, dead to the world, dead to her. She felt the tears fighting to fall and swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes. Though it didn’t beat anymore, and hadn’t beat from a Blush in decades, she felt her heart ache. “Was it that Toreador? Did she truly drive you to such sorrow? Or… am I such a stain on your heart that you sought comfort and ruin in her arms?”
Still, he didn’t answer.
“What has happened to you that your sire thought slumber would be better than duty?” Her voice shook almost as much as her hands. “Why? Why do you sleep? Alastair – why did I think leaving you was the right thing to do?”
She sank to her knees, one hand pressed to her chest as it grew tight. The sobs were building. Years apart, months of searching, weeks of thinking about what she’d say to him when they finally met again, and now they were together and he couldn’t hear her. Couldn’t see her. Couldn’t feel her. She leaned against the sarcophagus and felt cold tears fall down her face.
She cried until sunrise.
***
Each night she woke with dried blood on her cheeks. Each night the hunger plucked at her veins. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to leave his side. She cried, and she talked. She told him of her travels. She told him of the humans and the vampires she’d met. She told him of the close calls and tough scrapes she’d been through. Anything to fill the silence of the tomb and the void in her heart. Sometimes she managed to sit on the edge of the sarcophagus so she could run her hands gently through his hair, adjust his collar, try to hold his hand even though he held his blade in an iron grip. She wondered if anyone from the nearby town could hear her if they came close to the graveyard. The tomb was a bit of a distance from the other graves. Did the humans even know it was here? Did they think her sobs were from a phantom or a ghost? Did they think the graves were haunted? No one ever came by to investigate. She heard no other voices, saw no lights except the moon and stars, smelled nothing except earth and mildew and her perfume that slowly saturated the tomb over the nights she spent within.
As her hunger grew, her grief became tinged with anger. When she could breathe between sobs, she yelled. At Alastair for losing control. At Samira for staking him. At Lara for whatever she did while they were bonded to make her think she owned him. She even yelled at Óttar for staying silent in her loneliness. He hadn’t spoken to her in months. That, perhaps, hurt more than anything else.
“You promised,” she said, voice breaking as more tears leaked from her eyes. Her face hurt and her head was heavy. Her clothes were dirty and the hem of her cloak was stained with her blood. “You said you wouldn’t leave me. Why can I not feel you? Where are you? Óttar! Please! Say something!”
Silence.
Her stomach ached. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Each time she swallowed she felt how dry her throat was. Her gums tingled, fangs barely staying sheathed. She had to hunt soon. She needed to feed. But still she couldn’t bring herself to leave. If she resisted long enough, would she bypass the frenzy and simply grow too weak to rouse herself one of these nights? Would she fall into torpor as well? At least that way she could sleep alongside Alastair. She wouldn’t have to wake to another dark night of emptiness. She looked down at her hands. Her gloves had become filthy from wiping away the tears so often, and she’d tucked them into her pocket a few nights back. Her nails were chipped, one of them cracked from when she’d dug them into the side of the sarcophagus to see if she could carve a message for Alastair for whenever he woke. She rubbed the back of her hand with her thumb, feeling the ridge of the half-moon scar beneath her finger. How much longer can I stay? She closed her eyes.
When she opened them, the moonlight outside the tomb had shifted. Sunrise was still far away; she felt no urge to sleep. And yet time had slipped from her. A side effect of starvation. Not much longer, she thought, answering her own question when neither Alastair nor Óttar had given her a response.
Her attempt to stand nearly made her collapse again, muscles stiff and aching from the lack of fresh blood and days of staying curled up next to the sarcophagus. She swayed, waiting for the momentary vertigo to fade. But she couldn’t keep herself from looking down at Alastair once more. Unchanged from the day they’d met. Unchanged from the day they’d parted. Beautiful and tragic and empty. Just like her. It wasn’t just her hands shaking now. She trembled all over. The night was cold. She couldn't feel it, not physically, and yet she was freezing. Her cloak did nothing. There were no goosebumps on her arms. It was a chill inside that not even fresh blood would be able to warm. She’d tried. For decades. Since walking away from Alastair. It never lasted.
"Alastair... I'm so cold. I can't... I keep trying to stay warm but it doesn't last. I can't stay warm. Why aren't you here?” She slid her hand into his and squeezed, hoping for… something. Anything. But the almost skeletal, desiccated hand didn't even twitch. It was cold and dry. Dust flaked from his skin from the movement. His face remained still, eyes sunken, hair dull and brittle. Her voice broke. “Why didn’t I stay with you?”
Tears welled in her eyes again. One escaped. She felt it trail down her cheek. Her other hand drifted up and caught the tear on the tip of her finger. She stared at it, a tiny red bead that carried years of loneliness and longing. She looked at Alastair’s torpored form. Her hand drifted towards him. She couldn’t take the silence any longer.
Do not.
She froze.
The pain you feel now will be nothing compared to what you will feel if you wake him. He will be the death of you. Do not, my childe. Leave him to slumber.
Why are you here? Charlie sniffed, but kept her hand still. It’s been months. Where have you been?
The torpor is difficult to fight. More of my time is spent in slumber than in waking. I am here, now, to save you from yourself. It is his sire’s decision whether to wake him, and when. Remaining here will only cause you more sorrow. And… Óttar paused. She sensed him sifting through her recent memories. Remaining here any longer will only cause you pain. You must not neglect your hunger for your loneliness. It… it would cause him more pain if he knew of yours at his expense. Leave him. Let him rest. This is not his end, and it will not be yours. Though you may both weather the years in different ways, you will both endure. Perhaps when his heart is mended you may yet find your way back to each other.
I… I do not like when you are correct. I do not want to leave him alone. I can’t.
Carry him in your heart as you always have. He will not be alone. And neither will you. Even if I am not here, you are never alone. Please remember that, my childe. Protect yourself so you may one day see him again. He is safe here. He will not sleep forever.
Óttar’s presence slowly faded from her mind, slipping away once more. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders even though it didn’t help. But he was right. She didn’t know how long Alastair had been entombed, and she didn’t know how many more years he might be. And yet, vampires had all the time in the world. Surely, she could wait just a few more years. He would be safe in his seclusion. And she would be safe away from him until he woke. The hunger made her bones ache after ignoring it for so many nights. There was still time before sunrise to find someone she could drink from and a safe place to sleep.
She rose, dusting off her clothes, and stepped out of the crypt. She didn’t leave yet, though. The bouquet she’d brought with her had started wilting over the week she’d spent here but it could still serve a purpose. She extracted a single rose, one still in fairly good condition, and slipped back inside. Careful to not prick her finger on any of the thorns, even though it would be difficult for them to pierce her skin now, she eased one of Alastair’s hands from the hilt of his sword. The rigor mortis made it difficult to manipulate his grip, but she managed to ease his fingers around the stem of the rose and lay it on his chest. One hand holding his sword, the other holding her gift. “Until the tides of time bring us together once more, mon amour.”
Then she leaned forward and very, very gently kissed his forehead, then his lips. She brushed a few stray strands of hair from his face, adjusted his collar, and lifted the cover of the sarcophagus. After one final look at his face, she slid it back into place and stepped back out of the tomb before replacing the cover to it as well.
“I will see you again,” she whispered, placing her palm against the stone for one more moment. Then she pulled her shawl tight once more and forced herself to walk away from the tomb and into the cold, dark night.
The end of one war, the start of another. Charlie looked out over the hills of Los Angeles, shaking her head with a disappointment that carried decades of weight. What humans had come to call World War II had barely concluded, and another war had been raging right under their noses. Granted, the Kindred war had been a powder keg waiting for the right spark to ignite it. It had only been a matter of time before the younger generations snapped at the leashes of their Elders and demanded their freedom and respect. She had to hand it to them – on one hand, they risked losing the rigid structures and rules that had kept vampires safe and secret for centuries, but on the other hand, surely some of those structures and rules were too draconian and weighted heavily in the Elders’ favor. The Anarchs were making their latest move.
It had been an old companion she’d met in the 1860’s, a fellow traveler disconnected from their clan who she’d spent a couple years with before parting ways amicably, who had reached out to her once again recently. Times are changing, and Kindred society with them, her companion had written in a letter that inexplicably found her despite having no address. The courier had been under some kind of enchantment when he’d delivered the envelope, giving her a dreamy smile and bow before wandering away. There will be much fighting in the coming years. Many will be left without shelter and companions. Should you find yourself in the United States, you will not be hard-pressed to find those who would benefit from your kindness. Take care, but perhaps you may find new companions to share your time with or new familiarities to keep yourself safe in whatever changes the future brings. The Anarchs have an uphill battle, but they will never stand down now that it has begun. My best wishes, old friend. Perhaps one day we may meet again.
For all the glitz and glamor she’d heard about Hollywood and the great city of Los Angeles, so far all she’d seen was the foul alleys and blood-stained streets where Kindred fought Kindred mere yards from oblivious humans. As she looked on, movement in her periphery pulled her attention slightly. A small, haggard group of vampires milled about behind her, most of them still recovering from injuries sustained from fights they had not wished to start or participate in. One of them, an elderly woman barely five months into her new life, had stepped up beside her.
“A shame isn’t it, dearie?” Martha asked, sighing heavily. “The city really is beautiful at night, if you can manage to forget about the bones it’s built upon.”
“Every city is built upon the bones of the forgotten,” Charlie said. “It is just that most people are too young or too concerned with their own lives to realize or remember it.”
“But sometimes we must also remember that we can help build what comes after.” Martha patted her on the shoulder. Despite having more than a century on the woman, Charlie found herself comforted by the grandmotherly presence. It was rare that she found herself treated as a child these days, with most of the Kindred she interacted with able to sense her age after just a bit of conversation or challenge, and yet she wasn’t upset or offended by it. She wondered if Martha had children or grandchildren of her own. It would be hard for her, of course, to outlive her descendants, but at least she had family to watch over. Martha seemed to pick up on her melancholy and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Come now, Charlie dear. You’ve done so much for us already. That you’ve helped so many is a testament to your strength. Saving one is better than saving none.”
“I still wish I could have saved more,” she said, wringing her hands. Never enough. It’s never enough. I wish you were here.
… are you awake yet?
“Try not to dwell on that. The stress will make you go gray.”
“You know that is not possible, Martha.”
“Indulge an old lady, would you? Now, how about we get going before our little group attracts the wrong kind of attention? We can look for others tomorrow night. And the night after that. And so forth, until there is no more need to do so.” Martha gave her a kind smile that warmed her in a way her Blush hadn’t been able to in years. “If only more were like you, dear. Our world could use a bit more humanity these days.”
“Perhaps you can help with that,” Charlie said, returning Martha’s smile as best she could. “If even one of you is kind to another, that is enough. And if the one you are kind to is kind to another in return…”
“Little victories,” Martha nodded. “We may yet whip these knuckleheads into shape. And if not, then we spend our energy elsewhere.”
“Thank you, Martha. It has been a long time since I’ve met someone with an outlook like yours.”
“Well, you’re the one who reminded an old lady she’s still got a lot to live for. Come, let us find something to eat and a place to sleep.” With that, Martha gave her shoulder a final squeeze and headed back to the group, helping one of the injured vampires to his feet while the others picked up the few belongings they’d managed to salvage or steal.
Charlie took one last look at the city. There were no plumes of smoke or raging fires like there had been in Paris so many decades ago, but the fights were still happening. This time, though, she was sure she was strong enough. No more havens would burn if she could help it. Her companion had been correct. Maybe they were also down there somewhere, fighting on one side or the other, or simply helping those who needed it. She squared her shoulders, pulled her gloves higher on her wrists, and turned to her new companions.
Another era. Another war.
Was this one really a war? A war was two sides, each with at least a slim chance of victory.
This was just a massacre. Just like Paris had been.
Actually… no. This was worse. Paris had been remembered. At least back then, some of the Kindred who’d lost their lives had been worthy of remembering, if only to be used as a lesson or a warning. No one would remember the clanless, the fledgelings, the thin-bloods of this era. That was the whole point.
Charlie trudged through the streets, the hoodie pulled low over her face. The baggy, threadbare clothes made her look like any other homeless human or down-on-her-luck Kindred. Perfect for staying under the radar as she searched for those who needed help. Ironically, the easy part was getting them out of the city. The hard part was finding them in the first place. Those who had survived the hunts so far knew how to hide. She knew how to hide, too. So she knew where to look. The shadows. The back alleys. The places where people went to be forgotten.
This conflict was quieter than the Anarch war had been in Los Angeles. That had been deliberately loud because they’d wanted to send a message, make a statement, demonstrate to Kindred that the system could be challenged and harmed. This was simply a culling. Like Montmartre.
And like Montmartre, like Los Angeles, she would save as many as she could.
At least twenty Kindred had accepted her help. They were safe, out of the city’s borders, scattering to safehouses and havens she’d either set up or had connections to. But twenty was a drop in the ocean that was Chicago. So as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon, she set out once more. Most of her nightly encounters were human miscreants, thugs, muggers, standard shady people thinking she was unprepared to take care of herself. Most of them she managed to turn away with a few simple commands. One encounter with two muggers trying to back her into a corner ended with one snapping his switchblade on her shoulder and ending up her meal for the night, left in a dazed heap in the alley, while the other was sent running until his legs couldn’t keep him upright as per her very strong suggestion. That certainly hadn’t helped her temper. Yet the tussle and the scent of blood had drawn out two fledgeling Gangrels, scared and hungry, who told her they’d witnessed a Hound of the Camarilla rip their sire to shreds. They’d been looking for an Anarch, determined to get revenge. She spent almost half the night speaking with them. Not to discourage their desires, just to help them see past their anger and think about their long-term survival. Did they want to spend the rest of their new immortality fighting? Or, if – and if – they managed to get revenge against the Hound, would they want peace instead?
In the end, the Gangrels decided to seek out one of her safehouses and spend more time thinking about their futures. She walked them to the edge of the city and bid them farewell. As she watched them go, their hands clasping each other tight, a twinge of nostalgia and loneliness hit her. Even without their sire, they had each other. A small comfort in the vast unknown. A companion to weather the years with. Her own hand twitched reflexively, reaching for someone who hadn’t been there in decades.
She turned around and headed back into the city. There was plenty of time before sunrise to find more.
Yet that night was proving frustrating. An hour passed, then another. Normal human fights, a run-in with a Camarilla coterie mid-hunt that she was thankfully able to talk her way around after reassuring them she’d fed in a different territory, and finding the withered husk of a clanless vampire she got there too late to help. That one she sat next to, ignoring the dust and alley grime that clung to her clothes as it only helped with her disguise, staring down at her hands.
How many more will I fail? How many more will I watch fall before I have to stop? She tilted her head back, determined to not let any tears fall. Despair was easy to give into. It had almost claimed her in Alastair’s tomb. It had crept its way back into her mind after – no. Do not think of it. It was for the best. I had to. She clenched her fists. Get up. Keep going. Be strong for the others who need it.
Do not forget to be strong for yourself. It is not selfish to want to survive. You accepted my offer because you wanted to live. It is because you live that you have touched so many souls and brought peace to so many Kindred over these centuries.
I know you are wanting to bring me comfort, Óttar. Thank you for trying. But I am sorry. Words do little to ease the weight upon my soul these days.
Do you… regret your choice?
She stood up, but leaned against the wall behind her to gather herself. Which one, Óttar? I have had to make so many.
Him.
She shut her eyes. You had nothing to say the day I met him. You had nothing to say over the months I fell in love.
Because it was not my place.
Then why ask me now?
Because in my brief moments of waking, I see how your choice sits heavy in your soul. I see the pain you carry. I… I see how the light of your kindness and humanity have dimmed. It has taken me more time than I would have liked to gather my strength to speak with you now. I am so sorry, my childe, for taking so long. I see how strong you are, still, despite all that you have endured. You do not have to seek a reason to keep going. I promise, living for yourself is okay. You must take care of yourself first so you can take care of others.
She didn’t respond. But she could still feel Óttar’s presence. It was faint, but it was still holding on. A tenuous grasp on consciousness as he fought the torpor of almost a millenia’s weight to be there for her. He was waiting for her answer. Did she regret it? Any of it? I… I don’t know. I have spent so long thinking about the what-ifs. What if I hadn’t left? What if I had told the truth? What if –
We cannot change the past. We cannot undo our actions or our choices. But what we do with our future can atone for them.
Charlie opened her eyes. No. I do not regret it. Not you, not Alastair, not… not Antoine.
Good. That resolve is what makes you strong, Charlie.
Thank you for being here.
I am always here.
Óttar’s presence faded. She squared her shoulders, took a breath, and walked. There were souls to save.
***
The sounds of fighting drew her down a shady side street. Shouts, meaty thumps of fist on flesh, the crack of bone against stone. She crept close, keeping to the shadows, senses on full alert. When she got to the end of the alley, she poked her head around the corner to see what was happening.
Two vampires were locked in a vicious brawl. One barely looked human, his body partially transfigured into horns and spikes and bones that bent at wrong angles. The other moved almost faster than her eyes could follow, each of his blows landing with enough force to send his opponent flying. At first it looked like they were locked in a stalemate. But the bestial vampire was losing. He couldn’t keep up with his opponent’s speed. Then a decisive blow snapped his head back so violently Charlie heard his neck snap. He went down, and his opponent leapt on top of him before he’d fully hit the ground, fists raining down on the unmoving vampire again and again.
Even with his face twisted in fury, blood splattered across his front and more splashes marring his features from every blow of his fists against the vampire he was beating to a pulp, Charlie recognized him. His lips were pulled back from jagged fangs so large he could barely close his mouth. He was lost in his frenzy.
“Oh, Emilio…” Charlie took a single step closer and held her hands out like she was soothing a wild animal. Which, in a way, she was. My calm is yours. She exhaled slowly, feeling the warmth of her panacea travel from her core through her arms, drifting invisibly through the air. His movements began to slow. The effect was gradual, but over the next twenty or so seconds Emilio came back to himself. He blinked, breathing hard, lips twitching like he was trying to decide whether to keep snarling or attempt to speak. Then his head swiveled to focus on her. “Are you within reason, my friend?”
“Gracias, Charlie. It’s been a while.” Emilio sat back on his heels, wiping his hands across his shirt – though it did little good. He was saturated in the gore that had once been his opponent. “Lo siento. I’m a bit of a mess.”
“Whatever did he do to you?”
“Tried to stake me.” Emilio shrugged and climbed to his feet, leaving the unconscious vampire where he lay. “In the back. He was quite rude.”
“Half a century and you haven’t changed,” Charlie said. “I was not aware that the Anarchs were participating in this fight as well. Don’t tell me you’re here to try and stop the massacre?”
“Not to stop. Just to recruit from whoever’s left. Nothing like a second brush with death to convince the orphans they’re better off with us. Strength and protection in numbers, you know?” Emilio tilted his head back and took a few more deep breaths as the last of her panacea calmed him. When he blinked hard and looked at her again, his expression was clear and almost friendly. “I suppose I owe you for this. And I assume you’re here to shepherd the lost out of the city like you did back in Los Angeles?”
“You are correct.” She squared her shoulders. “And if I may leverage some of our boon in this moment, I ask that if any orphans you have gathered are not completely certain they wish to join your cause, let them walk free with me. I have safe havens set up for them to recuperate until they know where they wish to go next.”
“Ever the bleeding heart, aren’t you? Sí, I can do that. There’s a few hiding in there, actually.” Emilio pointed to the closed door behind him. “Told them to wait until I ensured the coast was clear. Now that this puta is taken care of,” he kicked the unconscious vampire, “we can keep moving.”
With that, he walked to the door and thumped his fist against it twice, paused, then again three times. A code, apparently. The door swung open and a handful of Kindred filed out. They all looked rough. And Charlie could see the faint blush in a couple faces, could sense the warmth on their skin even from a distance. She stepped forward and gave them all a soft smile. “I understand my companion here has offered you a choice. Protection under the Anarchs in exchange for fighting for their cause. I am not Anarch, but I am not Camarilla either. I am here to offer safe haven and a fresh start to any who want it, away from politics and bloodshed. If any of you wish to fight, I will not stop you. But if any of you want peace, I will help however I can.”
Emilio nodded as she spoke, then turned to the group. “I know this Kindred well. Her words are trustworthy. She is outside of our conflict. I have made my offer. She’s made hers. Now you all can choose. But choose quickly. This alley will not be safe forever.”
The survivors looked between themselves, some looking more determined than others. A few whispers, head shakes, and shrugs passed between them. Then the group split. All but two moved closer to Emilio. A female Nosferatu, face mostly obscured by a hoodie and gaiter, stepped towards Charlie. The thinblood beside her also moved towards Charlie.
“We have no interest or skills when it comes to fighting,” the thinblood said. “Peace and quiet sounds much better.”
Emilio nodded, then waved for his group to move further into the alley. He turned back to Charlie, lips pursed as he studied her for a long moment. She matched his gaze, one eyebrow rising. “What is it?”
“Hmm. Nothing, really. Just that your name popped up about a decade ago when we were recruiting in Milwaukee. One of the vampires joining us was asking about you, said he’d heard your reputation and was wondering if you were an Anarch.”
“Really? Do you remember who this was?”
“Never got his name, sorry.” Emilio pointed towards her new companions. “You two listen to the lady, you hear me? She’s one of the good ones, and there’s precious few of those left these days. Take care of each other.”
“Will do,” the Nosferatu said, her voice muffled but still understandable.
With that, Emilio and his group disappeared into the shadows of the alley, and it was just the three of them and the bloody mess of a torpored vampire. Charlie turned to them and pulled her hood up. “Well then. Onwards to safety, oui? I am Charlie.”
“Tristan,” the thinblood said. He looked to be in his 50’s, crows’ feet crinkling the corners of his eyes and giving him a patronly kindness. “This is Loretta. Thank you for helping us.”
“It’s what I do,” Charlie said. “Let’s get moving.”
As they walked, sticking to the alleys and side streets, their conversation stayed simple and quiet. Loretta and Tristan didn’t seem close; Charlie assumed they probably met only a couple weeks ago at most, brought together through the shared need to survive like so many others. Tristan was definitely the more talkative of the two. She wondered if he had been a teacher before he’d been Embraced.
“I have to say,” Tristan remarked as they finally reached a quiet part of the city and could relax a little, “I’m mighty grateful that the Anarchs found us first, all things considered. Been hearing all these scary rumors of Hounds in the city. Emilio had a run-in with one last night and got pretty messed up. I suppose it’s a good thing you full vampires heal during the day. I’m not sure how well he could’ve kept fighting without that leg.”
“The Hounds of the Camarilla are not to be underestimated,” Charlie agreed. “Some are more brutal than others, but they all serve the same purpose. And very few will question orders.”
“So I’ve heard. I’m just glad that one Hound hasn’t shown up yet. I guess the Camarilla are more concerned with establishing themselves in New York at the moment so they’re sending the heavy hitters east and letting this fight burn itself out.”
“Which one would that be?” Charlie wasn’t exactly curious, but knowledge was useful. Knowing who to avoid or possibly try to establish a boon with would certainly be helpful if she ever found herself that far east.
“No one ever gave me a name and Emilio just called him a pendejo. Some red-haired Banu Haqim that joined up sometime in the past couple decades, from what I understand.”
Charlie almost stumbled over her own feet. It can’t be… he wouldn’t… did Samira put him up to it? Why would he agree to such a thing? Tristan and Loretta noticed immediately, despite her attempts to maintain her composure.
“You know who he’s talking about?” Loretta asked, her eyes glinting like a cat’s in the moonlight as she looked curiously at Charlie.
“I… might know who it is,” she said carefully. “If it is, he is strong and certainly to be avoided. But he is also… noble. If there is a Hound who could be reasoned with, it would be him.”
“You two got history?” Loretta asked, and Charlie could hear the sly smile in her voice.
“Not for a long time,” she said. “But it is good to know he still lives. Even if he serves the Camarilla now.”
Loretta and Tristan exchanged another look, but neither of them pushed her further. For that, she was grateful.
It will not stop until you make it stop. Everywhere you go, it will follow. It will destroy. And it will hunt. Charlie stood on the porch, staring at the door, trembling from nerves and fear and a desire to just turn around and run. It has been more than a century. So much time for so many things to change. I am not the same. You are not the same. But you are the only one I can think of who I can trust with this. Just do it. Ring the bell. Knock on the door. Ask him for one last favor.
She lifted her hand. Balled it into a fist to stop it from shaking.
The door opened before she could knock.
Alastair filled the doorway. His expression was cold, eyes blank and lips frowning. Then he blinked. His lips parted. His eyes widened. Whoever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been her. If it were possible for him to have gone even more pale than he already was, she was certain he would have gone white as the snow coating the sidewalks around them. They stood in silence for many moments, staring at each other, not even breathing. It was Alastair who broke the silence first when he took a shuddering breath.
“Is it really you? Or am I somehow dreaming?” His hand drifted up to her face but paused before he made contact, like he was afraid touching her would shatter some kind of illusion. “Are you a phantom come to haunt me for my sins?”
“It is me, mon cœur.” Charlie took his hand in her own and pressed it against her cheek. His touch was cold, the same temperature as the air around them; despite the callouses from years of swordfighting and sailing on his palm, frozen on his skin for centuries, his hand felt soft against her face. “The tides of time have brought us together once more. I am sorry it has taken so long. But I promise, my love, I am here.”
Alastair’s breath hitched. His throat worked and the corners of his eyes reddened. He used the hand on her cheek to pull her in close and then his arms were around her and hers were around him. Neither of them cried because tears weren’t nearly enough to express decades of pain and loss and darkness. They just held each other because the physical contact was enough. Snow drifted from above, the soft yellow light on the porch buzzing quietly, and the cold of the winter night couldn’t touch either of them. Just as he broke the silence, Alastair was also the one to break the embrace. But only so he could step back and look at her once more. Alastair’s eyes wandered up and down, taking in her appearance. “You… cut your hair.”
“Oh, yes.” She tucked a stray lock behind her ear. “I met a Tzimice back in the 30’s who specialized in updating Kindreds’ appearances to the more modern fashion standards and… well, I felt it was long overdue for a change.”
“It looks good,” he said, reaching out and lightly running his fingers through it. “It suits you well. But… you didn’t decide to visit me after all this time just to show me your haircut, did you?”
Of course he’d ask. And she’d have to explain why. But she could see the shadows behind his gaze, the weight on his shoulders, the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. She reached up and held his hand, the one still touching her hair. “Oh, mon cher. The years have not been kind to you, have they?”
“Not as kind as they have been to you, it would seem,” he said. “Would you like to… come inside and tell me of those years?”
Yes. Just a little longer before I must ask you to be the thing I begged you to never become for my sake. “I would like that very much.”
He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter the house. She took a look around at the many shelves of books, cushy armchairs, and kitchenette in the corner. It was a far cry from the barebones shacks and dusty tombs of their past quarters. He let her take in the sight for a bit before taking her by the hand, oh so gently, and leading her up the staircase in the back. The second floor was more of what she expected, a simple living space with a couch in the main room, more bookshelves, and what looked like his bedroom off to the side. Another staircase led to a third floor, but he didn’t take her up there. They walked to the couch and settled onto it, shoulders touching and hands entwined between them. Again, they sat in silence for a long time, decades of history separating them.
“Will you tell me about your journey?” Alastair finally asked. “Surely you must know at least some of mine, but I have heard nothing of you for so long… what happened after you left? Where did you go? What did you see?”
“That is a lot of time to cover.”
“Are you in a rush?”
“I… no. Not tonight, at least.” She chewed her lip and thought about where to start. “After I left, I just traveled. All over Europe. It was easier to keep moving. I never stayed in one place more than a few nights. I met many humans on my travels. Some Kindred as well. A few ended up as companions for brief periods; their conversation could fill the empty nights and I learned a lot from them. History, religion, current events. There are a handful I am still in touch with to this day, actually. But all of it was temporary. Eventually I would part ways with them as well. And the silence would return. The… the loneliness.”
“You looked for me,” Alastair said quietly. He was staring down at his hand now, the one still holding hers. He didn’t pull away, but she felt his tense slightly. “While I slept, you looked for me.”
“How do you know?”
“When I woke, I smelled lavender. And I – I thought I heard you.” He lifted his head to catch her eye. “Kindred don’t dream and yet I heard you.”
That almost brought a tear to her eye. She blinked hard, swallowing, and let out a tiny laugh of amazement and disbelief. “Yes. I looked for you. And after some time, I found you. But I never found out why. Why did Samira stake you? What… what happened to you, Alastair?” She lifted her free hand and placed it on his chest. “What dimmed your light so much, amour? Why do your eyes not smile anymore?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“Was it… did it have something to do with your blood marriage?”
His head whipped up, eyes flashing red for just a moment. She flinched, almost pulled away, but the fury and pain was not directed at her. After a moment, he composed himself. “How do you know that?”
“I met your wife. Ex-wife, I suppose. She was rather rude.”
If Alastair could go pale, he would have in an instant. As it was, she saw the way his face shifted. “You two didn’t get into a fight, did you?”
“Just a small tiff. She insulted you. And me. And Óttar. I showed her a bit of what you taught me. One of your clan happened to be passing by and intervened before anything worse happened.” Charlie chuckled dryly at the memory. “I wounded her pride more than her body, but I think it was enough. I found out where you were sleeping after that. I don’t owe her anything.”
“You’re… not going to try fighting Lara if the two of you should cross paths again, would you?” Alastair seemed genuinely concerned by the thought.
“No.”
“Oh, good. That’s —“
“If I ever see that pute again, I will be telling her to rip out her own heart and eat it,” Charlie said, then heard the venom in her voice and took a deep breath to try and calm down. Alastair’s mouth hung open as he stared. She couldn’t remember having ever used such language in front of him before. “Excuses, mon amour.”
“Lara certainly knows how to leave an impression.”
“Yes. She absolutely left one on you.” Charlie squeezed his hand. “Please, will you tell me what happened?”
Alastair took a deep breath. “After we… parted ways… I wandered for a time. Samira kept me busy. Perhaps she sensed what I was feeling and wished to keep me occupied so I would not dwell on my emotions. But there was an emptiness. I don’t blame you for it, Charlie. But blood and fighting and distractions couldn’t fill it. When I met her, I thought maybe she could. She was beautiful. Strong. Smart. And for a time, I thought we were in love. Maybe we were. But when I was with her, I still remembered you and despite everything, I wanted something to anchor me in the present, not the past. So I drank from her. And she drank from me.”
“She did tell me you two were wed.”
“For many years. The bond helped. It distracted me for a long time. But her obsession outpaced mine and even with the connection, I began to drift again. So she sought a way to rekindle our bond, as it were. Through a different kind of blood. She –” he stopped and swallowed hard. When he inhaled again, it was shaky. As he spoke, his eyes flicked back and forth. She recognized it; he was falling into the memory. Reliving it again. His grip tightened even more. “My daughter died. Time had finally taken its toll. I returned to Haiti for her funeral. Lara followed me there. While I stood vigil, she enacted her plan. When I returned to my daughter’s home, I found them. Lara was there. She was waiting for me with a smile. And Ngozi was there, too. Hugo was there. But Ngozi, he was… Hugo was…”
Alastair stopped talking. His shoulders shook. When he blinked, a single, small red tear escaped from one eye. Charlie reached up with her free hand and caught the tear before it could fall. Alastair’s throat worked like he was trying to speak but no words came out. Giving him time to work through the memory, she lifted the bead to her lips and closed her eyes.
Rapid glimpses of memories, emotions, and sensations flooded through her faster than she could grasp. She tasted the chill of his vitae, the Resonance of his recent hunt, and something deeper. A fleeting glimpse of something dark and sorrowful and drenched in regret.
“Oh, mon amour.” She pulled him close, sliding her hands over his shoulders, feeling his head drop onto hers as he held her while he still trembled. “You didn’t…”
“He asked me to, Charlie. Hugo asked me to. Lara, she – she thought if we had a childe of our own, I would stay. She told me, ‘what better choice than a child I already had?’ Hecuba was gone and Ngozi was too old, but Hugo was young enough and he was my blood. The last of my human blood. And she turned him. He couldn’t fight the waking frenzy. Ngozi didn’t stand a chance. And when I understood, I attacked her. The bond meant nothing in that moment. We fought. I would have killed her but Hugo, he jumped between us. To this day I do not know if she made him do it or if he was confused and wanted us to stop but he was too young to withstand the damage. Lara fled with her wounds when she saw I would not accept what she had done. And Hugo. He was scared, Charlie. He was scared and hurt and he did not want it. He… he asked me to release him. I wanted to. But I couldn’t let him go. I couldn’t let him go, Charlie.”
“I understand, love.” More than anyone else. “I am so sorry.”
“It took months for him to fade after I consumed him. He stayed quiet the whole time. I carried him as long as I could before I felt him vanish. My last ties to my human life died the day Lara killed my family, but the last of my family died the night I couldn’t carry Hugo’s soul anymore.”
Alastair grew heavy in her arms. He wasn’t crying because there was so little left of his humanity that doing such a thing would require more emotion than he could muster, but it was like the weight of his confession smothered what little bit he still had. So she held him and didn’t ask anymore. She knew Samira’s reputation well enough to put the rest of the pieces together. Of course his sire would reprimand him for letting his emotions get the better of him. Samira wouldn’t let her childe walk around carrying the signs of diablerie. It took time for that to fade. What better way to both punish him for his mistakes and wait out the timer by putting him to torpor?
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will tell him. Tonight is for mourning. The two of them stayed on the couch, letting the silence speak for the rest of the night. Even when the pull of the rising sun began, they didn’t move. Alastair’s shaking subsided, his eyes remaining dry, but still he couldn't bring himself to let her go. She held him just as close, and when the sun finally peeked above the horizon they slept in each others’ arms.
***
It still took her almost half the next night to muster the courage to talk to Alastair. When they woke, he excused himself to hunt and meet with the courier that delivered him messages and missions. She waited at his home, looking through the library and marveling at the history within his collection of books. Some of it she knew. Some of it she didn’t. She wondered how much of it Óttar knew. She read as she waited, chewing a nail and occasionally glancing out the window and trying not to think too hard about whether or not her pursuer had caught up already.
A couple hours after Alastair returned from whatever business he had to take care of was when she finally asked him to sit.
“I must confess my true intentions for returning to you, Alastair.” She stared at her hands, picking at the polish on her thumb that had started to chip. “Because as much as I wish I have come back because I wanted to… I am also here to seek the Hound you have become. There is a monster that hunts me, amour. No matter how far I have run or how well I have hidden, it has found me. And I cannot fight it.”
He sat up straight, one hand already drifting to the blade at his side. “What kind of monster? Tell me everything.”
“It is a thing of stone and sorcery. It is as smart as it is vicious, and it has destroyed both havens and connections I had. When it speaks, it calls to a master and says it will not stop until I have nowhere left to run.” She lifted her head to watch his expression. “It is a gargoyle, Alastair. One whose will has been broken into servitude. And I fear it hunts me because its master seeks me for what I know and what I carry.”
“Its hunt ends here,” Alastair said. He pushed back from the table and headed directly to one of the shelves, scanning the books quickly before pulling one down and flipping through it. “Gargoyles are powerful indeed. If one hunts you, I will need to prepare. And I might need some assistance.”
“I can only do so much –”
“You’ve done plenty already, Charlie. I have my talents, but there are very few who can stand up to such a creature on their own. There is another Hound in this city I trust. He is very strong and he has held his own against dangerous opponents before. And,” Alastair glanced at Charlie, “he knows when to not ask too many questions.”
Charlie ran through her mental list of names. Like always, she’d done her research before entering the city limits. Who to know of, who to avoid, who could be helpful. Reputations were earned for good reasons. Of all the names she knew of, a couple stood out. She nodded. “Okay. How soon will you be ready? The gargoyle is smart, but it is not very patient. If it knows where I am, it will not wait long.”
“I can make a call to the courier and have her deliver a message. We will plan and prepare tonight. If all goes well and the monster shows its face soon, we will settle this matter within the week.” He was already at his desk, writing a message that he folded up small and stuck in an envelope. “You should stay here. This building is warded against threat and intrusion. It will be safe.”
“Are you sure? This thing has taken down other havens before.”
“Samira herself refreshes the wards. I am confident it will keep the gargoyle out.” Alastair paused, then walked over and brushed a few strands of hair from her face. His touch was gentle, not matching the hard look in his eyes. “You will be safe. I will be back soon.”
Before she could protest, he descended the steps and she heard the door shut. Again, she was left waiting. She plucked at a loose thread on her gloves, then got up and paced the room. Again, she glanced at the stairs leading up to the third floor. Curiosity burned within her, but she stayed at the bottom of the stairs. Tiny, almost imperceptible markings on the wall, railing, and steps stood out to her after a very careful investigation. Wards and sigils. Whatever Alastair had upstairs, he didn’t want anyone seeing. She returned to the couch with a book she randomly grabbed from the shelf and tried to read to keep herself occupied while she waited.
The sound of the door opening some time later pulled her from her reading. She closed the book and set it aside. There was no crashing, scratching, or grinding that had accompanied the attacks she’d come to expect. It was not here yet. It didn’t have opposable thumbs to open a door.
Two pairs of footsteps ascended the stairs. Charlie sat up and tried her best to stay composed as Alastair stepped into view, followed by who she assumed was the other Hound. He was tall, the dark hair and light brown skin making his steely blue-grey eyes stand out even more, but Charlie found her gaze drawn to the swirls of ink covering the left side of his face, neck, and from what she could tell under his shirt, the left side of his chest and arm, too. The tattoos looked like flames and smoke in a way, and as she stared, she could’ve sworn they were moving slightly – though it was probably just a trick of the design and the lighting.
“Charlie, this is my associate, Kazim al-Nasir. Kazim, this is Miss Charlene Roche.” Alastair gestured between them.
Kazim stepped forward and looked her up and down, then grinned and inclined his head toward her. “A true pleasure, Miss Roche. Alastair has spoken fondly of you on a number of occasions.”
“Kazim,” Alastair started, but Charlie chuckled lightly.
“I do hope they were good memories. It is good to meet you as well. And I do apologize for bringing such darkness to your doorstep.” She felt the polite smile struggling to stay on her face. More blood. More hurt. Because of me.
“I am Lasombra, my lady. The darkness has never been an issue with me.” Kazim shrugged lightly and crossed over to one of the armchairs, throwing himself into it with too much casual familiarity. She couldn’t quite place his accent, but it added a slight musical lilt to his words. “So, what terrible beast am I helping your knight with shining scimitar slay?”
“A twisted thing of flesh and sorcery,” Alastair said. “If what Charlie has described is indeed what I have heard whispers of in the past… we face a gargoyle, Kazim. A creature just as strong and stubborn as you with sorcery like me. That it hunts her with such drive is even more of a concern, as a gargoyle’s will is almost indomitable. But killing it will end one threat and buy us time to discern the puppetmaster if they continue their search.”
“I assume you have a plan?” Kazim sat up slightly. Charlie could see it written all over him without needing to peer into his mind or soul. He wanted a fight. No… he craved a fight. Her gaze dropped to the fang hanging from his neck. Is that…? “What should I expect?”
“From what I understand from my research, fighting this creature will make your slaying of the lupine look easy. We need to actually have a plan, Kazim. Not just run in, fists swinging, hoping for the best.”
“You say that like I never have a plan.”
“You rarely do, other than ‘hit harder than your opponent’ and that won’t work against a gargoyle. Their flesh is stone. Even your fists will have a hard time cracking it.”
Kazim folded his arms. “Then let’s hear your plan. You’re the one with the fancy sorcery, after all. Got any wards or blood traps up your sleeve?”
“Something like that. Now if you’ll stop talking long enough, I will actually explain it to you.”
Charlie looked between them. The banter between them was actually encouraging, despite the glares they were giving each other. Clearly, their friendship went back quite a while. Not just anyone could give Alastair attitude like that, from what she remembered of her time with him and the stories of his actions since they parted ways. And given Kazim’s reputation, she wasn’t sure which of them would actually walk away victorious if it came to blows. It was a relief they were working together.
“So, here’s what we are going to do,” Alastair said.
***
Charlie watched, standing in the shadows of the trees, as Alastair sat on the edge of the lake with his sword across his lap. Kazim was somewhere, hidden with his oblivion abilities, ready to strike from the darkness. The plan was as simple as it was dangerous. A head-on confrontation. No more running. No more hiding. Either the Hounds won, or the gargoyle would. And no matter who won, it was going to be violent.
Most unsettling about the gargoyle was how quiet it could be for such a massive creature. It stepped from the treeline silent as a cat, picking its way through the snow with all the time in the world. It stood almost fifteen feet at the shoulder, with a thin tail that snaked through the snow and ended in a wicket spear-like point. Wings that more closely resembled human hands were folded on its back, impossible to actually fly with except for the magic imbuing its body. Most unsettling was its face, though. The head, like the body, was entirely encased in thick dark stone and bore the hooked beak of a bird of prey. But when it opened its mouth to speak or strike, it revealed a fleshy, human-like mouth within with the sharp fangs of one of the vampires it used to be. On its chest were two more faces, engraved with visages of pained terror. It was old, it was strong, and it was relentless.
The winter storm swirled around them, adding a dreamlike quality to the scene. Alastair, a splash of red, and the gargoyle, a stain of gray against the white snow and black sky. When it reached a respectable distance from Alastair, its head tilted to the side as it regarded the man waiting for it.
“Childe of Haqim.” Its voice was a deep rumble like stone grinding against stone. “You are not the one I seek. Do you intend to stand in my way?”
“You intend to harm the one you seek.”
“My master has ordered no harm to befall her. I am to hunt and isolate and corral her. Harm only comes to those who resist me and stand in my way.”
“You still harm her. The destruction, and death you leave in your wake to force her to your master causes her pain. I will not stand for it. I care for her, unlike your master if they go to such foul lengths. Go back to them and tell them to abandon whatever vendetta they have against the woman they seek, or I shall hunt them with equal destruction and death in turn.” Alastair stood, the blade at his side, ready to strike. Charlie held her breath. Neither would back down. She knew what the creature’s response would be before it even spoke.
She focused on the gargoyle while it was distracted by Alastair, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness and see beyond the physical shape of its being. It was layers upon layers of enchantments and wards wrapped and tangled like barbed wire. Three distinct melodies swirled within it, discordant and screaming. She clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle the gasp, but it was too late. As her scrying faded, the gargoyle’s head swiveled in her direction.
“She is here. You will not interfere, Childe of Haqim.”
“I am Alastair MacKearney. I am childe of Primogen Samira and scion of Tegyrius. I will not let you cause Charlie any more pain. Return to your master, or face my blade.” Alastair shifted. Just enough to indicate he was prepared for any move it made.
The gargoyle turned its attention back to Alastair, its eyes blinking with audible, stony clicks. “You are Alastair?” The faces on its chest cracked and shifted, becoming angry frowns as a deep growl filled the air. “My master knows of you. He will not mourn your death.”
“Neither will I mourn yours.”
Alastair exploded into motion, a cloud of snow erupting from the ground in his wake as he charged. The gargoyle was just as prepared, though. It reared back, one arm flashing out with disturbing speed to deflect his sword. Metal clanged against stone loud enough to make Charlie wince. Its claws closed around the blade and it used the momentum to throw Alastair to the side. He rolled to his feet just in time to avoid a strike from its tail, ducking and weaving as the gargoyle rained blow after blow upon him. Where normally such a huge creature would be slow and heavy, it moved with disturbing speed and grace. When Alastair’s blade found its mark, the stone hide did little more than chip and spark. It reared up on its hind legs, the front two crashing down with enough force to shake the ground. For a moment, Charlie lost sight of Alastair as more snow filled the air.
Then a shape flew up and into the sky. Alastair, his eyes blazing red, snarled down at the gargoyle. It made a sound between a laugh and a hiss in response. The impossibly-shaped wings unfurled from its back and beat heavily as it pushed off the ground to give pursuit. She could do little more than watch as they clashed again and again. Only when Alastair landed a blow on one of its wings did it falter, losing altitude as it circled around. The clouds were blowing in, making it almost impossible to see Alastair so high up. His black coat blended in too well with the night sky, and only when he also dropped closer to the ground and drifted in front of a swirl of snow to raise an arm at her did she spot him again.
The distraction of waving to her was enough for the gargoyle to disappear into the storm. It reappeared above Alastair, plunging straight down and grabbing him in its claws exactly like a hawk did to its prey. The two of them fell to the ground with alarming speed. She ran forward a few steps before catching herself, trying to track where they would impact.
Alastair wrestled himself free at the last second before they collided with the ground, altering his trajectory enough to skid across the frozen lake instead of cratering into it. The gargoyle’s wings flared as it similarly banked, using its weight and momentum to crash into the ice where Alastair had stood a heartbeat before. Ice shards sprayed into the air, forcing Alastair to shield his face and take a swipe from its tail across his torso. He tumbled head over heels across the lake, unable to stop himself on the slippery ice until a snow bank caught him.
The gargoyle charged forward, its claws digging into the ice and its wings flapping to gain speed, relentless as a freight train. Alastair struggled to free himself from the deep snow, sinking into it even more with his efforts.
Then he was enveloped in darkness as his shadow moved on its own, curling around him and taking on a new shape. Kazim emerged from the darkness already in motion, diving with his shoulder down like a linebacker at the monster. Their collision was like thunder. Somehow, Kazim hit with enough force to stop the gargoyle in its tracks. The angry faces on its chest changed to surprise as its beak opened in an enraged screech as a new opponent joined the fray.
Charlie used the distraction to run over to where Alastair still laid, though she kept one eye on the fight. She got there just as Alastair managed to stumble to his feet, snow clinging to his coat and hair.
“Charlie, you should stay back.” He waved her away as she tried to get a look at him. His clothes were filthy from the snow and torn from shards of ice and stone. Even the enchanted coat that protected him had nicks and frayed edges, and a small cut above his eye dripped dark blood down his temple. “Let us do our job.”
“Are you hurt? Your face –” she reached for the cut but Alastair pushed her hand down.
“I’m fine for now. Just tired. Save your healing for after. Kazim will no doubt need it far more than I will.” He looked over at his colleague, and Charlie followed his gaze.
The idiot was actually smiling as he fought. Despite the numerous cuts and gashes now adorning his body from the creature’s claws, he was holding his own quite well. Each time his fists connected, cracks spiderwebbed across the gargoyle’s stone skin. Chunks had even fallen away, revealing pale human flesh underneath. The faces on its chest that had appeared to be carved were now fully revealed, pushing from its true body in twin visages of pain and terror. Blank eyes wept tears of blood as gaping mouths screamed silently. Kazim leapt up, using its outstretched leg as a springboard, and grasped its beak in his hands. With a nasty crunch, it shattered under his grip. The gargoyle reared back and roared in pain, part of its main face exposed to the night air.
Alastair took the opening and flew forward once more before Charlie could say anything. The Hounds worked with admirable synergy, keeping the gargoyle in constant motion as it tried to strike at them both. But with Kazim darting between its legs and Alastair flitting around its head like a gnat, it was building into a fury that frightened her. Then Kazim slipped on the ice and caught a back leg to the chest, the claws clamping into him and slamming him into the ice hard enough to crack it. It then spun in a circle, its tail whipping up and clipping Alastair in the side. He went tumbling once more, slamming into another snowbank a dozen yards from where Charlie stood.
The gargoyle pressed the assault, leaving Kazim struggling to regain his footing as it moved, one powerful arm swinging wide, hooked claws bearing down on Alastair as he struggled to pull himself from the snowbank. There was no time to think. She threw herself forward, moving as fast as she could, eyes fixed on the claws already drenched in the Hounds’ blood.
You’ll be okay.
The blow was like taking a cannonball to the gut. Despite not needing it, the air was driven from her lungs from the impact. Something tore as the claws hooked in, and she was lifted clean off her feet as she sailed several yards through the air. Her back hit a tree with enough force that bark and wood splintered and shattered. She took the tree down with her as she fell, momentarily winded and blinking up at the dark clouds overhead as it hit the ground behind her with a muffled whoomph and a massive spray of snow in all directions.
A silence fell over the lake. Kazim stumbled to his feet, one hand clamped over his side where dark blood dripped from the lacerations. Alastair’s mouth hung open, eyes wide. Even the gargoyle had frozen, paw still raised, two claws cracked and blunted, staring at where she lay, like it couldn’t comprehend it had just dealt what had surely been a fatal blow to the person it had been ordered to hunt but not harm.
“CHARLIE!” Alastair’s cry tore through the silence. Despair, terror, rage tainted his tone in a way she hadn’t heard before.
She tried to draw breath, to respond and say it was okay, but the sheer strength behind the gargoyle’s attack had locked up her lungs as the muscles spasmed in response to the blunt force trauma. But the shout snapped the monster out of its shock. Its head swung back to look at him, the fractured stone that had once been the wickedly hooked beak exposing jagged fangs in a grotesque snarl. It surged forward, leaping high like a lion pouncing on helpless prey, both arms extended to drive its claws into his chest and rip his heart out.
It stopped short, claws just barely hooking into the front of his coat. For the briefest of moments, time stopped. The gargoyle hovered in the air, the snarl just starting to give way to an almost comical confusion. Alastair, his own fangs bared in ugly defiance, reaching for his sword that laid just out of reach. Then the gargoyle was pulled backwards, sailing up and over in an arc through the air as Kazim – feet planted in the snow, tendrils of shadow wrapping up his shins and knees to root him in place – swung the massive beast over his head by the tail and brought it crashing down upon the ice. The impact sent a spiderweb of cracks across the frozen lake, shards of ice scattering and skidding along the surface, but it didn’t give way. Charlie levered herself up, clutching the shreds of her shirt as she stared.
Kazim’s face was twisted in a snarl, fangs like shark teeth curving from his gums. The mirthful elation he’d worn up until that point was gone, replaced by rage and a cold focus that chilled her in a way the snow never could. Darkness swirled in his eyes, which had gone completely black - no, something even darker. They swallowed the light, twin voids that matched the wisps of shadow curling from his tattoos along his face and arm. She’d seen vampires tap into their Beasts many times. Sometimes their eyes glowed or changed colors, sometimes their bodies warped and twisted. But she’d never seen one sink into the Abyss like this. Kazim stalked forward as the gargoyle twisted and scrabbled at the ice to right itself, shaking off the blow. Just as it regained its footing, Kazim’s fist flew forward with the force of a torpedo. Another sharp crack split the air as shards of stone cracked and flew apart. Its claws did little to keep it in place, his punch sending it skidding across the ice.
Using the opening, Charlie staggered to her feet and over to Alastair. The movement caught his eye, and his face went slack with relief. “Charlie! You - are you…?”
“I’m fine, cherie,” she said, crouching beside him to take stock of his wounds.
“But you – the claws – your clothes!” He looked her over, and his eyes somehow got even wider when he took in her unmarred skin beneath the shreds that had once been her favorite shirt. “... how?”
“My sire may not have stayed with me, but he made sure I knew how to keep myself safe,” she said, putting a hand on her chest. Thank you. “Let me help you.”
“No,” Alastair pushed her other hand aside, where it had drifted to the gash over his heart. “Save your strength for when this is over. No point in healing me now. And I think our Lasombra friend will be needing it dearly very soon.”
The gargoyle’s tail lashed as it lunged and swiped at Kazim, the two of them engaged in a deadly dance as each looked for an opening to strike. Kazim’s hands curled into claws, eager to get ahold of the monster again. He feinted, the gargoyle responded.
Then his food slid on the ice and he almost fell.
The gargoyle saw its chance. It dug its front claws into the ice and swung its hips and tail straight at him. Kazim didn’t have the opportunity to dodge, and the spear-like tip buried itself in his stomach deep enough that it poked out of his back.
Kazim’s arms went limp. His head tilted forward, blood splattering onto the stone tail as he coughed weakly.
“No! Kazim!” Charlie moved, not sure what she could do with the monster there but she couldn’t let the man die like this. Not for a problem she brought to his doorstep. Alastair’s arms wrapped around her, holding her back. “Non, Alastair! Let me go! He needs help!”
“Not yet,” Alastair said, but his voice was also strained from stress and fear. “Trust him.”
The gargoyle made a noise somewhere between a snarl and a laugh. “This one has a death wish. I shall grant it.”
Another noise drifted through the air. A thin, gurgling wheeze. Kazim was… laughing? He raised his head, eyes complete voids, blood still running from his mouth and nose. “Got you.”
His hands seized the tail, fingers digging in and shadows spreading like roots along its surface. The gargoyle’s expression changed, as much as it could beneath the stone. It tried to yank its tail free, but Kazim held on with incredible strength. Then, he pulled himself forward, hand over hand, until he was able to get ahold of the base of the tail. One hand gripped it tight, more shadows spiderwebbing from where he held on, the other raising above his head as the tattoos spread and writhed until almost all the skin on his arm turned black. His arm came down like a guillotine, the Abyss covering his body severing the tail like a hot knife through butter.
The gargoyle screeched, stumbling back from Kazim as wisps of shadow clung to the wound. He also stumbled, sitting heavily as he looked down at where the tail was still embedded in his torso. Slowly, painfully, he eased it out, the snow turning almost black as his blood flowed freely from the gaping wound. But his plan – if he’d indeed planned it, as idiotic and risky as it had been – worked. The gargoyle was wounded and in pain. One of its primary weapons had been removed. And Kazim was grinning again.
“Fear the man who laughs in the face of Death,” Alastair murmured. “I will try to finish this.”
Once more, Alastair ran forward. The gargoyle was still screaming, the stump of its tail dripping with shadows and blood, but one of the faces on its chest must have still had some ability to see because it suddenly whipped around and caught Alastair mid-swing. It clamped its claw around his arm and he cried out as the bone snapped. His sword fell from limp fingers, its blade rusting over in seconds. It slammed him to the ground, pinning him in place, and plucked the blade from the ice with its other claw. Then, with deliberate malice, it drove the sword into Alastair’s chest.
His face twisted in agony, unable to draw breath to scream. Kazim’s smile dropped. He tried to stand but his legs couldn’t support him. He’d lost too much blood already and the gaping wound in his gut was still bleeding. Both Hounds were incapacitated.
The gargoyle’s head turned towards Charlie. Almost all of its stone mask had fallen away, revealing a balding head and pale flesh that hadn’t seen the light of day – or night – in who knew how many decades. The face underneath was still mostly human, though the eyes were slightly too large, the nose too flat, the mouth too wide. It looked at her, and beneath the pain and the fear in its eyes, she saw the glint of something cruel. Like someone else was watching from behind its gaze.
“You will watch your protectors pay for their folly,” it rumbled. The true mouth twitched and slurred the words like it didn’t want to say them. Whoever its master was, they were the one speaking for it, feeding it lines. “Then you will come with me. The nightmare will end.”
“Please… don’t…” Charlie could barely force the words from her throat. It can’t end like this. I asked them to fight. I can’t – I can’t be responsible for their deaths!
Alastair’s hand twitched. Something on his finger glinted. The gargoyle sneered at her, then leaned down to press its full weight on the sword in Alastair’s chest. It thought he was finished. But it got close enough for Alastair’s arm to jab out, the ring around his finger magically transforming into a stake as he reached up and plunged it into the exposed flesh where its heart would be.
All three of the gargoyle’s faces froze in identical expressions of shock. Its body went stiff, then one leg buckled and it teetered, stumbling back from Alastair. Its claws grasped weakly at the stake, but it was already losing strength. First one pair of eyes closed. Then the other. Then the third and primary face went slack, its eyes drooping, and it fell heavily onto its side.
Charlie forced her numb limbs into motion. Kazim was doubled over, hands pressed to his wound, eyes closed as he did his best to rouse his blood and stop the worst of the bleeding. Alastair was still pinned, staring up at the sky with an exhausted but oddly contemplative look. She skidded to a halt and knelt down. The now-rusted blade had missed his heart by mere inches.
“I am feeling a strange sense of déjà vu, mon cher,” Alastair said weakly. A thin trickle of blood fell from the corner of his mouth as he coughed, his next breath wheezing as his punctured lung struggled to draw in air.
“You’re an old fool, Alastair MacKearney,” she managed, the words half-sob and half-laugh. But she grasped the hilt of the blade and pulled as hard as she could. It resisted at first, having pierced Alastair with enough force to be driven into the ice below. But with enough force, she managed to draw it out. Alastair gritted his teeth as she did, his fangs digging into his lip, but it wasn’t until the sword was out and she tossed it aside that he made a noise. “Will you accept healing now?”
“That… would be nice,” Alastair mumbled.
Charlie placed both hands over the angry-looking wound on his chest and exhaled slowly. The valerian coursed through her, warming them both. The bleeding slowed, then stopped, and the painful-looking dark veins spreading from the puncture faded slightly. She knew enough about blood sorcery to know that the blade’s enchantment was quite literally double-edged. He was very lucky the gargoyle had missed his heart.
Speaking of the garoyle… she looked over her shoulder. It hadn’t moved, but she saw how even staked, its faces were warped in suffering. That glint behind its eyes, the one pulling its strings and causing it such pain. It was strong enough that the stake hadn’t finished the job yet. And she had to know.
She stumbled over to the desiccated form, ignoring Alastair’s and Kazim’s warnings of getting too close. Despite the stake in its heart, the gargoyle’s claws and faces twitched like it was still trying to regain consciousness, to carry out its orders. She fell to her knees by its head. The ruined mask that had hidden the marred face beneath had almost entirely flaked away, exposing a face twisted in pain and conflict even in torpor, despite the initial smiles of relief when the stake entered its heart.
“What has been done to you…?” She carefully cupped its head in her hands, leaning forward until her forehead touched the gargoyle’s, and closed her eyes. The gargoyle’s mind resisted at first, even in its weakened state, but gave way to her gentle entreatment. A flood of emotions and memories filled her mind as the creature’s heart was laid bare, and she drifted through the onslaught until she found what she was looking for. There, in its core, was a knotted, confused desire. No… there’s two. It is alright. Show me what you desire. Show me what you need. Show me how I can help. Like undoing one of the complex sailing knots Alastair had taught her during their journey to Haiti, she carefully pried apart the conflicting desires within the gargoyle. First to wrench itself free was a burning, angry obsession that snapped and twisted like a snake: find her, stalk her, ruin her, scare her, drive her back, never stop, can’t stop, find her, stalk her – the repeated commands sent a lance of pain through her mind, and she winced. Hands fell on her shoulders, Alastair’s voice distantly asking her what she was doing, if she was okay. But there was something else. She had to know. The deeper, quieter desire was in tatters, weak and drenched in a sorrow deeper than even her own. I want peace. I want quiet. I want release. Please. Release me.
She came back to herself with a gasp, the auspex fading as her eyes fluttered open, the throbbing in her temples from the effort slowly easing as the seconds ticked. She wrung her hands, pulling the gloves higher up her wrists.
“Charlie, what were you doing?” Alastair studied her face, brow furrowing in concern as he saw the tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “What did you see?”
“End it,” she whispered. She turned to look up at Kazim hovering behind Alastair, hands still pressed against the wound in his gut, his face set in grim disdain as he looked at the monster that had almost ended both the Hounds. But her words pulled his attention, and he looked at her with a slight tilt of his head. “It wants to be freed. Please, Kazim. End its pain.”
Kazim opened his mouth, then closed it. Whatever snippy or biting retort he’d been prepared to say faded when he studied her face and let her words sink in. Without another word, he nodded and limped forward. He placed his hand on the gargoyle’s body. The shadows crept down his forearm, the tattoos writhing until they spread from under his palm, a growing void across the creature’s stony flesh as the Abyss ate away at its form; from below, wisps of shadow crawled and writhed until shapes resembling thin, Sphinx-like cats were crawling all over and consuming the corpse.
They said nothing for the next minute, watching as the evidence and shadows slowly vanished until all that was left was a massive disturbance in the snow. Charlie let out a shuddering breath, hugging her arms to her chest. Alastair’s hand lingered on her back, a small comfort as his face was stone. Kazim coughed, spit a glob of blood into the snow that immediately dissolved into wisps of shadow, and looked at the two of them — though his eyes lingered on Charlie. Then he slid his jacket off, wincing as the movements pulled at his various wounds, and held it out to her.
“As gorgeous as you are, perhaps you should cover up until we’re not in public,” he said, a hint of his dry humor returning.
“Have some respect —“ Alastair started, and she heard the old defensiveness in his tone. She laid a hand on his arm.
“Merci, Kazim.” She took the jacket and slid it on. It was too large in the shoulders, but that gave her room to zip it up. Kazim pointedly kept his gaze on Alastair’s face as she did so, corner of his mouth twitching in an amused smile.
“You should head back. We will take care of the rest of this.” Kazim nodded at the various mounds and pits in the snow, the scrapes along the ice, and the concerningly numerous splatters of blood coloring the snow red and black. Bits and pieces of stone and flesh from the gargoyle littered the area, and the tail still lay where Kazim had left it.
“Let me help with this, first.” Charlie stood, Alastair rising with her, but she gave him a nudge for space. He relented, and she moved to Kazim with a hand outstretched for the massive wound that had barely stopped bleeding from his own efforts to heal. One of his eyebrows twitched quizzically, but he didn’t stop her. She very gently laid her palm on the wound, closed her eyes, and focused. A bloom of warmth traveled from her core down her arm, and Kazim sucked in a breath as he felt the valeren take effect. When she withdrew her touch, the wound had sealed itself. All that remained on the surface was a massive bruise. Inside would still take a bit longer to heal, but he was no longer at risk of bleeding out. She swayed slightly, the effort from healing both of them and scrying the gargoyle’s soul having drained her. “There. It is all I can do at the moment. My apologies.”
“That’s… more than enough, ma’am.” Kazim’s voice had gone soft as he stared down at where the wound had been, clearly feeling the relief from the pain. “Now, why don’t you get home? I’m sure you’ve had enough excitement for one night.”
“Are you sure?”
“Go, Charlie,” Alastair said. “We have to make sure there’s nothing left to find. We’re lucky for the storm; it should hide most of the damage. My haven will be safe just in case any other servants of this creature’s master followed it. We will meet you there when we’re done.”
“I…” She looked around. The monster was finally gone. She could breathe easy for now. The relief almost made her legs give out right there, but she stayed up. “Okay. Don’t take too long, please. You shouldn’t exert yourselves too much with those injuries.”
“I’ll keep an eye on the old man, don’t you worry,” Kazim said.
“Me? You’re the one with your guts rearranged,” Alastair scoffed.
Charlie allowed herself a smile as their banter picked up. At least they had enough strength to argue. She turned, pulled Kazim’s jacket collar a little closer to block the snow, and headed back.
***
Sitting in the quiet of Alastair’s study, she finally let herself sink into the couch and closed her eyes. The muffled conversation between the Hounds drifted through the door, but it was easy to tune out. Exhaustion crept into her body from the night’s events. Even if the sun wouldn’t rise for at least a couple more hours, she wanted to sleep.
You did well tonight.
Charlie sat up, eyes flying open, a hand drifting up to her chest. You… you’re back? I thought… I thought I had imagined it. In the fight. You spoke.
I am never far, my child. You know this. Even if I am silent, I am never far.
But you’ve been silent for so long!
There is little left for me to teach you. And I am tired, my child. It is difficult to fight the pull of torpor. Even speaking to you now is an effort. But you must know, even if I sleep, you will always know where to find me. I will wake when you need me.
I’ve needed you so many times. Where were you? You promised. You promised! I’ve been alone for so long, Óttar. Where were you when I left Alastair? When I left my home? When I – she felt a cold tear run down her cheek and angrily wiped it away. Where were you when I left Antoine? Why did you leave me alone?
I… am so sorry, my little one. I never meant for you to weather the ages alone. If I could return to you, know that I would. My silence is not absence, Charlene. It is never absence. You are my childe. You carry my blood and my strength and my memory. When you truly need me, I will wake. And I will come to aid you. Always.
But even with her sire’s reassurances, she felt his voice and his presence fading. Even this little exchange had taxed his consciousness. The distance had grown too great, the weight of time too strong for one as old as him. Torpor was calling him once more. Don’t go. Please, don’t go! Óttar –
The connection was gone.
She sat alone in the dark, fighting the tears that wanted to fall. The sound of the knob turning caught her attention. She quickly wiped her cheeks and double-checked her gloves to make sure there was no evidence, then sat up a little straighter. Alastair walked in first, followed by Kazim. Both of them looked just as haggard and drained as she felt. It had been a long night for them all. But there was a small, reassuring smile on Alastair’s face.
“Kazim is fairly certain he can locate a safe place for you near the edge of the city, close enough to both our territories that you will not have trouble getting to either of us. He has resources and connections I do not, and he can ensure no favors will connect you to unnecessary politics as long as you stay.” Alastair stepped aside and gestured for Kazim to speak.
“It may take a few days to secure a location and set it up with what you need, but it can be done. There is a territory without many neighbors to ask questions. I can make the arrangements to ensure attention is kept to a minimum.” Kazim pulled out a small notebook from his pocket and held it out. “Any requests or connections of your own that you have, let me know.”
“Thank you. Both of you.” She took the notebook and stared down at the lines, feeling the exhaustion even more than before at the mental load that awaited her. “I owe you both a great boon.”
“It is nothing,” Alastair said.
“Perhaps to you,” Kazim said, side-eyeing Alastair. “But I trust you will find my price more than agreeable. And there is no timeline on your repayment. Tonight, we all rest. The mundane work is for tomorrow.”
“I think on that we can all agree,” Alastair nodded. “You may use the spare room again tonight, Charlie. Kazim, will you be returning to your territory? The sun will not rise for at least another hour; there should be plenty of time even with your injuries.”
“As tempting as it is to be in my own bed tonight, I feel it is safest we remain… together for the rest of the evening. Just to make sure that creature was the only one hunting Miss Roche.” Kazim looked from Alastair to Charlie, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Surely our lovely host could spare another bed or perhaps the couch?”
For a moment it looked like Alastair either wanted to put Kazim through the wall or scruff him and walk him out the door, but then he simply rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “Just stay away from the television, Kazim. Unless you want to add it to your tab.”
“I would never!” Kazim’s mock offense finally cracked through Charlie’s sorrow and she couldn’t help but laugh. The sound interrupted the bantering between the Hounds, and they both looked at her. She tried to stop, but the anxiety and fear and tiredness all finally gave way to a not-quite-hysterical but relief-filled laugh she couldn't stop. That earned Alastair a nudge from Kazim, and both of their smiles became more genuine, too. Neither of them laughed with her, but that was okay. Instead, Kazim patted Alastair on the back hard enough he stumbled forward a step. “See, sourpuss? There may be some hope for us yet. A pretty lady is laughing at us for no good reason.”
“She’s laughing at you,” Alastair said, but it didn’t sound like he believed it.
“You two fight like you’re children,” she managed between giggles, fighting for some control over her conflicting emotions. “Do I have to come over there and separate you two?”
“Oh, come on. Grandpa here could use a sense of humor. It’s been decades since I last heard him laugh. Do you think there’s any dust caught in his laugh lines?”
“I still remember that binding ritual, little shadow. Must I bind you in the attic for some peace and quiet tonight?”
“If you want me tied up all you have to do is ask –”
“Charlie!” Alastair interrupted, turning pointedly towards her. “Will Mr. al-Nasir’s extended presence be tolerable or shall I make my request for him to return to his territory official?”
“Play nice, mon cher. I think he’s earned his keep tonight.” Charlie looked between the two of them, then down at herself. They were all still filthy and damp from the snow and blood, clothes in tatters and covered in wounds that would need much more blood and rest to heal. “Now, will one of you gentlemen help a lady out of her ruined clothes, or will you attend to your own wardrobes first?”
Kazim blinked, and the overhead light flickered. For just a moment, Charlie thought she caught the faintest pink color at the tips of Alastair’s ears. Their quarrel was forgotten. And they still had time before sunrise. The beast had been slain. She was safe. “Besides,” she continued, “I should see what wounds of yours still need tending to. Hard to do that with clothes in the way.”
As he watched Ilknur descend the steps of his haven, Alastair chewed his lip. It was certainly an… interesting coterie the Prince had assembled. All of them had their own issues to address and adjustments to make to their new existence. But one of them stood out in a moderately concerning manner. He’d clocked the way the white-haired Ventrue, Samson, had avoided eye contact when the topic of staying well-fed came up. The boy practically radiated hunger. But that wasn’t entirely what concerned Alastair. As they’d sparred, Ilknur had informed him of the night’s activities. And apparently, Samson had become bonded to the blonde one after a single drink. That was exceedingly rare. No wonder the rest of them had asked about the blood bonds with such interest. The poor child. Breaking the bond will be a difficult endeavor… if they even manage to resist the impulse long enough.
But the blood bond on top of his obvious reluctance to feed on humans… if he could be bonded so easily, feeding on his coterie or other Kindred would expose him to so much danger. And most of them weren’t even a month old.
He should inform someone. Someone who understood the risks of the hunger and the dangers of blood bonds better than most Kindred he knew. Samson would benefit from guidance Alastair couldn’t provide. Alastair greatly doubted he would be willing to endure the same treatment Kazim had undergone to break his bond. This one would probably require a more gentle and understanding intervention and support. Or, if for some reason he did not want the bond broken, he could use some guidance on ensuring his mind stayed as separate as possible from the bond’s influence. Hopefully, if given the option, the boy would accept it. He descended the stairs to the first floor and headed to the back, where the rotary phone was. He dialed the number he knew by heart and waited while the line buzzed.
“Charlene Roche’s office. How may I direct your call this evening?” The voice that picked up was chipper and professional.
“Good evening, Hiroki,” Alastair said, recognizing Charlie’s assistant’s voice. “This is Alastair MacKearney. I would like to speak with Ms. Roche if she’s available.”
“Ah… Mr. MacKearney. Is this…” Hiroki’s tone dropped slightly, more quiet and cautious. “Is this a matter of urgency?”
“Not at the moment. But it has the potential to be time-sensitive.”
“I understand. Please hold, I’ll see if she’s free.”
Alastair waited only a couple minutes before the line connected.
“Bonsoir, mon cher.” Charlie’s warm voice drifted through the phone. He felt his grip on the receiver ease slightly at the sound. “What troubles you tonight?”
“I was introduced to a rather… colorful new coterie just now. Fledgelings, barely a month old. One of them appears to be having some trouble adjusting to his new circumstances.”
“Oh? It is not uncommon among the newborn.”
“True. But this is more complicated.” Alastair sighed and paced back and forth, fiddling with the phone’s cord. “The boy seems averse to feeding on humans. From what I understand, he’s barely fed enough to hold the Beast at bay since being turned. And earlier tonight, he almost lost control in a nightclub until one of his coterie members convinced him to feed on her.”
“... what happened?” Charlie’s voice shifted. Just slightly. But he’d known her for a long time. She could sense where this conversation was going.
“It would appear he is afflicted by a flaw of the blood. The one that makes him… unfortunately susceptible to blood bonds. When he fed, he became bonded to the coterie member after a single drink.” Alastair paused his pacing. “I fear what could happen if he continues to refuse to feed on human blood if Kindred vitae has such an effect on him. And… I fear his anger at his new existence will only exacerbate the struggle. If he burns through the blood to fuel that anger, or to Blush to hold onto some semblance of life, without feeding properly to sustain himself…”
“Or if he and his coterie-mates aren’t careful with the bond, it could tear them apart before they even learn how to survive,” Charlie finished. He felt the weight of her words even through the phone. Her mind had gone to the same place his had. They were both remembering the same thing. “You wish for me to help him?”
“I don’t know how willing he might be. Especially with the bond this fresh. But if he is –”
“If you think it will help, I will do what I can, mon cher. For him, and the others if they wish.” The determination in her voice was strong. “Maybe this time it can be different.”
“Let us hope,” Alastair agreed. “If nothing else, it might help him to see that his future is not one entirely of darkness. I have a feeling his resentment towards his new immortality might give him a somewhat… bleak outlook on his future. And I am fairly sure meeting me did not help that perspective. Meeting you might help all of them see the passage of time is not entirely unkind. I’m afraid I might not have made a good first impression on that subject.”
“Merci, Alastair. For thinking to tell me. It has been a long time since I have met such young ones, but I am always happy to help. Keep an eye on them, if you can? I would like to meet them sometime if it is safe.”
“I’ll do my best. Take care, Charlie.”
“Toi aussi, mon amour.”
The call ended, and he hung the receiver back on the wall. Part of him felt slighted, perhaps even indignant, that the opportunity to see her again was marred by extenuating circumstances. But if nothing else, her presence could be a balm for everyone. The coterie, and for him. To have lived as long as she had and still retain such humanity, despite the darkness she’d faced… if nothing else, perhaps that’s what this boy needed to see.
Take care. Do not be reckless. Do not let yourself be used in a war.
Stay safe for me.
Charlie’s words drifted through his thoughts, doing nothing to distract from the itching, burning pain in his torso. He couldn’t breathe because he was missing half a lung, so he couldn’t speak or call for help. All he could manage was a thin, gurgling wheeze. The missing ribs and literal hole in his side didn’t help at all. He stumbled his way through the stinking sewers, a single goal at the forefront of his mind: get away.
He couldn’t fight that thing. He couldn’t even hurt it. And it has hurt him. Bad.
His foot caught in the uneven ground and he pitched forward. One hand shot out to catch him before he went down, sliding across the muck-covered wall that felt uncomfortably warm. Somewhere not too distant behind him, something massive shifted and slithered and searched for the meal that had so narrowly escaped its grasp. How could you even imagine fighting that? How could you imagine winning? What idiocy drives you? What madness robs you of your sense?
Darkness that was not the simple lack of ambient light crept across his vision. Torpor was pulling him under. He needed to sleep to heal. But he couldn’t sleep there. That thing could still find him. And yet he couldn’t get up. His body was too heavy. He felt… cold. A cold that came from blood loss so great it overrode the hunger. He could barely keep his eyes open.
Squeaking. Quiet, curious, and close. He forced his eyes open again. A trio of rats had materialized from somewhere and sniffed at his boots, his coat, and the puddle of blood growing around where he sat slumped against the wall. They were not scared. Could it be…? It was worth the gamble. He sucked in as deep a breath as he could manage, feeling the lopsided weight of a single functional lung, and forced words out through the pain of missing half his torso. “Your master… the Dodger… tell him a hou— a hound needs help. Find— find him… please. I can’t…”
As torpor pulled him under, the last he saw and heard was a trio of rats disappearing into the darkness.
***
He woke to the smell of lavender and alcohol. His body burned with an uncomfortable heat – a fever, almost. Something he hadn’t felt in centuries. The pain in his torso was more muted than when he’d fallen to torpor, but he almost preferred that to what he felt now. It was like something was inside him, trying to eat him from within. An itch in his very bones. A parting gift from the thing. He’d escaped, but it was trying to eat him anyway. Where am I? It was dark. Shadows clung to the corners of the room. Movement flitted at his peripheries but his body felt too heavy to react. And yet it smelled familiar. Lavender… and alcohol… Lavender…
That got him to try and sit up. He rose maybe a few inches before a gentle but firm hand pressed against him and held him down. “Easy, mon cher. You have not recovered yet, but you are safe.”
He tried to speak but there was no air in his lungs. There was iron and alcohol in the back of his throat. Blood. Enough to wake him from his healing sleep. Enough to keep his Beast in check. Not enough to help him recover fully. But he knew that taste.
“The little shadow does not share his stash lightly,” he managed, though each breath he drew to speak felt like working a bellows. One hand felt along his side until it found tender, bruised flesh and a concavity from missing ribs just starting to recover. “How long…?”
“Three days. The day-sleep only healed so much. Whatever did this to you, it is a powerful thing. I have done what I can to fight the sickness in you. It is fading, but it is stubborn. You must rest more.” Charlie picked up his hand and pressed it against her lips. Her touch was blessedly cool against the unnatural heat of his skin.
“The old man is almost as stubborn as you, Charlie. Now that he is awake, I doubt he will want to rest anymore.” Kazim’s voice drifted from the shadows a moment before he materialized from them. The smile on his face didn’t meet his eyes, though. Despite his ever-present amused attitude, concern lined his expression. It was a look Kazim hadn’t worn in years. Not since they fought the gargoyle. “But it is good to have you back with us. You had both of us worried for a bit.”
“How did…?”
“The Dodger. He brought you to me. Thought you’d be dust by dawn, the way you looked all torn up. That,” Kazim pointed to Alastair’s side, “almost did you in one way or another. Good thing Charlie got here so fast, otherwise whatever was feasting on you from within would’ve finished the job and the fight underground would’ve finally found its way to the surface.”
Charlie made a face somewhere between disgust and relief. “A parasitic supernatural infection is not something that’s easy to cure, especially steeped in sorcery far beyond my own skills. Anyone without composure like yours might have been consumed within minutes. We got lucky, and that is certainly saying something.”
“And you’re not quite out of trouble yet, so here.” Kazim stepped forward and held out a repurposed wine bottle, the label long since removed, full of blood. “Fresh as I could manage without bringing someone down here. Apologies for the aftertaste, though; it’s from a return client who likes to drink to forget.”
Alastair took it without comment. He was too weak, tired, and hungry to argue about Kazim’s hunting style. The first few sips were hard to get down as indeed, the blood was heady with alcohol so intense it burned on the way down, but at least it was the warm burn of booze and not from whatever lingering infection still ate away at him. But as he drank more, both the blood and alcohol started to take effect. A pleasant buzz settled in his mind and the taste became slightly more bearable, though it still wasn’t his preference and he only managed about half the bottle before he needed to stop and wait for his stomach to settle. Charlie helped hold the bottle when his grip slackened, glancing up at Kazim, but he shook his head slightly. “It’s just the alcohol. Old man hasn’t had a proper taste in years, I’d wager.”
“I can hear you just fine,” Alastair mumbled, but he couldn’t rouse his blood or his emotions enough to feel annoyed. His eyes were struggling to stay open. He just wanted to lay in the cold darkness, smelling Charlie’s lavender and Kazim’s alcohol while he slept and healed. A gentle pressure on his side made him wince, his eyes fluttering back open to see Charlie pressing her hand against his wound again. Her own eyes were closed as she frowned in concentration. Only then did he notice she wasn’t wearing her gloves. Oh… it’s really that bad, huh? She never took them off unless she needed her valeren at full strength, and she’d told him a long time ago that direct contact made it work best. The healing spread through him slowly, soothing the burn of the infection and easing the lingering pain. It even became easier to breathe as his ribs and lungs repaired themselves a little more. She worked carefully, pushing her discipline as far as it would go that night as opposed to the faster healing she normally gave him and Kazim to staunch bleeding or snap a bone back into place.
Finally, she let out a shaky breath and the tension in her body dropped. When she opened her eyes, they shone with an icy glow for several more seconds before fading back to her normal blue, the whites tinged with red from the effort. Her face was pale and when she lifted her hand, it shook slightly.
“How many times have you healed me tonight, Charlie?” Alastair asked carefully. “If you do it too much, it hurts you, too.”
“It is worth it to make sure you’re okay. And I have been through worse.”
“Please don’t push yourself for my sake.” He struggled to sit up and Kazim stepped forward to help adjust the pillows at his shoulders. Only then did he register that he was in Kazim’s bed. At least it’s better than the couch. Or the sewer. He inclined his head in thanks and Kazim stepped back once more, taking the bottle from Charlie and giving it a swig. Alastiar noticed Charlie didn’t make any move to also take a sip. “You need to drink something,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You should not have exhausted yourself with me. My slumber would have healed me in time.”
“Months, Alastair. Or even years. Even if you woke sooner, you would have been starving. I could not wait that long. Or wait for your sire to decide when or how to wake you.” Charlie’s hand came up to catch his, slowly lowering it from her face to hold it in her lap. “And we could not wait so long without knowing what did this to you.”
Alastair’s gaze shifted over her shoulder to where Kazim now leaned against the wall, arms still crossed. To his credit, Kazim kept his composure well and his eyes downcast. “The Dodger knew only what his rats told him. The passage you came from has been sealed off. News of your injury has been kept quiet. It is your choice of what to report.”
“I… thank you, Kazim.”
He shrugged, but Alastair saw the softness beneath the attitude. “I have yet to repay all of what I owe for what you did for me. The least I could do was make sure you survived.” Then Kazim pushed from the wall and sighed heavily. Only then did Alastair note how tired he looked, too. “I will get us something more substantial to drink. I think we could all use it to take the edge off of this evening. You two… stop being so dramatic. And don’t do anything you don’t want the shadows to whisper about. I will never hear the end of it.”
Alastair rolled his eyes, but Charlie’s gaze flitted about the dim space with a mild curiosity and concern. Kazim walked out, gently pulling the door shut behind him. His footsteps receded, and then it was just the two of them and the aforementioned shadows.
“I mean it, Charlie. You must be starving. I have enough strength to ease that, thanks to you. Let me… let me help you, this time.” He rubbed a circle on the back of her hand. “Doubtless you can control yourself far better than I.”
“You are a noble and foolish man, Alastair. Are you sure?” She swallowed hard, and despite her composure, Alastair could tell she was hungry. It occurred to him now, as it probably had to her as well, that in all their years together, he had only tasted her once. And she had yet to taste him. Always, always the risk of the bond. Always the risk of losing control. But in this moment all he wanted was to finally do something for her that wasn’t protecting her with his blade and his magic.
“Yes. Please, let me do something for you. Let me ease the pain that I can.”
“... okay.” She swallowed again, licked her lips, and her eyes never left his neck. The blue looked impossibly bright and clear in the dimness of Kazim’s haven. He tilted his head to the side. She brushed his hair from his shoulder and leaned in. He closed his eyes and waited.
Her bite was gentle. Everything about her was gentle. Alastair expected a jolt, a rush, a flood of sensation from her fangs. Instead, soft warmth bloomed from where her lips touched his neck. He all but melted into her arms, leaning into the bite, and when she drank it felt like the softest, kindest, most gentle hug he had ever experienced. A knot of something wound tight in his chest that he hadn’t been conscious was there started to relax. It was nothing Lara’s bite, full of heady lust and pleasure. Nothing like Kazim’s, the pain almost equal to the intense rush. It was unique. And it was comforting in a way he’d never felt. As she held him, a new sensation filled him. A new warmth. It started in his fingers, his toes, the tips of his ears and across his face. It was faint. It struggled against the weight of the decades, the emptiness he’d lived with as the years stripped him of joy and hope and connection to who he had once been. But the Blush fought its way to the surface. She didn’t drink very much at all. He could tell. But she still held him, let her fangs rest in his neck, and he knew she could feel how the last of the tension and hesitation melted under her bite.
It ended too soon. He could’ve stayed there until sunrise, but she lifted her face from his neck after not nearly enough time passed. Her lips lingered on his skin, kissing the bite away, before she gave the smallest of laughs and let her forehead bump against his. He waited a little longer, expecting the thread of a connection to weave its way into his mind. When he’d fed Kazim all those years ago, he’d felt the blood link them — never enough to form a full bond, but the times when Kazim had fed from Alastair’s vein he’d sensed it beginning. But as he sat there, Charlie still holding him, their heads resting against each other, he felt nothing. No thread, no bond, just the lingering Blush her bite had managed to rouse and the lingering ghost of the hug around his soul. Of course. Of course she’d find a way to protect every part of herself. Skin that not even a gargoyle could pierce. A soul no blood could bind. Of course she wouldn’t let anyone in. Good. You will always be safe. Never lose yourself, my love.
“Rest some more, Alastair. Sunrise is soon. Kazim will have something for us to drink before bed but you need rest more than I do.” She pulled back just enough to put her hands on his shoulders and push him back down onto the bed.
“Wait, where will you and Kazim sleep?” Alastair looked around the room, noting the bed was easily big enough to fit all of them. “Where have you been sleeping?”
“The couch. It is actually quite comfortable. Kazim has made quite an impressive blanket nest on the floor for himself.” She chuckled lightly. “He said something about wanting to try it because it looked fun. And we didn’t want to disturb you when we woke. You’ve been sleeping quite deeply even after sundown.”
“Don’t go,” Alastair said, catching her wrist as she started to stand up. “Please. The bed has plenty of room. Stay. Both of you.”
“Mister MacKearney, are you being needy?” Charlie teased, but a glimmer of light returned to her eyes as she looked at him.
“I am allowed to lower my guard once in a while, cher,” he replied. “I will feel… safer if you two are closer.”
She nodded. “I will fetch him when he returns.”
He released her wrist and sank fully into the pillows, the small smile on his face finally genuine. “Thank you both.”
“Always, Alastair. You are safe now. Sleep. We will join you soon.”
***
“Well, you look better. Sort of a blush-white instead of pasty-white, wouldn’t you agree, love?” Kazim gave Alastair a wry smile over his shoulder as he rifled through his closet, producing a shirt that he tossed onto the bed. “That should fit you. Might be a bit loose in the shoulders, though.”
“He’s still recovering, Kazim. Cut him some slack,” Charlie said. She was already showered and dressed comfortably, scrolling through her emails and messages.
“Need to go back to work?” Kazim asked.
“Hiroki and Martha are covering just fine. Tristan’s been working some night shifts to help, too. It’s fine.” She put the phone down and stretched, then looked over at Alastair as he slipped the shirt on. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better, thanks to you,” he replied. The gash in his side now looked like a massive angry bruise, but the flesh beneath had filled out nicely and it no longer looked like he was missing any ribs. The fever had broken, too. He just felt normal-tired, like he’d missed a couple meals, not bone-tired from an ancient flesh amalgam trying to assimilate him from the inside out. When he tried to stand, his legs felt gummy, but with Kazim’s arm around him he was able to stay upright until he regained his balance. The three of them headed into the living room and sat around the dining table, Kazim fetching some more blood from his stash to tide them over until they were ready to hunt.
They sat in relative silence for a while, drinking and watching the shadows drift and writhe in the corners like fog in a breeze, an occasional incomprehensible whisper rising from somewhere behind one of them or a cold breeze passing across the table. I wonder what they’re saying about us, Alastair wondered, and quickly pushed the thought from his mind. I don’t need to know what the dead gossip about. Kazim was entirely unbothered. Charlie did her best to ignore the hauntings. She was the one that finally broke the silence.
“Thank you for calling me, cher.” Charlie said to Kazim, reaching over and giving his hand a squeeze.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” he said quietly. His face had softened. It was a rare moment of vulnerability behind his facade. Alastair chewed his lip and glanced away. He couldn’t downplay his injuries, as much as he wished to. If both his friends had been so worried… “Your talents have saved us both more often than either of us would care to admit.”
“It is what friends do. No boons or strings attached.” Charlie turned to Alastair. “But I will not let you hear the end of it if you get into such trouble again.”
You will not become a thing of bloodshed and war. Her words from so many years ago floated to the surface. His hands balled into fists in his lap. But bloodshed and war are coming if this thing cannot be stopped. If it can even be stopped. And I will have to fight. So will Kazim. “I will do my best to be careful from now on.” I will fight so you will never have to.
“Good. Because I will march into Gehenna or the Abyss itself if I have to take either of you back.”
That earned a snort from Kazim and a tiny smile from Alastair. The mental image of Charlie, small and soft and gentle, marching towards death and darkness with a straight back and determined expression, was as absurd as it was comforting. She might not have her sire’s strength, but she absolutely inherited his determination.
“Let us hope it never comes to that,” Alastair said. “Once we know what we’re dealing with in full, perhaps we can head off the threat before it even has a chance to become one.”
“Since when has wishful thinking gotten us anywhere?” Kazim shook his head. “And the Camarilla aren’t about to let this go if we report what really happened. Whatever’s down there is bad news. They’ll throw us all at it like flies into vinegar if it buys them enough time to pack up and run. I love a good fight, but this won’t be one. It’ll be a slaughter, if the Dodger’s rats are anything to go by.”
“They’re rats,” Alastair said.
“They’re the Dodger’s rats,” Kazim retorted. “Someone would be either recklessly brave or mind numbingly stupid to run back into that mess.”
“You’re making it sound like you’d disobey orders,” Alastair said, hand tensing around his cup. “Would you really risk the ire of the sheriff? Or the Camarilla itself?”
“My sire isn’t the one asking me to be so loyal I’d walk willingly into death’s arms at risk of pissing her off.”
“Because you’re not bonded anymore –”
“Stop it.” Charlie’s calm voice cut through their squabble. Kazim, who had partially risen from his seat, eyes growing dark from Alastair’s comment, slowly sank back down as the Abyss faded from his gaze. “You’re idiots. Both of you.” Charlie looked between him and Kazim. “Why must both of you value your lives so little? Seeking fights you know you might not win. Obeying orders that could lead you to your deaths. Rising to the bait. Egging each other on. Do you not know I care for you both? Do you not realize the pain you would cause me with your passing?”
“Charlie –” Alastair started.
“I do not ask you to disobey or to defect. Only to use your judgement when facing your foes. Live to fight another day with the knowledge you gain from your encounters. There is no shame in running if it means you still live.”
“We can’t promise that,” Kazim said quietly. “You know how the Camarilla feel about those who don’t listen to them.”
“Kindred existed before the Camarilla, and Kindred exist outside the Camarilla. They do not control everything. They do not control me. I just… I’ve lost so many people I love. I don’t know if I could handle losing either of you.”
“We can't just leave, though. Not everyone can be an Autarkis.”
“If a war actually happens, if the city does fall to that thing, there may not be much of the Camarilla left to look for you. And what if, in the fray, two Hounds who tried their best become lost in the destruction?” Charlie didn’t speak with much conviction — it wasn’t like she was making plans or trying to actually convince either of them. But Alastair saw how she was trying to logic her way through an impossible stalemate between what she wanted and what he and Kazim were sworn to do. “I don’t want to lose you. All I’m asking is that both of you be careful. And if it comes to it…”
“A decision will be made.” Alastair said. He squeezed her hand, Kazim’s hand resting on her other shoulder.
“Maybe we won’t have to be the ones making that decision,” Kazim said quietly. “Those new kids, the ones who moved in next to me. It’s actually a little refreshing to see new perspectives. They’re not weighed down by our history. They’re not blindly or fanatically loyal. All the old farts in charge are stuffy and hung up on the ‘old times’. Maybe now’s the time we might actually see change. After all, the world keeps moving forward while we’re stuck in time. The future’s with the new generation. Every new coterie that's popping up, they’re the ones who understand today’s world.”
“Even if they throw soda at you?” Alastair said, an eyebrow rising.
“They did what?” Charlie asked, a smile tugging at her lips.
“Their money wasted,” Kazim shrugged. “I think it’s great. They don’t even know enough to be scared of pissing off a Hound. I like being able to just chat with people without them being nervous or wary or anything else that comes with a reputation. I miss it. Though, it was kind of annoying to wash the soda out of my favorite shirt.”
“I’m the oldest one here and yet right now you’re the one waxing poetic about your good old days,” Alastair chuckled, a rare bloom of warmth and camaraderie breaking through the indifference.
“Maybe I just want to have hope for the future.” Kazim shrugged. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing at all,” Charlie said. “Though I wouldn’t wait for the new generation to do something world-changing too soon. They have a lot of learning and growing to do. And while they become strong, we do what we can to make sure they have a future to inherit. And that,” she looked at both of them again, “means surviving long enough to see it happen.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Kazim grinned.
“I will do my best,” Alastair said quietly.
Charlie leaned in and kissed him softly. “That’s all I ask, amour.” She turned and kissed Kazim too. “Of both of you.”
The ghost of something he used to feel fluttered in his chest. And then the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile as well. It didn’t change anything. He still had a job to do and duties to complete. But maybe, just maybe, he could entertain her idea for just a little while longer.