Droplets of Kindness
Summary: A world in inverted colors. OneShot– Daemon, Cassidy and other lives.
Warning: -
Set: Story-unrelated, pre-Night School
Disclaimer: Standards apply. The credit for the general idea of the story - e.g. for the scene around which this whole story has been built up - goes to Snowlia, whose amazing one shot "Countdown" (see my Favorites) fits in between two scenes of this fic snugly. This is for her, too, for the whole awesomeness of her idea I somehow adopted. And for the line "Watch out for his eyes - ex-girlfriends can be bitches!" I sincerely hope I have done your Cassidy-canon credit.
1984
"I love him."
Her silent words hit him like nothing – no night thing, no spell, no bullet, nothing in his long, long life – had ever hit him. It hurt. The tone in which those three words were delivered made it even worse because Daemon never had heard that tone in her voice before. She had always been sweet, her voice melodious and soft as half a dozen of silver bells. And yet the conviction it now carried injured him far worse than anything ever had and ever would.
"Kathryn-"
"And I know you want to stop me."
Time stopped. Just stopped, as if he had conjured up the Reave. He didn't breathe because every further breath, movement and heartbeat would take the two of them farther down to the point where their conversation was going. It was the end, simple and clear. Spiraling down into darkness, deeper and deeper. She laid her hand – warm, soft, small, so small – on his hand. He hadn't even realized he was balling them into fists until she touched them ever so fleetingly.
"But I also know that you won't do it."
Swallow. Breathe.
"You will go find him."
"I will."
Breathe.
"You know he is a wanted criminal, convicted by the Conclave."
"I know."
Her pale eyes met his – blue and grey and green, all at once, warm and soft and beautiful. They always had seemed to shift color according to her moods. Today they were a cool, clear blue. Determination. And sadness, too, because she knew where they were heading as well as he knew. And love. His sweet little seer, the girl he had watched grow up, had protected and taught. She wasn't like the others. Her Clave brothers and sisters were fighters, were strong. She was small and innocent, fragile and breakable. I've lost her. The thought came out of nowhere, suddenly, overwhelming him and making it even harder to breathe. His beautiful seer, her laughing eyes, her warm, careful hands – he had lost her and he knew it.
With an abrupt gesture he tore his hands away and turned his back on her. He didn't want to see the hurt in her eyes. The pain he knew that was overshadowed by determination, and by love for a man who was his – their – enemy. He will kill her. He will break her and form her and lead her, and she will never be the same again. Her face flashed before his eyes again. Balling his fists so hard his nails cut into the calloused flesh of his palms, he strained to keep his voice without any trace of emotion.
"You can never come back. You'll die. The moment you walk in here again you'll be dead."
"I know."
He pressed his eyes shut, willing his ears to pick up every sound that penetrated the silence that suddenly stretched between them. It seemed to last for eternity. Finally, she drew in a long breath.
"Good Bye, Teacher. And… thank you for everything."
And then she was gone, just like that.
1992
"So who is that kid?"
Elizabeth pointed towards a corner of the playroom. A little boy, red-haired and pale-skinned, was sitting in the darkest part of the room, obviously being ignored by the rest of the children. In the din of the noise of a dozen kids ranging from toddlers to early teens the boy seemed unreal, almost invisible. Nobody seemed to even notice him.
"See his blindfold?" Mrs. Goldblum didn't even glance in the direction of the boy. "He's a freak. Always wears that thing. Whenever you try to take it off he starts screaming like he is being tortured to death. Covers his eyes, claws at his hair. Once even attacked a nurse. But that's not everything."
The old matron expertly grabbed a girl and a boy who had been attempting to go at each other's throats by their collars.
"No fighting. Be a good girl, Sana. Riley – run off and annoy someone your age."
The children scrambled away.
"Listen. You're new, but don't have any illusions. This is an orphanage. We have children of all ages, all backgrounds. Most of them will end up either as convicts or criminals – depending on whether they get caught or not. We're not here to spoil and cuddle them. Just to make sure they reach the age they can leave. Don't put your heart into your job, Ms….?"
"Elizabeth," Elizabeth replied. Mrs. Goldblum shushed her off with a motion of her long, bony hand.
"Don't try to save them. It's not worth the pain. Jeffrey!"
Elizabeth watched the old, haggard woman wade through the playroom with long strides in order to chastise a boy around eleven years old. When she heard a giggle, she turned around. Two little girls – looking remarkably similar despite their different hair color – were whispering and casting weird faces at her. Smiling, Elizabeth set on to introduce herself again when the two girls simply dashed away. Huh. Scanning the room, her glance fell onto the boy in the corner again. Now that she knew about it, she could see the berth most kids were giving him, passing him in a distance she assumed they assumed to be safe.
Hm.
She was still watching the kid in the evening. At dinner, when Mrs. Goldblum had left the room after the prayer, a few boys ganged up on him, taunting him, stealing his food. Since the boy couldn't see anything – or probably not much – through his blindfold, he couldn't defend himself properly. Elizabeth frowned across the room and made an attempt to cross it – and immediately the boys were back on their places. Shoveling potatoes and cold meat into their mean little mouths, smiling like nothing had happened.
She approached him the next day, when all the other kids were busy during playtime again.
"Hey."
He flinched. It was clearly visible under the thin shirt and the faded jeans he wore. Otherwise, he didn't respond.
"I'm Elizabeth. What's your name?"
Carefully not to scare him again, she kneeled down in front of him. Had he been able to see her, their eyes would have been on the same level. But the dark blindfold hid his eyes, only left a bit of fair skin, a dozen of freckles and a surprisingly red shock of hair to see. He had to be around four years old, Elizabeth figured. His small hands were clutching –
"Hey." Her heart went cold. "Where did you get that knife?"
Fast like lightning, the boy had hidden the thing under his shirt again. His voice was silent and – strangely – not the least bit defiant.
"It's a dagger. It's mine."
"Yours? But you shouldn't carry around things like that. Knives are sharp. You could hurt yourself."
Elizabeth felt young. And inexperienced. She had come straight from college, her head full of ideals and good intentions – and in the first place she came to work in kids were already wielding knives at the age of what?
"How old are you?"
"Four."
Crazy, crazy, crazy. Damnit. Her heart was racing. Should she call Mrs. Goldblum? Should she take the knife from him by force? Should she –
"Mum gave it to me."
His voice was so silent she almost missed it. Instantly her heart went out to him – a four-years-old orphan who had no one else in his life except for the knife (dagger, she corrected herself) he had gotten from his mother.
"If you promise me," she began and then stopped to think. What exactly should he promise? Not to hurt anyone? Not to use it? Not to show it to anyone? What are you doing? You're risking your job! Just take that thing, it's too dangerous. You're losing it here! "Promise me," she started again. "You'll hurt nobody here. And not yourself. Promise me to be careful."
When the boy realized she meant to leave the dagger to him, a smile started to spread slowly across his face. She watched it, fascinated. He had to be a pretty boy, his features even and clear. But the blindfold hid his eyes.
"Thank you."
Sighting, she sat down next to him on the ground.
"Let's start again. What's your name?"
This time, he answered. His pretty voice rang in her ears.
"Cassidy."
1987
Daemon would have recognized her everywhere.
Her pale hair came alive in the hot, sticky night air, her features were furrowed in lethal concentration as she slashed through air, flesh and bone with a silver Naginata. So she had gotten it. He had sent it after her after she had left, knowing where she would go but unsure whether it would reach her. There had no note been attached, no letter. Just the weapon itself. She had understood the message. You've been a seer before. Now you're a fighter.
The battle picked up its pace.
It was like any other fight: a clash of bodies, human and non-human alike. Snarling, screaming, swishing, clanking. A rolling mass of movement everywhere around him. Of course he could have stopped it with one move of his hand, could have ended the fight with one word and a fist. But it was a difference, no matter what Roy said. He fought as a hunter here, not as a Nereshai. It was a difference. It was different.
It mattered.
And it shouldn't, because he was not only a hunter but more. On the other hand, he didn't care for much since Kathryn had left his Clave.
"Teacher!"
Sam and Ira fought back to back, the blond boy (man, Daemon thought, you're not a child anymore) bleeding from a cut in his cheek, the tall girl wielding her sword with cold precision. There was no time to talk, no time for orders. Two of Five. Daemon lashed out at a snarling vampire with his wooden sword and staked it, ran down a wolf with it for good measure, as well, and found himself face to face with a grinning hunter. Ex-hunter. The dark vines that stretched up his arms and down his legs were proof enough. Golden hair, black eyes. A familiar face.
"Daemon."
"Ravencross."
Through the roiling mass of bodies, Daemon distinctly made out a flash or bright turquoise. Desiree. Three of Five.
"Looking out for your Clave?" Ravencross snarled. "Seems too late to me. Jones got your team leader right at the beginning. Lots and lots of blood – what was he doing in the front-lines, stupid fool? Just like all the others, playing hero when they know nothing. And your precious little seer? Let's see…" A lazy grin spread over his face, distorted it into a mask of contempt. "Oh yeah. She joined us years ago. Looks like you had at least one clever kid there. Not that it matters, since you failed all of them."
Black rage boiled up his veins, blackened his vision. He hadn't even noticed he had balled his fists, curled his hands around his weapon so hard he almost imagined hearing it crack under the pressure. Of course it didn't. The wood had been hardened in the Fires of Sirth, had been formed by Nereshai. It wouldn't break. Only slay.
Five of Five.
His heart-beat pounded in his ears so loudly it drowned out the noise of the battle.
Robin. Ira. Desiree. Sam. Kathryn.
Five in One. Five Children, one Clave, and he had already lost two of them. And hated himself, because all he could care about was that flash of pale hair and grey eyes (grey like a sea after storm, grey in grey in grey) and the silver reflectance of the Naginata that cut her path out before her. He had adopted five children but cared for one more than he should have. And that was why the others would die here. Humans, a soft voice in his head whispered. Breakable. Fleeting. Don't get attached, Daemon. The second voice was disdainful. It does not matter. We're not like them. It doesn't make a difference whether they live or die.
But it made a difference. It mattered.
Daemon slew many that night, vampires, shifters, demons and traitors alike. He bathed in blood until eerie silence fell over the battle field.
Ira was clutching Robin's broken and torn body so hard Sam almost had to carry both her and him away, poor guy, bleeding and injured himself, tears streaming down his face silently. Desiree was unconscious. Daemon carried her up the hills and over the safeways, followed by a constant stream of hunters limping, dragging or supporting other hunters to the Sanctuary. Nobody talked. Exhausted silence pressed down on them. When he had gathered the broken rests of his Clave and had seen that they were taken care of, he returned to the battle field.
Crows were already circling.
He roamed the field, looked out for wounded, gave them water, set to rest the ones that had no chance of survival. And all the while, he searched. When the sun went down again, the pyres were set on fire. And slowly, slowly, Daemon felt the ice around his heart melt a tiny little bit. Guilt replaced it almost instantly.
She hadn't been among the dead.
1992
"Why do you wear this blindfold?"
Summer was at full bloom. It was hot outside, so hot even sitting in the sun was too much to ask for. Most of the kids were inside, in the cool, air-conditioned playroom. Cassidy was sitting in the shadow of a great tree, his back against the rough bark. Every other kid, Elizabeth thought, she would have said was watching the clouds. Cassidy's head was lifted, as well. But what is he really seeing?
"Because it's safer."
"For you?"
"Hm-hm."
"What happens if you take it off?"
He hesitated, as if he wasn't sure what to say. "It hurts."
"Perhaps your eyes are simply not adjusted to the light."
"No."
He gave his answer with a conviction that was typical for him but not for four-year-old boys, not even when they were orphans. He was that way: he seemed older, somehow, almost like an adult. Silent, calm, determined. And yet something in the way he sat in the corner without looking at the other kids triggered a protective instinct inside her. She had already discovered he wasn't afraid of the darkness, that he loved books even though he couldn't read them and that nobody ever had seen the dagger he carried around with him all the time.
"Would you like to continue the story?"
He nodded.
A story about an orphaned boy who found a dragon in an abandoned factory and travelled the world with him, visiting Egypt, India and the Himalaya. She read it to him and he listened attentively, his head cocked to the side, his entire body radiating attention. Sometimes, she looked up and found his blind gaze on her face. She couldn't help but smile.
"Would you like to see the world, too?"
"Yes."
"You will," she promised him. "One day."
"Will I see a dragon, too?"
Elizabeth hesitated. "I think… There are no dragons anymore." She regretted the words immediately. His shoulders tightened and his lips turned into a thin line of anger.
"You mean they don't exist?" Cassidy challenged her. "Like fairies and leprechaun and vampires?" He shook his head vigorously. "They do exist. I met them."
He couldn't see the frown on her face but seemed to feel it, for his shoulders fell in disappointment and he turned away. He moved with blind grace, completely sure of his surroundings, and not for the first time she asked herself how much he really could see behind his blindfold. She had never seen him fall, stumble or run into something. It was like he could feel his surroundings, the same way he could sense what she was thinking. A cold shiver ran down her back.
"Cassidy…"
He was already gone.
…
"That boy? Fantasies, nothing but crazy illusions. Once got into a fight with a boy from the neighborhood. Said he was a werewolf. Crazy brat, if you ask me."
Elizabeth had asked.
"Even scares the other kids. They say he's awake at night, sitting at the window staring outside. His eyes – they glow. Golden. One girl saw him and thought he was a demon. Screamed the whole house awake. Wouldn't go near him ever again, poor kid, said he had hexed her or something. Had to be transferred to another place because she refused to stay in the same room with him, much less the same house. Of course, could have transferred him, but who wants a kid like that?"
"Glowing eyes?"
"Yeah. And sometimes he talks to cats. One time three boys were ganging up on him and he fled into the back of the garden. When the boys found him they were attacked by a dozen huge, black cats, each one as large as a dog, with glowing red eyes."
"I ask again – glowing eyes?"
"Lady, if you don't believe me – fine. But I'm not going close to that kid, I tell you."
…
"Do you ever feel lonely?"
"Hm?"
He had a way, answering her questions with non-vocal questions of his own. Careful not to touch his blindfold, she patted his head. His hair was soft and fine, not wiry and thick as it seemed. He's only a boy, she thought and swallowed hard.
Only a boy.
1990
Two conversations and the shadow of a memory.
…
"What are you doing, Daemon?"
"Hm?"
Sue came to stand in front of him. She was minutiae, such a small person – and yet she radiated enormous power. He felt it, since she made no attempt to hide it. Had no need to – not here, not now, not with them. It does not matter. Roi was snoring under an archway on the other side of the ancient library. Age and power saturated the stone, made it feel warm to the touch and hummed with might. How many years had it been since this place had last seen living and breathing individuals? Here they were now, three of thirteen, and they, too, wouldn't stay. But all of them returned, again and again. This place was power, these halls were life to them. Nereshai had no home. Only this: ancient halls and stone vaults. And each other.
"You are interfering."
It was a fact. Both of them knew.
"You know we have to keep apart from Hunters and Night Things alike. We're not like them. We don't interfere. We observe."
"I know."
"You are not acting as if you knew."
Absently – and yet so aware of her presence that burned in his mind brightly – he stared ahead of her and still saw nothing.
"I got involved."
"You did."
"It's too late."
"Oh, Daemon." She didn't touch him. What they once had shared had been gone for a long time now. And as much as she grieved it – she wouldn't have been able to hold him. She let him go because she loved him. There was no way to go back.
"What should I do," he whispered, almost to himself. Then he looked at her, his face a mask of anguish. "What should I do, Sue?" She had no answer.
When he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, she let him. Let him bury his face in her shoulder and stroked his hair, whispered wordless things, and both knew it was futile.
Droplets of kindness, nothing more.
…
Don't be afraid.
Fire and blood. Fate has marked you, Nereshai.
…
"We lost too many already."
Michael's fist thundered onto the wooden table. It was just as well, Anathea thought, that the wood was massive.
"Abendstern and Grey were killed yesterday; Grey's entire Clave was massacred. Same goes for the Windhall Coven – twenty-two vampires – and Rafael's shifter pack."
The fair-haired hunter was far younger than he looked. Still, after Ben had fallen, he had been their uncontested choice for the next thing hunters had to a leader. The Conclave hadn't stirred since two of their members had been murdered. Not that they had much to say. Hunters weren't very good at listening to orders, except when they came from their Clave leader. It was strange, in a way, that a society as self-sufficient as theirs was had a symbolic authority to answer to. On the other hand it was easier to stay in touch having the Conclave.
"Greene, Ferault and Arryn joined O'Rourke last night, he has now more than fifty hunters at his command. We're losing what we had before: numbers."
"We never were many, Michael."
Daemon's voice was silent and yet filled the entire room. He sat in a corner, a dark shadow in the flickering light of the lamps. Everybody turned towards him.
"We are losing the fight," Michael responded, his voice strained but nevertheless calm. "Every night, hunters are joining the traitor. Every night, O'Rourke and his men slaughter innocent creatures, human and night things alike. He has the entire pack of traitorous demons as well as men-eating werewolves and blood-sucking vampires on his side. Whoever believes the human race isn't worth protecting joins him happily. Every day he advances on us, gains in number, decimates ours. We never were many to begin with, but we always stood our ground. Tell me, Daemon: what should we do? Should we lay down our weapons and surrender? You know he doesn't take prisoners. Doesn't need to. Fight on like this until every last one of us, every child, every hunter, is dead? And leave Europe – and, after that, the world – to someone like O'Rourke?"
He spat out the name. All the hate, all the disdain he felt was mirrored in the one name of the leader of the traitors, murderers and deserters. Everyone felt the room temperature drop.
"Take him out. Take out the head of the snake." Daemon's voice was calm even though he named his arch enemy.
"How are we supposed to do that? He seldom appears in fights, runs his empire from the underground. He's not stupid. We'd need to get him to show himself, to surface somewhere in a controlled area…" Anathea thought loudly.
"We need to lay a trap," Catelyn said.
"For a trap, you need to know the victim's weakness," Frederick countered. "O'Rourke has no weaknesses."
"Everyone has weaknesses," Ned rumbled. "You know them, know their weak spots – you've got them."
"He's vain, and he's arrogant." Michael shook his head. "But he's neither stupid nor careless. He's incredibly intelligent, we know that. He guesses our moves correctly more than half the time. He'll smell the trap from a thousand meters against the wind."
"We need a trap he might be able to sense but unable to not fall into it."
Everyone stared at Catelyn. The female hunter shrugged. "It's obvious once you think it through. The only problem is – what could force O'Rourke to surface, even though he knows it might be a trap?"
Silence fell over the room as every hunter present thought long and hard. It was Daemon who finally broke the spell. When the hunters present realized what he had said, they froze in terror. What Daemon suggested was…
"Impossible," Anathea gasped.
Michael shook his head. "We talked about this. No innocent people should be involved. We can't…"
"Hardly an innocent person," Daniel, who hadn't said anything yet, responded. Grey had been a close friend of his and his voice was cold as ice. "We all make our choices. We're never innocent in that regard. Nobody ever is."
Catelyn was white as a sheet. "No. Daemon, no. Please."
Daemon's gaze was fixed on something that was far, far away. There was no tremor in his voice as he repeated his suggestion.
"Whatever might happen – O'Rourke won't be able to stay away. You'll get him. You can end this.
Just kill Kathryn."
1993
"Who is that?" Elizabeth and Janis, another young nurse, watched Mrs. Goldblum lead the guest into her office.
"I heard he came to pick up a kid," Janis answered, rather shamelessly ogling the visitor. "You think he's handsome?"
From the top of the flight of stairs, Elizabeth caught a glimpse of a tall, muscular man. His broad shoulders were the last thing to disappear in Mrs. Goldblum's office. A flash of dark blue, a jingling sound like keys.
"Maybe," she offered absent-mindedly. It wasn't the height or the handsomeness of the man that had caught her attention. It was the way he moved, silent and gracefully, that reminded her painfully of someone she knew.
Cassidy.
And they didn't even look alike. It was just that bit – the movements, the aura, so to speak, that seemed so similar. They didn't resemble each other in any other aspect. When she tried to imagine Cassidy in – say, twenty – years, she saw a tall, lanky man, not clumsy, nothing like that, but with the air of clumsiness. It was no comparison to the tall, heavy-weight and well-built man she had just seen – and yet. Was it even possible? Shaking her head resolutely, she tried to push away the feeling of dread that suddenly washed over her.
"Well, I certainly think so," Janis said and Elizabeth struggled to regain her footing in the apparently still ongoing conversation. "Did you see his eyes? Totally hot."
"Okay, okay," Elizabeth laughed. "Too much information, thanks. I'm off, I promised Cassidy to go out with him today."
"Cassidy, Cassidy," Janis mocked good-naturedly. "One would think he was your kid, the way you spoil him. Going out? Make sure the mother dragon doesn't see the two of you."
"I don't-"
"Of course you do. Anyway, run off, I can see you're dying to go on one of your weird adventure trips. Shoo, shoo." Her last words were emphasized by the appropriate motion. Elizabeth took off.
…
Cassidy was in the gardens already, his face turned towards the grey late-winter sky.
"It smells like spring," he said when he heard her approaching.
"How do you know it was me?" She asked back, a ritual of theirs by then.
He smiled, a small, secretive smile that touched her heart every time she saw it. "Will we go exploring?"
"Yes." Elizabeth took his hand, clothed in a thin glove. It seemed warm, nevertheless. He radiated warmth despite his thin anorak and sneakers. "Let's go."
Two hours later they were sitting in a currently unused classroom. Ice crystals painted the windows, and even with closed doors it was cold inside. Cassidy still wore his jacket and gloves. But his cheeks were glowing and his hands moved, and excitement seemed to radiate of him like warmth had before. Smiling, Elizabeth listened to his story and sipped the cup of hot, watery chocolate. Their little secret, both the chocolate and the meetings. She suspected some of the nurses knew but until now, nobody had tried to stop her from spending time with Cassidy. Perhaps it was because they were afraid of him. For her life Elizabeth could not understand how those stories about him had developed, he seemed to be such a gentle, silent child. But she wouldn't complain as long as they allowed her to steal a few precious hours from their busy schedules now and then.
Cassidy was telling her a story.
His stories always contained werewolves and mermaids and demons, living vampires and other mythical creatures. But his world was so alive, so colorful, she found she loved listening to him. Sometimes she read him books and sometimes they played games. Word games mostly, or guessing games. He was a bright child, far more intelligent than a five-year old was supposed to be. In another world, Elizabeth thought, he would have been labeled prodigy. But in his world of orphans and grey orphanage walls he was just Cassidy, the freak. And he didn't seem to mind.
Elizabeth was so engrossed in her own thoughts she hadn't realized Cassidy had stopped talking. Silence hung over their room heavily, hinting at the fact that a copious amount of time had passed since either of them had last said anything. The boy on the other side of the window sill she sat on was staring outside into the grey February evening. The trees stood leaf-less, looming into the foggy night sky, and the child stared outside with its unseeing eyes as if all the secrets of the world were laid out there for him to see.
She had been looking at him for a while when he spoke again.
"It's scary."
"What is scary?" She prompted carefully, silently encouraging him to go on.
"What can happen."
"You mean the future? You're scared when you think of the future?"
"It's too much. So many things. So…" He hesitated, fell silent again. His face was pressed against the cold window glass. "It hurts."
"It's never easy, making decisions," Elizabeth finally answered. She felt like he was talking of something she had no idea of, like he meant something entirely else. But what? "Nobody ever does everything right. Not even adults."
The dinner bell rang.
Both of them moved at the same time and Cassidy's head banged against Elizabeth's chin painfully.
"Outch!"
She heard the pain in his voice, but he didn't cry. Rubbing her chin, she laughed. "You have one hell of a stone head on those shoulders of yours."
By an impulse she couldn't fathom she took his hands and pulled him closer. His forehead touched hers softly this time.
"You're a good kid, Cassidy. Never let anyone tell you anything else."
He seemed to stare at her. Of course she couldn't tell. His little hands were warm in hers. A smile flashed over his face, and two little arms came round her neck. For a second she held him, warm and alive and real in her arms, and heard his whisper in her ears.
Then, he was gone.
Elizabeth never had thought about having children of her own. She'd been too young, and too busy. She had always thought she would want some, one day surely, but not today. The feeling she already had a son washed over her hotly that evening. If you love someone more than yourself, she thought, what else could it be called like?
Her precious, little boy.
1989
"Is he asleep?"
"Yeah." Kathryn smiled at him over the table that separated them. Cassian moved around it in order to kiss her softly.
"You look tired."
"I am."
Such a normal conversation, she thought. Just like a normal husband greeting his wife after a long day of work. But Cassian was hardly a normal husband, and she was hardly a normal wife. And life went the strangest ways, didn't it, but she always ended right where her visions had shown her she would be. Whatever choice she made, whatever path she refused to take – fate was a cruel master. And here she was, with the man she had always known she would love, and the child she loved more than her own life. Right where she had known she would be one day. And it was killing her.
Cassian, oblivious to her internal battle, sat down on the chair he always used and uncovered the dish she had left.
"Delicious."
Kathryn watched him eating, his long, flexible hands gripping the fork and knife, and wondered how many creatures had died from those hands tonight. Don't be silly, she berated herself. Cassian didn't go out and fight, like the other members of his Uprising. He organized. Delegated. Watched. He didn't kill. But he had. And his decisions were lethal. In a way, he was responsible for every death that had occurred since the War had begun. When he finished his meal, he carefully placed his dish in the dishwasher and cleaned up the table. He was considerate like that. It made all the other things he did stand out all the more.
"I'll look after the boy," he said and smiled at her. "You want to come?"
Getting up from the table, Kathryn felt a thousand years old. She smiled – a smile came easily when Cassian looked at her like that. He was that way: charming and lovable, utterly so. Every time his eyes fell on her she could see the love he felt for her right on the surface of his gaze. But she also knew the other man. The one that killed in cold blood, murdered werewolves and vampire children. The man that ran an underground empire of traitorous hunters and night things alike. The man that was currently waging a war against everything she had loved, lived and been… Kathryn pushed aside the thoughts and followed him to the small bedroom in which their son slept.
"How is he coping?" Cassian asked quietly. The child was fast asleep, his eyes moving underneath his lids, his little hands fisted on the pillow, right next to his face.
"Pretty good, considering," Kathryn said and swallowed. A child born in summer, heir to a dark empire, born with a gift. Her visions were mocking her. She'd never told Cassian about this particular one. More a curse than a gift, she thought bitterly. "He knows he needs to wear the blindfold every day. He stopped complaining after one of the maids teased him and it slipped."
Cassian drew in a sharp breath. "Who…"
"Does it matter?" She interrupted him. "She has been punished enough."
He breathed out again but the anger stayed. She knew him well enough to see and recognize the tension in his shoulders.
"Is he alright?"
"No. But he'll live through it."
"So what's he doing the whole day?"
"We read a lot. He listens to cassettes. We go to the gardens. He knows every bird by its voice. But…" She hesitated. Cassian picked it up.
"But?"
"He misses not being able to play with other children."
"Even if he wasn't in this… condition… he wouldn't be able to play with children his age."
"Cassian." She leaned her head on his shoulder, pressed her eyes shut. "Is there no way to help him?"
Wrapping his arms around her, he sighed. "None I know. But I'll keep looking, love. I promise I will."
She looked up at him, her arms around his waist.
"Stop this war."
He stiffened. "That I can't. It's nothing I started or might be able to end, you know that. The Conclave is corrupt. Hunters are being treated like trash, sacrificed as if their lives mean nothing. Night things are behaving like they own the world. They must be kept in check. There are far more of them than there are hunters, Kathryn. How are we supposed to live in peace when we're constantly threatened?"
"You have night things in your army."
"Well, I don't trust them." He snorted, disdain clear in his expression. "And when this all ends, there won't be any left anyway." His dark eyes shone. "And I won't rest until the entire Conclave is annihilated. These corrupt, arrogant bastards…"
"Cassian-"
"Look what they did to you!" His voice rose. "You live with this curse, and now our son will have to learn to live with it as well! And there are many more like you!"
"We both are what they made us," she told him quietly. "But the Conclave consists of a few old hunters. There is no reason to fight the way you do. Too many die."
"There is," he disagreed. "And it's not only what they did to you, or what they did to others. There are many other things that aren't the way they should be. It's not right."
"Your methods-"
"I fight fire with fire," he said, anger flaring both in his voice and in his eyes. "If we go down, they do, as well. Everything's fair. You know that."
And it was so, so hard to tear herself away from his flawless logic. Cassian saw the evil lurking behind the white masks of the Conclave – but he had chosen the wrong means to fight it. He wasn't any better than his chosen enemy. Kathryn saw it, but she couldn't change anything. She'd come to him with the best intentions. Instead, she had become one of his best soldiers. It probably was the hardest part, she reflected. Knowing he was wrong and yet loving him.
"Everything will be fine," he told her. She wished she could have believed.
1993
He was small.
He stood there, in the hallway of the orphanage somewhere in the deepest depths of Eire, and the first thing that crossed Daemon's mind was that the boy was small. A scrawny, little five-year-old with hair as red as dried blood and in a plain sweatshirt and jeans that had seen better days. He looks just like his father. Angels, help me. Not that the Angel had shown himself during the last two hundred years.
Little hands were twirling a thread that was coming lose at the hem of his sweater. Such small hands. He didn't seem like his mother at all. For a second Daemon was desperate enough to be tempted to think O'Rourke had been lying, had been telling him a story in order to make sure his son was taken care off. How funny must this have seemed to him - a hunter saving the son of the man who had taken everything that mattered away from him. But something in the boy's face made him step closer. His eyes were hidden behind a black piece of cloth, impenetrable, bound by a tight knot behind his head.
Watch out for his eyes. Ex-girlfriends can be bitches.
Harsh laughter. Humor of a man who would never see the light of day again, much less his own child. Even knowing what he had taken from him, he had trusted Daemon to take his son away. Not because Daemon owed him, or because he respected him. Which he didn't. There was only one person in the world the hunter would have done such a thing for, and both of them knew.
"You are going to come with me."
He didn't ask where. He didn't even seem surprised, just nodded, his face as unreadable as Mona Lisa's.
"You don't want to know where?"
"It can't be worse than here." And then, underneath his tough mask, a flutter of hesitation. "Will it be far away?"
"Yes."
"Can Elizabeth come, too?"
Daemon didn't answer. The boy took it - correctly - as a no. His hands had stopped fiddling with his hem. He stood there, unmoving, waiting for something Daemon had no idea was to come.
"You know your parents are dead."
"They told me."
He was so much like his father it was scary. Daemon hadn't known O'Rourke well, had been busy with other things and in other places while the man who once would lead the underworld into war against the hunters had learned and grown. But he had met him on some occasions. Cool, collected bordering on arrogant. Unfazable. It would have pissed him off, except that he knew those hands.
So small.
"Take it off."
He managed not to sound too harsh, although he imagined it still was more a command than a polite request. The boy didn't flinch. He just shook his head.
"Why not?"
"It hurts."
"The first thing you must learn," Daemon said and the blindfold fell away in a flutter of ashes, "Is to not be afraid of pain."
The boy opened his eyes carefully. He looked around. Took in the room, the light, the window. Scrambled to look outside. Drank the images, the colors, the light, like a dying man in a desert drank water. He looked at himself in the window's reflection, at his hands, his arms, his fingers. Felt his face with both hands. Never once looked at Daemon.
"Look at me." He didn't add Don't be afraid. Too many memories, too much baggage. The boy was scared, obviously. He turned his back on Daemon.
"Look at me."
The boy turned around and looked at him. Gasped. Froze in terror. Started shaking violently, seizures ripping through his little body. His mouth opened in a wordless scream but no sound left his lips. In a way, it was worse to watch him than watching her reaction had been all these years ago. She had been afraid, and terribly so. But this child was clearly being driven mad by what it saw. In a flash, Daemon recognized it: possibilities, chances, futures, paths, too many to choose, to many to remain untouched by it. Ex-girlfriends can be bitches. He doubted it was only for that reason. Kathryn had had it, and now her son had it even worse. A curse threatening to take not only his life but his sanity, as well. Seers – and even more so hunters - were not meant to see all threads fate wove. Daemon doubted even he would be strong enough to hold on to his bearings if he ever was confronted with this curse. O'Rourke must have known that, too. He had been messing with him, as usual, knowing there was no chance in hell Daemon would leave this child to live with his aunt. Fighting down anger and hate, he forced himself back to reality. When the boy started clawing at his own eyes, he kneeled down on the ground next to him and covered his eyes with one hand of his (so small, so small). The boy fainted into merciful unconsciousness.
Fluttering lashes closed over eyes that were greengreyblue. Just like hers.
1991
She died in fire and blood, just as she had always known she would. Only the fire was the pain, and what surrounded her was water. And the blood… Well, inevitable, one way or another. The ocean crashed against the rocks and the sand. She could almost feel it – no, not almost. It was all around her, rocking her, bathing her in cool water and foam. The tide is coming in. Not that it mattered much. She wouldn't be here for much longer.
Moving hurt.
Breathing hurt. Just keeping her eyes open demanded an amount of power she wasn't able to muster up anymore, so she let them fall shut. Somewhere above, over the rushing sounds of the waves, a sea gull screamed. It sounded like it was making fun of her but perhaps it was only lamenting her end. Kathryn had no questions as to why she was here, and as to what had happened to leave her in such a state. Normally, a trap like the one she had marched straight into would have made it impossible to even think. But even if her memory had been erased by the screaming pain, she would have known. It wasn't easy, being a seer, especially not when everything you saw proved to be true. But it meant she had known what would happen here, and it also meant she knew exactly what would happen next. The only thing she couldn't see was who would be there first – which one of them.
It had never been easy. Kathryn had never had a normal family or a normal life. Instead, she had been found and taken in by an ancient hunter, older than time and worlds. She had been raised with four hunter kids, each one of them like a sibling to her. She had been happy with her Clave. Oh, I miss them so much. A smile spread over her face. It was worth it, wasn't it, Teacher? Every second. And yet she was pretty sure Daemon wouldn't agree. She had hurt him so badly. Sometimes she thought it was hate that had driven her to what she had done – she had left and never come back, even though she had known what it would do to him. In the beginning, as her gift slowly began to manifest itself, she had been afraid of him. Later on, she had hated him – because he was the one who was her fate, one way or the other. But he had taken her in, had taught and protected her, and she had learned to love him. Love him as the only father she ever had had, even though she knew what would happen. He had done the right thing, in the end, and no matter how painful it was she was thankful. Her actions – her selfish dreams and desires – had been partly responsible for a war. It was only right that she would die for them, too.
What is it like?, Cassian had asked. She hadn't known what to respond. What could you say when you were the one who saw the future in the eyes of the beings living in the present? How could anyone ever describe the feeling of knowing what would happen – and of being unable to change anything? While, she had to confess, she probably was lucky. Cassidy had taken the whole brunt of force when it came to her gift, and this, too, made her incredibly sad. What is a gift like this worth if you can only see your own future? Because this was hers. Daemon had never answered. What it is like, knowing the man who has saved you will take your life? Cassian would have gone and killed him to save her. But Cassian did many things. He was not a good man, not by the usual standards. He lived by his own codex, and that was what made him dangerous. But she had made her decision. She would stand by their consequences.
Which brought her back to this place.
She was going to die. In fact, she was dying. She had tried everything she could to leave behind a world a little bit easier for the ones who remained and she had failed. It's not the job of a seer to change the world, a voice whispered. Oh, Fates, how nice of you to come. No, Kathryn alone couldn't change the world. But if anyone could, it would be him. Daemon had always had a knack of making the impossible possible. She knew he would end this war, perhaps forever, perhaps only for a while. But if this short break gave Cassidy the time and peace to grow up happily, Kathryn was willing to go for it. The sky was orange, golden and red. Who?, she wondered. Who would be here first? She didn't want either of them to come, didn't want them to see her shattered, torn body and the evidence of a piece of ancient, forbidden power. Stupid little seer, the Fates whispered. You could have been happy with the Ancient One. But then she wouldn't have had Cassidy. And Daemon would have needed to kill her, anyway, so the least she could do was fall in love with another man. Two men. Two sides. And here she was, a small, unimportant seer who only had the gift of seeing her own future.
Two of the greatest men of her time had loved her.
When Daemon found her, she was dead. A smile was on her face, tiny and small and so much like her. He didn't touch her, just waited. And O'Rourke was ten minutes behind. Daemon watched as he cradled her broken body in his arms, his face a mask of grief.
And then he turned around and left.
1993
"What are you doing, Daemon?"
The same question, the same people. Sometimes life had a weird knack of repeating patterns. Sue didn't think it funny. After five hundreds of years, even constantly changing patterns had lost their attraction.
"I'm assembling a Clave."
"You really are." Her voice was soft, almost loving. Daemon looked up and saw her gaze linger on him, and suddenly she felt incredibly close again. This little persona, so small and yet so strong - they all had been like that, he realized, all the women he had loved in his life. Small but strong.
"They shouldn't have done it, you know," she said. Her voice was a mere whisper. "It was unforgivable to use you like that."
"It was what had to be done," he answered. "I don't blame them."
"You might. But I won't forgive them. They hurt you and now you're leaving."
"It's not like I'll be out of reach."
For us, there is no distance. She didn't say it, but both of them knew it was impossible to outrun destiny. Shadows painted Sue's face silver, danced in her hair. The corners of her mouth lifted a fraction. His lips twitched, trying to respond in kind. It didn't work out too well, he guessed, but he had to start somewhere and this was as well as any place.
"Well, I'm off as well," she told him. "I have a project someplace or other."
Daemon nodded. She moved nearer, a breeze of night air on his face. Her black eyes were unreadable. And sad. Or was he imagining things?
"Visit me sometime, Daemon."
And she was gone. Farewell wasn't necessary. He knew where she went – could feel it inside of him, in the strange, hollow place human beings had a heart in and he had – he wasn't sure what he had, anyway. But they would meet again, he knew. What mattered was that he could.
…
He started meticulously.
He owed it to the kids, he figured. Robin. Sam. Ira. Desiree. Kathryn. He lived on those names like on a prayer. None of them had survived to witness the formation of the Treaty. Each of them had taken something from him. This is how parents feel, he figured, like an essential part of you is missing and will never return. He had never told them he loved them. You, who never could, will love, and it will break you. In a way, it had. He wasn't whole anymore. But many others weren't, as well, and if they could go on, he figured, he could, too. Sometimes, another name mingled, especially when he was tired and exhausted. He focused on the kids. He owed it to his kids. Teacher, Teacher, their voices whispered. I failed you, he though back at them. But the next time, I won't. I promise.
Cassidy was the first.
It was impossible to do otherwise. He figured Kathyn would have not wanted it. O'Rourke had asked him to spare the boy, too – not that he cared what that man wanted – but he was pretty sure the kid would have a better life growing up with his aunt in Pennsylvania, far away from hunters and night things and his father's heritage. But there was no way he could let him go. Not after having seen his eyes. Not after knowing what he knew, not after having met him and spoken to him. It was impossible to turn his back on him, for whatever reason (Daemon had a good idea of his actual reasons), and he found he didn't want to, either. What he also found was that he started building his new Clave around this boy.
Terrance was silent and strong, two years older, and would be a good friend to the boy. Daemon found him in another orphanage, down in Spain. Nobody had noticed his ability to hide in the shadows – well, for exact the same reason, obviously. He came with him gladly.
Jay and Jaq, brother and sister, Daemon met on a journey through Great Britain. In the middle of Covent Gardens, London, he felt someone fiddle in his coat pockets. The fastest pickpockets they might have been, quick and agile, fearless and with the exact right amount of defiance. But no child ever – not even hunter children – had outrun a Nereshai.
Ten grew on him. He knew he never should have stayed in one place long enough for people to befriend him in the first place. But her father had been a good man, and her mother a friend of Kathryn's. When both died a child was left orphaned and Daemon took her in, too.
Five should have been enough. A number full of memories.
Nadya was born and raised in Russia. Daemon found her in an empty and desolate mansion, living in the kitchen with an old cook who claimed she was a Romanov. Perhaps she was. Daemon didn't care for names. He just saw her expressive face, her beautiful features and her strikingly red hair and watched her beat back a mob of angry people just by the sound of her voice and his decision was made. He would never confess he had hoped she could be more to Cassidy than just a Clave sister because, whatever he said or did, he couldn't separate his own life from the one of that boy any more than he could renounce his fate. As always, fate laughed him right in the face with this one.
Marina was a mistake, perhaps, but she grew on them. He had sworn not to take in seers anymore. But Marina was sweet, and so deeply lost in her own mind and the clutches of her visions that he didn't think she'd make it long. Surprisingly, she did. And whether it was guilt or hope that propelled him, Daemon found he still cared for her.
And Teresa. Daemon found her in France, in a tiny village at the coast of Bretagne. The girl was screaming word- and soundlessly, her despair and fear a flaring beacon in his mind. He had never seen such strong emphatic abilities before and for a second he thought it might kill her. The fact that it hadn't yet only showed her incredible strength. She didn't talk for almost three years, though, and when someone finally breached her shell, it was Cassidy. Of course.
And suddenly Daemon was up to eight. Eight damaged, hurt and lost children. Plus his own shattered past – what a wonderful combination. He took them to the U.S., away from the aftershocks of the hunter war in Europe, and built them a house, and gave them a home and trained them and led them. And watched, and saw them grow. And the guilt still was there, but it became softer with every passing day.
You are getting involved, Sue's voice whispered in his mind. Yes, he thought back, and wondered at the peacefulness that accompanied his thoughts.
And it is all worth it. Somehow.
1975
"What do you see?"
The girl buried her face under her arms. Her fragile body was shaking violently. She had to be almost seven years old and yet she looked like five. A wandering child on the street at night, able to see him even though he had cloaked himself in shadows. This got to be interesting. She didn't even seem afraid. At first. When he came closer, she swayed on the stairs she was sitting on, tried to scramble up and bruised both her shins and her hands. Daemon lifted her up from the ground and repeated his question, and she looked at him in terror began to cry.
"Nothing. Nothing," she sobbed. "I don't want to see it. I don't want to. I am scared."
"Kid," Daemon said softly. "Don't be afraid. Just look at me. What do you see?"
Am I real?
Tear-filled, huge blue eyes looked at him, fear and desperation written into them so clearly he felt the urgent impulse to scoop her into his arms, to tell her there was nothing to fear over and over again and to rock her until she fell asleep. He strained himself. I'm a Nereshai. She cannot see anything in my future because I have none. But she could see him, and that alone was proof of her powers.
"Fire and Blood," she whispered, her eyes glazing over and yet still trained on him. "Ages will come, ages have passed. Fate has marked you, Nereshai."
He froze, smothering the impulse to push her away, to fling her small body into a corner and beat her until she told him her secret. How on earth and by all Seven Angels is she able to read me?
"What else do you see?"
She spoke on, her face expressionless. "War awaits you, hunters. From the midst of you springs the power to destroy you all. Your decisions, Nereshai, will bring the end in tears and ashes. You who never loved before will love and you will know loss and deceit. It will break you. One child will learn to live and to fight and will go down in ashes and tears. One child will be born in summer and it will carry the power to destroy everything you hold dear. A life born in flames and forged in blood. And at the end of everything, you will still be there, and you will be alone."
Then, suddenly, the little, frightened girl was back, staring at him for seconds and then burying her face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably.
"I don't want this," she whispered.
Daemon picked her up carefully, still shaken by her words. Angels, help me. He started to walk.
"Where are we going?"
"Do you want to stay here?"
"No."
He had thought so. A rare treasure, a live, a sane seer. The question was whether she would remain alive. He would take her to his Clave and she would be taken care of there. She will be a valuable asset, he told himself but knew what the real reason was just as well. Her eyes. Blue and green and grey, all in once, as if her eyes were changing color softly depending on her moods. Something had happened and Daemon wasn't sure what it was but he couldn't find it in him to leave her on the steps of the house.
"I'll take you to a place you can live in," he told her. Her eyes were bottle-green as she leaned back to look at him. She was so light in his arms he felt like carrying a baby bird.
"Where?"
"To my Clave."
She stood before his four students with a shy smile and huge eyes. Her soft, pale hair was unkempt and surrounded her like a halo. She still wore her pajamas.
"Robin, Sam, Ira, Desiree," Daemon introduced the four kids. "And this is…" He turned back to the girl.
"Kathryn," she answered the unasked question. "Why are you all carrying weapons?"
From that day on, she was a part of them. She ate with his Clave, slept in the same house, learned the same lessons. But not fighting. She learned to tend to wounds and to recognize when someone was lying. She learned about the world and the hunter society and her seer gift. She learned to live. But she didn't learn how to fight. She laughed and she sang and she saw. And once, only once, he took her to a Scoring, but it was the one time he shouldn't have taken her. But how had she begged him to be allowed to come! And he had given in, as he always did when she looked at him pleadingly with her greenbluegrey eyes. So like hers. He watched his little seer, her face flushed, her eyes shining, and he knew it was too late. She was a part of his Clave till the day she told Daemon she loved Cassian O'Rourke and left, snuck away in the middle of the night and never returned. She remained a part of him even after she had died.
It's not fair, you know, he told her in his mind. You left us. What he meant was you left me. But the veil had fallen and the ghosts were rising and there was no time, no time, no time left for anything. And he was a Nereshai but the power to change fate was not his to use.
Fate has marked you, Nereshai.
1993
He often dreams of his parents.
His mother used to sing him to sleep at night. Cassidy remembered her voice. It was sweet and soft, and all the love she felt for him was found in its sound. There was sadness, too, but when she looked at him she smiled and he loved her for it. Not that he could actually see her smile. But he felt it, and it was enough.
He was happy. He was happy in the small farm house. He never saw its surroundings by day and he never got to know other children of his age. He never went to school. Instead, he spent his days with his mother and sometimes with a few maids and listened, because it was almost as good as watching. He learned. He listened. And he lived. And when his father came home every few weeks, Cassidy was just a normal child laughing and playing with its parents, and he was happy.
The night everything changed his mother tucked him into his bed and told him to sleep well and be good. Her hands were cold. Her voice shook as she said his name.
"Where are you going?" He asked, and felt her hesitate. "When will you be back?"
"I have to talk to someone," she whispered. "He said he had to meet me."
"Is he a friend?"
Without hesitation, this time. "More than that."
"Are you scared?"
"Terribly."
"Then don't go."
She smiled. "If you could do something nobody else could, and it would save the people you love most, would you back down only because you were scared?"
He thought long and hard. "Nobody else could do it?"
"No."
"I guess I'd do it, then."
His mother buried her face in his hair. He felt her sigh. "Oh, Cass. Take care, will you?"
"I'm not scared."
"I know you're not. Now sleep, okay?"
"Okay."
Her steps moved away from him. The door creaked softly.
"Cass?"
"Yes?"
"I love you."
…
"Cassidy?"
"Beth!"
Her arms caught him, strong and warm, as he propelled himself against her. Laughing, she swung him up.
"You are wearing glasses!"
He still cannot believe it, touches the material carefully. It will disappear, he thinks, will turn to star dust and wishes again. But no, the glass and metal contraption on his nose remains. Putting the world into focus. Bringing out color. It is the greatest miracle of all: he can see. Can see the leaves on the trees with startling clarity, each single one of them. The colors of the sky at dawn. The blonde silk of her hair. It is so wonderful he feels like crying. And laughing. And singing.
Elizabeth put him down again, held him at arm's length to inspect his face.
"You have beautiful eyes," she told him and a smile spread over her entire face. "No need to be embarrassed. Girls will tell you so many times when you're older." Mortified, Cassidy glared at her. She laughed, and he stared in wonder again. Human faces were so rich in expression. It was amazing.
"Your mother would have loved to see you like this," she suddenly said, her happy smile momentarily lost. "I am sure she would be so happy for you."
"You don't know her," Cassidy said incredulously. "How can you tell?"
"Because she must have loved you very much." She lifted his chin gently when he turned his face away. "I know you miss her. I'm sorry, Cassidy. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. I guess I just wanted you all to me."
"Can't you come with us?"
"I don't think your legal guardian would be happy if I accompanied you," she replied and tousled his hair. "And I can't leave this place. There are others here who need me."
"I need you, too."
"Cassidy." She took his hands, pulled him closer like she had done the night in the cold classroom. Her forehead touched his. "You will be fine, I promise. I care for you very much, and I always will. But it's time for you to leave now. Go out there. Look at the world. It is beautiful. You will see so much, learn so much. You will meet people. You will be happy. You will be fine."
"But…"
"I won't ever forget you."
She stood in the crowd and smiled as he passed through the gate. Dublin Airport was full of people that day, but the only person he saw was her. And his parents, right next to her.
…
"Here."
He didn't use many words. Daemon. Teacher. Cassidy let the names roll of his tongue and watched silently. He had been awake for the majority of the flight, but he wasn't tired at all. The house was grey and seemed old, but the entrance gate and the front door suggested various precautionary settings. Cameras, fences, grey stone – it almost felt like being back at the orphanage.
"The fence is supposed to keep others out and not to keep you inside."
Unasked, his guardian answered the question. He was weird like that. Cassidy shivered at the memory of his face when he had first seen him. The eyes that seemed to look right into his soul and had a terrifying darkness behind them. They passed through the front door into a great hall with a huge staircase. It was dark, but a light shone from one side of the hallway. Teacher led him straight through it and through the cracked door. Behind it, lamps spent warm light. Book cases lined the walls. Different sofas and arm chairs made the room look positively homely. Seven kids were gathered in the room. Two had their heads bent over a book in a corner, another one was singing to itself softly on one couch. Two dark-skinned children and a red-haired girl were sitting on the floor, playing a game, while the last girl was in the window seat, not even acknowledging his presence. When he entered, the other six looked up, though.
"Cassidy," Teacher said calmly. "These are Terrance, Ten, Nadya, Jaq, Jay, Marina and Teresa. They will be your new family. Your Clave. You will live, train and hunt together from today until the day you will be officially introduced into Hunter society."
Cassidy looked up at him and saw something like a smile in the man's face. He smiled back, then looked at the other kids. One of them had stood to get a closer look at him. The others turned to him, one after another.
"Are we complete now, Teacher?" The girl with the curly hair asked curiously. Daemon nodded once.
"We are."
The girl beamed at him.
"Welcome home."
...
Good Bye. Good Bye.
And Welcome.