Author's note: It has been some time since I've posted anything. For that I'm sorry, but I have just been at vacation, and I apologize. Due to the summer break, and thus no new episodes unless you count my obsession about Rizzoli & Isles, and True Blood, I have been watching old vampire TV shows. I know, it's kinda pathetic, but I watched this fantastic show called "Blood Ties" which I, helplessly, fell in love with just after watching "Moonlight". I'm experimenting here, so please, give me your sincerest opinion. I'm Henry/Vicki fixated, I must warn, though I think Mike is both annoying and has great potential. The story is set a few weeks after, as you may discover, "Deep Dark", the last episode.
Please note that I have never read the novels by Tanya Huff, so the story can't be affected by her great story. I have plans to read it during July so please don't make any spoilers, if it's not of relevance to the story. I hope you will like it, since it's up to you if I'll continue this as a multi-chaptered story. This is part one, THE BEGINNING.
Disclaimer: I do not own BLOOD TIES, the show, or the novels. They belong to Tanya Huff and whomever has created the greatness of the characters. I'm just borrowing them, including the un-introduced characters, they're from the Internet. For now.
THE BEGINNING
She introduced herself as Lorena. Unlike many of the invitations to supernatural affairs that revolved around Vicki's life, she didn't come into the office of Vicki Nelson Investigations.
It was a dim-lit midday with an overcast sky and an eventless morning so far. Not even the birds attempted to fill their lungs with air and express their misery in grief-filled tones. They just sat on the branches with their necks hanging depressed from their bodies, their eyes as good as lifeless, only their breaths confirming they were alive. It were as if the whole world had given up on that day, leaving it catalogued like a picture in the grey tones of a hazy memory. The humidity was atypical for a city like Toronto, used to cooler temperatures, the windy heat numbing like an unknown substance in the citizens' veins. Like a drowsy interval in a frozen story, insignificant conversations and opinions were exchanged by teenagers as well as pensioners. The only sound of genuine glee came from the park's playground, where a group of first-graders, wearily guarded by their worn-out parents, played with admirable energy. They had chosen to take advantage of the unusual weather and ran around in lighter clothes than accustomed to.
Sitting on a nearby bench, watching the children play tag with bright smiles on their faces, was Vicki Nelson. She'd, like many others, chosen to put her life on pause for the day. God knew she needed it, but of course she didn't acknowledge that, simply stating that she needed fresh air in the uncomfortable, humid weather that crawled under her skin, breaking out in sweat and nausea. She hadn't said anything to her assistant, knowing fully how frantic Coreen was whenever Vicki experienced any kind of discomfort, physical or otherwise. Her marks, the ones she bore on her wrists as a painful and yet eternal reminder of her stature as a sacrifice, hadn't flared, but – and this she hadn't told a soul, or, for other purposes, any entity – these days, no matter the weather, they burned subtly. Ever since the day she had allowed Astaroth to walk in return for the chance to save Coreen's life. His promise to return for her was inked with powerful, unstable magics that ran deeper than her skin. Unbeknownst to her friends, she had researched them, even tried to get them removed (though some part of her – probably her rationality and logic – had known it was foolish to even hope) which had resulted in a laser artist ending up with ruined equipment.
She didn't like to expose the so-called "tattoos". She hadn't even mentioned them to her family. It wasn't too hard for her family to picture her as the type to have one made – perhaps they'd even accept it after a few years of denial – but too many questions would be unanswered. Her mother would think she was a closeted satanist and start the never-ending argument why she left the force, as if it was her fault – that she'd chosen to fail at life, as if it was a subject. As if her life had been degenerating ever since her diagnose had been revealed. There was some truth to it; Vicki had chosen to take the valiant way out of her career, living pathetically in her ex-colleagues' minds. She had to admit, from the outer world's perspective, she looked pitiful. She could have chosen to let her legendary tales fade and ride a desk, instead she'd castrated all tales by acting like a deluded disappointment to the newbies in the Toronto Police Force, who'd possibly heard of her achievements during their training and now heard of the shadow of the woman they'd pictured, a crazy-woman. Some days she felt ashamed, others she was quite aware of her choice, and fairly supporting. Now was one of those days where doubt manifested in her mind.
She had subconsciously been rubbing her wrists like a newly released suspect from the handcuffs. She'd never had the pleasure of being cuffed (for she had been lucky to avoid the training sessions at the academy, where split in two teams, the aspirants should switch roles between cop and suspect. It seemed so long ago, though it was less than a decade). She sat down at the park bench, watching the kids play, amused by their merry spirits, finding herself unable to remember when she last felt such innocent joy. It surely had been before her illness ruined everything, escalating into her own line of things she'd ruined. She couldn't blame rentinitis pigmentosa for everything that had gone wrong in her, currently, sullen life. For instant, she was glad that she'd met Henry, because he had left her mind open, but unfortunately, her heart broken and bruised and filled with passionate confusion. However, his absence had left a thousand 'what-if's in her head, not just involving him, but also her relationship – or lack thereof – with Mike. Kind, understanding, compatible Mike, whose qualities had seemed to disappear the moment she left the force, and been replaced by distrust, confusion, misunderstanding and clashing words – like he had been the one, who had been abandoned. Vicki had ruthlessly stated that he'd acted like a spoiled child, like he had been the one losing everything. Now where both her 'knights' had refused her, she felt utterly alone and had sought the kindness of watching lively children play. She had a gaze of distance misplaced on her worried face, tears threatening to fall but she wouldn't let them. It was the kind of day where even Vicki longed for something to happen, be it supernatural or not. Any distraction from the truth of her life would be kindly welcomed.
She scarcely noticed how a woman had sat down – without Vicki's notice, which was, under the circumstances, not that odd – next to her, her eyes, too, on the panting yet running kids. Vicki assumed she was one of the parents to one of the kids. Her cop-sense screamed single mother, but how she knew that was the same as trying to explain a gut feeling. The woman was surely a parent – she had that look of unlimited content on her face – who had sought peace away from the other parents, who sat, talking irksomely about their frustrated jobs, on other bench-set. Looking for a distraction, though perhaps only in the small, the private investigator discreetly studied the woman. She was older than Vicki, but only by five or such years. She looked youthful, but her eyes wore the burden of memories which she bore beautifully. She looked Hispanic, though with more American features so she wouldn't be confused with an immigrant. Her complexion was tanned and golden, her hair ebony black and long in a way that Vicki envied. Before her illness, she kept her hair shorter for practical reasons – both the physical, but also the way men treated her if she looked too feminine, (insulting) – and after, she had been too preoccupied with the misfortunes of her life. She had ever only secretly wished for beauty. The woman wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but she was a few degrees up the scale in comparison to Vicki herself. Something she had only become painfully aware of since she had come to learn of Henry Fitzroy and his... acquired taste in food. She was slim, brown-eyed, beautiful, and from where Vicki was sitting, the kind of woman many men married. An irrational thought floated through her mind before she could stop it – was this woman the kind of woman Henry would have married, had he been mortal? She did possess that exotic glow, that passion in her genes.
"Unbelievable, don't you think?" the woman asked her casually, unnecessarily breaking the ice. She spoke in a tone that resembled admiration, but wasn't quite it. Content love. A happiness fueled by the bond to another human life. Somehow it both inspired Vicki, and made her feel like she missed something.
"Yeah, what I wouldn't give for that energy these days," Vicki murmured absentmindedly. She had attempted jokingly, but decided against it.
"Trust me, they demand just as much energy from you. Do you have any children yourself?" she asked curiously. Her eyes fell on a short-haired boy, who was just about to use the swing. A genuine smile of future laughter crept its way to her narrow lips. Vicki noticed she wore almost no makeup.
"No, fortunately," the ex-cop said, both relieved and, oddly, crestfallen. The stranger's eyebrow arched.
"Fortunately?" she repeated curiously, though no offended by Vicki's belief. "How come?" she asked kindly, like a supportive grandmother rather than a curios stranger.
"Nothing," Vicki replied. "It's just.. I can barely control me own life. I'd be the worst mom ever." Though the cop in her knew that she couldn't possibly be worse than some of the examples she'd seen on the job, her conscience disagreed. First of all, she walked around in constant fear, with a bull's eye on her back – or rather, wrists – damned to be a sacrificial lamb, or demonic companion according to Astaroth, not to mention the instability of her powers. Secondly, she risked blindness everyday, never knowing when it kicked in and left her helpless – something she'd never succumb to, and hand't yet dealt with. Thirdly, her business resolved around making people angry, catching them in their misdeeds. And fourthly, to the subject she somehow prioritized above all; Mike and Henry. She couldn't choose – though they now had done it for her – and couldn't do it without them, although in one case, it was utterly impossible–.
And why was she even contemplating this? She'd never thought about children before.
"Everybody thinks that before they have children. Trust me, you can't do that bad," the woman encouraged, then realized she hadn't introduced herself. "My name is Lorena Simmons, by the way. Since we're discussing such intimate decisions," she explained, smiling reassuringly. She tucked a tuft of hair behind her ear.
"Vicki Nelson," the ex-cop responded. "And I really think I'd be that bad. I'm practically blind already, and you're supposed to be observant as a parent, right?" she consulted.
Lorena smiled at Vicki's ignorance. "There's many ways, trust me. Sometimes you just want to kill them for taking your life away..." Lorena paled in a ghostly pallor, then proceeded carefully. "... but most of the time, you're grateful for their presence, their existence. It blesses yours."
Vicki listened though she wasn't of the same conclusion. Partly because she had a hard time immersing to Lorena's situation. She had not even been a babysitter in her adolescence, taking waitressing jobs instead, much like Coreen (though she had once implied that she'd done some babysitting). She had been brought up to think that child care came naturally but learned by experience (and a particularly humiliating Homicide case) that it didn't. Her mother's words echoed in her head. Mrs. Nelson hadn't mentioned her need for grandchildren since she told of the disastrous results of the case. Or, at least the part involving children.
"I may be looking forward to it," Vicki said, but muttered under her breath, again absently, "If I'll ever get there."
Lorena picked up on it, now facing her instead of watching over the children. "Why wouldn't you?"
"Well, I haven't exactly got the best potentials for boyfriends these days. Or, I had, but I screwed that up as well. Maybe I'm just fated to be alone. It fits my personality," she said, despite her like of what she called 'bouncing ideas off each other'.
"Sounds lonely," Lorena whispered. Then she grabbed Vicki's left wrist, just above where the Astaroth seal had been carved into her skin. It seemed too intimate for Vicki, but her unnerved, alerted reaction was instantly quieted. She looked directly at Lorena, entranced.
"What if I could help you?" the stranger proposed in a serene voice, her eyes weirdly flickering, yet remaining set on Vicki. Normally, it would freak the private detective out, but she was, as previously mentioned, entranced. She listened intensely, obediently as if ordered. "What if I could remove the pain from them, the pain from the blindness. The pain from the doubt? What if I could make you superior to all those things? What if I could ensure that what you feared would never happen?"
The cop-sense, logic and rational reasoning of Vicki's brain had been subdued. Mildly working, but only to an extent. Only her senses worked, as if on morphine. Her tunnel vision seemed to pick up Lorena's seemingly haloed head, and the frozen movements around them. It were as if time has stopped so that nothing would disturb them. She noticed the almost unnoticeable tears running down the beautiful woman's cheeks, like liquid glass tainting the pure painting of Lorena.
"I know what you have done. You have done the most valiant things and only met anger and misunderstanding. Your wounds go beyond flesh. You hurt, I can see it as clear as my own sorrow," Lorena spoke, seamlessly sympathetic. For once, Vicki wasn't hurt or confused whether or not it was pity or someone actually caring, as Mike once had putted it. She just had a feeling that Lorena wanted her the best and didn't ask any questions.
The divine woman held her hand out, patiently waiting for Vicki. She sent her a reassuring, caring gaze that created butterflies in Vicki's stomach. However immune to Henry's persuasion skills, she allowed Lorena to tell her of everything she offered, without the burden of mistrust and doubt hanging over her like a dark-gray cloud. At last, she look Lorena's hand, smiling unsteadily, and felt the world rush past her, this time her that was frozen in time.
x
Coreen hated feeling helpless although it was one of the first thing people would describe her as. Both people, who knew her, and those with only a first-hand impression. Though her wound from her unauthorized heart transplant – for the lack of better word – had healed because of Vicki's literal deal with the devil, it still ached. The college drop-out feared that it meant she had a bond with Astaroth though she reminded herself – often tearfully – that Vicki was too valuable for the demon lord for him to trick her. She hated that Astaroth had even ties to any of them. Thanks to Norman, they all suffered continuously. There were some days she wished that she'd never contacted Vicki when Ian had been killed. She probably would have died, and Henry and Vicki would have never met, so her mentor wouldn't walk around heartbroken. But then again, she loved that she had Vicki like an older, wiser and protective sister. Not that her biological family hadn't been there for her, or had disapproved of her lifestyle and choices, but everything was easier albeit more difficult with Vicki. Yet she constantly lived in the fear that she some day wouldn't be good enough for Vicki, or Henry. Or Mike for that matter. Vicki treated her like someone. Not a stupid kid – well, some times, when the situation called for it – but a real, equal person.
The assistant was grateful for Vicki's choice to save her, but it if had to be at the expense of her own life, Coreen wasn't sure. She suspected that Vicki's recent choices concerning her use of dark magic and Astaroth had been the final drop in the theatrical Henry/Vicki glass. She felt like a child caught in a divorce though her senses told her to be supportive of Vicki's decision. She'd never gotten the full story why Henry left and, cleverly, had chosen not to ask. It was very atypical of her, but she knew that the scar that rested on her chest and beneath it wasn't cut as deep as the ones Vicki had. She hardly understood the private detective anymore. And doubted if she ever had. Vicki was as split as any person could be. Between doing the save thing and what she thought was right. Vicki was, unfortunately, stoic and valiant, which was why she needed Henry! And Mike! But mostly Henry – which Coreen acknowledged with dread after her scare of the supernatural – because he saw who was Vicki's worst enemy; herself. Not because she was suicidal, but because she thought that because she was near-blind, her life wasn't worth that much, so she could risk more. More people than just Coreen, Henry and Mike would be devastated by her death, and angry.
Ever since the ritual, ever since Astaroth forced a choice upon Vicki, saving the life he'd doomed. Henry had left because he could not do it anymore, caring about a careless being, so fragile. Was he still furious at them for saving him? She'd hesitated, because she didn't want Vicki to get hurt, and she'd doubted whether or not it would work. Henry's reaction had been out of fury for Vicki's use of the dark arts. Ever since Astaroth's visit and release, Coreen had been determined to get better and get Vicki away from the temptation black magic posed. She didn't really believe a good person like Vicki would do something foolish but her recent behavior unnerved Coreen.
She sat at work, against Vicki's protests, refusing to go outside, since her boss already had chosen that option. This left her the chance to go through Vicki's things – respectively, of course, and out of concern – until she stumbled upon something, not odd or out of the ordinary, but very conclusive. It was an opened letter (and if it helped, Coreen felt really bad reading it), which she skimmed neatly. It was from Dr. Kendrick, an ophthalmologist at a hospital just outside Toronto. Coreen didn't know much of Vicki's illness, other than what Henry had told her (Vick wasn't very sharing on that subject), but as she read the letter addressed to Miss Victoria Nelson, she got the general idea. She knew Vicki's vision was deteriorating, but was left astounded and horrified and in tears by the end of the letter.
x
Although it had been two weeks since he'd mouthed his decision to Vicki, Henry Fitzroy had still not gotten all his things shipped to Vancouver. It wasn't that he hesitated – because he did and knew this – but he had a hard time letting go. He wanted to bring his sword, but her scent radiated off it, as did many of his drawings. He had considered leaving them all behind, but didn't want to, which unnerved him. He didn't even want to consider why they meant so much to him. However, his thoughts were interrupted by a husky heartbeat, wrapped in silky clothes and an eccentric personality. He bared fangs, growling feral and alerted. His irises drowned in black as the instincts of the vampire took over. He scented a familiar aroma that had once been the source of passion but now brought boredom and annoyance.
He opened the door and looked predatorily at Sinéad, who, even though he had made it perfectly clear that there wasn't a 'them' anymore, still attempted to flutter her long eyelashes at him, looking unbelievably irresistible. His mind, deprived of happy thoughts since his conversation with Vicki and their 'break-up', immediately flashed to the nights of passion spent with the sorceress before he came to loathe dark magic, and before he'd met Vicki. Before the ritual Astaroth had claimed Vicki with.
"What?" he roared impolitely. The exotic sorceress didn't even shudder, as he saw something in her eyes not tainted by her deceptive nature.
Sinéad stepped in, her shoulders sunken and her head down, as if she'd realized the world didn't revolve around her. She wore the same expression as someone carrying news of death, which was ironic as itself. It could, however, just be another one of her tricks.
"It's about your new friend," she said hesitantly. "The streaky-blonde with the power boost?" Though her words sounded judgmental, her intentions were pure. He could smell it, however he was cautious around her magics. He didn't like that Sinéad recognized Vicki's magic abilities with such venerate when she herself was a dark magic artist. Astaroth's power laid in those abilities, and he was in anguish over the change they had caused in the young private investigator.
"Vicki?" he said softer.
"Yes," she confirmed with sympathetic eyes. "I don't know why I'm here. I know you'd never forgive me if I didn't tell you. You probably won't, but I can have hope that this will exonerate me from our past encounters of violence," Sinéad sniffed hopefully.
"What is it?" he asked through gritted teeth, his fangs retracted but luring behind his barely restrained exterior. It took a lot for the sorceress to break free of her flirtatious, eccentric behavior. Though he doubted if any of her words were true – and not just a way to lure him in and break his fierce ability to be immune of her magics by using information about Vicki as bait – he had to listen.
She stared at him penetratingly, though scared that she would be harmed as the messenger of foul news. "She's not alright, Henry. I felt her powers bounce. She's been taken by someone. Something powerful enough to affect her."
Please leave a review :D