France
1763
Jeanne Roullet knelt on the cold stone floor of the old church and
squeezed her eyes shut. Tears began streaming down her face, but she
ignored them. Jeanne slowly made the sign of the cross and began the
sacred Rosary.
"Au nom du Père et du Fils et du Saint-Esprit..."
Her hand sank down to her lap and the tears came more freely. He had
betrayed her...
Blindly, she groped for her rosary and with shaking hands, began the
next station, her fingers pressing tightly around the familiar and
comfortable wooden beads. It soothed her, at least a little.
"Je crois en Dieu, le Père tout-puissant, créateur du ciel et de la
terre..."
Even as she tried so hard to concentrate and place all her thoughts on
the Divine, images came unbidden to Jeanne's mind.
A year ago, in her home town of St-Michel-sur-Mer. A week of sleepless
nights and strange waking dreams that made the sisters whisper behind
her back. And then his arrival, the handsome man who spoke French with
such an outrageous accent. That long walk in the convent garden and
all the things he had told her.
Her destiny. Her God-given calling to strike back against the forces
of the Devil.
She had believed him, believed him more than she believed in anything
except the true faith. Vampires and demons? Of course she believed.
Jeanne was not ignorant. She knew dark things lurked in the shadows, in
the wild places of the world.
And she was the one who would destroy them, with the grace of God and
the wisdom of this Council of Watchers. So be it, then!
It had begun that very night.
Three vampires, snarling beasts, driven back to Hell by Jeanne, with
him at her side. He was always at her side from then on.
"Et en Jésus Christ, son Fils unique, notre Seigneur qui a été conçu
du Saint-Esprit, est né de la Vierge Marie, a souffert sous Ponce
Pilate, a été crucifié, est mort et a été enseveli, est descendu aux
enfers, le troisième jour est ressuscité des morts, est monté aux
cieux, est assis à la droite de Dieu le Père tout-puissant d'où Il
viendra juger les vivants et les morts..."
More memories.
Lyons, eight months ago. *Him*, a smile on his face as he
congratulated her on killing a nest of a dozen vampires in just one
night. "The Council is very proud... *I* am very proud, my Slayer." A
smile on his face and then another solid thump with that quarterstaff
he used so well, and the training continued. No more mention was made
of the half-whispered sentiment. It wasn't needed.
"Je crois en l'Esprit-Saint, á la sainte Eglise catholique, à la
communion des saints, à la rémission des péchés, à la résurrection de
la chair, à la vie éternelle."
The hills north of Marseilles. Jeanne, bleeding and barely conscious
after a vicious battle with a demon as foul and strong as anything
she'd yet faced. She had killed it, but it had hurt her and she had
stumbled and fallen on the path down to the nearest village.
But he was there, at her side. His hands lifted her up and he tended
her wounds, never leaving her until she was well again.
Jeanne's fingers shifted numbly to the next bead.
"Notre Père qui es aux cieux, que ton nom soit sanctifié, que ton
règne vienne, que ta volonté soit faite sur la terre comme au ciel."
A month ago. The Council's 'abbey' - how she hated that minor
blasphemy and his slight smirk whenever she mentioned it - in Paris.
More training, this time with the rapier. A good weapon, a noble
weapon, and one that she soon mastered. As always, she had won the
little duel.
When it was over, leaning forward upon the hilt of the rapier and
then her breath catching when she saw the strange smile he gave her,
and then smiling back and trying so hard not to tremble when his hand
brushed against hers.
"Donne-nous aujourd'hui notre pain quotidien, et pardonne-nous nos
offenses, comme nous pardonnons à ceux qui nous ont offensés. Et ne
nous induis point en tentation, mais délivre-nous du mal."
Three days ago.
"You look ill, Jeanne. Have you been sneaking out to hunt in the snow
again?"
Dizziness striking before she could answer. Dizziness, grayness,
blackness, and then waking up...
Jeanne's fingers tightened and she gripped the rosary so hard it almost
broke. Only at the last second did she catch herself, relax and whisper
her hope that God would forgive her for that.
And that He would forgive him for what he had done to her. She could
never do it, God help her.
Waking up in that dusty, boarded-up house and feeling so weak and
tired. And then hearing a shuffle in the distance and realizing two
things - that she was not alone in the house and that he had put her
there.
"Amen!"
The vampire had nearly killed her. She still bore a long, jagged scar
just under her ribcage and probably would until the end of her days.
She had just barely managed to destroy it with a wooden plank and
strength born of desperation and terror. Her fingers still ached with
the remembered pain of all those splinters, such a contrast with the
well-worn Rosary beads.
"Je vous salue, Marie, pleine de grâces, le Seigneur est avec vous;
vous êtes bénie entre toutes les femmes, et Jésus le fruit de vos
entrailles, est béni. Sainte Marie, Mère de Dieu, priez pour nous
pécheurs, maintenant, et à l'heure de notre mort."
She remembered passing out again when it was over, and waking up to
see his face hovering over her.
He had smiled - *smiled*, after all he had done - and had the
arrogance to gasp when she spat in his face. How dare he pretend to be
hurt, after what he had done to her? Pretending to trust her,
pretending to be her friend, pretending to love her, and then this...
"Gloire au Pére, au Fils et au Saint-Esprit. Comme Il état au
commencement, maintenant et toujours pour les siècles des siècles."
The argument had lasted the better part of an hour and ended with them
both screaming at the top of their lungs, neither listening to the
other, and then she had slapped him with all her restored strength and
fled the room. He had called out to her, but Jeanne didn't listen,
didn't care. He had betrayed her.
"O mon Jésus, pardonne-nous nos péchés, préserve-nous du feu de
l'enfer et conduis au ciel toutes les petit âmes surtout celles qui
ont le plus besoin de ta miséricorde."
The next day had passed in a blur. He had left her alone, a wise
choice considering her rage, and she had begun to plan.
So they had betrayed her. So be it. She was the Slayer, she was the
Chosen One. They were just her assistants, and she did not need
assistance any more. She could read, in French and German and Latin
alike, and she could fight, and that was enough to answer her calling.
She would do it alone.
"Nous vous saluons, Reine, Mere de misericorde, notre vie, notre joie,
notre esperance, salut. Enfants d'Eve, nous crions vers vous de fond
de notre exil. Nous soupirons vers vous, gemissant et pleurant dans
cette vallee de larmes. O vous notre advocate, tournez vers nous vos
regards misericordieux. Et apres l'exil de cette vie, montrez nous
Jesus, le fruit beni de vos entrailles, tendre, aimante, douce vierge
Marie. Priez pour nous, sainte Mere de Dieu. Afin que nous devenions
dignes des promesses de Jesus Christ."
He had not even stopped her when she stormed out of the 'abbey' with
her red coat, traveling bag, rapier and the pistol she had never fired
except in practice with him. He had only stared at her, as if a look
could make up for what he had done.
The fact that he hadn't even tried to explain himself, or even
apologize, was almost as painful as the betrayal itself. But Jeanne
didn't care. She gave him a haughty sneer and turned her back on him.
Him and his Godforsaken Council.
"O Dieu dont le Fils unique, par sa vie, sa mort et sa resurrection,
nous a merite, les recompenses du salut eternel, faites que, meditant
ses mysteres dans le tres saint Rosaire de la bienheureuse Vierge
Marie, nous mettions a profit les lescons qu'ils contiennent afin
d'obtenir ce qu'ils nous font esperer. Par la meme Jesus-Christ, votre
Fils notre Seigneur."
Jeanne was alone now. So be it. She didn't need Sebastian Giles any
more. She was the Slayer.
-------
The End
-------
1763
Jeanne Roullet knelt on the cold stone floor of the old church and
squeezed her eyes shut. Tears began streaming down her face, but she
ignored them. Jeanne slowly made the sign of the cross and began the
sacred Rosary.
"Au nom du Père et du Fils et du Saint-Esprit..."
Her hand sank down to her lap and the tears came more freely. He had
betrayed her...
Blindly, she groped for her rosary and with shaking hands, began the
next station, her fingers pressing tightly around the familiar and
comfortable wooden beads. It soothed her, at least a little.
"Je crois en Dieu, le Père tout-puissant, créateur du ciel et de la
terre..."
Even as she tried so hard to concentrate and place all her thoughts on
the Divine, images came unbidden to Jeanne's mind.
A year ago, in her home town of St-Michel-sur-Mer. A week of sleepless
nights and strange waking dreams that made the sisters whisper behind
her back. And then his arrival, the handsome man who spoke French with
such an outrageous accent. That long walk in the convent garden and
all the things he had told her.
Her destiny. Her God-given calling to strike back against the forces
of the Devil.
She had believed him, believed him more than she believed in anything
except the true faith. Vampires and demons? Of course she believed.
Jeanne was not ignorant. She knew dark things lurked in the shadows, in
the wild places of the world.
And she was the one who would destroy them, with the grace of God and
the wisdom of this Council of Watchers. So be it, then!
It had begun that very night.
Three vampires, snarling beasts, driven back to Hell by Jeanne, with
him at her side. He was always at her side from then on.
"Et en Jésus Christ, son Fils unique, notre Seigneur qui a été conçu
du Saint-Esprit, est né de la Vierge Marie, a souffert sous Ponce
Pilate, a été crucifié, est mort et a été enseveli, est descendu aux
enfers, le troisième jour est ressuscité des morts, est monté aux
cieux, est assis à la droite de Dieu le Père tout-puissant d'où Il
viendra juger les vivants et les morts..."
More memories.
Lyons, eight months ago. *Him*, a smile on his face as he
congratulated her on killing a nest of a dozen vampires in just one
night. "The Council is very proud... *I* am very proud, my Slayer." A
smile on his face and then another solid thump with that quarterstaff
he used so well, and the training continued. No more mention was made
of the half-whispered sentiment. It wasn't needed.
"Je crois en l'Esprit-Saint, á la sainte Eglise catholique, à la
communion des saints, à la rémission des péchés, à la résurrection de
la chair, à la vie éternelle."
The hills north of Marseilles. Jeanne, bleeding and barely conscious
after a vicious battle with a demon as foul and strong as anything
she'd yet faced. She had killed it, but it had hurt her and she had
stumbled and fallen on the path down to the nearest village.
But he was there, at her side. His hands lifted her up and he tended
her wounds, never leaving her until she was well again.
Jeanne's fingers shifted numbly to the next bead.
"Notre Père qui es aux cieux, que ton nom soit sanctifié, que ton
règne vienne, que ta volonté soit faite sur la terre comme au ciel."
A month ago. The Council's 'abbey' - how she hated that minor
blasphemy and his slight smirk whenever she mentioned it - in Paris.
More training, this time with the rapier. A good weapon, a noble
weapon, and one that she soon mastered. As always, she had won the
little duel.
When it was over, leaning forward upon the hilt of the rapier and
then her breath catching when she saw the strange smile he gave her,
and then smiling back and trying so hard not to tremble when his hand
brushed against hers.
"Donne-nous aujourd'hui notre pain quotidien, et pardonne-nous nos
offenses, comme nous pardonnons à ceux qui nous ont offensés. Et ne
nous induis point en tentation, mais délivre-nous du mal."
Three days ago.
"You look ill, Jeanne. Have you been sneaking out to hunt in the snow
again?"
Dizziness striking before she could answer. Dizziness, grayness,
blackness, and then waking up...
Jeanne's fingers tightened and she gripped the rosary so hard it almost
broke. Only at the last second did she catch herself, relax and whisper
her hope that God would forgive her for that.
And that He would forgive him for what he had done to her. She could
never do it, God help her.
Waking up in that dusty, boarded-up house and feeling so weak and
tired. And then hearing a shuffle in the distance and realizing two
things - that she was not alone in the house and that he had put her
there.
"Amen!"
The vampire had nearly killed her. She still bore a long, jagged scar
just under her ribcage and probably would until the end of her days.
She had just barely managed to destroy it with a wooden plank and
strength born of desperation and terror. Her fingers still ached with
the remembered pain of all those splinters, such a contrast with the
well-worn Rosary beads.
"Je vous salue, Marie, pleine de grâces, le Seigneur est avec vous;
vous êtes bénie entre toutes les femmes, et Jésus le fruit de vos
entrailles, est béni. Sainte Marie, Mère de Dieu, priez pour nous
pécheurs, maintenant, et à l'heure de notre mort."
She remembered passing out again when it was over, and waking up to
see his face hovering over her.
He had smiled - *smiled*, after all he had done - and had the
arrogance to gasp when she spat in his face. How dare he pretend to be
hurt, after what he had done to her? Pretending to trust her,
pretending to be her friend, pretending to love her, and then this...
"Gloire au Pére, au Fils et au Saint-Esprit. Comme Il état au
commencement, maintenant et toujours pour les siècles des siècles."
The argument had lasted the better part of an hour and ended with them
both screaming at the top of their lungs, neither listening to the
other, and then she had slapped him with all her restored strength and
fled the room. He had called out to her, but Jeanne didn't listen,
didn't care. He had betrayed her.
"O mon Jésus, pardonne-nous nos péchés, préserve-nous du feu de
l'enfer et conduis au ciel toutes les petit âmes surtout celles qui
ont le plus besoin de ta miséricorde."
The next day had passed in a blur. He had left her alone, a wise
choice considering her rage, and she had begun to plan.
So they had betrayed her. So be it. She was the Slayer, she was the
Chosen One. They were just her assistants, and she did not need
assistance any more. She could read, in French and German and Latin
alike, and she could fight, and that was enough to answer her calling.
She would do it alone.
"Nous vous saluons, Reine, Mere de misericorde, notre vie, notre joie,
notre esperance, salut. Enfants d'Eve, nous crions vers vous de fond
de notre exil. Nous soupirons vers vous, gemissant et pleurant dans
cette vallee de larmes. O vous notre advocate, tournez vers nous vos
regards misericordieux. Et apres l'exil de cette vie, montrez nous
Jesus, le fruit beni de vos entrailles, tendre, aimante, douce vierge
Marie. Priez pour nous, sainte Mere de Dieu. Afin que nous devenions
dignes des promesses de Jesus Christ."
He had not even stopped her when she stormed out of the 'abbey' with
her red coat, traveling bag, rapier and the pistol she had never fired
except in practice with him. He had only stared at her, as if a look
could make up for what he had done.
The fact that he hadn't even tried to explain himself, or even
apologize, was almost as painful as the betrayal itself. But Jeanne
didn't care. She gave him a haughty sneer and turned her back on him.
Him and his Godforsaken Council.
"O Dieu dont le Fils unique, par sa vie, sa mort et sa resurrection,
nous a merite, les recompenses du salut eternel, faites que, meditant
ses mysteres dans le tres saint Rosaire de la bienheureuse Vierge
Marie, nous mettions a profit les lescons qu'ils contiennent afin
d'obtenir ce qu'ils nous font esperer. Par la meme Jesus-Christ, votre
Fils notre Seigneur."
Jeanne was alone now. So be it. She didn't need Sebastian Giles any
more. She was the Slayer.
-------
The End
-------