Revenant Chronicle

Chapter 1

This story had been inspired by StarvingLunatic's Kim Possible fanfiction Another Time, Another Place. It really is an amazing story and if you're a fan of the cartoon Kim Possible and Kigo then it really is a treat. Check it out.

And I must stress this is a slight AU story, so some things will be changed. But it is set after the first Bloodlines book and parts of Golden Lily and most of Indigo Spell hasn't happened. Yeah I wanted Sydney and Adrian to bond over their little "adventure" that they are about to partake in.

Enjoy.

P.s. if you see any grammar or spelling mistakes. Please tell me. I will fix it.

((((0))))

There is always something that someone despises, somewhere in the world. Maybe it is traffic, flying commercial, the absence of something to watch on the television, or maybe cats. Sydney, on the other hand can tolerate those (cats however she was delighted over), because she has all experienced them more than once in her life. Yet those things didn't compare to what she had to do now. It wasn't sticking her head in a basket full of snakes or wrestling a bear, because if it was, she would be felicitous to comply with doing so. Whether it was volunteering to be Jill's manikin for sewing class or being the punching bag for Angeline's training, she would be happy to be such things.

But what was coming. . .

No, Sydney would rather do or be anything. Any god sent, or karmic response to her pleading prayers and petitions would be greatly appreciated for the blonde. But no reception came, much to her dismay. The golden-eyed girl sighed for the umpteenth as she sat in the taxi. She stared out at the familiar landscape she came accustomed to; only to be leaving it for the thing she detests more in the world than double negatives or bureaucracy.

Jill said it won't be that bad, since she wasn't staying for the entire time. But the fifteen year old doesn't know what she is talking about, because she has never been in Sydney's specific situation, with the particular people.

The Alchemist sighed again, placing her elbow on the windowsill of the car and placed her hand over her eyes, hoping that it was a dream. Yet she knew too well it wasn't. So, the girl quickly sucked it up and came to reconcile the "dire situation" (according to a certain person on the phone a week ago). What was the "dire situation" Sydney dreaded, anyway? How could it compare to living with vampires for the past 3 months? Well, it didn't equate in any way, shape, or form; because her current habitation was a walk in the park, in retrospect now. If only she could jump from the taxi and run back to Palm Springs, but she was in flats and Sydney didn't run well in flats. She did have running shoes in her suitcase, but they were in the truck of the yellow car, not at her disposal.

Had to wear the flats, didn't I, the blonde scolded herself, couldn't pick the converse.

The Alchemist really was contemplating her escape, but decided against it because the woman on the phone a week ago would surely drag her away once she found out about the teen's elusion. And Sydney knew for certain that it would happen because that darn woman has done it before.

The ride to the airport was long, and the flight east was going to be longer. The apprehensiveness was seeping from the girl's pores, as she sat down in first class waiting for the flight to Utah.

I wonder if the plane has parachutes. Sydney humored herself, trying to relieve her disheartened mood. Unfortunately the plane didn't have any required escape routes, so the blonde sulked back into her comfortable seat, but the teen didn't even notice the plush cushion, because her mind was elsewhere. In a couple of hours she will be in her own personal ring of hell. In her opinion anyway. Hopefully she will get out unscathed, but that seemed unlikely, since she still has scars, mentally and physically.

So what was the Alchemist's customized brand of hell awaiting her?

A family reunion.

. . . . .

U dead yet? The blonde's phone chimed. She quickly replied with enthusiasm.

Slowly but surely.

She smiled in spite of herself and promptly turned it into a scowl. This was not professional; it was fraternizing with the enemy in Alchemist standards. But was the enemy really a spoiled, party boy Moroi with terrible vices? The intellectual didn't know which discouraged her even more when the next text from Adrian sounded. Need me 2 play Superman? U could be my Louis Lane.

She replied hesitantly, but stilled answered. With the cape? Or do you prefer nerd glasses?

The teen's relationship with the older vampire was muddled at best in her opinion. If you asked her with another fellow Alchemist around, she would reply with distain and say "he is only a job", or something only those lines. Yet at school with regular humans or with the crew around she would answer "he's a good friend". In fact, he was a really good friend to her, or if she was in a bounteous mood, a best friend. But most of the time she scoffed at that idea, telling herself her best friend needed to be a human. Not a bloodsucking vampire. Even so, with the batter between them that flows like the endless Nile, and the quick discernment of each other was easily recognizable. Most people would think they known each other for their entire lifetimes by how well they read and interpreted one another, but in reality they only been acquainted for merely 3 months.

He's just a friend, the blonde would order herself, just like Jill and the others. Friends at Palm Springs, mortal enemies elsewhere.

The phone chimed again: Getting w/ the foreplay, now aren't we?

The orderly teen laughed silently to herself and replied: No. Just getting a feel for my wannabe savior. Blue or green tights?

The taxi Sydney was sitting in turned and the girl shifted slightly to the opposite side by her body's inertia. Then the teen had a strange thought that Adrian would be the only one to sit and actually listen to her tell him about the body's resistance to motion. A strange thought, yet still a happy one. . .

Her phone texted back: Green. It matches my eyes.

Now Sydney really laughed out loud, earning a look from the driver. She gave one right back. Indeed, she replied. The blonde girl glanced outside, and dismay slide across her face as she recognized the very familiar surroundings of Salt Lake City. Under normal circumstances, she would be joyful, but under the context she had a sudden urge to shout at the driver to turn around. She refrained, and texted:

Nearing the red sun, about to be powerless. Bye. See you and the guys soon . . . if I survive.

"Talk about showing your inner geek, Sydney," she chided herself. The driver gave her another look, and she returned it. He quickly glared back down or victory in the teen's opinion.

The final text came to her phone: K. Bye. Ps, nice Superman reference. :)

Sydney grinned at herself, for getting a grin from the Moroi.

A few minutes later, the Alchemist stood in front of a large gothic looking mansion. Before her was heavy polished oak doors with intricate cravings of vines and flowers (more or less lilies), and above her was a large arch way in sun beaten tan stones. Most of the time she would go in without a hitch, but now as her predicament was laid out in front of her; she took the time to take in the aspiring architecture. The wonderful juxtaposition of the beige mansion or the Doric order of the columns was all too familiar with her, so she turned slightly to see the taxi leave the crescent gravel drive way—her final escape route gone and out of her reach. She debated to drop her stuff and sprint after the yellow car, but as soon as she was ready the door creaked open.

"Oh, Sydney!"

Before the teen could whip around to see who was at the door, she was smothered by an iron hug. Then she smelled the slight hint of motor oil and perfume, and Sydney hugged the woman back somewhat, considering that she could free her arms from the embrace.

"Hey, Mom," the blonde whispered into the woman's hair. The woman, apparently Sydney's mother, stood back to see a look of her daughter at arm's length.

"My goodness, Sydney. You certainly look a lot bigger since you been gone," The woman examined. Most people would take offense to that comment, but to Sydney, that was a good thing. Her mom has always wanted her daughter to be more on the healthy looking side, rather than healthy eating one. The teen's mom wasn't like her father, and Sydney was glad for that.

It was true, the blonde did put on a little weight since she has been in Palm Springs; however it was more muscle than anything else. Hanging out with dhampirs, playing and competing in volleyball, among other "extracurricular" activities has surely put some meat on the young woman's bones. Not that she was complaining since some guys from her school were commenting to about her "looking good".

"Thanks, Mom . . . could you help me with the bags?" The older woman nodded, and with a few swift movements picked up what she could and both women traveled inside the mansion. The interior was just as beautiful as the outside with marble floors and lush wooden and stone arches leading to different rooms on either side. A grand stair case was of rich dark wood and sat directly in the middle of the room, but peeled off into two leading to the corridors of the mansion. Old antiques lined the walls from the generations of the Sage family and portraits of said members. A crystal chandelier eliminated the room giving it a golden glow fit for a queen. Or in this case Sydney's maternal relative's reunion.

"How long are you staying again, sweetie?" The older women asked, stopping at the staircase and setting down the bags.

"Only for a couple of days. Not for the whole week and a half," her daughter responded, also stopping.

"Darn," was the mother's reply.

"It's okay. I'm sure you'll have enough company. Besides I have somewhere to get back to."

Ms. Sage didn't response to that statement because she knew all too well of Alchemist missions, she was married to one for once and now her middle daughter was one too. Plus, she was never one to pry.

Once the bags were in the daughter's room, the couple went down to the dining room, which was now being renovated for the reunion. White streamers hung along the walls, white napkins and plates were being unwrapped and set aside and a white table cloth was rolled down the long mahogany table. Apparently white was the theme this year, unlike last year which was pink (thankfully Sydney was in Prague at the time). The reunions often rotated from member to member and this year it was Sydney's mother's turn. The older woman had a rather large family on her side, and usually they had these gatherings at parks or in hotels, but this time was different: they were in a mansion. Or in the blonde's case . . . home.

Sitting down at the table, the mother and daughter caught up or at least attempting to. Because of the Alchemist's job she had to sugarcoat and reply with vague answers, treading carefully so she won't give away important information, even if it was the girl's mom. Again Ms. Sage was considerate of her daughter's secrecy, since again she was married to one for almost 23 years. Though it was sometimes frustrating, the older woman didn't intrude with their business.

The conversation died down after an hour or so of catching up, and turned into a comfortable silence between the couple. Sydney took the subtle time to canvass her mother, though it was almost unnecessary. The middle aged woman was aging gracefully as time could allow, with only signs of age around her eyes in flaccid crow's feet. Her wavy, chestnut hair was slightly dulling, but was hidden by regular treatments to the solon. And her eyes were still the pale blue-grey, but still shined like the sky on a good day. Even though Sydney got her father's eyes and hair, she got her mother's exact face, like a mirror to the older woman. Which she guessed was a good thing, because she really did believe her mother was and still is attractive, though she was nearing 50.

Sydney was then jimmied away from her examination of her mother by the said woman. "Have you talked your sister lately?" The mother asked, with a bit of racking behind her eyes. The brunette knew that her daughters were having a stressful time with one another since the older one supposedly "stole" Zoe's opportunity.

The blonde hesitated before answering, still reflecting whether or not she did the right thing by shielding her young sister from the overbearing society she was sworn to. "No."

"Shame." Her mother started, "You just missed her too. She went to some training with the novice Alchemist classes." Most of the time Alchemists were trained by their parents or legal guardians alone, but a couple times a year they would meet up with other pupils around the region to get a feel of how to work together for their first year or so after being inked. Sydney met some of her good childhood friends while in that system; it was a good exercise to practice.

The golden-eyed girl frowned oh so slightly, "Oh. That is a shame."

She really wanted to make amends with her sister, since she did technically steal the younger sister's chance to be within the Alchemist society. She guessed she will have to wait longer to do so, which in the blonde's opinion was for the best. She knows how the Alchemists work and how they suppress its own people most of the time. The teen never wanted her younger sister to be with the suppression, she wanted her to live her own life, not waste it away for the group. For Sydney however, it was too late.

One of the servants came and offered two cups of coffee, obtruding the Alchemist from her thoughts. Both women drank in silence, pondering with their own sentiments for the time being.

"So," the woman mechanic commenced, with a decent amount of mirth intertwining her voice. "Any boys I should know about?" Her daughter choked on her own java, while her own mother smirked.

. . . . .

Right now, Sydney had homicidal and even suicidal thoughts crossing her intellectual mind. She was in the mist of Hell as far as she could tell. Her maternal family members chatted around her, making sure not to miss a single word in the English dictionary and then some. Annoying cousins were asking bickering questions and then fighting with each other over the last chocolate cupcake (even though there were more in the kitchen). Great uncle Larry was drinking to his heart's desire, but was still complaining about the taste of the wine, yet curiously polished off three bottles of the "distasteful wine". Cousin Henry was picking fights with anyone and everyone because he just wanted to start trouble or either desires to have another family get-together—at his funeral. And the twins were chafing the butlers and the maids by making nonsensical and lewd requests. Apparently "jerk-ingoff soup" wasn't on the menu this evening. All of this and it was forty seven minutes in.

Sydney fervently watched the clock, and was wondering why her neck and brain ached with vigor. The teen was in the corner, leaning against the wall with a face of vexation and a bit of indigent. Yet that latter one was for her mother, who was making her rounds to each relative with dynamism. The blonde's arms were crossed over her chest, hoping that her little aura of serenity would help her growing dismal.

Seeing her only daughter at the function dejected, Ms. Sage trotted over to the teen offering something she wanted more than anything: liberation.

"Your father called earlier," the hostess inquired. "He said he needed something in the old Sage house . . . something about vials and beakers from the Middle Ages—"

"I can go get them," the young Alchemist cut in, hoping for a few hours of relief. Sydney's face brightened in expectation for it.

With a grin of knowingness, the mother stated, "He said they are in the master bed room's closet in the chest. He wants you to bring it back to his office and leave it there for him when he gets back home."

"Coincidently" and very conveniently the great Jared Sage was called off to South America for business. Or lucky in his daughter's opinion. He never was a fan of his wife's family or the annual reunions that came with her, Sydney could understand that much. Mr. Sage's family was more compact, small, and less . . . what was the word? . . . diverse in personalities.

The teen feverously accepted, nearly wanting to sprint to the front door, but was stopped by her mechanic of a mother. "Not without these." She tossed something at the eager teen. She looked down at what she caught and smiled even wider than before. Now, she literally ran to the front door, nearly knocking over "dear" cousin Henry. Much to her pleasure.

She burst into the family garage and flipped on the lights revealing a large room with around a dozen or so cars, more or less assembled or not. The cars were polished and by modern standards old, but worth, each, over hundred thousand dollars. The Alchemist's mother was a high end mechanic for the rich and powerful and even has her own shop in Salt Lake. So it was not an enigma to Sydney to see such works of art disassembled and pieces misplaced near them. Yet Sydney passed by without a second look, because her mind was on a certain machine.

A 1969 Chevrolet Camaro awaited the blonde at the end of the garage. The marvelous machine was light cobalt with white racing strips that was so intense it could be seen from space. It had recently been waxed by the acute odor around the car, and it was the best aroma the teen has ever smelled. It was Ms. Sage's most prized car, and now it was lent to her daughter. It was sort of a writ of passage to the golden-eyed girl and the anxiety was building up in her.

She slid into the masterpiece, taking in the black leather that surrounded her. Oh, yes. Maybe the reunion wasn't so bad.

. . . . .

Before the young Alchemist was a generations old house outside the city of Salt Lake, in the middle of the surrounding desert alone and undisturbed. The girl had fond memories of this place when she was younger, running through the creaky old house or swinging on the porch swing. It was a time when her mother needed to get away from society and packed up her kids and left for the weekend despite her husband's protests, only stating that it was a "girl weekend". The sisters had fun running up and down the two story house, playing hide and seek, and finding the secret passage ways and compartments. Some of the Alchemist's best memories were in that house and it brought a small smile to the teen's face. The house had a sort of panache about it now, notwithstanding the worn out appearance it had, with its chipping white paint and thinning wood and shingles. It's been fixed up quite a few times over the Sage generations, people of history and narratives. So it was natural for the blonde to feel the need to tack together the ancient house, like any devotee of history should feel.

The golden-eyed girl entered, and navigated through the house like she owned the place. Well, technically she will since it is in her father's bequeath. The place was filled with archaic possessions pasted down from the girl's paternal heritage, which Sydney would normally look through but she was on a "mission". Once the girl got to the master bedroom, she went straight to the closet space and located the chest. Unlocking the clips, she flipped open top, and coughed as dust fluttered up from her actions. Once regaining some clean air, she peered inside the bureau.

Like her father and mother said the beakers, cylinders, and other Alchemist equipment were there, somewhat covered in a thin veil of dust. The blonde teen grinned slimly at the instruments, recollecting fond memories of using them, and then subsequently nearly making a deadly acidic compound in the process. Boy, was her dad pissed and her mom . . . well, she couldn't find enough air to say anything.

Sydney put the lid against the back wall, and started gathering the supplies. Some times with certain compounds Alchemists needed to go back to some antediluvian methods of creating them, therefore they need equally antiquely instruments like the one's before the teen. The young Alchemist had to make a couple of trips to gather all of the scientific equipment, because she didn't think of getting a basket on the way out of the house. All was on the blonde's mind was freedom from that prison, or also called the family reunion. But it was worth the effort because it meant a longer stay at the girl's getaway home.

On the final trip, the blonde took longer than the others, trying to delay the inevitable of going back to her own personal brand of Hell. Her enthusiasm was dwindling to its breaking point as she stomped up the stairs one final time. Entering the closet and gathering the last bits of freedom she had left, she picked up the last beakers, stood up, and turned to leave. Yet her foot caught the edge of the chest and she tripped, tearing the box away from its dormant position. Clinging to the beakers as hard as she could without breaking them, she regained her balance and stood upright again. Damn her clumsy self, if she shattered a beaker her father will have her head on a platter.

Sucking her teeth and loosening her grip on the glass cylinders, she twirled around to see the chest ajar from its fixed position. Sighing, she set the equipment down and moved to the box to situate it back. Now on her knees, she was about to fix the disposition when a weird impression caught her eye. It was subtle and easily over looked, but for a person who will spend the rest of her life keeping secrets, you also have to spot them.

The blonde cocked an eyebrow, and examined more. It was a secret trapdoor alright, a very good trapdoor. Under an untrained eye it wouldn't stand out, but for an Alchemist it did. Pushing the truck away some more, it turned out the compartment was rectangular in shape and didn't seem to have a direct opening. So, the intellectual prone to love mysteries, searched for the indirect trigger. It took some time, considering how cluttered the space was, but eventually she found it.

A small protruding nail near the wall in the corner, curiously near the secret compartment, was the trigger, and after fiddling with it, pushed like a button. And the trapdoor opened with a burst of dust.

A faint idea crossed Sydney's mind that she may have found treasure, but she soon shoved it away. It's not like her family needed any more money. The girl slowly lifted the lid up and peered inside. In the ancient space, was a medium sized wooden box, maybe a jewelry box of sorts, which was tucked away behind some boards and beams. Delicately, she reached in and picked up the enshrouded box.

. . . . .

Finally, the reunion pariah returned to her mansion to thankfully find that the family members retired to their lent rooms. She did what she was told and took the equipment to her father's study and then retired herself to her own room. Sitting on her bed, she examined the wooden box she has excavated out of her father's family house. It was indeed an old jewelry box with etchings on the curved top, and a lock on the outside. At first, the blonde teen tried to pry at it with her hands, but failed, so now she was trying to lock pick it. While silently thanking her father who gave her lessons on such and gave her her own set of picks.

After several frustrating minutes, a satisfying click came from the young Alchemist's efforts. She opened the box to find miscellaneous possessions; coins, seashells, a mask, and other things that seem mismatched. The golden-eyed teen wasn't a sentimental person, so she easily discarded those things. Yet once shifting through the items, she discovered a book. Or to be more precise, a journal. It was old; obviously, bond by deep brown leather with an overlapping flap with a string and a button to keep the pages in. Cautiously, Sydney unwound the string from the button and opened the daybook to the first page.

The blonde gasped, and pushed the book away like it was a poisonous snake.

"What the. . ."

Overcoming her appalled state, she tacitly leaned over and plucked the book where she threw it. She read and reread the name on the inside.

"What in the world was this doing in our house?"

. . . . .

An exhausted Adrian slipped into his apartment after a long day of errands and college classes. He locked the door and then proceeded to his kitchen where he needed some alcohol. The young man was so tired, in fact, that he didn't see a certain person in the shadows of his living room.

"You're all out of alcohol," the person stated. "And out of diet coke."

Twirling around, the Moroi instinctively got into a stance, while thinking back to Wolfe's lessons on how to survey the situation.

"You can calm down, Adrian. It's me." The mystery person flipped on a nearby lamp to reveal itself. The young man quickly relaxed and smirked.

"You know, if you wanted a booty call, you could've just called, Sage," He smiled, making sure to wiggle his eyebrows. Sydney snorted with mirth.

"And miss your reaction? No," she commented, still grinning from his response. "Nice reflexes by the way. I'm glad my money didn't go to waste."

Adrian chuckled, while going to his kitchen, "Of course it wasn't a waste. You were with me anyway." He shuffled through his fridge, but didn't seem to find what he wanted. "Damn, out of alcohol."

"Didn't I just say that?"

"Yeah, you did, but I just needed to be sure."

Sydney crossed her arms, but didn't get up from where she sat. "Right," she said incredulously at the vampire, who was still excavating his fridge.

The Alchemist never understood the pale man's addiction to alcohol or his way of not believing anything, but she'd give him the benefit of the doubt by claiming it was both spirit related. So, she watched him search for a couple of seconds until he was finally defeated by his own actions. So instead of his usual drink he fetched for some ginger ale. Much to the teen's surprise.

"So what brings you here to my cave at—" he looked to his clock—" 8 o'clock at night. Please tell me it was for my suggestion."

The blonde smirked ever so slightly, "Sorry not this time."

"Darn."

They both smirked at each other, filling the silent void between them. It has been 3 days since they have seen one another, but if you asked them they would have thought it was a life time ago; even if they'll deny it if you inquired them with such a suggestion.

"Weren't you supposed to come back tomorrow morning? Or did you miss me that much?" The young man asked with his usual satire and nonchalance. He could be so self-absorbed at times.

"Dang it you caught me," the blonde girl joked, earning a wide grin from the pale Moroi. "No, got in early, thankfully."

"I guess you should be thankful. Because it landed you right here to me," the vampire chatted back. He took a sip of his drink. How could he have forgotten his alcohol? How did the Adrian Ivashkov forget to buy his bourbon? Maybe it had something to do with the little Alchemist in front of him. . .

"Yeah, I guess," she replied, but without any enthusiasm.

Then something hit the pale vampire. "How'd you get in?"

The blonde didn't reply automatically, instead she got up and headed toward Adrian. "I know how to pick locks . . . and I know where your spare key is. Here." The teen handed over the said key to the emerald-eyed vampire, who took it and put it in his pocket.

It took a moment for the conversation to start up again, not that it minded the couple. It was comfortable in its own way. Adrian longed at the blonde teen adjacent to him, trying to mentally figure out why she was here. Was she on an assignment? Could he possibly be worth the young woman's time? Did she seriously want a booty call? The party boy didn't know, but he would soon find out. The one thing after alcohol, art, Sydney, and friends that Adrian loved was mysteries. And he certainly loved solving them.

"What did bring you here to my lovely home?"

Lovely was a stretch by Sydney's standards by viewing his apartment. Between that hideous plaid couch and the bright yellow walls, yeah it was a stretch. Or maybe she just wasn't that artistic and imaginative to relate such things? The blonde internally shrugged, and went back to where she was sitting because she was finally getting to the conversation she wanted to stumble upon. She grabbed something in the chair and walked back to a puzzled vampire.

"This," she said, purposely being ominous and playful. The golden-eyed girl offered the journal to Adrian who took it thirstily. To the slender Moroi it was a journal, brown, and old. He glanced at the teen one more time, and noted how there was a mischievous glint in her molten eyes. He didn't like this, not one bit. Yet, he loved a good mystery, so he peeled back the flap to see what the big deal was.

Sydney struggled to hide the look of amusement on her face, when she saw the pale vampire go ridged in shock by what he was reading and rereading. He eyes bulged as he glowered at the neatly cursive name that lay beneath the cover. Then realization hit the pale man and he involuntarily gasped and lost the book from his now numb fingers. The journal landed with a muffled thud, still open for the entire world to see. He took a small instinctual step back, still transfixed on the name written in beautiful calligraphy. Within the journal, it exclaimed that it belonged to Adrian Ivashkov.