Eclipse
By Ash Night
Disclaimer: All characters and situations are owned by the wonderful Amelia Atwater-Rhodes. I am making absolutely no money off of this, and my only reward is the priceless satisfaction I receive in writing this.
~*~
Aubrey remembers fire -- flames climbing the buildings of New Mayhem and stretching toward the starless heavens. The smell of smoke seems to linger on his skin, on his clothes. The dust is still in his hair, and he remembers the way the smog blanketed the black sky. The echoes of crackling wood still resound in his ears. Everywhere he goes, his mind still lingers on the skeletal ruins of what used to be his home.
There is nothing now.
New Mayhem has been razed to the charred ground. The formless mountains of ashes are the only landmarks left of the houses that once stood.
Las Noches is gone too. Scattered among the ruins are the flecks of shattered light reflected from the broken mirror panes. His home used to be there, a proud Victorian building with heavy drapery engulfing the windows.
He remembers the first fire, recollects the second one, and knows for certain that New Mayhem will never be rebuilt.
Silver's line ruled the anarchy and chaos that was the vampiric world through unstated laws, implied threats, and dominating power. But it seems that they gained resentment from the thousands and thousands of the weaker vampires from the multitude of diluted bloodlines. The bitter and oppressed, perhaps jealous of their line's aristocratic power, revolted and succeeded.
It was a tradition, deeply engrained, and passed from one generation to another -- do not change those unworthy to be changed -- and such an absolute law had stood firmly for the thousands of years since Silver first secured their power in their realm.
He understands, from seeing the birth and deaths of many civilizations, that even theirs is not immune to its own flavor of political struggles. The many weak will always crush the powerful few -- and so will life be, or so he fears.
He shifts to another spatial dimension and meets Fala in one of the old catacomb networks in the French underground. She's all sharp angles and edges, the dark shadows clinging to her face like the tattered clothes she still wears. She bares her teeth as he approaches, but he indicates nothing of his emotions on his face.
"Gone," she spits. "The ungrateful bastards. Sub-human changlings. Would be better if we killed the rebellious few at the beginning, non?" The darkness suits her, and the spite and hatred lace her voice like a poison.
"I agreed with you then, and I agree with you now," he says levelly, meeting her eyes.
Scoffing, she glances around at the surroundings. The skeleton to her right captures her fancy, and she plucks away the skull and tosses it up and down in the air.
He would joke about having no respect to the dead, but nothing can possibly lighten his mood or hers.
"Where's Jessica?" she snaps.
He looks away from Fala, eyes falling to some uninteresting piece of the ground. He leans against the wall, and for one of those rare moments, looks exposed and vulnerable. Fala can no longer be his enemy. "Taken."
"Bastards." She spits again, throwing the skull crashing against the wall. It shatters, the bits of bone raining down and clattering against the ground. "Can't even rise to the surface for a change of shirt."
His assessment of the situation is unfavorable. The others already enlisted the many hunters and renegade witches of the world, and their enemies seem to be crawling everywhere.
He knows that Fala was somewhere in Singapore when the burning occurred -- a scare tactic, a warning. And then followed the raids. Swarms of vampires entered into New Mayhem. There was screaming, and sparks of pure energy flickered toward the skies. He shifted away from the mobs to some remote part of the world, but apparently Jessica was held behind and eventually dragged to some unknown location by a group of hunters according to Jager.
A splotch of water falls onto his shoulder. He glances up, disgusted at the poor conditions. "Moira's gone as well," he mentions softly. He steps wisely back as Fala shrieks and sends all the skeletons in the hallway tumbling to dusty piles to the ground.
Nodding a good bye, he disappears.
~*~
A/N: After much indulging in other fandoms and poetry, perhaps I'll step back into this little comfortable world and piddle around in Amelia's sandbox for a while. This randomly popped out of my head a while ago, and hopefully, if I have the time and will and energy and inspiration, I'll continue it. Feedback is always welcome. Feed the hungry writer. (And mind, the first book is my ultimate source of truth.)