Author: Rhiannon
Spoilers: All the NW books, especially Huntress.
Rating: PG or PG-13, for slight violence, implied sex, and language.
Disclaimer: The universe this takes place in and any characters you recognize from the books belong to the lovely L.J. Smith. Azrael, Zeke, and the plot belong to me. Will and the Elite belong to my friend Wicked, and are on loan.
Synopsis: Azrael is a spy at the core of the Council, working for a group of people who have been betrayed by the Night World. But when someone important to the upcoming Millennium Battle is captured, she must risk being exposed.
Jezebel Redfern sat in the conference room of the safehouse, jean-clad legs sprawled out in front of her, trying not to look as bored as she knew she was about to be.
Oh, she knew these little updates were necessary, if anything did happen. She knew that they needed to spread the information to those at the safehouse who needed it, without having to track each of them down individually. She even knew that once in a while, pertinent information managed to wiggle its way into the long, pointless pages of news from the rest of Daybreak, and from Daybreak headquarters in Las Vegas. However, she also knew that this meeting would be just like the last few – they didn't know who the last Wild Power was, they didn't know what the enemy was up to, and they still didn't know who had replaced Hunter Redfern after his untimely death. A person who had, in all likelihood, been the guiding force behind the dragon who had attacked the third Wild Power two months ago. They didn't know anything that they needed to know.
Slowly, others drifted in, and the conference room went from barren to almost too crowded. Her cousin and Hugh were two of the last to arrive, talking together in quiet voices before splitting up to take their seats. Claire settled next to Jez, and Hugh pulled out a chair near the whiteboard at the front of the room.
Morgead was not among those to come in. The lucky bastard had probably managed to come up with some excuse or another not to attend, as he has the last few meetings. After he had started snoring dramatically during one of the longer, duller meetings, they had been only too glad to see him start missing them. Unfortunately, that was not an option open to Jez.
Well, that was what happened when you were one of the four people on which the fate of the human world rested. All work and very little play, unless you demanded it.
The witch who ran the safehouse, a businesslike, stern woman in her mid-forties, was the last to arrive, perpetual frown lines more pronounced then usual. She stood near the whiteboard, and cleared her throat, obviously waiting for silence before beginning. After a few moments she got it, save the occasional whisper and the rustling of paper.
Apparently satisfied, the witch began. "I'll start this meeting with some good news. We've found out who is leading the Night World."
This made even the paper shuffling and whispering stop.
The witch smiled, and turned from them, clipping a large photograph to the top of whiteboard before continuing. "His name is Zeke Poisonwood. Long-time council member and affiliate of the Redfern family, who apparently killed off or plowed over the competition until he was boss. The reason we've had so much trouble tracking him down is that he's been very careful about who knows that he's the ruling power behind the Council. Apparently, he doesn't want what happened to Hunter to happen to him, and he figures the way to avoid that is to be very, very discreet."
The man in the photo looked young, perhaps in his mid-twenties, not that it was anything to go on when you were talking about vampires – the Poisonwoods had been one of the first families to split off from the Redferns, only a generation or two after Red Fern himself, which meant that he could be very old indeed. Dark, braided hair that fell across his cheekbones and café au lait skin accented toxic green eyes, the same brilliant color as new grass. He was lovely, all told, but that wasn't rare in the Night World. Jez's eyes moved past him, and she frowned faintly. She opened her mouth to ask a question, but Hugh beat her to it, "Who's the woman in the picture?"
The witch glanced back at the picture, considering the pale, dark-haired, dark-eyed woman half-hidden behind Zeke before replying, "Her name is Azrael Dirae, and she's one of the most Midnight witches you'll come across. She and Poisonwood have been seen together on numerous occasions, and she seems to be his right hand and advisor."
"And what else are they?," someone asked shrewdly, noting that the pair in the photo were holding hands. The witch just gave him an impatient look, and waved the question off, as if to say that if he couldn't figure that one out, he didn't deserve and answer.
"So where are they, and what are we going to do about them?," Jez asked, after a moment's pause.
The witch hesitated, then sighed, "That's
the problem. We don't know where they are."
Azrael Dirae looked up from the book she had been reading as the door to her room slammed open, hit the opposite wall with a loud 'thud', and started to swing shut only to be pushed violently open once again. And with that, a very angry Zeke Poisonwood entered.
Dog-earring the page she was on and placing the book aside, Azrael raised one dark brow at the man, "I take it that things didn't go well?"
Zeke started to snarl at her, then stopped, and flopped down on the bed beside her with a sound that was half-growl, half-sigh, and not at all friendly. "No. It did not go well." Azrael made a sympathetic noise, and nudged him gently, getting him to sit up. She slid the denim jacket off his shoulders and tossed it onto a nearby chair. "What happened?," she asked, placing her hands on his shoulders for a moment before she started kneading the tense muscles there, trying the get them to relax, the knots to loosen and come undone.
He made a rude sound, and if anything his back became stiffer as he spoke, "They showed up again. Five of them. We outnumbered them two to one, and they still managed to kill Tasmin, and wound David and Reed. On top on that, the target managed to get away!" His voice rose as he talked, and Azrael winced slightly at the casualties he named, "I swear," he continued, "They're worse then the damned Daybreakers."
Except that those who called themselves the Elite were a private pain, where as Daybreak was very open in its opposition to the Council. The majority of the Night World didn't even know of the existence of Zeke's own thorn in the side. Many members of the council were also blissfully ignorant. Ignorant of a group made up of what had once been the Night World's deadliest assassins and most ruthless killers, now out for the blood of the place and people they felt had betrayed them. Oh, they all had different reasons, but the end result was the same – they wanted the Council and any other Night Worlders they happened upon dead, and they wanted it badly.
Though they didn't seem to feel that way about Daybreak... They left the Daybreakers alone, and this was not the first time they had interfered with an attempt to harm one of Daybreak's members.
Zeke was startled out of his furious thoughts by Azrael's voice, "Any luck in hunting down Parker yet?"
He valiantly resisted the urge to tell her that if they had found Parker, he would not be in such a bad mood, "No. He's impossible to find. If he weren't causing us such problems, I'd swear that he didn't exist."
William Parker had been one of the most bloodthirsty killers in the Night World, a made-vampire from Roman times. However, that had all changed when he found his soulmate, a little human dancer girl named Kayla. He had been deeply smitten, and the Night World Council had called for her death – he had broken one of the cardinal rules in loving her. And Will, in his anger, had turned on them. He had started an organization called the Elite, for those who felt that they had been betrayed by the world they had once belonged to. Family didn't matter, friends didn't matter, nothing mattered... Except revenge.
Zeke sighed heavily again, shaking his head and finally relaxing under his lover's gentle ministrations, "Its alright though. The night hasn't been a complete waste." He paused a moment, as if for dramatic emphasis, before saying, "A few of the others were out and about earlier tonight, when who should they see wandering around alone but Morgead Blackthorn? We have the Wild Power's soulmate."
If he noticed the way that Azrael hesitated,
just for a moment, before offering excited congratulations, and then flicking
off the lamp so she could congratulate him in a more intimate way, he didn't
comment.
Azrael slipped out from under the sheets in silence, and pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt just as quietly, keeping a careful eye on the sleeping man in the bed that she had just vacated. Luck was with her, for he remained sleeping even as she exited the room. She moved down the hall, opening the front door and stepping outside. The concrete of the front walk was cold under her bare feet, but it didn't really matter – what mattered was getting far enough away to make her call in privacy, somewhere where she probably wouldn't be overheard.
The door closed with the faintest click, and Azrael held her breath for a moment. When no sound came from inside the house, she let out a quiet sigh of relief. There. The hard part was done.
The front lawn was lovely, bleached of color by the moon's light but sharpened around the edges, so that each shape was crystalline and almost surrealistic. She spared it but a glance before pulling out her cell phone and punching in a number.
One ring. Two. Three. She could only hope that he wouldn't decide to roll over and go back to sleep, ignoring the phone. But no, her luck was holding; on the fourth ring, a groggy male voice answered, with a phrase that was less than complimentary and probably anatomically impossible.
"Parker?," Azrael said in hushed tones, "Wake up. I have something I need to report."