Disclaimer and warnings: Please see the first chapter!
Author's Note: Good morning, y'all! This chapter is slightly shorter than usual, but I hope you'll still like it.
11. I. Departure – Black Angels – George Crumb
Liv's heart took a diving jump in her chest before resuming a frantic pace, so loud and near panicked that Godric made a sound of protest and tightened his arm around her. But Liv was hardly able to appreciate his show of support as hope and dread warred in her mind - that she might finally have answers, that the answers wouldn't be good.
Still, she also knew that she would never forgive herself if she didn't take this opportunity out of fear or weakness, if she shied away now that the secret of her identity could very well be within her grasp. "Do you know what I am? Why I am like this?"
"I do," the queen affirmed easily, brushing a curl of her bright red hair over her shoulder. "Would you like me to dismiss these two? For the sake of female solidarity, as you called it?"
"Thank you, but I trust Godric and Godric trusts Eric," Liv declined, nervously licking her lips. "Please, if you have an answer for me, just tell me."
"It's quite obvious, now, isn't it?" the queen answered, looking expectantly from face to face and then rolled her expressive eyes at their blank stares. "You're a banshee, of course. It's a term coined by Irish mythology which translates to 'fairy woman' or 'woman from the fairy mound' though to compare a banshee with a common fairy is about as accurate as equating shifters and werewolves."
Liv tried to form words, to come up with an answer, but it felt as if the queen had pushed her mental reset button and her system was still rebooting, trying to compute this new information and configure the new updates. Right now, she was stuck at five percent and the instinctive denial that she wasn't Irish.
"I thought banshees were spirits," she finally managed to come up with an at least semi-relevant reply. "I'm not a spirit. Am I?"
"Not in the classical sense, of course, though in a way we're all spirits," the queen answered before dismissing her objection. "Humans aren't the most keen of observers so you have to account for some creative embellishments and gross inaccuracies in their accounts. You should not get too focused on the details."
"But if the details don't match, how can you be sure?" Liv asked softly.
"I wasn't - not until I saw you covering your mouth with your hands earlier." The queen studied her closely. "Do you know why you did that or would you like me to tell you?"
"I… it's just a reflex," Liv murmured, feeling defensive though Sophie-Anne had spoken with surprising, if slightly patronizing patience. "Sometimes these visions are so horrible that I scream. It used to happen a lot when I was younger and it frightens people, so I started covering my mouth."
"Indeed. And there you have your explanation for why banshees are sometimes referred to as 'wailing women'," Sophie-Anne said as her bare leg bobbed up and down in a relaxed rhythm that didn't suit the turmoil in Liv's mind. "One of the few consistencies in these alleged eye-witness reports is that banshees herald death with a scream so piercing that it can shatter glass. So you, my dear girl with the death visions and the urge to scream, are definitely a banshee."
Liv was quiet for a long time, barely noticing the way Godric gently ran his hand up and down her back. Finally, she managed to gather her resolve once more. "Is there some way to control my visions?"
"You have to trust in the power of your own mind – it is the only thing that is epistemologically proven to exist, after all," the queen answered airily, but deigned to reify her argument when she noticed Liv's look of confusion. "Think about the maenad that was causing trouble in Eric's area: She could be vanquished because for a moment she thought herself mortal. Now apply that to your visions and free yourself of the expectation that they must occur."
"Auto-suggestion has never worked for me," Liv replied, her shoulders slumping slightly in disappointment. "And in my experience, everyone dies. Whether you believe in it or not."
"I can see how you came to that conviction," the queen allowed graciously. "And yet, by your own admission, you don't always see a vampire's true death, which would suggest that at that point in time, death is non-existent. What if you trusted in that moment of immortality instead of straining for something else? These visions are not something that happens to you; they're the expression of an ability that you can learn to master."
Liv wanted to bristle, in a knee-jerk reaction, at the implication that she was somehow choosing this, straining for a vision when the opposite was true. But then she reminded herself that she had asked the queen for her opinion and that she shouldn't have bothered to do so if she wasn't at least going to take it into consideration. Still, a part of her had wished for a simple solution – some type of medicine to dampen the effects of her curse. A cure, an off-switch. Convincing herself that death was not a given – teaching herself to trust in immortality, despite her better knowledge – seemed a lot more improbable.
"I'll have to think about it, but thank you."
"You're welcome. And of course these were merely some logical inferences. So far banshees haven't been a field of interest of mine though there're certain communalities to fairies that I wouldn't mind exploring now that I've made your acquaintance. Your blood, for one, smells very appealing. You wouldn't object to giving me a little taste, sometime, would you? Maybe after a good horror movie to get your adrenaline pumping?"
Next to her, Godric went absolutely, impossibly still and Liv didn't have to see the queen's predatory smile to realize that she needed to thread carefully with her answer. "I'm Godric's, your majesty, so that is something you should discuss with him."
"I thought you were a modern woman," Sophie-Anne gave back slyly. "Surely you don't need a man's permission to decide what to do with your own bodily fluids."
"I would agree with that except that I think allowing you to drink my blood has a very different connotation than if I donate blood at a blood drive," Liv replied softly, nudging her leg against Godric's and breathing a sigh of relief when he gave her an encouraging nod. "So my decision is to defer to Godric's good judgement in this. I am his and my blood is his."
It would have been an exaggeration to say that Godric's posture relaxed after her proclamation, but Liv was by now used to the economy of his movements, the supernatural stillness that was his default, and simply relished in the way his fingers trailed over her shoulder once and then slipped lower until his hand was comfortably resting around her waist, offering support without impeding her freedom.
"Liv will not share her blood with you, your majesty," Godric said with calm finality and much to her relief, though the queen seemed less than impressed.
"Of course you would cling to this outdated concept of monogamy. But fine, keep your banshee – her blood wouldn't have the same effect as true fairy blood, anyhow."
"Will it have any effect?" Eric spoke up with a quick worried glance at his maker.
Liv couldn't suppress a shudder as she remembered the only vampire who had ever tasted her blood, Stan frantically pawing at her clothes, almost tearing her carotid when he punched his fangs into her neck, the crazed look in his eyes. What if her blood caused that? What if it made Godric act like that as well?
"I doubt it." The queen shrugged negligently. "Fairies are our polar opposites, light to our dark, daylight to night. But you're a creature of death, just as we are, your blood will no doubt be very tasty, but essentially compatible."
Liv wanted to be relieved, but being classified as a creature of death only added another dimension to the revelation of her being a banshee that she wasn't ready for. She didn't feel ready to accept any of this, to take it as an axiomatic truth when the queen had merely cited a few fragments of an Irish folktale, dismissed half of it as flights of the imagination, and then made inferences of her own, logical or otherwise. It all seemed like an educated guess at best, nothing tangible, nothing she could hang her hat on.
The loud clacking of Sophie-Anne's heels and the uneasy counterpoint it created to the soft chamber music playing in the background interrupted her thoughts. When she looked up, she found that the queen had walked over an elegant magazine holder next to one of the window seats and picked up a leather-bound notebook, two books and a scroll. They all looked like valuable antiques, but she handed them to Liv without any reluctance. "These might be of use to you, some of my more reliable records on banshees. The journal in particular might hold some of the answers you're looking for - if you get past all the boring drivel. It was written by a vampire who kept a banshee as a pet."
Liv had to swallow past the sudden lump in her throat, tracing the unfamiliar lettering on the notebook with trembling fingers. "Thank you, your majesty, I'm truly grateful for this."
"Consider it a thank you for your service today and in future. The journal is drafted in Irish Gaelic, in case you were wondering. But that's enough of that. Shall we play Yahtzee?"
Godric carefully squeezed Liv's waist to get her attention while Eric tried to make their excuses to the queen and focus her once more on her possibly impending death and what they might do to prevent it. "I'll be happy to help with the translation and with anything else you need, Liv."
"Thank you." Liv smiled, forgetting her mental and physical exhaustion for a moment. "I don't know if I can ever learn to control these visions, but if I do, I'm going to kiss you for every time you made me believe that I could. And then I'll kiss you a few hundred times more, just because you're amazing."
"I'm fine with that plan," Godric replied with an answering smile, handing the books over to Eric as they all rose to their feet. "And I look forward to when we can make it a reality… Your majesty, maybe you could show me how to play dice some other time. For now, I think we all have other things on our minds."
"I can see that," Sophie-Anne agreed with an over-the-top eye roll, slipping out of her sandals and dipping her pedicured toes into the crystal water. "I shall be expecting regular updates, Sheriff Northman."
"Yes, your majesty." Eric inclined his head respectfully. "With your leave, we will depart for Shreveport tomorrow evening and I shall instruct Pam to start the surveillance on Bill Compton right away."
"Yes, yes, spare me the details." Sophie-Anne waved him off impatiently. "Liv, it was... memorable meeting you. You've been very helpful."
"Likewise, your majesty," Liv agreed softly, resisting the arbitrary urge to curtsy when the queen suddenly appeared directly in front of her. "Thank you for sharing your knowledge with me."
"Perhaps there is one last piece of advice I can give you," the queen mused, studying her as if she had just discovered a new dimension to an abstract painting. "Practice your scream."
The queen's hands closed around her wrists before she had even fully registered her words. The vision crashed down over her, the familiar images pushing against the fragile barriers of her mind until she thought her head might explode, until she didn't know anymore where her reality ended and the queen's past and future began. The scream tore from her throat, a high-pitched, piercing wail, like a living thing with teeth and claws. Then: water, weights pulling her down, silence. Everything descending into stillness as water pressed against her from all sides, flooding her mouth, stinging her eyes, sliding uselessly against her floundering limbs.
An eternity, a blink of an eye later, she was propelled back up, her head breaking the surface so that she could spit out the water in her mouth, draw in a first sputtering breath, gasp in a second as she was towed to the edge of the pool and pulled out by strong hands on her biceps.
She coughed out some more water, her trembling hands skidding over the slick tiles as she tried to find something to hold on to, tried to center herself again, even as the afterimages of the vision wrecked her mind and her own short fight for survival wrecked her body. A light weight was draped over her back and when she jerked her head up, she saw Eric placing a second towel over Godric's shoulder. The older vampire was kneeling only a hand's width away from her, looking young and worried and sopping wet.
Godric roughly shook of Eric's hand and pulled the fluffy white towel from his shoulders, using it to create a cocoon in which to enfold Liv's shaking body as he swung her up into his arms.
"You're bleeding," she noted muzzily, her voice echoing strangely in her head, her words muffled like cotton balls and yet insistent like a stadium speaker. There was a thin rivulet of blood running from his right ear, bright and jarring against the pallor of his skin, drawing a watery pink line down his neck, directly in front of her eyes.
"It's already healed," Godric explained, gently adjusting his hold on her as she used a corner of one of the towels to clean his cheek and neck. "I'm sorry you were hurt, Liv. It's unacceptable and I will not tolerate such errancy in future. I will not allow anyone to risk your life - least of all on a whim or to prove some far-fetched theory."
His voice was darker than usual, no longer mild and thoughtful, but a growl of barely controlled menace. The glare he directed at the queen left no doubt who was the target of his anger and when Liv turned her head she could see that both Sophie-Anne and Eric were keeping a respectful distance and that the queen's cheeks were smeared with blood as well; her clothes looked rumpled.
"I might have underestimated the force of her scream," Sophie-Anne admitted grudgingly, delicately dabbing at her ear with a small hand towel. "Though why you would be upset that she has the power to throw me across the room with her voice is beyond my understanding. If anything you should be apologizing to me!"
"Wait, did I do this? Am I the reason you're bleeding?" Liv demanded, glad for Godric's secure hold, though the thought that she had caused him pain, if only fleetingly, made her turn angrily on the queen. "Why did you do that? I already gave you everything I could!"
"Do calm yourself, both of you," the queen commended, adopting a more conciliatory tone at Godric's glare. "If you will remember, you asked for my help. I was only complying with your wishes. Well, there's a last time for everything. Do you know how difficult blood is to wash out of silk?"
"I did not ask you to push me into another vision! I did not ask you to make me hurt Godric!" Liv pressed out between gritted teeth before turning to her savior. "Can we go please?"
"Of course," Godric agreed immediately, adjusting the arm he had slung under her knees to pull her a little tighter against his body. "We're done here."
"What did you see?" the queen called after them and Liv looked once more over Godric's shoulder. "It hasn't changed; you still die. And I'm sorry, but I think that's what you should be worried about. Goodnight, your majesty."
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