Equinox

by poolebandgirl

Edward and Bella make a grisly discovery - the dismembered body of a small, African-American vampire. Grace is a former slave, snatched from her plantation on the cusp of puberty. Alone in the world, she bounces from coven to coven, until a violent attack brings her into the care of the Cullens. Can the Cullens persuade this strange, shy creature to adopt their way of life?

14. Chapter 14 Confrontation

14. Confrontation

"Oh, God, no – Jabir! What have you done?" I gasp, surveying the carnage before me. The four former occupants of the squat lie scattered. As I come through the main entryway, I have to step over a young man, his neck twisted grotesquely to the side, the spray of blood up the wall letting me know that Jabir has forgotten himself and gone for the jugular – again. In the living area, an older man lies half on, half off a filthy, stained sofa. His expression is one of frozen surprise as he stares at me unseeingly. The cracked leather glistens slickly, blackly, with his shed blood. Blood is everywhere, spattered up the walls, carpets, even on the ceiling. This isn't just because Jabir has bitten the jugulars. A mess like this can only be the result of a feeding frenzy, a complete loss of control.

Crouched in the corner is Jabir, still clutching his third victim to his chest, eyeing me warily over her shoulder. From behind the breakfast bar in the squalid kitchenette, I hear a tiny, ragged intake of breath and a pounding, terrified heartbeat. It's a wonder anybody has been left alive in this. Perhaps, if I had been another minute later, they wouldn't have been.

I close my eyes for a full second, suppressing my own pang of thirst – for now.

"I told you to wait," I tell Jabir sternly, and he has the grace to look contrite, at least.

"I couldn't help myself," he whispers.

"I can see that." I scowl at the man on the couch. "We just wanted that one," I complain.

We have been spying on this place for days, convinced that this man had been a part of Antonio's ring and was still grooming teenagers for dealing. He seemed good at identifying vulnerable ones – the homeless, or just a little neglected, and he was providing them with a refuge. But he was also a drug-pusher, drawing them in with soft drugs like dope, then progressing them onto crack. Once hooked, they would do anything for their next fix, and, too stoned to refuse, they were forced out to work the streets; small-time dealers acting as a front for a large, well-organised gang. Now, he is dead, along with his latest recruits. This will take some cleaning up.

We have lived in New York almost a month now and one by one, Jabir and I are picking off the men that he could remember. It had been his idea, a way he could live with his need for human blood, if he fed from the low-lives and criminals that occupied the dirty underbelly of the city.

I had agreed readily enough, and to be fair, so far it has worked well. For a new-born of only a few months old, Jabir is showing a good level of self control. Frenzies like this one are rare, and I normally get there quickly enough to stop attacks on the scale of this one.

This situation is my fault. Usually, when we have identified our victim, I will lure them using my well-practised techniques, to a quiet spot where Jabir will be waiting. Their death at his hands is brutal but swift. This time, however, Jabir was convinced our mark would respond better to a boy as lure. I didn't ask how he knew this, I would rather not know.

But for whatever reason; nerves, too much thirst, the full moon for all I know, Jabir has not returned to me with the man, and when I come to investigate, this is what I find. It's my fault. I should not have agreed to let Jabir come here alone. Four months is too new. No vampire has that much control so soon.

There is another tiny sniff from behind the breakfast bar, and despite myself, my eyes flicker that way briefly. Jabir sees this, and his own eyes widen.

"Please don't hurt that one," he pleads. "She's young. I'm sorry about all this, but don't hurt that one."

"Jabir," I say firmly, drawing myself up tall. He drops his eyes immediately. "I need you to go home. Now. Don't worry about any of this, I'll sort it."

"But – "

"Now."

"I'm so sorry."

"It's my fault. I'll sort it. You go."

Jabir pushes his prey to the floor and stands shakily, his eyes downcast, carefully not meeting my gaze.

We had some fights at the start, Jabir and I. I wondered whether it was possible to inherit your creator's personality traits, his rages were so perfectly, ferociously matched to my own. A couple of times, he even managed to punch me before I could flex and hold him harmlessly aloft. The last big fight we had was over two months ago, just before Christmas. Flemington was buried under a thick blanket of snow, and as a result, there were few humans out and about for us to prey upon. Jabir's thirst was increasing exponentially with each passing day, and with it, his temper. I can't even remember what provoked him, but suddenly he flew at me, catching me unawares, and bit my upper arm. Our venom is incapacitating to other vampires, and I dropped to the floor instantly, shrieking in pain and fear. The effect on Jabir was immediate – all anger forgotten, he scooped me into his arms, sobbing and begging for forgiveness and promising he would never disobey me again.

And he has been true to his word since then – the level of deference he shows took the Piccolis years to gain from me. Was I unusually difficult, or is Jabir unusually compliant? I have no idea, and it's at times like this I wish it wasn't just the two of us, that I had a more experienced vampire to turn to for help and reassurance.

So despite the scale of this transgression, I know that having ordered Jabir home, he will do exactly that. When he is gone, I turn my attention to the girl in the kitchenette. I can smell the narcotics in her blood and on her breath, so I am unsurprised when I round the breakfast bar and find her gazing up at me with pupils reduced to pinpricks. Somewhere in her addled brain, instinct is telling her to flee, and her feet scrape uselessly at the tacky lino, unable to obey.

Jabir is right about her being young, she is surely no more than sixteen, but I can't afford to spare this one. She has witnessed too much and there is too much at stake here. But I don't need to be cruel, either. My gaze holds hers, mesmerising her, and I kneel in front of her, reaching out to stroke her hair. She relaxes visibly, and I draw her into a gentle embrace, allowing my sweet, intoxicating breath to wash over her face. By the time I expose her arm to feed, she is unconscious and unaware of her own demise. Her blood is delicious – the narcotics give it a bitter-sweet tang that makes my tongue numb, and I drink slowly, savouring the flavour. Apart from the slight numbness, the drugs have no effect on me. As far as I know, none of the chemicals and poisons that affect humans harm our kind. They simply add a piquancy to the flavour.

Four bodies. All drained of blood. They cannot be allowed to remain. I hunt around the tiny space for ideas, and spot a solution, of sorts, in the crate of bootleg liquor hidden in a cupboard. I open one and sniff it. It is labelled vodka, but I detect hints of other chemicals, and most worryingly, ethanol. Too much of this stuff would literally blind a human, but I am more interested in its flammable properties. I sit the bodies side by side on the sofa, a grotesque, grisly family, then douse them generously with the vodka, using up all twelve bottles. That there has been a murder will be obvious. I just need to ensure all evidence of the missing blood is obliterated. Using the older man's own matches and a twist of newspaper, I hear the satisfying whoomph of the conflagration as I close the door behind me.

On the way out, I smash the glass case of a fire alarm. The siren is painfully loud to my sensitive hearing, but I endure it. The other residents in this apartment block need a chance to evacuate. I don't wish there to be any further casualties tonight.

Home is my basement from before, with the addition of Jabir's camping gear. When I return, there is no light showing through the little window – Jabir is sitting in darkness, hugging his knees. I hunker down next to him and rest my head against his shoulder.

"Are you angry with me?" he whispers.

"No."

"Well, I'm angry with myself."

"I know."

"I really let myself down this time."

"Don't beat yourself up over it."

"Those were kids, my age."

"You couldn't help it. It's my fault. I shouldn't have let you go. This is my error, Jabir – the blood is on my hands, not yours. And now you're hurting. I'm the one you should be angry with."

"No, Grace, I'm not a child. I'm responsible for my own actions. They're all dead now, aren't they?"

"I couldn't risk leaving her, I'm sorry. I was very gentle. She didn't suffer."

"That's more than I managed for the others. You think I'm weak, that it bothers me when I hurt them."

"Not at all." It's what I love about you, one of the many things, I want to say, but do not dare. Instead, I nuzzle deeper against his shoulder and we fall silent for a while.

Outside, the sky changes from black through dark blue to grey. The cold February day has dawned wet and miserable. There will be no sun to keep us hidden away today, and Jabir is more than sufficiently sated to remain in control for a few hours. Perhaps we should go for a stroll, take in the fresh air.

"How's your thirst?" I ask. He's silent for a few more seconds.

"Still there. Always there."

"But manageable?"

"What are you thinking?"

"I want to take a walk. A bit of daylight will do us both good."

"It's raining out."

"Please, Jabir."

He recognises the edge of command in my voice and stands, politely extending a hand to help me up, though I don't need it. From a corner, he picks up a large brolly, crawls out through the window and holds it wide, waiting for me to join him. The neighbouring building is having some work done, and its back wall is held up by scaffolding, so Jabir keeps his brolly folded until we have passed safely underneath and reached the street corner.

The rain pounds relentlessly on the material as we make our way along the streets. They are not deserted, despite the rain – New Yorkers are tough, and nothing stops them going about their business. But our destination, a small local park, is deserted, and that suits us just fine. I step out from under the brolly and raise my face to the sky, feeling the icy rain, but also, despite the thick cloud cover, I can feel the slight warmth of the distant sun, and it is this I have yearned for.

Jabir watches me from under the umbrella, a slight, wistful smile playing on his lips, but he makes no move to join me. Determined to jolly him out his sulk, I move towards a children's play area and sit on one of the swings. The seat is very wet, soaking through my chinos instantly, but I don't care. With a quick glance round to ensure we are completely alone, I begin to swing, higher and higher, the rusted chains squeaking in protest. At the apex of each forward swing, I lift my face heavenward, revelling in the wash of both rain and daylight. This is what I need, to be outdoors in the fresh air, not lurking in city basements. Maybe, once spring is here and the weather improves, Jabir would be amenable to using his camping gear for the purpose it was intended, and we can go live in the wilderness for a while. Of course, his newness means he will need to feed daily, and I wonder how he might react when I broach the subject of a mixed diet.

A gentle cough from Jabir brings me back to the present, and I gaze down at him as he stands a few feet away in front of the swing, apparently advancing and receding as I swing towards and away. He is impatient to go already. I sigh inwardly, and at the next forward apex, I leap high into the air and perform a quick double somersault over Jabir's head, followed by a half-twist, coming to land gracefully behind him, arms raised, one toe pointed like a gymnast.

He laughs despite himself, and I dance forward back under the brolly, taking his arm once more.

"Ugh, you're wet," he complains, but I just grin up at him. "Can we go now, Miss Piccoli?"

"If you insist, Mr Mbaye."

Two blocks away from home, Jabir sniffs the air and stiffens suddenly. A fraction later, I do the same. We have picked up a scent – vampires! There are, in fact, two distinct scents coming from across the street and leading down the sidewalk towards the alley where our basement is – the pair have come looking for us. Until now, we have all carefully avoided each other - I don't even know what they look like – so being sought out by them cannot lead to anything good. Should we go see what they want, or just run for it?

Jabir stands still, waiting for me to make the decision. I sigh. It might be better to face them. If they do mean us harm, we need to size them up and know what we're dealing with. Then we can run.

"When we approach them, do as I do," I tell Jabir. "We're on their territory, there's a correct way to behave. Just follow my lead, and don't do anything rash."

They are waiting next to our basement, sheltering under the scaffolding. They see us the moment we turn into the alley and straighten up to face us. I keep my eyes deferentially on the taller one's left shoulder. His eyes are focussed on Jabir at my side, and I glance up to see that Jabir is eye-balling him, his lip curled back in the beginnings of a snarl.

"Eyes down!" I hiss, and press hard on his foot with my own until he complies. Tall vampire sneers, arms folded, head on one side, dominant and very self-assured. His mate, a small, dark-haired Latino woman, steps forward slightly, a warning to us both.

"He's just a newborn," I call out, just loud enough for them to hear.

"We need a word," she replies. I take this as our invitation to approach, and do so cautiously, my posture small and rounded, eyes not making direct contact. To my relief, Jabir's movements mirror mine.

"Hello, I'm Grace," I tell them politely. "This is my… companion, Jabir."

"Leon. Alba," the tall vampire responds brusquely, indicating himself first.

"You were alone last time you were here," Alba observes. "Newborn, you say – did you create him?"

I nod, and she looks impressed for a moment. Then her manner becomes business-like once more.

"You two have been creating a stir," she announces, and holds a rolled-up Times towards me. I take it warily, and unfold it so I can see the front page. It's a headline about some recent killings. I glance up at her and shrug. New York's a dangerous place – why should these bother her?

"Read it," Leon growls, so I open the paper to the indicated page, skimming through it quickly. Jabir reads too, over my shoulder. The killings are of known or suspected traffickers and dealers, starting with one Antonio Spinelli last autumn, then escalating in frequency over the past month. According to the reporter, it is this escalation that tells the police they have a serial killer on their hands. The only thing that worries me in the story, that could provide any potential clue to our identity, is an un-confirmed witness report that one victim was seen being led away by a small black child. The police are interested to know more about this child.

I hand the paper back dismissively when I have finished.

"Some old whore thinks she saw me?" I ask, feigning disinterest. "It's hardly evidence."

"The Volturi don't deal in evidence," Leon tells me, triumph flashing in his eyes when I give a small start at the mention of the Italians. Nobody wants to come under their scrutiny, and I have more reason than most to avoid them.

"They have people to watch the press," Alba continues. "They see stories like this as a potential indicator of vampire indiscretion. They come here to investigate, and find an Immortal Child creating Newborns… well, we don't want that kind of trouble. We've worked hard to build our lives here."

I make myself a tiny bit taller, careful not to seem too arrogant, but I need to brazen my way out of this one.

"You think one like me would not already have come under their scrutiny?" I demand, quietly. "They sent scouts after me a century ago. I'm still alive because they've seen for themselves I'm no Immortal Child."

"Maybe so, maybe not," Leon replies. "But we still don't need the trouble. It's time you two moved on."

Well, that's not so bad. I thought we were going to have a fight, or they were already bringing the Volturi here. Instead, they want a quiet life, and they believe our absence, with the resulting cessation of the suspicious killings, will give them that. I'm also painfully aware that the paper they passed me is a day out date. They haven't guessed at our antics of the previous night, yet.

"Maybe you're right," I agree. Jabir gasps beside me but I ignore him. "We don't have much, we'll leave at nightfall."

"We'd like you to leave now," Alba counters, coldly.

Jabir steps forward to say something, but my expression stops him.

"In," I tell him, indicating our basement window. We have to pass between the two other vampires to get there, and they part to let us through. Jabir scowls up at Leon as he passes, but Leon responds only by raising an eyebrow at me. You better hope you can keep that one under control, his expression seems to be saying.

"We're really going to just go?" Jabir hisses as he throws his things into his rucksack. Mine is already packed – I have always kept it packed at all times, always ready to leave at a moment's notice. Jabir has never understood this, thinks I'm simply overcautious to the point of neurosis. I take our bed rolls and attach them to the straps underneath my bag in an attempt to hurry things along.

"They aren't giving us much choice."

"We just let them run us out of town?"

"It's not that simple."

"It is that simple, Grace. It's a question of whether you're going to allow yourself to get bullied."

I shoulder my pack and scowl at Jabir.

"Is that what you think? That I don't have the bottle to take on the big boys?"

"You're little. It's understandable. But you have me now."

"No, Jabir. We're not going to discuss this here. Please just trust my judgement. There's more to this than you understand. Territory for a start."

"So they say, this town ain't big enough for the two of us, and we quietly walk away?"

"This time, yes."

Jabir has finished securing his ties, but he puts his rucksack on the floor and folds his arms.

"I don't like it," he says, and there's a hard set to his jaw I haven't seen for a while.

"I'm not asking you to like it. I'm telling you the way it's got to be."

"No."

"I'm going now. The safest place for you is right behind me," I respond coldly, and I move back toward the basement window. Why must he do this now? Was I really worried that he was too compliant, only to have him defy me now when our lives are in the balance? Of course, he doesn't understand the threat the Volturi poses to us, to me in particular, and I can't explain it with the others listening to our conversation outside. I just need him to stick with me until we're safely away.

I sneak a peek over my shoulder as I haul myself through the window, and give a small sigh of relief as he lifts his rucksack at last.

My relief is short lived. As soon as Jabir joins me on the pavement, he turns to snarl at Leon.

"We're not going," he growls, defiantly, and lunges at the tall vampire. Faster and more experienced, Leon is an easy match for Jabir's strength and quickly has the boy overpowered and in an arm lock. Alba has taken advantage of my momentary distraction, and I am quickly within her grasp, too. She has me by the neck, with just enough pressure to let me know she means business.

Jabir roars angrily at my plight, but Leon just laughs and adjusts his hold. This is what the tall vampire wanted all along, an excuse to get into a fight with us. I am so angry with Jabir for being so easily provoked, for playing into the others' hands like this. He is watching me expectantly, probably waiting for me to use my talent to throw our assailants off, as I have done with him so many times before, but it's not that simple. If the Volturi are coming, I can't afford to expose myself in this way. I struggle in Alba's grip, but she's so strong. And Leon responds by wrenching Jabir's arm, so that he lets out an involuntary cry. I can't bear to see Jabir in pain like that, to allow anything to happen to him.

Angry, frustrated, terrified, I begin to cry; huge, dry, wracking sobs. It's a performance fit to put the proverbial crocodile to shame.

"Don't hurt the boy," I wail. "I'm so sorry, he didn't mean it, he just wanted to protect me! I'm the one who caused all this, I'm the one you want. Please, just let him go!"

Jabir stares, aghast. Alba's grip loosens infinitesimally, and Leon looks away in disgust. I glare at Jabir then close one eye briefly, in the tiniest of winks. At the same time, I pull back my lips and snap my teeth at him.

Then I twist in Alba's grasp and sink my teeth into her arm. Half a beat later, Jabir does the same to Leon. Both vampires holler in shock and rage as Jabir and I break free and run for our lives along the path under the scaffolding. But the other vampires aren't weak like me, and ignoring the pain from the bites, they give pursuit almost immediately.

For a moment, everything seems to happen in slow motion. With a flash of inspiration, I kick out one of the supports, then with a flex, I rip the scaffolding away from the wall. Jabir follows suit by kicking another support, and with a groaning of metal and cracking of masonry, the whole structure starts to give way. Then, with a burst of speed, Jabir grabs my hand, overtakes and pulls me clear, as the whole back wall of the building crashes down, trapping the others temporarily.

We are engulfed in a thick, choking dust cloud, but we use that to our advantage, hiding us from humans and vampires alike as we cross the alley entrance and scale the wall of the opposite building, up onto the roof tops.

Once clear of the alley, we run along the gables, leaping from building to building, scaling higher and higher, trusting to the damp gloom and our own speed to make us almost invisible. Jabir is in his element, laughing and whooping as he leads the way, making ever more daring leaps, while I follow grimly in his wake.

He finally comes to a halt on the flat roof of a twelve storey office block, and turns to face me. The elation dies on his lips as, without breaking stride, I plough into him and punch him as hard as I can. He is catapulted with a clang against the side of the huge air-con unit, and before he can react, I fall upon him, raining blow after blow down upon him. Instead of retaliating, he brings his hands up over his head and curls up foetus-like in an attempt to absorb the blows.

This submission, now, too little, too late, serves only to stoke my fury. I realise I am screaming incoherently at him like some deranged harpy, but I just can't help myself.

"Why. Can't. You Do. As you're told?" I rant between blows. "You. Nearly destroyed. Everything. Everything – d'you understand? Just what part. Of. Follow me. Didn't you get, for Christ's sake?"

By now, Jabir is whimpering in pain and fear, but still he refuses to defend himself against me. My invective degenerates into curses and insults, my blows losing their intensity until at last I am spent, and I find myself instead with my arms around him, face buried in his hair. He remains in his foetal crouch, his own head pushed into my chest. We remain like this for what feels like hours, poised on some sort of emotional precipice, teetering on the point of no return.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles eventually, and I choke out a half laugh, half sob.

"I thought you were going to get yourself destroyed," I breathe.

Very cautiously, Jabir unfurls so that our faces become level. I can see wariness and hurt in his eyes, and self loathing washes over me. I can't bear the fact that I am the cause of his pain.

"Why didn't you just do your thing, make them stop?"

"I couldn't let them see that. If the Volturi are coming. They mustn't see what I can do."

"You're afraid of these Volturi?"

"They use people like me. The Piccolis knew – they were part of the Volturi court for centuries, they saw how it was. If they saw a talent they could use, they would destroy whole covens just to take possession of that one vampire. They would use you to get to me."

"I would die first."

"Then I would have nothing." I sigh, bleakly.

Jabir's expression softens, and he places his wrists on my shoulders resting his forehead against mine.

"We'll go far from here," he promises me. "I won't argue, or cause a fuss, or accuse you of cowardice. We'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe."

"To keep us both safe."

We are silent for a few moments longer.

"Of course, you could just kick them to death," he tells me. I frown, confused. "Oh come on," he grins. "Kung Fu Grace? Bringing down a whole building with one well-placed kick?"

"Silly boy," I murmur, kissing his forehead to take the sting out of my words. "I used my talent to do that! There was no way I would fail to protect you – I just had to be a little bit clever about it."

Smiling at his gasp of surprise, I shift so that I can draw him into a proper hug.

"I'm sorry about before," I whisper in his ear. "There's no excuse for a temper like mine."

"But I forgive you anyway," he whispers back. "And you need to be more open with me. Then we might be able to keep each other safe."

I lean back a little so I can see his face.

"Why didn't you defend yourself?" I demand, quietly. Jabir regards me for a moment, then drops his gaze.

"I couldn't bear to hurt you," he replies eventually. "I remember how I felt, after I bit you. I don't ever want to feel like that again."

"I think I feel that way now."

Jabir pulls me back so that I am in his arms this time.

"Please don't," he murmurs, but I wriggle free of his grasp. He has to listen to me, has to understand.

"I'm serious, Jabir. If I ever lose it like that again, I don't want you to let me hurt you. You have to stop me. I – I think I need stopping, sometimes."

"Ok."

"I mean it."

"Fine. I will defend myself. But I won't hurt you. You can't ask that of me."

His face is earnest, and he looks so young suddenly. I reach up to stroke his cheek, and he closes his eyes, exhaling heavily. Pulling his head back down so it is resting on my shoulder, I kiss his ear gently.

"I already ask too much of you," I reply. Jabir shakes his head against my neck, but doesn't argue.

After an age, Jabir stands, and offers me his hand as is his habit.

"Where to, boss?" he asks, grinning, seeking to lighten the mood. This is the Jabir I love, cheerful, resilient. I try to push down the bleak, nagging internal voice telling me that I don't deserve him.

"Well," I reply, hoisting my backpack into a more comfortable position. "Seeing as we're kitted out like a pair of regular, all-American Boy Scouts, what say you to a bit of wilderness hiking?"