Apologies for not updating on Saturday, I wasn't feeling well and spent most of the weekend sleeping. I wasn't going to resume posting today, (still feel a bit icky) but I thought it might serve as a welcome distraction from the all the angst in the canon verse. I will really try to get another chapter up on Saturday but between all my deadlines and feeling under the weather it might not be possible. Sorry again! : (
Thank you for such lovely reviews; they always make me want to write more as fast as possible! It means alot to hear that you're enjoying it.
xo
Chapter 50
Striding across the room, Father Tobias cast a critical eye over his companions. His sharp eyes could detect no trace of the weapons that they were trying to conceal from the slayers. Giving them all a nod of satisfaction, he turned back sharply to the woman sitting at the table, her hands moving quickly over the keyboard. "Everything in place?"
Sister Augusta barely raised her eyes from the screen. "Yes Toby." Her long suffering tone indicated that she was getting fed up of the priest's constant interruptions. "As soon as it's dusk, I'll trigger the alarm. Given the distance between the headquarters and the fake attack you should have twenty minutes max to complete your operation."
Father Tobias smiled slightly at the familiar way in which she shortened his name. "Thanks Gus. You'll be on stand-by..." he let the sentence trail off as Sister Augusta rolled her eyes.
"Yes, yes," she waved an impatient hand at them. "Now go! Get into your positions."
Father James stepped forward as the group of men moved in unison towards the door. "Are you sure you don't need my assistance?"
Father Tobias laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "No, you know you're too emotionally involved." He said it kindly but they both knew what he was implying. The Guild didn't have the best track record when it came to their treatment of prisoners.
Father Michael nodded in agreement. "Besides, you do have an evening mass to prepare for," he said briskly as he pushed past the Irish priest.
It was strange how certain fears melted away in the brightness of daylight. How the dark thoughts that plagued you in the hours before dawn seemed somehow less substantial when they were exposed to the humdrum reality of everyday life. Life didn't get more humdrum or depressing than Mondays mornings.
After several cups of tea, a bacon sandwich and early morning pep talk from Charlie, the rest of the day had settled down into something approaching ordinary. The History Faculty were not going to let something as insignificant as the near destruction of their main lecture hall disrupt their routine. It was a regrettable fact of university life that the undergraduate students had to receive some form of education for their money and so the majority of second year lectures were relocated to a wing in the Pitts River Museum. Walking through the ornate Victorian grandeur of the museum with its beautifully carved marble statutes and vaulted ceiling always stirred something deep inside Scarlett, something close to joy or awe. How could anyone not respond to such architectural beauty? Then, during lectures, she bumped into some History friends, people she hadn't seen nearly all term because of her obsessive work on the project and it seemed only natural that they would all go out for a late lunch. After a hour or two of gossiping about the latest in the soaps, setting the world of politics to rights and finally agreeing on a couple of dates for formal hall swaps, Scarlett felt almost normal.
As she waved goodbye to her friends and stepped out into the golden warmth of the autumn sunlight, she couldn't help thinking that it would be a sin to spend such a glorious afternoon in a library. Reasoning that she should make the most of the daylight, she found herself wandering down to the river. The rich colours of the dying leaves crackled beneath her feet, the occasional shout from the river signalled that rowers were training, the geese, as ever, were aggressively seeking the breadcrumbs being thrown to their competition - the considerably fluffier and more agreeable ducks. It was all so reassuringly normal! This world of rowers and geese didn't have to worry about strange dreams or creatures of the supernatural. Things like vampires and ancient prophecies seemed faintly ridiculous when you were surrounded by mothers pushing prams and determined joggers slogging away to the beat of their iPods.
Tucking her long skirt beneath her boots, Scarlett settled back on the bench and took a few minutes to watch the world go by. In the distance, she could see Beenie, a local artist, surrounded by papers and a flask as she sketched the scene before her. Nice lady Beenie, always welcoming you over for a chat and a sip of Irish coffee from her flask. Scarlett realised with a jolt that this was the first time she had seen the artist all term. When she began to think about it, really think about it, she realised how hard she had been working on the research project, how much time Vlad had consumed. Oh that hurt. Just thinking his name felt like someone was sticking a knife into her chest.
Was any of it real? Her heart throbbed with pain as she sat in the sunlight thinking it over. How could vampires really exist? How could an entire supernatural world have surrounded humanity for so long without them realising? How could the things she had seen be real? People turning to dust at the touch of wood, the lights of London glittering below her when she flew in Vlad's arms, dreams which seeped into reality... Although, let's be honest, she couldn't blame Vlad entirely for that one; her dreams had always had a discomfiting way of connecting with reality, a snippet here, a conversation there. It was nothing special though, Charlie had assured her of that, nothing to really worry about. Except for that one recurring nightmare; all blood, light and anguish... could it become real too? The thought made her shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the cold riverside air.
Alarms blared throughout the Guild building; the harsh screeching tone and ear splitting volume were all too familiar to Jonno van Helsing. He had lived with the noise since his Dad died. He knew that every time he heard the alarm, it meant that someone else was in danger of losing their loved ones. That thought always spurred him onwards, it didn't matter whether his life was in his danger or not, all that mattered was saving someone else from suffering as his family had suffered.
Beside him, Tariq was pulling on his military style jacket, complete with garlic lining, assorted stakes and UV gun as standard. He was muttering complaints under his breath. He gave Jonno an accusatory glare as he slammed his locker door. "This is the second vamp attack in a week!" When the metal door bounced back, Tariq only slammed it more viciously. "We haven't had an attack in over four hundred years but since you two arrived, it's like..." Tariq didn't get to finish his sentence because Dave rushed past, bellowing at everyone to move faster, to get into the vans waiting outside. However, the slayer did have time to cast a darkly suspicious look over his shoulder at Jonno before jogging out of the changing room.
Slipping his hand into the top pocket of his jacket, Jonno's fingers skimmed against the crumpled paper of a fading photograph. It was a ritual for luck, for reassurance, a small way of saying to his Dad that he was doing all of this for him. And Mum. And now Erin. For everyone whose lives had been destroyed by vampires and by one blood sucking leech in particular – Vlad Dracula.
With the darkness of dusk, Scarlett could feel all the doubts and fears creeping back into her mind. Still reluctant to go back to her empty room, she headed towards another place where she could expect comfort and solitude. As the street lamps began to spill their yellow light into the cobbles, she walked to church – her Church. It was at troubling times like this, Scarlett couldn't help reverting back to her childhood where the Church was a place of safety, a bubble of calm and peace in an increasingly ugly world.
Her heels clicked softly against the large paving stones of the Church path. The contrast between the brash modernity of the Tesco store across the road and the serene age of the Church usually brought a wry smile to her lips but this evening Scarlett wasn't in the mood for smiling.
Before entering the tranquillity of the building, she took a few moments to trace her fingers over the moss slowly creeping up the exterior walls. The Church had once burned people like her, people with unnatural abilities, people who associated with the living dead, people who committed the sins that she had almost committed with Vlad last night... She pressed her forehead against the roughness of the stone wall. What would they have done to a person such as her? Yet, it was difficult to fear the wrath of an institution which had done so much to protect her. An institution that had fought long, hard and sometimes quite viciously to bring her back into their sphere of influence during the aftermath of her parents' deaths. The Church meant many different things to people: privilege, corruption, power, but to Scarlett, the Church meant security, safety, protection. Its doors were always open and even if she didn't necessarily agree with everything that they had taught her, it was extremely difficult to disavow herself from the beliefs that had been instilled since her childhood.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped through the heavy oak doors and dipped her fingers into the still pool of holy water awaiting her.
You had to give Sister Augusta her due, that woman really knew her way around the Guild's security protocols. Once the alarm had been sounded, it had taken only a few minutes for the Guild building to empty, all the slayers grabbing their stakes and rushing into their vans. Given the speed at which they had driven off, it was clear that they believed the alarm was genuine. The Order had mere minutes to work their way through the building and locate Professor Teverson before their deceit was uncovered and the slayers returned. How very fortunate then that the Order had both the layout of the building and the security codes to pass through whatever barriers were in their way. Well, almost all of the barriers, there was the rather sensitive issue of getting into the secure containment unit. One could only hope that the ultimate code had not been altered since Loewe's leadership had begun.
Tapping the buttons delicately with his gloved fingers, Father Tobias gave his comrades a nod of warning before pressing his finger against the last digit. There was a moment in which they all held an anxious breath as the alarm flashed red. They sighed collectively with relief when it turned green and declared in a tinny voice: 'Access granted.' As the steel doors rumbled open, Father Tobias waved in two Order members before holding his arm out to prevent the rest from entering. "You know the drill, only so many can be sacrificed." His face was grim as he glanced at the alarm. It was still glowing in a contented shade of green. "We don't know whether a signal has already reached them, notifying them of our break in. Guard the exits, if they come back early then you understand what must be done." With those orders, Father Tobias plunged into the eerie shadows.
Scarlett often thought that there was a kind of magic in religious buildings. Upon entering a church or its non-Christian equivalent, a strange calm would begin to unfold inside her, an emotion which seemed to flow from the peacefulness of the building. Time, taste and scent were all different in a religious building, minutes and hours ceased to be relevant inside these walls, the air was always somehow heavier, richer and there was always something different, an indefinable quality, about the way it tasted on her tongue. For lack of a better word to describe this elusive quality, she thought of it as holiness. The scent of holiness could comfort her in a way that nothing else could. It clung to the rosary beads that she carried everywhere with her, providing her with a small piece of the Church's special kind of comfort.
"Penny for them?"
Father James' voice shook Scarlett out of her reverie. Lifting her face from the red beads wrapped around her hands, Scarlett smiled as the priest sat down on the pew next to her. "Nothing important," she replied shyly. If the priest beside her knew half of the things that she had been thinking or doing lately, she doubted that he would smile at her in such a warm and friendly manner.
Father James cast a thoughtful look over the rosary beads entangled in her fingers. "Perhaps, I am interrupting," he said gently.
Scarlett shook her head. "No, Father." She glanced down at the strings of beads in her hand, the smooth metal of the crucifix was warm against the skin of her palm. "I've just got a lot to think about." She looked up again to find Father James' eyes upon her, the priest was wearing a look of concern. When most people wore such an expression, Scarlett got paranoid and defensive, she didn't trust them or their methods of supposedly 'helping' but, over the past year, Father James had proven to be quite hands-off in his approach to pastoral care. He was the sort of priest who was simply there, waiting for when you needed a kindly word or a patient ear. He didn't push himself forward; he didn't force his assistance on you. After the number of people who had interfered in her life, Scarlett appreciated his kind of approach.
"Anything I can help with?"
The warmth in his eyes confirmed the genuine nature of his offer but Scarlett shook her head anyway. How could Father James help her? How could she tell this man of the cloth that she was frightened of her own dreams? That vampires really did exist. That she might have been helping the wrong person in some crazy quest to find a super weapon? The priest accepted her words at face value but it seemed that he wasn't in any hurry to depart her company and so they sat in companionable silence for a few minutes as
Scarlett stared down at the metal in her hand. Silver and wood; how strange that her rosary beads were a combination of the two most deadly elements that could be used against a vampire.
The huddled mass of bloodied flesh and rags in the corner was barely breathing. Father Michael raised a gloved hand to his mouth in horror as he tried to choke back the bile that was rapidly flooding his throat. There wasn't time for such squeamishness. Any moment now, the slayers could return and this fate may await him and other members of the Order if they didn't fulfil their objectives in time. It wasn't as if Father Michael hadn't attended victims of war in the past, it wasn't as if he hadn't encountered brutality and violence, it was just that he had never expected this of the Guild. This was not what any of them had intended when the Guild had been established. The Guild was meant to protect the innocent, not torture them. If this was what the Guild considered necessary to achieve their objectives then they were as cruel and wicked as the supernatural creatures they hunted.
Despite the constraints on his time, Father Michael lifted Professor Teverson into his arms with extraordinary gentleness. To think that he had argued against this, that he would have left this poor woman, or what now remained of her, at the mercy of such monsters.
"Do you think we can ever be more than what nature says we have to be?" The words tumbled out of Scarlett's mouth before she seriously thought about what she was saying. She cringed slightly at the awkwardness of her question. "I mean, you can be more than what others label you as? We don't have to conform to the category we're put into - right?" What she really wanted to ask was whether a vampire, even the most powerful vampire of them all, could ever be something other than evil but somehow she thought that question might be too weird. Even for the unflappable Father James.
The priest was quiet as he mulled over her questions, she got the impression that he was giving them careful consideration despite the half-witted way in which she had blurted them out. "It sounds like you are contemplating determinism," he replied carefully. "Biological or otherwise."
Scarlett nodded cautiously. Yes, determinism, she supposed that was one way of putting it. Vlad's status as a vampire; did it truly mean what he had implied the other night? That as a creature of the undead, it was almost inevitable that he would possess a cruel, violent streak. And if so, what did that mean for the rest of the world? If he got his hands on this super weapon, would all the bloodshed and chaos of her nightmare come true?
"It's certainly a profound question." There was a hint of humour in Father James' soft, Irish tones. "One that many philosophers, greater than us, have struggled with." His eyes were keen as they swept over her. "What do you think?"
Almost by instinct, Scarlett shrugged dismissively. As if she could ever make a meaningful contribution to a debate as important and long running as determinism versus free will. For goodness sake, she wasn't even capable of formulating a coherent question about it.
Unfortunately, Father James wasn't one to be put off quite so easily. "No, truly child, I would be interested in your opinion."
"I hate it." Scarlett could tell Father James was surprised at the vehemence of her response and the questioning manner in which he raised his eyebrows prompted her to continue. "I hate the very notion that we are all somehow doomed to live our lives in a particular way, that the decisions we make are in a sense already made for us, that everything is planned out and there's no escaping, no changing, no rewriting of our destinies. It's almost like we're worthless, nothing more than pawns in some game and we don't even get to know the rules."
Father James nodded understandingly. "And yet?"
Scarlett flushed slightly at his unfinished question. "Sometimes, it does feel like the future has already been decided." Her fingers ran over the interlocking strands of her rosary beads. She paused before continuing in a voice that was almost a whisper. "Sometimes, I feel like somebody has already decided for me. It's like Oxford, I feel like I was meant to be here." She laughed softly, mockingly at herself. "I know, it sounds big headed, I don't mean it like that. I just mean that ..." She fell silent, feeling unable to explain how she had felt so compelled to apply to Winterville College, how Oxford had just felt so right for her, how she had fallen in love with the city from the moment that she arrived for her interview on a bitterly cold and snowy December evening, how out of thousands she was lucky enough to be chosen by Professor Teverson, how fortunate she had been in securing such a generous scholarship from the Church to fund her studies.
The footsteps echoing along the corridor were different. Or were they? Had they given him so much chloroform that he was losing his mind? It would explain his tiredness, his weakness. When had he last eaten? It wasn't a question that mattered. After all, he wasn't hungry, he wasn't thirsty, he wasn't really anything anymore, just tired... He remembered being angry once, that seemed very long ago now, he had lost that feeling, that burning desire for ... something. When had he lost it? A few hours ago, or was it days?
The metal door to his cell clanged open. Light poured in, the darkness scattering to hide in the corners, the figure wasn't Jonno but it wasn't Dave. The brightness was burning his eyes. Blinking blearily, Thomas could make out the distinct square of white at the figure's throat. He offered up a silent prayer of gratitude as he passed out once again. The Order was here.
Father James found himself gazing up at the magnificence of the glass stained window. It was easier to look at that than to look into the face of his niece as he tried to address her fears. "I think life is a mixture. There are perhaps some points where something was always going to happen but ultimately we can choose how we handle it." He knew that his face must appear unusually sombre as he studied the beautiful glass before him. "We always have a choice Scarlett. It may not be a choice that we like, it may seem like no choice at all, but I believe we are accorded, at least, that small measure of free will." It was only now that he could turn his head away from the religious icons to gaze intently at the young woman by his side. "That's probably not the answer that you were seeking. I'm sorry, my child, I believe it is the best that I can truthfully offer."
Scarlett met his gaze with an appreciative smile. "It is a rather difficult question." There was a note of teasing in her reply and it genuinely warmed his heart to hear it. She wouldn't know it of course but that quirk of humour came from Robert. Her father. His brother. She didn't even know that she was his niece. Or, perhaps more pressingly, her status as the Order's protégée...
His wistful thoughts were interrupted by the rich timbre of Father Gabriel's voice. "Father James, I believe it is almost time for evening mass." As the priest glided, with serene grace, up the aisle, his dark blue eyes settled upon the young woman by Father James' side. He gave her a respectful nod, a smile of genuine delight spreading across his lips as he spoke. "You must be Scarlett Collins. One of the stars in Father Benedict's wonderful choir." He held out his hand. "I hope to hear you sing this evening."
Father James couldn't help but notice the slightly awed expression on his niece's face. Father Gabriel's presence often had that effect on people, it was classical beauty of his face combined with the overwhelming sense of goodness that the priest carried around with him. It was also something that Father Gabriel seemed oblivious to, a fact which probably only served to make him all the more endearing.
"Yes, Father," Scarlett shook his hand firmly, a blush creeping across her face at his words of praise. A puzzled expression began to form as she studied the priest more closely. "Have we met before?"
"Father Gabriel!" The shout echoed through the Church as Father Luis, another member of the Order, jogged up the centre aisle. "Father Gabriel! You're needed. Urgently!"
Father Gabriel gave Scarlett an unruffled smile. "Perhaps, another evening." He departed at a brisk pace, following the other priest into the private quarters of the Church.
Scarlett's forehead continued to crease into a mild frown. Clearly, she was still wondering where she had previously met the visiting priest. Perhaps, he should have been worried that she had missed the blood covering Father Luis' hands, it was hardly an endorsement of the Order's training that such a significant detail had escaped her attention, but, right now, as his stomach churned with fear, Father James felt that there were more urgent matters to worry about.
Chapter 51 teaser
'Breathers like you always respond to authority.'
