Heads up, its a longer chapter this time. 10 pages or so.
Is it time to lead or is it time to die?
Time to raise hell or walk on by?
Is there anybody out there that's payin' attention?
Is it time to speak up or time for silence?
Time for peace or is it time for violence?
Is there anybody out there that's payin' attention?
Tell me what you tryna hid
And what you runnin from inside
Cause I got a surprise
We might not make it to the mornin'
So go on and tell me now
-Dirty, Grandson
Rayne
"You called?" Rayne demanded. Mike looked up, his face going slack. The nerd had the same reaction every time she entered the room. Slack jawed before going green at the gills. Once it became clear she needed blood to survive, the pool of donors available to her had grown. Her eyes moved about his room, noting the drawn blinds. Outside the winter winds still howled.
"Yes," Mike gestured to the chair before his desk. "I wanted to tell you that work has been very productive ever since you shared Severin and his talents with us." Casually, Rayne slinked to the chair.
"Is that so?" She eased into it, crossing her legs at the ankles as she leaned to the side, resting on one arm.
"I was going through some of our old work, looking for patterns and categorizing what we knew," Mike's hands shuffled through papers, before he found what he was looking for. It was an official looking document. "I had a question for you, but thought it would be too impersonal to just-"
"Mike?" Rayne interrupted him, tilting her head to the side as she changed position. Her posture was perfect. She knew what proper posture could for both her amazing supernatural tits as well as for a wandering eye. Vampires weren't known as international literary sex symbols for kicks and giggles. In fact, many of Rayne's deceased half siblings had all been quite beautiful, give or take a few exceptions. This man, while clearly an intellectual, was just too fun not to bait. Was he a virgin perhaps?
"It's about when the bioweapon broke out," Mike looked up from the document, his eyes soft behind the glasses frames. Though her face betrayed nothing save for the soft smirk she'd entered wearing, her heart clenched. "If you don't want to talk about it, I understand, its just...I think I may have found something, and I thought asking might be better confirmation."
"And that is?" Rayne leaned forward, resting her arms on his desk. Mike avoided looking at her as he typed something out on his computer. Quickly images came up on the screens lining the walls of his work space.
"The mitochondria. It's the powerhouse of cells," Mike began. Rayne gave him a blank stare. Well he used to be fun to bait. Oblivious, he continued.
"They break down sugars we obtain from food, making ATP-stored energy." Again he typed on his keyboard. "We think the way to stop the current infection has to do with how it infiltrates the cell. The viral samples we have show that viral proteins get through the endoplasmic reticulum which in and of itself isn't unusual. Viruses can infect a cell via the ER. In case you're not familiar with high school biology the ER or endoplasmic reticulum is a membrane that deals only with proteins in cells-it folds them, modifies them for use, things like that," Mike waved his hand.
"Here's what we found interesting. When we exposed the virus samples to two different tissue samples, one human and one from a mouse, the virus didn't bother with the mouse." Mike pulled up a looping video of two different screens. "The, ah, black splotches, those are the viral proteins. You'll notice they are twice as effective at infiltrating human tissue cells than the mice ones." Rayne raised an eyebrow, waiting. She was supposed to meet up with Lucia after this. What was this geek going on about?
"So that made me wonder. We repeated this experiment across several different labs. All the same results. The human tissue was more likely to be infected at a faster rate, while the tissues taken from the mice were all but ignored by the virus. Which is an anomaly. Or so we thought, except that exact procedure repeated itself over 300 different times." Mike frowned at the computer screen.
"So we tried another experiment. We included otherkin cells." At that Rayne raised her chin. "Specifically what we had on hand that we could get through legal means. This," Mike tapped the keyboard, pulling up another looping video, "is what happened when we introduced vampire blood cells to the virus. Your friend Severin ran this experiment with what he had in deep freeze. As you can see, the vampire cells infect twice as quickly as human cells. We already knew this to be the case in otherkin, that your accelerated healing in some way, sped up infection rates. Most likely with how quickly your stored ATP is spent. However, look at this." Mike paused the video and enlarged a small portion.
Shrugging, Rayne shook her head, not quite able to make out the blurry image.
"Its like...a host of some kind, like an internet hub. This organelle is actively taking the virus and telling it where to go. That sounded familiar. So I reviewed the twin cities biohazard attack. The same one you were recovered at. Operatives reported that the infected there operated a lot like the infected the BSAA encountered several years ago. This particular virus was the C-Virus and operated on a hive mind and was heavily based on insect life cycles. However, the infection style also mimics that of las plagas, a parasitic style of virus that also creates a hive mind like effect."
"Mike," Rayne started.
"I need a blood sample, if you will," Mike looked her in the eye. The first time since she had sat in the chair. "You were exposed to the ragnarok virus in the twin cities. I have reason to believe the ragnarok virus is based heavily in the C virus. When I went back, I found that the engineer of the ragnarok virus had managed to isolate the chemicals secreted by the plagas. Meaning, not only were reports of a hive mind accurate, but it was achieved without the use of a parasite. Meaning a heavy level of sophistication went into designing the ragnarok virus. If we can figure out what chemicals the vampire cells use to order the modified C-virus around, we can in theory, engineer a way to make cells hold up a stop sign." Rayne tilted her head to the side. "Please Rayne. We've come so close. If I can get a sample of your blood I can test these theories out. We are so damn close to figuring this all out."
She raised an eyebrow. This was not the usual request she was used to.
"My prices double everytime you take my blood," she replied, her mouth curving into a smirk. She didn't let on that what she had experienced that night the bioweapon had gotten free. The feeling of being...worn...as if she was a glove or jacket, before being shucked off and tossed aside. It had been that feeling, how a used shirt must feel when it lay upon the floor unneeded and used, more than anything else, that had stunned her. It had been similar to the mind control several elder vampires were said to possess. Hive mind, huh? However it had been more brutal and it had filled her, filled her blood, until it hadn't. Just as quick as it had taken over her body, it had left.
When she'd come to her senses, the child and Lauren had been gone.
"Two blood packs for every sample you draw," Rayne purred, letting her lily white skin rest across Mike's desk. The blue spider webbing of her veins were clearly visible. She made the papers cluttering Mike's desk look tanned by comparison. "Take what you will, but I expect payment."
Tweak
His leather hide boots were noiseless on the hard stone like ground of the beehive human compound. Hands shoved into the pockets of his tunic, head bowed beneath a hood, he strode on. The amber and blue lace agate pendants at his throat moved in time to his pace, reminding him that his protections still held in this iron laden building. He was in search of the devil hunters.
The spring equinox loomed. Within a fortnight the High King and High Queen would summon all their subjects, the lower kings and queens of any court of notoriety. Soon The Wild Hunt would ride, and afterwards, the Festival of Life. It was the most sacred of Fey traditions. The welcoming of the new year. Spring had been dictated by the High King Obrion. It had been a bitter balm on his heart to hear Sarah had been chosen. He was bound in more ways than one and could do little to nothing as the chosen witness to shield Sarah from the machinations of the High Fey King. However, just because a dog did not bite did not mean it did not dream of blood.
To this purpose, he walked the hallways of Delta Two. The heavy green dreads were tied back, hidden from the sight of humans with glamour. The net of shielding magic gently pushed human attention away from his form, and to the intruding, curious human eye a veil of magick allowed only the sigh of a plain haired, plain clothed human. Glamour was old magic. His kind had used it for centuries to walk amid the humans. The wild, unbound fey were more adept than he at the it, but in the centuries of his life he had picked up a few tricks here and there.
Thank the wild woods, but he did not have far to travel. With the snow maidens gathering so closely to the compound, the snow was drifting and heavy with no end in sight for the storm. That meant no one left the base and nothing arrived….well nothing infected or human. He found who he sought easily. There in the middle of the open space, the demon twins stood, engaged in combat.
Their weapons glinted, sending sparks as the metal edges kissed and deflected violent attention from their opposite. For a moment Tweak watched. Such a violent and coordinated dance. By nature, Tweak was not a warrior. His skill lay in his words and the usefulness of his blood. As a human born fey, it was easier to tolerate iron than his fey born counterparts. More than once his silver tongue had saved his hide. Tweak watched the twins, as they feigned, taunted, and baited each other. The Elder Mother had whispered visions of demons who would stop the hand of death. Not even High Kings-so removed from common fey folk and humans alike-could deny the words of The Elder Mother. Not even with the creeping death lurking within their courts, slowly eating away at the heart of the gentry and common fey alike.
The twins broke, circling each other, before one of them tilted their head. Almost imperceivably he nodded in Tweak's direction, drawing the attention of his brother. Taking the pause in their fight as a cue, Tweak approached them, letting his glamour drop away.
"I would have a word, if you, the time," he said as he approached them.
"Speak then." It was not a request but a demand. The dark one, Vergil then. The iron in the air was making his skin itch without the protective layer of the glamour, so he did as requested. The sooner this was done, the sooner he could go top side and watch the snow maidens dance while drinking heavy Meade.
"The spring equinox approaches," he began. "The Jubilee of the Hallowed Hill will begin in a fortnight."
"The what now?" Asked the other brother. A smirk graced his face as he shouldered his broadsword. The relaxed demeanor, son of light, Dante then. "Some kind of party, then, eh?" Tweak straightened his back.
"The spring equinox approaches," he repeated. "It is the oldest of Fey Traditions. Sarah has been chosen to play the role of Spring in this year's tithe for the Festival of Life." He looked between the two men. "The role of winter is yet to be decided for the tithe to The Wild Hunt. That aside, I am here to remind you of my purpose here."
Vergil was impassive, studying the fey with sharp eyes. The smirk was still on Dante's face, but his eyes were sharp as his twin' s they waited for Tweak to relay his message.
"The words of the old mother. A demon will stay the hand of death and for that purpose, bid me here. I am to bear witness," he explained.
"What exactly is a spring and winter tithe?" Dante demanded. At that Tweak tilted his head to the side.
"They are roles of honor in our traditions."
"They're sacrifices," Vergil growled at him. Tweak nodded. "Who is to be Winter?" Vergil demanded. Highly intelligent, these men.
"The one who will have the most value as a blood tithe," Tweak replied, evasively. He was forbidden to meddle in the machinations of the High King. However for a clever fey, it was always about how a word was used and the multitude of intentions those words could possess. The fey loved cleverness, to wit and be unwitted, was the essence of any of the folk. Two sets of blue eyes flickered upon him. "The most probable choice candidate will be drenched in blood and no doubt need as careful eye as the candidate of Spring."
With that, he left. Not clever, his parting words. Not clever by far, but to an outsider of the fey courts, it would have to suffice. His skin itching, his job done, Tweak fast tracked it to the bitter, clean outside. He wished to forget-if only temporarily-the coming of the Spring Equinox.
They walked the hunched over fey stalk away, as silent and as invisible as he had arrived.
"Did we just get invited to Prom?" Dante demanded. Vergil glanced at his twin. Chuckling, Dante shrugged, making Rebellion bob with the motion. Carefully, Vergil sheathed Yamoto.
"So I take it you're thinking the same thing about Winter," Dante said, watching his twin. Again, wordlessly, Vergil glanced at his twin. "Pfft. We got two weeks, get your sword out Vergil." Vergil paused, raising an eyebrow.
"She ain't going anywhere. Neither of them are," Dante shrugged. "Might as well use the time you have with something other than bothering a woman who hates you."
"You talk too much," Vergil retorted, flicking yamoto out an inch from its sheath with a thumb.
"What can I say? I walk the walk. I talk the talk." Dante unshouldered the sword. "Just another day Vergil, that's all it is."
"Hmm. Don't get sloppy." With that Yamoto flicked out, the blade blazing, several blue copies flickered into existence. Dante chuckled, red flames licking at his skin.
"Oh we're taking the gloves off now are we?" He asked Vergil. "It's about time."
Lauren
Sarah has been weeping on the bed for the better part of twenty minutes before she gets it together enough to talk. During it all Trish and I have been uneasily keeping her company, not really saying anything.
"You gonna survive?" I ask her, handing her yet another tissue. Apparently that was not a smart thing to say. Sarah's face crumbles and she-honest to god-wails.
"I don't know!" She buries her face into the growing pile of crumpled tissues in her hands, her whole body trembling. Trish gives me an antagonized look.
"Really?" she mouths at me. Okay yeah, that was...not my brightest.
"Hey, Sarah," I gently reach out and pat her on the back, "what exactly is going on?" Sarah takes a few deep breaths, swiping at her face with the tissue I gave her. Her skin has pink blotches and her red rimmed eyes are still tear filled.
"Spring equinox." Her voice is quiet, cracking as she sniffs. I almost miss it. Spring. The equinox, when daylight and night are equal. Hard to imagine anything green as spring coming. It's been a long winter. I glance at Trish, feeling a chill go down my spine.
"What month is it?" I demand, my brain finally dredging up why I know about the spring equinox.
"End of February," she says, with a shrug and a curious glance towards Sarah. I swallow hard.
"What about the spring equinox Sarah?" I ask her quietly. I'm almost 100% sure this is not good news. Nothing about the fey ever is.
"They chose me for Spring," She sniffs, her red rimmed eyes finding mine.
"Oh shit," I say quietly, thinking. "Wait, when do fey use humans for that?" Trish's mouth falls open and I can see questions on her face. With a hand I wave her off, waiting for Sarah to answer.
"I don't know," Sarah sobbed. "Tweak told Hunnigan, or she told him. I don't want to be Spring." She turned to me. "Lauren I don't want it to be like that." I study her critically. Her hair is shoulder length and growing. She's not a skinny kid anymore. Being away from magic has let her mature physically. She's gained weight and more muscle, her curves are filling out. For a long time I think the heavy magick of the fey courts stifled her normal human development. Rip Van Winkle, only in reverse. Fey magick is a funny thing that way.
"I know," I say softly. Sobbing, Sarah falls into me, crying on my shoulder. Above her head, Trish catches my eye. She is looking at me like she's lost. And she is. Because Trish is a demon who's made the very intelligent choice to stay away from the fey.
"Spring Equinox is a fey holiday," I say to Trish. "Kinda like their version of New Year's eve."
"There's more," Trish says, studying the weeping Sarah. I nod, still rubbing her back. It's no easy thing to be spring. It's not what Aaron would have wanted.
"There are three parts to the celebration. The Jubilee, The Wild Hunt, and the Festival of Life. It's all about saying goodbye to winter-the end of the old year-and welcoming spring-the beginning of the new year." Like everything Fey related, it's all one giant booze filled party until the dying starts. The wild hunt and festival of life are just as much a game as they are a battle royal. That's what happens when the light meets the night. When the bright fey and the dark fey meet its glittery celebration decked out with guts and entrails. The whole fucking thing is already giving me a phantom headache.
"So why the tears?" Trish asks.
"The jubilee is a ceremony that welcomes the two main players: Spring and Winter. One person gets chosen to play the role of Spring by the High King. Another for the role of Winter, by the High Queen." I struggle with my word choice but then decide that making it sound pretty doesn't necessarily make it any less of an ugly tradition.
"The player for spring has to embody a majority of the attributes the Seelie, the courts of the light, prefer," I say slowly. Also the reason the High King chooses Spring, the person meant to embody the elements of beginning and light and renewal. "Spring is always a nubile, virgin entering the 'ripeness' of adulthood ," I let my voice trail off as Sarah wails at that. Trish's eyebrows shoot upwards as a look of understanding dawns on her face. I catch Trish's attention with a shake of my head. I can't keep the disgust and disdain from my voice. "Spring has the honor of sharing the bed of the High Fey King for a day and a night during the Festival of Life," I say grimly.
At that Sarah turns to me, eyes rimmed in tears. There's that grim desperation in her face I know only too well. It's the look of someone who wants to survive. Something I am particularly attuned to. I've worn that expression too much in my life not to know it when I see it.
"I won't do it," she vows. "They can use their own for that. They can't make me."
"They can," I remind her, my honesty is as much a cruelty as it is a kindness. Trish gives me a look as Sarah sniffles., nodding. She knows I'm right. Word magick. Probably the most assholish and most difficult piece of fey magick fuckery other than wordplay to navigate. Sarah wouldn't be the first ensorcelled spring. The fey love to lie within their bound oaths of admission. By dead rights spring enters the role willingly. No one explains how they make a virgin willing to join a stranger's bed. I swear it's the premise of every cheap porno: horny young teen joins old man in bed. Only the joke is more twisted than that. Spring isn't always a young girl-just a virgin-and that very human virgin is very rarely a willing participant. Those classist snobbish fey have spawned more bastard by-blows like Tweak through their 'ceremonies' than a fey whore house would. They use and discard their human Springs before their new year is even up. Or worse they use the excuse of tradition to punish their Spring for imagined or real offenses. The attention of the high fey royalty is not a kind thing.
"How do you kill a fey?" Sarah asks quietly, looking at her lap. Her hands hold the clump of used tissues tightly.
"You don't kill High Fey Royalty," I say flatly. "They are Children of the Earth."
"You've done it though," Sarah turns to me, anger burning in her face like a flame. The anger makes the tear splotches on her cheeks burn redder. This kid, for all her time in the fey courts, doesn't get it.
"No. You don't kill High Royalty," I repeat slowly. "They are of the earth Sarah." I'm not even sure the high king can be killed. It's one thing to kill a courtier. Or vanish a fey who angered a lower queen or princess. It's a completely different matter to murder some dude whose literally tied to the soul of the earth, if the legends are to be believed.
"Fuck-" Sarah starts.
"To say his name is to curse your own," I interrupt her.
"I'm already cursed!" Sarah rose to her feet and began to pace. No one argues the point.
"This happens every year?" Trish asks. We both turn to her, Sarah pausing mid step.
"Yes," I say.
"What happens to Spring after?" Trish asks, careful of her words. At that Sarah's legs give out and she crumpled to the floor. She laughs tears trailing down her face. I know that feeling. I know that look. Goddamn, it's all so relatable it's almost painful.
'You mean if I'm not pregnant?" Sarah demands. Again Trish looks to me for an actual explanation.
"If spring isn't pregnant-because the only requirement for spring is virginity-then that's that, but it won't save her from the queen's jealous wrath." I don't add that Queen Freja's has a blood thirsty reputation as a darkling fey and has almost ritually executed every spring for nearly four centuries. The woman didn't get her throne-and carefully maintain and keep it-by being a caring and kind individual.
"There's a jealous Queen?" Trish asks.
"There's a King who fucks virgins for sport," I shrug. Trish shakes her head as that sets Sarah off again. I wince. That was cruel of me. I shouldn't have said that. I slide off the bed and crouch next to Sarah. Tentatively I rub her back.
"And if she ends up pregnant?"
"Then she faces both the queen and the king's displeasure," I say flatly. "He's more likely to kill her if she's pregnant than the Queen." The whole thing is a sham. The classist fucks know their blood runs true. That even with human genetics a fey human child can still wield magick, still looks fey, still ages like a fey. Yet they pride their pure bloodlines more than anything. Not so shocking, the queen is only lenient on pregnant Spring candidates. Probably because she was a mother herself once upon a time. Although it's been centuries since the Queen bore a child, let alone one for the High King. I blink. Interesting thought, but that's old working knowledge. Things may have changed in the last 10 years.
Trish looks at Sarah with new eyes. She is silent, stunned, as she slowly leans back in the chair.
'Hell," she says slowly as Sarah continues to cry, her bones going to mush. Her haunted gaze doesn't leave Sarah.
"Give me time," I say quietly to Sarah as I continue to rub her back. 'I'll think of something, but you're not going to be able to kill a High King, Sarah." I pause. "How much time do we have?"
"A fortnight," Sarah sniffs, scrubbing at her red splotchy cheeks. Two weeks to plan.
"Why not take care of the whole virginity thing?" Trish suggests. "Shouldn't that get rid of the whole problem? Surely there's someone who-" Trish's voice trails off as she's greeted with twin looks of blank stony disbelief. Sarah shivers, hugging herself, refusing to look at Trish.
"Do you know what they did to the last spring who attempted to give up that way?" I ask Trish. Trish opens her mouth but I hold up a hand. "His name was Robin. His lover was a fey courier. They made his lover dance in red shoes as they whipped him before unmanning him, so he'd have to bear the shame until his death. Robin, however, was human," I pause. "There are a lot of things a human can endure, but the fey live long lives and hold grudges that can out last a human life span. Last I heard, they are still torturing Robin for his sins. It's been nearly six centuries." Trish's mouth drops open.
"How?" she starts, her eyes wide.
"Doesn't matter," I cut her off. "What matters is we fix this, best we can." I turn to Sarah. "Look at me," I order her. Sniffing she does as she's told. Not good. If she wants to defy a High King of Fairy she needs to start thinking independently. Still, I said I would help, Tweak asked me to do as much so I guess this is how I do it. I take her face between my hands.
"You take a night," I say, "and you let it out. You cry. You moan, you carry on like a loon if you need to. Then tomorrow, if you manage to sleep, you wake up, take a shower, and get your shit together." My voice is hard, but this could spell the difference between keeping her life or her dying. The fey do not fuck around any more than demons do. I've been burned by both and both times the personal costs for dealing with either was too damn high. "You do what you always do and you don't let on about this," I say, waving to myself and Trish. "Have you seen Tweak already?"
"Dirty asshole was the one who put me up for it," Sarah growls, sniffing. That doesn't sound right. The only one who nominates and accepts Spring is the High Fey King. Just as the only one who nominates and accepts Winter is the High Fey Queen.
"Tweak put you up for Spring?" I demand. I need to make sure I have this right.
"No. He told Hunnigan I would be acting as an intermediary for human-fey relations," Sarah growls. Ah, the stench of fey wordplay. It's like fencing with a pool noodle, the water limp reasoning of their bullshit never hurts who it should. An 'intermediary for human-fey relations is a fancy hell'uva way to say 'human sacrifice'. So Tweak is where I start. I need information, because if my hunch is right-
"So if you're Spring, during this Festival of Life," Trish interrupts my thoughts, drawing my attention. She points a finger at Sarah as she recaps what she's learned, "and you're presented as a candidate during the Jubilee, then who's the candidate for Winter?" At that Sarah and I look at each other. I take a deep breath, feeling my gut drop out. Coincidence-if it had a smell-would hold a close contest with the smell of three week old road kill. Briefly I glare over my shoulder at Raziel.
Deal with the cards you are dealt, Raziel reminds me. I ignore the jerk. I'd punch him if he wasn't already a dead guy. It is not fun being jerked around by holy superpowers.
"I can take a guess," I say.