Thanks everyone for all the follows and the review. :) Here's chapter two - hope you enjoy!
It took her a long moment to figure out what was happening. It was like waking up from some kind of day-dream. Except this was fading into the daydream. Isabel slowly became aware of herself and into this new reality.
She was sitting in the drawing room of some mansion. Victorian again, it seemed. The delicately carved furniture was unmistakable and the elaborate painted wallpaper was another dead giveaway. Golden details of arches and gazebos, flora and fauna alike contrasted the purples, blues and reds of the skyline.
Isabel ran her hand along the patterned blue and yellow fabric of the settee. She smirked - flashes of some debaucherous evening ran through her mind. This glorified loveseat had seen far more than just socialite banter.
Gas lamps burned on the walls, and the sun was low against the horizon. It was past sunset, and the amber of the sky was fading from its ruddy tone and shifting to pale blues and purples as if mirroring the painted scene upon the walls. The high ceiling was decorated by a large brass chandelier with candles that remained unlit.
The room was divided by a sliding partition, painted with an elaborate scene of a garden to match the wallpaper. It was designed to split the men away from the women in an evening's affair. Now it was half-closed, only serving to break up the view of the room from where she sat.
Where was she? A memory, clearly - but where? When? Nothing of hers… It took her a second to remember. Tex. The corpse. Oh. Right. The corpse had touched her. She was inside that thing's head. So he was some… victorian demon, or vampire, or who knows what. More than one type of monster fed on blood, from all over the world's history, depending on what lore you were reading.
Music was playing quietly from the other half of the room. A piano.
Unable to resist her curiosity, Isabel stood up, and crossed the thick carpet into the other half of the space. There sat a baby grand piano, its lid lifted and held open with a gold painted wooden post. A man sat at the keys, his fingers moving delicately across the ivory as he played some slow and lazy piece. His nails were pointed and sharp, and yet didn't click against the surface as he played. It sounded like a Beethoven, but she wasn't sure.
The man was pale - but not lifeless. His features were hard and powerful, as though they were carved out of marble. A well-groomed goatee surrounded lips that looked as though they found themselves in a constant frown. Like there was always a weight pressing on him. Long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, neatly tied at the back of his neck. He was handsome, she had to admit to herself. Beautiful - but morose.
She walked closer to him as he played, unafraid. She was in a memory, after all. Was this him? Was this the corpse in the coffin that had laid waste to her close friend? Isabel tried to read his emotions, but they weren't strong enough to come through in the memory. Nothing rose to the surface for thoughts or feelings. Just… a cloud. He seemed almost content in this moment. Perhaps he wasn't accustomed to being content.
Odd. Memories usually were impactful moments. Things that left some scar or turn of events in a person's life. Not just… sitting and playing piano. What had made this moment so important for him? Isabel reached out without realizing it - reaching her hand out to touch him on the shoulder. Maybe it would give her a stronger read on him.
"Who are you…?" she quietly asked, speaking aloud to herself. This was only a fragment of time, after all. It's not like he could answer her.
A hand snapped around her wrist in a moment faster than she could see - clamping down around her like a vice. Red eyes bored into her amber ones with a fierceness that made them look as though they were aflame.
"I could ask you the very same, my dear."
Isabel let out a startled cry as he suddenly moved - too quickly for her to register was happening. In one motion, he stood, pushing the piano bench away so quickly it almost toppled over, and moved to pin her with her back against the side of the piano. He gripped the lip of the piano's wooden frame with one hand - and that was his mistake.
Acting instinctually - and not unaccustomed to a fight - she smacked the wood post that held up the lid of the piano with her elbow, causing the heavy wood to come crashing down on the creature's hand with a loud wham. It would have broken a normal man's fingers, and was enough to make him snarl in pain and release his grip on her. That gave Isabel a chance to duck away from him.
She tried to break the memory - tried to snap out of it - but… nothing happened. Terror gripped her. She was trapped… somewhere… in a memory that she couldn't control… with a thing that could somehow move and respond to her. Maybe she was dead - or hallucinating.
"Clever," he growled as he turned around to face her. "It has been some time since my prey fought back." He took a step towards her.
"Stay the fuck away from me," she took another step back.
"Hmn," he half-laughed. "Such vitriol. Much time has passed since I last awoke, it seems. Your garb and your language would be quite scandalous otherwise." He took another step forward.
She responded with another step back. She was running out of space to move - he was skillfully backing her into a corner. Literally and figuratively.
"How are you doing this…?" she shook her head. "This shouldn't be possible. Stop whatever you're doing."
"You invade my mind, and you accuse me?" he laughed again. "An era of audacity, truly. Although I will not complain for the cut of your clothes… They are quite… temptingly tailored, if perhaps a bit masculine." His red eyes flicked over her form, and she felt suddenly very self-conscious about her tank top with the hoodie half-unzipped over it. "I always enjoyed practical women."
He took another step towards her. She mirrored it with a step back, and bumped into a large end-table, tucked into the corner of the room. "Shit." she swore as the impact startled her - the bemused smile on the vampire's face not helping her nerves.
"Stay away from me," she said, hating the sound of fear in her voice. He ignored her, and took another step forward. "Stop," she half-pled, but to no avail.
"To your credit, you did warn me before, and I did not listen." He closed the distance between them, and reached out towards her. "But here, in my mind, you somehow believe you are without power."
Isabel grabbed a small brass and marble statue that sat on the end table, and swung it for his head. He was not expecting the outburst, and she clocked him across the face with it. He snarled again, and turned with the force of the blow. She was certain it was from shock, not real damage. But she wouldn't argue.
Taking her opportunity, and using the end table for leverage, Isabel stuck the flat of her boot into the middle of his stomach and shoved as hard as she could. The creature, still caught off-guard, staggered backwards away from her as she pushed him off balance.
That gave her the space she needed to run. Maybe if she put distance between them, she could break out of the memory. Dropping the statue, she bolted - ducking around him and out of the door of the drawing room. Knowing that running and distance was more important than what direction she picked, she ran wildly without care for her surroundings. Left, right, another right, and clamoring down a flight of stairs, missing the bottom two steps entirely with her speed.
Bursting out of a door into a back courtyard - or whatever, she didn't have time to thinking about it - she looked around at the darkening landscape. Marble benches, a railing - and a long pathway down through what looked like a winding, carefully landscaped garden. She tried to break the memory… but still, nothing happened.
The sound of shattering glass made her reflexively duck, and whirl to look back at the mansion.
Looking up towards the source of the noise - something had burst through both windows of the drawing room on the second floor. Glass rained down, tinkling and smashing against the marble courtyard. A lump caught in her throat as she saw the source of the impact.
Bats.
Fucking bats.
A swarm of the black, giant rodents cascaded through the shattered panes, swirling over her. She didn't need to ask what had happened, or what they intended. Isabel turned and bolted as fast as she could towards the garden. She used a hand to vault over the marble railing, and took the drop from the courtyard with a half-stagger. Isabel ran as fast as she could towards the cover.
She knew it wouldn't do any good.
But she had to try.
Something smashed into her, hard enough to knock the wind out of her. Already hard for breath, it left her on the ground with a silent desperate gasp, feeling the burning in her lungs as they refused to fill. A hand grabbed her by the back of the hoodie and hefted her up, and half threw her forwards. Isabel struggled to get her feet under her, as she staggered with the momentum.
Dazed, still burning for air, her hands met a hard surface at almost waist height, and she gripped it hard for balance.
The force that had impacted her returned. Something grabbed her with both hands, whirled her around face-up, and she found herself suddenly pinned to that hard surface.
Red eyes in the darkness glared down at her, flickering despite there being little for them to reflect in the fading daylight. The monster had her pinned on her back on a marble bench in the garden, and was now over her, one knee pressed in between her legs. She felt its hand against her throat. Pressing - but not squeezing. Keeping her still.
Isabel gasped for air - her vision swimming. It waited patiently, simply watching her, as she finally managed to fill her lungs as she recovered from its first impact. She let out a low groan as the relief of fresh oxygen filled her.
"Fragile creature…" it seemed to complain down at her. "So much like a candle, you are. Eager to burn, yet easy to snuff out. I wonder if you will prove to be as useful as a flame in the darkness... " It tilted its head to the side slightly as it watched her. His hair had fallen loose from the tie, and now hung around his face as he kept her pinned. "What a wonderful game you have played out for me, here in this visualized battle of the minds…" he pondered aloud, watching her with its red eyes, as her breathing slowly became less desperate.
Isabel struggled, thrashed up against him, trying to punch him or push him off of her. He only laughed in response, and she found her wrists quickly trapped in his hands. He thrust her wrists up over her head and pinned them there, one large hand easily keeping both of hers pressed against the marble over her. Isabel growled in frustration, and that made him smile.
"Now now, no more of that," he scolded. "While your little flight was… immensely entertaining… and I hope to repeat our little game, we may be pressed for time."
He reached his other hand toward her face, and placed it along the edge of her chin, pressing a thumb on the space just below her lower lip. His red eyes narrowed just slightly, observing her.
Isabel pulled in a gasp through parted lips as she tried to pull away from him. His grasp on her wrists only tightened. She was well and truly trapped. He ran the edge of his pointed thumbnail slowly along the line of her lower lip.
Isabel wasn't used to being touched. Nobody ever offered, after learning what would happen if they did. It took several 'episodes' with the same person before she could finally control the memories - before she could finally keep her power from shutting down either, or both of them like this.
"Curiouser and curiouser," he said to her quietly. "An empath, of course. But I see now… your gift is contained largely in your touch. I feel you reaching out, even still. Even here inside my mind, I can feel your soul burning at the surface. Pushing against me, vying for control." He leaned his head down towards her. "How wonderful."
"I didn't - it's never-" she stammered, uselessly.
"My coffin is not strong enough to withstand your invasion," he smirked at her, lips curling into a well-used cynical expression. "As I am sure all other souls fall before your gift. I am not so easily pried apart."
"I'm sorry, I wasn't… I wasn't trying to-" she turned her head away from him as he lowered his further still. She could feel his hair touching her cheek, her neck.
"Ssh," he said quietly as ran his fingers along her jaw, using his hand to tilt her head back towards him. "I know." He leaned in further, and she felt his cold breath against her cheek. She shut her eyes tight - afraid of what he intended. "I think I shall let you go. I think I would like to kill you slowly. Go, my little dove." She felt his lips curl into a smile against her face as he leaned in closer to her ear. "Run, and let me chase you..."
Isabel awoke with a start, laying back against the stairs, the memory - or dream, whatever it was - shattering around her. The creature was still hovering over her. It pulled back, its skeletal frame shrinking back away from her like an animal. It turned, and crouched back down over the pool of blood, and resumed lapping it up from the floor.
Isabel took her opportunity and scrambled up the stairs, running as best she could with her head still swimming.
His words echoed in her mind. Run - and let me chase you.
As she half-staggered out of the door of the crypt, she winced as she was met with a bright light. It wasn't the sun - more like a floodlamp. It brought her to a full stop, as she raised a hand to shield her eyes.
"Drop the weapon," she heard someone bark at her. She didn't recognize the voice. Weapon? Oh, right, the gun she was holding. Whatever - a fat lot of good it did her. She dropped it as commanded, and lifted her hands. She sighed. This wasn't the first time this had happened to her.
"Get her out of the way."
Shadows approached, black inkblots against the bright light. Hands grabbed her, yanked her forward, and shoved her arms behind her back. She felt something around her wrists, and she heard the sound of a ziptie as it cinched around her. Great.
"You want to worry about the thing that's down there-" she snapped at the voice she couldn't see. Her eyes were still adjusting to the floodlight.
"We know all about him."
"Then why the hell are you bothering with me?!" A shove on her back and she staggered forward, and out of the light. Looking around - it looked like some paramilitary group had shown up. She had seen outfits like these before. Rich people employing their own private army. When people get to a certain point of untouchable cash, they begin to behave like a country unto themselves. And every country needs a military.
Easily ten men, maybe more - stood in black tak jackets and full gear with guns at the ready. Another shove, and he was pushed past the line of men with guns. Another shove. "I get it, I get it," she snapped at the goon pushing her. She walked in the direction that the goon had pushed. A small group of more civilian looking people were standing by a large black humvee, the back doors open. Another humvee nearby looked like it was filled with machinery of some kind - medical, maybe?
A man in a suit walked up to her, shoving a smartphone into his suit pocket. He looked at her, and clearly was annoyed by her presence. She was a waste of his time - but he likely assumed everything was a waste of his very precious time. "Did he bite you?"
"What?"
"Easy question. Did. He. Bite. You?"
The man sighed. Hated his time being wasted. He was an easy read. He didn't think so, mind you - his polished, posh exterior was designed to be as flat as glass. As unflinching as a mirror across the board room table. But to her, he was an open book. Annoyed on the surface - terrified underneath. Isabel shook her head, and finally answered his question. "No. He didn't."
"How did you get away without him attacking you?"
"He was busy eating my friend," she snapped angrily. "He was distracted."
The businessman stood up slightly, and pulled on the bottom of his coat to straighten it. He knew something he wasn't telling her, and he was debating playing his hand now or later. Isabel watched him curiously, wondering what it was. "Put her in the back with the others."
The goon grabbed her shoulder and pulled her away from the businessman, dragging her towards another humvee. The back was open, and the overhead light was on. As the goon rounded the corner and pushed her with it, she saw two figures sitting there on benches. Their hands were similarly ziptied. She let out a breath she had been holding. Adam and Eric.
"Izzy!" Eric exclaimed, beaming.
"Oh thank God you're okay," Adam said, letting out a breath. "We were sure you..." he trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence. But the implication was clear. Died like Tex.
The goon forced her up into the back of the humvee, sat her down on a bench across from them, and harnessed her in. A glorified seatbelt - but useful for keeping her stuck. Izzy sighed. "Yeah, I was sure too."
"Sorry for," Eric started, then paused for a while. "Y'know… leaving… you… behind… and all."
Regret and sadness radiated from him, and Isabel smiled over at her friend. "It's fine - I was as good as dead." Isabel let out breath. "Tex."
"Yeah," Eric agreed, and the three sat in silence for a moment, mourning their friend.
The goon was now standing guard at the entrance to the humvee. Protecting them? Keeping them from running? Probably both.
Gunshots rang out from outside the vehicle, and all three of them twisted to try and see out the tinted windows. They could just barely twist enough to see the entrance to the crypt. A skeletal figure had stepped from the darkness into the floodlight. Its arms were thrown up in front of its face, and now it let out aloud, hideous shriek as the armed men opened fire.
The sound of the howling made Isabel recoil - it sounded like nails on a chalkboard. The men with guns moved forward with… rods with metal loops at the end, kind of like what wild animal wranglers would use - it was hard to tell for certain. But the corpse collapsed to the ground.
"Alright, kiddos," the goon guarding the humvee said. "Time to go." He hopped up into the back of the vehicle, and took out three black bags from a box.
"Seriously?" Eric grumbled as the goon slung the bag of his head. "At least this one doesn't smell musty. The last one smelled awful." Adam was next, then her.
"Is he always this chatty?" the goon asked.
"Yes," Adam and Isabel responded in unison.
Isabel didn't fight, and just leaned back against her arms as much as she could. She heard people sitting down around her, heard the back of the humvee close - and heard the engine start up. If they wanted them dead, they would have shot them already. Isabel hazarded a guess that this was the client's personal army. It wouldn't be the first time they sent 'assurances.'
They rode in silence for a long time. Finally, a goon next to her spoke up. "Hey uh… Miss?"
"I assume you mean me?" Isabel asked, smiling under the hood. "I can't see, so, y'know."
The voice laughed nervously. "Yeah. So uh. We got told not to touch you. Like, not like - 'don't punch you' kind of 'don't touch you,' but - like - literally don't touch you. Like. Your skin. Gloves only. Cuz you're some kind of mind reader. Is that true?"
Isabel tried not to sigh. "I can't tell what you're thinking, so don't worry about picturing my friend naked, if that's what you're worried about."
She heard the other people in the van laugh. "No!" the original voice exclaimed. "That's not what I meant!"
"Please don't fraternize with the prisoners," a voice from up front said - older in tone.
"Sorry," the first voice sighed. She felt him shift uncomfortably in his seat. "This is just my first job dealing with... things like you."
"Gee, thanks. I'm a 'thing' now? What an upgrade," Isabel grumbled sarcastically.
"That's not what I meant-" the guy replied.
"Will you stop talking already before you put your foot any further down your throat?" the Older Goon from the front seat snapped. After a pause, he spoke up again. "I apologize for my associate. He's new."
"It's alright," Isabel responded. "I've been called much worse."
The rest of the ride went largely in silence. There was a radio in the front that would occasionally beep, and voices over it would yammer back and forth at each other, mostly in code. Their humvee driver - the Older Goon from before - would now and then chime in with his own coded response.
Finally, they seemed to get to their destination. It sounded like they had pulled into a building, judging by the sound of the roll gate, and the now much-more-echoey sounds of the humvee. The vehicle stopped, and switched off. Isabel listened - picking up on flashes of emotions from the people around her. They were all nervous, to some degree or another. Especially the younger 'newbie' that had spoken to her earlier. He was borderline ready to bolt.
Doors opened, people clamored out of the van, and then it was their turn. She heard Eric and Adam get unhooked from the harnesses that kept them strapped in. Then it was her turn, and a hand on her arm lead her out of the van. Even still, she almost fell over as she took the bigger step down to a concrete floor.
The bag was pulled from her head, and she was relieved to catch some air. Adam and Eric were next to her. "Where are we?" she asked the former.
"South Boston. Somewhere between Old Colony Avenue and Dorchester Avenue," Adam responded matter-of-factly.
"What, do you have superpowers too?" the goon next to him snapped.
"No," Adam responded, as matter-of-factly as before. "I simply used the average RPM of the humvee and time to judge estimated distance, and I counted turns. … And I have a photographic memory."
"And he studies google maps," Eric chimed in.
"Fucking freaks," another goon grumbled half under his breath.
"You really must work on teaching your people manners, Vanderbilt," said a voice from behind them.
Turning, she watched as two men approached. A shorter, stockier middle-aged man in a lab coat, and a tall, lanky, bald older man in his sixties. His face was kind, as were his eyes, but there was something about him that made Isabel instantly on guard.
"Sorry, boss," the older goon - Vanderbilt - replied. "It's hard to get a mercenary army with tact," he finished. Ah. The head of the private army.
"It is a pleasure to meet you three. I'm very sorry about your compatriot…" the tall, older man said with a sigh. He looked like he could play a priest in a community theatre play - he had that kind of vibe about him. Nice. But fake. "And I'm sorry for the protocol bringing you here."
"It's fine," Adam responded. "You're the client, I assume?"
"Indeed I am. And a phenomenal job you did in locating and retrieving the sword. I apologize again if my employees were not forthcoming with all the information," he said with a sigh. "Vanderbilt, please untie them."
"Yes boss," Vanderbilt responded as he walked around behind the three of them, cutting the zip ties that held their hands together behind their backs.
Isabel rubbed her wrists and then her shoulder. This guy - the client - made her skin crawl. He wasn't to be trusted. Isabel rubbed the back of her neck - a sign to Adam and Eric that the 'client' was full of it.
"Occupational hazard," Adam replied. "Regrettable but understandable. I'm sure you weren't positive you could trust us with that information." Always the diplomat. And he was good at it.
The client smiled warmly at him. "Indeed. A lot of less… genuine people would have sold the sword to another buyer if they had learned exactly who it belonged to. But!" he exclaimed, changing the subject. "Why don't we sit and talk over coffee? I have another business proposition to the three of you that I would like to discuss."
"A name first, might be nice. Since you know everything about us, it seems," Adam responded.
"Ah yes, right. Pardon my rudeness. I'm Doctor Harold Brass. Do call me Harold, though. Come."
Finally turning from the humvee, Isabel was able to get a look at where they were. A warehouse, as Adam had pointed out. It was large, and the lights were off - instead all light came from work lights on posts or otherwise, strewn around. Heavy cables ran criss-crossing around the concrete space. The space had clearly been abandoned up until now. Puddles of water and graffiti dotted the space. It had been some machining warehouse before the industry went elsewhere. Several of the windows, high above ground level, were shattered and knocked out.
The first thing that struck her as interesting was the machinery that the client and his people had brought in. There was a lot of it. A generator buzzed somewhere from the darkness, feeding the whole operation. To remain off the grid, she presumed. The machinery looked medical, scientific, or both. There were a few partitions set up - pop-up plastic spaces that looked like they were designed to quarantine specimens or keep areas sterile.
What the hell have we gotten ourselves into? she wondered. Isabel looked around at the dozen or so people she could see moving from one station to another. Most of them wearing scrubs or something similar. Well, this was the dozen or so people besides the armed guards now stationed around.
Most of the lights - indeed most of the guards seemed focused on one point. In the center of the warehouse was a structure. It was square, with a thick metal frame. Glass spanned all four walls. A figure hung from the center of the room on a chain - from its neck.
Her walking hitched as she saw what it was. The corpse - the vampire. It was seemingly unconscious - looking every bit the ounce of a strung up dead body. With all its weight on its neck, the metal of the collar placed there had dug into its flesh, and deep crimson blood oozed from it. The blood looked… old. Used. Tex's blood she reminded herself with a cringe.
"Everything alright, Miss?" Vanderbilt asked her. "See something upsetting?" His tone was sarcastic - as if he was accusing her of sympathizing with the corpse.
"Yeah. Everything's 'fine.' That's only my friend's blood I'm seeing," she snapped back bitterly, glaring at him.
That made the older soldier flinch - and he stammered an apology.
"Soldiers," Dr. Harold Brass sighed. "There's no teaching them manners sometimes. Come now."
She forced herself to continue walking, and after another twenty or so feet, they approached another 'quarantine' room. This time with a table in the center of it. A goon in black opened the door for them, and the three of them followed 'Harold' inside. The short man in the lab coat followed after them, but Vanderbilt chose to stand outside.
"This is Dr. O'Hare. A proper doctor - my doctorate is in history, after all. He's here to see to our uh… friend… in the cell." Harold walked up to a coffee machine on a table by one of the plastic walls, and poured himself a cup. He gestured to it, welcoming the others to follow suit, but nobody did. Everyone also clearly preferred to remain standing.
"What are you doing with him?" Adam asked. "Clearly you understand how dangerous he is."
"That room has been designed by Dr. O'Hare to withstand his type. Especially in his weakened state, he's no threat to us." Harold smiled broadly, clearly proud of himself and his team.
"Mmhm," Eric said with a half-snort. "Sure."
"Your incredulous response is warranted," Dr. O'Hare began, pushing his glasses up his nose. The little doctor was… irritating. And Harold thought so as well, she could tell. "But I assure you-"
"How about you get to the point?" Isabel interjected. "I'm sorry to be so blunt but… it's been a shitty evening and I'm sick of people dancing around their intent." She couldn't help but look back at the vampire in the cell, dangling from the chain around its neck, lifeless.
"Respectable, especially after what you've been through tonight," Harold smiled. "And since you're the only other one in the room who knows who that thing actually is."
Isabel looked over at him and raised her eyebrow. "I'm afraid I don't follow."
"You didn't get out of that crypt because it was busy 'eating your friend,'" Harold mirrored her words from earlier - clearly having been relayed the conversation. "It touched you, didn't it?" Harold was again, very pleased with himself.
Isabel looked back over to the dangling corpse. "You said you had a business proposition. How about you get to it?"
"He did, didn't he…" Harold said, almost beaming. "Well! That brings us nicely to the proposition. You three will be paid every penny of the 2.5 million dollars we offered you. I am a man of my word. I would like to double that fee for your continued services."
"What kind of 'continued services?'" Adam asked, his dry British accent not giving anything away.
"The sword that was in its possession has been said to contain great power. To be blunt, I seek to unlock it," Harold started. He wasn't telling the whole story, and Isabel rubbed the back of her neck - signaling the other two.
She looked back to them, and watched Adam put his hands in his pockets. It was his return symbol for 'acknowledged, but don't play your hand.' Isabel looked back to the corpse on a chain, about twenty feet away.
Harold continued. "You three would be valuable additions to my team to uncover the truth about the weapon. Especially since one of you already has… insider knowledge."
Isabel looked back to him, disgruntled at the insinuations. "Alright. Clearly you did your research before hiring us, and you know what I can do. Rare, but if you can sling five million at four-" she caught herself in her mistake. "Three - losers like us, it's not surprising you have contacts. So fine. Yes, he touched me. Yes, I got into his head. And I dropped him like a fucking brick. Like any idiot who touches me. Whatever I saw, it wasn't useful to you."
"What did you see?" Harold asked intensely, walking around the table towards her. If he could have stared the truth out of her, he would - that was how intensely he wanted to know the details. This man lived and breathed to learn secrets about the corpse in the glass box.
Isabel would have withdrawn if she could - she didn't like people walking up to her like that. God knows she had enough of it for today. "He was playing piano. We didn't speak. Memories don't work like that."
One good thing about her gift, is it made her one hell of a good liar. She could project a feeling of truthfulness onto anyone. There was that one botched job where she had to get them out of an FBI holding cell - and if it worked on those interrogators, it'd work on anyone.
Harold sighed, believing her, but disappointed. "Perhaps you'll get another chance to dig deeper," he smiled. "If you take me up on my offer."
"And if we don't?" Adam asked.
Harold turned back to him. "We brought your van here with us, in case you needed any of your belongings. If you decline, some of our men will drive you and your van off site, and you're free to go."
Adam didn't bother pointing out that he already knew where they were, and instead looked over at the corpse on the chain. "Why keep that thing, if you know it's dangerous, and you're only after the sword?"
"Having him here might help us unlock the sword," Harold replied. "And if we didn't bring him here, he'd only find us anyway."
"You keep referencing 'who he is," Isabel interjected, folding her arms in front of her. "Why is that so important?"
"My inclination is to not tell you," Harold said after a pause. "Because it'll probably make you all refuse to take the job. But, by not telling you, you're likely to do the same." He sighed. "Fine. I'll tell you."
Eric groaned. "C'mon man, just spit it out."
"That… is Dracula."