A/N: Thank you to ALL of my lovely lurkers and readers for commenting and enjoying this story so far. Also, please be warned: this chapter contains extremely disturbing content. Please read at your own discretion.

The Five Point Circle

Erik

Deep into the witching hours of the night, a dark blue rift began to grow in the frozen air of the moors. It started as a simple etch in the atmosphere, like an artist initiating the first black stroke upon a blank canvas. The line then ripped itself open, with invisible hands pulling it just wide enough for two figures to step out. The rift immediately shrank behind their shadows, disappearing into the darkness as if it had never existed at all.

Vincent's brilliant scarlet wings immediately folded behind his back, and his muscles tensed up at the sight that lay before him. The little wooden house where he had foreseen the girl, Christine, was covered in grey icicles, and the grass was jaundiced and dead. It was as if someone with great power had drawn a circle, a line in the sand, around the entirety of the cottage…a message to anyone who dare look upon its toothless grin; there is only death beyond this point…nothing more, nothing less.

Erik stood rooted to the spot beside his brother, his mouth falling agape at the horrific sight. He turned to look up at Vincent for consolation – for the moment he had stepped out of the rift, his mind had conjured up images of darkness, blood, and crying…

He could hear the echoes of her screams.

Tears began to fill the corners of his eyes, and he grabbed Vincent by the hand, squeezing it as tight as he could. "Why does the air feel cold…when in the forest it felt warm? Why is the cottage frozen…when the sun hung high in the sky only hours ago?" Erik whispered, wiping runaway tears from the edge of his chin. He accidently raked a hand down the obnoxiously wormlike scar, and Christine's words played again in his mind.

I hate your ugly, scarred face!

You want me to be as miserable as you, is that it?

I hate you.

"We shouldn't have come," Erik hid his face in his hands, trying desperately to quiet his pitiful sobbing. "She wouldn't have wanted me to come, brother…I can't stop thinking about the words, now. I don't know why I feel so miserable…in the forest I felt…hopeful, I guess…"

Vincent crouched down in front of Erik, grasping his little brother gently by the cheeks. "Shh," he murmured, softly brushing the tears away with his thumbs. "You are magnificent, little Erik. For you call out the obvious…you were, and are still hopeful. It is not her words that have changed you. It is this," he motioned to the house covered in ice and snow, and the circle around its perimeter that seemed singed into the crust of the earth. "There is a darkness that dwells here," Vincent explained gently. "You must resist the voices that plague your mind. For the moment we cross this threshold…this darkness will become even more powerful. If you cannot keep the voices out, then you need to wait here…I will go see what has happened to this man…her father."

"Is she here?" Erik asked hopefully, swallowing a choked up sob. "Is she inside of the circle, in the house with her father?"

Vincent's crimson eyes glittered like fresh blood, and he arched a pale white eyebrow at his brother. "I have been lead astray," his voice fell to a whisper, so subtle that Erik had to lean in to hear it. "I saw her here, yet…I do not see her here, anymore. But I cannot look for anyone, right now. Whoever lies in there," he pointed a long finger at the house, "is extremely powerful. And therefore I must speak with the possessor. It is the only way we can find out about the girl."

"Christine," Erik corrected as his brother stood up to his full and imposing height. "Her name is Christine."

Vincent nearly rolled his eyes, but instead forced a toothy smile. "Ah, yes. Christine. Now stay behind me, little brother. If – and when I tell you to leave the house, you must promise to do so. Remember, you do not have your gift yet – and you do not have your wings. You are powerless to what lies inside of there, and if you wish to be wise…you shall heed what I say. Promise me."

Erik sighed noisily. "Okay, I promise."

Vincent nodded in approval. He began in slow and calculated steps, his great wings unfurling behind him to shield Erik. The two figures stepped carefully across the burnt threshold, the frozen yellow grass crunching under their feet. Vincent closed his eyes for a moment as they reached the only door on the front of the cottage, murmuring something foreign under his breath. He then laid a spidery hand upon the handle of the door, his skin nearly matching the color of the frost. "Remember what I said," Vincent whispered to Erik, who nodded behind the protective red barrier of his wingspan. The door gave way and opened, and a dim pale light emitted from the inside of the wooden house.

The two brothers moved stealthily into the darkness of the structure, and a loud crack immediately disrupted the pure silence of the night; the door had slammed shut behind them.

There lay before them a disturbing array of glass bottles – hundreds of them arranged perfectly into rows that covered the splintered flooring. Instead of a fire unfurling inside of the hearth, there were candles lit in a five point circle around a dark wooden chair, where an emaciated man sat waiting, his eyes gleaming white in the tiny flames of fire that teased at the darkness surrounding them.

The man cocked his head as his eyes fell upon Vincent, and his cracked, bloodied lips tore open into a demonic grin. His teeth were faded and yellow, and his tongue flickered out from his mouth like the flash of a snake's forked tongue, licking his lips with an absurd and devilish confidence.

"Vincent and Erik, sons of Theseus," The man announced in a raspy, grating voice, raising a skeletal hand in a mockery of hospitality. "I know why you've come. You seek the little girl…" he chortled, settling his hand back down onto his lap. "But you will not find what you seek. She is gone."

Vincent's wings rose steadily to their full expanse, brushing the walls of the cottage on each side. He narrowed his eyes, clenching scarred up knuckles at his sides. "Who are you?" He asked softly, but his eyes glowed with a beast that stirred out of sleep, impatient to finally be set free.

"I go by many names, for I am many things. You may know me from your father's books…you've studied me, I'm sure. I am Legion, for I am many…yet within my many, I have become one," the man's smile widened, and he gestured a hand to the five point circle made of wax candles. "You cannot harm me, dear Vincent…I am protected. But if you've come to talk…it seems I've been terribly void of company since the absence of the girl. Or should I say…the enslavement of her. Oh, she had to go! But Gustave was so much easier than we…I, imagined. Kill a man's wife and he kills himself…and slowly but surely, he gives us a foothold." The man cackled again, throwing back his head that was devoid of any hair…and was now covered in fresh pink scabs.

Erik pushed himself underneath the protection of Vincent's left wing and thrust himself forward, knocking over dozens of glass bottles that surrounded the throne of the man. He stopped on the verge of the five point circle, his face contorted into a rage born of madness. "What did you do to her?" he screamed at the man, ripping open the black fabric of his shirt. "I am not afraid of you…don't you see this? This will protect me as I cross your little protective circle. This will ensure that I can withstand your deceitful possession…" Erik held open the broken buttons of his shirt, leaving the bone white skin of his chest bare in the light that danced upon the walls. In the middle of his chest there was a cross shaped scar, dug so deeply into his skin that its raised edges caught the light of the candles. "I have no heart that you can manipulate," he said with a coy smile, releasing his hands from the inner folds of his shirt. "So before I cross this line…before I grab hold of you and banish you, back to where you came from…you're going to tell me what you did with Christine. And if you harmed her…"

Vincent grabbed Erik by the shoulder forcefully, ripping him away from the edge of the circle. "Erik," he hissed, his eyes flashing a warning. "You endanger yourself. I told you to stay behind me!"

The man in the chair let out a stream of dry laughter. "You think your lack of heart protects you, little one? Oh, how endearing…does it trouble you that she betrayed you? Does it hurt you that she hated your face? But…what's to like, little one? Your family grows more beautiful by the second, but you…you seem to grow more and more repulsive. It's no wonder your father left you in the world of mortals…you see? Not even he wanted you. What power does a Vampire possess without his wings?" the man laughed again, jabbing a finger in Erik's direction. "Impulsive, snotty little thing, you are. No wonder you reek of pity."

"Enough!" Vincent bellowed, his voice drowning out the slithering drawl of Legion's voice. He pushed Erik back behind his wings, whose face was now written with pale shame. Vincent strode forward, bending down to where the first candle sat, framing the entirety of the circle. He grasped it with an ashen hand, grimacing as the wax of the candle began to burn his flesh. The man in the chair howled with laughter, shaking his head manically as the smell of burnt skin filled the stagnant air of the cottage. "Your kind never learns! Never!" he shrieked, his ghostly eyes rolling around in their yellowing sockets.

Vincent grunted as he started to squeeze the candle, and it began to melt like the thawing of a river upon the first sight of spring. He held his hand up high as the wax dribbled from between each finger, hardening in small pools at his feet. Legion grew quiet as he watched, and soon the house erupted into a roaring silence as the candle finally went out – and the soot covered wick fell to the floor.

The palm of Vincent's hand stayed crusted and black, but he pretended as if nothing had harmed him – as if the crushing of the candle had been an everyday, mundane task. He stepped forward, taking place of the candle he had incinerated – shoving his gaunt face mere inches from the collapsed nose of the man who was once Gustave.

"Now we can speak, creature to creature…except I was crafted by the hands of both Angels and Demons," Vincent snarled, snatching the sagging skin of Legion's neck, slamming his head upon the high back of the chair. "You were made at random, without purpose…it is you who reek of pity. Now you are going to tell me where the girl went…or I will shred this body that you inhabit to pieces. Then where will you go? I think we both know the answer…So speak. Now!"

Legion's face had twisted into a crazed, animalistic countenance of fear. He reached up with parched fingers, trying to tear away Vincent's hold upon his throat – but he could not pull apart the ironclad grip of a scorned monster.

"I…I made him…give her…away," Legion choked out, his clouded eyes bulging from their sockets. "We could not…chance that…she…she might bring him back. We sold her…" Vincent released his grip suddenly, leaving Legion to sputter and cough, with hands that immediately flew to protect his neck. Vincent eyed him dangerously, his eyes seeming to bleed from the reddened and angry glow.

"Who has taken her?" Vincent growled, his wings bending forward, curling around the chair where Legion sat shaking. Erik could not see Legion anymore – he only saw Vincent's impressive figure leaning forward, with glittering ruby wings that now shrouded the room in utter darkness.

"A merchant now owns her. I traded her for these, once filled with enough poison to soil the rest of Gustave's dying heart," Legion flicked his eyes downward to the hundreds of empty glass bottles that sat patient and silent upon the floor.

"What is his name?" Vincent snapped impatiently, emitting a low growl from the deep of his throat. "I wouldn't tarry if I were you – I grow hungry for the thin bits of blood that still course through your veins."

Legion's lips folded inward, and his tongue darted out as if to taste the darkness. "Lucien," he murmured, his eyes glowing with a heretic lunacy. And before Vincent could utter another word, Legion seized his own head with his hands, twisting it violently with a disgusting and echoing crack. The light faded from his eyes as he fell from the chair and into the sea of glass bottles, his head hanging off of a broken neck.

Vincent's wings folded into his back, as the light of the shattered circle danced upon his clouded eyes. "I can see again," he whispered, just as Erik pushed past him to stare at the dead man who had been Christine's father. "He killed himself," Erik stated dryly, looking sadly at the pieces of glass that cradled his body. "I shall never tell this to Christine…it would hurt her too much."

Vincent gave an exasperated sigh. "He pulled me here as a diversion," he explained solemnly to Erik. "She hasn't been here for awhile…it must have taken the spirits at least a day to pull in this much power. I have never been tricked like this before…but somehow, he used an old memory of her to replace her actual whereabouts. Now…I see the real Christine. She is in Paris, Erik…" He slowly lifted his long fingers up to massage his temples.

"Okay, then why haven't you opened a door? Let us go there, big brother! Let us do what we set out to do…she needs us! She needs me…" he trailed off, his golden eyes filled again with a righteous glimmer of hope. Vincent's lips became a thin line, and he ran a hand through his blood encrusted hair.

"Paris is too large of a city, with too many humans running rampant. We cannot risk being seen, Erik…it would be near impossible…"

"No!" Erik stamped his foot indignantly, biting his lip until it bled with dribbles of black. "You said we could correct the imbalance…and we did nothing, here! She is somewhere out there, lost and afraid! Legion told you the name of her…her…slaver! She doesn't deserve this, Vincent…she hasn't done anything wrong!"

Vincent's wings fluttered behind his back. "Erik, it is one thing to appear in the deep of the moors, with no one to witness our presence…but a city? I don't even think father would commit such an ignorant and risky – "

"What has father ever done for us?" Erik cried, his eyes filling with angry tears. "He beats us senseless until we listen, he forbids us to go certain places, and to do certain things without any explanation! And he is the one who dropped me off here, alone, with no one else to turn to! If you hadn't come…I would still be alone! Just like he wanted!"

"Erik," Vincent began, but Erik continued to shout over him. "Christine came to me! She found me, somehow…she was my friend! And she's paying the price for something she didn't even do! We have to return balance to the scales…Legion's death proves that!"

"Fine," Vincent cut in harshly, waving a spindly hand for Erik to stop shouting. "We shall wait another day – the night has almost passed, and we cannot go by daylight…but we shall appear to her when the moon rises amongst the stars. But remember our little secret, brother…after all is said and done, I must wipe her memory."

Erik was silent as he nudged a glass bottle with his boot, staring down into the candlelight. "But why? I don't want her to forget me."

Vincent shook his head, causing white tendrils of long hair to graze the edges of his face. "I've already told you," he said sternly. "I will not continuously repeat myself. Now come, little Erik…I see an old house in the woods, right by the stump where I found you. We shall stay there until the next nightfall." Vincent turned abruptly upon his heel, snatching another candle from the circle before he walked away. Erik followed him tentatively, stealing one more glance at the broken body of Christine's father – who died with a smile upon his yellowed face.

A/N: I am SO thankful to all of my lurkers and my readers. Another chapter is coming soon…And as always, every single comment is so very close to my heart.