"It's driving me out of my mind
That's why it's hard for me to find
Can't get it outta my head
Miss her, kiss her, love her, wrong move you're dead"
"Poison" -Bell Biv Devoe
03 December 1999
Paris, France
K&K Hotel Cayré
"I can't believe you told her. What in hell's name were you thinking?" O'Banian hurled. She paced the suite, arms crossed over her chest, fury in her step. It was mid morning and no one had had much sleep. "And just to make it more interestin', you've managed to alert Michael Walker that we're after him. Very nice, Vincent, you couldn't have orchestrated a better balls-up if you'd tried. Again, I ask ye, what the hell where you thinkin?"
Sophie was in the shower. She had spent an enthralled night, watching them all goggle-eyed, reminding herself over and over again that some of these people were thousands of years old. At times she had to pinch herself.
Then O'Banian had come back and all hell broke loose. O'Banian, angry, tired and hurting, both physically and emotionally, had vented her temper on Sophie. Surprisingly, Sophie had more than held her own. Locke had watched her, completely enthralled, which did nothing to improve the Irishwoman's mood. Finally, just as the rest were sure it was about to come to blows, Locke had stepped in, dispatching Sophie to the shower and giving O'Banian a new target for her anger.
The Blacks had run for cover downstairs in the hotel restaurant, taking Angela Carson with them. Erik Frost, Sergei Tuppankovich and Maria Giovanni were all still in their rooms. Locke sat on the arm of a chair, watching O'Banian pace.
"I wasn't really thinking..."
"Yeah, you were, just not with your head," David MacBane offered, snickering.
Locke shot him a dark look. "It's not like that. Sophie is a friend, nothing more."
MacBane and Tokawa's eyes met, both exploding into laughter. O'Banian silenced them with a scowl, then turned back to Locke.
"I hope you realise what you've done, the danger you've put her in? If she dies, it will be on your head."
"How can she die?" he asked. "I'm going to take her home and that will be the end of it." The thought tripled his heartbeat. He didn't want that to be the end of it. He wanted to see her again.
"You can't do that, Vincent," Faaris rumbled from across the room. He had been listening to the conversation but not joining in. He, too, was angry. For a man who had been alive for four hundred years, sometimes Vincent Locke showed the maturity of a fifteen-year-old. "She knows about us and it won't be long before the Hunters know about her. Until this is dealt with, she has to stay here."
"I don't think she's going to like that," Locke offered, his voice somber. Damnit, why was I so stupid? Why didn't I just tell her it was none of her business and send her on her way?
"Well, Vincent, I don't like it. But there isn't a hell of a lot that can be done about it now, is there?" O'Banian hissed, leaning close. "You made the bed, you lie in it."
MacBane and Tokawa dissolved into laughter again. "I think that what Vincent have in mind," Tokawa offered through his laughter.
Locke stood. "You two are so - juvenile." The two Immortals looked at each other - and roared. Locke shook his head and moved to the bedroom and the adjoining suite. He knocked on the door discreetly. "Sophie?"
"I'll be out in a minute," came her voice. It had a soft French accent.
On their way back to the hotel, Locke had discovered that she wasn't actually French, but French Canadian, from Chicoutimi. She was in Paris to study fashion design. Her studies were almost over, she had told him, after which she would be heading back to North America. To Toronto, or Vancouver, or perhaps even New York. Locke had warmed at the thought of her moving to New York.
The opening of the bathroom door broke his reverie and Locke turned to find Sophie staring at him. She was wrapped in the fluffy housecoat the hotel provided, her hair hanging wet and her face bare of makeup. Locke looked at her and gulped. It took him a full ten seconds of uhming and ahing to remember what he had come in for, but finally he got around to it.
As anticipated, Sophie did not take the news well. "What do you mean I have to stay here? I have a home, you know."
Locke sighed. "Yes, I know. But there are...complications."
"What sort of complications?"
Briefly, he told her about the Watchers and about Hunters. She looked at him wide-eyed and slowly sat on the bed. "This just keeps getting more and more bizarre."
"I'm sorry I got you into this, Sophie," Locke offered. "If I could change that, I would. But understand, I will look after you. I will make sure these Hunters don't come anywhere near you. I promise. And once it's all over, you can go back to your life and need never have to worry about Immortals again."
She stared at him. "What? You can't really expect me to go on and live a normal life after this? After what you've told me? Vincent, I will never look at someone quite the same again. I will always wonder if they are Immortal, or if they are a Watcher. I can't just pretend I don't know."
Locke nodded. "Well, the Watchers at least are easy enough to spot. They wear a tattoo. Here." He pointed to the inside of his wrist.
A funny look came over Sophie's face. "What sort of tattoo?" she asked in a whisper.
"It's blue, round. With sort of a V in the middle."
Sophie swallowed shallowly and reached for her purse on the bed beside her. "Like this?" She pulled a photo from her wallet and handed it to him. It showed her, probably a few years younger than she was now. In the picture, she and an older man were on a beach, leis around their necks and frothy drinks in their hands. The man's arm was raised, clearly showing a Watcher tattoo on the inside of his left wrist. Locke looked at her, astonished.
"That's my father," she told him hoarsely.
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"The only way this could get worse would be to find out that this place is hosting a bloody Sinn Fein convention," O'Banian muttered, shaking her head. "Of all the people in Paris, Vincent, you had to go and get yerself latched up with the daughter of a Watcher?" she asked incredulously. "What did ya do, take out an ad?"
"You know what this means, don't you?" Marton Razumov offered from the corner. He turned and regarded them all. "If we truly believe in what we are doing. That all Watchers and their families need to be eradicated..." He let the sentence falter, his eyes on Vincent Locke.
"No!" Locke's voice was firm. "She is not to be touched, do you hear me?" He rose from his chair, unsheathing his sword as he moved. "Harm her in any way and I will take your head."
Marton Razumov found himself staring down the long sharp steel of Vincent's blade. He hesitated a moment, then palmed it aside. "I never suggested that I would harm the girl. I just was pointing out that having her here is against what we are fighting for."
The two Immortals eyed each other for a long, uncomfortable moment. "If she gets so much as a paper cut, Razumov, I'll be asking you why," Locke seethed. Razumov shrugged noncommittally and Locke removed the blade.
"So, where do we go from here?" Erik Frost asked. "Hunters are rampant throughout Paris. I doubt any of us will live through anymore of David Ashton or Darren Dublin's warnings. And now we have the daughter of a Watcher to add to our numbers."
All eyes turned to O'Banian.
"Don't look at me," she responded. "I'm fast runnin' out of answers."
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04 December 1999
Paris, France
16 Place Charles de Gaulle
"Ya know," quipped Dublin as he handed the toolbox up to Ashton, "choosin' a mansion right in the middle of a busy Paris business district wasn't the best idea you've ever had."
The Minoan scowled down at his friend as he flipped open the box and selected the tools he wanted. "It wasn't that way when I bought the place. It was quite different back then." He tapped lightly at a spot with a hammer. "As I'm sure you remember, you scoundrel."
Dublin grinned and gave a sidelong glance to Ambrose Barron who stood next to him. "Got to keep the old man humble somehow, right?"
"I'm sure," replied Barron. "And I gather he does the same to you."
Dublin shrugged. "It's a give and take game."
"And just what, may I ask, are we doing?" inquired Barron.
"Well," answered Ashton from the attic above them. "As our Irish friend has so sharply observed, this place is not hard to find. The Hunters are sure to attack it at some point. We are simply making ready for that time."
"Setting up a few surprises for them," clarified Dublin.
"This isn't some of that Special Forces type of surprises like the kind you told me you fellows used to set up in Vietnam, is it?" pressed Barron.
"Exactly that kind," said Ashton. "We'll just have to make sure the house staff know where they all are so they don't accidently set one of them off."
"That would be a shame," commented Barron. "I would hate for you to lose Mr. McFarland to such nastiness. I've become quite a fan of his skills in the kitchen of late."
"Don't worry, Ambrose," assured Dublin. "We're both old hands at this sort of thing. Come with me. You can help me with the second floor."
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05 December 1999
Paris, France
K&K Hotel Cayré
That evening, they ordered out and had it delivered to the room. They had all assembled by this point, including the ones missing that morning - namely Angela Carson, who had spent the day shopping; Sergei Tuppankovich, who had been out snooping around; the Blacks who had been secretly trying to book a flight to Iceland; and Maria Giovanni, who refused to say where exactly she had been.
The silence of the room was interrupted by a knock on the door. Everyone froze. O'Banian looked over at Faaris and nodded. They both rose, O'Banian pulling a gun, Faaris his shamshir. Once at the door they hesitated, then O'Banian opened it. A smiling deliveryman stood on the other side.
"Excuses. Le restaurant a négligé pour livrer votre apéritif." (My apologies. The restaurant neglected to deliver your appetizer.)
He held out a cardboard bucket. O'Banian relaxed and took the proffered item, passing it back to Omeir, who passed it along to Vincent.
"Merci," O'Banian told the man, closing the door.
He gave her a brilliant smile. "Encore, mes excuses." (Again, my apologies.)
The door closed and O'Banian returned to the suite.
Locke placed the delivery on the table and attempted to remove the lid.
"Here, let me," Sophie told him. "You're all thumbs." She nudged him aside and slid her fingernail along the edge of the lid with a well-practised flare. Then she popped the lid.
And screamed.
They were all on their feet at once, moving as one toward the table.
Locke glanced at the bucket and immediately grabbed Sophie by the shoulders, turning her toward him. He pulled her close to his chest, wrapping his arms around her and burying her face into his sweater so that she wouldn't have to look at the severed head of Payton Swift.
Sophie continued to scream for a long, long time.
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06 December 1999
Winchester, England
From: P02
To: Honnecker, Maximillian
Subject: Possible Hunter Sighting in Paris
General Honnecker,
I have just received word from one of my field agents that Tammy Ochoa, a suspected Hunter, has been sighted in Paris. Our orders to our agents has been to not engage suspected Hunters, only to report their activities.
Ochoa is one of about twenty Watchers that we suspect of being involved in Hunter activities. She was seen yesterday afternoon entering a house located at 43 Rue Auguste Neveu, 92500 Rueil-Malmaison. She remained there the entire evening. Others were present at the house but the agent was not able to identify them.
I hope this information will be of use to you.
Godspeed,
PO2
"Ah," said Honnecker, as he finished reading the brief email. "Now this could be a nice break." After viewing the picture of Ochoa attached to the email, he hit forward on the message and typed in Ashton's address.
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07 December 1999
Paris, France
Le Marais Apartments
O'Banian hated loose strings and the three families still residing at the Marais apartments had annoyed her since the night Omeir Faaris's team had been ambushed. This time, though, she would cut those strings.
Serves them right for still being in Paris after all this time anyway, she thought.
This time they came in force. Three groups came prepared to take down the three apartments. O'Banian led Bilsby, LeFitte, and Tuppankovich against Juan Santos's family. James MacNaughton, Omeir Faaris, Ruth Okin, and Dasmius Mikal would hit Marta Ljevaja's apartment. Finally, Vincent Locke, David MacBane, Taiki Tokowa, and Julian Black would hit the apartment of Brad Rushton. Three of the five families of the Saint-Vincent church battle would die today.
They used the same tactic Ruth Okin used to enter the Dansereau family's apartment, claiming to be delivery men. With one major exception. When the doors opened, the teams surged through them, their suppressed weapons firing. There was no questioning of family members, no gathering them into a group in one room, the slaughter began immediately. In each instance, it was over in less than a minute. An entire family lay sprawled and bleeding out on the thick carpeted floor. The Council members checked each room for survivors and, finding none, hid their weapons beneath their clothing and left the building as silently as they had come.
