The Crow and the Falcon. (Eleven)

Zia lived in a small apartment building with her parents and her grandmother. It was like any other apartment, except for the sitting room with it's large wooden floor space and high ceiling. Two couches lined one corner of the room with a coffee table between them. The television and stereo system sat next to one of the couches, the speakers placed at strategic points around the room to produce maximum effect. A giant painting of a heather covered hill scene covered one of the walls not taken up with the couches, preventing the room from looking too bare. Evening sunlight streaked in through the three high windows on the other bare wall, the sills low and strewn with cushions to make more seating space. Damon's opinion had been that the place would make one hell of a venue for a party. It's main purpose, Zia had informed them, was for her dancing. Her father used to dance professionally, and that was the reason her parents had bought the apartment originally. When her father had retired from professional dancing, they'd considered moving, but their daughter had shown such a passion for dance that they'd decided it best to keep the place. As it was, Mr Thompson had decided to take up teaching it in his spare time, so the place had come in handy.

On the way over, everyone had insisted that they should at least phone the police with an anonymous tip to find the body, and Damon had finally relented, putting the call in at a phone box a mile from Zia's place. Now the group were sitting in a circle of beanbags in the middle of the floor. Zia's grandmother had gone through a period of buying the things, and now they littered various parts of the room. A strange subdued silence had fallen over them all.

"You're sure that's what they looked like?" Adam asked in a strangled voice.

"Positive." Damon nodded. "Why?"

"Sounds like Bruce and Lydia."

"Very much like them." Cookie agreed, the colour gone from her cheeks.

"But how? I never suspected they had it in them to do this." Zia whispered.

"As I've said, they were talking to /something/." Damon repeated. "I don't think they're doing it alone. They're in league with someone."

"That's supposed to make us feel any better?" Adam snapped. "We're /related/ to these guys."

Damon shrugged indifferently, earning a chastising look from his brother.

"I realise this makes it harder on you." Stefan said. "And you have the option of staying out of this if you want. It's not fair to put you through this."

"No. We're in." Cookie said, quiet, but firm. "The fact that we're related means we have to. Responsibility. We deal with our own."

"Okay. If you're sure." Stefan nodded. "So, we know whose doing it, even if we're not sure why. At least we're getting /somewhere/ now. What next? Do we confront them? Or do we see what they do next?"

"I say we find out what that Power is they have lurking round them." Damon suggested. "Then we'll know what we're up against."

"I agree." Cookie sided with Damon.

"So how do we do it?" Mike asked.

"Jess, go get me a candle and matches, would you please?" Cookie requested, licking her lips.

"Ah ha." Stefan said, lip quirking. "She's doing druidy things it seems."

"Witchy things, actually."

"What sort of 'witchy' things, dare I enquire?" Damon asked.

"I'm gonna use my gift." She grinned at him.

"With a candle." Damon said flatly, eyes wary. "Well, I think I'll leave. Bad things happen with psychics and candles, and it almost always causes trouble for me." He said, moving to get up as Jess returned with matches, the candle and a holder.

"Sit down, Damon." Stefan sighed. "We're already /in/ trouble. This can't make it any worse."

"If the pair of you would shut up, I could concentrate better." The witch said, shooting the pair of them a withering glance. Damon sat down again, scowling.

"So what /are/ you going to do?" Stefan asked as she put the candle in the holder on the floor and lit a match. "Bonnie used to get taken over by the dead when she did this."

Cookie shot him an odd look. "Perhaps she hadn't got full control of her Powers, then." She suggested, holding the match to the wick, then shaking the flame out. The candle flame shrunk a little before growing into the full yellow tear of fire. Zia shut the heavy drapes to shut out the sunlight, and the candle flame lit everyone with an eerie glow. "Fire," She said, "Is age old, primal, hypnotic. It sparks something in the soul, mesmerising it with it's beauty, holding it both in fear and awe with it's destructive ability, it's hunger for fuel. It provides us with warmth to survive, but it can also take it away from us if it gets out of control. It is truly a force of nature.

"Fire is also a method of divining. Stare into the flames of a fire long enough, and, as the real world fades, you'll see things, images, visions. As I've said, fire hypnotises you, puts you into a trance, a level of consciousness where you are open to receiving images and messages. You can learn things, things of importance, things that you need to know. Places, people, things."

"Excuse me, this lecture on fire is very interesting, but how is it going to help us get the exact information we want?" Damon inquired sceptically.

"Bonnie found me using a similar method. Apparently she was inside my mind." Stefan pointed out. Damon shut up.

"Remind me to thank Bonnie if I ever meet her." Cookie muttered. "If she can shut him up, she must be one hell of a girl." Stefan bit back a laugh. "To answer your question, Damon, I intend to do something /similar/ to what Bonnie did with Stefan. But I don't want to get /that/ close. I don't know what, if anything, is lurking round them. The last thing we need is that on a rampage, or Bruce and Lydia knowing we know."

"Sounds sensible." Stefan said. "Shall we get on with it?"

"In a minute." Cookie said, turning to Adam. "I don't want you here when I do this. You know them too well, and I don't want to be distracted if you explode over something. Sorry."

"Fine." Adam looked almost relieved. "I'll be in the kitchen. I'll make you a sandwich or something for when you finish."

"That'd be great." Cookie smiled, then turned back to the candle. She waited until Adam had closed the kitchen door, then closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths. When she opened them again, she was staring directly into the candle. Everyone else was watching her with fascination. Her eyes glazed over, and she began to breath more rapidly.

"You okay?" Jess whispered, concerned.

"I see an attic." Cookie spoke softly, not hearing Jess. "It's raining hard. It's jumbled, disjointed. Like a dream."

"Is it a dream?" Damon asked.

Cookie shook her head a little. "No. I think...I think they're memories of some kind. It's a little like waking up, the disorientation. There's blood, and fire. A candle, I think. The haziness is clearing now. Two people. They're sitting on the floor. I'm inside a chalk circle, they're outside it. A boy and a girl. The boy is holding his hand. It looks like he's cut it." Cookie frowned. "They're Bruce and Lydia. Why are they outside a circle? What have they done?" She whimpered a little, and stopped talking to them, breathing becoming faster, more ragged.

"Cookie?" Jess asked again. "You alright, hun?"

"No!" Cookie jerked suddenly, then slumped down on the floor. "Idiots. Stupid, stupid idiots." She moaned. Zia pulled back the drapes to let light it while Mike helped Cookie sit upright.

"What happened?" Stefan asked, pinching the candle flame out with his fingers.

"I know what they've done." Cookie said wearily. "They summoned something up. Some kind of spirit, a bad spirit. They wanted Power. Only it was tricky. They didn't realise that they had it's Power while it was trapped in their circle. It persuaded them to break the circle, telling them it was the only way. And when they did, it went in to them."

"So that's what they were talking to." Damon mused.

"If we want to do anything with them, we have to get rid of that thing." Cookie's voice was shaking. "And we have to do it soon. They're planning something, only the spirit's plans don't stop there. It wants to have a life. That's why they're taking Lifeforce. Whether or not they know that..." Cookie trailed off. "If that thing gets a body of it's own, it spells big trouble. We /have/ to stop it. We have to banish it."

"So do we send it back to where it came from?" Jess asked.

Cookie shook her head. "No. That would be too difficult. I say we let it dissipate. The thing can't survive out of a it's own place, or out of a body."

"What about the circle?" Mike frowned.

"It had Bruce's blood. It survived off that." She sighed. "The fools. Blood can attract bad things if you don't know what you're doing."

"Excuse me for saying so, but I think that was what they wanted." Damon pointed out.

"That makes this even worse to deal with. I just don't know /why/ they want to do this. I can't see why /anyone/ would want to do this." She sighed, and slumped back into her beanbag.

The kitchen door opened, and Adam poked his head through. "Finished?" He checked, before coming through the door with a tray of drinks and snacks. Cookie gratefully nibbled on a sandwich.

"Thanks." She said.

"Find anything out?"

"Oh yeah." Cookie replied bitterly, and told him.

"I think we should tell mom." He said finally. The others stared at him. "Hey, she'll believe us. She knows a lot more about this kind of thing than even Cookie does. I for one would feel better if we had an adult on our side. Adults have experience."

"Compared to five hundred years of my life?" Damon grinned.

"You know what I mean." Adam rolled his eyes. "Despite all the time you've lived, you're still kids at heart, right?"

Stefan sighed. "Rather knowledgeable and world weary kids, but yeah, you're right. I think you have a point. Maybe we /should/ involve your mother. If you think it'll help."

"Fine." Cookie shrugged. "I'll talk with her this evening. I'm not moving at the moment, though."

"Until then, why don't we watch the news." Zia suggested. "They might have something on there about the third kid."

"Must we?" Mike moaned.

"I think we should at least find out who it is." Zia glared at him, switching the TV set on.

'/The town officials of Redditch have declared it an emergency situation this evening as police found the body of the third victim of what looks like a serial killer on the rampage. Police were tipped by an anonymous phone call to the location of the body, who has been identified as nineteen year old Neil Cooper, a college student returning home for a short break. Once again, the police have no leads, and are anxious for the young man who phoned them to identify himself. If has any information, /please/ call in on this hotline./'

Zia switched the set off, and perched on the edge of one of the couches. "That's Claire Cooper's older brother." She whispered numbly. "She's the year below us, and does dance after school with my group. She's one of the sweetest things. And Neil was a great guy, too. He used to drive some of us home after the lessons, didn't even ask for gas money. Just did it out of the kindness of his heart." Her voice choked a little. "He did it to make sure nothing like that ever happened to any of us. Look where it got him." The tears spilled over and fell down her cheeks, and Mike rushed over, holding her tightly and rocking her gently.

"We have to stop them." Cookie said, determination in her voice.

"Don't worry. we will." Damon assured her, voice as cold as ice. "One way or another, we'll stop them.

~*~

Bruce paced across Lydia's bedroom floor, fist pressed against his mouth. He was nervous. "Why now? We've only taken three Lifeforces; they can't be enough yet. Why so soon?"

/Three are plenty enough and more for what you desire./

Bruce frowned suspiciously. "I was led to understand your needs came first?"

/This will be aiding my needs. To much attention has been drawn to this. There are.../beings/ here that suspect. They may even know you. They can stop you. It is safer to do what it is you came to do, then move on./

"What beings?"

The voice was reluctant. /Killers. Creatures of the Night./

"Why would /they/ stop us?" Lydia asked from her bed. She was confused.

/Let us just say that are...territorial. They stake their claim on a place, and don't like other predators intruding./

Lydia sighed, annoyed. "It won't look good if we move on." She said.

/We will wait a few weeks. Until the fuss dies down, until the towns people are no longer suspicious of even their own neighbours. Then we shall move on./ It assured them.

"Where?" She asked, pouting.

"To the city. It's so big that no one will be as bothered or shocked about the killings. And there'll be less chance of finding the killers there." Bruce smirked.

/You speak sense. You are learning./ The voice rasped out it's dry laugh. Bruce grew even more smug at the compliment, causing Lydia to scowl, then turn away and sulk.

"When do we do the spell?" Bruce asked.

/Tonight. Now. As soon as you have prepared for it, gathered the implements./

"They're all here." Lydia sniffed, hooking a bag out from under her bed with her foot. "I made sure we had them before we started the killings."

/Good. Very good./ This time it was Lydia's turn to be smug.

"Where are we doing it?" Bruce asked.

/Here. It is the best place to ensure success./

"Isn't that a bit dangerous? Are you sure we wouldn't be better somewhere else? Somewhere we won't easily be discovered?"

/You question my judgement? Here is safe enough. Close enough for the spell to work./ The voice was angry.

"I'm sorry." Bruce said meekly. "I was just worried."

/Don't be. Now, turn out the lamp and light the candles./ Bruce did this, and Lydia pulled back the large rug from the wooden floor. /Excellent. Lydia, you draw the circle, and do exactly as I tell you. It could be very...bad for you if this goes wrong./ The two followed the voice's directions. They were nervous, frightened. But a desire for vengeance burning from deep inside drove them on, and the thought that they would fail brought greater fear to them than the spell itself. All the while, the voice laughed quietly in the back of their minds, so quiet that they almost thought they were imagining it. Almost.

~*~

Abigail Tate was working in the bottom shed when Cookie eventually found her late that evening.

"Mom?" She asked, sliding in the door and perching on a stool in front of the wooden bench.

"What, honey?" Her mother replied, looking up from the pestle and mortar and smiling at her daughter. Cookie had often perched here as a child, watching Abigail work with her herbs, learning what they were called, what they did. It made her feel safe. Her mother made her feel safe. Somehow her mother made things right. Just being here eased her heart. Still, telling it was going to be difficult.

"I have a problem." She said, chewing her lip.

"What's that?" Abigail pulled up a stool of her own, and sat on it, facing her daughter, sweeping her long, hazel hair out of her face.

"It's kind of about Bruce and Lydia."

Abigail sighed, her face troubled, almost sad. "Oh, honey. I know you don't like them, but they're having so many problems at home right now. Try and live with it."

"It's not that, mom." Cookie said hurriedly. "They're up to something."

"You always think that. Your imagination is overworking." There was no malice in her words.

"No. It's true. They..." She trailed off, miserable and lost.

"They what?"

"They're the ones killing the kids." Her voice came out in a squeaky whisper.

"How can you think that of them? They may not be perfect, but they're still your cousins." Abigail frowned, annoyed.

"I didn't think it of them. It was the last thing I suspected. Someone saw them." Cookie protested.

Her mother tensed up. "Some people like to stir trouble." She said finally. "They're probably making it up. No one here knows them well enough. They're strangers, and people are distrusting of strangers."

"Mom!" Cookie cried. "This is the truth. He wouldn't lie."

"You know him?"

"A new guy from school."

"And you trust his word? But honey, you can't know him that well."

"I trust Damon with my life. He wouldn't lie, he has no reason to. Not about this. He doesn't do things unless he has something to gain from it. Most of the time."

"So this Damon, he saw Bruce and Lydia kill someone?"

"Neil Cooper. If you can't believe me on trust, then believe me on proof. He knew about Neil hours before they announced it. How could he know that if he didn't see it."

"Oh Cookie. You believe a stranger's words over your cousins? For all you know, he could be the one."

"No." Cookie shook her head firmly. "I've seen his soul. It wasn't him. I /know/ it wasn't him." She swallowed before continuing. "And...I used my gift."

"You invaded your cousins minds? I thought I taught you better than that." Abigail was shocked.

"No mom!" She hadn't, not to Bruce and Lydia. But she had to Damon, and her mother's words stung. "No, I didn't do that. I just asked for images. And it's bad."

Abigail slumped. "They really did it? You're sure?"

"Yes, mom." Her breath caught. She had to convince her mother. She /had/ to.

"But why? How could my flesh and blood do such an evil thing?"

"Damon knew why, and what I saw confirms it. I think some of my dreams do, too." With that, the story poured out. Or most of it. She didn't have the right to reveal Stefan and Damon's secret, not if she didn't have to, and so she kept quiet. "You see, mom, they're in it over their heads, and it's too deep for us to stop. We need you." She finished finally. "What they're dealing with is evil, it wants death and destruction. Please. Help us."

Abigail's breathing was ragged. She was furious. "I'll do something. I promise." She said firmly, looking into her daughter's eyes. A weight that Cookie hadn't realised was there was suddenly lifted. She wasn't responsible any more, she realised. She didn't have to take charge. The relief was immense.

"What are you going to do?" Cookie asked, fearful Abigail would confront the pair.

"I'm not going to go to Bruce and Lydia. Stop worrying about that." She reached over and squeezed Cookie's hand reassuringly. "I'm going to call your Granny Tate, and your dad's sister. They'll help, and we should be able to beat it together. Especially if you help."

"I will." Cookie nodded. "I feel kind of responsible, so I'm going to help."

"I'm glad." Her mother smiled, slipping off the stool and pulling Cookie with her. "Come on. We'll go call your Gran now."

They made it as far as the garden path before Abigail's hands flew to her head and her face contorted in pain.

"Mom? Are you okay?"

"Am...ambulance..." Her mother choked out before collapsing to the ground.

"Mom!" Cookie screamed in pure fear, falling on her knees next to the unconscious form of her mother. "Mom! Answer me." Frantically she felt for a pulse. "Mom, don't leave me. /Please/ don't leave me." Finding her mother's faint heart beat, she raced as fast as possible into the house, tears streaming down her face. Her hands trembling, she dialled 911, and prayed they would get there soon.

~*~

Stefan felt helpless as he watched Cookie sitting by the bed, holding her mother's hand. Abigail Tate was wired up to countless machines. Machines that were keeping her alive. Human fragility sometimes scared Stefan a lot. He'd arrived half an hour previously with Adam. He didn't know how to tell her.

"Cookie?" He whispered, wetting his lips. She turned her head slightly, but didn't face him. "Is it okay if I come in?"

"Sure." She said mutely. "Do what you want."

He walked over to her and gently put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Cookie." He winced as she shrugged, her shoulders slumping even further after. "Cookie. We brought Adam in, too." It came out in a rush.

Her head flew up. "What?" She whispered, fear in her voice.

"He collapsed. At Zia's. I drove him here as fast as I could..."

"No." The protestation was no louder than a whisper, but the anger and pain he felt washing from her was as forceful as a slap in the face.

"I'm sorry." He said again.

"No!" She screamed this time, standing up suddenly, turning to face him. He expected the slaps and the punches when they came. He fended them away from his face gently, but didn't stop her. She needed to let it out somehow, and it didn't hurt him, not much. Compared to the pain she was feeling it was nothing. She tired out after a minute or so, and fell to the floor, body shaking with sobs.

He knelt down beside her, pulling her close. "Let it out." He whispered sadly. "Don't be ashamed to let it out." He said softly, gently stroking wisps of blue hair from her tear streaked face. She clung on, as if for dear life, and he sat there, rocking her, telling her it would be okay. But inside, he worried, frightened that things wouldn't be alright again. All he could do was hope.