Title: Fuel to the Fire
Author: Nimue Redfern
Email: bloodoftin@yahoo.co.uk
Spoilers: Night World, all books and basic concepts
Disclaimers: Recognised characters and concepts of the Night World series belong to LJS and are being used for fun only. Any unrecognised characters and plotlines are mine.
Rating: pg-13 (some language, not much)
Summary: Xalaria wakes up with no memories, alarmed to find people want her dead, others think it's good she has amnesia. She must find out what happened and why before disaster occurs.
Notes: feedback appreciated.
Part 1
"As far as I'm concerned, it's a *good* thing."
"Are you *insane?* Do you know who that is?"
The girl heard the voice clear enough, one male, one female. The words, though, didn't make sense. The girl seemed angsty, the boy callous and dismissive. What the big deal was, she really didn't know.
Her eyes were fluttering again, the darkness closing her in, trying to swallow her up. Some dark emptiness she had been fighting against for the last hour or so. Now she had finally made it to the light she didn't want to let go.
"Listen," the guy again. "She came to for a few minutes the other day. She doesn't even remember what her name is."
She had a vague recollection of that - calling out in alarm at the sudden discovery she didn't know who she was. How could that *be* - just waking up one day and not remembering who you were? Freaky didn't even begin to describe the way she was feeling.
"How does that benefit us? They'll be *looking* for her."
"And we convince her she's one of us and not one of them."
One of who? She had no idea what the hell was going on. She tried to take in her surroundings. A large bedroom, picture windows, big wooden writing desk, large matching chest of draws and wardrobe, along with beside tables with gold lamps on. A real chandelier was hanging from the ceiling. Someone rich owned this house.
She struggled out of bed and wandered over to the picture windows, looking out onto nicely manicured lines below. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window. Her skin seemed unnaturally white with an almost pasty glow to it, there were dark circles under her hazel eyes, smoky black hair cascaded around her shoulders. That's me? she thought, turning away with a shudder.
She paced around, not really knowing what else to do with herself. The voices she had heard earlier seemed to have stopped talking now. Had she heard them at all, she wondered.
Oh God, this was an absolute *nightmare*. She opened the door, peering out into the hallway. Even if she did leave, where, exactly, could se go? Maybe if I start exploring then I'll find something, a landmark or a face I might recognise.
With a deep breath, she slipped out of the room and down the hallway. Nothing was familiar. The same wealthy décor as in her room was everywhere. She made her way cautiously down a staircase.
Across the entrance hall she could see the front door, an unusual stained glass design of a black rose stood out. The black rose sent a chill down her spine she didn't understand. Wandering aimlessly she still hadn't seen any *people* yet. They can't all have disappeared or just not *be* here, she thought absently.
"Hey!"
A slightly surprised and angry voice to her left got her attention. She turned to see a pretty blonde girl giving her an incredibly dirty glare. "This is *my* ground," she hissed angrily. "My assignment."
"Excuse me? Who are you?"
The blonde girl laughed harshly. "You're kidding me, right?"
She gestured helplessly. "No."
The blonde peered at her critically. "Do you even know your own name?"
"No." She averted her eyes quickly, feeling ashamed.
"I don't fucking believe this,. So-called top of the crop and she doesn't even know her own name." Her tone was cruel - and amused.
She knew immediately she didn't like this girl. From the sound of it, this girl was up to no good here. "Who *are* you?" She wouldn't ask the blonde who she herself was. She doubted the answer she'd get would be the truth.
"It's not important." The blonde walked away with a satisfied smirk.
With a sigh she waited a few minutes, then walked in, peering into each lavishly decorated room she passed.
"Yes Sir, it's Xalaria Redfern, we're certain of it." She paused at a set of double doors, hearing the same female voice that had been outside her room.
Is that my name? Xalaria Redfern? She thought. How odd.
"And according to Quinn she has amnesia." A different male voice, calm with a note of authority.
"Yes. He seems to think of it as a benefit to us."
"You, I think he might be right."
"I still think it's dangerous and wrong to manipulate someone's mind. Even a bitch like her."
Xalaria was embarrassed, getting the uncomfortable impression she wasn't well-liked here. It clearly wasn't her regular home. She was at a total loss what to do, and could feel hot tears burning her eyes.
"We should have killed them all." The girl again. Harsh and cold.
"Who else escaped?"
"Sharlene Weald and Ricco Blackthorn."
"Damn. I guess there's a team hunting them?"
"Yes. Jez and Morgead are hunting them even as we speak."
"Good. When Xalaria comes to, send her to me. Then *I'll* decide what we do with her. *You* are not to do anything."
There was a couple of minutes of tense silence.
"Rashel, do you understand? You are *not* to hurt her."
"Yes, Sir." Forced politeness.
Xalaria hurried away. She took several deep breaths, then sat on the bottom of the stairs, head in her hands.
"Xalaria, what are you doing here?"
Xalaria looked up, seeing a gorgeous Asian-American boy in front of her. Unlike the mean blonde, or 'Rashel', his tone held concern, and something else - hope, maybe? Large dark eyes studied her.
"I don't know," she admitted, tired of sounding like a broken record. "Who are you?"
The boy blinked in surprise. "I heard a rumour they'd found an assassin with no memory. I never imagined it would be you."
Assassin? That didn't sound too appealing to Xalaria. Didn't assassins kill people for a living?
Xalaria looked at him, beginning to wish she had given into unconsciousness earlier. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
The boy smiled dryly. "Of course you wouldn't." His expression was becoming sly and calculating.
Xalaria threw her hands up. "This is getting annoying. I can't get a fucking straight answer!"
"It's kind of awkward. Technically, you're one of the bad guys."
"What, and you're one of the good guys and we had something going for a while but decided because of our separate loyalties not to pursue it?"
The boy blinked. "Good for someone with amnesia."
Xalaria stood up. "Can you at least tell me your name?"
"Tristan Abforth."
Didn't mean anything to Xalaria. So she was stuck in some war between good-guys and bad guys. It sounded kind of amusing. Finding out what was going was going to be - well - extremely interesting.
* * *
Author: Nimue Redfern
Email: bloodoftin@yahoo.co.uk
Spoilers: Night World, all books and basic concepts
Disclaimers: Recognised characters and concepts of the Night World series belong to LJS and are being used for fun only. Any unrecognised characters and plotlines are mine.
Rating: pg-13 (some language, not much)
Summary: Xalaria wakes up with no memories, alarmed to find people want her dead, others think it's good she has amnesia. She must find out what happened and why before disaster occurs.
Notes: feedback appreciated.
Part 1
"As far as I'm concerned, it's a *good* thing."
"Are you *insane?* Do you know who that is?"
The girl heard the voice clear enough, one male, one female. The words, though, didn't make sense. The girl seemed angsty, the boy callous and dismissive. What the big deal was, she really didn't know.
Her eyes were fluttering again, the darkness closing her in, trying to swallow her up. Some dark emptiness she had been fighting against for the last hour or so. Now she had finally made it to the light she didn't want to let go.
"Listen," the guy again. "She came to for a few minutes the other day. She doesn't even remember what her name is."
She had a vague recollection of that - calling out in alarm at the sudden discovery she didn't know who she was. How could that *be* - just waking up one day and not remembering who you were? Freaky didn't even begin to describe the way she was feeling.
"How does that benefit us? They'll be *looking* for her."
"And we convince her she's one of us and not one of them."
One of who? She had no idea what the hell was going on. She tried to take in her surroundings. A large bedroom, picture windows, big wooden writing desk, large matching chest of draws and wardrobe, along with beside tables with gold lamps on. A real chandelier was hanging from the ceiling. Someone rich owned this house.
She struggled out of bed and wandered over to the picture windows, looking out onto nicely manicured lines below. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window. Her skin seemed unnaturally white with an almost pasty glow to it, there were dark circles under her hazel eyes, smoky black hair cascaded around her shoulders. That's me? she thought, turning away with a shudder.
She paced around, not really knowing what else to do with herself. The voices she had heard earlier seemed to have stopped talking now. Had she heard them at all, she wondered.
Oh God, this was an absolute *nightmare*. She opened the door, peering out into the hallway. Even if she did leave, where, exactly, could se go? Maybe if I start exploring then I'll find something, a landmark or a face I might recognise.
With a deep breath, she slipped out of the room and down the hallway. Nothing was familiar. The same wealthy décor as in her room was everywhere. She made her way cautiously down a staircase.
Across the entrance hall she could see the front door, an unusual stained glass design of a black rose stood out. The black rose sent a chill down her spine she didn't understand. Wandering aimlessly she still hadn't seen any *people* yet. They can't all have disappeared or just not *be* here, she thought absently.
"Hey!"
A slightly surprised and angry voice to her left got her attention. She turned to see a pretty blonde girl giving her an incredibly dirty glare. "This is *my* ground," she hissed angrily. "My assignment."
"Excuse me? Who are you?"
The blonde girl laughed harshly. "You're kidding me, right?"
She gestured helplessly. "No."
The blonde peered at her critically. "Do you even know your own name?"
"No." She averted her eyes quickly, feeling ashamed.
"I don't fucking believe this,. So-called top of the crop and she doesn't even know her own name." Her tone was cruel - and amused.
She knew immediately she didn't like this girl. From the sound of it, this girl was up to no good here. "Who *are* you?" She wouldn't ask the blonde who she herself was. She doubted the answer she'd get would be the truth.
"It's not important." The blonde walked away with a satisfied smirk.
With a sigh she waited a few minutes, then walked in, peering into each lavishly decorated room she passed.
"Yes Sir, it's Xalaria Redfern, we're certain of it." She paused at a set of double doors, hearing the same female voice that had been outside her room.
Is that my name? Xalaria Redfern? She thought. How odd.
"And according to Quinn she has amnesia." A different male voice, calm with a note of authority.
"Yes. He seems to think of it as a benefit to us."
"You, I think he might be right."
"I still think it's dangerous and wrong to manipulate someone's mind. Even a bitch like her."
Xalaria was embarrassed, getting the uncomfortable impression she wasn't well-liked here. It clearly wasn't her regular home. She was at a total loss what to do, and could feel hot tears burning her eyes.
"We should have killed them all." The girl again. Harsh and cold.
"Who else escaped?"
"Sharlene Weald and Ricco Blackthorn."
"Damn. I guess there's a team hunting them?"
"Yes. Jez and Morgead are hunting them even as we speak."
"Good. When Xalaria comes to, send her to me. Then *I'll* decide what we do with her. *You* are not to do anything."
There was a couple of minutes of tense silence.
"Rashel, do you understand? You are *not* to hurt her."
"Yes, Sir." Forced politeness.
Xalaria hurried away. She took several deep breaths, then sat on the bottom of the stairs, head in her hands.
"Xalaria, what are you doing here?"
Xalaria looked up, seeing a gorgeous Asian-American boy in front of her. Unlike the mean blonde, or 'Rashel', his tone held concern, and something else - hope, maybe? Large dark eyes studied her.
"I don't know," she admitted, tired of sounding like a broken record. "Who are you?"
The boy blinked in surprise. "I heard a rumour they'd found an assassin with no memory. I never imagined it would be you."
Assassin? That didn't sound too appealing to Xalaria. Didn't assassins kill people for a living?
Xalaria looked at him, beginning to wish she had given into unconsciousness earlier. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
The boy smiled dryly. "Of course you wouldn't." His expression was becoming sly and calculating.
Xalaria threw her hands up. "This is getting annoying. I can't get a fucking straight answer!"
"It's kind of awkward. Technically, you're one of the bad guys."
"What, and you're one of the good guys and we had something going for a while but decided because of our separate loyalties not to pursue it?"
The boy blinked. "Good for someone with amnesia."
Xalaria stood up. "Can you at least tell me your name?"
"Tristan Abforth."
Didn't mean anything to Xalaria. So she was stuck in some war between good-guys and bad guys. It sounded kind of amusing. Finding out what was going was going to be - well - extremely interesting.
* * *