The concept of the NW and all it's characters belong to LJ Smith and her
publishers etc. Not me. OK? But my characters and plotline are mine!
Hey! Don't forget to review! Please? OK, so here's the next bit!
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As the mustang's engine coughed moodily, Ella frowned worriedly. The rustbucket had better not break down now, she thought in annoyance. She'd only had the thing for a few months, but she had to admit, it had been in bad shape even then. After experiencing her haphazard driving, it sported several dents and cracks on the outside, not to mention the cute red paintwork was totally ruined. She couldn't imagine what it was like on the inside. It was probably nothing but scrap metal. Ella hated driving. She was no good at it, for some reason or another, and it wasn't because of strength, speed or dexterity. Vampires had tons of those skills. She thought it was probably her personality. She found it hard to concentrate on the boring, stupid road ahead; it was too frustrating for her to bear.
"Hey! Watch it!" she yelled as a boy-racer in a silver Ferrari cut her up on the freeway. The driver gave her a winning smile that dripped of I-don't- care arrogance as he zoomed dangerously past. With a groan of disgust she rolled her deep blue eyes. "Typical," she muttered as she stepped on the accelerator.
In this manner, Ella finally managed to drive home, despite a near miss with a tree and several drivers hurling abuse at her. She couldn't help but sigh with relief, a mischievous smile on her lips as she pulled up in front of the modest semi in which she lived. She could mentally visualise Mavis now. Her cantankerous foster mom was going to stake her as soon as she stepped inside the house. Readying herself for the onslaught of abuse and screaming, Ella pulled the key out of the ignition and slammed the car door ceremoniously. But it was no good. Putting on a cheery front was not going to change the fact that her feet dragged like 100 ton weights as she strode up the garden path, and her heart was as cold and as heavy as lead. Not even the freshly blooming flowers that exploded riotously in the flowerbeds could make her forget her future.
As soon as she put a hand on the brashly shining handle of the cheery grass- green door, she sensed Mavis bustling into the hallway. From where she stood, Ella could feel the tightly leashed rage that her foster mom was going to vent out on her. She paused hesitantly, making a sour face, which was reflected and distorted in the brass house number fixed on the front of it - 76. Here we go, she whispered mentally as she pushed the door open.
"Where the have you been?" yelled Mavis threateningly. Ella felt her spirits drop to an all-time low as she came face-to-face with Mavis's ire. Her foster-mom looked gorgeous as usual, with her waist-length blonde hair falling straight and creamy soft around her heart-shaped face. Her dark, hooded eyes glittered, and even though she was not as tall as Ella, she made up for it in more ways than one. "Ella, answer me! I hope you haven't been thinking of. Ella! Where are you going?" Ella, seizing her chance to perhaps diffuse this tense, stressful situation, had dashed into the living room. Mavis followed.
Doubting whether she would survive such a rabid and vengeful onslaught, Ella collapsed into a soft rose-pink armchair and held up a slim restraining hand, her fingers splayed.
"OK mom. Stop right there," she said coolly. In contrast with her passionate, temperamental foster mom, she kept her emotions tightly under wraps, except when in the driver's seat of course. It never did to give away what you felt inside. Who would want the whole world to know their personal, private emotions?
"Don't you give me that cheek young lady I..."
"Please. Come on, listen to me."
Mavis gave her a half-tired, half- furious look. Then she too sat down, running a hand through her glorious golden tresses.
"I swear you'll be the death of me Ella!" she exclaimed, turning to face her. Ella felt drained, not wanting to give Mavis any grief.
"Right," she said softly. "Yes I have fed. No I was not planning to run away." She gave her foster mom a disparaging look. "As if I would be that stupid. They'd hunt me down in a heartbeat. And no, I don't like it one bit."
"They haven't got Alex yet," said Mavis, her voice trembling with emotion.
"Yeah," Alex agreed disgustedly. "Why should they even try? They'll get an agent out of it either way. And everyone knows that I was always better than him in the whole assassin thing."
Self-pity was beginning to pervade her system. It was annoying to say the least. What a weak, pathetic thing to feel. By anyone's standards, it was the most inferior emotion there was. But even though she was dying on the inside, she managed to disguise her inner turmoil.
"I don't want to go, mom," whispered Ella fearfully. "I'll hate it."
"You haven't got a choice right now, El. You never did." Mavis said sadly as she left the room.
Ella was glad she'd left. She hated anyone seeing her cry. It was the ultimate weakness, and she had to be strong. Sobbing hopelessly, she thought that she would never survive the intensive training that was in store for her. Not mentally anyway. Brushing aside the tears that coursed down her cheeks, Ella stood and crossed to the mirror above the rustic fireplace, which was already roaring with a hearty blaze. Staring back she saw a slender, tall sixteen year old, with wise, old soulful eyes that were a little too intense for conventional comfort, framed with curly brown lashes. They seemed to look into you, not just at you, and were at this moment red and raw with tears. Her pale porcelain skin was soft and creamy, drawn over the high cheekbones and delicately sculpted features of her pretty oval face. She had a stubborn chin, full, kissable lips and a sweet button nose. Curly brown hair fell to her shoulders, and she was of a strong looking build. She was beautiful, yes, but hopeless, faithless and lost.
Ella decided to go for a shower, her last one ever at home. After today, she would never be allowed back here alive, not even for a second. She went back through into the hall again, and began her weary ascent of the staircase. On the first floor landing, she saw that her door was ajar. Peering in, she glimpsed that her bedroom, no, former bedroom was completely bare, save for a small black suitcase. Most of her stuff had been sold or put in the skip; it was only the large part of her bare essentials that had been sent to her mysterious new training area already. She had some of her stuff, like her toothbrush, still here, and she would bring all these with her when she left.
She didn't like her room anymore. It was no longer hers; it was just a faceless, anonymous area. She quickly left and went into the bathroom.
As the water rained down on her in never-ending succession, she started to think again. She hated it when she reminisced about the past or dreamed about her future. It was always too painful. But she still did it nonetheless; as if she enjoyed the obscene sorrow it brought her.
As orphans taken in by the Night World, they had had a duty to fulfil. Payback is what they called it. In return for the care, one of the members of each family looked after had to serve them. The eldest, usually. Most kids were alone, so they were immediately obliged to become Night World assassins, spies, grunts, paper-pushers, or any other job that most suited their talents, or lack of talents. Alex had been all geared up to do this, at first anyway. Her brother had been quite different to her in the looks department, with his light brown hair and his sweet, hazel coloured puppy- dog eyes. In attitude, he had always been sweet too. So sensitive, caring, gentle. More like a Daybreaker that a Night World kid, she mused. Ella herself was a bit of a vicious one, brutally honest, and brutal in almost everything else too. She had had a bit of a reputation for being a tough, heartless, mischievous, manipulative girl. But it was all exaggerated way out of proportion. She was a lot darker in character than Alex, that was certain, but darker doesn't always mean black. They'd both done the training and preparation to become Night World agents, and she'd always excelled at it, leaving him struggling. He had struggled also to accept and bond with Mavis, and they had periodic arguments and fights. As he'd grown he became distant, no longer as close to his bad little sister, and far more secretive. Then one day, as if by magic, he'd gone. Kaboom. Leaving good old Ella to take up his responsibilities. He had most likely thought that she'd have loved the assassin's job. But he had forgotten what she was like inside, and so he had given her the most heinous gift of all; he had imprisoned her.
Ella had now exited the shower and was currently in Mavis's luxurious room, fully dressed in comfy grey trainers, sexy black jeans and a silky grey spaghetti top, her hair now dry and falling in ringlets round her face. As she brushed the glossy curls, she wondered about her life from today onwards. Bleeding Thistles, the agency she was going to be initiated into, was a very hush-hush place. Every one of her friends and acquaintances (that was quite a hefty number of people) basically said that they'd never heard it. But it did exist, and Mavis had stated that it was as prestigious as it was mysterious, for the elite Night World members with the brains and the brawn to go far. Age didn't matter; you could be 16 or 1600. Her foster mom had also said that mostly guys got into it; assassination clearly was more a masculine hobby, she smiled sarcastically to herself. Well, she thought, at least I get some serious eye-candy as I turn into a cold- hearted killer.
"El?" A face appeared at the door.
"Yeah mom?"
Mavis came in and sat next to her on the bed. "They'll be coming to get you soon, " she said, her voice quavering, her dark eyes filled with bitter tears. "I know you don't want to." she paused, taking a deep, steadying breath. "But..."
"I hate it mom. You know it, I know it. But life's a bitch. There's no use just wanting it to be different. You've just got to get on with it and make the best of a bad job." Ella wished she could take her own good advice. Recently that was all she'd been doing, just wondering and hoping and praying for a miracle, dreaming of a life where things had been better.
"Take this." Mavis pressed something cold and cool into her palm.
"Mom, I won't say goodbye. I won't take this. I won't leave you, I won't!"
And then the doorbell rang. It was like a knife, cutting through the air.
Mavis pulled Ella into a fierce, tight hug.
"I'll miss you baby. I love you."
Ella said nothing. She just felt cold fear and pain flood her veins, icy tears slicing her damp cheeks yet again in their mirthless torture. She couldn't speak, think, move; she only felt her heart tear in two as she pulled away from her foster mother, not bearing to turn back. That was their last touch, their last words, as she was severed from Mavis forever.
Grabbing her bag, Ella pulled on her burgundy coat and violently yanked the door open. A scruffy young 'wolf stood before her on the porch, clearly surprised at her ferocious door opening and passionate, wounded expression.
"Miss Ella Elizabeth Pinefrost? The car is waiting." He led the way to a large black monster of a Mercedes.
Ella walked out, closing the door gently behind her, savouring her last moments at home. Oh mom. Please. Then she walked to the waiting black Mercedes and got in, her head spinning, eyes wide with bewildered sadness as she took it all in for the last time. Tears fell eternally. She barely noticed the surprising luxury of it all. She had been expecting a coach or something not this elegant chauffeur-driven beauty. But it was all insignificant. Pain crashed in a crescendo of horror and anguish. She felt like she was going to be executed. And she was, in a sort of mental freaky way. She was no longer Ella Elizabeth Pinefrost. Who was she? Ella mentally begged to be released from this torture chamber, to be given darkness and numbness. But no amount of pleading could repair the damage to her broken, bruised heart and torn, twisted soul. She was empty and desolate.
As Ella sat silent and frozen inside the black leather interior of the plush, posh vehicle, she saw a familiar, tear-drenched face at the upstairs window as they pulled away.
"Mom," she said, quietly, emotionlessly. No more tears, no more pain, just do what you have to, just stay alive.
*Goodbye, life. I'm an assassin now.*
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Quite a long chapter. Don't forget to review! Thanks for reading!
Hey! Don't forget to review! Please? OK, so here's the next bit!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
As the mustang's engine coughed moodily, Ella frowned worriedly. The rustbucket had better not break down now, she thought in annoyance. She'd only had the thing for a few months, but she had to admit, it had been in bad shape even then. After experiencing her haphazard driving, it sported several dents and cracks on the outside, not to mention the cute red paintwork was totally ruined. She couldn't imagine what it was like on the inside. It was probably nothing but scrap metal. Ella hated driving. She was no good at it, for some reason or another, and it wasn't because of strength, speed or dexterity. Vampires had tons of those skills. She thought it was probably her personality. She found it hard to concentrate on the boring, stupid road ahead; it was too frustrating for her to bear.
"Hey! Watch it!" she yelled as a boy-racer in a silver Ferrari cut her up on the freeway. The driver gave her a winning smile that dripped of I-don't- care arrogance as he zoomed dangerously past. With a groan of disgust she rolled her deep blue eyes. "Typical," she muttered as she stepped on the accelerator.
In this manner, Ella finally managed to drive home, despite a near miss with a tree and several drivers hurling abuse at her. She couldn't help but sigh with relief, a mischievous smile on her lips as she pulled up in front of the modest semi in which she lived. She could mentally visualise Mavis now. Her cantankerous foster mom was going to stake her as soon as she stepped inside the house. Readying herself for the onslaught of abuse and screaming, Ella pulled the key out of the ignition and slammed the car door ceremoniously. But it was no good. Putting on a cheery front was not going to change the fact that her feet dragged like 100 ton weights as she strode up the garden path, and her heart was as cold and as heavy as lead. Not even the freshly blooming flowers that exploded riotously in the flowerbeds could make her forget her future.
As soon as she put a hand on the brashly shining handle of the cheery grass- green door, she sensed Mavis bustling into the hallway. From where she stood, Ella could feel the tightly leashed rage that her foster mom was going to vent out on her. She paused hesitantly, making a sour face, which was reflected and distorted in the brass house number fixed on the front of it - 76. Here we go, she whispered mentally as she pushed the door open.
"Where the have you been?" yelled Mavis threateningly. Ella felt her spirits drop to an all-time low as she came face-to-face with Mavis's ire. Her foster-mom looked gorgeous as usual, with her waist-length blonde hair falling straight and creamy soft around her heart-shaped face. Her dark, hooded eyes glittered, and even though she was not as tall as Ella, she made up for it in more ways than one. "Ella, answer me! I hope you haven't been thinking of. Ella! Where are you going?" Ella, seizing her chance to perhaps diffuse this tense, stressful situation, had dashed into the living room. Mavis followed.
Doubting whether she would survive such a rabid and vengeful onslaught, Ella collapsed into a soft rose-pink armchair and held up a slim restraining hand, her fingers splayed.
"OK mom. Stop right there," she said coolly. In contrast with her passionate, temperamental foster mom, she kept her emotions tightly under wraps, except when in the driver's seat of course. It never did to give away what you felt inside. Who would want the whole world to know their personal, private emotions?
"Don't you give me that cheek young lady I..."
"Please. Come on, listen to me."
Mavis gave her a half-tired, half- furious look. Then she too sat down, running a hand through her glorious golden tresses.
"I swear you'll be the death of me Ella!" she exclaimed, turning to face her. Ella felt drained, not wanting to give Mavis any grief.
"Right," she said softly. "Yes I have fed. No I was not planning to run away." She gave her foster mom a disparaging look. "As if I would be that stupid. They'd hunt me down in a heartbeat. And no, I don't like it one bit."
"They haven't got Alex yet," said Mavis, her voice trembling with emotion.
"Yeah," Alex agreed disgustedly. "Why should they even try? They'll get an agent out of it either way. And everyone knows that I was always better than him in the whole assassin thing."
Self-pity was beginning to pervade her system. It was annoying to say the least. What a weak, pathetic thing to feel. By anyone's standards, it was the most inferior emotion there was. But even though she was dying on the inside, she managed to disguise her inner turmoil.
"I don't want to go, mom," whispered Ella fearfully. "I'll hate it."
"You haven't got a choice right now, El. You never did." Mavis said sadly as she left the room.
Ella was glad she'd left. She hated anyone seeing her cry. It was the ultimate weakness, and she had to be strong. Sobbing hopelessly, she thought that she would never survive the intensive training that was in store for her. Not mentally anyway. Brushing aside the tears that coursed down her cheeks, Ella stood and crossed to the mirror above the rustic fireplace, which was already roaring with a hearty blaze. Staring back she saw a slender, tall sixteen year old, with wise, old soulful eyes that were a little too intense for conventional comfort, framed with curly brown lashes. They seemed to look into you, not just at you, and were at this moment red and raw with tears. Her pale porcelain skin was soft and creamy, drawn over the high cheekbones and delicately sculpted features of her pretty oval face. She had a stubborn chin, full, kissable lips and a sweet button nose. Curly brown hair fell to her shoulders, and she was of a strong looking build. She was beautiful, yes, but hopeless, faithless and lost.
Ella decided to go for a shower, her last one ever at home. After today, she would never be allowed back here alive, not even for a second. She went back through into the hall again, and began her weary ascent of the staircase. On the first floor landing, she saw that her door was ajar. Peering in, she glimpsed that her bedroom, no, former bedroom was completely bare, save for a small black suitcase. Most of her stuff had been sold or put in the skip; it was only the large part of her bare essentials that had been sent to her mysterious new training area already. She had some of her stuff, like her toothbrush, still here, and she would bring all these with her when she left.
She didn't like her room anymore. It was no longer hers; it was just a faceless, anonymous area. She quickly left and went into the bathroom.
As the water rained down on her in never-ending succession, she started to think again. She hated it when she reminisced about the past or dreamed about her future. It was always too painful. But she still did it nonetheless; as if she enjoyed the obscene sorrow it brought her.
As orphans taken in by the Night World, they had had a duty to fulfil. Payback is what they called it. In return for the care, one of the members of each family looked after had to serve them. The eldest, usually. Most kids were alone, so they were immediately obliged to become Night World assassins, spies, grunts, paper-pushers, or any other job that most suited their talents, or lack of talents. Alex had been all geared up to do this, at first anyway. Her brother had been quite different to her in the looks department, with his light brown hair and his sweet, hazel coloured puppy- dog eyes. In attitude, he had always been sweet too. So sensitive, caring, gentle. More like a Daybreaker that a Night World kid, she mused. Ella herself was a bit of a vicious one, brutally honest, and brutal in almost everything else too. She had had a bit of a reputation for being a tough, heartless, mischievous, manipulative girl. But it was all exaggerated way out of proportion. She was a lot darker in character than Alex, that was certain, but darker doesn't always mean black. They'd both done the training and preparation to become Night World agents, and she'd always excelled at it, leaving him struggling. He had struggled also to accept and bond with Mavis, and they had periodic arguments and fights. As he'd grown he became distant, no longer as close to his bad little sister, and far more secretive. Then one day, as if by magic, he'd gone. Kaboom. Leaving good old Ella to take up his responsibilities. He had most likely thought that she'd have loved the assassin's job. But he had forgotten what she was like inside, and so he had given her the most heinous gift of all; he had imprisoned her.
Ella had now exited the shower and was currently in Mavis's luxurious room, fully dressed in comfy grey trainers, sexy black jeans and a silky grey spaghetti top, her hair now dry and falling in ringlets round her face. As she brushed the glossy curls, she wondered about her life from today onwards. Bleeding Thistles, the agency she was going to be initiated into, was a very hush-hush place. Every one of her friends and acquaintances (that was quite a hefty number of people) basically said that they'd never heard it. But it did exist, and Mavis had stated that it was as prestigious as it was mysterious, for the elite Night World members with the brains and the brawn to go far. Age didn't matter; you could be 16 or 1600. Her foster mom had also said that mostly guys got into it; assassination clearly was more a masculine hobby, she smiled sarcastically to herself. Well, she thought, at least I get some serious eye-candy as I turn into a cold- hearted killer.
"El?" A face appeared at the door.
"Yeah mom?"
Mavis came in and sat next to her on the bed. "They'll be coming to get you soon, " she said, her voice quavering, her dark eyes filled with bitter tears. "I know you don't want to." she paused, taking a deep, steadying breath. "But..."
"I hate it mom. You know it, I know it. But life's a bitch. There's no use just wanting it to be different. You've just got to get on with it and make the best of a bad job." Ella wished she could take her own good advice. Recently that was all she'd been doing, just wondering and hoping and praying for a miracle, dreaming of a life where things had been better.
"Take this." Mavis pressed something cold and cool into her palm.
"Mom, I won't say goodbye. I won't take this. I won't leave you, I won't!"
And then the doorbell rang. It was like a knife, cutting through the air.
Mavis pulled Ella into a fierce, tight hug.
"I'll miss you baby. I love you."
Ella said nothing. She just felt cold fear and pain flood her veins, icy tears slicing her damp cheeks yet again in their mirthless torture. She couldn't speak, think, move; she only felt her heart tear in two as she pulled away from her foster mother, not bearing to turn back. That was their last touch, their last words, as she was severed from Mavis forever.
Grabbing her bag, Ella pulled on her burgundy coat and violently yanked the door open. A scruffy young 'wolf stood before her on the porch, clearly surprised at her ferocious door opening and passionate, wounded expression.
"Miss Ella Elizabeth Pinefrost? The car is waiting." He led the way to a large black monster of a Mercedes.
Ella walked out, closing the door gently behind her, savouring her last moments at home. Oh mom. Please. Then she walked to the waiting black Mercedes and got in, her head spinning, eyes wide with bewildered sadness as she took it all in for the last time. Tears fell eternally. She barely noticed the surprising luxury of it all. She had been expecting a coach or something not this elegant chauffeur-driven beauty. But it was all insignificant. Pain crashed in a crescendo of horror and anguish. She felt like she was going to be executed. And she was, in a sort of mental freaky way. She was no longer Ella Elizabeth Pinefrost. Who was she? Ella mentally begged to be released from this torture chamber, to be given darkness and numbness. But no amount of pleading could repair the damage to her broken, bruised heart and torn, twisted soul. She was empty and desolate.
As Ella sat silent and frozen inside the black leather interior of the plush, posh vehicle, she saw a familiar, tear-drenched face at the upstairs window as they pulled away.
"Mom," she said, quietly, emotionlessly. No more tears, no more pain, just do what you have to, just stay alive.
*Goodbye, life. I'm an assassin now.*
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Quite a long chapter. Don't forget to review! Thanks for reading!