General Note: That's right a general note. It's been a while.
First of all I had been meaning to kill Maria off for some time. You know how they say write what you know? Well, when I wrote her, I knew me. But there was just too much of me in her and that made her a…anybody? Anybody? She was Mary Sue, and I realized that way too late. So, according to the rule, Mary Sue's must either be changed (which she was. I was never pregnant… or really that bitchy nowadays) or die. And looky, I followed the rule! But, her death also served a purpose, because, contrary to popular belief, I really don't like killing people off for no reason.
Second of all, I know it's been a long time I've updated. The reason is this (and I think it's actually a good reason, and that's why I'm sharing): I've spent the time moping. Imagine working twenty five hours a week with the rudest customers in the world for six months for the greatest Spring Break you've ever had…and have it canceled. My week in Paris, the sole proof that I can do things without my parents help or money has collapsed, due to this political mess going on. Whatever your political standings maybe, I am totally and completely crushed. Has anybody reading this been to Paris? Is it nice? I'm desperate for details now that I'm not seeing it myself.
Any who I've been meaning to update, but I swear either God is either giving me signs that I'm meant to go or he's taunting. It's apparently freakin' France documentary week on TV and my place of work has set up a crappy little France table, full of products bearing sights of Paris. And then, oh, and THEN, school field trip?! Impressionist France Exhibit! What the freakin' hell? I spent six hours listening to a tour guide named Nan Tucker (I swear that was her name) say, "If you ever go to France," or "When you have the chance to see Paris…" Yeah, that made me feel a whole lot better. See, I think I'm still bitter.
And I know it's incredibly selfish to be thinking like this in the grand scheme of things, so you needn't tell me. But, for right now, I'm sticking to my small, not-so-grand scheme of things. Also, I'm sorry for dumping this on y'all, but I'm a ranter. I like to rant. Don't get me started on pop artists. All right, that's it. Maria was selfish and had to die and I'm selfish and feel like dying.
Thank you and enjoy.
Neona-deniker: That's right, no more mystery solving for you…I tried to read a Nancy Drew book, but I fell asleep. Go figure. Any who, you're ten times better than me at summarizing. You could be a blurb writer! And isn't it strange that she gets all nice AFTER she dies. That girl did love her irony. And, to be fair, you have to give Gwen some credit—after all, it was her who stopped him from making sobbing and/or angry Hulk mess of a man in front of the others. Sometimes, I think it would be nice if they were real. I'd steal planes from Thierry every day. But enough about larceny, I'm glad you're back to review! Yay!
Dahlia: I guess if you're a new reviewer you might learn that I don't hurry up with the next chapter. It's not that I don't want to, it's just I'm either lazy or busy. But, hey, thanks for the sweet review!
Martha: Well, if that wasn't a paradoxical saying…saw it coming but didn't expect it. And, when you say you still got verity, do you mean the person or the actual truth? I just thought that was funny. Thanks for the review, though! :0)
Lilith: Yes, yes, all very tragic…but she was a bit irritating, wasn't she? I mean, lots of reviewers complained of her less than niceness, but oh well. As for the dream…I've decided to leave that to the readers. For real or not, it was still very nice and it comforted him either way. And I'm sorry that I did make you wait (for a stupidly long time) for this one. Happy reading.
More than u know: Yay, back and non-hateful, both very good things! Of course, and if you're wondering how it would have ended if Rita stayed and Jared lived…Mr. and Mrs. Jared Luna with their five children is basically it. And I guess my story isn't the kind where happy miracles happen, huh? Oh, the lil note just meant I was depressed without choco and money, and the other part was Maria had to die because she was selfish manifestation of a character. I guess I've updated good enough-ish. ;0)
Alocin: Oh, please don't be shocked. That tells me that I didn't foreshadow enough. And, even though I shamefully did surprise you with it, I'm eternally grateful you still have a good opinion of it. And, okay, you like Kyros. Join the club ;0). And, I know this wasn't soon, but I do have my reasons. I hope you read this and I hope you enjoy.
Candika: Yes, I did. I think a resurrection scene would please you, but where does one find a Frankenstein lab in New York City? Any who, I'm just as pleased as you are about Winnie and Kyros' unlikely friendship. That's right; FRIENDship. Honestly, can't a boy and girl be friends without any speculation? Ah, the age old question… Any who, nopers. Sorry, if you were hoping for that, but I don't think I could manage any more distractions this late in the story. Besides, remember, Winnie was Nissa's friend and that would be awkward for Kyros… so yeah. Thanks any way for the winky smiley face at the end!
Soraia: I didn't know that was a bumper sticker! I just saw it written somewhere! Well, it makes a lot more sense on a car, now that I think about it… And good lord, how do I respond to your extremely nice, extremely generous, unbelievably kind compliment? I mean a "thank you" is obvious (so thank you!) but it just seems to fall short. And you're right that a teenager (like meself) would enjoy your stories, but don't cut yourself short. Like Tala and Monroe, you went really deep with their emotions. And if there's one thing I will NEVER be guilty of, it's rushing on updating. And I guess I pretty much sucked with the connections, because they're pretty weak. Maria's death=Kyros mission, and that's about it. Of course there's the whole psychological and emotional connection in Kyros' head, but he's too manly to express it. I've never set a standard before and I'm glad I did it so easily (so easily I had no idea I did it) but thanks, thanks, thanks again.
Oli: Yuppers, she's is a female. And, that's weird, I've never of a guy named oli…maybe our different parts of the world makes the difference. Yes, I know, pauvre Maria…but Valdis will cope. He'll have to, with a baby to worry about. Maria died of a weak heart stressed by the operation and pregnancy…it wasn't really mentioned, just referred to. Sorry if I didn't make that clear. And I think Winnie wants a boyfriend, not a boy she'd have to baby sit (let's face it, she's miles ahead of him on the maturity scale). You're right the story doesn't need more deaths but…well, we'll leave that to the God of Plots, also known as Bob. So any issues with the unexpected turns, I'll just say, "See Bob about that." Any who, Thierry is quite rightly pissed but not enough for homicide, I don't think. Thanks for your approval, and I hope you comment on this on, too.
Vague Verity
Chapter 17
"Remember that a kick in the
~*~*~*~
Boston…well, near Boston…
The boat sliced through the black, choppy water, leaving sharp lines and foam in its wake. Thierry Descouedres stood at the wheel, his expression mirroring the unfriendly ocean. Never before had somebody so deliberately disobeyed him. Never before had his own Daybreakers felt the need to sneak behind his back. Most of the time, he approved of proposed missions. Everybody knew that.
The difficult part would be to find the island. Winnie would have seen it and directed Kyros, because of her powers, but Thierry was traveling solo. He just hoped the fading spells Aradia and company worked two years ago were still intact.
Soon, what looked like a sole floating ice floe entered his view. Faint, and almost translucent. He was relieved that he could still see it, and that most humans wouldn't have been able to.
He docked as he did two years prior, on the west side of the island. It was where his troops stayed for a few weeks, but there was no sign of life any where. White dunes stretched out to the sun, who had been hesitantly rising. Pushing all worries aside, Thierry grabbed his duffel bag and set one foot on the hellish place. The farther away he got from his boat, the more he wished he was headed the other way.
It wasn't the memories that bothered him. He was thousands of years old; memories weren't a problem after a man found his soul mate. It was the feel of the place. As if the ice cube willed catastrophic things to happen. And anything bad that could have happened, usually did.
"At least we won," he said aloud. But not without complications, and unimaginable casualties. And, sometimes, it sounded as if the island and the wind laughed at their loss. Hunter once said that one never stepped on Damned Clan Island without paying a price. Then again, the idiot was probably being dramatic at the time, and Thierry refused to think any more of it.
He could have ran, but preferred to simply walk, holding the duffel bag, which held all liquid necessities, from one hand to the other. Something urged him that there was no hurry, that the two would be waiting in their tent.
All he had to do was find the two insurgents, make them extremely ashamed of themselves, complete their mission, and then return home to suspend them indefinitely. On and off the island as quickly as possible.
~*~*~*~
Adrian climbed down the hole in the corner of the room, to the one below it. And then he cautiously crossed that cell to enter the next one, where he and Rita usually spoke. But it sounded as if her sleeping time ran late, for she wasn't waiting for him.
He was about to leave when he heard the slightest, tiniest sniffle echo in the stillness. "Rita?"
Then he heard a small intake of breath, and knew she was holding it in. "Verity, what's the matter?"
"Go away, please," she requested in a whisper.
He hesitated, and then made an important decision. Disregarding Rita's obstinate rule, he scooted to the hole and peered in without her permission. The only time he had done so was when he had that idiotic fire, and only then he had seen her chin.
This time, he did not see her face again. Adrian noticed, piqued, that her cell was about half the size of his. She was vermin. They needed more room than dragons, because they had weak minds and couldn't stand enclosed places for a long time. It was one more reason to help her out.
On the cot in the corner, he saw her. Her burlap clad back was facing him. Rita leaned on the wall, hugging her knees. Her shoulders shuddered almost imperceptibly.
"Verity," he called gently. "Please tell me what's wrong."
"I don't want to," she said quietly, her voice hoarse. "Just please, leave me alone. Don't look at me."
"Why?"
"Not like this. Please, Adrian, just go away." Her voice had regained volume, and more force. He was ready to comply when he spied her body racked again, this time what looked like to be a sob.
"Rita, did they hurt you?" he asked, his tone bordering on wrathful.
"No," she whimpered as if she couldn't help it. "No, just please, please, Adrian, just go away."
"Verity, I can—"
"Adrian!" she roared, and whirled to him. Rita stared at nothing, just the place of his voice, and yelled, "Just leave me alone!"
She couldn't see him, but he could see her very well. Rita's eyes were bloodshot, as if she hadn't slept, and glistening with tears. The salty droplets ran down her face, which was contorted in anguish. By all appearances, she hadn't been abused. But it was obvious something caused her immense pain.
Convinced by his silence that he left, she turned away again, trying to calm herself. The despairing noises escaped every so often, followed by rebuking sounds.
Although sure of her anger, her weeping tore the words out of him. "Verity, just tell me what's wrong," he demanded gravely.
He saw her whirl to him, green eyes blazing. "I thought you left."
"Is…is there anything I can do?" he ventured, knowing very well there wasn't much one can do in a prison. "Anything you need to be done?"
She sighed, apparently exhausted by the tears, and turned away. Slowly she shook her head. "Nothing," she murmured. "Nothing at all."
He never thought it would take bravery to enter a room. Adrian would have never believed stepping inside a cell would be fearsome. But it took all the courage he could summon to shift, and silently creep through the opening. To change back to the form she was familiar with, and then stand at the foot of her cot. He was terrified, so much so that he barely breathed, to wait almost a foot away from her. But all fears were forgotten when Rita failed to restrain another sob, and the reproving words were strangled in her throat.
Then he moved without thinking. In a heart beat, he leaned towards her, gathering the girl in his arms as he sat next to her in the bed. For a few seconds, she leaned into him, clinging to him tightly as if she were drowning. And, as awkward the situation was, Adrian was unexpectedly rewarded.
It wasn't electrifying, or shockingly intimate. Hugging her, comforting her was…nice. It was pleasant, holding her for a few moments.
But they were short lived, and with some sputtered, angry words, Rita tried to pull away. Adrian noticed that she was acting like himself again. She didn't want anybody to see her like this, or anybody to sympathize. So she pushed with all her strength and, when that didn't work, she began to beat at his chest desperately. Her watery words begged him to let her go. Those eyes, that so few recognized the beauty of, were pleading and angry at the same time.
Nobody had seen her like this. Nobody had heard her order to leave and stayed.
In a split second, Adrian resolved to be the first.
Despite the painful strikes she landed, he held tight, his embrace like steel. And, naturally, she struggled even more ferociously, so much that Adrian had a hard time keeping hold of her. The length of her fight surprised him, considering the sparse food and little exercise. But, finally, she went limp and rested her head on his shoulder.
"You stayed," she noticed quietly and, somewhat belatedly. Her voice was incredibly small, not like one belonging to a sixteen year old. He nodded, unsure of what to say, but he knew it was important that he had done so. Staying, when everything else left her. "And…you're inside."
"I would have been in here sooner or later," he said apologetically. "Better sooner than later." He felt strangely disappointed when she pulled away, and repossessed her rational demeanor. The only sign that she wept at all was her wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. Distracted, he pulled out his own handkerchief, and wiped the tears away for her.
"Why were you crying?" He was thankful for the utter darkness, because then Rita wouldn't have seen him flinch at the tone of his voice. Adrian was unused to sounding timid, especially to a girl—a human girl, no less. "I'll find out any way, sooner or later," Amaro warned, thinking of their game of truths.
"And better sooner than later," she agreed, and withdrew even father from him, until she was at the other end of the cot. "You're not going to like it."
"We never like the answers," he pointed out, imperceptibly creeping closer.
"Right." Her breath shuddered deeply, an after effect of the racking sobs. "Well…aside from the misunderstandings, I've never liked you."
"Sorry to be that much of a pain," he replied flatly, and stopped his quest to her side of the cot. Tired, almost as much as she looked, Adrian leaned on the wall.
"No, it's not that. It's just—just the way you acted, the first time you and Tana met. Your behavior. I've always hated the way you were so domineering, and the way you just switched from friendly to cruel in the blink of an eye. There were so many, many things I've hated about your entire way of thinking during the time we spent together, from what I remember."
"Any thing else? Or did my hair cut displease you as well?"
"Stop it," she ordered, regaining some spirit. "You asked me why I was crying. How would you feel if you found out everything you've hated before…you've suddenly become? Everything I despised about you, all your decisions… I'm like you now, or I used to be. And the thing is, I didn't even think I was wrong."
"Neither did I," he offered, pitying her.
"I know. It's more than irritating to think that, if you and the Daybreakers hadn't come to Anomina, I might still be acting like you. Cold, domineering, manipulative—"
"I get the picture," he cut in, now uncomfortable. "So…tears of self-loathing?"
"Not exactly," she answered slowly, sounding apprehensive. "It's Melissa."
"Who?"
"My sister," Rita snapped, as if, because of their link, he should have known. Idly, she folded the handkerchief in her lap, trying to check her irritation. "She could have done so much. Tana always harbored some resentment towards you, for not letting her dance. The one thing that she was really good at."
"So?"
"So—I've just been thinking about Melissa. She was always a great speaker, you know. Cheerleader, debate team…and such a great athlete. And I, the one who was supposed to take care of her…didn't. I didn't get her the speech therapy. I never let her outside." Her words faltered as Rita remembered the seldom seen sad look in Melissa's brown eyes. Verity would see it sometimes, but look away.
"Verity," he called, sensing her sadness. Inwardly, he was surprised for the timing of her mourning. That conversation was dead and buried. She ignored him.
"She—sort of pleaded to me, with her eyes. And I would dismiss it, because I thought I knew better. But, you did the same thing to Tana, and you didn't know better. You didn't, and I didn't—but Melissa won't get a second chance. She's dead and she won't come back. Ever." She was saying the words thickly now, and an ache was growing in her throat.
Through the inky blackness Adrian spied her emerald eyes filling again, indifferent of his view. The handkerchief he handed her was now unfolded, and scrubbed furiously at her eyes. Miraculously, Rita gripped at self control within a few minutes, without the helpful embrace Adrian was ready to offer.
"So," she began, her voice still hitched, "I was just feeling bad about that…but she's probably in heaven, right?" Adrian nodded uncertainly, because he wasn't sure about the existence of that place or its counterpart. Rita didn't see it, but sensed his agreement. "She couldn't have done much to get into hell…and I guess my punishment for my treatment, or lack thereof, is gonna be my next life. Maybe I'll be a fire hydrant…or, worse, a man."
Adrian frowned, but ignored the last part. "Are you all right now?"
"One more thing to get off my chest."
Adrian rolled his eyes and bade her to continue.
"I know I have no reason to and everything's been cleared up…but I still sort of don't like you."
"What?"
"I don't know why," she confessed, squirming uncomfortably. "But I've harbored such a resentment for you for so long that it's sort of—"
"Stubborn to leave? I know the feeling."
It was her turn to feel surprise. "You mean resentment for me?"
"Of course. Think about it—for hundreds of years, I've believed that you had been boinking the help. Now, I have to change that idea overnight."
"Do you have to be so vulgar?" she asked crossly.
He sighed. "Do you feel better now?"
"Comparatively, yes." She shrugged. "But you didn't have to come in, you know."
"I came in for my own selfish reasons," he consented. Adrian stood up and stretched. Rita scrunched up her face, disliking the sounds of bones popping. "I don't like how you've got a smaller room than me."
"Maybe they figured dragons needed more room."
"Not likely," he replied, following and studying the walls. "It's easier for me to shift into smaller things, but bigger animals, like bears, takes some concentration." Verity frowned, puzzled, in his general direction. If there had been more light, she would have seen his brief flash of teeth. "The downside of not being as horny as my family," he added playfully.
Her cheeks turned rosy and she looked aside. "What are you doing?"
He didn't answer, and continued to circle. Rita, tired of waiting for his answer, laid on her cot, staring at the ceiling. Every once in a while, he glanced quickly towards her, to make sure she hadn't fallen asleep. Each time he was relieved to see Verity lying patiently for him to finish.
Adrian approached the wall that they shared; the wall that held the hole. The coloring was different, he noticed as he ran his fingers over it. Not as rough as the blocks in his cell, but almost cobble stoned. Adrian was about to notice it aloud when he saw Verity's eyes were drooping. He approached her, ready to shake her shoulder, when he realized she had probably been up all night crying.
So he continued his study. Although it was a small enclosed space, the ceilings were high, almost twice as tall as he was. Must have been the lower levels of the dungeon, he concluded. The blocks were in better condition than his, but…different. Not only differing in color, but size and shape as well. Smaller, squared, not the oblong rectangles in his room. Adrian was, naturally, immune to the temperatures, but he did notice she had good reason to wrap herself so tightly in the blankets. It was much colder here. Whoever imprisoned them obviously had little regard or information of human beings.
"When did you get like this?" It was disgraceful, very disgraceful, that he allowed himself to be startled. The mere, abrupt sound of her voice made him jump. "I'm resuming the game."
"Get like what?" he asked, automatically irked. Any question would lead to an argument, he was sure of that.
"The way you are. When did you transform to obstinate, domineering, narrow minded, inconsiderate Adrian Amaro to smooth talking, half way decent, somewhat reasonable Adrian Amaro?"
"Same way you did," he responded absently. "Over time."
"That's so cheesy. Can't you come up with a better answer?"
"Not unless you want me to lie…I guess it started after you died."
"So…what, did she teach you a lesson, or something?"
"Maybe. You should have let me in sooner."
"Why?" Verity sat up when she heard grunts and scrapes along the wall.
"Because," he called, and it sounded as if he were far up, "then I would have noticed that your cell is an addition. There's lichen on the wall that we shared, and these bricks look newer. It's also deeper…I had to step down to come in."
"So…"
"So, you're not below other levels of the dungeon, like I was. You're beneath the ground."
"You know, you're speaking English, and I hear you very clearly, and yet I still don't understand what you're saying. What does it mean, for goodness' sake?"
"If we tried to escape from the doors, or from any other cell, there'd still be the danger of guards throughout the place."
"But, if we escaped from my cell," Verity began, slowly comprehending.
"We'd be clear out of the building," he finished, a smile in his voice. There were more scrapes and grunts; then the cot a shook a little when her soul mate landed on it.
"But what about the magic?" she asked curiously, and rose when she felt him stretch. Despite the darkness, she knew he was meaning to lie down, whether her lap was in the way or not.
"Sloppily done," he answered, terribly condescending, and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. It was the most exertion he had done in weeks—months maybe, and it had built up a sweat. "There'd be some extra work, but it won't be impossible to break through them like the other blocks."
"How long?"
"A few days, a week at the most—"
"No." Verity kneeled by the bed, by what she hoped to be his head. It would have been embarrassing to speak to his feet. "Adrian, we have to leave as soon as possible."
"But…that would mean I'd have to start right now—"
"Then do it."
"But I'm tired," he whined and felt a sharp punch to his shoulder. "Ow."
"Adrian, get to work. Right. Now." He sighed tiredly and relinquished the cot to its rightful owner.
~*~*~*~
"The back door? The back door?" Winnie repeated in an angry whisper. "This was your genius plan! The back door?"
They were half crawling through the snow banks, just before the dawn. The cruel wind whipped and whinnied around them, carrying with it hard hitting bits of snow. Kyros would have shifted and ran ahead had it not been for the irate witch following him. "I think we've established that it's the back door," he whispered back, annoyed. "Unless you think it's better for us to waltz up to the front and ring the door bell."
"But you said you had a plan!"
"I do," he said through clenched teeth. "This is it. Get in through back door, with your powers, find Rita with your powers, and then, with your powers, we'll bust her out of here."
"That's like a bad plot of an eighties movie! Thank you Cheech, and Chong!"
"Oh shut up, I don't see you doin' any better."
Conversation ran along those lines until Winnie broke through the weak wards and they reached the "back door." Winnie was even more irked when she saw that there was no back door, but a few selected blocks that Kyros was sure she could demolish. The witch stared, angered into silence, and tried to discern whether the fox was serious. Kyros, a bit perturbed by the furiously blank gaze, cleared his throat.
"You know, if you kill me now, there's no guarantee you could get off the island," he pointed out nervously. It made perfect sense, which was a pity, because Winnie had already summoned a sizable sphere of power behind her back. Quickly, she allowed it to fizzle away and then kicked him in the shin. While her partner yelped and jumped around like a demented parrot, Winnie placed her hands on the freezing wall. She ignored the burning frost on that touched her bare skin, and her eye lids drooped in concentration.
When the sharp pain from his leg subsided, and he had finished quietly muttering every obscenity in the English language, Kyros stood, curious, as his partner delved farther into her powers. He caught the word "barrier" from her lips, but otherwise they moved quickly and silently. There was no apparent change in the white wall, and no increasing glow from her hands, as he expected because of movies. Just minutes earlier, she had been complaining of the temperatures as if he had some control over it. And yet, now, Winnie kneeled in the hard, slippery snow. No doubt it would be soaking through the material in a few minutes.
The sun had risen far above the line of the ocean by now, but the pair remained in the shadows. Kyros paced, occasionally checking their security. By the time he wished he had brought some explosives than an incompetent witch, the girl in question backed away suddenly. Kyros, still leaning on the wall, was alarmed to see her abrupt retreat. Winnie gave no indication of what had occurred; instead, she simply stared, unblinking, at the designated entrance.
Kyros opened his mouth to ask what the hell was the matter now when something ridiculously heavy landed on his foot. Before any profanity could escape, Winnie shot up and clamped her hand over his mouth.
"I made it land in the snow for silence," she whispered angrily, close to his ear. "Don't ruin it by yelling your head off."
Kyros tilted his head to look over her shoulder—sure enough, six large stone blocks laid in the snow. He waited, impressed, as the witch crawled through the new "back door." And then her voice called out to him, urging him to hurry, for goddess' sake.
"What took you so long?" she asked almost inaudibly when he landed beside her. Winnie could see nothing when she looked around, and the only sound was Kyros' panting. The hole she created would not let in light until sun set, and even then it would have been faint. "Couldn't you fit?"
"If your ass could fit, what makes you think I couldn't? Ouch, that hurt!"
"Wasn't meant to tickle," she returned snidely. "Now, lead the way."
"I don't know where we're going! That's your job!"
"How, exactly, am I supposed to find her in this labyrinth? You're the shifter, you're the one with the developed sense of smell!"
"Are you trying to say I have a big nose? Ouch! Stop resorting to violence; you're a witch for god's sake, not a werewolf. Show some control."
"Show some intelligence and sniff Verity out," she challenged. "Besides, it's pitch black in here. I can't find my way around."
"Good point," he admitted, scratching his head. "But it looks like we're in the dungeon—good place to start. Unless they're in one of the towers. Besides, I can't sniff her out; we haven't been in the same room in months."
"So what do we do, Einstein?"
"Explore, you…witch. Ow, for god's sake what was that for? It's what you are!"
"Oops," she replied sweetly. "Accident. Now, lead the way, will you? We can't stay here forever."
~*~*~*~
Thierry caught sight of the tent miles before he reached it. He increased his pace to a sprint, and reached the shelter in a matter of seconds. The white tarp already had a thin sheet of frost over it. Any insulting word he then uttered for the pair was lost in the howling wind, and he was angered to find nobody in the tent. The essentials were still there, but he noticed with alarm that any possible weapons were gone. Expression darkening, he quickly pushed aside the flaps, and stepped out to meet the challenging gales. And then he saw it.
"Oh damn," he said softly to himself. The castle. The deceptively peaceful place that held centuries of torture; a home to no one but pain. And, by the fading scent, he could tell that the fools, trained by the most sensible people on earth, had found a way in. The elder wanted very much to wring his hands around both their necks.
But, to do that, he would have to enter the castle himself.
"Damn."
~*~*~*~
"You're a slave driver," he called down resentfully. "You realize that, don't you?"
"Nobody likes a whiner. How's it going?"
"I've scoured away about half the length of two blocks. My hands hurt."
"Two blocks? That's it? But you've been working for hours." Adrian was standing in a foot hold he had scraped away before he was set to work. He wasn't so happy with the progress either.
"I don't see you doing anything," he muttered under his breath. But the cell, with its awful size and awful darkness, had surprisingly good acoustics.
"I don't see you doing anything either," she answered cheerfully. "It's very dark."
"Well, just wait a few more hours, and you'll see some light." He stiffened when he felt a hand grasp tightly onto his ankle. They both paused, holding their breath. There were noises just outside her door. Foot steps.
Verity's eyes widened when she remembered the food. The guards came every so often with a stale loaf of bread…but this time the door opened. She didn't see it, because even in the corridor there was not a speck of light, but heard the rusty moans of the hinges. Her breath caught in her throat, right around the same region her heart climbed to.
The man barked out a question, in a heavily accented voice. She guessed he was Asian, but she had never spoken or listened to one before. Deciphering the words was difficult for a few minutes. It was only when she felt the stranger was dangerously close that her mind scrambled to make sense of it. Who was she talking to?
"Um…myself." She smothered the sigh of relief she hadn't realized she had been holding in. Adrian must have disappeared, she deduced when she heard the guard search the area thoroughly. Then she felt something hard and flaky hit her arm, and heard the heavy door slam angrily.
"I'll kill him," she heard whispered violently from the man who materialized next to her on the cot. "I recognize him; put me to sleep that one. I'll tear that bastard to shreds."
"You can't," she pointed out reasonably, trying to slow her racing heart. "It will make the others investigate. They won't check on your cell, will they?"
"No," he answered, noticeably calmer. He sounded distant again, and Rita was pleased to find that he was diligently at work. "They think I'm still asleep. Neither of us have guards at our door. But," he began, sounding happy, "their underestimation of us will be their downfall." Which, Rita surmised, was probably Saddam Hussein's motto. Then she lingered on Adrian's earlier words.
"You mean they haven't fed you?" she asked, alarmed, as small pebbles and dust fell to the floor. Adrian made a vague negative sound and brushed some of the debris from his shirt. "But aren't you hungry?"
"Not really," he answered nonchalantly. Rita bit her lip; dragons were more complex than she thought. A tiny bit of guilt crept into her stomach. He hadn't eaten in weeks, but he consented to work nonstop for hours. Just because she wanted it that way. "Don't worry about it," he called down. "Father had endurance lessons like this all the time. No food for at least two weeks. Three if grumpy."
"Why? That's so…so barbaric."
"No it's not." He still spoke casually, but Rita sensed an undertone that warned her not to insult his family. "Builds up strength for a dragon with just three horns."
"Adrian, you can rest now."
He nearly slipped out of the foot hold. "What? But, two minutes ago, you wanted me to—"
"Never mind now. Just go to your cell and sleep for a bit."
Adrian jumped down and studied her. "Are you sure? What did I do now?" He backed away when he saw the emeralds flash warningly. "On second thought, a nap would probably be a good thing. I'll be back in an hour."
As he made his way to his own room, he mused over their bizarre, to say the least, relationship. He wondered about what exactly he wanted out of it as he pulled his shoes off and plopped onto the cot. Maybe Rita was right. Maybe soul mates didn't have to live together; maybe they didn't have to marry. The rules about it had been drilled into his head since he was a boy.
"But father didn't know my soul mate would be a human," he said aloud. He was sure father would have allowed an exception just this once. Marriage to a witch, or worse, a vampire, father would have hated. Adrian shuddered to think what the dragon, with five horns, would have done to see his youngest son married twice to a vermin.
He didn't want a relationship, and neither did Verity. Just to be on easy terms. They were on that road now. Complacently, he smiled to the ceiling. He was glad she was more reasonable this time around. Tana would have pouted or cried by the way they bickered. Still smirking, as if he were responsible for the change, the dragon drifted off the sleep.
~*~*~*~
"Tana?"
They were in the great hall, and she sat sullenly at the end of long table. But where she sat, or where they were, wasn't important. What was important was why were they here?
He approached her cautiously; the distance between them seemed endless. Adrian called repeatedly, louder than the previous, but she did not look up. The only thing he saw of her was her black hair, tightly braided and plaited; her face was turned away.
"Gitana," he said darkly. "Answer me."
Oddly enough, she did not cringe at his tone. His wife remained a statue, staring at nothing. After an eternity, in a hollow, lilting voice, she murmured, "It's different now. Old."
"What is?" he asked, irritated. It felt as though, no matter how many steps he took, the space between them remained fixed. For the first time, Adrian glanced around him. It was old. Their walls were dusty, dirty, and the air felt stale and thick. Far above, the chandelier gave little light, and the few rays that reached them were ghostly. It was their home but…not their home.
When he turned his attention to Tana again, Adrian was startled to see that he had finally reached her. A few more steps…he didn't want to take them. She was different, somehow…older.
Against his better judgment, he put one foot forward.
And the floor gave into the pressure. Surprised, he looked down and saw something plush and ragged under his foot.
Adrian bent and swiftly grabbed the broken toy.
"This is yours."
Gitana, whose features had been mysteriously obscure, finally raised her head and turned to him. God, she was as pretty as he remembered. Delicate nose, passionate mouth, wondering eyes—
Green eyes.
"No it's not," she stated. Jaded, green eyes.
"Yes, it is," he argued distractedly and drew nearer. It wasn't Tana, but it was Tana. "Your good luck doll."
She eyed the thing in his hand disgustedly. Her lips—once so sweet and guileless—twisted as if the mere sight of it gave a bad taste in her mouth. Her piercing gaze rose from the neglected object to the man holding it. Utter contempt swam in them.
"Didn't really work, did it?"
He wanted little Tana back. Not this cold hearted creature. Adrian wanted the girl with endearing naiveté to jump up and hug him for finding her good luck charm. Urgently, he thrust the hated trinket closer to her.
"Tana," he demanded harshly, inside unsure if that was the appropriate name, "take the damn doll. It's yours, it always has been. Just take it." It was of staggering importance that she received it. He did not understand why it was, but the rapid pace of his heart confirmed. Take it, he silently begged. For god's sake, accept it.
She leaned forward to study the rag doll, and then slowly raised her head to look up at him. "But it has no eyes," she pointed out with acidic clarity. Her eyes were wide with false surprise, as if she enjoyed making a fool of him.
Adrian looked down, irritated. Of course it had no eyes. Little Tana always referred to it as the good luck faceless doll; ergo, it had to be faceless.
But it wasn't. There was a thin scrap of red yarn, curving to form a blank smile. But no eyes. Just a stupid grin for something that never really worked.
Abruptly, she snatched it from his hand, scratching his palm as she did so. Hatred, pure hatred, raged in her jade eyes. Yet when she spoke, it was with devastating calmness.
"Look how she smiles. No reason at all."
It wasn't Tana. Nothing of his wife lived in the woman before him. Tana was gone. Adrian took a step back; as if hearing it, the stranger's head snapped up, arresting him with one look. She continued to observe, painfully distinct.
"No eyes, Adrian. She sees nothing, but she smiles. If she could only see—there's nothing to smile about. There never has been."
He wanted to see little, smiling Tana so much it hurt.
"Smiling, just because somebody fixed it that way. Because no one wants to see a miserable doll. No one wants to see a trinket without its shine."
Her eyes used to shine with such warmth…
"But dolls with no eyes don't last. People kill them. The ones that do smile all the time, and live…are rare. Nobody stays good forever."
Tana could have. She used to smile with such promise…
"Don't frown. Adrian, you wanted it this way, didn't you?" The singsong voice was insistent, so reasonable. Adrian nodded, though completely baffled. Those words had hair raising familiarity. Somebody, who, despite his damn irritation and minuscule significance, made perfect sense. If only he could just figure out who said it.
Even as she rose from the table, his wife who was not his wife was fading. Unseen winds taking bits and pieces of her as she swayed to him. By the time her cold hand touched his cheek, there was nothing but a ghost left.
"Please don't be disappointed," it begged, losing strength and malevolent tones. "It's how you wanted it."
~*~*~*~
The search on the first floor of the dungeon was fruitless. Nervous, although not daring to let each other see, they agreed to explore the level below them.
"Whoa," Kyros breathed after he looked into a few cells.
"What is it?" Winnie asked worriedly, following closely behind.
"Nothing…just a lotta creepy crap down here."
"Listen, I don't want to hear about your package—"
"No," he snapped, "sicko. I meant to the torture stuff. I mean, some I've seen, even endured. But others…" He paused to peer into another cell. "I didn't even know was physically possible. Hey, look at that! Makes you think 'ass hats' aren't completely unrealistic."
"Hold on." Kyros obeyed and stopped walking, mostly because the witch's nails were digging into his shoulder. "Are you saying these rooms are full of nasty nasties?"
"My eyes tell me they're not nice nasties. Ow! Cut those, will you?" He had been referring to her nails.
"But if they're full of Inquisition relics, then there's no room for Rita, right?"
"Not unless she's in one of them…oh crap. We gotta go back and check all those Iron Maidens."
Winnie stumbled when her guide turned back, and ran smack into her. "Try to warn somebody before you try to give them a concussion, will you?" But Kyros wasn't paying attention. He grabbed Winnie's hand and dragged her down the start of the hall.
~*~*~*~
He hadn't spoken since he returned. Verity barely received a "hello" before he climbed up back to their escape. She tried to start pleasant conversations, but each was ended by his terse words. Obviously, the nap she recommended hadn't helped as much as she thought it would. He even evaded the game.
"Adrian. Do you still have that book in your pocket? The one that you always had in Anomina?" Rita knew the answer. She had felt it when he had snatched her up as she sobbed.
"Hmm." It wasn't exactly satisfactory.
Frowning, she pursued the discouraging conversation. "Well, what's in it? What could possible be so important that you carry it around all the time?"
The sounds of labour did not stop; on the contrary, it sped up in agitation. "I don't want to tell you." It wasn't a lie, at least. But it still pained her.
"What's the matter with you?" she demanded.
"What about you?" he returned sensibly. "We both want to get out of here, so just let me work."
"But…you're acting all mean."
"Happens from time to time," he shrugged off. "Maybe once we get out of this hell hole, I'll be happier."
"Watch your language," she huffed and sulked on the bed. Verity felt peculiarly dizzy, and had wanted to ask Adrian why. But her soul mate's grouchiness had prevented it. She had had the spell of imbalance a night before, but couldn't put her finger on any particular reason. Maybe the excitement of escaping.
"Didn't bother you before."
Rita couldn't find anything clever to say, so she crossed her arms and hugged her knees. She had never known boys to be so moody. Adrian obviously, and sometimes Bryan. Even Jared, god bless his soul, has his strange episodes. The only benefit of her soul mate's sudden taciturn state was the fact that it made him more industrious. Verity estimated the mound of debris had doubled after only an hour's work.
In their conditions, she couldn't very well study him. But, every so often, she felt the unshakable feeling of him watching her. The scratching sounds would slow down, as if he were distracted. Rita didn't look up, because that would have been futile, but retreated even farther down the opposite end of the cot and drew the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Couldn't very well have him seeing down her shirt.
She waited, hours on end, and racked her brains for something to do. Rita had come to depend on conversation so much she didn't know what to do. Then she smiled brightly, and remembered her glasses.
Adrian paused, amused to see his soul mate crawling on all fours through the straw. But he couldn't indulge on it. If they were regular blocks, he would have dragged her out in a few minutes. But, being what they were, work was perpetually necessary if he meant to fulfill her wish of leaving as soon as possible.
Something smooth, hard, and cool…ew, no, that felt like a skull. She left the corner where the door met it and headed to her left. And heard a sharp crack under her knee.
"What was that?" Amaro wondered.
"Um…my glasses," she answered sheepishly, and felt her way back to the cot. Adrian chuckled.
"If you wanted to find them, you could have just asked me."
"No, it's all right. Bad sight is hardly important if you're stuck in everlasting darkness."
She heard him scoff. "A tad dramatic aren't we?"
"I've been here longer than you have," she stated stubbornly. "I get dramatic rights."
"Well," he sighed tiredly. "Come here and it won't be so bad."
"This isn't a come on, is it?" she asked suspiciously, but crept closer to him any way. Adrian tugged her sleeve to draw her to the corner, where he stood. Without warning, Verity was hoisted up and against the wall. She scrambled to keep her feet on the foot hold; Adrian balanced just fine with only one foot keeping him up. Rita had an intuitive feeling he was smiling at her trouble of being six feet off the ground. Dragons, she thought with mild disgust.
Before she could scold him, Adrian gestured in front of him.
A hole. Nothing extraordinary, not especially large or nicely shaped…but still. Absurdly excited, Rita leaned forward and inhaled deeply. Fresh air. Cold, fresh, light filled air.
It was wonderful. Nothing short of wonderful.
"Get down now," he ordered, arrogance wrapped around the words. "I'll finish while you sleep." Rita fell clumsily, but managed to avoid any broken or sprained limbs.
"Can you tell what time of day it is?" she asked, still giddy, as she all but skipped to bed. "With your dragon eyes, and everything."
"Mmm…it is a very small hole…but I guess maybe four or five. A bit early for sleeping, but you seem overexcited any way."
"Oh shut up. I've been here longer and I get overexcited rights."
~*~*~*~
It appeared to be an enormous storage room for torture devices. None of which trapped or chained down Verity Catalina Glisscielle.
"I wish we had a blue print of the place. Daybreakers always have a blue print before a rescue."
"Shut up, you're starting to sound like Quinn," Kyros complained. They had lost the habit of whispering because, by all appearances, the place was abandoned. "It's a shame Amaro let all this stuff go to waste." Winnie glanced at him sharply. "Not that I'd use it or anybody or anything."
"If he is here, he's probably in one of the nicer rooms on the main floor. And Rita's…"
"Somewhere below us," he finished. Winnie continued to explore, carrying a confused expression for how, exactly could this or that work. Blondes, he thought to himself with a grin. They had explored two floors before she remembered she could carry a ball of fire for light. "Hey, listen, if we find—"
"When," she corrected. The girl's life had been hell. Winnie figured the least they could do was bail her out considering how much Circle Daybreak hadn't helped.
"Fine, when we find Verity…could I um, come back?"
"You're going to steal from the dragon? Are you crazy?"
"Right, like we have enough room for this stuff on the plane. No…I just figured I oughta come back and give the guy a talkin' to."
Winnie marched up her partner and tip toed to study his face. Completely serious. Then she gave a hard flick to his Adam's apple.
"Holy…stuff, that hurt!" he moaned, rubbing his neck.
"You want to come back and jeopardize our safety just so you could have the satisfaction of a school yard fight! Kyros, he's a dragon!"
"Yeah, I thought we learned that in Anomina…"
"No, Kyros, absolutely not," she stated firmly. She whirled away, her blonde curls slapping him in the eyes. Kyros noted it was a nasty habit reserved only for him. Still pleading, he followed her down the narrow stair well.
He bumped into her, and dropped a few expletives when he saw why she stopped. A foot away from Winnie, at the bottom of the stair well, stood an Asian vampire. Standing perfectly still. Not even breathing, which came to all vampires by instinct.
"Think it's a wax figure?" he whispered to her anxiously.
The vampire swiftly raised two cross bows, one for Winnie's heart, and the other at Kyros' most valuable and vulnerable area: his crotch. It was definitely not a wax figure.
"All right, I give up," he immediately informed him, hands shooting above his head. "For god's sake, Winnie, surrender too. Before my chances of fatherhood are severely shortened."
"That might not be a bad thing," Winnie dead panned, but raised her hands any way. And we brought so many weapons, she lamented privately as the henchman hustled them out of the room.
~*~*~*~
Thierry watched with a shake of his head as the two entered his view. At first, he didn't understand why their arms were held up until the vampire behind them stepped the room. If they all survived, and after their indefinite suspension, Thierry made a mental note that the pair had to enter training again.
Safely hidden from their view, Thierry crouched on the decorative ledge. Thank Goddess for indoor pillars and the owner's penchant for gargoyles. The shadows cloaked him nicely as he studied and memorized which room they had entered. Then he waited for the guard to leave.
But he didn't. Not until after a long time.
~*~*~*~
"Rita."
She turned away, sleepily swatting at the annoying speaker. Her hand missed.
"Verity, wake up."
Rita pulled the blanket up so that it covered her ears. The material was peeled back, and that irritating, multi-accented voice was very near. She flinched when air tickled her cheek.
"Verity Catalina Glisscielle, wake up before I kiss you."
Rita shot up, nearly colliding her head with Adrian's. "That's a nasty threat," she grumbled as she was physically pulled away from slumber. The girl suspected it was another exciting update on the escape's progress, and was almost prepared when she was once again jerked into the air. After a few seconds of obtaining a satisfactory grip on the blocks, Adrian's shoulder, and the foot hold, Verity looked up.
Three blocks. Gone. Just…not there. In their place, fresh air, and a diagonal brief tunnel that let in sun light.
"Good lord," she uttered, her mind blank of any other phrase. "It's light." Faint, white, but there. The weak rays failed to enter her cell, but at least she could see some color. The soil, Adrian's clothes…well, Adrian's clothes were black, but the soil was a nice, rich brown. Verity sighed contentedly.
"All right, enough euphoria," Adrian ordered briskly, secretly pleased. It was nice to see sensible Verity with almost jump, had their positions permitted, with childish happiness. "Crawl through."
Verity turned to him, eyes round. "You want me to leave? Now?"
"I'll come out right after," he assured her. She shook her head.
"No. Only three blocks are gone, Adrian. I can't possibly fit."
"Of course you can. Weeks of nothing but bread and water; you've probably lost some weight." Rita stared at him, jaw dropped. She guessed he didn't understand the rules of a stubborn, unconditionally generous Spanish rear. It was in her genes, for goodness' sake. Mother had spoken of it often enough. But, as she didn't want to point out her violin shape, she nodded reluctantly and allowed him to help her through the narrow opening.
The first thought that hit her was:
"Adrian, it's cold." Which was an understatement. She never imagined that cold could burn like this.
"Of course it is. Just keep on moving forward." Rita grimaced and pulled herself forward, hands digging into the hard, rocky ground. As she expected, Verity emerged smoothly. Head, neck, shoulders, torso…
"Oh damn," she heard him mutter. "You don't fit."
Most girls envied that bottom curve that a majority of Spanish and Latina girls possessed; and the girls who did have them, flaunted it. Verity wasn't one of them. She gritted her teeth and cursed her heritage. Melissa never had this waist problem.
"Wait, what are you doing?" Adrian demanded, alarmed.
"Coming back in, of course. I don't fit."
"I know that, but just—I don't know, squeeze through."
"These are my hips, Adrian, not play dough."
"Are you going to at least try, or do I have to push?"
It was amazing how fast one could scramble under a threat. Rita would have endured a broken pelvis just to "squeeze through." Later, she couldn't remember how long it took, but she managed. With grunts, complaints, threats, more complaints and more threats, Verity finally pulled her feet through and began wriggling through the tunnel. Gasping and sweating, she dragged herself out of the hole and onto the burning snow.
Adrian climbed out a few minutes later. Both laid tired on the ground, sprawled out as if to make snow angels.
She had never felt such exhaustion in her entire life, or her other lives for that matter. Her chest heaved as she tried to make sense of the sky. Funny how she remembered it to be blue, not white. Maybe confinement had manipulated her memory…no wait, that was an overcast. Good. Memory of nature's colors, still intact. But it was all so irritatingly bright.
"Damn me," she heard Adrian gasp in wonder. She frowned and turned to him. And he had an admirable profile.
But Adrian didn't face her. His blue eyes—she missed seeing that deep a blue—remained fastened on their prison. It was very nice castle, Rita admitted to herself, but now was not the time to house shop.
"That's my castle," he said, still frozen in shock. Verity frowned and looked from him and the castle. Must have been his imagination. She couldn't imagine her own soul mate to be stupid enough to spend weeks in a dungeon of his own making. He muttered, "Somebody's broken into my castle, and made dungeon additions to my castle, and probably rearranged my furniture in my castle…"
Rita turned away and squinted far into the still whiteness. She felt as if she just stepped onto a blank canvas. On one of the icy dunes, has the most peculiar bump…almost like a pimple…
"Adrian!" she murmured through chattering teeth. "Adrian, look!" Rita clapped her hands, adrenaline possessing her. She jumped like a child who broke into a candy store. "Adrian, it's a tent!" She wasn't sure if it was a tent, but that sounded less silly than saying "Look, it's an igloo!"
But Adrian never even looked towards her. Although he picked himself and stood, unsteadily, on his own two feet, his gaze remained the same. On the pile of enchanted bricks. Then again, it was probably better that way, for Rita was sure she wasn't much to look at.
Impatient, she clutched a handful of his sleeve and pulled him away. It was harder than she expected, because the ground was slippery and Adrian had his fair share of muscles. Still fatigued by their escape, Rita paused, panting.
"For goodness' sake, Adrian, come on!" She emphasized by childishly stamping her foot.
Finally, Adrian turned to her, eyes urgent. "Don't do that. I just remembered something about my castle."
Rita stamped her foot again, because it had caught his attention before. "Adrian, it's not your castle!"
"Yes it is. And I placed hidden lakes around the peri—"
A sharp crack interrupted him. Horrified into silence, they slowly looked below their feet.
Rita shrieked as the solid ground shattered and black water engulfed her. Adrian hurriedly pulled off his shirt and kicked off his shoes before he dived in after her.
The cold was biting, mercilessly tearing all feeling from her body. She tried to swim, but her arms refused to obey. Invisible icy tendrils penetrated her skin, drilling painfully in her mind. Feebly, she knew it wouldn't be too long before she passed out or died. Her lips quirked up.
Dying…just because she stomped her foot. Had there been any color in her face, she would have blushed at her stupidity.
~*~*~*~
ass is a step forward."
Unknown
All I can ask is how do you feel about this one? Did I sound like a therapist just then? Ick, how stinky. No offense to therapists out there. Maybe I need one…any who review! Please? Again, sorry for ranting.