Notes: I just wish to establish something straightaway. Tizoc Theron is a character mentioned, albeit briefly, in Shattered Mirror. I'm just taking the sentence and expanding upon it with this story. As for what on earth is going on, if you've read my stories Tainted, Reckoning and Simple Bet, you'll notice the common themes that run through them. I guess you could say they're all part of the series. And with the ending of this story, there will definitely be another one soon. And the Triste blood part (which you'll come across soon) was oddly inspired by the use of some tribes of blow darts and poison. With that all said, do enjoy the story.
Disclaimer: Tizoc Theron and other characters mentioned within this story are the sole property of Amelia Atwater-Rhodes.
Shifting
By Frozen Phoenix
The small, claustrophobic room was a hazy blend of roaring blazes and smoke. Metallic pots sat atop an immense flame, the hunks of metal dissolving slowly and mixing with a viscous red liquid present within. Various sized molds occupied most of the unoccupied space, as did their finished products.
Amidst the heat and scarce light, a person leaned lazily against a table. Beads of sweat gradually trailed down his forehead and slipped down his face, yet he ignored them. His focus was only upon the medium-sized mold and the bullet cooling inside of it. His cobalt eyes, which were ringed by many sleepless nights, narrowed as he removed the bullet and inspected it closely for imperfections.
He found none and it did little to surprise him. He had been making his own ammo for years; he might have called himself an expert if he didn't already have a more flattering title.
Tizoc Theron, the great vampire assassin, chuckled humorlessly and brushed an out-of-place strand of red hair aside. No, he already had his title and he had spent his entire life earning it. With a feeling of satisfaction, Tizoc threw the bullet into the air and backed away from the counter.
He then caught it in the palm of his hand and made his way to the still-simmering pots in the large fireplace.
Still not done, Tizoc thought irately. He had been working to restock his ammo for most of the day and with the night, came engagements. Plans he had made days before and that demanded his utmost attention.
With more than slight disappointment, Tizoc reached for a pair of battered, metal tongs and began extracting the pots as quickly as permitted. After all of the pots and their contents were situated on a nearby table, Tizoc bent down and retrieved an old bucket filled with water and flung it on the flames.
The room was filled with a lengthy hiss and a billow of misty steam forced Tizoc to move backwards, one arm raised to shield his eyes. Once the smoke died down and no remnants of the fire remained, Tizoc turned away from the fireplace. He moved towards the wooden stairs, his disappointment replaced with a new anxiousness. He would have to leave to meet his client soon, the last thing he needed was for them to see him at his least presentable.
A quick shower and change later, Tizoc was feeling like a new man. Or as close to one as possible. His anxiousness had mostly receded, yet a cool curiosity remained. Why had the client requested they meet under such unusual circumstances?
Tizoc Theron had no office. He was an assassin, not some run-of-the-mill vampire hunter. But those that wanted to rouse his attentions rarely had trouble doing so. His reputation was well-known by most of the fringes of community, for how many other humans had willingly, time and again infiltrated the bloodletting nests of the crème de la crème of vampires? And lived to kill again?
None had, Tizoc mused coldly. But survival was of course not without its sacrifices. The scars that spanned most of his body were more than proof of that.
Snapping out his dreary reminiscing, Tizoc gazed at the collection of weapons before him. Swords of all shapes and sizes, medieval broadswords, Japanese katanas and kodachis, sais, shuriken, small daggers, maces and crossbows filled the top shelves, while his smaller collection of guns was housed in the lower ones.
His bullets were kept in a hidden section of the cabinet and though his weapons were of superior market value, his bullets were of greater importance. Unlike most hunters who used them, Tizoc went the extra step to confirm that his bullets would be the most potent.
Triste blood, effective as it was at causing slow death to vampires who consumed it, the results were almost instantaneous when it was directly exposed to a vampire's blood. And because most vampires never expected a hunter who didn't rely singularly on their blades, Tizoc often had surprise on his side.
A clean hit or stab in the chest, the neck or even in the leg to slow them down and the vampire would soon become infected by the blood's poison. It wouldn't kill them immediately, but it did cause unimaginable pain and left untreated, would spread quickly.
Since there weren't many Tristes running around willing to open a vein, Tizoc used the next best thing. His supplier never offered any information and he never bothered to ask. While the Black Market was helpful in providing many…unusual services and goods, questions often had a habit of running short.
Tizoc knew that most people would have at least a passing interest in the fact that the blood was most likely attained through horrific means, torture the likeliest, but he did not. In war there were no innocents and when it came down to it, he was willing to sacrifice anyone who was necessary, if the situation called for it. Mercy had never been a part of his training.
Selecting the Browning and after checking its clip, Tizoc placed it in his shoulder holster, then bent down and strapped a short blade to his leg. While his client had claimed to be human, he didn't believe in taking foolish chances. It was also the main reason he kept his car equipped with extra weaponry.
Thinking of the time, Tizoc closed and locked the cabinet, with the weapons that had been in his family for generations, hurriedly. He took a minute to test the strength of the lock, then turned away. He exited through the kitchen, smirking slightly at its sparse furnishings. It was all part of his deception; the shoddiness of his home was a perfect off-putter to any would-be thieves. And while this was Tizoc's main base of operations, he had several small hovels located in many different areas.
Minutes later, he was on the road. The car, a nondescript black, moved sleekly over the shadowed streets. Tizoc allowed no music within the vehicle, he found it an unwelcome distraction and had always been warned against its influence. As he effortlessly weaved through the minimal traffic, he tried to use recall the lessons of old.
Vampire assassination had always been a way of life for his family. Their family name, which he had stopped using long ago, had been almost as well known as the Vida name. As with all things, such publicity had both positive and negative reciprocations.
Most of his family had fallen under the fangs of more powerful vampires. And since age bred a greater risk of mistakes, most of the men in the family chose to marry and raise children later in their lives. Well, almost all of them.
His brother Eric had never been one to follow tradition. He had fallen in love with a woman unconnected to anything of the preternatural nature, but he tried to continue doing his part in the family business as well. Then on a failed assignment Eric was captured and no doubt tortured before he was turned into a vampire.
He had then been released, completely mad. He ended up slaying his lover, which drove him to an even greater insanity. Tizoc finally executed him, to put him out his misery more than anything else. His brother was already dead, he was simply killing what had been left behind.
Tizoc clutched the leather covering the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. Rumors had circulated at the time that Fala, fledgling to the ancient Jager, had been the cause of his brother's torture and transformation. Not caring if they were true, Tizoc had decided to return the favor by killing Jager, but failed. Repeatedly.
The Egyptian vampire had constantly managed to overcome him. No weapon he used, no amount of cunning succeeded in besting him. And worse yet, Jager seemed to view his many attacks as nothing more than a game or an amusement. His genial chatting during their fights had driven Tizoc to even greater fury, though the rigorous training he had endured throughout his life made him able to keep his face and his mind as blank as a slate.
Exhaling a breath he didn't realize he was holding, Tizoc pulled the car into a dimly lit parking space. The restaurant it belonged to was one of less savory places in Acton. Not the ideal places to discuss and assassination. Tizoc's wariness increased tenfold as he exited the vehicle.
After doing a final check, he proceeded forward. The chances that the so-called meeting was actually a trap waiting to ensnare him did little to ease his discomfort as he opened one of the glass doors and entered to building. Immediately smoke, beer and other assorted greasy smells assaulted him.
Tizoc paused, taking the time to adapt to the environment by letting his eyes roam across the pallid faces. Most of them were washed out and grungy, apparently cleanliness was not a necessity for entry.
But when he caught a glimpse of a familiar face, one he would never have expected to see in such a place…
"Dominique Vida," Tizoc spoke with mock-politeness as he drew nearer to the seated woman.
"I'd say this was a pleasant surprise, but we both know I'm not one for lying."
Ever the image of calm beauty and collection, Dominique's response was equally emotionless.
"I did not invite you here to exchange pleasantries, Theron. I don't have such time to waste."
Tizoc sat down opposite the witch and raised an eloquent eyebrow. "Oh?"
Dominique's eyes glittered dangerously, but she maintained her severe demeanor.
"I'm sure you are aware of what has been happening lately." She spoke curtly. "Many of the older leeches have begun to flee and sources have confirmed the awakening of Siete."
At Dominique's words, the flippant persona Tizoc clung to vanished. His expression darkened and his posture became rigid.
"The creator of all vampires has finally decided to come out of his self-induced coma?" He inquired coolly.
Dominique frowned slightly. "Your reputation has been overestimated, Theron. Even the healers of the Smoke line have already been well informed of the situation."
Tizoc heard the undisguised barb, but ignored it. The thought of challenging the oldest of vampires was truly an enticing one. He gazed at Dominique and found her returning his glance with a similar interest. Despite their differences, they were both the top of their kind and had found the ultimate prey.
Tizoc didn't thank Dominique for the knowledge, gratitude had never been in his nature. He chose instead to change the subject.
"Is this the only reason you invited me here, Vida? I was expecting either a bloody fight or a job and so far, I have received neither."
"You should be happy I bothered to called you in the first place." Dominique responded coldly. "I do not normally go about sharing such information. As for a job, I do have one for you, though your fee is at best, questionable."
"You can pay it or take your business elsewhere." Tizoc replied darkly. "I don't do negotiations."
The frown on Dominique's face deepened. "I see. Very well then." Reaching to the side and into a purse that was probably only for decoration, Dominique extracted a picture and dropped it on the table.
"This is your target, but I do have certain… exceptions for your services. I want her found and brought to me alive. For that, I am willing to pay double the price you're asking."
Tizoc examined the picture closely, committing every detail to mind. But while doing so, something struck him. He had seen this girl before, in another place…another time…
"This girl, Vida She is-"
There was no pity or remorse in her reply. Only a fierce and deadly hate.
"She was my daughter."
~The End~