So, I think we are pretty much out of the mega-sized blast-to-the-past that characterized the first few chapters…Hope you enjoy the rest of the story (which will be really really really *long*--at least, I hope so.)
Zabella: Nice to meet you. I'm super glad you're enjoying the story…please read on, my newfound correspondent! Oh, and by the by, thanks for reviewing ::mega-watt grin::
fin: He he. Yeah, Lif kinda freaks me out too…he's a real screwy fella…and maybe he'll get even *more* barmy…Winn's interesting to me—I think it'll be an experience to watch her *grow*. And Ruan—he is an ass. But I don't know if he'll be getting his posterior kicked soon…we'll see…Thanks so much for reviewing, and read on!
galaktis: I love reviews! And I love responding to them! Yeah, Winn is kind of peculiar…she's an awkward, neurotic semi-nutcase…how she'll evolve will be interesting to witness…Thanks for your positively delightful review! Read on…!
Raquel: Good to meet you! I'm glad you like the story…please read on…!
Chapter 4: The Marquéd
Two days later Winn stood in front of Ruan's door, by her own insistence grasping the handles of a large duffel bag and one tattered, felt suitcase, standing in a hallway in a huge, stylish, thoroughly ravishing apartment building in northeast Melas. Her frayed shoes sunk into the lush, tastefully muted, carpet.
She was petrified.
Tentatively, she knocked at the door. No answer. She knocked again, a little more assertively—
He—*he*— threw open the door, lifted the luggage out of her hands, and strode through a high-ceilinged living room, down a long hall, past several tall doors, to the last door on the right. Last door on the right. She must remember that. Without looking at her, he ungraciously dumped her bags in front of the closed door, and brushed past her; she heard him grab something and leave through the front door. She was alone.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she entered a room larger than the whole of her own apartment, done in neutral colors, bare of anything save a bed, a graceful chest of drawers, and a small bookcase. Tossing her bags at the foot of the bed, she pulled off her shoes and curled up on the soft, white-blanketed bed, kitten-like. She was asleep in seconds.
* * *
Hours later, satiated, Ruan returned to his apartment. As soon as he opened the door, his near-exuberant self tumbled back to earth, remembering that the girl, Winn, was living here for the time being. When she had appeared at his door that afternoon, pale face hidden behind her thick, matte-black curls, he had wanted to rage at her, scream at her, carry her bodily out of the lobby. He involuntarily remembered how light she was.
How could *she*, a youngling, pose a threat? he wondered.
Suddenly, his stiff, stoic features relaxed, almost into a smile. Of course. He mustn't be upset. ~This—she—is my plaything, correct? Right. Mine—and my soulmate. We will play—no, nix that—I will play.~ He smiled.
Ruan strolled out into the spacious living room, expecting to see her perched on a couch, or something—Not there. He hurried to his bedroom, glancing down the corridor as he opened the door. Noticing her own door was ajar, he took a few tentative steps down the hall; he wanted that door closed—closed. Cautiously glancing through the gaping door, Ruan narrowed his eyes, seeing her heaped so harmlessly in the middle of the large bed. Covertly he studied her slight form, half her face hidden in the folds of her too-large coat, the other half drawn and shadowed in the bluish early evening light. He closed the door quietly and slowly walked back to his own room.
* * *
Gentle shafts of white light streamed through the window, falling softly onto Winn's face. Morning. Growling a little, Winn opened her eyes and discovered that she was curled up in the same fetal position she had fallen asleep in the afternoon before. For a second, she remembered where she was and felt a second pang of fear. She felt nauseous. And *hungry*. No—not hungry, thirsty-hungry, which meant she must go and suck the life out of something or down a carton of gore. Nice, she thought. Very nice. Not like she had a choice as to whether she would become a vampire or not—no one asked her what she thought of drinking this stuff. Not, of course, that she wasn't *grateful* for being alive, at least in a manner of speaking. She was…grateful, she supposed.
She supposed she could go to a butcher or something; they had butchers around here didn't they? Recalling her wary hike up the long, pristine driveway to the apartment building, she made a face. Probably not in this oh so upscale neighborhood, she thought unhappily.
Groaning at the effort of getting to her feet, she decided to ask Ruan if he had anything in the fridge. After pulling on a fresh pair of jeans, and an old, once-yellow T-shirt with "Moosh" written in faded blue letters across the top, she trudged down the hall and into the living room, searching for him. Please be awake. Please. Please. Exploring room after spacious room, she finally went back to the living room and sat at the bar in the adjoining kitchen. Huh. She really was feeling lightheaded. Served her right, she supposed, dazed. *I'm…dizzy…* she pronounced to herself, swaying in her stool.
There he was…finally…walking over, blurred…hurry. ~Ah well~, she thought as she tumbled out of her stool, ~serves me right.~
Ruan's arm snapped out and caught her before she hit the floor face-first. Gripping her shoulders, he noticed how pale she was. Albino-pale. Narrowing his eyes, he sat her roughly down on the tiled floor—she slumped against a low cabinet. He checked her pulse and found it weak—feather-light. Sighing, Ruan stood and pulled a carton out of the refrigerator. He opened her mouth and, *déjà vu*, he thought wryly, poured the cold, thick-dark contents down her throat. He waited, watching her face, for her to revive. Soon enough, her cheeks filled with a subtle rosewater-flush, and her big, violet-shadowed eyes snapped open to find Ruan staring intently at her, his high brow smooth, blasé. Again, she realized how very beautiful his face was, the sculpted features, the longish, uncombed and inherently mussed wine-dark hair. She shrank back against the cabinets warily, tense.
A suggestion of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, Ruan stood and walked around to the other side of the counter. Sitting down, the smile faded, and he muttered in an irritated voice, "You didn't eat. You're supposed to eat everyday. Next time, eat."
Winn shook herself off and slid into a stool at the end of the counter. "Yeah," she muttered. "Thanks."
Ruan looked over at her, eyes blank, and began, "Today we'll start. We'll go to this place I know on the southeast side."
Winn nodded. Taking a shaky breath, she intoned softly, "Let's go now."
Ruan nodded, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye with a peculiarly cool amusement. "Let's go now," he repeated.
* * *
Ruan drove down an empty highway bordering the forest around north Melas without speaking, and Winn kept her mouth shut as well.
Winn was uncomfortable. Unused to even the most casual interaction with others, she had to fight to keep from trembling from fright and uneasiness. She hated the feeling. It was in her gut—she fancied Ruan's contempt, condescension, disdain, etc. was palpable. She'd been mediocre all her life; to her parents, to anyone who noticed her clothing. But this was all human stuff. Did it matter to vampires? She knew she wasn't good-looking enough. All those Marquéd at the last two meetings were, of course, invariably beautiful, excepting herself. She was too pale, too puny, too sickly-looking, she knew. She wasn't blind.
She hunched down into her seat. Her life hadn't changed much. She just had scarier teeth. No friends—*not that I want any*, Winn corrected herself. Come to think of it, this bad Ruan seemed kind of reclusive himself. At the last meeting, she noticed he'd kept to himself while the others divided into obvious cliques. Huh. Bad Ruan's a loner. Guess the snob isn't so perfect after all. The thought made her smile a little. Frowning, she wondered how he became ultra-intrapersonal. Bad humanlife experience? Probably. Funny how although the vampirae had physically left the human world, they still lugged its baggage here and there, including, of course, herself. In some ways, this bad Ruan was just as pathetic as she was. At the thought she chuckled softly.
Startled, Ruan glanced over at the girl. She sat hunched down in her seat, her hair all over her face, arms wrapped about herself. He'd heard her speak how many times? Three? Four?
"What's so amusing?"
Winn looked up at his general direction and muttered, "Nothing."
Interested now, Ruan let his mind roam and center on hers; he dipped into the surface of her mind, eyes glimmering—
~…bad Ruan's a loner… just as pathetic as I am…bad Ruan…pathetic…pathetic…~
His face went tight, his eyes went an icy violet-blue, his knuckles clutched and went white around the steering wheel.
Then, oddly, his face gradually relaxed into an almost agreeable expression, mild. He brought the car to a stop. Winn straightened, looked up at him. Staring straight ahead, he uttered pleasantly, "Get out."
Winn stared at him, frightened again. He turned and faced her. Winn drew in her breath—something was not right with his face—there was something—
He was smiling.
She didn't move; she was frozen.
Ruan's smile widened; his eyes were dark, quiet, his rumpled hair blood-colored.
A fine trembling seemed to have enveloped Winn as he climbed out of the car, ambled over to her side, pulled the door open, deftly unbuckled her seatbelt and jerked her out of the car by the arm.
Winn stifled a shriek of pain as she tumbled in a heap to the asphalt.
Her shoulder felt dislocated—tendons in her wrist were crushed. Her breath came shallow—what was that keening sound? Gaping up at Ruan, she clutched her damaged arm to her chest.
He was still smiling that summery, pleasant, delightful smile. "Winn."
She coughed and sucked in a sharp, shaky breath. "Hnh.."
"It wasn't very nice of you to call me names, was it?"
*Wha—?* Winn stared—*shake your head, say no*…She shook her head slowly.
"That's right." His smile faded, and suddenly—his face was even more disturbing—it looked like a—a mask, something dead. He turned away and strode over to the car. In he slid and sped away.
Alone and gasping, Winn clumsily pulled off the grey-green coat and stared at the rosy imprints of fingers wrapping around her arm. She held her arm out, transfixed, and gingerly rotated her purplish wrist. The bruises had already begun to fade, as was the pain in her shoulder. The near-translucent skin was a lovely lilac hue…like lilies in shade. Winn was vaguely aware that a feverish quivering had spread from her chest outwards, throughout her body, to the tips of her fingers, toes.
In minutes, her arm was completely healed. Pulling on her coat with shaking hands, Winn glanced in the direction Ruan had gone. She heaved a shaky sigh. She should've expected it. To her irritation, her vision blurred and liquid brimmed on her lower lids. Manhandling was nothing new. Fingers curled, she stroked the flawless flesh of her now-whole arm, running her fingers so lightly, lightly over the sparse, fine hairs; she turned her arm so the even paler underside faced up; gazing at the pale blue criss-cross of veins.
On her back on the nubbly asphalt, she stretched kitten-like, closed her eyes. Her eyelids were warm, moist; with a gasp she conjured up a crisp, vivid image—like a snapshot—of her dingy apartment building, where she could be safe, and quiet, and alone. Trembling, she could see all minute details of her room: the cracks in the ceiling shaped like lopsided, amoebic spider webs, her lumpy cot, the slightly warped, very scuffed hardwood floors. Dingy to be sure, and ugly, most certainly. It was *hers*.
The wetness had retreated from behind her eyelids; reluctantly, she willed her eyes open—
She was in her room.
* * *
"What—?"
Shuddering violently, Winn whipped around and stared, wide-eyed, at her positively unreal surroundings. So surreal—everything looked so—no—everything *was* real. She hadn't imagined it; she truly was inside her apartment, in her own room! How? ~How how how?~ her mind echoed. "Am I—where am—…?" she demanded.
Was it a dream? A dream…Ruan? The Marquéd? It was a dream…All of it…
Her chest went tight—was it a dream?—She probed her gums with her tongue—
Fangs. They were still there. Not a dream.
Then how did this happen? What was going on? This—this—what was this? Blinking out of a spot and reappearing an instant later in a place she recalled in her mind's eye? Lunacy. Madness. Delusion. Winn opened her eyes wide and tried to block it out—out. She didn't want to understand—not now.
Lips parted, still shaken but a little calmer, Winn tiptoed lightly to a corner and carefully sat down, her shoulders braced by the two walls, knees drawn up under her slightly pointed chin. She wrapped her arms around her legs and sat still, taking in the quiet, the blue-grey light coming through a small window at her right, the softness and the calm. She was afraid to breathe for fear of breaking this spell, or waking up. Leaning her head against the corner, she closed her eyes and tried to pretend all was as it had been, before.
* * *
"Shit." Ruan clenched his hands around the driving wheel.
~You need her cooperation—I know! Go back.~
His bones felt cold. "Fine," he murmured. "Fine."
The petite, olive-chartreuse-y-green car suddenly swerved into a sharp U-turn and sped back the way it had come.
Ruan smiled softly. He mustn't let his instinct get the better of him again. Stupid.
The car slowed as he reached the place where he'd left her. He stopped the car at the side of the road.
She was gone.
Narrowing his eyes, he slid out the car and walked over the place she'd fallen, white face tense with pain, in the soft dirt. He knitted his brow at the ground. No tracks. Only a swathe of rumpled soil lay imprinted in the earth, where she had lain heaped. But there were no tracks leading onto the road, or further off the road, or along the shoulder, in any direction. As though she'd vanished from that very spot—?
"What the fuck is going on?" he questioned the asphalt calmly. Brows drawn together, Ruan stared at the prints to the street to the prints again. She had disappeared. There was—could be—no other explanation. She had literally disappeared.
Ruan stood, still, statue-like, thinking. He wracked his brain—had he ever heard of any vampire who could disappear—or fly, for that matter? Flying was a myth, unadulterated bull. But—but. But disappearing—There was something—he could almost remember—his eyes flashed. Lips curved into a small smile, Ruan remembered.
Decades ago, when he had withdrawn from both human and vampire society directly after Myr's departure, he had buried himself in the study of vampirae. During his study he had come across a very old, very obscure account of an ancient made vampire from Ireland, her name unmentioned (whether purposely or not, he couldn't say) and so unknown—though she was the most powerful of her time. The account told of a woman who could vanish from one place and appear at another in less than an instant, at will. The power had been Born with her, and it was only one of the many powers she possessed; it was the barest glimpse into her deep, untried realm of power, some she had managed to harness, and more still that had lain dormant, deep within her. In the end, it was that power that had killed her, its wild fire and indomitable chill breaking out of her at last to swallow her whole. This vampire, this woman, had drowned, bloated with energy, in her own power.
Ruan shivered. He felt…excited. This vampire was the not only the most powerful of her own time, but also the most powerful in all memory, in all times—or she at least had held that potential. Lif's Marquéd seemed so petty…insignificant…weak, compared to that.
He narrowed his eyes, blue light glimmering. If Winn could truly disappear…If she could…And if that was not the end of her power—Ruan shivered again. He would think about it later. Now—now he must find his Winn.
~Where, oh where, have you wandered, Winn?~
* * *
As he penetrated deep into east Melas, Ruan studied the gradually decaying environment. Pock-marked, painted women skulked, leering, on corners, whole lots filled with the homeless' tents and shanties, the dreary, ominous buildings…
Glancing up, he realized he'd subconsciously parked in front of Winn's pale yellow building.
He strolled up to the unlovely cemented stoop, and stepped through the unlocked doors, ignoring the filthy, unconscious man sprawled inside the doorway. Inside, it was dark, dank, with an undeniable odor of mold and old urine. Ruan studied yellowed list of names encased in a mangled steel frame tacked onto the water-stained wall to the left. "Fallou" was missing. Frowning almost imperceptibly, Ruan stalked up to the messy front desk, where a beer-bellied woman, her spindly, veiny legs propped up on the counter, dozed, a bit of her coarse, peroxide-dyed blonde hair dangling in her mouth.
"Excuse me." He waited. She dozed. Louder, "Excuse me." She started and almost fell out of her chair.
"Yeah, wait a minute, will you? she mumbled roughly, and ducked under the desk, apparently looking for something on the floor. When she looked up, her faded, watery blue eyes took in his tall, lean form, enveloped in close-fitting faded black shirt, worn jeans. Her eyes widened with admiration when they reached his stoic face, absorbing the perfect, elegant slope of cheekbone and jaw, the sculpted dip and arch of lip.
She smirked. "I can tell. You an't from this neighborhood, eh? Eh?" She snorted with laughter. Ruan narrowed his eyes, his lips quirked up slightly. "So, mister, what can I do for you?"
He could feel her eyes stuck, leeches, on his face. "I'm looking for a Winn—Winnen Fallou. She wasn't on your list there." He wanted very badly to wrap his hands around that withered throat and... His eyes glinted.
She caught the flash in his eyes and misinterpreted it. She grinned knowingly. He wanted to hit her. "Ah. So that's why you're here, is it? Slumming? I suppose that's the nice word for what you yuppies do down here, eh?" She snickered to herself. "You're too late, you know. That girl's staying somewhere else for a couple days, mister."
Ruan widened his eyes just a fraction. "Could you…please…tell me what room she had before she left?"
"Well, lemme see, here, since you're nice to look at…eh…Fallou…Room 63. Third floor." She grinned.
Without bothering to thank the woman, Ruan spun on his heel and ran up the stairs. Soon, he stood outside Winn's door, and arranged his almost excited face into an impassive mask. The door was unlocked; he stepped inside the single apartment room, his gaze sweeping swiftly, coolly over the clean shabbiness of her home. His eyes rested on the corner where Winn perched carefully, her head reclined against the wall behind her, hair for once out of her face, eyes closed.
He made his way to her cautiously, silently. But he had just knelt by her side when her large black eyes snapped open and, seeing him, she jumped into a crouch across from him, ready to flee. She stared at him, eyes huge and bottomless, something close to disgust twisting her mouth, cheeks ashen.
Ruan fought not to smile, and kept his face cool, quiet. In a low, even voice, he murmured soothingly, "Winn. What happened earlier today was…unfortunate." His eyes widened fractionally. "Please accept my apologies—Winn—and do not let the matter disrupt our assignment."
In the dim light, Ruan watched her swallow and lick her dry lips. Her cheeks regained their usual rose-water color, and though they remained slightly twisted with distaste, her lips recovered some of their usual rosy tint.
Winn's mind raced—what to do—what— "Yeah," she whispered hoarsely. "Fine." Her eyes flashed—should she tell him? About that—? No. ~No no no no no.~ She would work with bad Ruan; she would not confide in him.
Ruan narrowed his eyes. He could feel something different in her, something feverish— He nodded and ignored her new coldness. "Then let's go."
"Yes. Let's go," Winn repeated.
* * *
It was almost dark as Ruan drove them into east Melas, an older area whose tall, brick buildings were dingy, and crumbling, the doorways dark, alleys numerous and slick.
This place was where the outcasts fled…and though humans also found refuge here, this place was the unofficial, unspoken headquarters of Night World outcasts…definitely an auspicious place to start, according to Ruan.
He parked and led his partner down a dark flight of stairs descending from the sidewalk, down to a smallish black door. When they stood in the dusky area before the door, Ruan stopped and turned towards Winn. She could hear—and feel—the faint, dense, bass musical vibration radiating from behind the door.
In a hushed voice, Winn whispered, "What is this?"
Bending close, Ruan muttered, "A—club…" Winn raised her eyebrows. "No name, no signs."
"Ah."
He continued in a low voice, "The Marquéd don't…come here." At Winn's questioning stare, he elaborated, "Many—most—of us wouldn't be caught dead here. A—human brought me to the place years ago." He paused, eyes narrowed and wolfish, then went on, "You and I will scout the place out a little, see how it's laid out, if they're any extra rooms." He turned to the door and added in a growl, "Don't give yourself away."
Winn felt a thrill of excitement shoot through her and tried not to show it. She nodded slightly and Ruan pushed the door open to reveal a dark, human-filled room.
Loud, vibratory music set the throbbing beat for the numerous, swiveling, whirling dancers; the humid scent of perspiring bodies was acrid to Winn's sensitive nostrils. She drew in a breath and watched Ruan disappear into the thick crush of bodies.
She studied the room closely, the dark, mirror-covered walls, the intense, flashing lights, the high ceiling, the throbbing music. Her eyes flashed—there, in the corner, a dark hallway branching out of a tiny niche on the far right side of the room…maybe Ruan hadn't seen it. Pushing through the dense crowd, she felt arms, hands pluck at her coat, close on her wrists. Shrugging them off with a shudder, she finally reached the edge of the hallway.
Narrowing her eyes, she scanned the room behind her, making sure no one watched her, and silently slipped into the dark hallway. Her sharp glance took in a dark red door just a few feet ahead, with a small sign warding off trespassers. With a soft sigh, she grasped the doorknob, twisted it and gently pushed the door open—unlocked?—and stepped into another dimly lit corridor, doors and other passages branching off from it. She put her ear to the first door on the left, listening for voices, noises, breathing, whatever—nothing. She tried the handle—locked. She crept down another, darker hallway, and searched for a door along the walls. Finally, she spotted a handle, set her ear against the door, heard nothing, and, with a thrill of excitement, found the door unlocked.
The smallish room was cool, the faint, bluish light coming from a small blue globe dangling from the ceiling. At first, as she glanced over the simple, chunky furniture, Winn thought the room was empty, and slunk over to a wide desk she saw pushed up against the corner to her far left. She tugged gently at the knobs, trying to pull the top drawer open. Suddenly, she was aware of a flicker of movement to her right and a *presence*. Sucking in her breath she spun around—all went dark.
