I'm thinking this was a pretty fast update, eh? Maybe this'll be a new pattern. Huh. Read on…!
Kris: How do? Thanks for the lovely praise. I'm red as a sugar plum tomato right now…Thanks again for the review and do read on…!
galaktis: I know, I've been eating ramen everyday for the past couple weeks (we have a huge box of the stuff). Yeah, Winn and Ruan have been getting pretty—ah—lively, lately. Makes it all the more interesting to write about them, I think. It should be interesting to see how Myr plays into the whole relationship between the two…Thanks a ton for the review, and read on!
skylark: Heh, heh! First off, I'm superlatively glad you're liking the story. Yup, "Ó Ceallaigh" is an Irish name, as are "Fionna" and "Faolán" (you'll see the latter in this chapter). Interesting that you think Mogget's Irish too…maybe it's subconscious. Neat-o. You know, I'm not *Irish* Irish, but I *am* of Irish descent, so I'm getting really interested in Irish lore and name-ology…maybe some Irish mythology'll even sneak into this story. Hmm. Anyway, thanks so much for reviewing, and please read on…!
Dulce Ambrosia: Hi there! Glad you're liking the twistiness so far; I know I'm enjoying seeing it progress. Myr's a mystery sometimes even to me—and her "plans" should be interesting to see realized. I hope this update was relatively quick…Thanks a million for your lovely review, and read on…!
Moreta: Hullo! I'm so glad that you decided to read the story and enjoyed it. I'm very flattered that you like the language and description—in truth, I sometimes wonder that I get carried away. I love language—when I read stories and such, beautiful language often makes me fall in love with the work. I'm also utterly happy that you find the characters "multi-faceted"; it certainly makes it all the more interesting to write about them when they're all twisty-like. Thank you so much for reviewing, and I hope you'll read on…!
Name Pronunciation/Meaning Guide:
Faolán (FWAY-lahn): Gaelic first name meaning "wolf."
Fionna (Fee-OH-nah): Gaelic first name meaning "fair" or "white"
Ó Ceallaigh (Oh KAHL-leh): An ancient, Gaelic surname meaning "strife."
Ruan (RUE-ahn): Cornish. Dunno what it means.
Chapter 11: Marquéd
Madness—this is sheer madness. No one wakes up at seven o' clock in the morning, Winn thought crossly as she hurried through a corridor. Myr had decided that an early start was crucial to the realization of her plans.
Stepping into Myr's spacious, lamp-lit room, Winn noticed that some of the others were already comfortably situated in the ring of couches and sofa chairs: Sri sat with blue-haired Shelley, animatedly discussing something to do with power-levels and telekinesis, while Asher and Edmund perched in the center of the ring on a gorgeous red-wool rug with their legs tucked under them, eyes closed, and backs very straight.
Winn blinked, bemused, a smile tugging at her lips. Stepping carefully around the meditating pair, she sank down into a velvety chocolate-colored couch across from Shelley and Sri, tucking her legs under herself.
Sri glanced over at her, and with a grin called, "How do, Winn? Didja sleep well last night?"
"I slept fine, Sri," Winn replied softly, baffled by the mischievous glint in the young woman's black eyes.
Shelley's eyebrows quirked at that. Cocking her head, she asked bluntly, "What's this about last night, Winn?"
Winn shrugged, turning to Sri with a questioning glance.
Jasper stepped out of the adjoining kitchen, causing Winn to start. A lazy smile curving his handsome lips, he answered, "You see, Shelley, last night—by several accounts—there were strange susurrations coming from a certain vampiress's room..."
Winn frowned. What was he insinuating?
Shelley raised a blue eyebrow, flicking glances at Winn, and responded skeptically, "Really. And how did you happen to learn all this, love?"
Jasper smirked and said in a mock-conspiratorial tone, "Well, Shells, it so happens that my room is conveniently located precisely adjacent to our little vampiress's own. I'd just returned from—feeding—when I passed her door, and, to my complete astonishment detected voices—yes, plural—coming from within. Naturally, I was intrigued…"
Winn narrowed her eyes, annoyed.
"Naturally," Shelley echoed wryly.
"Gasp," Sri muttered, grinning.
"And so I investigated. Meaning, of course, that I eavesdropped shamelessly."
"So…what's the point of all this?" Shelley prodded.
"I couldn't quite make out *what* they said, exactly—"
Shelley snorted with laughter.
"But that's beside the point. Because, Shells, I could tell *who* was speaking." Jasper grinned and deliberately directed his gaze at Winn. "The visitor was our resident icicle: Ruan Ferrin."
Winn clamped her mouth shut and sucked in a sharp breath through her nostrils. Of course she had realized what he was getting at, but she had waited it out, allowing Jasper to set his rumor amuck, realizing that perhaps if she and Ruan were pegged as a couple, they wouldn't have to explain their rather shady relationship to everyone. Looking up, she realized everyone in the room—Jasper, Sri, Shelley, and even Asher and Edmund—were staring at her, trying to gauge her reaction. Winn sighed almost imperceptibly and allowed her features to settle into an expression of indifference and calm. "You know, Jasper, you *are* an asshole," she announced softly.
Jasper grinned wider, and replied jovially, "And proud of it."
Shelley brushed a strand of blue hair off her forehead, nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, Jasper, you really are an asshole."
"A queen amongst assholes, really," Sri piped up, on the verge of laughter.
Asher and Edmund exchanged amused expressions.
Jasper shrugged, an attempt at nonchalance, but Winn detected slight discomfiture in his face and stance. He turned to Winn and queried accusingly, "But you don't deny it, do you, little Winn? Ferrin *was* in your room last night, wasn't he?"
"He certainly was."
Winn glanced over in the direction of the new voice, surprised. Ruan stepped through the doorway and leaned indolently against the wall, long arms crossed over his chest. Meeting his sardonic glance, Winn projected hurriedly, ~~Did you hear?~~
~~Yes.~~
~~Well, then?~~
~~We play along, partridge.~~ Ruan broke the connection, and turned toward Jasper.
"Salutations, Ruan," Sri called with a friendly smile. Shelley smiled, and the two young men sitting on the rug nodded amiably.
Jasper narrowed his eyes, smile growing stiff. "So it's true, then?"
Ruan nodded languorously, eyes hooded. "I don't think Winnen and I have ever quite explained our relationship to all of you." Winn knew what was coming; she could feel his intentions through the link, even dulled as it was at the present. The group leaned forward expectantly. "Winnen and I are soulmates."
Winn winced. Shelley's mouth formed a perfect "O", Sri's jaw dropped, Edmund's clear hazel eyes widened, and Asher's sweet, bone-white face registered shock.
Jasper eyes narrowed slyly. "I knew it. I knew something was off about you two, always acting so strangely when the other's near."
Sri blinked and asked promptly, "When did you find out? *How* did you find out? How does it *feel*?"
Everyone looked up as Myr brushed breezily past Ruan into the room. "Soulmates, Ruan?" she interrupted softly. "I thought I sensed something odd in that girl of yours. Although I do admit I didn't realize just how interesting it would prove to be."
Biting her tongue on a sharp rebuttal and ignoring the surge of hot anger in her chest, Winn turned away from Ruan and the beautiful girl beside him. I am not *his*, she thought harshly.
"And it is, Myr, very…interesting," Ruan returned with an odd smirk curving his perfect mouth.
"I'm sure," Jasper muttered. His turquoise eyes brightened roguishly. "On which note I maintain that neither of you has yet explained what you were doing in Winn's room last night. Forgive my curiosity."
Edmund rolled his eyes and muttered, "Queen amongst assholes, indeed."
"What do you think we were doing?" Ruan questioned lazily, flicking a quick glance at Winn, who was very pointedly looking away.
"Making passionate love?" Jasper replied, an impish, almost malicious gleam in his intense eyes.
"You decide," Ruan returned with a tone of bored finality. Leaving Myr's side, he strode over to Winn, who sat curled tightly in the corner of the brown velvet couch, and sat down a couple feet away from her.
A wave of electricity washed over her, making her shiver involuntarily. She clenched her hands into fists, digging her nails into the smooth flesh of her palms. God, she hated this…she *hated* this. Blind anger surged through her. Soulmates. Everything she'd ever read or heard about soulmates said that they were supposed to love each other more than anything in the world, that they were supposed to live in complete bliss, two equal parts of one perfect whole. But it isn't that way at all, she thought, relaxing her fingers and sinking further into the cushions. Ruan doesn't *want* me…he doesn't know who or what I am…he doesn't want to know… And she didn't want him either. She had no liking, no feeling, no love for him. He was…empty, and his barrenness seeped into her soul.
Drawing in a shallow breath, Winn folded her hands in her lap, and shut those disturbing thoughts out. She looked up and realized that Jon, Solo, Dianne, and Fiona had already arrived and were settled around the room. Myr stood at the head of the ring of chairs, hands clasped delicately before her.
A moment later, Red stepped into the room and the meeting began.
"We have much to accomplish within the next three days; on Friday, we will officially merge with Morteflame. When you join the organization, you will be working with a partner on every assignment." Myr turned to Sri, and continued, "Sri, you will work with Shelley; Fionna—Jon; Asher and Edmund, Solo and Dianne." A tiny smile curled her soft mouth as she turned to Winn and Ruan. "And Ruan, you can work with your—soulmate," she murmured, laughter trembling beneath the words. "Jasper, you will be my partner. Red, you will remain here and oversee the club."
Sri frowned. "Ms. Ó Ceallaigh, do you realize how suspicious it'll seem when we go to—Morteflame—on Friday? I'm certainly no genius, but it seems to me that twelve untrained, unknown wannabe assassins strutting straight into HQ are going to create a bit of disquiet, don't you think?"
Myr answered smoothly, in clear, silvery tones, "Oh, dear, you won't have to worry about that at all. I've had a memory-clouding spell placed on Morteflame officials. Any other questions?"
Winn started a little. A witch? They had a witch working for them? And though she was hardly knowledgeable of witchery, Winn wondered just how powerful a witch needed to be to cloud the minds of some of the strongest vampirae living.
After Myr had thoroughly discussed her plans for infiltrating the Marquéd and undermining them from the inside, the meeting broke and everyone left for their rooms or the club. Winn hurried down the corridor towards her room. Three days, she thought wearily. Three days.
* * *
Three days blinked in and out of existence, and Friday morning saw Myr's group gathered in the rain-slick alley behind their nameless building. The sky hung low and heavy with purplish-grey clouds, smoky wisps of lavender nebulae crowned the tallest buildings, and Ruan felt a rush of cold excitement course through him like fresh blood.
Myr Ó Ceallaigh, supple hair pulled back into a smooth bun, and clad in a chocolate-brown tweed skirt and grey sweater under a gorgeous taupe wool coat, smiled at the anxious, pinched faces around her. Jasper and Ruan were the only Nightpeople whose stunning, finely molded faces remained free of fear and tension; Jasper maintained an indifferent, lazy expression, while Ruan's piercingly frost-blue eyes and relaxed mouth augmented his usual icy demeanor.
Myr tilted her glossy head to the side, as though listening for something, and a moment later the group of Nightpeople watched warily as a nondescript, dove-grey car tear around the corner and into the shadowed alley, followed by two more identical to the first. The first car jerked to a stop a few feet away from the nearest Nightpeople, followed by the others. The purple-eyed young woman strode gracefully over to the first car, and turned back to the group.
"All right. Fionna, Jon, Asher and Edmund, you're in the third car. Solo, Dianne, Sri, and Shelley, you're in the second, and Jasper, Ruan, and Winnen go with me in the first. We're off."
Sudden stillness, and then the group scattered.
Moments later, Winn sat wedged between Jasper and Ruan as the car pulled out of the alley and down a smoky street. Ruan noticed that the girl had wrapped her arms tightly around herself, and seemed to be trying to edge away from him.
They were pressed so close: his hip, shoulder and thigh were molded against hers; he could feel the link flare up and crackle between their bodies as he soaked in the warmth radiating from her veiled skin. He could feel a faint shiver run through her body as the coldness of his own seeped into her. He almost smiled at that. Almost.
Ruan watched, amused, as she unconsciously leaned into Jasper. The unsuspecting vampire started almost imperceptibly, swiveling his head to witness a smoky cloud of curls brush lightly against his coat even as the girl's shoulder pressed into his own.
Eyes hooded, dark and dense, Ruan studied the male vampire's expression from the corner of his eye—a blend of irritation, surprise, and interest. As he gazed down at Winn, Jasper's shockingly turquoise irises sparked with an indefinable fire—a fire that intrigued Ruan because it seemed to denote some kind of hidden, secret knowledge.
Now that he pondered it, Ruan thought he recalled a similar expression in Myr's eyes when she had first laid eyes on Winnen Fallou—a darkly furtive, almost smug expression that made him think of storm clouds and long forgotten secrets.
What is it about Winnen Fallou that makes people want to either snuff or study her? he wondered, faintly intrigued.
Jasper suddenly looked up, as though his head had been wrenched up by an invisible hand, and met Ruan's paradoxically wintry-yet-blistering gaze, a strange, knowing smile curving his finely chiseled mouth. Ruan stared back, his face expressionless but his eyes gleaming with a detached and silent menace.
Jasper looked away first—Ruan was used to that, because as far back as he could remember, everyone had always looked away first. It was as though they all could see the gaping hole where his soul, his passions, his loves, his hates, his *humanity* should have been. He had always considered this a mixed blessing; he enjoyed having so much power over the people around him, and yet he always felt a stab of something he couldn't quite define when they looked away, faces so disturbed, so frightened. He felt almost…confused when it happened, and slightly frustrated—it wasn't as though he could help the emptiness they considered so prevalent within him…
The car jerked to a stop. Winn, who had been staring off into space throughout the drive, started, eyes widening, and clutched at her seatbelt. Glancing through the darkly tinted window, Ruan noticed that they had driven deep into the rich residential areas of northeast Melas and halted in front of a massive, dark grey mansion, circa 19th century. Only two other mansions were anywhere near, and they were perhaps a block away on either side. The enormous structure sat high on a dewy, leaf-covered hill that overlooked the entire, dingy-yet-sparkling city of Melas, a sea of light and sound, energy and gloom. Behind the stony edifice a thick, shadowed wood stretched across hills in an endless swathe of mist-wreathed indigo, a gnarled, labyrinthine death-trap for those unwary enough to venture within. Not unlike the Morteflame stronghold itself, Ruan thought, amused and intrigued.
Moments later, the anxious-eager group stood on the wide, grey marble steps, staring up at a huge, dark-wood pair of doors. Violet eyes flashing, Myr smoothed her gleaming hair and smiled. "Well," she said brightly. "This is Morteflame headquarters—on the east coast, at least—and where you'll be spending quite a lot of time."
"Will we live here?" Fionna asked, her soft, round face pale in the bluish morning light.
"That will be discussed and explained later," Myr replied, irritation coloring her lilting voice.
Ruan smiled slightly at her familiar impatience; perhaps she was not precisely what he had always thought her to be—perhaps she was much, much more—but she was still her impetuous self.
Hearing the faint scrape of wood on stone, Ruan and the rest of the group looked swiftly up to see the great dark doors swing open. A very slender young man of medium height stood in the center of the shaded doorway, his feet together, back very straight, and russet hair cascading over his down-turned face. He wore a slimly tailored black jacket that fell to his hips, and narrow, dark grey trousers, all very neatly pressed and arranged.
As the group stared at this odd apparition, the young man announced in soft, clipped tones, "Welcome to Morteflame. Come." With that, he turned sharply, not bothering to beckon to the group, and began walking unhurriedly away.
* * *
The reception hall was immense. And so…austere, Winn thought, gazing up at the arching ceiling high above, and the gorgeous silver-and-iron chandelier dangling from it. Austere and beautiful.
Their shoes clicked on the glassy marble floor as they trailed after the brown-haired young man through a long, high-ceilinged hall and into what appeared to be some kind of office, furnished with rich, dark-wood furniture, and spare, modish sofas upholstered in creamy beige. Half of one huge wall was made up entirely of differently-sized windows, a dark desk stark against the grey light filtering through. As Winn's eyes adjusted to the abrupt change in lighting, she realized that someone was sitting behind the desk, facing them, his or her face turned down.
The group drifted after their silent guide toward the desk, halting several feet away. The person stood with a motion so fluid even Winn's sharp eyes could hardly follow it, and stepped around the desk, stopping directly before Myr, who stood at the head of the group. As the person moved into the light, Winn realized that the person was a very tall, very handsome man who appeared to be in his mid-twenties. Winn knew instinctively that he was a vampire, and a very powerful one. He wore a coat and trousers similar to the brown-haired man's, but his were entirely black, and His face was archetypically beautiful—all angular lines, high cheekbones, and slender elegance highlighted by startlingly green eyes and smooth, flaxen hair pulled into a tapered queue. As Winn stared, his gaze suddenly shifted to her from Myr, catching her eyes with his own vibrant pair; Winn shivered, eyes narrowed, and stared back, finding with a shock that the glassy emptiness, the aching coldness in eyes surpassed even Ruan's.
Ruan may lack compassion and humanity, but this man has no soul…
The man's gaze snapped back to Myr. "Welcome, Myr Ó Ceallaigh. It is good to have new members, indeed. Fresh blood, if you will," he murmured in a smooth, uninflected, iron-cold voice. Winn couldn't be sure if he was joking about that last part. He scanned the group, and continued, "We of Morteflame welcome you to the service of the Council, Marquéd, and Nightworld common. I am called Faolán and this—" he gestured sharply at the brown-haired young man who stood a few feet to the left of him— "is Willem. He will now show you to your rooms."
As Willem led them away, Winn glanced swiftly back at the flaxen-haired Morteflame leader—and was jolted when she found that he was staring at her with hard, searching eyes. She turned hurriedly away and picked up her pace. What does he see? she wondered, dread gnawing at her insides. Can he see…inside? Like—Ruan? She had a terrible suspicion that he was capable of that and much more…something in his posture, gaze, and voice told her that he was far more powerful than most vampirae would ever dream of being…and that he would not hesitate to destroy her. And yet, she thought, despite this power, Myr said that a witch had clouded the minds of Morteflame officials. Surely this Faolán is included. But what witch could possibly have enough power to influence *his* mind?
She was almost trembling with anxiety. This was fast becoming far too much for her to handle.
* * *
Willem showed them the two rooms they would use as residence whenever they needed to stay at Morteflame headquarters, or the Hole, as the resident employees had lovingly named it.
Winn sat on the edge of her bed and looked around. She and the rest of the women would stay in this room while the men would stay in an identical room next door. The grey-walled room wasn't much to look at. Two rows of three beds each were lined up against two walls opposite each other, each with a small lamp on a tiny bedside table. A beige couch and a few sofa chairs were arranged in a rough circle around the room's single window on the far wall. Winn hoped she wouldn't have to stay here often.
As though that were the least of my troubles, she thought. How was she supposed to learn how to assassinate people?
Myr was absent while Fionna, Sri, Shelley, and Dianne were all sprawled or perched on their beds, looking about as dazed as Winn felt.
Shelley propped herself up on her elbow, brushing her choppy blue hair off her forehead. "So. This is interesting," she said.
From her cross-legged perch in the middle of her bed, Sri grinned. "What, the prospect of living the glamorous double life of an assassin in the most elite assassins' organization in the world or Winn's shocking predicament with our very own living icicle?"
Fionna, who was lying on her stomach with her chin on her crossed arms, rolled her eyes and retorted, "Leave the poor thing alone, will you? Really. She has enough to worry about with that frightful boy of hers."
Dianne, slender and graceful where she sat on her bed with her legs folded under her, was apparently very quick at reading lips and nodded in agreement, casting a sympathetic glance at Winn.
Sri was unfazed. She turned to Winn, the usual curious smile playing about her lips and glittering in her eyes. "I can't help being inquisitive—it's in the damn genes. So, Winn, what's it like? I mean, sure, I've heard a ton of stories about the infamous soulmate link, but it always sounds so…fluffy. Reminds me of frosting and Molly Ringwald movies. Personally, I think Daybreak is hyping it all up to get recruits. Manipulative bastards. So, Winn?"
What was this Daybreak? She stored the name in the back of her brain for future contemplation and narrowed her eyes. Her relationship with Ruan was nothing good, and nothing she wanted to think about. It was, in truth, nothing. It meant nothing and she didn't want it to change, other than to disappear. Might as well tell them, she thought. They already know…and wouldn't it help me connect with them more? Isn't that what Lif wanted? She tilted her head to the side and replied thoughtfully, softly, "It's difficult, I think. Being open all the time and not wanting it."
"What do you mean, 'not wanting it'?" Shelley asked, surprised.
Winn drew her knees up under her chin and answered, "Whatever's responsible for this link makes mistakes, sometimes, I think. It made a mistake with Ruan Ferrin and me, anyway. He's empty, you know."
Fionna drew her eyebrows together, as though recalling something ugly and best forgotten. Wisps of downy near-white hair stuck out on all sides around her softly rounded face as she murmured, "I met someone like Ruan once. Abstractly, I know that he was gorgeous, achingly smart, outrageously rich and powerful, a falcon shapeshifter, like me. But for all of that, all I can remember about the way he looked are his eyes…they were so lifeless and alien. As though the world wasn't real and that he was accordingly allowed to hurt and kill and destroy life to make up for the life and humanity he didn't have."
"Sounds like a scary guy," Sri muttered.
"Yeah," Fionna answered dully, her rich brown eyes filled with some deep, painful emotion. "He killed my family."
Sri flinched and said in a low tone, "I'm sorry…"
"It's fine. It was a long time ago," Fionna replied tersely. "Anyway, tell us more, Winn."
Winn kept her face impassive, gripping her legs more tightly. "It hurts, sometimes. His—mental—voice is strange, both hot and cold and when he uses it it near rips my head apart." Winn noticed a flash of recognition pass over Shelley's face. "He likes that, I think. He enjoys hurting people, as though he can control them that way, and pretend that being empty is good for something."
On the corner bed Dianne was peering at her thoughtfully, empathetically, and across from her Sri was frowning at her comforter, blinking with a mixture of uneasiness and triumph at having her suppositions about the link proven.
Winn took a deep breath. She was suddenly very clear on one thing: she hated Ruan Ferrin, and she would destroy him if she ever got the chance, even at the risk of losing her sanity.
A moment later, they heard a knock on the door, effectively breaking the quiet. Sri sprang off her bed and opened the door quickly, revealing the impassive, brown-haired Willem, his head once again turned down, with longish russet locks obscuring his face. "How do, Mr. Willem?" Sri piped.
Willem didn't answer, instead announcing in a low voice, "Faolán has ordered a meeting. Come." He turned and made his way down the hall without waiting for a response.
Feeling more exposed than she ever had in her life, Winn hunched her shoulders and wrapped her arms around herself. An assassin, then, with Ruan Ferrin. For now.
Please comment! I am enchanted and enraptured by what you have to say…plus, I'll throw in some Hot 'n Spicy ramen…
Shocked and Confused,
Mogget ::smiley face::
