Fifteen
Misprint had to sigh the minute Shade disappeared through the window. The whole day had been one big circus to her, and she couldn't exactly say she was looking forwards to Spot's visit.
Gemini had been quite indignant when she woke. Specs had to go and explain it to her. Then he had told her he had lessened her powers for the next twenty four hours, which made her very irritated indeed. Misprint couldn't blame her. If she suddenly found she was the most powerful witch in the world, and then had her powers taken away, she would be pretty pissed off as well.
She jumped as the window rattled, but then let herself relax, but not by much. Judging from the shape of the figure out the window, it was Spot. No surprises.
She easily crossed the room and shoved the window open. He slid through it and circled his hands around her waist.
"Heya Mis." He smiled. She gave him a terse smile back. She found it worked to just be emotionless in these visits. It was the only way to get through them. She saved all her emotional outbursts for Stephen, who was generous enough to take it and deal with it.
Spot paused, then closed his eyes. His smirk deepened.
"Tension." He remarked simply. Misprint nodded. She didn't feel like explaining the entire day to him over again in detail. She was still trying to process bits of it herself. It was like when thy had first found out about vampires. The hard way.
"It's a long story." She replied, but he was already nibbling at a pulse on her neck. She closed her eyes and automatically wrapped her arms around his waist. She had to give up thought, and just be a body. She was finally able to stop the flow of her mind, when he suddenly froze.
She glanced at him as he lifted his face off her skin an inch, and inhaled deeply, as though trying to catch vague traces of some kind of perfume. His face travelled up the length of her throat, over her cheekbone, and into her hair. She winced as his fingers dug into her shoulders, so strong, she was sure they'd cause bruises.
"Whassa matter?" She asked softly, but before she could even get a satisfactory reply, he drew back his fist and punched her square across the face.
Misprint usually would have been able to take a punch. She may not have been the strongest of the school, but she knew a little about fighting. But being hit by a vampire is more than a human being can handle.
She stumbled backwards onto the laundry-strewn bed, her head snapping backwards and bouncing on the soft mattress. She could feel her jaw throbbing, and propped herself angrily up on her elbows, to see him standing above her, hands balled tightly into fists. She stared up at him in disbelief. Her feelings were flooding into her, like dams that had suddenly burst. She opened her mouth to say something, but he beat her to it.
"Who?" He spat. She raised her eyebrows.
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Who was it, Misprint?" He said, teeth gritted together. She glared.
"I don't what you're talking about." She said defiantly, maybe with a little more attitude then was wise. He crawled over top of her, grabbed her wrists, pushed them together, and then stapled them above her head.
"Don't lie to me."
"I ain't lying!"
"You were with someone." He said, cocking his head to one side. "I can smell it all over you."
"Me?" She asked weakly. Aside from him, she had never even thought about any boy in the school like that. They were all law abiding and hideously goody-two-shoes, or hideously perverted, neither of which she found attractive. She had never found the nightly slashing attractive either, but in that matter, she had no choice. She raised her eyebrows. "I don't…"
Before she could even finish the sentence, he slugged her across the jaw again. Her head was knocked to the side, but she pressed her lips firmly together. She was not going to give him the satisfaction of hearing her whimper. She stared at the covers, feeling a strange fire flowing through her veins. Her anger was pulsing in time with her heart beat, and she could feel it boiling within her rib cage.
A sudden image hit her. It was of her and Stephen waking up together, arms wrapped around each other as though neither could bear to let go. She smirked. Seems Spot's senses had failed him. She turned to him.
"You got it all wrong, Spot."
"Mis, you reek of it." He spat. She jutted her chin out aggressively. Pissing him off was suicide, but she had sometimes wished to be dead instead of endure this every night.
"So what if I did?" She challenged. He clenched his jaw. "Why would you care?"
"Why would I care?" He repeated. He pulled her up off the bed, grabbed her collar, and lifted her a few inches. She shut her eyes together tightly as he dragged her towards him. "Because you're mine, Misprint."
"I ain't nobodies by myself." She insisted. He growled.
"Wrong. I claimed you…" His fingers found the initials he had first drawn on her, and pressed against them. She gritted her teeth, and stared him right back in the eye.
"Still doesn't make me belong to you. Lemme go!"
"Who was it?"
"I'm not telling you!" She replied, remembering the way Stephen's eyes had gone cold when he told her the story. "I wouldn't tell you for anything."
"Yeah?" He raised his eyebrows angrily.
"Yeah." She replied. He let her go. She almost fell as her feet hit the floor, but she hastily regained her footing. He punched her, his knuckles digging into the bones around her eye. She clenched her teeth, spun around, and punched him back.
To her surprise, he stumbled, his eyes widening in surprise. She stared at her own fist in amazement. It was happening again.
Before she had time to sift through the consequences in her mind, she lashed out at him again, digging her nails across his face. She wanted to hurt him as many times as he had hurt her. He grabbed her arm. With her free arm, she punched him, enjoying the cry of pain. He threw her to the floor, and she tried to stand up again, but when she was half way, he grabbed her hair and yanked. She cried out when tiny pin pricks of pain stabbed into her scalp.
"Lemme go." She yelled.
"Tell me who it was, Mis." He said. With every word he tightened his grip on her spikes. She cried out, and felt her eyes water in pain and anger.
"No!" She screamed. With a deft kick to his shins, she sent him sprawling backwards. She gasped and raised her hands to her head, which felt as though it had all the hair ripped out of it in one yank. She tried to get her bearings, but he yanked her up, and smashed his fist into her face.
She opened her eyes and watched her own blood soak the carpet. She growled, then suddenly launched herself at knees and tackled him. She didn't know what happened. She jabbed into anything she could find with her fists, and was only satisfied if she heard him groan.
They fought for how long, she couldn't remember. Only that there was pain, and lots of it. Blood on the carpet. She could see the amazement in his eyes when she was able to hurt him. She felt a sick satisfaction somewhere inside of her…it disgusted her. She clawed at his skin, and left red marks everywhere she went.
Somehow he flipped her over and slammed her forehead against the wooden post of the bed. A buzzing exploded in her, and her head was filled with a high noise. The immediate pain was blocked by a repetition of her forehead colliding with the wood, until he let her go and she fell backwards. It was almost as though she was in slow motion. The blood soaked bed post…the ringing in her ears, the look of rage and disbelief on his face, and the ragged sounds of her own breath…she hit the floor.
A tense circulation of air was the one thing that kept her from slipping into a coma. She had never heard him breathe before. Tersely, she pushed herself upward to her knees, and looked up at him. Invisible fingers of mind control were brushing at her thoughts. She closed her eyes.
"Stephen." She whispered. He nodded. The blood dripping off his face was hardly visible through her blurred vision. She had done it. She didn't know how, but she had somehow hurt him. But his eyes…they were filled with a sick recognition. She closed her own. She had just given him away.
He turned and stalked to the window, flipped outside of it, and perched on the frame. He turned a hate filled gaze to her.
"You're going to regret ever letting him touch you, Faith." He told her. Then, in the blink of the eye, he was gone.
Damn it, thought Shade irritably, as Jack ran his stake through another vampire. Chaos, Bumlets, AND Dutchy had to go and leave me with Jack. She knew that the said boy had played a part in this decision. Wants to get his big O from watchin' me slay. She thought, doing a roundhouse kick and knocking a vampire backwards.
Specs's explanation had been brief and informative. Things were starting to fall into place for Shade. Still, nothing explained Mondie's cat ears, or Shade's sudden strength. But she knew those things would soon be presented to her, in a way that made sense. Specs radiated that kind of assurance.
The vampire grabbed her shoulders, but she rammed her head into his own, and then kneed him where it counts. He bent over, groaning. She pulled out her stake and jabbed it into his back, watching in satisfaction as he fell to the ground as nothing but ashes.
She glanced up to see Jack staring at her. She flipped her braid over her shoulder and wiped the sweat off her brow. Why didn't he get the point? She was not going to be his fling. It was all or nothing, and his breaking up with Amy was enough to tell her that she had just been a rebound girl.
This was all on the assumption that Gemini had caused the make out scene that day.
Shade knew it was a spell, and she was under that influence, but it had made her feel not-so-bad to be kissing him. She tried to get the thought out of her head, but it was firmly lodged in there, almost like some strange rule, some twisted form of common sense.
She glared at her watcher.
"What?" She snapped.
"Nothing." He smirked. There was a hiss, but the vampire was gone before it even had a chance, and Jack was dusting off the stake. Shade sighed and shook her head. She was never entirely sure on why he didn't have a little fun before he killed off the stupid things. He suddenly looked up. "Heya Shade?"
"What?" She replied, already walking away. She didn't want to deal with him, especially when she seemed to be under some kind of slayers alternative to PMS.
"You wanna go out some time?" She stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and felt her stomach drop. She turned around slowly, and tried to remember exactly what he had said to her on Halloween, as soon as they had explained the situation to every one else. The tense moment outside the dorm. Hadn't he made it clear to her that she was rebound?
"What ever happened to "About las' night…" " She paused, realising that's where he had ended. Her stomach was still dropping, and she was pretty sure it was in the bowels of hell by the feel of it.
"You didn't let me finish." He replied, with a wry smirk. She raised her eyebrows.
"I've had brush offs, Jacky." She said evenly. "Hell, I wrote the book on them. And it always begins with "about last night…" He cut her off.
"Really? Then how does it finish?" She paused, and took a deep breath.
"It was great…but I think we'd woik better as friends…I ain't ready to commit to a serious relationship…take your pick."
"I was gonna finish it kinda different."
"Yeah? Like how?"
"That we should do it more often." He grinned. She shoved the stake back into her jeans. His eyes were tight on hers, and she felt a little prettier.
"I'll think about it. There's one behind you."
Spot dropped, silent to the ground, his eyes glaring into the darkness. Stephen. It had been a while. Ten years, maybe? What the kid was doing back in New York interested him. In New York and stealing Misprint. He stole around to the boys building and stared up at the windows, trying to sift out Stephen.
Of course, the sheer coincidence of it all was quite amusing. The same people Spot had dealt with meet up and make out. Yes, it had been a while since he had been involved with Stephen. And her…
He suddenly rooted out the source. Smiling slightly, he floated up to the third story window, and perched on the window sill.
There he was.
He had obviously grown since Spot had seen him. If it wasn't for the other senses he possessed, he would never thought it was the frightened little six year old he had seen ten years ago in the very same city. He was shutting down his computer, clad only in a pair of dark jeans, his hair helter-skelter around the frame of his face. Spot smiled as he saw the heavy red marks across his skin. It was touching to know that his influence went such a long way.
Spot slid the window open with a rattling jar. Stephen jumped and looked up, his face going pale when he saw him.
Stephen wasn't surprised. He knew it was only a matter of time before Spot found out from somebody, Misprint, more likely than not, that he was at the same school. And that he was still alive and kicking. And he still remembered.
He knew he should have left. He didn't even know why he came back. Maybe it was for Misprint. Maybe something called him back to New York to help her.
Or maybe he was just stupid.
But it certainly froze his insides to see Spot slide in through the window, and deftly closed it behind him. He stood and made a run for the door. His heart was pounding in his chest, and sweat had broken out all over his body. He knew Spot wasn't here for a friendly hello.
He reached for the knob, but suddenly Spot was in front of him, smirking.
"Heya kid." He said. Stephen stumbled backwards. "S'been a while, hasn't it?"
Stephen had nothing to say. It had been like this before. He had frozen in the alley…letting the vampire take what he wanted…watching…he tried to say something, but the demon had frozen the words in his mouth. Spot turned condescending, raising his eyebrows.
"Whassa matta?" He simpered. "Cat got your tongue?"
"Spot…" He croaked. "Whaddaya…"
"You don't gotta talk." Spot smirked. "Jus' think. Real loud. I can hear you."
"Why ain't you letting it go?" He finally managed. "Why can't you just lave me alone, instead of…instead of the way you keep comin' back for Misprint?"
"I won't leave you alone?" Spot repeated. "Who came back to New York? And as for Misprint…" He laughed derisively. "She needs me."
"She could certainly do with a lot less scars." Stephen said boldly. Spot's smirk turned into a murky glare, and before Stephen could even blink, he was in front of him, fingers wrapped around his collar.
"You were a lot cuter when you were six." He said, raising an eyebrow ominously. "You didn't talk that much."
"Lemme go…" Stephen pleaded. Spot laughed.
"Oh no." He said softly. "Ten years ago, I left you alone in that alleyway." He raised his eyebrows. "Just thought I'd drop by. Y'know. To say hi."
Misprint woke suddenly, lying stiffly on the floor. Her head was buzzing like a beehive, and she could taste blood from her tongue and lips. She groaned and sat up, feeling her joints scream in protest. What had happened was all blurry…she glanced at the clock…six a.m.
It was a wonder Stephen wasn't breaking down the door. She knew by now that he felt whatever she did. Usually she went to him. But…
Stephen.
I told Spot, she realised, with a numb kind of horror. I told him! An' Stephen…Desperately, she reached out with her mind to see if she could find the boy. But there was a blank void of nothingness.
Like before she had met him.
She scrambled to her feet and stumbled towards the window, her head pounding. She calmed herself in the knowledge that he was asleep. Not uncommon for a regular boy at six in the morning.
She couldn't quite remember how she had climbed onto the fire escape without falling. And with the loss of blood, and the way her limbs weren't working properly for her, it was a wonder she had managed it. She almost tumbled as she bolted down the stairs, almost broke her neck as she jumped from the last platform, almost twisted her ankle as she dashed across the snow soaked lawn.
I gotta wake him up, she thought, and giggled wryly. He would be opposed to cleaning her up so early in the morning. And so many cuts! Bruises! He would be enraged with her. But he always was a little pissed off at her anyways.
She opened the window of Racetrack's dorm and hastily stepped over him. She didn't want to wake him. Too many questions. It took too much time.
She had to see Stephen.
She edged out the door and stole down the hallway, her heart ceasing to beat, her throat as dry as cotton. She knocked hesitantly on the door. Again, she heard and sensed nothing from within.
"Stephen?" She whispered. No answer. She bit her lip so hard she ripped open the scab, and fresh blood hit her teeth. "Stephen, you asleep?"
He wasn't even dreaming.
Her fingers fumbled on the knob as she pushed the door open. The darkness of the room was hard to adjust to. She had been running through blackness, but this seemed deeper. Sinister.
"Stephen?" It came out a squeak. An abstruse figure was sprawled on the floor. A sick fragrance hit her, and she shut her eyes, realising it was the stench of blood.
God, no…She begged, but, against her better interests, she let her eyes slide open.
He was lying there, throat ripped open, shirt torn at the back. Eloquently carved into his lower back were two letters.
Shadows…Misprint throught, feeling her stomach twist. Just the shadows of mine…just the shadows…She walked a few steps forwards, eyes straining against the darkness. They caught on the jagged edges of torn flesh. More than just shadows. The initials had been traced, carved deeper into the muscle, the blood staining the skin around them. Misprint felt sick.
She felt her eyes roll up in her head and, in a liquid motion, fell, her head cracking against the floor.
The students stood in ominous rows, clad in their uniforms and black sweaters. Misprint shivered, not wanting to stare pointlessly at the dark coffin, surrounded by the white snow. The teachers were standing at the back, while a priest was droning on about life and death and other matters.
The sun was setting in a fiery ball of hate, the sky turning red. The snow was slowly reflecting it, turning a light pink colour. She didn't care.
Misprint stared down at her shoes. She wasn't wearing her rainbow socks, and her hair was parted and nicely tucked behind her ears. Today merited a little respect.
After all, he was the boy that stitched her up.
She fought down the sobs that weren't there and studied the scuffs on her shoes. She could feel Shade glance at her, standing beside her, but didn't care enough to glance back. A part of her was missing. It was cold and dead in the coffin.
Stephen was dead. It was a cold slap in the face, and hard to process. This strange little counterpart in her mind was there no longer. Now no one understood.
Not even Shade.
The police had come by, of course. They had studied the body and studied the room and studied the files on his computer. And they had interviewed the students. The only information that they could get was that he was a quiet boy, who didn't talk to anyone and didn't have any friends. But, they always added, he probably found solace in his steady girlfriend, who visited him every night.
So they had interviewed her.
She felt horrible, having to lie to conceal the fact that the boy was murdered. He was depressed, she remembered saying, with the widest, most innocent eyes she could muster. He'd always tell me about how he wanted to leave it all behind…he often said that we should…y'know…do it together. To be together forever in the afterlife…but I was too scared. I didn't know he would actually do it…
Everyone else in the school had begun to avoid her. No one knew the details of their relationship, but they knew well enough that she was more than just sad. She was seriously depressed. Some made jokes about how she was mourning the fact that she wouldn't be getting any, because no one else would even look at her twice.
Why can't they just mind their own business? she thought viciously. She now realised what other people thought mattered. It could hurt.
She felt herself sway, and realised she was going to topple over. Quick as lightening, Shade placed a hand on he arm, keeping her upright. She nodded thankfully, without glancing up. She knew if she looked up into the eyes of her friend, she would burst out into tears. Being with Spot had weakened her, and times before when she would never feel the urge to cry, she found she was easily susceptible to tears.
She suddenly twisted her head around. He was there. She knew he was. Some people glanced at her edgily, wondering why she suddenly found such a fascination at the top of the school building. No one knew.
Perched on top of it, like a gargoyle, was Spot Conlon, staring down at her. She couldn't make out his expression.
She wasn't sure she wanted to.
Shade caught the movement of her friends head, and her fingers tightened on her arms. This was not a good time for Misprint to start acting wacky, or PMSy as she knew her friend usually did. Misprint glanced at her for a fraction of a second, not even long enough to catch her eye, and gave a quick wince of a smile, before returning her sight to her shoes. She wasn't looking up at the priest.
Her curiosity getting the better of her, she glanced behind her briefly, but it was enough to tell her everything.
Misprint could hardly read the overhead in class. Shade had pin point vision. Just a quick look, and she could tell that it was Spot. He was there. And he was crying.
The priest closed his book. The service ended.
Before the teachers could get the classes attention to file back into the school, Shade edged out of the line and shot towards the school, coat and hair flying back in the wind, eyes determined. Misprint could see Spot had vanished.
"Where's she goin'?" Gemini whispered to Mondie. She shrugged. The two girls closed their coats to the biting winds and eagerly anticipated the return to the heated building.
Misprint saw the students were edging around her, as though her depression was contagious. Not many of them had taken the time to get to know Stephen. How many people was his death affecting? Her and who else? Did he have a family? When she died, who would remember him?
She closed her eyes to stop the burning tears from spilling onto her cheeks. She could feel Mush's hand on her shoulder, and tried, for somebody's sake, to smile. She was alright. She guessed.
"Well, well, well." A female voice drawled. Ice spun around, suspicious. He could make out the figure in the distance, walking towards him. "If it ain't one a' Spot's."
Her tone on the name of his leader made it obvious who she was and what she wanted. She was one of Slade's. And she had a stake.
His hand strayed to his own stake, tucked firmly in his belt, as he moved into his fighting stance. He said nothing. He was a silent fighter, preferring to let the others talk until they were blue in the face, or more worked up. He stayed calm.
The girl appeared, pulling her hair back into a pony tail. "This should be easy."
"What makes you think that?"
"You really think Spot's minions are that strong? You really think Spot is that strong?" She laughed derisively. "You jus' wait. Stephen's already gone. As soon as we take care of that new goil of his…Misprint…he won't be able to get outta bed. Let alone lead his minions."
"Why are you telling me this?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "Aren't you afraid I'll go back to Spot and blab?"
"Don't be stupid." She said, pulling out her stake. "Dust can't talk."
She hissed, then flew towards him, stake raised.
Ice managed to toss her behind him, but she rolled to her feet right away and dove towards him again. He grabbed her by the shoulders and smashed her down onto the ground, then positioned the stake right above her heart. She growled, freed her arms, and raked her nails down the side of his face. His concetration momentarily thrown off, she punched him in the stomach, and kicked him off of her. Then she jumped to her feet and ran towards him.
Ice wasn't as good a fighter. It didn't take long for her to have him pinned against a wall, her stake right in front of his own chest.
"See you in hell." She smirked, before driving the stake right through his chest. He exploded into dust. Smiling in satisfaction, she twirled the stake in her fingers, before moving it backwards and shoving it into her pocket.
This war was getting too easy. The death of Stephen dear had been unexpected, but, unbeknownst to Spot, it had only weakened him. And, like she had said, he'd be too depressed to do anything once they got a hold of Misprint.
Their only problem was the fact that the school she went to harboured four slayers, a Wicca, a God Incarnate, and an elemental. Even if they didn't know of their powers yet, they certainly would find out, making the job a little harder for Slade's men.
But there was more than one way to skin a cat. If they didn't get to Spot through Misprint, they'd get to him another way. No one was immortal.
She felt the stake slide out of her pocket and spun around, aghast. A short, black haired green eyed girl in a black hoodie and jeans was standing there, twirling the stake idly in her fingers. Flanking her was a blonde boy with glasses, and a pale, black haired boy.
"A vampire carrying her own stake." She commented wryly. She raised her eyes to the demons. "Somebody has a death wish."
Before the vampire could even run, Chaos punched the stake through her chest, and dusted her, in the blink of an eye.
She sighed and dropped the stake on top of the pile of ashes. They had seen a couple vampire fights along the way, and she had to admit, things seemed to be getting a little more intense, in the "civil war" aspect of it. They still had yet to find out who was fighting against who, but hopefully, the information would come.
If only Misprint would say where Spot's lair was.
Chaos doubted if she remembered any more anyways. All of them were unaware of the fact that Misprint and Spot had been meeting in the dead of night.
It was probably a good thing for Misprint.
Shade pulled her coat tighter around herself as she followed Spot through the deserted streets. Her uniform was far too cold for gallivanting around late at night through the snow. She shivered and wished in vain for a warmer coat.
Spot paused briefly at the door to the Admiral's Arms. He was sure Shade would follow him into the club and he wasn't in the mood to deal with her getting herself in trouble she couldn't handle. With a resigned sigh he pushed open the heavy iron doors and stepped into the dimly lit club. Bass-heavy music pounded through the floor. Several vampires offered him quick words of greeting.
Shade stopped and looked over the door. The place stank of vampires and she was not eager to fling herself head long into untold danger with no back up. Still, there were questions she wanted answered and the only person who could help her was in there. Swallowing her better judgement and throwing caution to the wind, Shade stepped over the threshold
Spot was no where to be seen. Shade swore violently and settled herself at the bar. She was painfully aware of how human she looked. Every fiber of her being was telling her to cause some fantastic pain to the vampires that lounged around the club.
"Hello beautiful" a sickly smooth voice broke through her thoughts. Shade turned to see a some what handsome vampire smirking at her.
"Hi" She checked her instinct to slam her elbow into his nose "Can I help you?"
"Kerwyn," He smiled and extended his hand. She raised and eyebrow and turned back to the bar, her skin crawling as if expecting a knife between her shoulder blades "And you?"
"Uh, me?" She felt panic rising like bile in her throat. Stephan inexplicably came to mind "Stephan . .ie. Stephanie Carter"
"Well Stephanie" He smiled charmingly "Would you dance with me?"
"Uh" She faltered "Can't. Meeting someone"
"Oh? And who might this host be?" Kerwyn sounded rather brassed off.
"Spot Conlon." She stood "Gotta go."
She practically ran from the club pausing outside to check her pace and the time; 5:30, three hours until she had to be back at the dorm.
"Where do you think you're going?" Kerwyn stood before her, eyes flashing dangerously.
She briefly contemplated holding onto her dignity but quickly discarded the idea. Kerwyn winced as a shrill scream rose from the slight girl before him. Not knowing quite why Kerwyn found himself on the pointy end of a stake, the girl on the ground near him.
"Hello Stephanie." Spot stood above her, a slight smirk on his pale lips, his hand out stretched to her. Cautiously she took his cold hand and let him pull her up. He pulled her flesh against him and Shade felt her heart race, remembering the months that followed the last time he was this close to her. She could almost feel the nuke in her blood and she found a slight twinge of craving.
"Thanks" Her voice shook slightly. He looked amused.
"For?"
"Saving me?" She bit her lips anxiously. Spot smirked and paused briefly before speaking.
"That's presumptuous" His eyes grazed her body. "You're shivering."
"Cold." She almost whispered. Spot looked way too amused by this little game of his. She felt her pride rising and giving her something tangible to feel other then the slight terror.
"Why are you here, li'l junkie?" She rolled her eyes.
"Wanted to know why you were crying at the funeral." Shade said casually. "I mean come on, you killed him." Misprint had told no one about the initials that she had seen on Stephen's back. But a few other people had caught a glimpse of the body as it had been carried from the school, and word spread quick enough.
"You think that?" He snarled "Whaddaya want, slayer?"
"I just thought you could use someone to talk to." She tried a different tactic, pushing away from him "Whatever works, Fang." With that, she turned and walked down the alley.
"Most wouldn't bother trying." He whispered, before clearing his throat and speaking up. "You know where to find me" He returned, as he watched the girl walk away from him. Shade had guts, that was something he admired.
He wasn't surprised.
Jack couldn't find Shade anywhere.
Pure reason taught him that she would be out slaying. It was a natural Shade tendency, what with the pleasure she took in making buffed up demons writhe in pain. But he just wished she had told him, at least, just to make him feel slightly more loved.
He checked his watch, and realised he had to be done in about two hours. Shade was throwing a Christmas party in Gemini and Mondie's room, and he had promised he'd be there.
Of course, it was nice to have this freedom. He hadn't slain alone since Chaos joined. He had forgotten this wild feeling the thrill of the idea that no one was watching his back. He ran a stake through a vampire, and brushed the dust off his jacket.
Then again, this weather was pretty lousy to slay in. With a handful of snow down his boots, and his fingers feeling icy around the stake, he wasn't in good spirits.
Stephen. He sighed and did a quick check behind him. He remembered telling Dutchy that he had a gut feeling Stephen was somehow involved with vampires. Well, whether he had been or not, he certainly ended up that way in the end. The funeral today had still left him somehow morose.
There was no doubt that Spot killed Stephen. Misprint was obviously head over heels for Stephen, and Jack definitely knew how possessive Spot could be. It was a miracle he didn't finish Misprint off after Stephen. Maybe he was more attached to her than he had originally believed.
All the more reason to get rid of him as soon as possible.
It would hurt Misprint when he left, but she'd get over it. Could she really get too depressed about the lack of injuries each and every night?
He was still struggling with the absurd idea that she had been seeing the manipulative leech for all this time behind his back. When she first told them all. The feeling inside was frightening, this urge to hit something so hard it bled. And the closest thing related in any which way to Spot had been…well…Misprint.
Jack would rather kill himself or clean up Shade and Misprint's dorm, than hit someone defenceless. He felt like a bit of a hypocrite as he staked a vampire who was staring obliviously up at the skyline of New York, but vampires were different. They weren't people.
It was strange how things seemed to change without him so much as lifting a brow. Well, Mondie's cat ears had been a bit of a jolt. When they had revealed them to Specs they had all been very smug about stumping the teenage genius. He had furrowed his brows and scratched his chin and said he'd look into it. And yes, Gemini's powers were a little coincidental with the fact that she attended the same school as the slayers. And finding Shade had definitely been a godsend, no doubt about it. For him, anyways. Specs had been a bit of a surprise. Only one thing had really remained consistent.
The pure hatred he harboured for Spot Conlon.
Misprint lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She felt so incredibly empty, a shell of nothing. Of course, it wasn't the most comfortable thing to be. She had bruises and old scars up and down her legs, and her face looked like it had been through hell and back three times that day. Her lips were swollen and scarred, and her face had clouds of bruises surrounding her eyes and forehead.
She must look like Ms. America.
Groaning, she rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. Spot wouldn't dare come by. He had killed Stephen on the twenty third, and it was the twenty fourth. Christmas eve. The funeral of her best friend since Shade. That he murdered.
He wouldn't dare.
To her horror, she heard the window pane rattle, and slowly slide open. She curled into a tight ball, squeezing her eyes shut so hard that her skin began to ache.
"Go away, Spot." She yelled into her knee caps. There was the intake of breath, then a slight pause. The windows slid shut, and there were footsteps coming towards her. "No! Go away!" She cried, panicked.
"Mis, it's just me!" A familiar voice protested. Misprint looked up, ashamed of the tears that had sprung to her eyes, and saw Shade, pale and shaking, her forehead glazed in sweat, still clad in her school uniform.
"Oh…I thought you were…"
"Spot. I figured. You'd think he'd come around after killing Stephen?"
"Well…I dunno…" Misprint stalled, staring down at her overlapping fingers. Shade turned around on her heel and strode over to her closet. The close encounter with being drained had made her touchy and irritable, but for her mourning friend's sake, she was trying to hide it. And she didn't know how well she'd react to the next bit of news. She pulled off her tie and dropped it gratefully onto the bed, then opened the closet.
To Misprint's surprise, she pulled out a red dress with white velvet trimming at the bottom, like a Santa costume, but tighter, and a hell of a lot more feminine. She raised her eyebrows, ignoring the pain it sent her forehead into.
"And what's that for?" She asked, still irritable, but a little more warmer to her friend.
"Well…" Shade said slowly. "I'm…I'm having a…a Christmas party…"
"Tonight?" Misprint asked lightly.
"Tonight."
Misprint narrowed her eyes. Her heart was pounding sickly in her chest.
"After Stephen's funeral?"
"Yeah."
Misprint put down the pillow and tried to hide her irritation by stalking over to the dresser and grabbing her gel. Shade glanced over her shoulders as Misprint ran her fingers through her hair, a little more vicious than usual, her eyes watering in pain.
"Don't you think you should postpone it till tomorrow?" She asked lightly.
"We've been working at it for months. Gem, and…and Mondie and I." Shade mumbled, brushing her hair behind her ears. Misprint sent a cerulean glare over her shoulder.
"So you're having a party the day of Stephen's funeral."
"What, you talk like we planned it that way!" Shade protested, yanking off her blouse and pulling on a white tank top.
"Shade…" Misprint turned around, and Shade was startled to see tears in her eyes. "Stephen is dead. You're celebrating. What's wrong with this picture?"
"We didn't know Stephen." Shade replied edgily, feeling a bubble of anger rise in her throat. "You knew Stephen. You knew him better than you knew me." Angrily tilting her chin, she watched as Misprint almost threw the bottle back onto the dresser and turn to her, her face twisted in fury.
"That doesn't change the fact that you're having a party."
"Millions of people die every day." Shade said levelly. "And I don't see you preaching against us having fun for them."
"But this was me best friend." Misprint said slowly. "He helped me through…"
"Yeah. You always went to him." Shade said bitterly, pulling on her jeans. Misprint raised her eyebrows.
"You were always out slaying. And you would've told Jack..."
"And you would be off a lot worse?" Shade snapped, before yanking a garbage bag of presents out from the closet. "You know what?" She said finally. "You were always with him. Every night. I always wanted to spend more time with you. You know, like old times. I'm glad he's gone." She said defiantly.
Misprint scowled at her so ferociously, she felt like she would do something spectacular, like set something on fire, or burn Shade to a crisp. A pile of ashes on the ground. With an angry growl, she turned, wrenched the door open, and then left, slamming it behind her.
Shade jumped as the knob crunched away from the door and flew across to the other side of the room.
Spot found it vaguely amusing that Shade was frightened of him. Oh, the girl was good at masking it, but Spot could smell it all over her.
He had thought she was going to kill him then and there. Dark alley, none of his minions ready to save his ass if need be. Only the two of them. And turns out that she just wanted to talk.
He let out a derisive laugh. He didn't even know why he hadn't killed her when she suggested that. He wasn't the softy she was making him out to be.
And instead, he had thanked her.
He finished draining a young girl and let her drop to the ground, limp as a sack of cloth. He wouldn't mind letting Shade take care of his problems. He was having too many as it was.
He heard a sound and glanced up, wary and alert. Even though he was king of vampires, he had occasionally been caught by surprise. Some of Slades men had come close to finishing him off. You could never be too careful.
But, to his amusement, it wasn't one of Slades. Jack walked by his alley, stake clutched in hand, staring ahead. Spot smirked. Maybe there was time for a little reunion before he headed back to the lair.