Twenty Two
Shade could hardly believe she lasted the end of the day. Between worrying whether Misprint was all right, trying to figure out what was wrong with Jack, and hoping Gemini was still going to be breathing by nightfall, she felt as though her mind had been torn to shreds with concern. She shoved her books in her locker and filled her bag with the homework she'd need, but she didn't see a time when she'd get a chance to do it.
"Shade." She jumped as a hand landed on her shoulder, and twisted her head around to see a pair of familiar chocolate brown eyes staring at her. Racetrack. She sighed and gave him a small, sad smile, before swinging her bag onto her shoulder and slamming her locker closed.
"Heya Race."
"How's…um…everythin'?"
"Peachy." She replied sarcastically.
"Any news on Misprint?" He asked carefully, pushing his thick hair back from his forehead.
"Misprint's fine." Shade said automatically. He sighed and dropped his hand.
"No, she obviously ain't. Why don't you start tellin' me the truth? I thought we were friends!"
"We are!" Shade protested, eyebrows raising. "It's jus'…I wanna know exactly what's going on before I start dishing out details, alright?"
Racetrack sighed and regarded her. She looked pale, and tired. As though she hadn't been sleeping properly. But who had? Racetrack could hardly remember a good nights sleep ever since the year had begun, what with all the people crawling through his dorm and over his own legs. He was still trying to process the idea that vampires did exist.
"Fine." He replied, stepping backwards. "Jus'…tell me if…y'know, she's hoit…"
"She's not hoit." Shade said automatically, plastering a small smile onto her face. "She's just fine."
Just fine.
Mondie sat with the kitten on her lap, absently stroking its head, too concerned for her friends well being to acknowledge its purrs of approval. Gemini looked as though she might die any moment. Specs powers weren't working out for her too well, and she was able to stretch her own powers only a few blocks more every two hours.
"S'no use." She said suddenly, her eyes snapping open. Specs looked up from his studies, face narrowed in concern. "She's no where, jus'…" She sighed. "No wheah."
"Gem, we've only been searching for three days." Mondie put in, trying to be helpful. "Besides. She could be in Queens."
"Or Harlem." Specs added, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his finger.
"But why? Wouldn't it make more sense for her to be in Brooklyn?" Gemini demanded. Both students winced, as though she had just uttered a curse instead of a borough. She sighed. "I mean, Spot could be angrier than ever, couldn't he? Why wouldn't 'e take her? Why don't we just start searching for his lair?"
"You ain't strong enough." Specs said firmly. Gemini sighed.
"Well, thanks for reminding me."
"Gem, I'm doing all that I can." Specs said, looking suddenly very tired. "I mean…I can't do much without my powers." Mondie grinned guiltily. "But I'm training Mondie, and I'll try and help you search as much as possible. The slayers have taken both Queens an' Harlem. We've reported Misprint missing to the school, and Mush and Blink are working hard with the police. You ain't alone."
"But we still haven't found anything." Mondie chirped. Specs gave her a withering look, and she silenced, guiltily. But Gemini's thin, red brows were furrowed. Mondie could read her friends expression like a book. "Wait…have we?"
"Have we what?" Gemini replied quickly, her eyes widening innocently. Mondie's forehead grew even more wrinkled as her eyebrows arched upwards.
"Found anythin'? You got that look."
"Look? I don't know what you're talking about." Gemini said defensively. She rearranged the representatives of the three elements in front of her, feeling her fingers tremble slightly. There was a small silence.
"Gemini…" Mondie wheedled.
"Spill it, luv." The cat meowed. Gemini, of course, couldn't understand, but Mondie nodded in support.
"Gem, whatever you saw, you gotta tell us. Whether it's good or bad." Specs said carefully. Gemini sighed and started pushing the dirt into the smallest pile possible. Little crumbs of it were scattered here and there, refusing to be pushed into position. Gemini's eyes flicked from one to the other, and when she spoke again, her voice was small and frightened.
"I saw nothing." She said, sounding as though she wished she was telling the truth. "Nothing."
Shade hadn't been in the Rec. Room in a year.
She sat now in the corner, leaning against the wall, homework and books spread out around her like an impenetrable fortress that, so far, no one had tried to breach. She couldn't remember what had even happened the last time she had been down there. Misprint and Racetrack must have been with her. It was their getaway, their main meeting place, until the two girls had saved up enough for a lap top, and had locked themselves up in their dorm room. But the place hadn't changed much, she thought, lifting her eyes from her homework and glancing around. The same, faded yellow paint that must have been cheery at one point, the wide, dirty windows, the spongy, thin carpet that smelled strange and old. Misprint was always antsy about touching the carpet. It didn't seem like the type of material you wanted bare skin to come in contact with. And with good reason, Shade thought, warily eyeing an old, brown, toxic looking stain a few feet away from her.
A few elementary school kids were playing a noisy game of cars in the center, and a couple random older girls had staked their claims on the bean bag chairs lining a wall. Other than that, the room was relatively empty. No one spoke to Shade. The sight of her preoccupied eyes, and the piles of books and papers around her were enough to guarantee solitude.
Even though Shade looked as though she was studying, her mind was off topic, searching through a world of memories and ideas, desperately trying to find a clue, a hint…anything to where Misprint might be. Her gaze travelled over the joyless, ugly walls, snagging on tears in the plaster and random initials or slogans that couldn't be washed off. R.G. C.C. Amanda Marshall iz a SLUT. NJL forever. SSI wuz here.
Her eyes suddenly landed on something she had completely forgotten about.
Written on the wall a few feet away, were a multitude of scribbles, initials, and messages that caught her eye. And scrawled across the top, in her writing, were the words "When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightening, or in rain?"
"Macbeth." She whispered under her breath. Eagerly, she pushed the book off her lap and moved forwards.
Her writing became distinguishable in a few messages. Along with that of Racetrack. And Misprint.
She had completely forgotten how they had received their nick names.
The teachers were obviously strict on "vandalising school property" or "disrespecting our school", and any other way they wanted to put it. But the students did it anyways. The only problem was trying not to get caught. The simplest way was to devise a code of nick names.
Wonderingly, she reached up and began tracing the letters with her finger. They must have been written about a year ago, before school had started in their eleventh year. When Racetrack, Misprint, and herself were like the three musketeers.
Shade is stupid, Misprint had written in her tight lettering.
Am not.
Are too.
Am not.
Are too.
Cat fight.
Shut up Race.
She grinned. Misprint had received her alias for her infamous spelling mistakes that were scribbled out on almost every message. Racetrack, for the job he had held over the summer, working at a stable at the Sheepshead Bay Races. And Shade? Simply because she wanted it.
Misprint Racetrack was across one section, with a large heart circling it. She read the conversation underneath it with amusement.
What the hell is this?
Nothing.
Nothing?
A joke.
A joke?
No, I'm actualy hopelesly in love with you.
Are you really?
Conversation closed.
Shade smiled indulgently as it continued on another section.
Mis loves me.
I do not!
Mis loves me.
Your full of yourself.
Mis loves me.
I said conversation closed!
Mis loves me.
Maybe if you ressembled David Usher.
Mis loves me.
Shut up!
"Happy Claire's day."
Shade jolted up out of her reverie with a start. It took herself a second to get her thoughts back on track. The moment she did, she realised Racetrack was standing in front of her, brown eyes warm and comforting.
"Hey Race." She replied, feeling a slight smile tug at the corners of her lips. "Sit down, take a load off."
"Don't mind if I do." He shrugged, collapsing cross legged in front of her. If he saw the graffiti, he gave no notice.
"What were you sayin'?" Shade asked.
"Happy Claire's day." He repeated easily. She furrowed her brows. He didn't look as though this was the interlude to some kind of joke. She decided to bite.
"Whazat mean?"
"It was this day." He said quietly, picking at the spare threads on his pants. "Y'see, there was this nun, Claire."
"What happened to 'er?"
"She got raped by her priest, before he locked her and all the rest of her sisterhood in the basement of the church, and burned it down."
Shade stared at him with raised eyebrows. This was pretty heavy, coming from Race. Usually he was as light hearted as anything. Well, except for the past week, after he had heard about Misprint…
"Burned it down?"
"Yeah."
"With everyone in it?"
"Oh yeah."
"In the name of God?"
"Naw. He was jus' a psycho." Racetrack shrugged. Shade tried to shake off the strange feeling the story gave her. She was used to tales of that sort, like Vlad the Impaler, or Henry the Eighth killing off all six wives, but this one seemed to take a hold on her.
"And we have a day?" She asked, furrowing her brow. "Happy Claire's day?"
"Don't ask me." Racetrack asked, spreading his hands in a bewildered gesture. "I didn't decide to have it."
"Why don't we get a holiday from school?"
"Because Claire's Day isn't a well known one. Even if it was, do you really think it's the kind of thing that we'd celebrate at a Catholic school?" He replied easily, brushing the bits of thread off his pants.
"And why are you telling me this?"
For the first time, he looked a little baffled. Almost a little guilty. Shade narrowed her eyes, but he regained composure quickly.
"No reason. Jus' thought, y'know. Two days before Valentines. Kinda interestin'." Shade started slightly. Two days before Valentines. Had time really passed that quickly?
To divert her attention, he turned and caught sight of the messages.
"Say!" He said, shifting around slightly. "Is this us?"
"Sure is." Shade replied, grabbing one of her books and opening it. Racetrack chuckled as she ruffled through the pages, trying to find her last question.
"Man. This stuff must be a year old!"
"Mmm."
There was a small silence that descended on the both of them, as Racetrack's well worn eyes slowly read over the messages, his lips curving into a grin. He chortled once or twice at the goofiness that showed through the ink. It felt almost as though someone else had lived those lines. A year was a long time to measure.
Amy Willis is a HUSSY. Shade had written in large letters. This prompted a laugh from him.
"Man. I miss those times." He said, settling back on his haunches. Shade nodded, trying to concentrate on her reading. But his next, hesitant sentence jarred her. "Maybe when Mis gets back…things will…" he sighed slightly. "Y'know. Return to normal."
Shade felt something inside her freeze. Almost as though a cold wind of truth had just blazed through her insides. Or as though a flame had gone out.
"She ain't comin' back." She heard herself say in a hollow voice. "Spot took 'er."
"What?" Racetrack blinked. The understanding in his brown eyes seemed to fade, replaced by fear slipping around the edge of his irises.
Shade closed her eyes. He had wanted the real story.
"D'you remember when you walked into Jack's dorm, and we were there?'
"Yeah." Racetrack replied, too intent to bring up the fact they were both in their undergarments at the time.
"Misprint ran into a vampire the night before." Shade said slowly, as though the information was being pulled out of her. Painfully. "Spot Conlon. She ran into him again at the Halloween Dance. Every night since then, he's crawled in through the window while I've been out slaying. He killed Stephen. He did something to Jack. An' now he's stolen Gemini's powers, and…" She sighed, and opened her eyes. They were glimmering, and wet. "Taken Mis away. Probably to do something horrible to her before he kills her."
Racetrack blinked again, feeling his mouth fall open in a gape. Shade blinked a few times to clear her eyes, then began to calmly gather up her books. "Sorry." She murmured under her breath.
Quickly, she pressed her books flat to her chest and brushed past him as the dinner bell went.
Racetrack's first impulse was to run after her and grab her arm, bring her back, make her explain. But he realised, sickly, there was nothing left to explain. The whole story.
The students began filing out, still chattering and laughing and joking around. Oblivious to the fact that one of their numbers was dead.
Two, Racetrack realised, a feeling of numb disbelief sweeping his body. Stephen and Mis. Both of them.
Without thinking, his hand reached into his back pocket and clamped around a pen. Slowly, almost robotically, he turned towards the wall and scanned over all the messages once more. Then, quickly, his hand shot out and he wrote one message.
Where are you?
"Hey." Shade slid into the spot beside Specs as the dinner bell rang, depositing her books and papers on the floor in a messy heap. The doors to the kitchen banged open and the lunch ladies came out, pots steaming and smelling to high heaven. "When are you guys headin' over tonight?"
Specs sighed, glanced around uneasily, and leaned closer. "We ain't allowed."
Shade's jaw dropped. "What?"
"I said, we ain't allowed. They caught Dutchy on the fire escape comin' down from your room."
"What was he doing up there?" Shade asked indignantly.
"Trying to find you , genius. Anyways, he nearly fell and hyperventalated. You know how he is with heights." Specs said under his breath as a woman slopped a scoop of stew into his bowl. Shade raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. "They're keeping a tight watch on us, Shade. They won't let us do anything. And we can't risk being expelled."
"Why not? You're slayers. You're…like wandering minstrels. Without lutes." Shade snapped angrily, jabbing at the beef with her spoon, watching it dissolve into mush. "It wouldn't hurt you."
"We need somewhere to stay." He protested. "An' so do you. Sorry. No meeting."
Shade growled and let her spoon fall into the bowl, splashing her shirt with bits of sauce. No meetings. No Specs helping Gemini find Misprint. How were they supposed to find her with all the obstacles being thrown in their way?
"But what about…" She began, but he cut her off before she could even finish her sentence.
"We'll find her." He said, trying to make his own voice sound firm. But he wasn't so sure.
For a couple that had been "dating" for half a year, Shade and Jack didn't seem like they were on speaking terms as they walked through the night. Shade's jaw was clenched so tightly, she wasn't sure she'd be able to get a word out anyways, and Jack simply didn't care to even hear anything she had to say. The pressure of hunting alongside a slaying partner, and his overwhelming hunger, was too much for him to take.
Shade discreetly looked down and studied her fingers, pale, and wrapped tightly around her stake. It didn't seem that the same hand that had been mercilessly slaughtering vampires only a few months ago could suddenly lose and gain strength like in the blink of an eye. The brief absences of her powers had been hitting her two or three times a night, now, and every time they did, she always came off feeling a little woozy, with a deep, sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. The wooziness would fade, eventually, but the pit was getting bigger and bigger, like sand draining through a hole. Something was the matter. Bumlets and Jack were beginning to notice slight changes in her routine, she'd go right for the vampires heart instead of "getting hot and bothered", as she used to put it, ever so eloquently. As though she just wanted to get it over with instead of stretch out the fight.
"Two reasons." Chaos had told Bumlets during cooking, as they watched her measure out a cup of flour. "Either she's getting tired of slayin', or she's scared. An' Shade don't get scared."
Shade did get scared. But Shade never got so scared as to the point where she felt she had to explain a weakness to someone.
She remembered her last close shave and winced, rubbing her wrist slightly. Bruises and scars had started appearing on her arms, as every fight, a vampire was able to get a little bit further, hit her a little harder, have it hurt a little bit more. She felt as though she was losing her own powers, which was ridiculous. But tempting to believe.
She glanced beside her and watched her boyfriends profile cast shadows across itself, silhouetted against the street lights. She had tried to ignore the strange feeling she got around Jack, but it was impossible. Like a buzzing sound that wouldn't go away. Like a warning.
"Follow your instincts." Chaos had told her once. That was a slayer's first rule. "Your instincts don't lie." But Shade had a feeling her instincts weren't exactly bang on, because subconsciously, she just couldn't believe it. Didn't want to believe it. Jack sensed her gaze and looked at her. A smile creased his face, but it wasn't Jack's smile.
"What's up?" He asked, twirling his stake expertly between his fingers. Shade shrugged.
"Nothing. Why?"
"You look kinda preoccupied."
"I'm not preoccupied." She replied. "Everything's fine." He could sense the obvious tones of discomfort in her voice, and raised his eyebrows. "What? Everything's fine!" She repeated stubbornly. He shrugged.
"Alright."
Immediately, Shade wanted to spill. Misprint being dead. Something being wrong with Jack. Something being wrong with herself. The strange tugs of fear she was beginning to get day after day after day. But all she could manage was;
"Jack? Something is wrong."
"What's up?" He asked again, flipping the stake in the air and deftly catching it.
"Um…well, your powers? Your strength? It's…it's consistent, right?"
"What?" Jack asked, furrowing his brows. Shade pursued the topic relentlessly.
"It's consistent! It doesn't…y'know. Go away, or…flicker, does it?"
"I don't understand what you're talkin' about." Jack said, shaking his head in demeaning amusement. Shade stared at him, and suddenly realised. His smile. He didn't do that cute little abashed smile he used to do, on the ever so rare occasion he was wrong. It didn't happen often, but when it did, it said "Jack" through and through.
"Nothing." She muttered, more to herself than to him. "I'm jus'…rambling. Something Chaos told me. Listen. You take Wall Street, and I'll clear the Morningisde." She ordered, referring to the park near Harlem.
"Oh. Great." He said sarcastically. "I'm just itching for a nice, evil stockbroker."
Shade gave him a look, then rolled her eyes. "Comon. It'll be good for you."
"A'right. Meet me at the Med. Center at…maybe two." He approximated. "Have fun."
"Yeah." Shade's smile faded, as she watched him jog away. "Right." She sighed, and for some reason, felt the need to watch his figure disappear into the darkness of the city, to make sure he was going the way he was supposed to.
I have no reason not to trust him, she thought, as she fished into her jacket pocket for the coins it would take for the subway. Her hand circled around the right amount, and she sighed heavily. But I don't. And it ain't like I can't tell nobody. Y'know. To get it off me chest.
Shade didn't particularly like the subways. The stench of the city seemed to conglomerate down underground, along with all the people you didn't want to meet during the day, let alone the dead of night. She just relied on her ever fading powers and hoped they wouldn't short out on her when she needed them that night.
Which they seemed to be doing a lot.
She found the nearest station and slowly descended into the ground, feeling her lungs clench up inside of her. If Misprint were here with her, it wouldn't be so bad. Misprint had a way of pointing out even the dirtiest stray dog, the filthiest sewer, or the most desolate apartment, and somehow make it look poignant and beautiful. She was a real city girl. Born in the dirt and grime and destined to stay that way.
What am I thinking, Shade thought in self chastisement. Even if she still were around, she wouldn't be with me tonight. She'd be back at the dorm, sleeping. Or with Spot.
Even thinking the name brought a foul taste to her tongue, and she knew it just wasn't the subway air. Thankfully, the place wasn't too full that night, whether it was the sudden rush of cold air that had taken the evening, or just the fact that it wasn't safe to do so at eleven at night. A ways away stood a middle aged man with a face full of stubble, near a prudent looking old woman, who was clutching her purse close to her with white fingers. Shade smirked and calmly waited for the A train. She'd be taking it to the end of the line.
The train came shooting along, and stopped obediently before her, doors opening with a sound that should accompany a dramatic burst of steam. She glanced at the two people that occupied the station with her, but neither moved to join her. It was the A train to Harlem in the middle of the night. They obviously weren't that daring.
There were a few people on, but not enough to elbow through and fight with, as one usually had to do. A Japanese woman with wiry, curly hair dressed in a pair of purple slacks and a loose polka dotted shirt, under a puffy jacket. A young black man, listening intently to a Walkman. A middle aged, tired looking woman with ancient lines around her eyes that looked sad.
Shade sat down, her stake safely in her pocket, fingers still wrapped around it. She was beginning to feel the initial fear of being attacked all the time, like an incurable disease. She highly doubted anyone in the train would try and hurt her. But her fingers seemed to think differently.
In a strange way, she was just waiting for everything to return to normal.
But Misprint's dead, she reminded herself. Things couldn't be normal.
I should tell her. Before anything else, I should tell her about who she is. Before she gets hurt. Before things get messed up.
Spot stalked down the bustling streets of Manhattan, alive with the night life, cool wind blowing the hair back from his forehead and pushing his heavy coat open.
Stupid bitch…runnin' away. His mind hissed at him. Hiding behind her friends. Why do you even waste your time with her?
He slowly descended down into the subway station, mind brimming over with contradictory thoughts, like oil and water in a single cup. He groaned, pushing a few strands of hair back from his face.
I should tell her. If she's even back. Maybe she ain't. Maybe she's gone off for good…dead…I could smell blood. Is she alright?
The station was near deserted. Not many people took the subway by night, now-a-days. Mysterious disappearances. Couldn't be accounted for. Victims found with their necks ripped open. It's almost as if the world was aware…but that was impossible.
If she ain't, all the better. You can't afford to be stuck on anybody.
The faraway sound of the train, ear-splitting to his heightened senses, sounded. He sighed and pressed his hands farther down into the pockets of his coat. He hated the battle inside of him…Jack's blood fading from his veins…the emotions that the blood carried battling with his vampiric side…the only chance he had was swiftly running out. The slow ticking of the clock hanging high above the reaches of vandalism proved that, with it's meticulous second hand slowly pushing it's way around its circumference…
What'll I do if she isn't there? If she's still…where is she? Could I talk to her friends? They wouldn't understand.
The train came towards him, like a silver bullet. He didn't know why he was taking the train instead of transporting. Too much energy? A need to stay in contact with his human side for as long as he had it?
So what? You don't need to talk to her friends. What'll that do? She's not going to believe you. Forget it. Forget for a moment you ever thought you might be…
The doors opened with a hiss, spewing out three people that passed by him as unimportant as blurred shadows. The only person on the train was facing away from him, auburn roots showing through a long mass of dark curls. He stepped onto the train, and immediately knew.
Alyson.
"Shade…" Shade looked up, dark eyes narrowing when the voice rang a bell in her head. Standing before her was none other than the man she wanted to see the most…
Crystalline blue eyes widened in shock as her fist collided with the side of his head.
Spot fell backwards against a pole, only adding to the confusion brought on with the knock from her fist. Immediately, she was on her feet, and had pummelled him again with two quick shots to the stomach.
"Bastard!" She yelled in impotence, stepping back and fumbling in her pocket for the stake that she had been clenching ever so tightly just a few moments ago. Spot looked up at her, a dull ache spreading through him, eyes blazing with fury and helplessness alike.
"Shade…stop…" He choked. The sight of the stake she managed to pull out set off a warning in his head. Before she could swing, he managed to use up the energy he had to disappear, and materialise behind her, he could not risk injuring her too badly. "Put the stake down!"
Shade spun around, eyes narrowed in animosity. She didn't want to play games tonight. She wanted to teach him a lesson. Resort to the old torture methods that had grown dusty in her care. She swung another fist forwards, but he dodged it and managed to send the stake flying from her hands. It hit the ground and skidded under a seat.
"Fuck you!" She screamed, reaching forwards with both of her hands for his throat. He easily caught both her wrists, and with a gesture that was more of a flick than a throw, sent her flying onto a row of seats, her head cracking against a pole. Immediately, she felt a sick, empty feeling resonate from the injury and zap throughout her body, making her feel as incoherent and dependent as a puppet. Moaning, she tried to roll onto her side, but two hands were holding her shoulders down.
She opened her eyes and blinked away the clouds of colours that were forming behind her vision. Spot was leaning over her, hair falling over his face, eyes blazing with an internal struggle. She tried to fight against his strength, but she could feel her own powers drain out of her like blood.
Spot tried to apologise, to speak through the demon in his soul, but he felt his words get caught in his throat. Forced down, he would not apologize. Could not. . . the history . . . The only two words that could escape his lips were the farthest thing from apologising he could manage.
"Where's Misprint?" He asked hoarsely. Shade's eyes blazed in fury.
"Fuck you." She screamed again, pushing harder. He felt his muscles convulse, and he slammed her down against the seats again, only adding damage to her head. She groaned and fell limp under his fingers.
"Don't do this, Shade, where is she?" he hissed. Shade's eyes struggled to stay open.
"You should know." She spat back, feeling anger flood through her veins. "You have her!"
"What?" He asked, brows furrowing. She groaned softly. With a sudden, contrite feeling, he pulled back, grabbing the pole with his hands as the train made a sharp curve. The rattling noise of the tracks and the buzz of air conditioning made Shade feel like she was going to throw up. Spot felt for one insane instant like he should reach forward to comfort her. Only one though.
"Don't be an asshole, Conlon." She choked. "What have you done with her?"
"I don't have her!" Spot protested.
"Don't be an asshole!" Shade repeated, pushing herself to a sitting position. "What have you done with her?"
"I don't have her!" Spot repeated, clenching his teeth together. Every surfacing vampiric instinct in his body was throbbing. He fought them down, wanting to keep the situation under his control. "I told you already! I came by to see…well…I need to tell her something. Before I can't."
She stared at him, disgusted. She felt small relieves of strength tingle in her fingers, but she didn't use them. Not yet. "This is the cruellest thing you've ever done." She said, words laced with malice.
"Shade, you gotta believe me." He said, in what would have been an order, but came out more as a plea. "I don't know where she is! I don't know if she's a'right..."
The subway came to a hissing stop, the monotonous voice droning out the station. Shade pressed a hand to her head as she groped for the pole, standing as well, trying to keep her balance. Falling over would not be convincing.
"I…" She said, as the doors slid open. "Ought to give you every cut you gave her. Worse. Bathe 'em in holy water. Slit your throat and near snap you're head off. Nail you to a cross. And…" She sneered. "Wait till sunrise."
There was a shocked gasp behind them, and both turned to see a tall, waif like girl standing there, with short black hair and a few safety pins through her ears. She was staring at the both of them, huge brown eyes flicking from one hostile face to another, mouth open in a slight gape of shock.
"Um…" She said presently in a tiny voice. "Should…should I wait 'till next train or somin'?"
Shade growled and turned on her heel, coat whipping out and nearly brushing against the vampire. Spot grabbed her arm and threw her back across the train with a snarl. The girl squeaked and fled the scene. Shade glowered up at him.
"God. She always listened to me!" Spot paced the train. "She was an arrogant bint as well, but she ended up listening sooner or later. And now I have to work with you?"
Shade's mind reeled in confusion, not knowing what sort of game her enemy was trying to play. "Asshole," She snarled launching herself at Spot, forget failing strength this bitch was going down. If she was to die fighting a vampire why not make it the one to start in on this path of darkness? The two toppled over and rolled across the floor. Spot sprang to his feet.
"Fuck it Alyson," Spot pulled down the emergency brake. He strode over to the girl and shoved her back against the wall. "Don't you know?"
"Know what?" Spat Shade, struggling against his hold. Spot noticed her lack of strength, her slowed reflexes, her failing dexterity. His eyes snapped to hers.
"How long?"
"What the hell?" Shade was beyond confused when he let her go. Spot ran his hands over her arms in and oddly worried gesture. She slapped his hands away. She spat in his face.
"Bitch." Spot slammed her against the wall. She cried out despite her desperate attempt to control it. Her head was throbbing and she could feel sticky blood clotting in her hair. Spot released her from his grip and she sank to the ground, unable to force motion into her limbs. He dropped to his knees before her. Her blood toned eyes tearing at his like they had so many years ago. Her little hands clutching at the subway's seats, trying to push herself to her feet. He remembered things she didn't, things she couldn't. And now he'd damn near killed her. There was only one way for his vampiric blood to heal a head wound. . .
Spot sank his fangs into his wrist before holding the wound to her lips. Her eyes shot open and she latched onto the wound. Though her eyes stared over his shoulder she saw anything but the subway around them.
Sarah's eyes snapped open. The straw around her prickled through her dark hair and scratched at her face, like insect legs against her skin. Her limbs were sprawled out across the hay, as though she had just fallen there, unable to move, unable to get up, unable to see the dark, midnight sky above her…
Sarah…come to me…
She could see him now, standing on top of the castle, his soft, baggy shirt blowing backwards in the midnight wind. His eyes pierced through the late night, England fog, casting their way towards her…
She whimpered slightly as she pushed herself up to a sitting position, eyes soft with fright and willingness. Resist…she told herself sternly. Come on. Resist…you'll just be playing into his hands…
The voices grew stronger in her head, and her fingers dug into the dirty straw around her. It was difficult. So difficult. She tried to keep herself sane by picturing the expression on the face of the Magi. Stern…don't do it…don't do it…
Come to me.
Sarah groaned as she rolled over and tried to block out the voices. It was going to be a long night.
Shade screamed as her eyes flew open.
The floor underneath her was tilting from side to side as the subway shot through the ground. It took her a moment to realise that someone was holding her arm.
"Spot?" She said jerkily, looking up. But it wasn't Spots face that was staring down at her. A large, beefy man in a dark green jacket with the badge "Subway Attendant" sewn onto the pocket was hauling her to her feet.
"That's right ma'am." he said condescendingly. "Comon now. We're going to get you off the train at the next stop…"
Shade groaned, feeling a warm trickle of blood down the back of her neck. The car was stifingly hot, making her want to vomit, and the mans grip on her arm was too tight for comfort.
"Comon, now." He was saying. The words blurred in her head. The world spun as the car screeched to a halt, and the doors slid open with the familiar hiss.
The doors swung open, and Sarah took one last deep, shaky breath, before stepping forwards…
Shade moaned again. Where was Spot? And what had he done to her mind? The fragments of images, like reflections on a broken mirror, were flying towards her. Splintering through her brain. Was what she just saw a vision he had given her, or an actual premonition?
No, it couldn't have been a premonition. It was in mideval times, she could tell by that girl…Sarah's…dress. And the mans clothing…that man…Spot…
"Here we go, girly." the man said gently, as he pushed her away, pushed her towards the door. Shade suddenly had a panicky feeling in her chest, as though she was leaving something behind. Something very important.
"Wait…" She muttered, feeling her tongue thick with pain inside her mouth. "Wait…let me…"
"Sorry, girly, but you can't sleep on the subways."
He thinks I'm a drunk, she realised, with inward, somewhat hysterical amusement. I must look pretty smashed, that's for sure.
"I'm not drunk." She drawled, once her feet hit the platform. He nodded and smiled in a way that clearly showed he didn't believe a word of it.
"Sure you aren't."
"Will ya lemme back on the train?" She questioned.
"No. Sorry."
"But I'm not…" her words were cut off as the doors slid shut and, with an unearthly grinding noise, the subway chugged away. "Drunk." She finished, her words echoing after it.
The walk back was a long one. She didn't want to try the subway again, just in case that man should catch her and be forced to take measures that were decidedly more drastic. Like throwing her in jail for a night. Which he could have done in the first place. Slightly grateful she was going home at the moment, and not curling up in a cold, dark cell, she walked a bit faster.
Her mind was whirling, even though she was somewhat dizzy, and not sure her feet were hitting their marks. But what she had just seen was too strange to be forgotten. The image was like a dream, now, floating in the back of her mind, but constantly floating in and out of focus. She was afraid to think of anything else, in case the dream was forgotten…
The girl…what was her name again? Sarah. Shade tucked the stray strands of hair behind her ear and tried to concentrate. Sarah was obviously getting some sort of vision from Spot…but what was it she had thought? Something about playing right into his hands…so she knew she was getting the visions from Spot. Very unlike Misprint.
Misprint! Shade suddenly remembered the hatred that flooded her veins when she had seen Spot. But he had told her that he had nothing to do with her best friend missing…was he telling the truth?
And where had he gone?
Shade rubbed her hand over her wrist, grimacing slightly. It wasn't healing as fast as her other wounds usually did, owing to the fact that her strength was slowly being drained away, and blood still smeared on her fingertips when she touched the injury. The vision had to be connected to the fact that he bit her…she realised, suddenly, that was the first time she had ever drank vampire blood…she felt sick…
She groaned, and placed her bloody fingers on her temples, giving them small massages, afraid to press too hard. Her brain was whirling around in her head, and she found she was hardly sure of anything. She wanted to run to Specs, but he'd demand to know why she wouldn't have been able to fight Spot off in the first place. There were too many things she was afraid to tell anyone…
I'm going to go get a good nights sleep, she thought firmly. Maybe things'll be clearer in the morning.