Twenty Four
When Shade woke up the next morning, Jack had gone.
She shivered, her body feeling raw and scarred all over, even though her skin was smooth and unmarked. She sat up, clutching the sheets to her chest, feeling as though she had broken out of an old skin and had re-emerged in the world, in a fresh, fragile new one, easy to mark, and even easier to tear.
Her bed was cold, even though she had been curled up tight in it all night. Curled up next to Jack…she ran her fingers over her stomach as she glanced around the dorm room and strained her ears for any sounds other than her breathing…maybe he was in the bathroom getting ready for classes…maybe…
She glanced over at the clock. It was three in the morning.
She groaned and fell back down onto the mattress. The room was a little warmer than the night before…she shivered just thinking about it. How could a room be so cold? How could he have just left her after that? How could Misprint be dead?
Without warning, the tears spilled over again, finding their old marks on her face and streaming out with fresh vengeance. Images of Misprint kept hitting her…giving herself a hair cut, giggling at the way it looked…waving her first pair of rainbow socks around…holding a verbal battle with Shade to see who got to go on the lap top first…stalking Racetrack in grade two, with awed, love struck eyes and a silly grin…lying across a pile of dirty laundry in her boxers…Shade couldn't believe she'd never see her friend again.
And it had happened just like that.
By the time the first bell rang, she was sound asleep again, her tears marking their places on her skin and pillow.
The weeks began to pass by with frightening speed. Sooner or later, Shade was barely able to remember the date she had found out that Misprint had died. She couldn't even keep track of the days…track of the months…her only source of time and order was Chaos, who was so frighteningly organized, it was off-putting. Shade spent most of her time alone.
The effort she put into her school work dropped, and she found she was handing in sheets that got a trifle more than 50% in marks. She had stopped going out of her way to visit Jack, and he had done likewise, as though they were both determined not to see each other. She and Racetrack exchanged brief nods in the hallways, and she avoided the slayers and Specs with frightening intensity. She didn't know why she felt this sudden anger towards them, but it was there, always lurking, like a dark shadow in her throat and mind.
Soon, her teachers started talking to her about this sudden lapse of attitude, when they were beginning to do "so well" before hand. Sometimes, their voices would drop to a softer, gentler tone, and they would inquire; "Is it because of Faith?"
At that point, Shade's eyes would harden at this remark that had hit the nail right on the head. In an indifferent tone, she'd reply; "No, I know she'll come back sooner or later." She hated lying about that. But it had to be done. If anyone found out that these eleven teens knew more than the police did, they'd be held in suspicion. And Shade couldn't get the slayers in the spotlight, no matter how angered she was with them.
After that, she'd give short, quick answers to their prying questions, until they gave up, wrote her a note, and sent her to her next class.
She had even let slaying fall by the wayside. She thought, at first, she'd be ready to kill every vampire in New York, ready to do something with this anger that had flooded her veins and intoxicated her so. But the first night she went out, she realized this was impossible, on account of her waxing strength. And the fact that Jack was rarely around to help her, considering they didn't even meet up before slaying, and just took off on their own. Every night, Shade came back with a new scar from some vampire, and the increased feeling of apathy.
Yet, in contrast to losing interest to everything around her, she became fixed on cleaning the dorm room.
A month after they had heard the news, Mondie dropped by, to see if she wanted to talk anything out with her. To her surprise, she was been greeted by an irritated looking Shade, her hair pulled back into a loose bun, wearing a pair of old jeans and a baggy T-shirt.
The dorm room behind her looked almost decent. There were three or four garbage bags stacked up beside the door, practically full to the top, and there was a pile of objects on the floor that she was slowly, but surely, organizing into smaller heaps. The beds were made, there were no piles of dirty laundry lying around, and from what Mondie could see of the bathroom, it had been scrubbed as hard as anything. The only thing left on the carpet were coins, hair pins, and little knick knacks that were too big to vacuum and too small to go around and pick up one by one. The tops of the bookshelves and the dresser were bare, except for a few framed photographs every now and then.
And Mondie realized, with a tug of sadness, there were four or five boxes piled near the bathroom door, with a single word written on each of them. Faith.
"Can I help you?" Shade asked coldly. Mondie stared at the room for a few more minutes, then shook her head, fighting back a sob.
"Just…wanted to know where Gemini was." She smiled sadly.
"Liar." Her kitten told her. She shushed it by tapping its nose playfully. Then, with another small smile to Shade, she turned and began walking back to her own dorm room.
Shade sighed and closed the door. Her bones felt weary from the huge clean up she had just undertaken, but she felt good. Better than before, at least. She was unsure if she would ever feel good again.
I wonder if this is how Mis felt when Stephen died, she thought calmly, pulling a frame off the dresser. It was beautiful, thick and black with red and orange flames roaring up the sides. And in the middle was a picture that she had seen every day of her life. A picture that she never thought she'd ever think twice about.
Shade was on the right, in her dark, thin jeans and long black top. Her hair was parted in the center, falling in soft waves down the side of her face, which was contorted into a subtle smirk. Her hand was up, and her fingers were parted in a peace sign.
On the left, Racetrack stood, wearing his usual dark T-shirt and baggy jeans that he donned every summer, when school was out and the uniform wasn't mandatory. For a change, he wore his grandfathers old fashioned cabby hat over his dark curls, which still leaked out from the band and hung around his ears and forehead. That was the summer he had decided to grow his hair out long, Shade remembered fondly. Mis loved that.
Misprint. There she was. She was wearing a pair of dark capris, her waist encircled by Racetracks arms as he tried to lift her up in the air. She was wearing her favourite hotwheels t-shirt, the one that was getting too small and showed off her "lack of a chest", as she had once said, proudly. Her hair was spiked up, exploding around her ears and face, and her eyes were lined heavily with black. But the blue of the irises sparkled out of the frame, and hit Shade with a pain she never thought she'd experience.
The girl had gone up in flames.
She placed the picture carefully back on the dresser, straightened it so it was facing the bed, wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, and continued to clean up the room. It was getting dark, and she wanted to finish before she went out to slay.
Nine days later found Specs on the telephone with a council official.
He knew sooner or later Misprint's death would cause a huge crisis in the prophecy, and sooner or later, all hell would be unleashed. Figures that he had to be around to deal with it. He was always stuck with the worse jobs.
He thought of the previous death of one of the slayers, so many years ago, had caused a veritable explosion in the vampire population. How bad could things get with the death of another?
"How are things looking on the fire elemental issue?" He asked, ignoring the twinge of sadness he felt whenever he thought of Misprint. He hadn't known her all that well, hadn't even trained her, but her death saddened him, even more than just the fact that it undoubtedly was bringing an apocalypse with it.
"Oh…" Specs heard a whistle of a sigh on the other end of the phone. "That. Well, lemme tell you, it's got all us officials scurrying all over the place, papers flying, phones ringing off the hook, rules being reshaped…chaos. But the thing is…" He lowered his voice. "It didn't just start when she died."
"It didn't?" Specs asked, furrowing his brows slightly, making his glasses slide down his nose. "What do you mean?"
"I mean it started long ago." The official said, a hint of puzzlement in his voice. "About…sometime around the winter, we're unsure of the exact date. Whatever it was happened very slowly. Had she been missing during that snowfall in New York?"
"No." Specs said in bewilderment. "It was January."
"Hmm." The official was silent for a moment. "Well, something happened in the winter, man. It's getting out of hand, too. There's this excited sort of pulse that the entire demon world is vibrating with…and something going on in the East, too."
"What?" Specs asked in curiosity.
"We don't know. We're just kind of waiting for the apocalypse."
"Great." Specs remarked sarcastically. But the new information bothered him. It bothered the official, too.
"You sure nothing happened during the winter?" He asked intently. Specs thought back, then slowly shook his head.
"Nothing." He said firmly. "Nothing happened during the winter."
The atmosphere in the Rec. Room was a less than cheerful one that evening, with Gemini and Blink taking up the bean bag chair in the corner, and Mush stolidly trying to cheer Mondie up, despite the half empty look in his eyes, and the counterfeit notes to his laughter. Gemini was restless, toying with her curls, smoothing out her skirt, and fiddling with her kilt pin, as though the searches and failures had left her feeling useless and guilty. Blink smoothed at her hair and gave her brief hugs, but to no avail.
"I can't stand this." She said finally, in an almost sulky voice. He tilted his head back to get a good look at her, but she was looking away, tracing the messages on the wall with her gaze.
"Misprint being gone?" He asked gently. She shook her head, curls bouncing back and forth.
"No. This weird…feeling. I've had it ever since Christmas, and I really don't get it. Ever since Stephen died, actually."
"Maybe that's when things started to go really wrong…" He offered, but she shook her head.
"No…things didn't just start to go wrong…they were wrong. And I can't explain how."
"Christmas was a while ago," Blink reminded her.
"But…it's not just that…never mind." She gave up, leaning back and trying to stop her fingers from doing their nervous dance across her skirt and curls. Blink looked slightly unsure for a second, before placing his arms around her and giving her another quick squeeze. He didn't know how many quick squeezes it would take until she felt better, and wasn't even sure if there was a number. But it was the only idea he could come up with.
He gave her another.
"Whoa!" Mondie exclaimed suddenly, her arms dropping to her sides. The kitten, who had been resting in the comfortable arc that they had made, let out a yowl and had to try and cling to the material of her blouse to keep from falling. All too late, she remembered he was there, and encircled him with her hands, and settled him comfortably on her shoulder. Mush tilted his head to one side.
"Whoa?" He asked. Mondie nodded, her eyes wide with excitement.
"I just got this…this feeling…" She said, catching Gemini and Blink's attention. Not to mention the focus of everyone else in the Rec. Room. She gave them a nervous grin, before sharing a meaningful look with Mush, and moving closer to Gemini. The moment she was there, she dropped down to her knees, letting the kitten scamper away with an indignant glance over the shoulder. Mush crouched down next to her.
"Did you feel that?" She asked Gemini excitedly. Gemini shook her head, and began undoing and redoing her kilt pin, occasionally touching the tip to her finger.
"Naw. I've been feeling anxious for a while, but…not anything imparticular just now…"
"I felt it." Mondie said, her eyes flashing. "It was this…this huge shift in power. Like a wave or something…no…like a…imagine all the sand at the top of the hour glass suddenly emptying into the bottom like that." She snapped her fingers, and giggled nervously. Gemini and Blink exchanged a look. "I know what you're thinking," Mondie continued. "But…it was…it wasn't just some weird thing. I know something just happened. Something is happening."
"I know what's happening." Gemini said wryly, her anxiety making her feel rather snappy. "You've lost your marbles."
Mondie gave her an indignant look, but the excitement from the jolt she just received didn't wear off. Even though Mush was giving her an uncertain gaze, she returned it with a grin, feeling electricity sparkle in her fingertips. Something was happening.
"Slade's dead!"
All activity in the lair stopped, as though someone had flicked a switch, or pressed the shutter of a camera. Every head snapped towards the door, to see Flo standing in the center, her head barely exceeding the height of the doorknob. Her hair, usually arranged carefully in it's concise braid, was messy and fly-away, long strands of it plastered to her face with rainwater. She was completely soaked, her dress clinging to her in dark folds, and her skin marked by the heavy fall of rain. Her cheeks were a paler shade of white with excitement, and her eyes were sparkling, the kind of sparkle that they only gave off when she was close to a susceptible prey, or when there had been a death.
There was a silence in the room so intense, that it felt as though she had gone deaf. Finally, the sound was broken with a series of creaks, as Spot stood, his crystalline eyes cutting through the dusty air into her small, brown ones. She had never had to stare Spot in the face before, and even though she had heard the rumours about his weakness and emotion, she realized, quite faintly, that the weakness must have been wearing off. Because she had never felt so intimidated in her life.
"Dead." He repeated quickly, his eyes flashing with a brief flame of victory. "How?"
"Burned!" Flo said faintly, aware that he was watching her every move carefully. She swallowed and felt her cheeks warm slightly, as she calmed herself.
"Burned? By whom?" Rosie asked sharply, but Spot waved a hand briefly and she fell silent, even though her eyes sparked with discontent. Spot focused his glare on Flo again.
"Who told you that?" He asked gently, but with an intensity that made Flo tremble.
"Nobody told me. I heard it."
"From whom?" He repeated stolidly.
"Corey and Sam." She replied. Spot made no reply, and she continued, feeling almost wrong footed, as though she was speaking out of turn. "I was trailing this drunk up to Harlem, when I heard them in the next alleyway, saying sommin' bout Slade. I knew they were drifters," she said, referring to the vampires that had not yet taken up a side in the war, "but I wanted to hear if they had any information. They said that 'is entire warehouse was burned, along with all his minions."
"All his minions?" Rosie repeated sceptically. "Slade would never put all his minions in one place."
"I ain't finished!" Flo snapped. "They also said that the rest was too scared to continue on without no leader, and skipped town. The war is over! We've won!"
There were murmurs around the lair now, as the vampires slowly began to allow themselves to believe that there might be a glimpse of hope for all of them. Only Spot and Rosie remained impassive, sharing a few glances that meant more than an entire, probing conversation. Without even hesitating, Rosie grabbed a stake from a nearby table, twirled it between her fingers, and shoved it decisively into her belt.
"I'll go check around." She said. "I'm takin' this, just in case."
"Trip! Bones!" Spot snapped, startling his two minions. "Accompany the lady, wouldja? No tricks."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Trip said truthfully, for once.
"Skitch, Killer, Harlem, Scratch, an' Sling. I want you all over the city. Find Slade's remaining minions. Kill 'um."
Scratch barely suppressed a grin as she grabbed her own stake and secured her long hair back into a pony tail. The five of them silently prepared themselves, and slipped from the lair.
"Flo, take a break, kid." Spot grinned, making the young fledgling glow with pride. "You've done enough for me today." With a curt smirk at her, he armed himself with his own stake and brushed the hair out of his eyes. She watched him curiously and, figuring that she earned a question or two, cocked her head to one side.
"Where you going?" She asked. He gave her a cutting look, but seeing her inquisitive stance, sighed. His smirk had been dropped quickly enough, and when she looked hard enough she could see flashes of something in the curve of his lips, and the irises of his eyes.
"T'try an' find someone." He mumbled, suddenly sounding very much unlike the vampire that was snapping out orders a few minutes ago. The remaining minions in the lair glanced over at him uncertainly, and shared knowing glances with each other, but Spot ignored them, as he tightened his grip on his stake and swept from the lair.
"News flash! Straight from the Bronx!" Bumlets said excitedly, bursting into Specs dorm room and waving the letter above his head like a banner. Specs immediately jerked back from his computer, and Dutchy, who had been sitting on the bed and working through a pile of math homework, looked up with excitement. The Bronx, as a borough, was invaluable, considering they constantly had up-to-the-minute news on the demon situation in New York. Specs had once even confided to them that it was the second choice for the location of the Watchers Council. It had someone working under cover in almost every vampire bar and gathering in New York City.
"Good, good." Specs said eagerly, straightening his glasses and spinning around on his swivel chair to face Bumlets. "About time we got some information about what's been going on."
"And what information it is!" Bumlets said, with a ecstatic note in his voice. With relish, he handed the letter to Specs, who began scanning it with his dark eyes. Dutchy grinned. He rarely saw Bumlets that excited. He realized that his co-slayer had reason when Specs gave them the summary.
"Sweet Jesus." He said breathlessly. "It says here that Slade's dead!"
"Holy shit!" Dutchy blurted out. "Dead?"
"Yep!" Bumlets beamed. "Read the rest!"
"His minions too!" Specs said, his voice getting higher and higher. "The warehouse they were in burned to the ground!"
"That's ridiculous." Dutchy said, glancing back and forth between them. "Slade wouldn't keep all his minions in one warehouse. I mean…unless he's some kind of half wit…"
"Not all of them," Specs said quickly, "But a good majority. The rest scattered, they're helpless without their leader, and no one is eager to step up and lead a diminished army against Spot Conlon."
"That's a good three quarters of our enemies gone, right there!" Bumlets said proudly. He watched Specs for a second, as though expecting their leader to say something. He exchanged a look with Dutchy, and a quick nod, before leaning over slightly to address the boy. "You…you think that maybe, with the war by the wayside…we could move on?"
"It's a possibility." Specs said, scanning the letter again, his eyes flashing with a wild sort of passion. "I'll contact the council. This is definitely news."
Shade had done her share of talking. She had talked to the nurse who, in special cases, played psychiatrist for the young, troubled students. She had talked to her teachers, explaining her way out of lates, absences, missing assignments, and bad test scores. The numerous police men and investigators came and set up interrogation offices in the cafeteria, and to them, she talked and talked and talked and talked until her throat felt like it was filled with cotton, and she had to ask for a glass of water. She had spilt so many words to the adults, she had none left for her friends. Gone, sung like so many song lyrics that always ended up with the same tune, and the same ending. I don't know where Faith McAlester is. I don't know why she's gone. She always seemed so happy.
Shade figured she had done her share of talking. She had devoted herself to cleaning, but there was nothing left to clean any more, the dorm room was pristine and neat. She didn't want to take care of those boxes, because she didn't want to have to look through them again and see parts of her life that were never coming back. She couldn't slay, she couldn't work, she couldn't eat, she couldn't sleep…she couldn't even talk to Racetrack any more, who wasn't talking to anyone. It was like being stuck in limbo, watching the early spring rain change to early spring rain, watching her work habits get worse and worse, watching herself lie down on her bed and stare up at the ceiling with absolutely nothing to do, but think. She had talked to everyone.
So why did she still want to talk?
She sat at the desk. The stolen laptop was glowing in front of her, in what was once before an inviting way. But her eyes were dreamy and unfocused, staring over the top of the screen at the window in front of her. The rain had turned slushy, as though snow was making a last attempt to fall. She watched the way they made watery paw prints up against the window, watched the way they slid back and forth when the wind rattled them, and watched the jaundiced lights of the city in the background. Her fingers were itching for the first time in a month to pry the window open and slip out in the cool, fresh air, that would wash away her depression, or at least freeze it for a while.
With a quick glance towards her door, she shut the lap top with a decisive click, losing her English essay in the blink of an eye, and grabbed a sweatshirt hanging idly on the back of the door. She threw it around her shoulders, pushed her arms through the sleeves, and began rooting around for a hair tie. Even if she didn't kill anything, the night was too good to pass up. There was a strange tingling in her fingers that meant something important, but she was still unsure as to what that was.
She turned back and had to stifle a yelp. Spot was crouched on the window ledge.
"Jesus," she muttered under her breath, instinctively taking a step back. The image of him was blurred and soaked past the rain spattered glass, but there was no mistaking that stance, that glare, those eyes that cut through anything right to her bones, making her feel powerless and frail. Her arms instinctively folded around her middle, as she stood staring at him, wondering how he had been able to realize that she was thinking about him at that moment. Did he? Or was he just there to gloat some more about Misprint, like he had been doing on the subway?
He watched her for a moment with those eyes, lowering his head, trying to press the message past the glass. She shook her head. If he thought that she was going to let her best friends murderer into her own dorm room, then he was veritably insane. All of the feelings that had been connected to Misprint had been washed away by the apathy that had consumed her during the past month, but all of a sudden, she felt a spark of anger, the same kind of spark she had felt on the subway, despite his numerous arguments.
Arguments, or lies? she mused, watching the way he scowled. I wonder. She scowled back, just as fiercely, before shaking her head. She wasn't going to open the window.
He watched her for a few more seconds, as though she might change her mind, then with a shrug, bent down and swiftly pulled it open. Shade's arms fell to her sides, and a glower twisted her features furiously, as he slid inside with the agility of a stray cat. She had forgotten how much practice he had at opening it anyways. It only made her angrier.
"Get out of my dorm room." She hissed, taking a step or two forwards, with all the intention of grabbing his throat and throwing him against the window. She stopped herself just in time, stuffing her hands violently into her pockets. There was no point in even trying. He was now stronger than she'd ever be again. He glanced up at her briefly, as he slid to the ground.
"What are you going to do about it?" he asked softly, pushing the hair out of his face. "Hit me?"
Shade opened her mouth to say something, but couldn't speak. Rage bottled up in her throat, she felt as though she would vomit. On the subway, she had believed that there would be some sort of goodness left in him that would allow Misprint to be released sooner or later. But now that she was actually gone…now that she was actually dead…and now that he was in her own room taunting her about her inability to fight back, she would feel no remorse in driving a stake through his cold, dead chest.
"Get out." She repeated again, through gritted teeth. He gave her a look that nearly cut her dead, and turned towards Misprint's bed. The sheets had long since been cleared away, leaving the empty frame and mattress stark and unnatural. But even so, he could still taste the traces of blood that had been left, it filled his senses and made him want to slash at something. Her blood had been spilled here by somebody other than him. "I said, get out!" Shade repeated, balling her hands into fists and taking them from her pockets, trying to look as threatening as possible.
"I'm not leaving, Shade." He said slowly over his shoulder.
"Like hell you're not." She said, on the verge of yelling. She would have already been raising hell, if it weren't for the fact that it was past midnight. "If you think you have the fucking right to show up here again after what you did to her, you've got to be fucking insane. What the fuck are you doing here, anyways?"
Spot gave her a sweeping look, before turning and facing the bed again, before his eyes let out an unusual flash of distress.
"Wanted to see if she was here."
Shade stared at him in disbelief, furiously quenching the urge to run forwards and shove him. She wouldn't get very far, but the ache was still there, pounding in her fists, making her face twist into a glare.
"I have news for her," he continued in the same sort of voice. "News that she might want to pass onto her…little slayer friends. We just found out tonight, and if my sources don't lie…"
"What are you playing at, Conlon?" She asked in a soft, deadly voice.
"Playing at?" He turned around, his brows furrowed slightly, eyes crinkled. "I'm not playing at anything."
"Don't be an asshole." Her eyes lit with a flame of hatred that burned behind the irises. "You killed her."
There was a short pause, before Spot let out a grating chuckle that didn't really sound amused at all. As a matter of fact, he looked almost frightened for a moment. But Shade wouldn't even push herself to believe that Spot Conlon was frightened.
"I killed her?" He repeated. "But…but she's not dead. She can't be. Where is she?"
"Don't play games with me Conlon," Shade warned, taking another step closer. "I know you did it."
"Oh, you know, do you?" He replied, cocking his head to the side and smirking. There was a hint of something behind the cocky camber of his lips, but Shade didn't recognize it. "Tell me, slayer, how is it that you know?"
"Because you're the only one who can." Shade said evenly, from behind gritted teeth. Spot stared at her harder, as though unable to comprehend what she was saying. She felt another flame of anger light her insides as she spat out the words. "If anything else had tried to touch her, she would have incinerated it in a second. But she…" She let her voice raise a few notes in frustration at the weakness of her deceased friend. "She wouldn't even touch you. She'd let you do anything you wanted to her and she wouldn't raise a finger to stop you." She narrowed her eyes. "You are the only one that could get her without a fight."
Spot watched her for a moment, with his cool, indescribable eyes, before turning back towards Misprint's bed. He seemed a little darker around the edges, something beginning to show through.
"You think I got her without a fight?" He muttered under his breath. Shade's brows furrowed.
"Excuse me?"
"You think I got her without a fight?" He repeated louder, turning and giving her the deepest glare she had ever seen, before returning his gaze back to the bed. "You really think Misprint was weak enough to go along with the first stranger that offered her a good time?" He said again, sounding a bit more indignant.
"I don't think she was weak." Shade said, but she realized, suddenly, how untrue it was. Ever since she had first learned about how Misprint had kept on letting Spot visit her, she had always considered her friend to be frail, and helpless against the demands of this vampire. "I just thought…"
"She wasn't going to go with me until I told her I'd rip your throat out if she didn't." Spot said coldly, bluntly.
Shade felt her stomach twist, in a wild, vicious jerk that made her feel sick. The vampires hands were hanging by his side, fingers long, pale, and elegant in the dim light of the near burnt-out lamp set up in the corner. She pictured those hands running up and down Misprint's sides as his thin lips whispered intimidating thoughts in her ear, threats and warnings…
"Get out." She repeated again. He turned around, and stared at her for a moment, again giving release to that certain something hidden behind his face. She gazed back at him, her eyes devoid of any emotion excepting rage, her face pale and deadly. "Get. Out." She repeated, enunciating each word.
"Tell me where she is, Shade." He said, his voice soft and pleading. Her hands were balled up so tight that her fingernails were cutting deep into the flesh of her palms.
"She's dead, Spot." Shade hissed. "You fucking…"
"Shade, look at me." Before she could even move, he was in front of her, hands grasping her shoulders tightly, so tightly she could feel the bruises forming already. "I didn't kill her."
"What's wrong with you?" Shade choked. "You're not…you're not you."
"I'm not me." He repeated, chuckling softly and letting his hands drop. Ruefully, Shade rubbed at her shoulders, trying to get her circulation to return to normal. They ached, and were cold. "And you know me well enough to tell me when I'm not acting like myself?"
"Yeah, I think I do." Shade snapped back sulkily. He sighed, and ran his fingers through his wet hair, a lone drop of rain running down his temple and sliding onto his neck.
"I'm…well, I'm not feeling all that sound right now, if you must know." He said, shoving the other hand in his pocket and turning to look at the bed. "Not emotionally sound, I guess you could say. Or too emotionally sound…"
"Spot, what are you talking about?" Shade asked, lightening the pressure on her shoulders a little and dipping her head to one side. Spot turned to see her again, and she was surprised to see real fear and panic in his eyes.
"I mean that…well…" He glanced at the door, almost as though expecting to see someone walk through it, and then began pacing, eyes ticking wildly back and forth. Her words were slowly being processed into his mind…She's dead. That couldn't be right. He'd know if she was dead, he'd somehow realize. "A while ago…three months? Four? I lost a lot of blood in a fight. And…I took in the blood of a human too fast." He looked up at her with a agitated glance, as though that explained everything, and she could sympathize. But all he got in return was a perplexed stare.
"What are you getting at?" She pushed. He sighed, and resumed his pacing, feet barely making a sound as they treaded over the carpet.
"Well…along with human blood comes…comes human emotion…"
Suddenly, everything made sense to Shade. His abnormal behaviour in the cemetery, his mood swings on the train. She stared at him, her eyes widening slowly as she came to realize.
"Wait…so, you're human?"
"Of course not," He snapped, fangs flashing quite obviously from between his lips. "You can't bring the dead back to life, Shade, unless under severe circumstances. Very severe circumstances. I'm…I'm still vampire, but…I have the mind of a human. I can't eat, anymore. I can't even kill somebody." He looked up at her again with the same pained, wronged look, and she wondered if she was supposed to be feeling sympathetic somehow. "I just…I have to wait till this wears off…"
He pushed a hand to his forehead and pressed his lips together, as though to break the flow of words long enough to collect his thoughts. When he finally spoke again, his voice was even, and eerily concise. "There are times when I'm almost back to normal. And there are times when the pain returns, it's so...it's so blinding...that it hurts. Physically. I get sick at some of the things I've done."
He looked up at her, with an almost injured look in his eyes.
"There are times," he continued. "When I realize that all of this means nothing to me. And then there are times when I realize that…" He sighed, and shook his head, dropping his hand to the ground. Shade stared, surprised. She had never seen him defeated. "When I realize that I'm head over heels in love with Misprint."
There was a silence that seemed to stretch on forever after he spoke those words, broken only by the soft, clumsy ticking of the small blue clock in the corner. Somebody in the next dorm mumbled in their sleep, and there was a squeal of tires outside. Shade stared up at Spot, watching the way his eyes probed at hers, trying to tell her more than he, himself, could possibly voice. Shade didn't know what to say. A part of her was crying out in sympathy, the part that wanted to reach forwards and smooth back his hair and stroke his cheek and mourn with him. And talk with him. She wanted to talk. But there was also the side of her that was suspicious, wondering how far he would take on of his little acts, wondering if he even half meant anything he said.
"And now you say she's dead." He repeated, his words a little harder, a little colder. "And…I don't know what to do. How can you know that?"
"We got Gemini to do a search," Shade said, as quietly as she could. She didn't want to provoke him into anger or sadness, she was trying to figure out where she wanted this conversation to go, the point she wanted to prove. "She found fire source in a body that was no longer alive. In a body that was…basically ashes."
Spot moaned, pressing his hands to his forehead again, in defeat. Shade moved forewords, as though to comfort him, but he stepped back, eyes barely recognizing her as he peered through his fingers. "Spot, listen…" She began, but before she could even get the next words out, he was as good as gone, sliding the window open and slipping out with the same ease and agility as he came in. Leaving Shade alone, abandoned in a cleaned out dorm room, with no one for company but the strands of her thoughts and memories drifting alone in her mind.
Misprint: WE ARE NOW UP TO SPEED!!
-timpanis play-
I wish, I wish, I hadn't killed that fish. I also want to inform you that the next chapter coming up is completely new. No more reading over old stuff to get up to speed with the small changes, now it's all new and improved Bloodflame garble from none other than yours truly: Shade and Misi, reporting to you from Vancouver, city of hippies. (Also: Shout outs for the faithful reviewers (all three of you) finally!)
Thank you all for bearing with us, your patience will be dutifully rewarded.
And also, if any one catches some kind of continuity error or mistake, please either review or send us an email explaining what it is (and preferably which chapter, so we don't have to hunt), it would be greatly appreciated. You can reach me, Misprint, at francescawasnttherehotmail.com, and I'm pretty sure that Shade is still going under shadehehehotmail.com.
Love you all, and enjoy!
-Misprint
here's yer knife! ß
old times, ne?