Disclaimer: I do not own anything in this story save a few characters-including the protagonist. The original plot, characters, and ideas belong to Stephen Sommers and Universal Studios. I used the shortened novel of the movie as a guide and that book is written by John Whitman. So anything taken from there belongs to him, but I changed stuff around quite a bit. The concept of Vampire slayer, the Watchers Council, and all that good stuff belong to Joss Whedon. The reason this isn't in the BtVS xover section is because Buffy and Co. do not make an appearance. There, I believe you have no grounds on which to sue me. Don't bother anyway, cuz I have nothing you would want.
A/N: May, 2010-THIS STORY IS IN THE PROCESS OF BEING FULLY REVAMPED-chapters will have dates posted at the end of when they were edited and revised!
I have pushed the timeline of all events in the first movie back a couple years. It may make no sense, but just go with it. My fic, my rules. It's slightly AU anyway. Since The Mummy Returns takes place in 1933 and Elizabeth is 15, that would mean The Mummy would have had to take place in 1917. I have decided to make it early in 1917, making Elizabeth's date of birth in late 1917. If you have no idea what a Vampire Slayer is, then, um, just ask and I'll explain. Although I'm sure most of you have at least heard of the American television drama called, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Don't use the movie as a reference. Seriously, don't. And another thing, this will not be a Mary Sue. I have found a loophole in making strong, tough girls that can pack a punch. Make them slayers. Then they just have to fight well. Hehe. Elizabeth does have a personality, don't worry.
Chapter One: Dreams Always Start Something
The door to the O'Connell manor slowly swung inward as a slender figure carefully stepped inside. She shut it very quietly, not wanting to disturb any sleeping occupants within. She was dressed in dark clothes that easily camouflaged her in the shadows of the night. Her long dark hair was twisted into a cable tied at the nape of her neck. The darkness was pricked here and there by lights from the grounds. Dim illumination threw the girl's features into shadow. Before moving further towards the winding staircase, she listened keenly for any sounds of movement. It would not do for the master and mistress of the manor to find she was up at so late an hour nor that she had been gone from her bedroom for hours since dusk. And, being that it was dark and she was dressed to exploit it, it would not be remiss to expect the master of the house to mistake her for an intruder.
But, luckily, the master of the house had taught his daughter very well. She could move as silently as a lioness stalking her prey. She was also quite adept at maneuvering around in the blackness of night. It was nothing at all to cross to the staircase and silently ascend into the hallway and to her bedroom door.
In the safety of her own quarters, she switched on her lamps. Her eyes stung at the sudden brightness, but quickly adjusted. She quickly examined herself for any telltale signs of minor injuries. She would have to scour away all evidence of her midnight escapade before climbing back into bed to steal a few hours of sleep before daybreak. Peeling off her dark clothing and throwing them in a pile of clothes to be washed, she studiously inspected her white, naked skin. There was a gash on her stomach, but it was superficial and already beginning to knit. It would also be easy to conceal. The purple bruise on her forearm, however, would not be quite as easy to conceal in such warm weather. She would either have to use copious amounts of makeup to cover it, or she would have to concoct a story of carelessly banging her arm against something.
This had been her nightly routine for over a year now. At fifteen years old, Elizabeth O'Connell could safely say she was quite different from other girls of her age and status. Where other fifteen-year-old girls of the upper class were soundly sleeping in their opulent bedrooms, safe in their dreams of dresses, dancing, courting, she was out prowling back alleys, cemeteries, crypts, and other less reputable places. Where other girls were being groomed to catch the eyes of suitors in the hopes they might marry at or above their current station, she was being trained to be a deadly, efficient hunter. And the prey was of the most...abnormal sort.
A little over a year ago, at the age of fourteen, Elizabeth had been Called as the Vampire Slayer.
Elizabeth had almost laughed at the apparent irony or lack of irony (it depended on how one looked at it) in her situation. She was the daughter of Richard and Evelyn O'Connell, born not very long after the couple had narrowly escaped death in Egypt. Her parents, along with her mother's brother Jonathan and a desert warrior named Ardeth Bay, had defeated a mummy called Imhotep. He had been a High Priest back when Ancient Egypt had been in its prime, and, of course, not so ancient. They had saved the world from the chaos and destruction Imhotep would have wrought.
As a child, she had believed in those stories with a child's unquestioning innocence. As she grew older, she began to see them as nothing more than monstrously exaggerated tales meant only to entertain and frighten at her bedside. Her parents, oddly enough, did nothing to defend their stories and let Elizabeth have her semi-disbelief. A part of her had always known it was true. There was simply no reason for her parents and uncle (well, perhaps her uncle) to lie about such things. And there was far too much veracity in the solemn eyes of her parents, in the secretive glances which spoke volumes more than words ever could of the things they had witnessed. Things not meant for mortal eyes.
The semi-disbelief disappeared the day she found out she had been Chosen to slay beings far more ancient than anything her parents had ever crossed. Her parents had saved the world once, albeit from an apocalypse partially of their making. Now it fell to her to safeguard humanity from a more constant threat from the forces of evil.
She glided into her private lavatory to wash the cut on her stomach. She could not even remember receiving it, though it was common for her to not notice injuries, even more serious ones, until well after she had gotten them. She applied a pressure bandage from her private store of medical supplies, knowing that within a few days there would be no evidence of the wound at all.
Catching sight of her nude reflection in the mirror, she let loose a deep sigh. Elizabeth knew full well she was the very image of her mother. Her gleaming dark locks, the delicate shape of her face, and her dark blue eyes were all shaped in the guise of Evelyn Carnahan O'Connell. There was very little in the girl that resembled her father in a physical way. Her resemblance to Rick O'Connell ran somewhat deeper. Before her Watcher, the man who trained and guided her as the Slayer, had even handed her a wooden stake, her father had already trained her to defend herself. His influence was stamped on her in the way she regarded every problem and situation with calculating caution. She may have looked like her mother, but Elizabeth OConnell was her fathers daughter through and through.
She marveled at the graceful curve of her hips blossoming from her narrow waist. Her breasts were fuller than she could remember, and her fair skin was subtly sculpted with sleek muscle. Her body was becoming less of a girl's body with each passing day. Elizabeth certainly felt like a girl no longer, though she was not certain she felt like a woman. She supposed the more generic terms of adult or grown-up were more appropriate for description. Well and so, shouldering the responsibility of defending the world from evil was no mean feat. It was far too much to hope that the fifteen-year-old would be able to hold onto childhood for very long with such a vocation.
A girl, a woman, a warrior, a daughter, a sister, a niece...Elizabeth O'Connell occupied many roles, and sometimes she feared being torn apart by them. She had not told her parents about her Calling. She never planned on telling them. Let them believe their daughter was a normal teenager going through all the prickly stages of adolescence they had suffered. Let them believe she had a future beyond the age of eighteen. She could not be so cruel as to rip that quaint illusion from them. They had a future in her younger brother Alex. What could fate possibly have in store for that insufferably precocious and all-too-canny eight-year-old that could be more perilous than her own?
She donned a thin nightgown made of silk bordered by lace and brushed out her long dark hair. She would bathe after sleeping, for her bed was calling to her insistently. A familiar, and not wholly unwelcome, languor was suffusing her limbs. She had hunted vampires tonight and her hunt had ended successfully. An entire nest, which had been picking off impoverished workers, had been completely destroyed. The adrenaline surge from the hunt had been glorious; her blood had practically sung as she carried out her gory task. Now she would give her body its due hours of rest before rising to run the cycle anew.
Elizabeth had just snapped off her lamp when voices outside her door gave her pause. The voices belonged to her parents. Their room was right down the hall from her room, though it lay on the opposite side. Normally, she would have just left it be and snuggled under her covers. But something about their separate tones made the hair on the back of her neck rise with foreboding. Elizabeth knew well when to heed her instinctsand they were telling her that something was amiss.
"Honey, they're just dreams. Theres no reason for us to just pack our bags and hightail it to Egypt because you've had a few dreams", Rick OConnell pleaded, his voice thick with weariness and concern. His American accent was still true to its form even though he had lived in London for over fifteen years.
"Rick, they are not just dreams. I can't explain it, but I know in my bones that these are something different. Why would I keep dreaming of the same thing? Why would they feel more like...more like..." Evelyn Carnahan O'Connell's voice was strained with conviction and confusion alike.
More like what? Elizabeth wondered. She knew what it was to have dreams that were not mere dreams, and often times she had trouble telling the difference between the two. Slayers often experienced prophetic dreams, but that did not explain her mothers predicament.
"More like what?" Her father asked. Elizabeth could picture his handsome features, drawn by worry, but tempered by sensibility. He was not one to rush into things, but she knew her mother could be very persuasive.
"Memories", her mother whispered, her voice so low it was only due to Elizabeth's preternatural sense of hearing that she detected it.
"Memories? What do you mean by memories?" her father asked, his tone colored with unease.
Elizabeth frowned as she pondered over those words. Were it not for her parents' peculiar history with the ancient nation of Egypt, the young Slayer would probably be quicker to dismiss these strange dreams. Would that she knew the content of these dreams so she might be able to come to her own conclusions, but she did not want her parents to know she had overheard them. If they had wanted her to know, likely they would have told her already.
Perhaps she could speak of them to her Watcher. She had already told him about her parents deeds in Egypt. He had been suitably surprised and impressed by the tale, and far quicker to accept it than Elizabeth had expected. Dream interpretation definitely lay more within his area of expertise than hers.
She heard her father sigh in acute resignation. He must have been losing sleep over these dreams, and she knew he would do it if it meant restoring a measure of peace to her mother's anxious soul. Elizabeth knew he would give into her mother's wishes, for he was hard put to deny the woman anything. She doubted she had ever seen a couple more devoted to each other than her parents. Needless to say, she did not hold out much hope for experiencing the same.
"What about the Lizzie and Alex?" she heard him ask.
Yes, what about us? Elizabeth was not certain she felt all that comfortable with her parents trotting into some Egyptian tomb or pyramid at the behest of bizarre dreams. Knowing what she knew about Egypt and her parents, she did not feel she could willingly be left behind. She could feel a sinister air cloaking this entire situation. Something about this did not sit well with her.
"Well, we've taken them to Egypt before. Why not bring them with us? It is summer holiday, so they won't be missing any school", her mother replied.
She could practically hear her father's thoughts before he even spoke aloud. He was worried this excursion might involve some danger.
"Sweetheart, I don't know. I'm starting to get a bad feeling about all of this," her father said.
"Come on, darling, this could be a lovely holiday for us. I know how you hate being cooped up here in London. It could be a nice family adventure," her mother urged softly.
Her father was probably grinding his teeth with indecision, torn by his conflicting thoughts and feelings.
"All right, well bring them. I guess we'll tell them in the morning," her father conceded. "Alex will be excited, at least."
That certainly was no understatement. Elizabeth's eight-year-old brother took after their mother in his never-ending fascination and love for the desert country of Egypt. Their mother had even taught him how to read some of the written language of the Egyptians, and how to speak some of the language. Elizabeth had tried once when she was a child, but she just did not have the same blood-born affinity for Egypt. She did appreciate the harsh beauty of the Nile river valley, and the ancient solemnity of the crumbling temples, pyramids, and statues. She had a deep respect for the power and glory that had once resided there in that desert landscape. Her maternal grandmother had been an Egyptian, though likely not a full-blooded one considering Elizabeth and her brother looked thoroughly Caucasian.
Her parents drifted down the hallway, still speaking in soft, but slightly agitated, tones. They were likely heading downstairs to the kitchen for tea (or, in her father's case, some whiskey). Elizabeth contemplated creeping after them so she could continue to eavesdrop, but dismissed the notion almost immediately. Her parents had already said they were going to tell her and Alex about it in the morning, so there was no use prying into their private conversation any longer.
She padded across the thickly carpeted floor to her canopied bed. A small, furry, black ball was curled up on her pillow. Elizabeth smiled and stroked the furry ball until a head popped up and issued a soft mew.
"Sorry, love, but that's where my head is supposed to go," she admonished affectionately. The cat purred and nuzzled her mistress's hand. As if knowing what her mistress wanted, she uncurled, stretched out her limbs and sauntered aside.
Elizabeth slid under the covers. Her cat re-situated herself into the indistinct ball of black fur and snuggled up against her mistress's abdomen. The girl reached down and petted the animal. "Well, Ebony, looks like Im going to be going away for a bit. And it sounds to me like Mum and Dad are going to get themselves in a lovely spot of trouble, don't you think?" Her cat, obviously, could not be bothered with supplying an answer to that. She just continued to purr languidly as Elizabeth scratched behind her ears.
Though her body and mind were exhausted, sleep was long in coming for the fifteen-year-old. Thick knots of dread were forming in her restless stomach, keeping sleep at bay till just about the time the faintest lights of dawn started to streak the dark sky. She dreamed, but the dreams were full of words she could not understand and images which could not be comprehended. When she awoke some hours later into the morning, the dreams faded from her memory like the inscription on an ancient tombstone being eroded by time.
Edited/Revised: May 11, 2010