The League of Extraordinary Gentlewomen
Author's Note: Nothin' to say. Much.
Manveri Mirkiel: Of COURSE Verona is nice. I adore the woman. I did give you three chapters in the hols, so there.
Asha Ice: No Storm. I have enough female leads already. And you don't talk about longer chapters. For someone who used to type half a page for Bring Me to Life, you're a fine one to talk.
Sean Malloy-1: I'm not too sure about the guns – I'm not a weapons expert. Although you have a point – on second thought they don't look as if they have revolving chambers. I think I'll just call them guns. Guo Xiang should be from Book or Comic, but she has no fandom on Fanfiction Net, because she comes from a Chinese book. I'm using Movie!Deathstrike, because I haven't read the comics very well.
Reicheru: You certainly don't read that much Chinese. Don't know what you're missing, do you?
Sapphire Dragon: You're a true flatterer. Thank you.
Le Ami: Of course. Don't misspell Anck-su-namun, though.
If anyone is interested, we have another fic in the works. (hears Manveri screaming in protest) No, I'm not writing it. I figured it was time that Rukuelle did some of the work. With, of course, me watching over her like a hawk for punctuation mistakes. Dracula's Angels – though insofar we only have the trailer up.
5. Sleepless on Surveillance
"This is the plan," said Lara.
They were seated around an operation's table in the LEP shuttle's cabin. It wasn't the most comfortable of meeting grounds, due to the fact that it had been built for people less than half their size, but they had to make do.
Lara jabbed a pencil at the map of Chicago's central district. "This is the building in which Fowl has been spotted. It's forty floors high – that's a pittance compared to the average of Chicago's business towers – but we suspect that there's a lot more underground. It's a private industry – no one goes in without authorisation. That's not so strange. The strange thing is that no one ever seems to come out."
"Is there anyone inside in the first place?" asked McGonagall crisply.
"There are the guards at the entrances," replied Lara, "but apparently they sleep on the premises. As to the rest of the employees – no one knows."
She spread another sheet over the map. This one was a photo collage of the building, taken from different angles. Lara drew a circle around one of the windows in the photo of the right side of the building. "This is the office where Fowl is constantly spotted. None of the photos ever show there being anyone with him, though."
Holly heard all of this. She was in the front cockpit, driving the shuttle – and though she had not contributed much to the conversation she heard every word. That is not like Artemis, she thought. Artemis always has Butler with him. Oh, fine, so Butler's retired. But even an old Butler wouldn't abandon his charge for more than a minute. There's something wrong about those photos.
Lara pointed at a bird's-eye view photo of the building. "So – for the first step of the mission. Recon."
"Recon?" asked Guo Xiang. She was wearing a translator, but the word was alien to the machine.
"Re-con-nais-sance," enunciated Lara clearly, so the machine could catch it.
"Ah," nodded Guo Xiang. "Shencha."
"There are four sides to the building," went on Lara, "and seven of us. So we're splitting up into four groups – one pair per group, and the last group will be one person. There is preferably one person with avian abilities per group, so we can suitably cover all forty floors. Verona and Anck, you take the front side. Guo Xiang and Deathstrike, take left face. Holly and Professor McGonagall, take right face. I'll take the back."
Anck-su-namun's lips quirked in a half-smile. "All by yourself? Are you sure you can handle it?"
Lara looked the concubine straight in the eye. "I'm quite sure, thank you very much." Ignoring Anck-su-namun's roll of the eyes, she called over her shoulder towards the cockpit. "Got that, Holly?"
"Yes," Holly called back. She was the only one to hear the nuance in her own voice. She stared ahead at the viewscreen, fingers tightening on the controls. The right face of the building was where Artemis's window was located. No, she did not get it. She did not get it at all.
Night on Chicago was not like night on Transylvania. Chicago was equally busy at night as it was during the day – perhaps even busier. As the sky darkened, the lights came on – on every street, in every window. Cars rushed by like an endless stream of coloured flashes. Below them there was life everywhere, noise and colour and life.
Verona and Anck-su-namun were sitting on the large ventilators of the building opposite the one they were surveying. Anck-su-namun was looking rather strange with the LEP goggles strapped to her face. Verona wasn't wearing them. She didn't need them, not with her vampire's bestially-enhanced senses.
In truth, Anck-su-namun was terrified. Sitting with your legs dangling over the edge of a ventilator thirty-five storeys above ground is not one of the most relaxing positions you can adopt. Especially if the reason why you're up there is to keep your eyes fixed on the front entrance a long, long, long way down.
Verona seemed perfectly at ease at this height. Well, she's got wings, thought Anck-su-namun bitterly. If she falls off she won't smash on the pavement a million feet below.
So far, no one had entered or left the building yet. The guards, indistinct men in khaki uniforms, changed once every three hours, but they never left either. When she could force her eyes upwards, she had seen hazy shadows passing behind the frosted glass of the many windows, and none of them had been clear enough to define whether they were human or android. The situation seemed stale.
Anck-su-namun's eyes were watering from staring at the entrance, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to blink. She tried not to think how she would look spreadeagled on the pavement, her long black hair mingling with her life-blood, skull cracked. She had heard somewhere that the eyeballs were the first to go on impact: exploding in their sockets and spraying the cobblestones with aqueous jelly……
"Acrophobic?" inquired Verona softly.
Anck-su-namun bit her lip and concentrated on the khaki of the guards' uniform. "No."
"Oh, you are," came the cool reply. "I can tell."
Anck-su-namun finally managed to tear her eyes away from the terrifying drop to face her fellow League member. The Bride's face was impassive, her enigmatic eyes veiled momentarily by long dark lashes. Her waxen face was the only thing the concubine could see in the atmospheric darkness. The rest was swallowed by shadow.
"It's all very well for you," began Anck-su-namun hotly. "You're used to this. It's nothing to you. But I……"
"And what about you?"
There was an infinitely mocking tone to the vampire's voice. Anck-su-namun recognised it as the one she always used. She muttered a curt Egyptian invective and turned away, staring up at the night sky.
After some time Verona said quietly, "It happened to me the first time too."
Anck-su-namun shot a sidelong glance at her.
"I'd just been turned," went on Verona, "and I'd never flown before. I was terrified of heights – simply terrified. I swore I'd never fly like other vampires."
"What made you change your mind?" inquired Anck-su-namun, interested in spite of herself.
Verona smiled reminiscently. Her face softened all at once – from the world-weary face of a woman who has lived too long, to the fresh untouched face of a young maiden. "Him. Dracula. He taught me how to fly. He would bear me in his arms when we were out midnight hunting, until I lost my fear of heights. Until I was brave enough for him to let go."
They were both silent for a long time.
"I loved him," whispered Verona softly and fiercely. "I don't know why. I don't think he really loved me. But I loved him. I still love him…so much."
"I loved Imhotep," said Anck-su-namun abruptly.
Verona turned to look at her.
"I loved him as Anck-su-namun," the concubine said, "and I suppose Meela loved him too, in her own way. Though she didn't love him enough. In Ahm Shere she let him go. I didn't want to let him go. I've done horrible things, wicked things, as Anck-su-namun and as Meela, but I don't regret any of them. I did them all for him."
"I regret everything I did under Dracula's spell," said Verona. "The killings, blood hunts…everything. Except for the children," she added as an afterthought. "It was my idea to bring the children to life. At that time he still loved me enough to agree."
They were silent again, watching the shadowy figures pass behind the frosted windows but not really seeing them. Anck-su-namun was thinking of Imhotep, Verona of Dracula. The men they had loved and followed and lost. The men they still loved.
"If you don't like it here," suggested Verona after a while, "let's go up to the rooftop. You'll feel better there."
Anck-su-namun nodded wordlessly.
Verona slid off the ventilator and plunged downwards. Anck-su-namun watched her free-fall, saw her shut her eyes and savour the feel of the wind and the pull of gravity. Just before she came into sight of the multitude below, the Bride rolled over in mid-air and changed. Back up like a speeding comet she came, and she caught the Egyptian by the shoulders and pulled her up and over the top of the building. They collapsed on the rooftop together, panting from exertion and from the thrill of the flight.
Verona stood up and laughed, her deep rich laugh ringing in Anck-su-namun's ears. The concubine took the hand that was extended, and Verona pulled her to her feet. Anck-su-namun ran a hand through her sleek black hair, gave the Bride another of her sidelong glances, and smiled back.
"Women hai yao deng duojiu?" asked Guo Xiang petulantly.
Deathstrike gave no reply. They had been standing on the same street corner for the past two hours already.
"Could we sit down?" asked Guo Xiang in Chinese.
Her companion's face bore no expression. Amateur, thought Deathstrike. She's so young. So inexperienced. So annoying.
Guo Xiang gave a theatrical sigh and proceeded to imitate Deathstrike's standstill position.
Several people who passed along that street gave them funny looks: two Asian women, one in a black catsuit and the other in pink butterfly ribbons, standing on the sidewalk like statues, were not a common sight in Chicago.
Guo Xiang began to fidget after eleven minutes of standing stock still. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and then whispered: "My legs are prickling. They hurt."
"Pins-and-needles," said Deathstrike heartlessly. "What's there to complain about?"
Guo Xiang made a small complanative noise and began to rotate her foot to get rid of the pins-and-needles.
Opposite the street, a side door opened in the building, and a small group of guards came out. They huddled for a while in rapid discussion, shooting glances at the two women, and then three of them detached themselves from the group and began to walk with purpose towards them.
"Here comes the cavalry," murmured Guo Xiang. Deathstrike said nothing.
The guards continued striding. It came of being too obviously Oriental, perhaps.
Deathstrike turned her head ever so slightly and spoke into her collar. "Left face team. We have a spot of trouble."
"Hey, lady!" The first guard was approaching rapidly. "Whatcha doing outside here?"
"Standing," retorted Guo Xiang impertinently.
Deathstrike shot her a glare, and Guo Xiang shut up. It wasn't good to talk to people in languages they didn't understand – especially hostile people.
"What was that?" called the other guard. He definitely didn't understand Chinese.
They were now standing directly in front of the two League members. "None of your business," said Deathstrike clearly, and she turned to go.
One of the guards put out a hand to land heavily on the shoulder of the smaller of the two. Both women froze. "Stop right there!" ordered the guard menacingly.
"Oh good, movement at last," muttered Guo Xiang. She spun round and punched the man in the face.
"Trouble," said the headset in crisp tones.
"What?" asked Holly urgently.
"Deathstrike and Guo Xiang were attacked by a couple of guards. No, correct that – the entire lot attacked them after they beat up the first two."
Holly looked down. McGonagall was almost invisible in the shadows of the deserted alley, but her voice was grim in the darkness. "Do they need help?"
"I'm not too sure on that." Lara's voice sounded a tad amused. "Guo Xiang seems to be enjoying herself. But I think some reinforcements should go around. I can't go, because I'm the only one at my post."
She sounded disappointed. McGonagall glanced up at the Holly-shaped patch of smoky Chicago night. "Let's go, Holly."
"No," cut in Lara's voice over the air, "not both of you. This might be a distraction to draw you from your surveillance posts."
"Very well," muttered McGonagall. "Keep an eye out here, Holly." Drawing her wand, she Disapparated with a pop.
Alone now, Holly rose silently and swiftly on her mechanical wings, the slightest of shimmers. Perched on a ledge like a miniature gargoyle, she focused on the window opposite.
It was a like a small picture in the wall, a picture in monochrome blue. What she could see of the room's wall was painted blue. The desk was a pale, edging on colourless, blue, and the light bar on the ceiling gave the entire office an electric bluish hue. The only thing that seemed to be moving was the computer screen. It was switched on and alight with colour, although she couldn't see the details of the screen from this distance. It had been on for as long as she had been on Recon duty.
No one had touched it for that time period.
In the silence, there was suddenly the opening and shutting of a door, and the sound of quick footsteps thudding mechanically away down an unseen corridor. Another set of footsteps dragged slowly across the bare wooden boards of the office floor, stopped, and started again. And then the person passed into the window frame and sat down before the computer.
Holly's breath caught in her throat.
Artemis, sublimely unaware that he was being watched, began to type. It was like seeing that photo that Lara had shown her, but confronting a much worse reality. The bitterness and the weariness were real, too real, and she felt a pang running through her.
Silently, she rose and flitted across the distance to land on the windowsill of the building opposite. Artemis, his face illuminated by the unearthly glow of the computer screen, went on typing.
Holly pressed her face against the glass, but still she could not see what was on that computer screen. Just Artemis, typing, typing……
She had to get in there. She had to talk to him. She had to ask why.
Holly reached into her kit and removed the Omnitool. There was a lock at the side of the window, rusty from ages of long disuse. Holly inserted the Omnitool and waited for it to do its work.
Because of the rust, it took a couple more seconds than it should have. Holly caught hold of the opened lock so that the window would not automatically swing inwards and alert the occupants of the room.
For a moment she clung on, balanced precariously on a window ledge thirty storeys above ground level, on the verge of plunging into a danger on the basis of her intuition, and sublimely aware that she was defying the golden rule of Recon: Look, Don't Touch.
Artemis went on typing.
Slowly, painfully slowly, Holly pushed the window open a crack. Just a crack – just enough for her to slip through.
She paused, took a deep breath, and went in.
End of ChapterNext chapter coming…In the Lair of the Unknown
In which Holly regrets that she never learnt sign language, gets well underway to entering a scrap metal crusher, and is convinced that something dark, dangerous and fishy is going on inside that building.
