In a large, cavernous room, something stirred in the shadows where the moonlight falling through the large windows along the wall couldn't reach. On the edge of where the light peered into the darkness was a thrown of pitch black ebony wood, the blood red and onyx jewels inset on the backing dully gleaming with the reflected light of Diana's chariot.
In the thrown sat the dark goddess Persephone, her long fire blonde hair draping over her face and tumbling over her shoulders. Through the cascade of follicle flames, a small demented smile could be seen creeping onto her face. Over her left hand floated the reason for her devilish glee.
A milkish lavender orb sat in the air. Inside of it a picture of the slayer as she was positioned was in the center, seeming to be sitting on nothing. Coming from the globe Seras's voice seemed to be whispering, "Marco…I want Marco…All to myself…I want him…I want him…"
Persephone gave a laugh that caused the window to become covered with a thin layer of frost. "Seras, Seras, Seras…Whatever shall we do with you? Too bad Marco has Amanda, or else you would be number one on his list." She gave another laugh, this one causing the windows to frost over completely. The light in the room became eerie as it was now being filtered through the now matte glass.
Taking the pointer finger of her right hand, she broke the surface of the orb and dipped her finger into the area within. A pearl colored wisp of smoke formed and floated around the image of the young slayer.
"Let's hope your jealousy doesn't get the best of you."
Seras took a deep breathe of the steam that surrounded her. As the air entered her lungs, she felt herself spasm as her body suddenly lurched forward. She felt something moving inside of her, searing and scorching everything it touched. She gasped for breathe, but whatever it was that was inside her grew.
She felt it wrapping around her organs, seeping in as it attempted to squeeze them into something reminiscent of the primordial goop she came forth from. She tried to yell, but the pain grew worse.
Falling to her knees, she grasped at her chest and watched as torrents of tears and blood poured onto the floor below her. She felt her body throbbing and convulsing, betraying her with every pulsation. The steam in the room seemed to grow thick before her, and became suffocating.
She soon blacked out. Her body going limp, she collapsed flat onto the floor.
"You know what I think," Terrence continued to rant at Marco, even inside the apartment building, "I think you drove Seras nuts that night, you Guinea bastard."
Marco, normally, would've taken offense, and probably would've inflicted severe amounts of pain upon the British-like annoyance behind him. But now it was just annoying, and he sighed once more.
Marco reached the door to the apartment and said, "Wow, when we agreed to discuss this only with Seras in the room, what I really meant was harass me all the way from Queens in a voice so loud that humans can hear us coming from Montauk Point."
Terrence blinked. "Where?"
"Argh, never mind."
Cattalano turned and opened the apartment door.
Terrence's attention snapped to the opened door. "Hey, I locked that."
The Brooklynite smiled. "You'd be surprised how many doors my charm can open." He stepped inside. "Seras! Come on out so you can referee an argument between me and your brother as I throw him out the window! Seras?" He scanned the area. "Seras?"
Terrence sighed. "She was wasted when I left…tired in your tongue. She's probably dead to the world."
"Or actually deceased you moron." Marco looked at a door with a poster of Johnny Depp and concluded it was Seras's room. He charged and kicked the door in.
No one.
He whirled, pushed Terrence aside and tried another door. Locked. "What is this?"
"The bathroom, what is—"
Cattalano kicked in the door.
And there was Seras, on the floor. He blinked a few times, wondering why the entire bathroom floor was the color of blood. What idiot would consider a blood red color scheme, after all…
Crud!
Marco stepped through the blood to feel Seras' pulse. "Tell me you're still breathing… okay, barely. Terrence, call 911, she's—"
"What did you do to her you sonofabitch!"
Marco was slammed against the wall and held there by thin air. He blinked. Terrence is apparently very good at the telekinesis thing.
Terrence glared, trying to rupture a blood vessel in Marco's head. He stepped into the bathroom and slipped on the blood. His concentration broke, dropping Marco to the floor. Marco ripped the mirror off the wall and flung it into Terrence's face, smashing it to pieces and shredding the other Blackwell's face, turning it into a mass of blood that—most importantly—covered his eyes.
Marco kicked Terrence in the crotch, and used his head for a soccer ball just to drop him. He sighed, flipped out a cell phone, and dialed 911 for the paramedics. He turned to Seras and reached into his pocket to pull out the sterile gauze he carried as part of his impromptu first aid package. He used all of it to patch up the worse wounds. When he ran out of that, he immediately grabbed several towels, soaked them in alcohol—and then Vodka when he ran out of rubbing alcohol—and used them as tourniquets around the major arteries before she could bleed out. Thankfully, none of the blood was spurting which meant no major vessels had been shredding…
Or she had just run out of blood to spurt.
Marco shook his head. Couldn't be, the blood was too fresh. This must have only happened recently. He felt her pulse again. Nothing. Nuts.
He reached into his pocket for a syringe and a vial of adrenaline, filled one with the other, then stabbed Seras in the heart, filling her with adrenaline to stimulate the heart muscles. After two minutes of CPR, and three minutes away from brain death, he cursed, grabbed the nearest lamp, smashed the light bulb, then stuck the two internal electrodes to her chest, making her jump…and draw in air.
The EMS team arrived, and Marco collapsed, getting out of their way. He spent time explaining that, "I dunno officers, I guess she cut herself on the broken mirror. Either that or she tried to kill herself, I can't say. And him? He slipped on the blood when we came in, so terrible, isn't it? No, don't worry, I can patch him up easily enough. Not a problem. I'm a medical student, surgery rotation. Yes, that's my handy work. Thank you officers, call me when her condition changes. I'll stay here and take her brother in to visit her. Have a good day sirs."
Marco closed the door, and breathed deeply a moment. What could have done this? Vampires wouldn't have been allowed in, and there couldn't have been a demon attack, mainly because—knowing Seras—the apartment building wouldn't have been standing, and half of the Emergency Services Units in NYC would have come to the scene of what would have been labeled a "terrorist bombing."
He didn't know exactly what happened, and suicide was out—there were easier ways for her to go, starting by walking naked through a coven. Besides, she wasn't holding anything sharp—so what could have done this?
Something that didn't need to be here when it happened. Something that didn't want to be in the same room when it hit Seras.
Something that was afraid of her. Something that was so afraid, that even after Seras had been dropped like half-dried cement, wouldn't go near her.
One person came to mind.
He made a phone call to California, for Willow, and left a voice mail to have her call him back.
Marco filled the bathtub, and poured in an entire container of salt and another of lemon juice. He then dragged Terrence over and pushed his head under the water for a count of ten, then pulled him out.
"Now you will listen to me, you little British turd, you will tell me exactly what Seras is, how she's related to Persephone, and why Seras can hurt her."
Terrence, his face on fire from the salt water and the lemon juice in the cuts, screamed, "I don't know what you're talking about, I'll—"
Dunk. "One more time. I saw Seras drop Persephone by complete accident in the graveyard the other night when she went berserker on half the vamps in Brooklyn, when she couldn't do that on purpose a month ago. Which means she can hurt Persephone, and Persephone is scared of her, which means she probably caused what happened tonight, capisce, schmuck?"
Terrence blinked his pained eyes, trying to rip out Marco's eyes with his thoughts…but he wasn't given time to clear the water from his vision.
Dunk. "Listen to me moron, this is an old technique. The ancient Chinese would make thousands of paper cuts over someone's body, then throw them into a pool of water like this—the pain was so severe, they all died from shock. Want me to see if it still works?"
Terrence blinked faster this time, hoping to—
After another dunking, Terrence was far more reasonable.
"She's the last of our bloodline" He screamed before another dunking could be administered.
Marco blinked. "What did you say?"
"You heard what I said you Irish piece of—"
Marco violently threw him back into the tub, holding him down by the shoulders. Resisting the urge to kill him, he pulled Terrence out, but not too far away from the water. "Make any cracks like that and I'll just kill you harder, now what's this bloodline about?"
Gasping, Terrence did his best to give Marco a menacing stare. "If you get me away from this tub long enough to clear out the cuts, maybe I'll continue."
He gave a heavy, disappointed sigh. "Fine."
Marco dropped Terrence to the floor and stood up. As Terrence picked up a shard of mirror, Marco caught his own reflect one on of the pieces of mirror on the floor. Jesus, he looked like battle field surgeon.
Well, at least he didn't look like Carrie sitting over there on the side of the tub.
Terrence began to clean up his face, paying attention to his more than blood shot eyes. "Swear to bloody God, if I can't see-"
"Would you like the full body submersion this time?"
Their eyes locked on each other, but Marco was the first to break the stare. The last thing he wanted was to do was be locked in battle was a pissed of telepath.
He walked out of the room and into the kitchen. Opening the door to the fridge, he was tempted to take the bottle of champagne and down it. He wasn't much of a drinker, but Terrence was driving him to being an alcoholic.
Better drunk and have a solid chance at pleading temporary insanity as an alibi for killing the bugger than being sober and killing him.
As he sat at the table, downing a 32 ounce bottle of Pepsi instead of the champagne, Terrence walked into the room scowling. His face was pretty okay looking for having been hit with a mirror and tempered in a salt and lemon juice cocktail. Marco gave a grin at his handiwork, raising his glass to Terrence. "Cheers."
Marco hardly had time to close his eyes as his glass shattered in his face. "Well I see where Seras gets her loving temper." Marco muttered, checking his hand for any cuts. "But enough with showing your benevolent temperament, you were saying something about a first batch of slayers?"
He glared at his guest, and instead walked over to the bar. After making himself a double whiskey sour, and drinking it down in one fowl gulp, Terrence began his narrative while making another drink. "Seras, as well as I, are the last living survivors of the first brood of Slayers."
Marco gave him a look. "Are you trying to tell me that there was a first batch of Slayers before the current model?"
He groaned. "Isn't that what I just said? You'd think you'd bloody micks would have common sense by this time."
Marco was growing tired, even more tired than what he was already. But he tried to be as amicable as his exhausted mind would allow him. "Listen, I don't like you, and you certainly don't like me, but we might have one thing in common: Seras's safety. And that's in jeopardy, and not only from the ruptured blood vessels. Now, one more time, explain…or else…"
He took a long sip from the drink he made, pausing for a second before giving a heavy sigh. "The current Slayer line isn't the original line. The first slayers were supposed to be a matrilineal line. One Slayer coming from each great civilization. But something happened, and the lines couldn't be continued.
"Lemme guess, Persephone, maybe?"
Terrence growled. "If you'd shut up a moment, maybe you'd learn something."
Marco leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. I'll shut up, the better to devise a way to ultimately kill you.
Terrence shot him a look. I heard that.
Marco gave his famous, annoying grin. "I know."
Giving him a long stare, Terrence shook his head and leaned against the bar's counter. "In any case, Persephone wasn't a major problem. She wasn't even a concern at the time."
He cocked an eyebrow. "If it wasn't her, then why's she after Seras?"
"Because her ancestor was the one who originally shut her down. A long time ago, Persephone didn't have any power over the underworld." He turned with an exasperated look at Marco. "You do know the myth, don't you? Or are you like every other ignorant American?"
"Of course: kidnapping, pomegranate, winter, I've heard it."
"Probably from watching episodes of Hercules on television, I'd wager." He gave another heavy sigh. "Persephone decided that she wanted to be the overall ruler. I mean, if she had to be stuck down there, why not run the place, right? Anyway, she gathered an army of harpies, sirens and the usual gang, and tried to take over hell, but our ancestor stopped her. An obligation to maintain balance between Heaven and Hell, or some rubbish like that."
"How nice of you to think of God's master plan so trivially."
He groaned. "That doesn't matter right now."
Marco gave another broad grin. "Keep on talking like that, and you better invest in rubber soled shoes, boy."
"Anyway… our ancestor—"
"I should hope so, you are brother and sister."
"Listen Marco, you wanted to know about the first brood? Then shut up and listen."
"Excuse us Homer. Please, continue with the story."
Taking a deep, impatient breathe, he did. "In any case, after the first battle with Persephone is when it happened. The demon responsible for the second brood of slayers, wiped out the first. It came out of nowhere working from east to west, slaughtering Slayers like a herd with mad cow disease. Eventually, it killed all of them."
He nonchalantly sipped from his glass. The fact that he was explaining this with the same care and patience as a Red Sox fan explaining his preference of teams of to a Yankees fan disturbed him. But none the less, he continued on with the conversation.
"Which explains the second group of slayers, but not you and Seras."
"Remember how the line was matrilineal?" Marco nodded in confirmation. Terrence continued. "Well apparently our ancestor had a son before she was brutally slaughtered—Xanatos.
"She's the last of her line, so what? What's so special about this line? Why is Persephone picking on Seras when there's currently a whole world full of Slayers from the second batch?"
"Besides that it was our line that was responsible for her first defeat? The first batch were also witches."
Marco blinked, his mind going blank for a second before he snapped back to reality. He leaned forward. "So Seras is a slayer and a witch?" Terrence gave a small nod.
This is gonna be fun. Marco stood up and circled to the side of the table closest to Terrence. "Seras must have the mental stability of a Miami palm tree in a hurricane, and you're blaming me for her going nuts?"
"You're over exaggerating, she's fully capable of—"
"Taking out a city block if she blinks wrong!" Marco said, his voice rising sharply. "You're sending her out with a month's worth of slayer training. Are you nuts? When were you going to tell her about the witch part? When she's found standing in the middle of a crater and's arrested under suspicion of being a terrorist?"
He gave another of his annoying British know-it-all groans. "She doesn't need to know. I'm the witch, she's the slayer. They don't mix"
Marco was absolutely dumbfounded. "They don't…what did you say the first batch of slayers were?"
"Slayers with magical powers."
"Riiiiight, after you tell me this, you have the audacity to tell me that they don't mix?"
"I just—"
"You just let your younger sister, your only relative, walk around with the stability of nitro on the Pelham parkway pre-construction." Marco was on the border line of an absolute rage. "I don't know if you took genetics, but if the family line has signs of one thing, it's possible she has it, which makes it absolutely probable that she is both a witch and a slayer. She's dangerous: to herself, to you, the city and anything in her way; like, I dunno, me." He sighed. "Now you are going to tell her about all this, right?"
"You don't understand." As Terrence put down his glass to face Marco, he somehow knew he wasn't going to be pleased with what came out of his mouth.
"You know how powerful she could become? What she could pass on to the next generation? She can give birth to another brood of slayers with unimaginable powers. She can be responsible for the end of the Slayer tradition. She can end this."
Terrence wasn't sure what happened, but the next thing he knew, he was flat on his stomach with a knife to the back of his neck. He tired to make the couch move and decapitate Marco, but somehow he sensed it and dug the tip of the knife into the back of his neck.
"Listen you sick bastard, I don't know who you think you are, trying to play Mr. Mengele genetic games with your little sister, but try that while I'm still alive, and you'll wish she went AWOL on you."
Terrence's demeanor changed at the drop of a hat. "You wouldn't dare. Where would she be without me? I'm all she has. Besides, I only have her best interests in mind."
Marco's wit failed him, and his repartee involved slamming the bastard's head into the floor. "She does have somewhere else to go, with me if she has to. Because I don't think that if you're her only living relative, that that would be best for her. So go and try it. I'll be glad to rectify the living part."
Again his demeanor changed. This guy was turning out to be an absolute Jekyll and Hyde case. "But she's all I have, thanks to that bitch Persephone! Is it wrong that I want her strong enough to protect herself?"
"Then why haven't you trained her to use her magic?" Marco felt his stomach turn in disgust, which was no easy feat. "You don't want her to protect herself. You want to protect your legacy, your work. You're pride's swelling your head so much, you might as well have meningitis; you need to stop. Cool down a bit."
"Really? And how'd you suggest that?"
Marco put him on his back, kneeled on his chest, reached over to grab a bottle of vodka out of the bar's mini fridge. He uncorked it, and said, "Hold your breath."