Summary: Elena takes on the Old Ones, risking all to gain a life for herself and Stefan.
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
* Author's Note(s)
Date posted: 31 January 2004
* I've revised the total chapter estimate up by one. Hopefully, that will be the final count for real. With this chapter, Leaf hits the 300-page mark on my word processor. It's some milestone of sorts, no? All unlooked for too! ^_^
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~ Fifty Three ~
Elena woke up alone.
She sat up with a start and listened for Stefan. Perhaps he was in the bathroom.
Silence, as far as her human ears could detect. No sound of a faucet, no hushed movement.
She slid out of bed and strode quickly to the door, snagging a robe on the way. She paused in the corridor, listening. A clatter of china came from the kitchen and a murmur of voices.
Surprised, she tiptoed over to the threshold and peeped in.
There was Stefan, quietly opening cupboards and shutting them when he found nothing but crockery. And with him was Samar, searching more vigorously and muttering under her breath.
The kitchenette in their cabin was largely bare, since there had only been one human mouth to feed and Elena took her meals at the main lodge more often than not. The crackers she kept handy were had been reduced to abandoned crumbs left on the kitchen counter.
Elena took a step inside the kitchen and felt the edges of her lips curl upwards, then a chuckle escaped her. The two searchers looked at her, Stefan sheepish, Samar irate.
They got dressed and trooped to the Lodge, Stefan holding Elena's hand. Samar walked in front of them, alternating between imprecations, choosing her breakfast out loud and falling into contemplative silences, looking around her with new eyes. The latter usually didn't last very long.
Arriving in the large, sunlit kitchen, Elena bit her lip from laughing at the way the two ex-vampires loaded their plates from the buffet spread, but saw many of the newly Turned doing the same.
Taura waved them over to their table, then raised eyebrows pointedly at the overflowing plates. "My, goodness."
"It's my first meal in more than 500 years," Stefan replied with a small smile. He restrained himself enough to let everyone get seated and pick up their own cutlery before diving in.
Elena was not the only one caught between surprise and amusement as she watched Stefan demolish his breakfast. It was not that he was obnoxious about it, just terribly efficient. Samar was probably the only one oblivious to all else - or at least she pretended to be.
He finally leaned back with a barely audible sigh and caught her watching. He had that sheepish look on his face again, and a new, little-boy smile that made her fingers itch to smooth wavy hair back from his face.
"You've eaten human food while you were a vampire," she said, trying to sound normal and not hormonal. She had thought it was his vampiric grace that stole her breath. Now she knew otherwise.
"So how is this different?" he voiced the question underlying her tone. "It is. As a vampire, food may have taste, but does not fulfill. You can eat all you want and you'd still feel empty."
"I'll just bet you don't feel empty now," Taura jibed, earning her a dirty look from Elena.
Samar didn't even bother to look up from the yogurt she was scraping off the bottom of a cup, "If you keep that up, Stefan, you're going to be fat." That earned her another dirty look from Elena, and a dryly-amused one from Stefan.
"Look who's talking," Taura muttered, not quite under her breath enough.
Samar looked up then and tension leapt into the air as the two girls locked gazes. Elena hastily looked for something to break the deadlock. She stood and the sound of her chair scraping across the floor broke the stare down. "I'm going to volunteer to get groceries." Feeding a horde this size took some doing. "We can pick up some things for the cabin while we're at it, Samar."
Not quite the most graceful exit line. Samar's face lighted up, then closed. She threw a sharp look at the petite huntress and then got to her feet and stalked off. Elena put her hands Stefan's shoulders, standing behind his chair. He covered her fingers with his own, but not before the sharp-eyed huntress noted the extra sparkle there.
"What's that?" she demanded, as if it wasn't obvious.
Elena smiled at her, not trying to hide her happiness.
A single, breathless pause. "You proposed?" Taura asked Stefan.
He nodded. Elena could not see his expression from where she stood but his hand squeezed hers gently as he did so.
Taura returned the sharp look to Elena. "I take it you accepted."
The blonde merely continued to smile, and it was answer enough.
Taura's brown eyes sparked in a way that made Elena faintly nervous. Whatever mischief the huntress was thinking about was interrupted by a mild voice behind her.
"Then congratulations are in order."
Stefan must have felt the way she stiffened. He rose and nodded politely to Jerrick. Gently, he drew her around as well.
She lifted eyes that had gone flat, the joy faded from them. Her mouth was unsmiling as she looked at him. Her chin tilted in a defiant angle.
"Thank you," she heard Stefan say graciously as she continued to have her stare-down with the red-haired man.
"I can see Samar waiting for us to leave. Excuse us," Stefan went on when she remained stonily silent.
Jerrick canted to his head, the epitome of civility.
Elena caught a glimpse of a wary-looking Taura as she let Stefan lead her away.
They got the grocery list from one of the witches who had taken over the running of the kitchen and the three of them set off to the Porsche, which was parked in the cabin garage.
Samar stomped ahead, either impatient or still irked from her exchange with Taura.
Stefan stopped suddenly when the feisty girl was out of sight through the trees and pulled Elena into his arms with no warning.
"Stefan," she said, cheek pressed to his sweater. There was a note of questioning in her tone, even as she felt some tension leave her.
"Everything will be all right," he breathed into her hair.
"What do you mean?" she asked, but again, felt as if a load were lifting from her at his words.
"There is nothing to stand in our way now, Elena." His arms around her tightened for emphasis. "Jerrick cannot do anything to us."
With a start, she realized that he had interpreted her hostility to Jerrick more accurately than she had. She had been defensive, afraid that the knowledge of her engagement would give Jerrick another hold over her, something else to threaten and manipulate her with.
No, she vowed, he was not going to stop us. She buried her face in the soft, comforting wool of his sweater, feeling much better.
"Hey, Stefan, has one meal turned you into a slow poke already?" Samar called, coming back to look for them.
"No," he said, with unruffled good humor. His arms loosened enough for Elena to face Samar, but they continued to circle her waist. "But one does not hurry when one is with such a beautiful woman," he added and Elena felt her eyes roll back to try and look at him at this uncharacteristic comeback.
Samar let out a disgusted, "Ew!" and disappeared again.
Elena felt Stefan quiver a little and tilted her head up to see his lips twitching against laughter. He's so changed, she marveled momentarily. There was a calm, a relaxation about him now, as if a dark cloud that had hung over him had been dispelled.
In a way, it had. He was, at last, free of the bloodlust that had so shadowed his days.
"From what we saw yesterday between her and Leon, that reaction can't be all real," he murmured, still watching where Samar had gone. He looked at her with smile that made her want to melt.
She leaned back against him, only partly because her knees suddenly went weak.
He planted a kiss on her temple, then pressed his lips to the bare skin where her neck and her shoulder met. He blew out a soft breath and went still.
She shivered. "Stefan?" she asked when he remained quiet.
"This is different too." At her sound of inquiry, he explained. "Whenever I held you like this before, I could always feel hunger, that ache in my jaw." He planted a soft kiss there before lifting his head. The green eyes were solemn, but not unhappily so. "Now, there is only love and longing, no hunger; it's much better."
She lifted a hand to touch his face and he pressed his cheek to her palm, eyes closed. She felt an answering twinge at the look of complete happiness on his face. "I love you, Stefan Salvatore."
"Ti amo, Elena Gilbert." The soft avowal was said with a faint smile, then he opened his eyes and took her hand. "Let's get back before Samar tears the cabin apart."
* * *
"Yes, Jerrick."
Pause. "Of course." Click.
Eiran stood, head bowed over the phone for a moment before facing his team. A hot, humid breeze blew in through the open window. Sounds from the bustling industry in the streets below floated up.
The Old One had left India, moving for the first time in centuries according to Jerrick. What little information they had found seemed to suggest that the Old One had disappeared almost a month ago. The timing did not synch with when Emmet Mogen had contacted him, three weeks ago.
So, had it been chance and coincidence that the Old One had chosen to move at this, of all times?
Eiran shook his head. Speculation got you nowhere. He faced his team. "He has heard nothing. We go on as we have," he told them, trying not to sound exhausted.
"Why do I get the feeling this isn't going to be the quick scout mission we thought it was going to be?" Alvin Maples asked. He was slouching languidly on one of the rattan chairs, long legs stretched in front of him and his tone was an odd combination of comfort and disgruntlement.
"If it had been, Jerrick would be here himself and we'd be planning how to nab our guy by now," Terry Kerisol said, coolly logical. She didn't _look_ cool; her short hair was plastered to her head, face and neck and she had undone the first button of her shirt - and the last three. She lounged near the window, hoping to catch as much breeze as possible.
Alvin lifted a finger, took aim and sent a visible bolt at one of the two remaining buttons still fastened on that blouse.
The diviner/combat witch barely opened her eyes as she flicked it aside, sending it back to him with a wave of her hand. The trajectory was wrong and it left a scorch mark above one of the wall fixtures.
"Children," Eiran murmured in reproof. There was less fire in the reaction than there would usually have been; they were all rather worn out after a month of all-out hunting. It had been all right the first week; and then their activities had been noted and there had been... feints.
Not outright attacks. More the nature of probes, testing their strength. It forced them into constant guard, divided their attention from the mission, wore at them along with the weather and the cultural disorientation.
He looked from the flirty/combative pair to the rest of this team; Nelson, his old training partner under Elsa, cheerful Jasmine, their healer, and Max.
Max Goldan had been a vampire hunter once, before he had been bitten by one of his would-be kills out of sheer spite. Needless to say, he had been a less-than-happy camper by the time the Turned found him.
"We've tracked him this far," he said quietly, after making made eye contact with each. The words were meant to be encouraging, reminding them of what they had accomplished.
"Yeah. All the way from Leh to Dehli to Mumbai," Alvin reminded lazily. Then he sat up, propping his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers. "But how much further do we have to go?"
Eiran could only shrug. "That is anyone's guess. The leads point here. Maybe Terry will be able to unearth something for us."
"She'd better; it's her job," Alvin muttered.
"I heard that."
"Meant you to."
Eiran shot Alvin a quelling look and the witch grinned back unrepentantly. "Nelson and I have first watch. The rest of you, get some sleep, while you can," he said. "Tomorrow, Terry, we'll do a scry. Then we hit the streets."
* * *
A fist slammed into her jaw, snapping her head around. Pain stabbed down her neck at the unforgiving movement. She backpedaled, shaking her head to clear the black stars blossoming in her vision, her hands going up defensively.
Her eyes cleared enough to let her see Taura standing in a matching pose, stance firm, eyes direct. "Had enough?" she asked.
Samar drew a deep breath and bared her teeth. Anger fluttered inside her, like a live being trying to get out. She took a single, deliberate step. The next propelled her full force towards the other girl. In the midst of her rush, she pivoted, sending all her momentum into a tight spin. Her right leg came up at right angles with the left and she leaned sideways for balance.
The foot caught Taura in the chest and she heard the breath whoosh out of the huntress, but that was all. The huntress didn't budge. Samar felt shock. Taura was supposed to have flown at least two feet back from that hit!
Then fingers clamped around her ankle and yanked her off balance. She collapsed on the ground and had time to blink once before a dainty foot pressed to her windpipe.
"Consider yourself dead. Now do you believe me?" Taura asked. She didn't wait for an answer, but removed the foot and stepped back.
She actually turned her back as she walked away. The fool.
Samar didn't remember getting up; the sight of the unguarded back lent her impetus enough to stand and lunge. She tackled Taura from behind before the huntress could turn around.
What followed was ugly and ruthless. There was no grace, no rhythm or balance in that scuffle. Clothes were torn, lips bloodied, knuckles too. Hair flew and was just another weapon against the opponent.
Both combatants sported cuts and bruises galore before Taura managed to shove Samar off her. She rose into crouch, getting her feet back under her instantly, like a cat, while Samar glared, flat on her back.
"Are you crazy?" she shrilled, glaring. Her hand reached into her pocket and flipped out a knife.
She had had that weapon on her all along and never even bothered to bring it out, Samar realized. The knowledge didn't make her happier at all.
"You started this," Samar reminded. Her words came out hard and throaty, her neck felt bruised.
"I'll _finish_ it," Taura vowed and started forward. She stopped, raised the blade in front of her face and apparently changed her mind. She folded it, then slipped it away - but not back into her pocket where Samar might be able to reach it. She actually put it down her top, the little slut!
They came together.
Samar threw blow after blow; Taura blocked them all, barely seeming affected by them. The huntress' hits, on the other hand, were many and palpable.
Taura had been courteous earlier. She had given Samar a chance to call it quits between blows, had give Samar a chance too regain her feet when she fell.
Not anymore.
The seventeenth - or eighteenth? - time Samar struggled to get up before Taura closed on her, the others arrived. Leon headed straight for her, cradling and subduing her at once. She struggled to get free and continue fighting, but her efforts were weak at best and there was no contest.
She noted that Taura looked as ill-used as she felt, although the huntress seemed able to stand with no problem. Heck, she didn't even look out of breath. Samar felt envy along with the battle-rush.
Tristan looked torn between avenging his sister and yelling at her. Makoe wordlessly moved between the two girls.
"Taura, what is this?" Elena asked. Leon had wrestled Samar to the ground by then and the blonde knelt beside the pair, touching the girl's puffy face with a gentle finger. Samar winced and glared at Elena for making her show weakness.
Taura ground out her reply, anger in every word. "The little freak attacked me. From behind."
Samar opened her mouth to protest the 'freak' loudly, but Elena cut in.
"Why?" The blonde looked from one girl to another, as if not sure as to who she should direct the question to.
"I told her she needed to stop stuffing her face and start learning to fight. That she's useless without her vampiric strength and speed. She didn't believe me and I proved it to her."
"This goes a bit beyond 'proof,' Taura."
"The sneak couldn't take the truth. That's when she came at me. She just didn't know when to quit, Elena!" There was an almost plaintive note in the huntress' voice.
"And you are so poor a fighter that you cannot disable your opponent without maiming them?" The quiet challenge became a stinging insult coupled with Makoe's frigid tone.
It drew a black scowl from the huntress. "Look, I was just trying to help. She really _is_ helpless now; she had to know that - she can't go around harboring illusions of prowess - and she's got to do something to fix that. We are in the middle of a fight here and we don't need any deadweight," Taura flared, not giving an inch.
That shut everyone up rather effectively.
Samar, more or less quiet in Leon's arms, was caught between fuming and surprise. The huntress actually sounded as if she were genuinely concerned, not just derisive. Not that the concern made the truth any easier to swallow.
"Fine," she snapped, and Leon helped her to sit up, still keeping a grip on her. "I'll join the rest of the Turned in training. Happy?"
Makoe turned partially to look at her out of the corner of his eye. "I have a better idea," he said smoothly.
Samar looked at him, and it was an appraising look.
In the days since she'd been Turned, it had been... awkward. She had felt his gaze more than once, particularly when she was around Leon. They had barely spoken, and when they did, she was icily polite.
She wasn't sure she was ready to forgive and let live; she wasn't sure she ever would be. On the other hand, what grudge was there left to hold? She was with Leon. Makoe meant nothing to her. He should not affect her in any way.
Except, of course, for that little matter of tearing her heart to shreds and never flicking an eyelash over it. Or, perhaps, it was the way just having his eyes on her made her terribly self-conscious and she was afraid of what that meant.
Please, please, don't let me still have feelings for that cold-blooded snake.
She leaned back against Leon. Now that she had stopped trying to go for Taura's neck, he had released her, simply sitting there like an unresponsive vampiric backrest. Now there was a whole different mess, but she couldn't think about that right now.
If she and Makoe had had little contact, she was pretty sure that he and the huntress had none. It was not just that they had kept to the cabin and hadn't been terribly sociable. It was how Taura eyed him like someone else would eye a slug.
Which meant, in a roundabout way, that she actually had no reason to dislike Taura. If anything, shared contempt for Makoe should make them buxom buddies.
Makoe took silence for assent and continued, "Taura can train Samar. And I'll train Taura."
Samar felt her lips part. Her reaction was so jumbled that they seemed to have clogged each other, so nothing actually came out. Skepticism, outrage, scorn, a tiny bit of self-conscious thrill, uncertainty.
"Got a high opinion of yourself, don't you?" Taura taunted.
Makoe faced the huntress full on, giving Samar his back again. "Let's just say I have no illusions about myself."
Taura actually snorted. "I think none of us have illusions about you," she said, laying emphasis on the last word.
Samar nearly smiled; a nasty smile. A hit! A palpable hit!
"Do _you_ have any of yourself?" Makoe countered, unfazed.
Taura laughed, a biting sound. "You're not going to get me so easily, vamp."
"Your teaching Samar will be more effective than me, since you are human. It would only be fair that you received training in turn," Makoe said logically. There was no inflection in his tone. His stance was uncaring, as if it made no difference to him whether they agreed or not.
He crossed the distance between himself and the huntress and added, in a voice as smooth as gelato, "We both know there are things I can teach you."
Samar could barely believe her ears! Was he actually trying to _flirt_ her into acquiescence?
Taura apparently didn't like his tone any more than Samar did. She hit him.
Or tried to.
For the next ten minutes, Taura attacked Makoe. She even pulled out the blade. He never struck, merely blocked and countered her every move, barehanded. But it was enough; she was hurt... and human. He didn't need to exert himself to match her. He didn't even get a cut.
Watching them, Samar knew what she had looked like, trying to best Taura. The realization was disheartening.
Eventually, Makoe tired of the game.
The next time Taura took a swipe at him, he caught her hand and twisted. The movement locked her arm at a painful angle and he pulled her other hand in a different direction, immobilizing her.
He quirked an eyebrow. "Well?"
Samar saw a flash of teeth in the huntress' face. He murmured something she couldn't quite catch and Taura tossed a look her way.
"Fine," she snapped, then jerked her arms furiously. "Let me go."
But Makoe had already released her before she had finished the demand and moved away, all icy detachment again.
They all watched Taura stalk off to the main lodge before Leon and Tristan bundled her back to the cabin like a pair of fussy, bloodsucking hens.
They got out the first aid kit, which made her roll her eyes. What were a few cuts and bruises? She conveniently ignored the way her body ached, protesting the beating she had subjected it to.
They sent her into the washroom to clean up and she stared at herself in the mirror. Okay, so she did look rather frightening. No wonder they'd fetched the kit.
Lip cut in two places, swelling at one cheek right up to around her eye - she would have a beaut of a black eye come morning - scratch across the temple to add insult to injury, hair in wild disarray, the neck and one sleeve of her top torn, showing the angry red line of another scratch over her collarbone. More cuts down her arms and bruises all over.
Her neck ached, so did her shoulders. She flexed her arms experimentally. Yep, aches. Same with back, ribs and legs. She was a real piece of work.
Tristan had run hands over her limbs and ribs; nothing broken, he had reassured, between acid remarks about the foolhardiness of younger siblings and how this would never have happened if she had been a vampire.
She agreed privately with the last but she'd never admit to it. Being human really wasn't all she had thought. A vamp would have healed most of these by now. As a vamp, she would not even have taken most of this damage.
Sighing, and shaking her head slightly, she cleaned up, wincing a little as soap and water got into the open cuts.
Getting the cuts treated was... interesting. Stefan and Elena had gone to the lodge to get a status update from Jerrick, which left the vamps. Tristan was well nigh useless and Samar winced hard enough when she tried to apply the iodine herself that she was not much better. There was no way she was letting Makoe near her, so that left Leon.
He was fine with the cuts on her arms but there was a cut high up on the back of her arm, trailing from her shoulder to halfway to her elbow. That one she had to pull aside the T-shirt for and she watched him in the mirror. He attempted to dab iodine on the cut without actually looking at it - or her.
This was the guy she was supposed to be dating and he was embarrassed to be looking at a bit of extra skin. Insert eyeroll here.
There was a small bottle of ointment to help soothe her strained muscles and act as a partial painkiller. She firmly shut the door on her would-be nursemaids and took care of that herself. If Leon had had trouble with the iodine, he might spontaneously combust if she asked him to apply the oil on her bruises. Especially considering how they were scattered all over her body.
She felt black depression descend on her.
She stoppered the bottle and laid it on the nightstand, then hugged her stuffed toy, feeling the sides of her mouth curl downwards as if pulled by weights.
It had been three weeks since she had been Turned. She had tried to spend time with Leon, quality time that a couple needs to get to know each other and build a relationship. There had been walks in the woods. Some television. He had taken her into the city for ice cream or other whimsies when she'd asked. They had spent hours reading, which was surprisingly pleasant.
Curled up on the sofa together, taking turns sharing something from the books they were reading - though she had done more of that than he - it was the sweetest times and the most intimate moments they shared. In those hours, she was happy.
It was as if, with books, he could relax his stuffy guard and just be with her without worrying about propriety.
Oh, yes, she knew he was distant because that was how he thought a gentleman should treat a lady, particularly one he loved. She knew that in her head, but she wanted to be held and cuddled and her heart didn't care if he had noble reasons for not doing so. She didn't feel respected and cherished; she felt neglected - or worse, undesirable.
She had tried to tell him but there were some things even she could not bring herself to utter and saying outright that she wanted to make out was one of them. And besides, what girl had to tell a guy that she wanted _that_? It was unnatural!
She ranted all this to her stuffed toy and it seemed to nod and sympathize. She stared at its solemn, agreeable face until she felt a smile tug up the corners of her mouth and felt a bit better.
* * *
After Elena left - none too happy, either - Jerrick sat in his well-stuffed armchair before the fire.
He had hid his anxiety, his barely leashed impatience. Eiran had been searching for three weeks now and so far, the chase has been fruitless. His other operatives have also been silent; there was no hint as to where the Old One might be. He had disappeared from India a month ago. Why? Where had he gone?
The lack of success was trying, particularly with the lame man's waning strength making him irritable and all but helpless. He had had to put up the barrier holding the vampires that day when the first of the Turned arrived with their 'recruits'.
Jerrick knew that with each passing day, the Turned would come back with more vampires and he would have to enlarge and strengthen the barrier. The expenditure of energy was... if not exactly begrudged, it was certainly not happily given.
The wellsprings of Power within him was achingly empty; he had not had as much success as he had thought in regaining his strength.
Perhaps it was because the end was so near at hand that his will was starting to fray. Now that he could begin to think about a time when he would be free and rid of this ache in his soul, the immensity of his situation was threatening to come crashing down on him.
He rose without the fluidity he had once possessed, and stumped out the door, cane in hand. The walking stick was no longer an affectation; it had become a necessity.
As he passed through the corridor, he saw Madelene look up with concern.
"I'm just going for a walk. A bit of fresh air will do me good," he reassured her.
She had reason for concern; her healer's gift had called her to his side on more than one occasion in the past week. She knew well just how frail he was.
She merely nodded agreement, trusting him to know his own limits.
He emerged into the night and paused, surveying the dark treeline. Almost reluctantly, he moved towards them and passed beneath the boughs.
He was caught in a quandary; his inherited Powers still threatened to rend his being in half and to drink of that cup was to suffer more than he gained.
And yet, it was at least possible to draw Power from that source. His own gifts of mind - telepathy, empathy - were denied him due to his weakness. He was unable to wield the energy generated from the emotions of others, to tame it and make it his own. His control was so poor - so shockingly fragile - that he knew he would drain them dry, or spin their worst terrors in their minds to beget more Power.
To stand at the balcony of a club and open himself to Power, as he had once done, was to invite madness and slaughter.
Slaughter that his borrowed Powers would never accept. He could not afford to have that half of his soul that belonged to those Powers turn on him, or to shrivel and perish.
And so he was relegated to this living as half the shade of the man he had been.
He limped along, his feet finding their own aimless path. Then his otherworldly consciousness came across something and he stopped.
This was the site of Samar and Taura's fight. He knew this without a doubt; the ley lines told the story of strife and struggled and blood spilled in this spot.
He stood, and closed his eyes, feeling the Power, tasting it.
A sigh rode the night wind, one of almost bliss. Here was energy he could take without worry of maiming someone, one that belonged to his gifts, not... _hers_.
He opened himself to it, took it in, sipping like it was the most delicate vintage. He took his time, knowing that this scuffle would barely ease the edge of his need, but hungry enough not to refuse even this meager meal.
* * *
Terry let out a soft breath, the only sound in the silent room.
"Nothing," she said finally.
Alvin looked like he was stifling a groan, the rest looked disappointed as well. Their third day in Mumbai and Terry had not found any clues for them; they spent the days wandering blindly, hoping to come across something by chance.
So far, they had found nothing.
Eiran frowned. "Vampires. Look for anything relating to vampires." He wished there was something - or someone - with them that could be used to help Terry focus her search, but none of the searchers were vampires. Unless...
"Max, you don't have anything belonging to a vampire, do you?"
The hunter/ex-vampire looked surprised. "Well, actually," he started and tucked his hair behind one ear, showing an earstud.
A familiar deep blue stone glowed in its silver setting.
Eiran held out his hand and the gruff Turned removed it and dropped it in his hand.
"Terry?"
"In the bowl. Please." She kept her eyes closed, focused on a different kind of sight.
The earring made a soft splash as it hit the water and rippled the surface before it settled back to mirror-like smoothness.
Silence again. They all watched the bowl. Or her face.
"There's someone... a woman," she murmured.
"Describe her."
"I can't see clearly enough. All I can tell is that she's pale-skinned and black-haired."
"Where is she?"
"I have a sense of water. But also of... marble? Blood... but not a vampire. Trees and stone, great age." Terry was getting agitated, her words coming rushed and confused.
Eiran put a hand on her shoulder to steady her, without thinking. Her head jerked and her words cut off. But-
Alvin drew a sharp breath and pointed at the bowl.
The surface clouded over, becoming flat like paper. An image formed, a woman's face.
Eiran stared for a long moment, then met Alvin's eyes, seeking confirmation. He nodded, all the affirmation needed.
The last time they had seen that face, there had been a lapis lazuli gracing that brow, set in a circlet of pure quartz. The tall, elegant woman had been sprawled senselessly across the marble floor of Athanasia Omar's palace.
The image faded and Terry swayed under his hand. He caught her, steadied her. "What happened there, Terry?" he asked. Jasmine handed him a hot cup of something and he held it up to the diviner's lips.
She took a sip before answering him. "You said to look for vampires. I took the impression from the earring and extrapolated it, let it direct me. It found that woman but the link was too weak. Then _you_ touched me," and she gave him a displeased look that said, 'don't do that again', "And it was like the link was jolted. Strong enough for me to actually form the image." The look slid to puzzlement. "You became the focus."
Alvin interjected before Eiran could think of an intelligent reply. "That's because he is Turned. So is she. The earring... well, it's Max's and he's not a vampire anymore." Alvin shrugged.
A question popped into Eiran's head. "Terry, did you get a feel as to where that woman is when the link strengthened?"
The diviner sat up while she thought of that question. She took hold of the cup and cradled it in her hands a she sipped.
"She's nearby, otherwise, I wouldn't have picked up on her. I saw the docks that we passed yesterday. I remember that blue boat moored on the jetty."
Eiran turned his eyes to the bare wood of the floor, staring in thought. The rest waited for him to speak. "If she is here," he began slowly, thinking out loud. "And the trail led here and ends..." he trailed off, then resumed.
"If he saw her. She would not remember him; Jerrick said all their memories were wiped. But he might recognize her. There is a high possibility she was Athanasia Omar's consort. If the sixth recognized her...if he sensed that she was Turned."
He looked up to find them all watching him expectantly.
"Terry, Alvin and I will look for her tomorrow. Maybe talk to her. The rest of you, start packing."
"Why?" Nelson asked, looking mystified.
"If my hunch is correct, seeing a Turned whom he knew was one of another Old One's followers would make our target go rushing off looking for answers," Eiran said slowly. "Which would send him straight to the last known location of the other Old One. "
He looked them each in the eye and his words were heavy. "We're going to Antalya."
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* As mentioned in the previous update, here are some things I've been wondering about. Comments pertaining to these are much appreciated. All questions are meant generally, not specific to this chapter.
1. Do you find my fight scenes too technical and overloaded (weighed down) with tedious details?
2. Which character's personality would you say is most vivid and why do you say so?
3. What is the scene/plot that sticks most in your mind thus far?
That's it for this time. If you prefer to reply via email -- instead of a FFN review, since response to these might be rather detailed -- feel free to email leian_c @ yahoo.com. Spaces included as primitive spam-guard. ^_^
Thanks for reading!
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and any other names you recognize from the books, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
* Author's Note(s)
Date posted: 31 January 2004
* I've revised the total chapter estimate up by one. Hopefully, that will be the final count for real. With this chapter, Leaf hits the 300-page mark on my word processor. It's some milestone of sorts, no? All unlooked for too! ^_^
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~ Fifty Three ~
Elena woke up alone.
She sat up with a start and listened for Stefan. Perhaps he was in the bathroom.
Silence, as far as her human ears could detect. No sound of a faucet, no hushed movement.
She slid out of bed and strode quickly to the door, snagging a robe on the way. She paused in the corridor, listening. A clatter of china came from the kitchen and a murmur of voices.
Surprised, she tiptoed over to the threshold and peeped in.
There was Stefan, quietly opening cupboards and shutting them when he found nothing but crockery. And with him was Samar, searching more vigorously and muttering under her breath.
The kitchenette in their cabin was largely bare, since there had only been one human mouth to feed and Elena took her meals at the main lodge more often than not. The crackers she kept handy were had been reduced to abandoned crumbs left on the kitchen counter.
Elena took a step inside the kitchen and felt the edges of her lips curl upwards, then a chuckle escaped her. The two searchers looked at her, Stefan sheepish, Samar irate.
They got dressed and trooped to the Lodge, Stefan holding Elena's hand. Samar walked in front of them, alternating between imprecations, choosing her breakfast out loud and falling into contemplative silences, looking around her with new eyes. The latter usually didn't last very long.
Arriving in the large, sunlit kitchen, Elena bit her lip from laughing at the way the two ex-vampires loaded their plates from the buffet spread, but saw many of the newly Turned doing the same.
Taura waved them over to their table, then raised eyebrows pointedly at the overflowing plates. "My, goodness."
"It's my first meal in more than 500 years," Stefan replied with a small smile. He restrained himself enough to let everyone get seated and pick up their own cutlery before diving in.
Elena was not the only one caught between surprise and amusement as she watched Stefan demolish his breakfast. It was not that he was obnoxious about it, just terribly efficient. Samar was probably the only one oblivious to all else - or at least she pretended to be.
He finally leaned back with a barely audible sigh and caught her watching. He had that sheepish look on his face again, and a new, little-boy smile that made her fingers itch to smooth wavy hair back from his face.
"You've eaten human food while you were a vampire," she said, trying to sound normal and not hormonal. She had thought it was his vampiric grace that stole her breath. Now she knew otherwise.
"So how is this different?" he voiced the question underlying her tone. "It is. As a vampire, food may have taste, but does not fulfill. You can eat all you want and you'd still feel empty."
"I'll just bet you don't feel empty now," Taura jibed, earning her a dirty look from Elena.
Samar didn't even bother to look up from the yogurt she was scraping off the bottom of a cup, "If you keep that up, Stefan, you're going to be fat." That earned her another dirty look from Elena, and a dryly-amused one from Stefan.
"Look who's talking," Taura muttered, not quite under her breath enough.
Samar looked up then and tension leapt into the air as the two girls locked gazes. Elena hastily looked for something to break the deadlock. She stood and the sound of her chair scraping across the floor broke the stare down. "I'm going to volunteer to get groceries." Feeding a horde this size took some doing. "We can pick up some things for the cabin while we're at it, Samar."
Not quite the most graceful exit line. Samar's face lighted up, then closed. She threw a sharp look at the petite huntress and then got to her feet and stalked off. Elena put her hands Stefan's shoulders, standing behind his chair. He covered her fingers with his own, but not before the sharp-eyed huntress noted the extra sparkle there.
"What's that?" she demanded, as if it wasn't obvious.
Elena smiled at her, not trying to hide her happiness.
A single, breathless pause. "You proposed?" Taura asked Stefan.
He nodded. Elena could not see his expression from where she stood but his hand squeezed hers gently as he did so.
Taura returned the sharp look to Elena. "I take it you accepted."
The blonde merely continued to smile, and it was answer enough.
Taura's brown eyes sparked in a way that made Elena faintly nervous. Whatever mischief the huntress was thinking about was interrupted by a mild voice behind her.
"Then congratulations are in order."
Stefan must have felt the way she stiffened. He rose and nodded politely to Jerrick. Gently, he drew her around as well.
She lifted eyes that had gone flat, the joy faded from them. Her mouth was unsmiling as she looked at him. Her chin tilted in a defiant angle.
"Thank you," she heard Stefan say graciously as she continued to have her stare-down with the red-haired man.
"I can see Samar waiting for us to leave. Excuse us," Stefan went on when she remained stonily silent.
Jerrick canted to his head, the epitome of civility.
Elena caught a glimpse of a wary-looking Taura as she let Stefan lead her away.
They got the grocery list from one of the witches who had taken over the running of the kitchen and the three of them set off to the Porsche, which was parked in the cabin garage.
Samar stomped ahead, either impatient or still irked from her exchange with Taura.
Stefan stopped suddenly when the feisty girl was out of sight through the trees and pulled Elena into his arms with no warning.
"Stefan," she said, cheek pressed to his sweater. There was a note of questioning in her tone, even as she felt some tension leave her.
"Everything will be all right," he breathed into her hair.
"What do you mean?" she asked, but again, felt as if a load were lifting from her at his words.
"There is nothing to stand in our way now, Elena." His arms around her tightened for emphasis. "Jerrick cannot do anything to us."
With a start, she realized that he had interpreted her hostility to Jerrick more accurately than she had. She had been defensive, afraid that the knowledge of her engagement would give Jerrick another hold over her, something else to threaten and manipulate her with.
No, she vowed, he was not going to stop us. She buried her face in the soft, comforting wool of his sweater, feeling much better.
"Hey, Stefan, has one meal turned you into a slow poke already?" Samar called, coming back to look for them.
"No," he said, with unruffled good humor. His arms loosened enough for Elena to face Samar, but they continued to circle her waist. "But one does not hurry when one is with such a beautiful woman," he added and Elena felt her eyes roll back to try and look at him at this uncharacteristic comeback.
Samar let out a disgusted, "Ew!" and disappeared again.
Elena felt Stefan quiver a little and tilted her head up to see his lips twitching against laughter. He's so changed, she marveled momentarily. There was a calm, a relaxation about him now, as if a dark cloud that had hung over him had been dispelled.
In a way, it had. He was, at last, free of the bloodlust that had so shadowed his days.
"From what we saw yesterday between her and Leon, that reaction can't be all real," he murmured, still watching where Samar had gone. He looked at her with smile that made her want to melt.
She leaned back against him, only partly because her knees suddenly went weak.
He planted a kiss on her temple, then pressed his lips to the bare skin where her neck and her shoulder met. He blew out a soft breath and went still.
She shivered. "Stefan?" she asked when he remained quiet.
"This is different too." At her sound of inquiry, he explained. "Whenever I held you like this before, I could always feel hunger, that ache in my jaw." He planted a soft kiss there before lifting his head. The green eyes were solemn, but not unhappily so. "Now, there is only love and longing, no hunger; it's much better."
She lifted a hand to touch his face and he pressed his cheek to her palm, eyes closed. She felt an answering twinge at the look of complete happiness on his face. "I love you, Stefan Salvatore."
"Ti amo, Elena Gilbert." The soft avowal was said with a faint smile, then he opened his eyes and took her hand. "Let's get back before Samar tears the cabin apart."
* * *
"Yes, Jerrick."
Pause. "Of course." Click.
Eiran stood, head bowed over the phone for a moment before facing his team. A hot, humid breeze blew in through the open window. Sounds from the bustling industry in the streets below floated up.
The Old One had left India, moving for the first time in centuries according to Jerrick. What little information they had found seemed to suggest that the Old One had disappeared almost a month ago. The timing did not synch with when Emmet Mogen had contacted him, three weeks ago.
So, had it been chance and coincidence that the Old One had chosen to move at this, of all times?
Eiran shook his head. Speculation got you nowhere. He faced his team. "He has heard nothing. We go on as we have," he told them, trying not to sound exhausted.
"Why do I get the feeling this isn't going to be the quick scout mission we thought it was going to be?" Alvin Maples asked. He was slouching languidly on one of the rattan chairs, long legs stretched in front of him and his tone was an odd combination of comfort and disgruntlement.
"If it had been, Jerrick would be here himself and we'd be planning how to nab our guy by now," Terry Kerisol said, coolly logical. She didn't _look_ cool; her short hair was plastered to her head, face and neck and she had undone the first button of her shirt - and the last three. She lounged near the window, hoping to catch as much breeze as possible.
Alvin lifted a finger, took aim and sent a visible bolt at one of the two remaining buttons still fastened on that blouse.
The diviner/combat witch barely opened her eyes as she flicked it aside, sending it back to him with a wave of her hand. The trajectory was wrong and it left a scorch mark above one of the wall fixtures.
"Children," Eiran murmured in reproof. There was less fire in the reaction than there would usually have been; they were all rather worn out after a month of all-out hunting. It had been all right the first week; and then their activities had been noted and there had been... feints.
Not outright attacks. More the nature of probes, testing their strength. It forced them into constant guard, divided their attention from the mission, wore at them along with the weather and the cultural disorientation.
He looked from the flirty/combative pair to the rest of this team; Nelson, his old training partner under Elsa, cheerful Jasmine, their healer, and Max.
Max Goldan had been a vampire hunter once, before he had been bitten by one of his would-be kills out of sheer spite. Needless to say, he had been a less-than-happy camper by the time the Turned found him.
"We've tracked him this far," he said quietly, after making made eye contact with each. The words were meant to be encouraging, reminding them of what they had accomplished.
"Yeah. All the way from Leh to Dehli to Mumbai," Alvin reminded lazily. Then he sat up, propping his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers. "But how much further do we have to go?"
Eiran could only shrug. "That is anyone's guess. The leads point here. Maybe Terry will be able to unearth something for us."
"She'd better; it's her job," Alvin muttered.
"I heard that."
"Meant you to."
Eiran shot Alvin a quelling look and the witch grinned back unrepentantly. "Nelson and I have first watch. The rest of you, get some sleep, while you can," he said. "Tomorrow, Terry, we'll do a scry. Then we hit the streets."
* * *
A fist slammed into her jaw, snapping her head around. Pain stabbed down her neck at the unforgiving movement. She backpedaled, shaking her head to clear the black stars blossoming in her vision, her hands going up defensively.
Her eyes cleared enough to let her see Taura standing in a matching pose, stance firm, eyes direct. "Had enough?" she asked.
Samar drew a deep breath and bared her teeth. Anger fluttered inside her, like a live being trying to get out. She took a single, deliberate step. The next propelled her full force towards the other girl. In the midst of her rush, she pivoted, sending all her momentum into a tight spin. Her right leg came up at right angles with the left and she leaned sideways for balance.
The foot caught Taura in the chest and she heard the breath whoosh out of the huntress, but that was all. The huntress didn't budge. Samar felt shock. Taura was supposed to have flown at least two feet back from that hit!
Then fingers clamped around her ankle and yanked her off balance. She collapsed on the ground and had time to blink once before a dainty foot pressed to her windpipe.
"Consider yourself dead. Now do you believe me?" Taura asked. She didn't wait for an answer, but removed the foot and stepped back.
She actually turned her back as she walked away. The fool.
Samar didn't remember getting up; the sight of the unguarded back lent her impetus enough to stand and lunge. She tackled Taura from behind before the huntress could turn around.
What followed was ugly and ruthless. There was no grace, no rhythm or balance in that scuffle. Clothes were torn, lips bloodied, knuckles too. Hair flew and was just another weapon against the opponent.
Both combatants sported cuts and bruises galore before Taura managed to shove Samar off her. She rose into crouch, getting her feet back under her instantly, like a cat, while Samar glared, flat on her back.
"Are you crazy?" she shrilled, glaring. Her hand reached into her pocket and flipped out a knife.
She had had that weapon on her all along and never even bothered to bring it out, Samar realized. The knowledge didn't make her happier at all.
"You started this," Samar reminded. Her words came out hard and throaty, her neck felt bruised.
"I'll _finish_ it," Taura vowed and started forward. She stopped, raised the blade in front of her face and apparently changed her mind. She folded it, then slipped it away - but not back into her pocket where Samar might be able to reach it. She actually put it down her top, the little slut!
They came together.
Samar threw blow after blow; Taura blocked them all, barely seeming affected by them. The huntress' hits, on the other hand, were many and palpable.
Taura had been courteous earlier. She had given Samar a chance to call it quits between blows, had give Samar a chance too regain her feet when she fell.
Not anymore.
The seventeenth - or eighteenth? - time Samar struggled to get up before Taura closed on her, the others arrived. Leon headed straight for her, cradling and subduing her at once. She struggled to get free and continue fighting, but her efforts were weak at best and there was no contest.
She noted that Taura looked as ill-used as she felt, although the huntress seemed able to stand with no problem. Heck, she didn't even look out of breath. Samar felt envy along with the battle-rush.
Tristan looked torn between avenging his sister and yelling at her. Makoe wordlessly moved between the two girls.
"Taura, what is this?" Elena asked. Leon had wrestled Samar to the ground by then and the blonde knelt beside the pair, touching the girl's puffy face with a gentle finger. Samar winced and glared at Elena for making her show weakness.
Taura ground out her reply, anger in every word. "The little freak attacked me. From behind."
Samar opened her mouth to protest the 'freak' loudly, but Elena cut in.
"Why?" The blonde looked from one girl to another, as if not sure as to who she should direct the question to.
"I told her she needed to stop stuffing her face and start learning to fight. That she's useless without her vampiric strength and speed. She didn't believe me and I proved it to her."
"This goes a bit beyond 'proof,' Taura."
"The sneak couldn't take the truth. That's when she came at me. She just didn't know when to quit, Elena!" There was an almost plaintive note in the huntress' voice.
"And you are so poor a fighter that you cannot disable your opponent without maiming them?" The quiet challenge became a stinging insult coupled with Makoe's frigid tone.
It drew a black scowl from the huntress. "Look, I was just trying to help. She really _is_ helpless now; she had to know that - she can't go around harboring illusions of prowess - and she's got to do something to fix that. We are in the middle of a fight here and we don't need any deadweight," Taura flared, not giving an inch.
That shut everyone up rather effectively.
Samar, more or less quiet in Leon's arms, was caught between fuming and surprise. The huntress actually sounded as if she were genuinely concerned, not just derisive. Not that the concern made the truth any easier to swallow.
"Fine," she snapped, and Leon helped her to sit up, still keeping a grip on her. "I'll join the rest of the Turned in training. Happy?"
Makoe turned partially to look at her out of the corner of his eye. "I have a better idea," he said smoothly.
Samar looked at him, and it was an appraising look.
In the days since she'd been Turned, it had been... awkward. She had felt his gaze more than once, particularly when she was around Leon. They had barely spoken, and when they did, she was icily polite.
She wasn't sure she was ready to forgive and let live; she wasn't sure she ever would be. On the other hand, what grudge was there left to hold? She was with Leon. Makoe meant nothing to her. He should not affect her in any way.
Except, of course, for that little matter of tearing her heart to shreds and never flicking an eyelash over it. Or, perhaps, it was the way just having his eyes on her made her terribly self-conscious and she was afraid of what that meant.
Please, please, don't let me still have feelings for that cold-blooded snake.
She leaned back against Leon. Now that she had stopped trying to go for Taura's neck, he had released her, simply sitting there like an unresponsive vampiric backrest. Now there was a whole different mess, but she couldn't think about that right now.
If she and Makoe had had little contact, she was pretty sure that he and the huntress had none. It was not just that they had kept to the cabin and hadn't been terribly sociable. It was how Taura eyed him like someone else would eye a slug.
Which meant, in a roundabout way, that she actually had no reason to dislike Taura. If anything, shared contempt for Makoe should make them buxom buddies.
Makoe took silence for assent and continued, "Taura can train Samar. And I'll train Taura."
Samar felt her lips part. Her reaction was so jumbled that they seemed to have clogged each other, so nothing actually came out. Skepticism, outrage, scorn, a tiny bit of self-conscious thrill, uncertainty.
"Got a high opinion of yourself, don't you?" Taura taunted.
Makoe faced the huntress full on, giving Samar his back again. "Let's just say I have no illusions about myself."
Taura actually snorted. "I think none of us have illusions about you," she said, laying emphasis on the last word.
Samar nearly smiled; a nasty smile. A hit! A palpable hit!
"Do _you_ have any of yourself?" Makoe countered, unfazed.
Taura laughed, a biting sound. "You're not going to get me so easily, vamp."
"Your teaching Samar will be more effective than me, since you are human. It would only be fair that you received training in turn," Makoe said logically. There was no inflection in his tone. His stance was uncaring, as if it made no difference to him whether they agreed or not.
He crossed the distance between himself and the huntress and added, in a voice as smooth as gelato, "We both know there are things I can teach you."
Samar could barely believe her ears! Was he actually trying to _flirt_ her into acquiescence?
Taura apparently didn't like his tone any more than Samar did. She hit him.
Or tried to.
For the next ten minutes, Taura attacked Makoe. She even pulled out the blade. He never struck, merely blocked and countered her every move, barehanded. But it was enough; she was hurt... and human. He didn't need to exert himself to match her. He didn't even get a cut.
Watching them, Samar knew what she had looked like, trying to best Taura. The realization was disheartening.
Eventually, Makoe tired of the game.
The next time Taura took a swipe at him, he caught her hand and twisted. The movement locked her arm at a painful angle and he pulled her other hand in a different direction, immobilizing her.
He quirked an eyebrow. "Well?"
Samar saw a flash of teeth in the huntress' face. He murmured something she couldn't quite catch and Taura tossed a look her way.
"Fine," she snapped, then jerked her arms furiously. "Let me go."
But Makoe had already released her before she had finished the demand and moved away, all icy detachment again.
They all watched Taura stalk off to the main lodge before Leon and Tristan bundled her back to the cabin like a pair of fussy, bloodsucking hens.
They got out the first aid kit, which made her roll her eyes. What were a few cuts and bruises? She conveniently ignored the way her body ached, protesting the beating she had subjected it to.
They sent her into the washroom to clean up and she stared at herself in the mirror. Okay, so she did look rather frightening. No wonder they'd fetched the kit.
Lip cut in two places, swelling at one cheek right up to around her eye - she would have a beaut of a black eye come morning - scratch across the temple to add insult to injury, hair in wild disarray, the neck and one sleeve of her top torn, showing the angry red line of another scratch over her collarbone. More cuts down her arms and bruises all over.
Her neck ached, so did her shoulders. She flexed her arms experimentally. Yep, aches. Same with back, ribs and legs. She was a real piece of work.
Tristan had run hands over her limbs and ribs; nothing broken, he had reassured, between acid remarks about the foolhardiness of younger siblings and how this would never have happened if she had been a vampire.
She agreed privately with the last but she'd never admit to it. Being human really wasn't all she had thought. A vamp would have healed most of these by now. As a vamp, she would not even have taken most of this damage.
Sighing, and shaking her head slightly, she cleaned up, wincing a little as soap and water got into the open cuts.
Getting the cuts treated was... interesting. Stefan and Elena had gone to the lodge to get a status update from Jerrick, which left the vamps. Tristan was well nigh useless and Samar winced hard enough when she tried to apply the iodine herself that she was not much better. There was no way she was letting Makoe near her, so that left Leon.
He was fine with the cuts on her arms but there was a cut high up on the back of her arm, trailing from her shoulder to halfway to her elbow. That one she had to pull aside the T-shirt for and she watched him in the mirror. He attempted to dab iodine on the cut without actually looking at it - or her.
This was the guy she was supposed to be dating and he was embarrassed to be looking at a bit of extra skin. Insert eyeroll here.
There was a small bottle of ointment to help soothe her strained muscles and act as a partial painkiller. She firmly shut the door on her would-be nursemaids and took care of that herself. If Leon had had trouble with the iodine, he might spontaneously combust if she asked him to apply the oil on her bruises. Especially considering how they were scattered all over her body.
She felt black depression descend on her.
She stoppered the bottle and laid it on the nightstand, then hugged her stuffed toy, feeling the sides of her mouth curl downwards as if pulled by weights.
It had been three weeks since she had been Turned. She had tried to spend time with Leon, quality time that a couple needs to get to know each other and build a relationship. There had been walks in the woods. Some television. He had taken her into the city for ice cream or other whimsies when she'd asked. They had spent hours reading, which was surprisingly pleasant.
Curled up on the sofa together, taking turns sharing something from the books they were reading - though she had done more of that than he - it was the sweetest times and the most intimate moments they shared. In those hours, she was happy.
It was as if, with books, he could relax his stuffy guard and just be with her without worrying about propriety.
Oh, yes, she knew he was distant because that was how he thought a gentleman should treat a lady, particularly one he loved. She knew that in her head, but she wanted to be held and cuddled and her heart didn't care if he had noble reasons for not doing so. She didn't feel respected and cherished; she felt neglected - or worse, undesirable.
She had tried to tell him but there were some things even she could not bring herself to utter and saying outright that she wanted to make out was one of them. And besides, what girl had to tell a guy that she wanted _that_? It was unnatural!
She ranted all this to her stuffed toy and it seemed to nod and sympathize. She stared at its solemn, agreeable face until she felt a smile tug up the corners of her mouth and felt a bit better.
* * *
After Elena left - none too happy, either - Jerrick sat in his well-stuffed armchair before the fire.
He had hid his anxiety, his barely leashed impatience. Eiran had been searching for three weeks now and so far, the chase has been fruitless. His other operatives have also been silent; there was no hint as to where the Old One might be. He had disappeared from India a month ago. Why? Where had he gone?
The lack of success was trying, particularly with the lame man's waning strength making him irritable and all but helpless. He had had to put up the barrier holding the vampires that day when the first of the Turned arrived with their 'recruits'.
Jerrick knew that with each passing day, the Turned would come back with more vampires and he would have to enlarge and strengthen the barrier. The expenditure of energy was... if not exactly begrudged, it was certainly not happily given.
The wellsprings of Power within him was achingly empty; he had not had as much success as he had thought in regaining his strength.
Perhaps it was because the end was so near at hand that his will was starting to fray. Now that he could begin to think about a time when he would be free and rid of this ache in his soul, the immensity of his situation was threatening to come crashing down on him.
He rose without the fluidity he had once possessed, and stumped out the door, cane in hand. The walking stick was no longer an affectation; it had become a necessity.
As he passed through the corridor, he saw Madelene look up with concern.
"I'm just going for a walk. A bit of fresh air will do me good," he reassured her.
She had reason for concern; her healer's gift had called her to his side on more than one occasion in the past week. She knew well just how frail he was.
She merely nodded agreement, trusting him to know his own limits.
He emerged into the night and paused, surveying the dark treeline. Almost reluctantly, he moved towards them and passed beneath the boughs.
He was caught in a quandary; his inherited Powers still threatened to rend his being in half and to drink of that cup was to suffer more than he gained.
And yet, it was at least possible to draw Power from that source. His own gifts of mind - telepathy, empathy - were denied him due to his weakness. He was unable to wield the energy generated from the emotions of others, to tame it and make it his own. His control was so poor - so shockingly fragile - that he knew he would drain them dry, or spin their worst terrors in their minds to beget more Power.
To stand at the balcony of a club and open himself to Power, as he had once done, was to invite madness and slaughter.
Slaughter that his borrowed Powers would never accept. He could not afford to have that half of his soul that belonged to those Powers turn on him, or to shrivel and perish.
And so he was relegated to this living as half the shade of the man he had been.
He limped along, his feet finding their own aimless path. Then his otherworldly consciousness came across something and he stopped.
This was the site of Samar and Taura's fight. He knew this without a doubt; the ley lines told the story of strife and struggled and blood spilled in this spot.
He stood, and closed his eyes, feeling the Power, tasting it.
A sigh rode the night wind, one of almost bliss. Here was energy he could take without worry of maiming someone, one that belonged to his gifts, not... _hers_.
He opened himself to it, took it in, sipping like it was the most delicate vintage. He took his time, knowing that this scuffle would barely ease the edge of his need, but hungry enough not to refuse even this meager meal.
* * *
Terry let out a soft breath, the only sound in the silent room.
"Nothing," she said finally.
Alvin looked like he was stifling a groan, the rest looked disappointed as well. Their third day in Mumbai and Terry had not found any clues for them; they spent the days wandering blindly, hoping to come across something by chance.
So far, they had found nothing.
Eiran frowned. "Vampires. Look for anything relating to vampires." He wished there was something - or someone - with them that could be used to help Terry focus her search, but none of the searchers were vampires. Unless...
"Max, you don't have anything belonging to a vampire, do you?"
The hunter/ex-vampire looked surprised. "Well, actually," he started and tucked his hair behind one ear, showing an earstud.
A familiar deep blue stone glowed in its silver setting.
Eiran held out his hand and the gruff Turned removed it and dropped it in his hand.
"Terry?"
"In the bowl. Please." She kept her eyes closed, focused on a different kind of sight.
The earring made a soft splash as it hit the water and rippled the surface before it settled back to mirror-like smoothness.
Silence again. They all watched the bowl. Or her face.
"There's someone... a woman," she murmured.
"Describe her."
"I can't see clearly enough. All I can tell is that she's pale-skinned and black-haired."
"Where is she?"
"I have a sense of water. But also of... marble? Blood... but not a vampire. Trees and stone, great age." Terry was getting agitated, her words coming rushed and confused.
Eiran put a hand on her shoulder to steady her, without thinking. Her head jerked and her words cut off. But-
Alvin drew a sharp breath and pointed at the bowl.
The surface clouded over, becoming flat like paper. An image formed, a woman's face.
Eiran stared for a long moment, then met Alvin's eyes, seeking confirmation. He nodded, all the affirmation needed.
The last time they had seen that face, there had been a lapis lazuli gracing that brow, set in a circlet of pure quartz. The tall, elegant woman had been sprawled senselessly across the marble floor of Athanasia Omar's palace.
The image faded and Terry swayed under his hand. He caught her, steadied her. "What happened there, Terry?" he asked. Jasmine handed him a hot cup of something and he held it up to the diviner's lips.
She took a sip before answering him. "You said to look for vampires. I took the impression from the earring and extrapolated it, let it direct me. It found that woman but the link was too weak. Then _you_ touched me," and she gave him a displeased look that said, 'don't do that again', "And it was like the link was jolted. Strong enough for me to actually form the image." The look slid to puzzlement. "You became the focus."
Alvin interjected before Eiran could think of an intelligent reply. "That's because he is Turned. So is she. The earring... well, it's Max's and he's not a vampire anymore." Alvin shrugged.
A question popped into Eiran's head. "Terry, did you get a feel as to where that woman is when the link strengthened?"
The diviner sat up while she thought of that question. She took hold of the cup and cradled it in her hands a she sipped.
"She's nearby, otherwise, I wouldn't have picked up on her. I saw the docks that we passed yesterday. I remember that blue boat moored on the jetty."
Eiran turned his eyes to the bare wood of the floor, staring in thought. The rest waited for him to speak. "If she is here," he began slowly, thinking out loud. "And the trail led here and ends..." he trailed off, then resumed.
"If he saw her. She would not remember him; Jerrick said all their memories were wiped. But he might recognize her. There is a high possibility she was Athanasia Omar's consort. If the sixth recognized her...if he sensed that she was Turned."
He looked up to find them all watching him expectantly.
"Terry, Alvin and I will look for her tomorrow. Maybe talk to her. The rest of you, start packing."
"Why?" Nelson asked, looking mystified.
"If my hunch is correct, seeing a Turned whom he knew was one of another Old One's followers would make our target go rushing off looking for answers," Eiran said slowly. "Which would send him straight to the last known location of the other Old One. "
He looked them each in the eye and his words were heavy. "We're going to Antalya."
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* As mentioned in the previous update, here are some things I've been wondering about. Comments pertaining to these are much appreciated. All questions are meant generally, not specific to this chapter.
1. Do you find my fight scenes too technical and overloaded (weighed down) with tedious details?
2. Which character's personality would you say is most vivid and why do you say so?
3. What is the scene/plot that sticks most in your mind thus far?
That's it for this time. If you prefer to reply via email -- instead of a FFN review, since response to these might be rather detailed -- feel free to email leian_c @ yahoo.com. Spaces included as primitive spam-guard. ^_^
Thanks for reading!