Stupid, stupid, stupid, Sarah reprimanded herself. How could she have
gotten lost? She lived here for goodness sake! For a moment, she almost
wished that she'd taken Marco up on his offer to walk her home. As much as
she hated to admit it, it was pretty creepy out here. Having to endure
Marco teasing her about it would have been a small price to pay for peace
of mind. She was being silly though. It was obvious that she was
somewhere between Marco's village and her own home; she hadn't been walking
that long. So, she just needed to stop and think.
It was easier said than done. Sarah had been walking quickly, on the verge of breaking into a sprint as fear threatened to overtake her. She was a levelheaded girl, however, and forced herself to stop and take a deep breath. "Okay," she whispered, "let's think for a second, Sarah." Speaking aloud, even if it was naught but a whisper made her feel more confident.
The snap of a dry twig off to her right, terrifyingly loud in the silent darkness, shattered the girl's poise. A moment later, a nearby bush shook, despite the lack of any wind. "I-Is anyone there?" she called out, failing to keep the tremble from her voice.
In response, leaves rustled somewhere to the left, just out of Sarah's sight. Just a raccoon or something, of course, she told herself. They were brazen little things, braving the village night after night in search of choice pieces of garbage. The noise paused and she got the sick sense that whatever was in the brush was staring at her. Not even noticing that she'd done so, she stopped walking and tried not to move at all.
There. The rustling sound was moving away. The raccoon had apparently decided that Sarah wasn't worth further study. That was fine by her. She let out the breath she'd been holding, the noise like an explosion in the silence. Cringing a bit, she glanced around, hoping that nothing had heard her. The forest was eerie in its silence.
Sarah crept along at a snail's pace, not wanting to draw the ire of whatever had silenced life in the glade. Another step and she was ankle deep in a puddle of icy water. She bit off a yelp of shock and fright and cowered in anticipation of . . . something. The sigh of relief had been overlooked. She was sure that she wouldn't be so lucky this time.
For just a moment, Sarah wondered when she'd gone from thinking a raccoon was in the brush to assuming that Shabranigdo himself was somewhere out there. Well to heck with this, she thought, turning on her heel. She'd just go back the way she came. Marco's mom would let her spend the night. Sure, she'd be in big trouble with her dad tomorrow, but all the same . . .
The path was gone. Somehow, she'd gotten turned around worse than she'd originally thought. She clapped her hands to her mouth in an expression of fear and hopelessness. Why hadn't she taken Marco up on his offer to walk her home? Why had she waited until it was so late? Why-?
Useless questions were interrupted by strange sounds again. There was no raccoon this time, however. Whatever was out there was big . . . and rushing towards her.
"Marco, if that's you, you're going to get such a pounding!" It'd be just like the little twerp to try to scare her like this. And despite her threat, which she was incredibly serious about, by the way, she hoped against hope that it was her friend. Except . . . it wasn't. Somehow she knew that it wasn't. He wouldn't try to upset her like this--maybe before the night at the reflecting pool--but not now. Things had changed between them, so suddenly that they'd both been taken by surprise, albeit a pleasant one. This wasn't Marco.
Frightened by that reality, Sarah panicked, bolting off in a random direction. As if sensing her fear and approving of it, the source of the noise increased its pace, easily matching speed with the terrified girl. For a few moments, terrified gasps and the sound of fallen leaves crunching were all that could be heard in the dark.
Sarah was crying now, tears blurring her vision. This coupled with the fact that dark clouds had hidden the moon made it almost impossible to tell where she was going. As a result, she tripped over an exposed root and fell face down onto the forest floor, skinning her knee. It seemed that the forest itself was conspiring against her. It was over then. Whatever was pursuing her was about to pounce. Somehow, whatever was chasing her had gone from raccoon, to human, to some sort of child eating monster in her mind. What did it feel like to be eaten alive? She had no desire to find out.
Sniffling, she swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing her face with black mud. She was running again before she'd even regained her footing; feet pistoning against the ground, flinging dirt and leaves into the air. It would do no good, she realized. The beast was right behind her about to pounce. Another second and she'd feel jagged fangs in her back . . .
Then she was on her feet and alive again. Things seemed to go right for Sarah for the first time in the chase. Her tears dried as if by magic, the blessed moon managed to shrug off its cover, illuminating the forest in silvery light, and, as if by magic, she'd found her second wind. She poured on the speed, grinning in spite of the situation. She'd always been incredibly fast, much to Marco's chagrin. He'd never been able to keep up with her when they raced. Chalk it up to her long legs, she thought. Legs that she'd once considered gangly, she emphatically thanked Ceiphied for in that moment. Nothing could catch her now. She was the wind.
Her elation lasted for only a moment as her pursuer seemed to increase its own speed to match. Footfalls echoed Sarah's perfectly, almost as if she were running from her own shadow. Knowing that she shouldn't do so, she risked a quick glance over her shoulder.
Nothing. There was nothing behind her. Cautiously, she slowed and the sounds of pursuit faded away as if by magic. Had she imagined the whole thing? She supposed that might have been the case. She'd been running pretty hard and maybe she'd been frightened by her own noises. Once she had the idea, she latched onto it eagerly; building it up into something plausible.
Yes that had to be it. A raccoon most likely caused the initial noise as she'd first thought and her imagination had just run away with it, turning into something outlandish. Marco would laugh at her if he ever found out. Heck, she felt like laughing at herself. So she did, banishing the last of those imaginary demons back to whatever dark corner of her consciousness they resided in.
So intent was Sarah on convincing herself that everything was okay, she failed to see the gaping ravine a few feet in front of her. It was only when she stepped out and found nothing but air to support her that she realized what she'd done. To her credit, she almost caught herself, flinging her body backwards and teetering on one foot as she stared into the blackness below. With infinite slowness, she leaned back, shifting her weight onto her rear leg, her arms held out for balance.
At the crucial moment when Sarah was precariously suspended between life and death, a gust of wind moaned in the tree branches overhead, inexplicable in its origin. There hadn't been so much as a breeze earlier. In any case, it was just enough to gently nudge the poor girl away from salvation. She cried out, her voice not heard by a single soul, as she fell and struck the bottom of the ravine.
Under any other circumstances, she would have survived, indeed, might have gotten away with little more than a bruised ego. The ravine floor was covered with several years worth of dead leaves, making her landing quite comfortable. However, it seemed that ill fortune was not quite done with poor Sarah.
The girl would have been fine if she'd hit anywhere else, but somehow she managed to strike her head on the only rock within twenty feet. She laid there, blank eyes staring uncomprehendingly at the wall of clay rising before her. Her feet drummed spastically against the ground, nothing more than the feeble struggles of a doomed life fighting for survival. Mercifully, she'd been all but rendered unconscious and was blissfully unaware of the fact that her life was flowing from her cracked skull in a steady stream.
She gasped one last time, reluctantly slipping away to whatever reward awaited her. And then, the forest was still once again.
Moisture hung heavy in the air, the parting gift of the storm that never really was. Two demons wearing the guises of mortals faced off. One was sweating slightly, his human weakness revealed by the humidity; the other was incapable of sweating--the moisture on its alabaster flesh little more than condensation. They both stood, still as statues, until the vampire broke the spell with a few words.
"By Ceiphied, it's hot, isn't it?" it asked in a conversational tone, as if Zelgadis hadn't almost killed it and wouldn't do so again with bloody enthusiasm. It swiped at its brow with the back of its sleeve, more in memory of its humanity than an actual expression of discomfort. The fabric came away dark with blood. "You'll have to forgive me, I'm not at my peak again quite yet," it murmured in way of explanation for the blood. Gesturing to the clasp of its cloak, it asked, "May I?" Without waiting for an answer, it released the clasp, which bore the insignia of the High Priest, indicating in no uncertain terms that this was one of Rezo's chief servants.
Zelgadis cocked his head quizzically. "You followed us all the way from Sairaag, didn't you? Why? Why are you hunting Amelia? To get to me?"
A snort of derision answered Zel's queries. "Brace yourself for disappointment, son of Rezo, but believe it or not, this isn't about you." The vampire shed its cloak as the newborn butterfly sheds its cocoon. There had been something almost divine about it before, almost surreal in its whiteness, but now it appeared far more earthy and real. The pristine cloak gave way to the drab well-worn clothes of a traveling priest, dark pants and a baggy tan shirt. Around its waist hung a loose fitting belt bearing the scabbard Zelgadis had bought for Lina so long ago.
If Zelgadis thought that the vampire's identity would be revealed just because it'd shirked its disguise, he was sadly mistaken. Interestingly enough, he was the reason that it couldn't be identified. Its face was a nightmarish ruin, blood flowing freely from multiple cuts and gouges. The entire left side of its face was gone, scraped away when Zelgadis had smashed it against a tree two nights past. All the teeth lining that side of its jaw were plain to see, making it look as if it wore a constant grin. The top of its head was a skull in name only--little more than a thin membrane of flesh and flecks of bone stretched across its brain. Sporadic tufts of dark hair were struggling to grow at different spots on its head and, for the most part, they were failing miserably. It hadn't quite recovered from their previous encounter, it seemed.
Zelgadis heard Amelia gasp behind him. It was dark, but her eyes had been able to discern enough to know that this... creature shouldn't have been alive. For his part, the former Chief Minister of Sairaag didn't bat an eye. He'd seen far worse in his nightmares. "You say this isn't about me. What's your interest in Amelia?"
The vampire waggled a finger at Zelgadis and shook its head, mirth dancing in its one good eye. "Now that, of course, is a secret. Take comfort in this fact: You're not at the top of my list. To be quite honest, you're somewhere near the very bottom. So, if you'd be so kind as to step aside, I'll take the young lady and leave your murder for another evening."
In answer to the vampire's offer, Zelgadis flung his own cloak aside, not wanting to worry about getting tangled in the bulky thing. He lowered his center of gravity and instinctively flung his wings out to their full span in an effort to intimidate his foe.
"Oh, you mean to fight me?" the vampire asked in a tone of mock surprise. "You're willing to die for this little girl? Think about it, Zelgadis. If you're anything like the others, you have a good two or three centuries left to live. Run away. Hide from me. Don't throw your life away on this pretty little thing. Beauty fades."
"Big talk coming from someone I all but killed last time we met." Zelgadis briefly wondered what his foe had meant by "others", but quickly shoved the thought aside. There would be time to ask questions after he'd torn its arms and legs off.
"Oh, don't remind me," the vampire groaned, shaking its head ruefully. It assumed a defensive stance and quickly unbuckled its sword belt. "The thought that a clumsy oaf like you almost ended my life... well, it's embarrassing. I mean honestly!"
"What do you think you're doing?" Zelgadis asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as his foe wrapped its belt around the ornate sheath. "Do you think this is some kind of game?" He'd been ready for just about anything. Anything except his foe disarming itself.
"Oh, not at all, Master Greywords. I don't play games. I leave such nonsense to children and fools." It knelt and spread its cloak on the ground. With a great deal of reverence, it laid the sword in the center of the cape to keep it from getting dirty. "I'd rather not stain my blade with the filth running through your veins. That's all." Standing again, it beckoned to Zelgadis. "If you mean to kill me, get on with it. I don't have all night, you know."
Zelgadis didn't need to be asked twice. Without warning, he launched himself forward, meaning to cut the vile thing in half with one swipe.
Some distance away from melee, the would-be rescuers wandered through the darkness. They were anything but imposing. Lina clung to Gourry's sword arm as if it were life itself. This had the none too helpful effect of rendering him totally useless should something leap out of the darkness. He'd asked her to let go once and she'd given him such a frightened look that he had quickly dropped the subject. Did she have to dig in with her nails like that though?
An owl hooted loudly overhead and the redhead dug in so much that she almost drew blood. That was enough of that, Gourry decided. "Lina, let go," he gently, yet sternly instructed, easily detaching her viselike grip from his forearm. "What the heck is the matter with you?" As soon as he'd removed her hand, she'd closed the distance between them and now had both arms firmly attached to his waist.
"I . . . I'm cold," Lina lied. She whispered almost inaudibly, obviously not wanting Jillas to hear. The fox was about a dozen feet ahead of them, little more than a silhouette in the dim glow of the lantern Gourry carried.
"Cold?" Gourry repeated dubiously. It was a warm summer night, made nauseatingly humid by the recent rainfall. "Are you sick?" he asked, scrutinizing her face in the lamplight. She didn't look sick. A bit pale was all. Still, there was only one way to know for sure. He gently brushed crimson bangs aside and laid his hand against her forehead, pointedly ignoring the glare she shot him. She was cool. That settled it then. "You're scared." There was a bit of awe in his voice as he spoke. Nothing scared Lina. She became flustered at the drop of a hat, startled easily, and even got hysterical at times, but for the life of him he couldn't remember ever seeing her genuinely afraid.
"Keep your voice down!" Lina hissed, squeezing him for emphasis. She glanced over at the fox man to see if he'd heard. If he had, he didn't acknowledge it, intent on his hunt for his master.
"Sorry." Lowering his voice to a stage whisper, Gourry repeated, "You're scared." The repetition earned him a hard elbow in the stomach. Once he'd gotten his wind back, he whispered, "Why?" Lina wouldn't even look him in the eye, preferring to look around in every conceivable direction as if expecting an attack at any moment.
"You've got to stay on your toes," Lina replied, struggling to sound calm. "You never know when some evil beast will just lunge out of the darkness and try to pull your head off. It's all part of being a professional Slayer."
"Oh." There was a moment of silence as Gourry mulled over that bit of information. "So, being a good Slayer means you have to be a paranoid lunatic?" he concluded.
"Something like that," Lina growled through gritted teeth. A moment later, she sighed and forced herself to loosen her grip around his waist. "Sorry, it's just really creepy out here is all." As if on cue, something growled nearby, setting her on edge again. "Did you hear that?" Her hand strayed to the hilt of her dagger as she scanned the area suspiciously. "It's probably some slavering beast waiting for an opportunity to pounce."
"No, that was my stomach," Gourry admitted with a sheepish grin.
"Yeah, just like I said: a slavering beast. Hey, that reminds me . . ." Lina's face lit up and she began rummaging around in her apron pockets. "Now where did they go? Jeez, there's only two pockets in this thing. How could I have lost them?"
Gourry smiled at the redhead. Apparently, whatever had been on her mind had been shoved to the side for the time being. He made a mental note to ask her about it later. After all, how was he supposed to protect her if he didn't know what scared her?
"Found 'em!" Lina exclaimed triumphantly as she yanked a handful of pecans from her pocket. "Here. I saved them for you at the expense of my own neglected tummy." She made a show of looking pathetic while rubbing her stomach.
"Hey! Thanks!" Gourry accepted the food gratefully and began to wolf them. Grandmother's cooking just hadn't done anything for him that morning, despite the sheer volume of food he'd consumed. He paused in mid bite when he noticed Lina studying his face. She was wearing a cheerful and somewhat dreamy expression. "What?" he asked, her smile spreading to his face as well.
"Oh, nothing!" Lina yelped, her face turning a bright shade of red, noticeable even in the dim light of the lantern. She hastily searched for something else to look at and finally settled on the moon overhead.
Gourry gave her an inquisitive look that she pointedly ignored before shrugging and going back to eating.
When she was sure that Gourry was engrossed once again, Lina stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the food and that pleased her to no end. She had spent a good deal of the afternoon shelling the nuts for him, cracking them on the corner of the nightstand and meticulously picking through the remains for the good pieces. It'd been a tedious task, but the idea that she was doing it for Gourry made it more bearable.
When he locked eyes with her, she realized that she'd been staring again and forced herself to look down at the ground. She didn't know why she was so skittish around him; they'd slept together for Ceiphied's sake. That was a pretty major sign of attraction, right? On the other hand, that had also been the first time she'd allowed herself to open up to him. Maybe it was because things were happening so fast. Maybe it was because she'd never felt this way before—had never allowed herself to feel for anyone. Maybe . . .
"Hey, fuzz face!" she called out, quashing her thoughts about Gourry. The unfortunate fox man was the only thing she could think to focus on. "Catch!" She'd meant to toss him some pecans, as he was obviously hungry as well, stealing the occasional ravenous glance at her food. Sadly, she was so flustered by the way Gourry had looked at her, the toss ended up being overhand instead of underhand. To be quite honest, it wasn't really a toss either. "Toss" implied a gentle throw—something meant to be caught. This was more of a "launch with intent to maim" than a "toss".
Jillas turned around just in time to catch one between the eyes. He yelped in pain and clapped his hands to his face as the pecan went soaring up into the air before coming down on top of his head, adding insult to injury. Sparing Lina a murderous look and muttering things under his breath that are best not repeated, he turned and skulked off, continuing his search for Boss and Sis. He'd never understand why the redhead insisted on tormenting him so.
Wincing guiltily, Lina turned back to Gourry and asked, "So, did you two find anything while you were out this morning?" They had to have, right? They were out from morning until after dark.
"Girl," Gourry managed between mouthfuls of food.
"A girl," Lina repeated, feeling a twinge of jealousy. She quickly shoved it aside. "Did she know anything useful?"
"Don't know," Gourry mumbled with a shrug. "She was dead. For a long time too, it looked like."
"Dead?" Lina shivered at the thought. Where had Gourry found a dead girl? Sensing her anxiety return, she quipped, "What, did you dig her up or something? You couldn't have been THAT hungry." Okay, that didn't help a bit, she realized. The image of Gourry, the world's stupidest flesh eating zombie, sprang up in her mind and she quickly shoved it aside. This was no time to be giving herself the jitters. She plucked the lantern from Gourry's grasp and turned the knob on its side, upping the light that it cast on the area around them. This didn't help with the heebie-jeebies so much as it created more shadows for her to jump at.
"She wasn't buried," Gourry explained, giving the redhead a questioning look. Getting the distinct feeling that she was adamant about not talking about her anxiety, he sighed and continued his explanation. "She wasn't even concealed that well. Just covered by a bunch of leaves, really."
"You'd think someone would have found her," Lina mused aloud. "I wonder if they even looked."
"Of course they would have looked!" Gourry insisted, sounding a bit offended. "They wouldn't just leave someone out there. These are the people I grew up with, you know."
"Hmm," Lina mumbled noncommittally. After a long moment of thought, she glanced up at her protector and asked, "Gourry, do you think they just forgot about her?" She held her hands up defensively when the swordsman shot her an irritated look. "I'm not saying they're all jellyfishes, although I hadn't considered that . . ." Quickly getting back on track, she added, "Anyway, they did lose five years somewhere along the line, right? Maybe they lost her along with the time?"
Gourry grimaced. He appreciated the fact that Lina was actually turning to him for his thoughts, but he really had no idea of what to say. He turned to his charge and was about to apologize when an idea struck. "Grandma would know!" he blurted out eagerly. "She knows everything that goes on around here. I'll ask her when we get back."
At that moment, Jillas froze in his tracks, nothing moving save for his tail, which swished back and forth in long slow stokes. He'd sensed something. Whether it was a new scent or sound, he didn't bother to explain. The fact that he darted off into the brush was indication enough that he'd found them. He'd found Amelia and Zelgadis, or soon would in any case.
Lina and Gourry locked eyes for a moment, his full of hope, hers full of trepidation, before chasing after the rapidly departing fox man.
The vampire grunted, not in pain so much as reflex, as Zelgadis slammed his fist into its ribs, puncturing something soft within. It didn't matter. The organs were dead anyway, serving no function. What use had it for lungs? Breathing was a habit only, done only in remembrance of a life long gone. Only one thing mattered on the inside: the black heart that sustained its unlife.
Zelgadis suppressed a grin, struggling to keep from enjoying what he was doing. He'd been working his foe over for five minutes now and was coming dangerously close to losing control and ripping it to shreds. He didn't want Amelia to see him like that. It might be best for her to know how cruel he could be, but still, she treated him like a person, which was more than most people had ever done. If he acted like an animal, she may very well start treating him like one.
The dead thing had stopped moving. Grimacing distastefully, Zelgadis grabbed the back of its shirt, pulling it off his talons with a sickening slurp. He hadn't realized that he'd struck quite so hard.
"Are you done hurting me?" the vampire gurgled almost inaudibly. Black blood bubbled up in its throat and ran out between its teeth; it seemed that lungs were good for something after all. It was going to be a lot harder to communicate when they were flooded with blood. Clearing its throat, it spat a disgustingly large amount of viscous fluid onto the ground. "Forgive me," it apologized, sounding sincere for once. "That was most uncouth of me."
Zelgadis rolled his eyes and seized the front of the vampiric priest's shirt. Slamming the figure against a nearby tree, he briefly wondered if Amelia had been right about it being Xellos. The bastard was irritating enough to be the fallen angel. "Who are you?" he demanded.
The priest shook its head and opened its mouth to speak. Instead of words, it coughed violently, expelling a copious amount of blood onto the front of Zelgadis's shirt. It grinned in mock apology and shrugged, as if to say, "So sorry, I can't answer. By the way, did you know that this is your fault?"
Or maybe Zelgadis was reading too much into the gesture. Either way, it was still infuriating. He yanked the vampire forward and slammed it back again. And then again. When he pulled it forward for the third time, he was stopped by a gentle touch on his arm. He could almost feel the concern and even before he looked, he knew Amelia was standing beside him. "I told you to stay back," he sighed. "You're going to get hurt."
"Mister Zelgadis, please don't hurt him anymore," Amelia quietly pleaded. "He used to be good. He took care of Miss Lina, remember?" Forcing herself to look at the broken priest, she suppressed a shudder and added, "I know something happened to him and maybe he is truly wicked, but..." Sighing regretfully, she struggled with the rest of her words. "He doesn't deserve to be tormented. Would you...?" Her words trailed off and her cerulean eyes said what she could not. She wanted Zelgadis to give the creature a merciful death.
Had either Zelgadis or Amelia been paying attention to their foe, they would have seen an interesting gamut of emotions cross its face. First, sadistic glee as it noted exactly how much Zelgadis cared for the acrobat. Honestly, he may as well announce his feelings to the world. It was disgraceful that such a guileless creature had once been in charge of one of the most valuable cities in the empire. Chalk it up to sentimentality on Rezo's part.
The expression shifted to one of irritation as Amelia indirectly suggested that Zelgadis finish the job. How utterly and infuriatingly arrogant they were. As if a dirty blooded half-breed could kill it on a whim. Didn't he know that he'd been allowed to do as much damage as he had? It'd be a shame for him to die without feeling that he'd accomplished something, right? Unseen by Zelgadis or Amelia, it flicked its wrist as if performing a clever sleight of hand and was suddenly armed with . . . something. It'd been too quick to see exactly what it was.
Rustling from the bush that the vampire had been stalking was all that saved Zelgadis's life. Curious, it turned and watched as someone crawled out from under it. It did want to know whom it'd almost skewered earlier, whom it'd still skewer in the next few moments. "You?!" it gurgled, shock registering in its single amethyst eye as it recognized Marco.
Zelgadis and Amelia turned back to face the creature, sensing its agitation a moment too late. In what seemed to be the blink of an eye, Zelgadis's shoulder was dislocated when the vampire decided that it wanted to be free. Before the pain of the first injury even registered in Zelgadis's brain, a jolt of agony ripped through his chest. He glanced down to see a dark stain spreading across the front of his tunic just over his heart and understood what had happened. This knowledge gave him little comfort as his legs gave out and he collapsed limply to the ground.
Before Amelia had a chance to react, its leg had snaked out to catch her just below the solar plexus, driving the wind out of her. She was lifted off her feet and landed on her back, seeing stars and struggling for air.
The vampire cocked its head, admiring its handiwork. Zelgadis was as good as dead, his heart pierced by a sliver of wood. It was a little known fact—even among Slayers—that it wasn't necessary to ram something as ostentatious as wooden stake through a vampire's heart. On the contrary, something as small as a toothpick would have the same effect, disrupting the dark power that sustained unlife.
It nodded in satisfaction and turned its attention to Amelia. She was sprawled out on her back, her breaths coming in loud gasps. Lovely. She wouldn't be going anywhere for a while. It briefly considered finishing her off, but curiosity won out over duty.
"Young man, I'd like a word with you." it hissed in a raspy voice, turning its gaze on poor Marco who was rooted in place. It spat out more blood and crossed the distance between itself and the boy in three quick steps. "You obviously don't understand how this works," it whispered, extending its hands to lovingly cup the boy's face. It knelt down before him, bringing their faces inches from one another. "When I kill someone, they tend to stay dead," it calmly explained.
Marco nodded in spite of himself. He didn't even hear the vampire's words. His thoughts were focused entirely on the ruined face before him. It was like something out of his nightmares. Especially the teeth; he found himself unable to tear his gaze from those jagged fangs.
"Child, I'll thank you to look me in the eye when I talk to you. I'm your elder and I will be respected." The vampire tilted Marco's chin up until he was staring into its eye. "That's better. Now, why aren't you resting?" There may have been the slightest hint of sympathy in its voice, but it was hard to tell. Everything that it said was, quite frankly wet sounding. "Calm yourself, child. For the moment, you are in no danger. Just answer my question and I'll let you go." Cool fingers stroked the boy's cheek reassuringly, leaving streaks of semi congealed blood.
Trembling uncontrollably, the boy began to speak.
The room was dark, save for the light of a single candle. The rhythmic creak of a rocking chair sounded impossibly loud in the otherwise silent room. Aqua sat in the chair, willing herself to fall asleep. It'd been an eventful day—what with the storm and all--and she was quite tired, yet she couldn't bring herself to sleep.
Every time her eyes slid closed she could see them in the dark; cruel beings marched through the forest until they reached the village, killing all in their path. It'd happened every single time. She'd start to doze off, but hear the ominous sound of the soldiers marching in formation or smell the musty scent of old death. Worst of all were the times that she saw their faces.
She shuddered at the thought and climbed to her feet, grimacing as she did so. Her old bones ached quite a bit, but never so much as just after a good rain. Still, she barely noticed the pain, as it'd been a constant companion for a very long time. Her thoughts were entirely focused on the dreams she'd been having.
Just for a moment, she thought that she saw one of the soldiers standing in the corner and her heart leapt into her throat. However, it was nothing quite so sinister; it was a shawl draped over a coat rack. She forced a laugh that she didn't really feel and maneuvered through the familiar darkness over to the fireplace. Hot tea was what she needed. Maybe that'd help her sleep. It'd never done so before, but there was a first time for anything, right? Besides, it was better to be doing something constructive rather than spooking herself in the dark.
She'd just gotten a decent blaze going and was about to put the kettle on when she heard the noise, a quiet scraping sound just outside the house, almost like something being dragged in the dirt. The tea momentarily forgotten, she set the kettle aside and crept over to the nearest window. She cautiously opened the shutters ever so slightly and peered out into the dark.
At first, there was nothing, just the quiet calm of the forest around the village. Aqua was about to close the shutters and dismiss the noise as her overactive imagination when she saw it; a lumbering hulk of a beast emerged from the woods, dragging something heavy behind it. It was moving directly towards her house.
Willing herself to stay calm, she pulled the shutters closed and quietly latched them. Then, she hastened over to the door, meaning to lock that as well. She hadn't done so in several years; the biggest threat she'd ever had to deal with was curious children and they'd always been easily dispatched with a stern word and a quick swat on the behind.
So, it was with no small amount of alarm that she found herself unable to recall where she'd laid the key. And there wasn't time to search for it. Whatever was out there was on the porch. Thunderous footsteps quickly crossed the front of the house until they were just outside the door. Unable to think of anything else to do, she braced her shoulder against the door.
It did little good. Whatever was outside flung the door open with ease, knocking the old woman onto her butt. It lumbered in, dragging its parcel behind it and bellowed, "Hello? Anybody home?"
"Gouren Albus Gabriev!" Aqua said in her sternest tone. It had the desired effect of making the huge man cringe. "What do you think you're doing, barging into my house and scaring the life out of me?" She wasn't so much irritated as startled. She'd thought that . . . No, better not to think about the dreams. She glared at him a moment longer until Lily stormed into the room.
"Gouren, what is wrong with you?!" Lily fumed. She shot him the dirtiest of glares, which had the effect of immediately silencing his stammered attempts to explain himself. Kneeling down beside Aqua, she snapped, "Take the stock down to the store before you cause any more trouble."
Gouren grimaced. "You mean tonight, dear? But, it's late and I'm tired . . ." If he'd thought that his wife looked cross before, he was mistaken. Her latest look was filled with such venom that he tugged at the collar of his shirt nervously. It was a wonder that he hadn't burst into flame. "Yes, dear," he sighed resignedly. He picked up the bundle with a grunt of exertion and sulked out the door.
"Are you all right, mother?" Lily asked, her demeanor totally changing when she spoke to the older woman.
"Oh, I'm fine, dear. Just a bit rattled is . . ." Aqua's face lit up, as she recalled something incredibly important. "Gouren, get back in here!" she called out.
Gouren poked his head back into the room, a cautious look on his face. What sort of punishment was he about to be given now? What Aqua said next was the last thing he expected.
"Gourry's come home!"
Amelia watched the interplay between the two with a terrified look. The misshapen vampire's face was inches from Marco's and it would take only an instant for it to close the distance between them. Despite the fact that she was gasping for air, she rolled onto her stomach and tried to climb to hands and knees. She strained with all her might, but couldn't manage so much as an inch. Mister Zelgadis, she thought hopefully. He could help Marco. She glanced over at her fallen companion and was unable to suppress a squeak of horror.
Zelgadis was lying motionless, the bloodstain on the front of his tunic spreading further by the moment. His right arm hung at an unnatural angle and his pale face was taut as he tried to hide the pain he was feeling.
"What'd he do to you?" Amelia whispered. With much effort, she dragged herself over to Zelgadis and tentatively reached out, meaning to stem the flow of blood from his wound. She knew a little about first aid—working in the circus, it was hard not to. Between the animals and stunts there was always the potential for injury and she'd helped out whenever she could.
Just before her hand reached made contact with his chest, she froze. For a moment, it felt as if her arm was no longer her own. She glanced down at Zelgadis questioningly and was startled to see the intensity in his gaze. With phenomenal effort, he shook his head; left, right, and back to center. It was an effort to do even that, but he could have yelled for her not to touch him and not gotten better results. There was a cold warning in his gaze: Don't touch it.
Amelia shuddered and yanked her hand back as if she'd been burned. It'd felt as if Mister Zelgadis were yelling directly into her head. And who knew, maybe he had been. She remembered what he'd said to the guard as they were leaving Sairaag. "Cut your throat," he'd ordered. That had been the cruel thing within him, not the man looking at her now, but it seemed to have the same effect.
Look, he commanded without opening his mouth and Amelia found herself compelled to do so. The blood was moving; thrashing about as if aware of what was happening. A moment later, it formed small tendrils that shot downwards into Zelgadis's wound. He tensed up, unable to suppress a hiss of agony as Grou performed its rudimentary surgery.
There was a wet plop and the foreign object was worked free of Zelgadis's chest. He grunted quietly, not wanting Xellos to hear him. Thankfully, the vampire seemed to be focused on Marco to the exclusion of all else. He wished that he could hear what they were saying, but at the moment his world consisted solely of his irregular pulse hammering in his ears.
Whatever had pierced Zelgadis's heart had done major damage and he had starved himself for so long that he was unable to fix it. His back arched and his feet drummed against the ground as his heart stopped for a moment. Thankfully, it decided to fight on a little longer. How much longer, though? There was the question. Hard as it was to believe, he was dying.
In answer to his unspoken question, Grou showed him what had pierced his breast. The image formed in his mind's eye and although Zelgadis hadn't seen it physically, he had absolutely no doubt that what he was envisioning was what the demon had removed from his body.
It was a slender chunk of wood, no more than a quarter of an inch in diameter and three inches long. It couldn't be called a wooden stake by any stretch of the imagination, being little more than a sliver really. However, its purpose was as deadly as it was obvious: immobilization of a vampire for the purpose of severing its head.
Another jolt of agony shot through Zelgadis's body and he blacked out for a moment. He was briefly brought back to the land of the living by a gentle touch filled with love. He opened his eyes to see Amelia hovering over him, her eyes sparkling with tears. Sighing contentedly, he let his eyes slip closed again, wanting the last thing that he knew in the world to be her touch. His only regret was that he couldn't save her, but maybe Lina . . .? Surely, Jillas had made it back and was on their trail by now.
Grou quashed that hope in an instant, matter of factly informing Zelgadis that unless he did something, Amelia was almost certainly going to die; there was no cavalry coming to save the day, or in any case, none that would arrive in time.
"What would you have me do?" Zelgadis mouthed silently, far too weak to speak by this point. At that moment, he became horribly aware of Amelia's touch, of her warm hands brushing the hair from his sweat soaked face. His eyes flew open again and he stared at her in horror. No. He would not do this. Even as he denied it, his arms reached out to encircle her.
Amelia looked frightened for just a moment, before realizing what he meant to do. He was going to save Marco. Comforted by that thought and not wanting to make him agonize over what he had to do any more than necessary, she leaned down, turning her head to the side to better expose the pale flesh of her throat. Telling herself that he wouldn't hurt her any more than necessary, she braced herself for the pain she knew was coming.
Even after the terrifying pinpricks of his fangs piercing her throat, Amelia's resolve didn't waver a bit.
Next Chapter:
Notes: How's that for a cliffhanger, huh? I suppose this is as good a time as any to say that the story won't be updated again. Of course, you realize that I'm just joking, right? Hey, don't throw things at me!
Poor Sarah. She went through so much in so many rewrites to get to this point. She's been shot, stabbed, torn to pieces, raped, strangled, and um, I actually think she drowned in one scenario I'd envisioned. The poor girl had a rough time of it in the idea phase, but I'm quite pleased with how the final scene turned out, so good for me, I guess.
Well, on to the reviews!
Reviewer Response:
Ack! I'm sorry, Ichiban! Just so everyone knows, Ichiban was telling me how "cushy" she was a few weeks ago and that inspired the cushy comment by Marco when he was leaning against Amelia in the last chapter. Or at least, that's how I remember it . . . ;p I'm sorry Miss Victory, don't hurt me! It was a joke!
Well, Wesley, assuming that Amelia's still around in the next few chapters (and the others for that matter), I expect we'll see a bit of Lina's talents rubbing off on her. Thanks for the compliments!
Nice to hear from you too, Otaku girl. Don't be a stranger! And it was the vampire smiling, not Zel. And if you'd figured out the Marco/Amelia/Vampire thing already, I'd accuse you of being psychic!
Glad you enjoyed the comedy, blue lady! And thanks for the kind words on the Zel scene!
Don't hurt yourself jumping around there, Stara. Just kidding! Yeah, I'm back, in a somewhat limited capacity. Updating when inspiration strikes instead of keeping to a schedule. I think it's helped the story a lot.
Ishy-chan, are you an Anne Rice fan? Because, that's the only place I'd heard about vampires not being able to feed on the dead. For the purposes of ET, blood is blood, be it living or dead.
Kaitrin, I answered the first part of your question and as for the second . . . you'll have to wait and see. Sorry, I don't want to spoil too much. Especially since you know one of the larger plot points. I can't give them all away, can I?
Hello, Miss Gabriev! Things aren't looking too bright for Zel and Amelia, are they? Not to mention poor Marco . . . In any case, I hope that you remained confused, in a good way, I mean.
BlueJellyFish, aren't you a little young for this fic? Just kidding! Thank you for the compliments on the L/G ness. There was a bit this chapter, as you saw, and there will be more down the road.
A very special thanks to my beta reader, Ichiban Victory and to my R.I.G.
It was easier said than done. Sarah had been walking quickly, on the verge of breaking into a sprint as fear threatened to overtake her. She was a levelheaded girl, however, and forced herself to stop and take a deep breath. "Okay," she whispered, "let's think for a second, Sarah." Speaking aloud, even if it was naught but a whisper made her feel more confident.
The snap of a dry twig off to her right, terrifyingly loud in the silent darkness, shattered the girl's poise. A moment later, a nearby bush shook, despite the lack of any wind. "I-Is anyone there?" she called out, failing to keep the tremble from her voice.
In response, leaves rustled somewhere to the left, just out of Sarah's sight. Just a raccoon or something, of course, she told herself. They were brazen little things, braving the village night after night in search of choice pieces of garbage. The noise paused and she got the sick sense that whatever was in the brush was staring at her. Not even noticing that she'd done so, she stopped walking and tried not to move at all.
There. The rustling sound was moving away. The raccoon had apparently decided that Sarah wasn't worth further study. That was fine by her. She let out the breath she'd been holding, the noise like an explosion in the silence. Cringing a bit, she glanced around, hoping that nothing had heard her. The forest was eerie in its silence.
Sarah crept along at a snail's pace, not wanting to draw the ire of whatever had silenced life in the glade. Another step and she was ankle deep in a puddle of icy water. She bit off a yelp of shock and fright and cowered in anticipation of . . . something. The sigh of relief had been overlooked. She was sure that she wouldn't be so lucky this time.
For just a moment, Sarah wondered when she'd gone from thinking a raccoon was in the brush to assuming that Shabranigdo himself was somewhere out there. Well to heck with this, she thought, turning on her heel. She'd just go back the way she came. Marco's mom would let her spend the night. Sure, she'd be in big trouble with her dad tomorrow, but all the same . . .
The path was gone. Somehow, she'd gotten turned around worse than she'd originally thought. She clapped her hands to her mouth in an expression of fear and hopelessness. Why hadn't she taken Marco up on his offer to walk her home? Why had she waited until it was so late? Why-?
Useless questions were interrupted by strange sounds again. There was no raccoon this time, however. Whatever was out there was big . . . and rushing towards her.
"Marco, if that's you, you're going to get such a pounding!" It'd be just like the little twerp to try to scare her like this. And despite her threat, which she was incredibly serious about, by the way, she hoped against hope that it was her friend. Except . . . it wasn't. Somehow she knew that it wasn't. He wouldn't try to upset her like this--maybe before the night at the reflecting pool--but not now. Things had changed between them, so suddenly that they'd both been taken by surprise, albeit a pleasant one. This wasn't Marco.
Frightened by that reality, Sarah panicked, bolting off in a random direction. As if sensing her fear and approving of it, the source of the noise increased its pace, easily matching speed with the terrified girl. For a few moments, terrified gasps and the sound of fallen leaves crunching were all that could be heard in the dark.
Sarah was crying now, tears blurring her vision. This coupled with the fact that dark clouds had hidden the moon made it almost impossible to tell where she was going. As a result, she tripped over an exposed root and fell face down onto the forest floor, skinning her knee. It seemed that the forest itself was conspiring against her. It was over then. Whatever was pursuing her was about to pounce. Somehow, whatever was chasing her had gone from raccoon, to human, to some sort of child eating monster in her mind. What did it feel like to be eaten alive? She had no desire to find out.
Sniffling, she swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing her face with black mud. She was running again before she'd even regained her footing; feet pistoning against the ground, flinging dirt and leaves into the air. It would do no good, she realized. The beast was right behind her about to pounce. Another second and she'd feel jagged fangs in her back . . .
Then she was on her feet and alive again. Things seemed to go right for Sarah for the first time in the chase. Her tears dried as if by magic, the blessed moon managed to shrug off its cover, illuminating the forest in silvery light, and, as if by magic, she'd found her second wind. She poured on the speed, grinning in spite of the situation. She'd always been incredibly fast, much to Marco's chagrin. He'd never been able to keep up with her when they raced. Chalk it up to her long legs, she thought. Legs that she'd once considered gangly, she emphatically thanked Ceiphied for in that moment. Nothing could catch her now. She was the wind.
Her elation lasted for only a moment as her pursuer seemed to increase its own speed to match. Footfalls echoed Sarah's perfectly, almost as if she were running from her own shadow. Knowing that she shouldn't do so, she risked a quick glance over her shoulder.
Nothing. There was nothing behind her. Cautiously, she slowed and the sounds of pursuit faded away as if by magic. Had she imagined the whole thing? She supposed that might have been the case. She'd been running pretty hard and maybe she'd been frightened by her own noises. Once she had the idea, she latched onto it eagerly; building it up into something plausible.
Yes that had to be it. A raccoon most likely caused the initial noise as she'd first thought and her imagination had just run away with it, turning into something outlandish. Marco would laugh at her if he ever found out. Heck, she felt like laughing at herself. So she did, banishing the last of those imaginary demons back to whatever dark corner of her consciousness they resided in.
So intent was Sarah on convincing herself that everything was okay, she failed to see the gaping ravine a few feet in front of her. It was only when she stepped out and found nothing but air to support her that she realized what she'd done. To her credit, she almost caught herself, flinging her body backwards and teetering on one foot as she stared into the blackness below. With infinite slowness, she leaned back, shifting her weight onto her rear leg, her arms held out for balance.
At the crucial moment when Sarah was precariously suspended between life and death, a gust of wind moaned in the tree branches overhead, inexplicable in its origin. There hadn't been so much as a breeze earlier. In any case, it was just enough to gently nudge the poor girl away from salvation. She cried out, her voice not heard by a single soul, as she fell and struck the bottom of the ravine.
Under any other circumstances, she would have survived, indeed, might have gotten away with little more than a bruised ego. The ravine floor was covered with several years worth of dead leaves, making her landing quite comfortable. However, it seemed that ill fortune was not quite done with poor Sarah.
The girl would have been fine if she'd hit anywhere else, but somehow she managed to strike her head on the only rock within twenty feet. She laid there, blank eyes staring uncomprehendingly at the wall of clay rising before her. Her feet drummed spastically against the ground, nothing more than the feeble struggles of a doomed life fighting for survival. Mercifully, she'd been all but rendered unconscious and was blissfully unaware of the fact that her life was flowing from her cracked skull in a steady stream.
She gasped one last time, reluctantly slipping away to whatever reward awaited her. And then, the forest was still once again.
Moisture hung heavy in the air, the parting gift of the storm that never really was. Two demons wearing the guises of mortals faced off. One was sweating slightly, his human weakness revealed by the humidity; the other was incapable of sweating--the moisture on its alabaster flesh little more than condensation. They both stood, still as statues, until the vampire broke the spell with a few words.
"By Ceiphied, it's hot, isn't it?" it asked in a conversational tone, as if Zelgadis hadn't almost killed it and wouldn't do so again with bloody enthusiasm. It swiped at its brow with the back of its sleeve, more in memory of its humanity than an actual expression of discomfort. The fabric came away dark with blood. "You'll have to forgive me, I'm not at my peak again quite yet," it murmured in way of explanation for the blood. Gesturing to the clasp of its cloak, it asked, "May I?" Without waiting for an answer, it released the clasp, which bore the insignia of the High Priest, indicating in no uncertain terms that this was one of Rezo's chief servants.
Zelgadis cocked his head quizzically. "You followed us all the way from Sairaag, didn't you? Why? Why are you hunting Amelia? To get to me?"
A snort of derision answered Zel's queries. "Brace yourself for disappointment, son of Rezo, but believe it or not, this isn't about you." The vampire shed its cloak as the newborn butterfly sheds its cocoon. There had been something almost divine about it before, almost surreal in its whiteness, but now it appeared far more earthy and real. The pristine cloak gave way to the drab well-worn clothes of a traveling priest, dark pants and a baggy tan shirt. Around its waist hung a loose fitting belt bearing the scabbard Zelgadis had bought for Lina so long ago.
If Zelgadis thought that the vampire's identity would be revealed just because it'd shirked its disguise, he was sadly mistaken. Interestingly enough, he was the reason that it couldn't be identified. Its face was a nightmarish ruin, blood flowing freely from multiple cuts and gouges. The entire left side of its face was gone, scraped away when Zelgadis had smashed it against a tree two nights past. All the teeth lining that side of its jaw were plain to see, making it look as if it wore a constant grin. The top of its head was a skull in name only--little more than a thin membrane of flesh and flecks of bone stretched across its brain. Sporadic tufts of dark hair were struggling to grow at different spots on its head and, for the most part, they were failing miserably. It hadn't quite recovered from their previous encounter, it seemed.
Zelgadis heard Amelia gasp behind him. It was dark, but her eyes had been able to discern enough to know that this... creature shouldn't have been alive. For his part, the former Chief Minister of Sairaag didn't bat an eye. He'd seen far worse in his nightmares. "You say this isn't about me. What's your interest in Amelia?"
The vampire waggled a finger at Zelgadis and shook its head, mirth dancing in its one good eye. "Now that, of course, is a secret. Take comfort in this fact: You're not at the top of my list. To be quite honest, you're somewhere near the very bottom. So, if you'd be so kind as to step aside, I'll take the young lady and leave your murder for another evening."
In answer to the vampire's offer, Zelgadis flung his own cloak aside, not wanting to worry about getting tangled in the bulky thing. He lowered his center of gravity and instinctively flung his wings out to their full span in an effort to intimidate his foe.
"Oh, you mean to fight me?" the vampire asked in a tone of mock surprise. "You're willing to die for this little girl? Think about it, Zelgadis. If you're anything like the others, you have a good two or three centuries left to live. Run away. Hide from me. Don't throw your life away on this pretty little thing. Beauty fades."
"Big talk coming from someone I all but killed last time we met." Zelgadis briefly wondered what his foe had meant by "others", but quickly shoved the thought aside. There would be time to ask questions after he'd torn its arms and legs off.
"Oh, don't remind me," the vampire groaned, shaking its head ruefully. It assumed a defensive stance and quickly unbuckled its sword belt. "The thought that a clumsy oaf like you almost ended my life... well, it's embarrassing. I mean honestly!"
"What do you think you're doing?" Zelgadis asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as his foe wrapped its belt around the ornate sheath. "Do you think this is some kind of game?" He'd been ready for just about anything. Anything except his foe disarming itself.
"Oh, not at all, Master Greywords. I don't play games. I leave such nonsense to children and fools." It knelt and spread its cloak on the ground. With a great deal of reverence, it laid the sword in the center of the cape to keep it from getting dirty. "I'd rather not stain my blade with the filth running through your veins. That's all." Standing again, it beckoned to Zelgadis. "If you mean to kill me, get on with it. I don't have all night, you know."
Zelgadis didn't need to be asked twice. Without warning, he launched himself forward, meaning to cut the vile thing in half with one swipe.
Some distance away from melee, the would-be rescuers wandered through the darkness. They were anything but imposing. Lina clung to Gourry's sword arm as if it were life itself. This had the none too helpful effect of rendering him totally useless should something leap out of the darkness. He'd asked her to let go once and she'd given him such a frightened look that he had quickly dropped the subject. Did she have to dig in with her nails like that though?
An owl hooted loudly overhead and the redhead dug in so much that she almost drew blood. That was enough of that, Gourry decided. "Lina, let go," he gently, yet sternly instructed, easily detaching her viselike grip from his forearm. "What the heck is the matter with you?" As soon as he'd removed her hand, she'd closed the distance between them and now had both arms firmly attached to his waist.
"I . . . I'm cold," Lina lied. She whispered almost inaudibly, obviously not wanting Jillas to hear. The fox was about a dozen feet ahead of them, little more than a silhouette in the dim glow of the lantern Gourry carried.
"Cold?" Gourry repeated dubiously. It was a warm summer night, made nauseatingly humid by the recent rainfall. "Are you sick?" he asked, scrutinizing her face in the lamplight. She didn't look sick. A bit pale was all. Still, there was only one way to know for sure. He gently brushed crimson bangs aside and laid his hand against her forehead, pointedly ignoring the glare she shot him. She was cool. That settled it then. "You're scared." There was a bit of awe in his voice as he spoke. Nothing scared Lina. She became flustered at the drop of a hat, startled easily, and even got hysterical at times, but for the life of him he couldn't remember ever seeing her genuinely afraid.
"Keep your voice down!" Lina hissed, squeezing him for emphasis. She glanced over at the fox man to see if he'd heard. If he had, he didn't acknowledge it, intent on his hunt for his master.
"Sorry." Lowering his voice to a stage whisper, Gourry repeated, "You're scared." The repetition earned him a hard elbow in the stomach. Once he'd gotten his wind back, he whispered, "Why?" Lina wouldn't even look him in the eye, preferring to look around in every conceivable direction as if expecting an attack at any moment.
"You've got to stay on your toes," Lina replied, struggling to sound calm. "You never know when some evil beast will just lunge out of the darkness and try to pull your head off. It's all part of being a professional Slayer."
"Oh." There was a moment of silence as Gourry mulled over that bit of information. "So, being a good Slayer means you have to be a paranoid lunatic?" he concluded.
"Something like that," Lina growled through gritted teeth. A moment later, she sighed and forced herself to loosen her grip around his waist. "Sorry, it's just really creepy out here is all." As if on cue, something growled nearby, setting her on edge again. "Did you hear that?" Her hand strayed to the hilt of her dagger as she scanned the area suspiciously. "It's probably some slavering beast waiting for an opportunity to pounce."
"No, that was my stomach," Gourry admitted with a sheepish grin.
"Yeah, just like I said: a slavering beast. Hey, that reminds me . . ." Lina's face lit up and she began rummaging around in her apron pockets. "Now where did they go? Jeez, there's only two pockets in this thing. How could I have lost them?"
Gourry smiled at the redhead. Apparently, whatever had been on her mind had been shoved to the side for the time being. He made a mental note to ask her about it later. After all, how was he supposed to protect her if he didn't know what scared her?
"Found 'em!" Lina exclaimed triumphantly as she yanked a handful of pecans from her pocket. "Here. I saved them for you at the expense of my own neglected tummy." She made a show of looking pathetic while rubbing her stomach.
"Hey! Thanks!" Gourry accepted the food gratefully and began to wolf them. Grandmother's cooking just hadn't done anything for him that morning, despite the sheer volume of food he'd consumed. He paused in mid bite when he noticed Lina studying his face. She was wearing a cheerful and somewhat dreamy expression. "What?" he asked, her smile spreading to his face as well.
"Oh, nothing!" Lina yelped, her face turning a bright shade of red, noticeable even in the dim light of the lantern. She hastily searched for something else to look at and finally settled on the moon overhead.
Gourry gave her an inquisitive look that she pointedly ignored before shrugging and going back to eating.
When she was sure that Gourry was engrossed once again, Lina stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the food and that pleased her to no end. She had spent a good deal of the afternoon shelling the nuts for him, cracking them on the corner of the nightstand and meticulously picking through the remains for the good pieces. It'd been a tedious task, but the idea that she was doing it for Gourry made it more bearable.
When he locked eyes with her, she realized that she'd been staring again and forced herself to look down at the ground. She didn't know why she was so skittish around him; they'd slept together for Ceiphied's sake. That was a pretty major sign of attraction, right? On the other hand, that had also been the first time she'd allowed herself to open up to him. Maybe it was because things were happening so fast. Maybe it was because she'd never felt this way before—had never allowed herself to feel for anyone. Maybe . . .
"Hey, fuzz face!" she called out, quashing her thoughts about Gourry. The unfortunate fox man was the only thing she could think to focus on. "Catch!" She'd meant to toss him some pecans, as he was obviously hungry as well, stealing the occasional ravenous glance at her food. Sadly, she was so flustered by the way Gourry had looked at her, the toss ended up being overhand instead of underhand. To be quite honest, it wasn't really a toss either. "Toss" implied a gentle throw—something meant to be caught. This was more of a "launch with intent to maim" than a "toss".
Jillas turned around just in time to catch one between the eyes. He yelped in pain and clapped his hands to his face as the pecan went soaring up into the air before coming down on top of his head, adding insult to injury. Sparing Lina a murderous look and muttering things under his breath that are best not repeated, he turned and skulked off, continuing his search for Boss and Sis. He'd never understand why the redhead insisted on tormenting him so.
Wincing guiltily, Lina turned back to Gourry and asked, "So, did you two find anything while you were out this morning?" They had to have, right? They were out from morning until after dark.
"Girl," Gourry managed between mouthfuls of food.
"A girl," Lina repeated, feeling a twinge of jealousy. She quickly shoved it aside. "Did she know anything useful?"
"Don't know," Gourry mumbled with a shrug. "She was dead. For a long time too, it looked like."
"Dead?" Lina shivered at the thought. Where had Gourry found a dead girl? Sensing her anxiety return, she quipped, "What, did you dig her up or something? You couldn't have been THAT hungry." Okay, that didn't help a bit, she realized. The image of Gourry, the world's stupidest flesh eating zombie, sprang up in her mind and she quickly shoved it aside. This was no time to be giving herself the jitters. She plucked the lantern from Gourry's grasp and turned the knob on its side, upping the light that it cast on the area around them. This didn't help with the heebie-jeebies so much as it created more shadows for her to jump at.
"She wasn't buried," Gourry explained, giving the redhead a questioning look. Getting the distinct feeling that she was adamant about not talking about her anxiety, he sighed and continued his explanation. "She wasn't even concealed that well. Just covered by a bunch of leaves, really."
"You'd think someone would have found her," Lina mused aloud. "I wonder if they even looked."
"Of course they would have looked!" Gourry insisted, sounding a bit offended. "They wouldn't just leave someone out there. These are the people I grew up with, you know."
"Hmm," Lina mumbled noncommittally. After a long moment of thought, she glanced up at her protector and asked, "Gourry, do you think they just forgot about her?" She held her hands up defensively when the swordsman shot her an irritated look. "I'm not saying they're all jellyfishes, although I hadn't considered that . . ." Quickly getting back on track, she added, "Anyway, they did lose five years somewhere along the line, right? Maybe they lost her along with the time?"
Gourry grimaced. He appreciated the fact that Lina was actually turning to him for his thoughts, but he really had no idea of what to say. He turned to his charge and was about to apologize when an idea struck. "Grandma would know!" he blurted out eagerly. "She knows everything that goes on around here. I'll ask her when we get back."
At that moment, Jillas froze in his tracks, nothing moving save for his tail, which swished back and forth in long slow stokes. He'd sensed something. Whether it was a new scent or sound, he didn't bother to explain. The fact that he darted off into the brush was indication enough that he'd found them. He'd found Amelia and Zelgadis, or soon would in any case.
Lina and Gourry locked eyes for a moment, his full of hope, hers full of trepidation, before chasing after the rapidly departing fox man.
The vampire grunted, not in pain so much as reflex, as Zelgadis slammed his fist into its ribs, puncturing something soft within. It didn't matter. The organs were dead anyway, serving no function. What use had it for lungs? Breathing was a habit only, done only in remembrance of a life long gone. Only one thing mattered on the inside: the black heart that sustained its unlife.
Zelgadis suppressed a grin, struggling to keep from enjoying what he was doing. He'd been working his foe over for five minutes now and was coming dangerously close to losing control and ripping it to shreds. He didn't want Amelia to see him like that. It might be best for her to know how cruel he could be, but still, she treated him like a person, which was more than most people had ever done. If he acted like an animal, she may very well start treating him like one.
The dead thing had stopped moving. Grimacing distastefully, Zelgadis grabbed the back of its shirt, pulling it off his talons with a sickening slurp. He hadn't realized that he'd struck quite so hard.
"Are you done hurting me?" the vampire gurgled almost inaudibly. Black blood bubbled up in its throat and ran out between its teeth; it seemed that lungs were good for something after all. It was going to be a lot harder to communicate when they were flooded with blood. Clearing its throat, it spat a disgustingly large amount of viscous fluid onto the ground. "Forgive me," it apologized, sounding sincere for once. "That was most uncouth of me."
Zelgadis rolled his eyes and seized the front of the vampiric priest's shirt. Slamming the figure against a nearby tree, he briefly wondered if Amelia had been right about it being Xellos. The bastard was irritating enough to be the fallen angel. "Who are you?" he demanded.
The priest shook its head and opened its mouth to speak. Instead of words, it coughed violently, expelling a copious amount of blood onto the front of Zelgadis's shirt. It grinned in mock apology and shrugged, as if to say, "So sorry, I can't answer. By the way, did you know that this is your fault?"
Or maybe Zelgadis was reading too much into the gesture. Either way, it was still infuriating. He yanked the vampire forward and slammed it back again. And then again. When he pulled it forward for the third time, he was stopped by a gentle touch on his arm. He could almost feel the concern and even before he looked, he knew Amelia was standing beside him. "I told you to stay back," he sighed. "You're going to get hurt."
"Mister Zelgadis, please don't hurt him anymore," Amelia quietly pleaded. "He used to be good. He took care of Miss Lina, remember?" Forcing herself to look at the broken priest, she suppressed a shudder and added, "I know something happened to him and maybe he is truly wicked, but..." Sighing regretfully, she struggled with the rest of her words. "He doesn't deserve to be tormented. Would you...?" Her words trailed off and her cerulean eyes said what she could not. She wanted Zelgadis to give the creature a merciful death.
Had either Zelgadis or Amelia been paying attention to their foe, they would have seen an interesting gamut of emotions cross its face. First, sadistic glee as it noted exactly how much Zelgadis cared for the acrobat. Honestly, he may as well announce his feelings to the world. It was disgraceful that such a guileless creature had once been in charge of one of the most valuable cities in the empire. Chalk it up to sentimentality on Rezo's part.
The expression shifted to one of irritation as Amelia indirectly suggested that Zelgadis finish the job. How utterly and infuriatingly arrogant they were. As if a dirty blooded half-breed could kill it on a whim. Didn't he know that he'd been allowed to do as much damage as he had? It'd be a shame for him to die without feeling that he'd accomplished something, right? Unseen by Zelgadis or Amelia, it flicked its wrist as if performing a clever sleight of hand and was suddenly armed with . . . something. It'd been too quick to see exactly what it was.
Rustling from the bush that the vampire had been stalking was all that saved Zelgadis's life. Curious, it turned and watched as someone crawled out from under it. It did want to know whom it'd almost skewered earlier, whom it'd still skewer in the next few moments. "You?!" it gurgled, shock registering in its single amethyst eye as it recognized Marco.
Zelgadis and Amelia turned back to face the creature, sensing its agitation a moment too late. In what seemed to be the blink of an eye, Zelgadis's shoulder was dislocated when the vampire decided that it wanted to be free. Before the pain of the first injury even registered in Zelgadis's brain, a jolt of agony ripped through his chest. He glanced down to see a dark stain spreading across the front of his tunic just over his heart and understood what had happened. This knowledge gave him little comfort as his legs gave out and he collapsed limply to the ground.
Before Amelia had a chance to react, its leg had snaked out to catch her just below the solar plexus, driving the wind out of her. She was lifted off her feet and landed on her back, seeing stars and struggling for air.
The vampire cocked its head, admiring its handiwork. Zelgadis was as good as dead, his heart pierced by a sliver of wood. It was a little known fact—even among Slayers—that it wasn't necessary to ram something as ostentatious as wooden stake through a vampire's heart. On the contrary, something as small as a toothpick would have the same effect, disrupting the dark power that sustained unlife.
It nodded in satisfaction and turned its attention to Amelia. She was sprawled out on her back, her breaths coming in loud gasps. Lovely. She wouldn't be going anywhere for a while. It briefly considered finishing her off, but curiosity won out over duty.
"Young man, I'd like a word with you." it hissed in a raspy voice, turning its gaze on poor Marco who was rooted in place. It spat out more blood and crossed the distance between itself and the boy in three quick steps. "You obviously don't understand how this works," it whispered, extending its hands to lovingly cup the boy's face. It knelt down before him, bringing their faces inches from one another. "When I kill someone, they tend to stay dead," it calmly explained.
Marco nodded in spite of himself. He didn't even hear the vampire's words. His thoughts were focused entirely on the ruined face before him. It was like something out of his nightmares. Especially the teeth; he found himself unable to tear his gaze from those jagged fangs.
"Child, I'll thank you to look me in the eye when I talk to you. I'm your elder and I will be respected." The vampire tilted Marco's chin up until he was staring into its eye. "That's better. Now, why aren't you resting?" There may have been the slightest hint of sympathy in its voice, but it was hard to tell. Everything that it said was, quite frankly wet sounding. "Calm yourself, child. For the moment, you are in no danger. Just answer my question and I'll let you go." Cool fingers stroked the boy's cheek reassuringly, leaving streaks of semi congealed blood.
Trembling uncontrollably, the boy began to speak.
The room was dark, save for the light of a single candle. The rhythmic creak of a rocking chair sounded impossibly loud in the otherwise silent room. Aqua sat in the chair, willing herself to fall asleep. It'd been an eventful day—what with the storm and all--and she was quite tired, yet she couldn't bring herself to sleep.
Every time her eyes slid closed she could see them in the dark; cruel beings marched through the forest until they reached the village, killing all in their path. It'd happened every single time. She'd start to doze off, but hear the ominous sound of the soldiers marching in formation or smell the musty scent of old death. Worst of all were the times that she saw their faces.
She shuddered at the thought and climbed to her feet, grimacing as she did so. Her old bones ached quite a bit, but never so much as just after a good rain. Still, she barely noticed the pain, as it'd been a constant companion for a very long time. Her thoughts were entirely focused on the dreams she'd been having.
Just for a moment, she thought that she saw one of the soldiers standing in the corner and her heart leapt into her throat. However, it was nothing quite so sinister; it was a shawl draped over a coat rack. She forced a laugh that she didn't really feel and maneuvered through the familiar darkness over to the fireplace. Hot tea was what she needed. Maybe that'd help her sleep. It'd never done so before, but there was a first time for anything, right? Besides, it was better to be doing something constructive rather than spooking herself in the dark.
She'd just gotten a decent blaze going and was about to put the kettle on when she heard the noise, a quiet scraping sound just outside the house, almost like something being dragged in the dirt. The tea momentarily forgotten, she set the kettle aside and crept over to the nearest window. She cautiously opened the shutters ever so slightly and peered out into the dark.
At first, there was nothing, just the quiet calm of the forest around the village. Aqua was about to close the shutters and dismiss the noise as her overactive imagination when she saw it; a lumbering hulk of a beast emerged from the woods, dragging something heavy behind it. It was moving directly towards her house.
Willing herself to stay calm, she pulled the shutters closed and quietly latched them. Then, she hastened over to the door, meaning to lock that as well. She hadn't done so in several years; the biggest threat she'd ever had to deal with was curious children and they'd always been easily dispatched with a stern word and a quick swat on the behind.
So, it was with no small amount of alarm that she found herself unable to recall where she'd laid the key. And there wasn't time to search for it. Whatever was out there was on the porch. Thunderous footsteps quickly crossed the front of the house until they were just outside the door. Unable to think of anything else to do, she braced her shoulder against the door.
It did little good. Whatever was outside flung the door open with ease, knocking the old woman onto her butt. It lumbered in, dragging its parcel behind it and bellowed, "Hello? Anybody home?"
"Gouren Albus Gabriev!" Aqua said in her sternest tone. It had the desired effect of making the huge man cringe. "What do you think you're doing, barging into my house and scaring the life out of me?" She wasn't so much irritated as startled. She'd thought that . . . No, better not to think about the dreams. She glared at him a moment longer until Lily stormed into the room.
"Gouren, what is wrong with you?!" Lily fumed. She shot him the dirtiest of glares, which had the effect of immediately silencing his stammered attempts to explain himself. Kneeling down beside Aqua, she snapped, "Take the stock down to the store before you cause any more trouble."
Gouren grimaced. "You mean tonight, dear? But, it's late and I'm tired . . ." If he'd thought that his wife looked cross before, he was mistaken. Her latest look was filled with such venom that he tugged at the collar of his shirt nervously. It was a wonder that he hadn't burst into flame. "Yes, dear," he sighed resignedly. He picked up the bundle with a grunt of exertion and sulked out the door.
"Are you all right, mother?" Lily asked, her demeanor totally changing when she spoke to the older woman.
"Oh, I'm fine, dear. Just a bit rattled is . . ." Aqua's face lit up, as she recalled something incredibly important. "Gouren, get back in here!" she called out.
Gouren poked his head back into the room, a cautious look on his face. What sort of punishment was he about to be given now? What Aqua said next was the last thing he expected.
"Gourry's come home!"
Amelia watched the interplay between the two with a terrified look. The misshapen vampire's face was inches from Marco's and it would take only an instant for it to close the distance between them. Despite the fact that she was gasping for air, she rolled onto her stomach and tried to climb to hands and knees. She strained with all her might, but couldn't manage so much as an inch. Mister Zelgadis, she thought hopefully. He could help Marco. She glanced over at her fallen companion and was unable to suppress a squeak of horror.
Zelgadis was lying motionless, the bloodstain on the front of his tunic spreading further by the moment. His right arm hung at an unnatural angle and his pale face was taut as he tried to hide the pain he was feeling.
"What'd he do to you?" Amelia whispered. With much effort, she dragged herself over to Zelgadis and tentatively reached out, meaning to stem the flow of blood from his wound. She knew a little about first aid—working in the circus, it was hard not to. Between the animals and stunts there was always the potential for injury and she'd helped out whenever she could.
Just before her hand reached made contact with his chest, she froze. For a moment, it felt as if her arm was no longer her own. She glanced down at Zelgadis questioningly and was startled to see the intensity in his gaze. With phenomenal effort, he shook his head; left, right, and back to center. It was an effort to do even that, but he could have yelled for her not to touch him and not gotten better results. There was a cold warning in his gaze: Don't touch it.
Amelia shuddered and yanked her hand back as if she'd been burned. It'd felt as if Mister Zelgadis were yelling directly into her head. And who knew, maybe he had been. She remembered what he'd said to the guard as they were leaving Sairaag. "Cut your throat," he'd ordered. That had been the cruel thing within him, not the man looking at her now, but it seemed to have the same effect.
Look, he commanded without opening his mouth and Amelia found herself compelled to do so. The blood was moving; thrashing about as if aware of what was happening. A moment later, it formed small tendrils that shot downwards into Zelgadis's wound. He tensed up, unable to suppress a hiss of agony as Grou performed its rudimentary surgery.
There was a wet plop and the foreign object was worked free of Zelgadis's chest. He grunted quietly, not wanting Xellos to hear him. Thankfully, the vampire seemed to be focused on Marco to the exclusion of all else. He wished that he could hear what they were saying, but at the moment his world consisted solely of his irregular pulse hammering in his ears.
Whatever had pierced Zelgadis's heart had done major damage and he had starved himself for so long that he was unable to fix it. His back arched and his feet drummed against the ground as his heart stopped for a moment. Thankfully, it decided to fight on a little longer. How much longer, though? There was the question. Hard as it was to believe, he was dying.
In answer to his unspoken question, Grou showed him what had pierced his breast. The image formed in his mind's eye and although Zelgadis hadn't seen it physically, he had absolutely no doubt that what he was envisioning was what the demon had removed from his body.
It was a slender chunk of wood, no more than a quarter of an inch in diameter and three inches long. It couldn't be called a wooden stake by any stretch of the imagination, being little more than a sliver really. However, its purpose was as deadly as it was obvious: immobilization of a vampire for the purpose of severing its head.
Another jolt of agony shot through Zelgadis's body and he blacked out for a moment. He was briefly brought back to the land of the living by a gentle touch filled with love. He opened his eyes to see Amelia hovering over him, her eyes sparkling with tears. Sighing contentedly, he let his eyes slip closed again, wanting the last thing that he knew in the world to be her touch. His only regret was that he couldn't save her, but maybe Lina . . .? Surely, Jillas had made it back and was on their trail by now.
Grou quashed that hope in an instant, matter of factly informing Zelgadis that unless he did something, Amelia was almost certainly going to die; there was no cavalry coming to save the day, or in any case, none that would arrive in time.
"What would you have me do?" Zelgadis mouthed silently, far too weak to speak by this point. At that moment, he became horribly aware of Amelia's touch, of her warm hands brushing the hair from his sweat soaked face. His eyes flew open again and he stared at her in horror. No. He would not do this. Even as he denied it, his arms reached out to encircle her.
Amelia looked frightened for just a moment, before realizing what he meant to do. He was going to save Marco. Comforted by that thought and not wanting to make him agonize over what he had to do any more than necessary, she leaned down, turning her head to the side to better expose the pale flesh of her throat. Telling herself that he wouldn't hurt her any more than necessary, she braced herself for the pain she knew was coming.
Even after the terrifying pinpricks of his fangs piercing her throat, Amelia's resolve didn't waver a bit.
Next Chapter:
Notes: How's that for a cliffhanger, huh? I suppose this is as good a time as any to say that the story won't be updated again. Of course, you realize that I'm just joking, right? Hey, don't throw things at me!
Poor Sarah. She went through so much in so many rewrites to get to this point. She's been shot, stabbed, torn to pieces, raped, strangled, and um, I actually think she drowned in one scenario I'd envisioned. The poor girl had a rough time of it in the idea phase, but I'm quite pleased with how the final scene turned out, so good for me, I guess.
Well, on to the reviews!
Reviewer Response:
Ack! I'm sorry, Ichiban! Just so everyone knows, Ichiban was telling me how "cushy" she was a few weeks ago and that inspired the cushy comment by Marco when he was leaning against Amelia in the last chapter. Or at least, that's how I remember it . . . ;p I'm sorry Miss Victory, don't hurt me! It was a joke!
Well, Wesley, assuming that Amelia's still around in the next few chapters (and the others for that matter), I expect we'll see a bit of Lina's talents rubbing off on her. Thanks for the compliments!
Nice to hear from you too, Otaku girl. Don't be a stranger! And it was the vampire smiling, not Zel. And if you'd figured out the Marco/Amelia/Vampire thing already, I'd accuse you of being psychic!
Glad you enjoyed the comedy, blue lady! And thanks for the kind words on the Zel scene!
Don't hurt yourself jumping around there, Stara. Just kidding! Yeah, I'm back, in a somewhat limited capacity. Updating when inspiration strikes instead of keeping to a schedule. I think it's helped the story a lot.
Ishy-chan, are you an Anne Rice fan? Because, that's the only place I'd heard about vampires not being able to feed on the dead. For the purposes of ET, blood is blood, be it living or dead.
Kaitrin, I answered the first part of your question and as for the second . . . you'll have to wait and see. Sorry, I don't want to spoil too much. Especially since you know one of the larger plot points. I can't give them all away, can I?
Hello, Miss Gabriev! Things aren't looking too bright for Zel and Amelia, are they? Not to mention poor Marco . . . In any case, I hope that you remained confused, in a good way, I mean.
BlueJellyFish, aren't you a little young for this fic? Just kidding! Thank you for the compliments on the L/G ness. There was a bit this chapter, as you saw, and there will be more down the road.
A very special thanks to my beta reader, Ichiban Victory and to my R.I.G.