Once again, as a notification:

Chapter 2: The Blue Eyed Demon - shortened (and altered near beginning.)

(Note: I've also removed some chapters as you may have noticed...so right now, we're operating the day after Urith's moonlit journey and Reed's run-in with Nigel, the blue-eyed demon.) Please read and review!

Chapter 4: An Unscheduled Visit

The next day, just outside Visegrád…

Reed pulled up to a hoard of bushes, parking her moped as best she could in the glaring light. Bleeding eyes, she muttered, hand unconsciously moving to shade them as she locked the rental to a shaft hidden between the shrubs. It had been stupid, setting out so late this morning, but she'd slept through the alarm clock again…

…and such horrendous dreams. Reed closed her eyes for a moment, scrubbing her face with both palms to banish the fatigue. As usual, she'd spent the nighttime hours tossing on her bed until finally she gave up to sleep two hours before she was supposed to wake.

Tawny eyes staring at the ceiling. A man clawing his eyes out. The darkness of wolves howling below…and the voice laughing at death and telling me to rise. Rise up, Victoria…

…but I am Reed! She thought firmly, lips tightening. Victoria is gone and that's all there is to it. Now shoo! The historian adjusted her frames before opening her eyes again, scowling at her reflection on the moped…just daring the voice to try and speak to her when she felt this grumpy and sore. Not to mention, it was noon! The worst hour of the day…

As of two years ago, she'd had to make a point of wearing sunglasses during all daytime hours. Always traveling in shade…always darting between shadows, but it never seemed to ease the light flaming upon her pupils when the sun was at its highest.

And now to business.

She grabbed her helmet and snuck round the side of the bushes, making her way through the sparse woodland to the twenty-foot high fence surrounding the Farkas Hospice. True…the place appeared deserted and no one came within a mile of the "abandoned complex" if they could help it, but as a monthly visitor…Reed knew better. Never judge a book by its ripped-off cover, she muttered, creeping ineptly through the wire fencing (Exhibit D: wire-cutters) to survey the inside. The Farkas Hospice, she thought with a smirk. And, oh…was it pretty.

A complex of thirty or so dull metallic buildings, the discoloured Farkas Hospice could hardly be described as "welcoming", "friendly" or even, how shall we put it, "hygienic."

Every structure was surrounded by twenty or so feet of sunlight thanks to a ridiculous lack of shading in the area, while the grimy walls and broken grating created a furnace of burning hot air that seeped through the skin, baking the visitor's soles (in more ways than one) on the concrete flat of the compound. At nighttime, the same grating became a recipe for destruction for anyone without night-goggles…threatening to scrape off significant portions of flesh if trespassers weren't so kind as to fall completely inside the half-hidden gaping chasms that promised death…death…and more death.

…and granted not every medical facility could boast of white walls, antiseptic or airy glass windows, but at the very least, most didn't have a monthly bet on "how much rust can building #27 gather before the roof collapses?" (Secondary to last year's stake on "which visitor/patient/trespasser will accidentally die from lead poisoning and/or run into a nail first?")

But wait, Urith's welcoming mat doesn't stop there…no no…Reed smirked, her fingers starting to twitch as she wandered about the complex, searching for the entrance…she's even decorated the place. Autumn colours to match that warm personality…

Taking a leaf from dear old M. Stewart, there was a lovely arrangement of barbed wire and broken glass in complementary reds, greens, and oranges along the rooftops…no doubt meant to lead the eye while providing a visually attractive accent. At the same time, much like that perfect oil-painting or antique vase, the extraordinarily rude "Trespassers will be prosecuted" sign nailed to every wall served as a final touch, giving the area a slight ambiance while creating a warm afterglow which could be summed up in a single word. (It used to be "prosecuted," but that had been crossed out and replaced with "shot" about four months ago. Dripping red spray-paint no less.)

Abruptly the extent of her skin started to shiver uncontrollably and a bout of severe paranoia began to creep waywardly through her senses…What on earth? Reed thought, her forehead dropping into an anxious frown as her steps ground to a shuddering halt. Giving in to her instincts, the historian backed up against the side of a wall and stopped breathing for a moment, listening instead to the empty silence. All was quiet, but she knew...Someone is coming…

Urith had assured her she'd be the only visitor this morning and in truth, she hadn't seen another soul since she'd been visiting the hospice over the past two years…but there was no denying it. Reed wasn't the only visitor walking the hospice grounds…

How could she…h-how could that…

That insensitive she-devil! Urith knows what I requested and this is…

…this is most…

She began to splutter, scrounging for a word, unsure how she could have company here of all places…and abruptly, her hands scrunched into fists and she stomped her foot quietly (if such a thing can be done.) This is most…improper! concluded the scowling historian as she tried to ignore the quivers that racked her body…the fear that made it completely impossible to affect normal behaviour in the presence of others.

…and within seconds, she heard them…

Steps coming in the distance.

Just perfect…and no broom closet this time. As disgusting as the compound was, there really wasn't an adequate hiding place short of pasting oneself to the walls. Even then, the sun managed to shine itself on everything and everyone…searching out intruders like a prison ground. Nothing for it then…she'd just have to wait until whomever it was had passed. And from the sounds of it, they were approaching from the north side…nowhere near her path, so in theory, there was no need to worry except…

…the footsteps stopped.

She turned her head nervously, still trying not to breathe. The vagrant must be at the fifth entrance already…or perhaps even the fourth…but at the very least, they had stopped moving which suggested they were no closer than…

"Why are you here?"

Reed squeaked, jumping back from the dirt-encrusted wall, only to be caught forcefully by her right arm and dragged back from the grate she was about to drop into. The deep, reverberating voice (which had just hissed in her right ear) slammed her firmly back against the wall…checked her ability to stand for a split-second and then continued to hold tightly to her upper limb. He leaned in towards her and hissed again… "Answer the question, youngling…"

Oh God…I'm going to die. She shook her head at him, incapable of speaking…already reduced to stutters in the face of normal people and now completely mute after meeting this ruffian. He was extraordinarily tall…dark…and very…very well-built. In fact, his arms must be really quite lovely under that jacket, but please…not ready to die…

Without warning, a tiny hole slid open in the wall behind them and a dark growling voice hissed from within. "Raze, you half-brained lout, she's a woman, not a youngling…where's your nose? And you…woman! You are three hours late and contrary to popular opinion, I am not paid by the hour, so if you don't mind…" the hole in the wall rested for a quiet moment before screaming the last two words in a tide that deafened both their ears. "Pass…now!"

Reed flinched, sliding to the floor, having been released somewhere between the words "half-brained" and "lout" (neither one of which appeared to sit well with the ruffian, who had started yelling obscenities through the hole …but as long as his attention was directed elsewhere, it was all fine by her.) After a nervous gulp of air or two, her fingers managed to climb weakly through her satchel where, flipping through a favourite tome on silver hallmarks and medieval times, she found her ID card wedged between the pages. Still shivering, the disheveled historian got herself delicately on her knees and held the card gingerly up to the gateman's hole in the wall…trying not to look at either "Raze" nor the hole (they were both yelling now…something about sleeping with his mother's pelt or some such nonsense.)

Abruptly, a lever could be heard shifting squeakily behind them and an unexpected portion along the wall, three meters to the right of the gateman, swerved open into a dark passageway. Oh thank God, she thought, shifting her satchel into a more comfortable position and adjusting her sunglasses…after a second, the blood stopped rushing to her forehead and she realized she'd have to move if she wanted to vacate the ruffian's presence. Grabbing her helmet from the ground, Reed dragged herself cautiously to her feet, keeping a suspicious eye on Raze as she took her ID card back from the gateman's sun-starved hand (he was waving it very unenthusiastically outside the hole.)

"Err…t-thank you." She murmured at the gateman with a tense swallow, still eyeing the ruffian distrustfully as she logically deduced her next course of action…On the one hand, it appears as if this fiend has no intention of following me…or even killing me for that matter…and in fact, good manners suggest I, in truth, ought to introduce myself and perhaps thank him for stopping my fall earlier…

…but on the other hand…

Reed peeked restlessly at the dark passageway…

Less talk, more action. She nodded firmly to herself, forfeiting etiquette for those nerve-racked instincts that made her renounce conversation as of two years ago. (Or in the words of that dearly departed philosophy instructor who once gave a last lecture on the art of drinking whisky while sipping drunkenly on a glass of port…"Less talk and more action, you children of pestilence! Can't you see I'm trying to teach you how to…Margaret, you idiot…put down that glass. No…no the other way…that's right…now drink! Drink you fools!") And with that wisdom in mind, the unnerved historian darted quickly along the walls and vanished down the passageway at a dead run.

Raze, for his part, glared once more at the gateman's hole in the wall and slammed his palm against the metal. "Tell Aeduin I am coming, old one…and I will see Lucian this time, or upon my word, I will shred this place to dust." Without another word, the untried leader of the lycan hoard strode purposely through the dark gateway after Reed.

Seconds later, it closed with a thump, the metal siding appearing seamless once more as the gateman paused, listening quietly with his ear cocked…

…and slowly under his breath, the old lycan began to count.

Unus…duo…tres…

On the last tally, an abrupt shriek could be heard resounding from behind the solid metal walls, followed by a very deep and extraordinarily loud bellow of "Quiet, woman!"

From behind the hole in the wall, Helias, the First Gateman to the Underworld, smirked at the sudden silence.

Younglings, he thought, shifting off his perch to go inform the Master and Mistress that there would be two visitors today...not one.