Chapter 2

Thousands of miles away, just off the western coast of Japan on a tiny private island far from prying eyes known only to a select few as 'Ashford Island', trouble was brewing.

Ash Ashford, only son of Alfred and Alexia Ashford and heir to the family, was practicing his fencing skills with an elegant antique sword against his opponent; French extraordinaire Pierre Vonte'.

The place was a large entertainment room inside possibly the Ashford family's largest and most exquisite mansion in the world.

Alfred and Alexia themselves sat to either side of a grand polished oak table placed alongside a big window overlooking the unforgiving rocks of a turbulent sea.

Alexia raised a cup of hot tea to her lips and watched with sadistic delight as her son parried and avoided strike after strike from Pierre's sword. It was she who had initially suggested the lessons, and so far she was quite pleased with the way it was unfolding.

For what he lacked in grace, intelligence, and viral powers, Ash was becoming quite deadly with the blade.

" How's your eye faring, Ash? Not giving you any trouble is it? "

Ash danced to the side and missed a stab to the chest from Pierre's blade. " No, not at all, Mother."

Alexia took another relaxing sip from her cup, the hot liquid feeling good on the way down. She recalled the process her son had went through to get his new left eye after the original had been destroyed by that cursed Wesker.

First there had been the medications and first aid, along with all the procedure hospital mumbo-jumbo to stop bleeding and promote healing. That was the boring part. That was the legal part. Then it had been time for the selection of the replacement eye. Ash had been all too pleased to pick out a stunning young woman by the name of Arin to be the donor. She had had such wonderful icy blue eyes, similar in color to Ash's own, and perhaps that was why he chose her; Alexia didn't particularly care. What she cared about were the fun parts, and once the donor had been selected came the really fun part.

After Ash had slit her throat with a very sharp kitchen knife, he and Alexia had went to work cutting out the eyeball even before Arin was even dead. Her bloodcurdling screams of pain and suffering were cut short by the rupture of her windpipe, leaving her to gag on clots of her own blood, feeling every stab of pain as her murderers cut into her before she was at last released by the friendly hand of death.

Ash and Alexia couldn't have cared less about their victim's suffering. They were too busy executing the outmost care in the proper extraction of the eyeball. One wrong cut, one wrong tissue damaged, and the eye would be useless to them.

Once the eye had been removed Alexia had went to work performing the necessary surgery, using the most sophisticated of tools paired with her genius and scientific expertise to masterfully reconnect the eye to Ash's empty socket. The result was better than Ash could've hoped: he recovered complete vision and thus far there had been no complications from the surgery.

However, he would always have three slender scars running vertically down the left side of his face as a nifty little memento of the day he had crossed paths with Wesker and nearly died because of it.

Come to think of it, what exactly happened during the last few minutes of that battle anyway? For three months now the question had plagued her no end. She remembered hearing Ash scream bloody murder and turning to see Wesker closing in on him, then….nothing. The next thing she knew she was waking up on the cold floor without a stitch of clothing covering her and Alfred hovering nearby telling her to get up.

How embarrassing.

She'd collected her family and flown home via secret Ashford family jet, of course, and later on Alfred had told her that during the precise moment in which her memory apparently failed she'd seemed to go into a kind of mindless trance, as if dazed.

That explained the memory lapse, but it didn't explain how she'd gotten into the stupor…nothing like that had ever happened before.

Hm, I suppose I shall have to perform further experiments with my virus, perhaps some of the effects have not been fully studied? It was a flimsy explanation, but the only plausible one she could offer herself at the moment.

Zoning out was not something she made habit.

Glancing across the table, she noticed Alfred's lips were an unnaturally bright red, as if he were wearing lipstick.

Which, she figured, he probably was.

Crossdressing freak doesn't know when to quit pretending to be me even now that I'm back!

Disturbing? Very. But it was the truth.

Not too long after the their marvelous resurrection she'd caught Alfred alone in her room squeezed into one of her dresses and wearing a long blonde wig--looking more like an identical twin sister than a brother.

How absurd! And he applies the makeup way too heavily…does he really think I look like that, with more eye-shadow than Cleopatra?

Even worse, the sister-loving transvestite could pitch his voice so that it sounded almost exactly like hers, and it was all she could do to keep from feeling gay for thinking of him in a romantic way sometimes.

Alfred had his problems, oh yeah. Half the time Alexia wasn't even sure which of his personalities she was speaking to. It was extremely embarrassing, and she'd told him more than once to stop, but without much success. It was just one of those things.

Luckily, Alfred seemed to have no trouble at all remembering which gender he was during their more…er…private moments. She had that to be thankful for at least. And despite his obvious shortcomings her brother was quite the loyal little worker ant, not quite as brazen or impulsive as Ash. A useful member of the anthill.

If Alfred noticed his sister eyeing him, he gave no indication of it. Silently, he lifted his own cup of exotic tea and took a sip. When he replaced the decidedly white ornamental cup back on it's saucer, Alexia winced at the faint impressions of red along the rim.

Alfred just gazed on ahead, completely oblivious.

She could stand it no longer. Alfred, you're doing it again. She scolded via thoughtspeak that only he could hear, her tone sharp and to the point.

Alfred looked her way, confused. Doing what again, Dear Sister?

Alexia rolled her eyes in a gesture of annoyance. Wearing my lipstick. How many times must I explain that lipstick is for females? Which you are not. Take it off. Right now. She pointed to a complimentary napkin folded ever so neatly next to his cup.

Sorry.

Was it just her, or did he actually sound embarrassed as he grabbed the napkin and dabbed at his lips?

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, and Alfred wilted under her scrutiny. I didn't mean to…

She never let him finish. Something's wrong with you, Brother. You've been acting strange ever since we got back from Africa, possibly even before. Something on your mind? You know better than to keep secrets from me.

For once in his life Alfred didn't know what to say. He didn't want to lie to his Alexia, but to tell her the truth--that he missed Alexis--was not likely to warrant a positive reaction in this case.

Ashfords weren't suppose to miss anyone. Even family. Alexia viewed such emotion as weakness, and Alfred knew all too well what his sister did to the weak and useless. He didn't ever want to appear weak in front of her.

For a tense moment, the twins locked eyes. Oh crud, what am I going to tell her? He faltered for words, then stopped when a deathly scream pierced the air; the clatter of swordplay simultaneously ceasing.

Both he and Alexia turned to see a triumphant Ash standing over the fallen form of Pierre, his sword struck firmly through the other man's breast. Blood gushed onto the light gray carpet staining it red.

" Mwahahahaha! " Ash's exaggerated laughter filled the room, " Ash kills again! " As a victory gesture, he plucked his bloody sword from it's fleshy sheath and swung the blade into a backward arch.

Without looking.

Too bad the Ashford family's display case full of priceless keepsakes and antiques just happened to be right in his path.

The silver-bladed sword sliced through the glass case in a thunderous crash of breaking glass where it just so happened to encounter and old Victorian-style teacup laced with solid gold. Blade and cup met, and the result was that the cup went crashing to the floor where it promptly shattered into dozens of shiny little pieces.

Alexia's hand flew to her face, anger mounting. He must have gotten the clumsiness gene from his father, it certainly wasn't from me! This wasn't the first time something like this had happened. She was starting to notice a trend here--Ash and breakables didn't mix.

Slowly, Ash gathered the courage to turn around and asses the damage. His eyes fell upon the broken treasure. Uh-oh, I'm in wicked trouble now! That was his mother's favorite antique! She is sooo going to kill me!

Sheepishly, he turned to face the wrath of his parents. Gulp! " Um…sorry? "

" Sorry?! " Alexia spat, " That cup belonged to our great ancestor Veronica! Now look what you've done you clumsy git! " She twitched her wrist and sent a blazing ball of fire hurtling towards Ash. He dodged and it exploded on the far wall, leaving a singed indent the size of a beachball in it's wake.

Ash did not like to think of what may have happened if the fiery ball of death had hit it's mark. His mother had quite the temper.

" You insult the Ashford name! " Alfred growled, his snobby tone resurfacing for the comment.

" Look, I said I was sorry! " Ash hissed back at his father, taking extra care not to aim the comment at his mother, " What else do you want me to do? Strip down to my underwear and sing 'Puff the Magic Dragon' whilst I try to glue it back together? "

As snobby and rude as Alfred and Alexia could be, Ash had practically defined he words. His voice dripped with venomous sarcasm. Geesh, all this fuss over a bloody teacup. Yet no one seems to mind when Dad plays 'Let's Pretend I'm a Woman'. Of course, he knew better than to voice that opinion.

It was all yelling and empty threats when his father was angry with him, but Hell hath no fury like his mother on the warpath.

" If only you had the sense to look before you…." Alfred froze midsentence, his attention drawn to an eerie scarlet mist drifting up from the doomed teacup.

Alexia too, noticed, and his parents' odd stares caused Ash to spin around where he got a good view of the mysterious fog-like mist rising up from the broken shards in a fiery reddish plume.

Higher and higher it rose, the red stuff coming out of the pieces at a furious pace, reminding Ash of those little smoke bombs he used to light on the Fourth of July, the ones that emitted a colored smoke. He'd always enjoyed lighting those and then throwing them at people; much like he did with cherry bombs, firecrackers, bottle rockets, and practically every other kind of firework ever invented.

Ah, the good old days.

Only this time Ash didn't associate the smoke with fun, but rather fear. He backed several steps away, watching it drift to the ceiling, sword clutched tightly in both hands.

At last the shards stopped smoking, and for a moment the entire corner of the room next to the display case and the body of the unfortunate Pierre Vontae' was filled with the mysterious red smoke.

" My god, who gave Veronica that teacup, witches? " Ash managed, nicely creeped out.

" I…" Alexia didn't finish, however, as just then the frothing red mist began swirling wildly like a violent storm, faster and faster, accumulating towards the center in an ever thickening mass. A shape began to emerge.

Within seconds, all the mist in the room was pulled together in a woman-shaped silhouette. A bright flash illuminated the room like a whip of lightning, the crackle of a powerful current unmistakable in the air.

When the three Ashfords' vision came back into focus, what they saw standing before them was nothing short of amazing.

Where once there had been red mist, a young woman wearing a fancy scarlet Victorian-era dress stood atop the shattered remains of the broken heirloom. Alexia guessed her to be around twenty years of age, maybe.

Once, twice, Alfred had to pinch himself to see if he was really awake or in fact dreaming. The stranger before them was a complete raving beauty even--and he would not dare say this aloud as the very thought seemed like blasphemy--more gorgeous than Alexia.

She had flowing red hair that shimmered with a godly golden hue reaching down to the middle of her back. Her face was flawless, her lips deep red, and her eyes the most beautiful shade of the most beautiful violet Alfred had ever seen. Her figure was perfect, her smooth skin a creamy peach a shade or two fairer than his own.

The stranger's eyes flitted around the room, taking in her new surroundings. Oddly calm, she seemed not to mind the fact that she was standing only inches away from a dead man.

Her gaze came to rest upon the destroyed teacup in whose remains she now stood.

Finally, she spoke. " I never, ever wish to see another teacup in my life! Hmphf, commemorative gift indeed!" She looked up, meeting the awed stares of her benefactors, " A many thanks thine humble servants. It was getting far too stuffy in there." She stepped off the broken teacup, making a face as she did so. " I am finally free of thy prison! " Her voice was perhaps the one thing about her that threw the rest of her image off-kilter. It wasn't unpleasant to listen to, but it lacked refinement and carried a certain wild, fiery attitude, suggesting it's owner as the type you didn't mess with. Not only that, it had quite a pronounced edge of insanity to it. Not much different, in fact, from the way Alfred would sound if he were female.

Alfred gasped, his mouth hanging open in a comical rendition of shock and awe.

" Who are you? " Alexia inquired, even though she already knew the answer. Curious but cautious, she was completely prepared to flay this young woman at a moment's notice if need be.

The woman cocked her head curiously, studying Ash, Alexia, and Alfred each in turn. " Thy name is Veronica. Veronica Ashford. I sense something about thee, all of thee, a kinship."

" You're the Veronica Ashford? Wicked! " Ash marveled.

Veronica nodded, clearly confused as to Ash's use of the word 'wicked' in context with the rest of his words. " Aye. That is thy name. But what shalt I call thee? "

" Ash." Ash introduced, " And those are my parents Alfred and Alexia. We're all Ashfords too."

" Your descendants! " Alfred finished, " You're our great great great grandma or something like that."

For a moment, a frown registered on Veronica's face. It was replaced quickly by a wicked smirk. " Ah. I see. Tell me, what is thy year? "

" Um…2004, I think." Ash blurted, and his parents could've strangled him.

" You think? " Veronica gave Ash an odd look, like he had just incorrectly answered the question what two plus two equaled, " Thou meanst to tell me thy doth not even knoweth what year he is in? This is what my bloodline hath cometh to? "

" Okay, try it again." Ash replied, " This time in English."

" Nevermind him," Alexia interrupted, shooting Ash a poisonous look, " The year is indeed 2004..."

" Ah! Thy infernal teacup hath held me prisoner for over 150 years! " She rubbed her hands together, her expression murderous, " This shalt be interesting, yes indeed. I shalt have thine revenge on thy jailer and then thy whole miserable world shalt finally get what it deserves! "

Her posture and tone of voice right then reminded Alfred so much of Alexia it was uncanny. Father was right, he thought, certainly Veronica's beauty is legendary.

" Well, now that thy formalities art over, we really must be getting down to business. I am your Mistress now, all of thee are to obeyeth me on thine every whim…"

This didn't fly with Alexia. " What?! " How dare she make such a bold claim! Ancestor or no I'm going to strike her clear into next week! " I am afraid you are mistaken M'Dear, it is I who am Mistress of this family." She rose to her feet, a ball of fire beginning to form in her right hand. " And though I have learned a considerable deal about you from the family records, even admired you to some point in fact, that's not going to stop me from kicking your sodding ass clear back into the teacup from whence it came! "

Veronica laughed mockingly, rising to the challenge. " Go ahead thy impudent worm. If thou canst."

Alfred and Ash backed away, knowing what was coming. Nobody spoke to Alexia in that manner, nobody.

Furious, Alexia threw her fire.

Veronica made no attempt to dodge. Instead, she merely waved her arm in a very carefree manner and Alexia's fireball jerked sharply to the side; deflected by some unseen barrier.

Veronica grinned smugly. " What thy family records probably fail to mention is that I am a sorceress." Her pretty violet eyes flashed a pure bright red for a fraction of a second, outshining even Wesker's before returning to their original color, " A very powerful sorceress."