Night's Children: Nox Noctis
AN: This is shorter than the other chapters, just because I felt it didn't need to be any longer.
I'm sorry this chapter took a little bit longer to come out, but the office that I work at has deadlines coming up, and Nym, being the corporate lackey that she is, has been overworked and brain dead.
Yay! Question and answer time!
Question: Is Trysten going to become like Stanton? –asummerlovex
Answer: No. He will be much worse.
Thus ends Question and answer time! Feel free to ask away, I will answer all of them! (note: ones that give away plot will be answered incredibly vaguely)
/text/ equals telepathic communication
Chapter Eighteen: Riley's Savoir: The Aftermath
Her first, and best, reaction was to struggle. Attempting to tear herself away from the vice-like grips on her arms, Riley endeavored to charge forward to the Cold Fire, pull Trysten away from it, and make everything all right again.
"Let me go!" She screamed, successfully wrenching away her left arm as she fought like a wildcat for Trysten's slowly dying hope, "Trysten, stop!" She pleaded desperately as three more hands took the place of the one she had just shaken off. "Walk out! Walk away!" She proclaimed, inching forward with a strength she didn't know she had possessed.
She could feel the bruises forming on her arms, the scrapes on her knees, but none of it mattered. All that mattered was that he was burning. Burning in her fire.
In the background, she could hear Yvonne's protests, "Someone control her! She's getting closer!"
But she ignored them, fighting to her utmost ability, sheer adrenaline controlling her movements, "Stop!" She cried again, her voice hoarse, "It wasn't meant for you! It's my fire! LET ME BURN! NOT YOU!" Her hand stretched and she realized she was reaching for nothing as out of the shambles of her thoughts, came the following words.
"Leve fit quod bene fertur, onus.(1)" The statement whispered across her mind as her frantic attempts were stilled at the sound of the familiar monotone, and she sluggishly looked up, tears in her eyes to meet Trysten's, yellow light beginning to obscure the dazzling blue that she only now admitted that she loved.
A hand, covered in frost, reached out of the flames and cupped her chin, holding their gaze. And Trysten spoke, his voice harsh and not his own, "This fire is for two tonight, join me, Lecta."
She froze then, bewildered as he called her by that title. She was no longer Riley to him, she was Lecta, and she realized she had lost before she had even started playing. "No," She whimpered, shaking her head as both of her hands pathetically grasped at Trysten's, no, its wrist, attempting to shove it and the grip it had on her chin away. "No, no, no," She repeated like a mantra as its grip only tightened.
"It is too late," the boy who was once Trysten said, his hand lowering to her shoulder, his long fingers splayed across her collarbone as he gripped it tighter, "You've lost everything. This is the only salvation left for you."
Tears began to fill her eyes and she immediately hated them, "Give him back," She whispered, whatever fight that she once held disappearing quickly, "Please, just give him back."
Had her eyes not been obscured by the water filling them, she would have seen a brief struggle flit across his face, eyes flashing momentarily from yellow back to blue. But it was over quickly, and he shook her like a broken doll to emphasize his point, "There is no going back." The harshness of his voice receded, only slightly, and it was then that it occurred to Riley that the Atrox was speaking through Trysten while whatever was left of his hope burned to ash.
"It wasn't supposed to happen like this," She muttered pathetically, "It was meant to be me, only me."
"No," The thing that was not Trysten sneered, "It was always meant for him, for both of you." His saffron eyes narrowed, "Do not run from me, little Riley." The way he said her name made her shiver, the flames curling around his face terrifying her.
"How could you do this to him?"
"He did this to himself." A wicked smirk crossed its face, "This was his choice. To surrender."
Disgust filled her, "Liar!"
He laughed, and it was flat, cold, "Why are you finding it so hard to believe? You almost did it yourself moments ago." There was a pause as the implications of his words hit her and she sunk to her knees, only propped up by the bruising grip on her shoulder. "It's your turn now."
With that, it dropped her to the ground a few feet from the base of the inferno, where in moments she was being picked up again by Followers, who began steering her in the direction of the flames. Dread filled her as she saw Trysten go limp in the fire, the presence of the Atrox itself leaving him as he sluggishly lifted open his brilliant, blue eyes, and stepped out of the fire. He looked at Riley, and she returned the gaze, hoping against hope that the old Trysten had survived the fire's influence. She prayed to see the emotionless, yet somehow gentle, features of the boy she could have grown to love.
That hope was effectively shattered when Trysten merely stepped aside, grinning wickedly as he gestured to the Frigidus Ignis.
The Followers grasping her dragged her back to the flames, and she struggled, but to no avail. She could feel the cold draft on her face as it roared and hissed. Her heels attempted to dig into the ground, to grasp anything, but it was for nothing as they simply slid across the floor to the frozen inferno. She tensed, and prepared for the end to come.
Yet, once again that night, the procession seemed to immediately halt as a flash of white light appeared right beside the Followers restraining Riley. An awed silence overfilled the room as everyone's, aside from Riley's, gaze drifted towards the interruption.
"You." Trysten bit out, his teeth clenched in agitation, and his eyes flashing phosphorous.
"You're damn right!" Came the fiery, and heartbreakingly familiar voice as Riley craned her neck to see the source of the disruption.
There, not a foot away from her stood Imy, her golden eyes blazing with barely suppressed fury and her arm in a sling. Using the momentary distraction, she quickly swung her leg up for an impromptu sidekick to the Follower's head, freeing Riley from his grasp as he crumpled to the ground. The Follower to Riley's left tensed, anticipating Imy's attack, but she disappeared and reappeared immediately behind him, wrapping her good arm around his waist and teleporting him elsewhere.
Riley wobbled on her two feet as she shakily regained her balance without the constraint of the Followers. Her head lifted, and she saw Trysten, power and fury bristling around him in torrents. She found the courage to speak, "Trysten, you can fight it." She whispered, taking a tentative step towards him.
He flinched for a moment and then chuckled, the same brutal sound as before, "Spare me your lectures, Riley." His palms pressed together, and she noticed he was drawing even more power from the Atrox for an attack, "This is where I belong, and I have you to thank for it. If you weren't so distracted by your ideas of nobility, you'd see that this is where you belong too."
Normally, Riley would recognize his biting words for what they were, a taunt, a provocation to get her closer to the Atrox. But this was not normal Riley, this was emotionally traumatized, exhausted, and crippled Riley and all those words brought were a stifling sense of guilt and regret.
"I'm sorry." She whispered.
Trysten's normally expressionless face became twisted with a cruel amusement as he dislodged the attack, opening his mouth to speak, but once again a flash of light interrupted him.
"Grab my hand Riley." Imy said flatly, suddenly standing between the two, though her panting betrayed her earlier fight, "We need to go."
She shook her head, ignoring the offer, "I can't leave him." She spoke softly, making eye contact with her best friend, "This is all my fault!"
Imy's eyes darted from her practically sister to the man who was now more a stranger than anything else. Trysten stood there smugly, his arms crossed over his chest and Imy knew who had the advantage in this situation and it certainly wasn't her, "That isn't Trysten anymore." Was all she said, reaching and taking Riley's hand as a disc of light formed at her feet.
"No! Imy-" Riley began but was cut off as the light enveloped her.
An impasse of action occurred, most Followers present far too bewildered at the sudden turn of events, excepting a few, such as Yvonne, who was currently swearing vehemently. Imy and Trysten were trapped in a stare down, as Imy began to vanish into the night.
"She'll return," Was all Trysten said off-handedly to the rapidly disappearing Imy.
She narrowed her eyes, "Not if I have anything to do about it," She snapped coldly at her once friend.
He sneered, "You are no longer involved."
"I won't hesitate to fight you," She countered.
His eyebrows rose as he calmly stated, "No, but she will."
It was the last words spoken between the pair as Imy too departed into the portal.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
It was an endless plain, full of nothing but death. There was a distinct absence of life; even the weathered and graying trees had withered away. Thunder rumbled in the distance, yet there was not a single cloud in the dust-colored sky. The boy shook, arms clutching around his shoulders as he shivered, the harsh winds whipping at him in the desert of decay.
Suddenly, the ground underneath his feet began to disintegrate, and the floor began to dissolve into what appeared to be a substance similar to quicksand. He stood and watched in horror, paralyzed, as his feet began to sink into the undertow, dragging him along for the ride. The worse sensation was that he couldn't struggle, not even if he had wanted to. Slowly, the crumbling earth swallowed him, spreading upwards from his feet, to his knees, waist, shoulders, until it just barely reached under his chin. Inhaling deeply, the boy fluttered shut his eyes and waited for the world to end.
But the apocalyptic closure never came, and boy noticed that the sinking sensation had disappeared. Cautiously, his eye creaked open, and his jaw dropped at the sight before him.
There stood a girl, surrounded by an encompassing blue light. Her amber colored eyes were lit with a reassuring feeling, and her mouth held the tinniest smile. The horrible backdrop of the desert had faded, replaced with a tranquil depiction of the night with a full moon glowing in the inky sky. Her hand was reaching out for his, and the boy realized that he could move his arms freely now. Hesitantly, he reached for the hand, but the moment he was about to make contact, the girl vanished into the darkness, and he was left alone.
And all he could remember was the glowing moon around her neck.
Twiggy bolted straight out of his bed, panting slightly as his mud-colored eyes darted frantically about his shoddy two-room apartment in almost paranoia. As soon as realization settled upon him, he sighed heavily and cradled his head in his hands.
It had been not quite a nightmare, but not exactly a dream, and he wondered briefly if that accident had caused more damage to his head than he had previously thought. His dream, message, memory, whatever it was, was the only thing he recollected from the day. The doctors had told him that he had been in a severe coma; one they had been positive he wouldn't have ever woken up from. He had simply demanded to get the hell out of the hospital, and they had let him, the doctors assured he didn't comprehend the miracle that had just occurred.
But he had. He understood that right now he should be either dead or a permanent vegetable, not conscious and certainly not awake and aware of his surroundings. It scared the hell out of him, quite frankly. He didn't believe in God, so some sort of spiritual awakening or pinnacle of enlightenment was out of the question, but still, he had experienced an out-of-the-body moment, and that knowledge couldn't stop his hands from shaking.
Sluggishly, Twiggy pushed himself out of bed and trudged across his rat-infested apartment to the dirty kitchen, where he turned on the faucet and waited for the brown water running out of it to fade before he filled himself a glass.
That girl. The one in his dream, she was the one who had brought him back. He was convinced of it, yet he didn't remember anything about her except her eyes and necklace. Briefly, he noted mentally that the necklace seemed awfully familiar…
Shaking his head as he chugged down the water, grimacing slightly at its metallic taste, Twiggy tried to clear his thoughts desperately as he tried to recollect his day, dispel that stupid vision of his, and get some goddamn sleep before he had to start his graveyard shift at the gas station.
All he could remember was driving his car…somewhere…as Imy across from him, being her usual bitchy but loveable self, Riley in the back, sitting somberly and playing with the frayed hole at the knee of her jeans. A flash of light, and then that cold, dead place.
That cold, dead place and then the girl who was almost angelic.
No, angelic wasn't the right word.
More like God-like.
A Goddess, yeah, that fit.
Twiggy scratched at the stubble forming on his chin as his eyes lazily crossed the room for him, before resting on the red, angry, digital numbers on his clock. His eyes widened, it was approximately one in the morning. He would be late for work. Being late equaled pissy boss, pissy boss equaled a higher chance of being fired, being fired meant no more rent for this glorious apartment as his parents were long dead and his friends had long since learned not to lend him money.
Swearing as he scurried around the room for the greasy overcoat that was his uniform, Twiggy pulled his dreadlocks hastily into a ponytail as he slammed the door to his apartment and began his walk towards the station.
Beginning to jog down the street, then cutting across the parking lot, as his gaze constantly flickered to his watch with the shattered lens, Twiggy didn't notice the bodies lying on the ground until he actually tripped over one.
"Shit!" He cried out in alarm as he toppled over the object in his path, his face connecting with the concrete as he came to a brutal halt.
Disoriented, Twiggy slowly stood up, rubbing his injured face as he attempted to comprehend what had just happened. "The hell-?" He muttered, before his eyes registered what he had tripped over and his jaw dropped.
It had been a man, who looked a little older than himself that he had tripped over. The stiff was dressed in an expensive looking all black suit and his limbs were spread at awkward angles. Upon closer inspection, Twiggy noticed that his face was screwed into a horrible grimace, his eyes staring and unblinking.
Hesitantly, Twiggy placed two fingers over where he suspected the man's jugular to be and shuddered when he discovered that there was no pulse. Backing up slowly and away, he froze when the back of his heel connected with something solid. Turning cautiously around, he saw two girls collapsed on the ground.
His eyes widened when he first registered the blonde as Imy and Riley's incredibly hot friend Tessa that he had met a month ago at one of the The Discards' shows. His heart sped up and gradually calmed when he realized that she was still breathing. Content that she was alive and simply unconscious, Twiggy let his eyes drift to the other body and he felt his entire being go still.
It was her.
The girl from his dream, he knew it. It was more of a feeling of recognition rather than a recognition of features as he felt himself drawn to her. Carefully, he lifted up her eyelids and wasn't surprised to see the amber color of them reflected in the streetlights. This, this had been the girl that had saved him from the cold, dead place. He knew it in his gut.
His eyes trailed down to her neck, where the moon pendant was slowly shifting colors. The rise and fall of the girl's chest told him that she was alive and kicking. And he exhaled slowly in relief.
Something glinted in his peripheral vision, and he turned his head to see that Tessa also wore the moon necklace that shined in the darkness. His eyebrows drew together, but for the moment he didn't want to question it.
Normally, Twiggy would simply stalk off, knowing that this rather odd discovery and situation was none of his business, he took a certain pride in refraining from sticking his nose where it didn't belong. But the dream haunted him, and he once again looked at the unconscious girl at his feet and something in his resolve to carry on faltered.
This girl had saved him from the dark place.
It was only logical that he should return the favor.
Groaning at himself for his, in his mentality, stupid actions, Twiggy began to rifle through the angel-girl's purse, looking for a cell phone with which to call the cops.
He exhaled noiselessly. He somehow knew he wasn't going to make it to work tonight.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Art's breathing was labored as he sprinted throughout the dark streets of L.A., knowing that time was running out. His arms pumped and his legs moved in a rhythm and of their own accord as his mind raced, Jimena's warning repeating like a broken record in his mind.
Jimena's dark eyes locked onto Imy's, "Something's changed, I just had another vision and if we don't act fast, two of your friends will die."
That was all the incentive he and Imy needed before they looked at each other and simultaneously asked, "What do we need to do?"
Jimena sighed, and first turned to Imy, "I need to know how much you'd be willing to risk."
His girlfriend, kind of, looked at her mentor, "What do you mean?" She asked in confusion.
"Riley has let herself fall into a terrible situation," Jimena responded, her mouth pressed into a thin line, "And if I send you to save her, there's a strong chance that you will be captured by Followers, perhaps even members of the actual Incinti."
Art felt terror grip his chest and he turned to the brunette, silently pleading for her to avoid even the mere possibility of capture by the Followers, but when Imy answered Jimena, it was clear and left no room for debate, "I'll do it."
Art could sense his heart sinking into his stomach.
A wane smile appeared on Jimena's face, "I'm glad, because you'll need to act fast. Riley's ceremony is being held at The Dungeon, are you familiar with the location?"
He noticed the slightest of shivers as she grimaced and answered, "Too familiar."
"You need to go in there as discreetly as possible, grab Riley, and teleport as quickly as possible." Jimena grabbed her good shoulder, "You understand how necessary it is that you don't draw attention to yourself, and that you get the hell out of there without a fight?"
She nodded but Art knew how ill-suited the words 'discrete' and 'Imy' were for each other.
"Go now then, it could already be too late." Jimena whispered, something along the lines of concern and regret crossing her face momentarily.
The teleporting Goddess nodded as she began to form a circle of light at her feet that would lead her to The Dungeon, but Art grabbed her arm before she vanished, causing her to look at him. "Imy…" Art could feel the words dancing across his head, knew what he wanted to say, but lacked to courage to voice his thoughts, "Just…be careful, ok?" He muttered, feeling ashamed and stupid.
Imy gently gripped his hand reassuringly, "I won't do anything stupid." Was all she muttered, giving him one of her award-winning smiles, before adding endearingly, "Dork."
Art let his hand fall and he gave out a sigh, "Geek."
Gordon, who had simply been standing on the sidelines, sent a look of pure bafflement to the pair, before snorting out a traditional, "Kids." remark.
And with that, Imy was gone.
There was silence as Art just stood there, his eyes trained to the spot on the floor that Imy had vanished into.
"Art." Jimena prompted.
He sluggishly looked at her, "Yes, Ma'am?"
Gordon snorted and she looked uncomfortable, "There's no need for formalities."
Art shook his head in obvious disagreement, "I know who you are, Magna Mater."
Jimena cleared her throat before returning to the business at hand, "What I'm going to say next is going to hurt, Art."
That had his full attention as his head snapped up to stare at her expectantly.
"You're going to loose someone very important to you tonight," Was all she said, her voice for once lacking its rough quality to be replaced with a comforting tone, "However, if you don't act fast enough, you're going to loose two."
He paled and his eyes quickly returned to the spot of Imy's disappearance, "Imy-"
"No. Not Imy." She responded curtly.
A sense of dread filled him as he thought of the only other two important people in his life, "Who?" He said, his voice almost at a breaking point.
Jimena stood at a loss, not knowing if it would be right to tell him the honest answer. But one look at his shaking frame and she automatically decided that she could not in good conscience lie to him, "Trysten." She spoke deathly quiet.
The man, more like a boy, nodded somberly as he chewed his lower lip, and tensed as if he wanted to hit something but said nothing. Jimena silently applauded him for his silent showing of strength, for a moment he reminded her of her self after she had first heard of Veto's death. It was painful, and hurt like hell, but it was necessary to temporarily ignore the grief if they were going to survive.
"What about Lance?" He questioned pathetically.
She exhaled as she attempted to order her thoughts, "My vision was chaotic and disordered, but from what I gathered, he didn't have much time." She paused, the visions of a figure in black on the ground and grasping for life flooding through her, "He's under some type of telepathic attack, if he doesn't get relief soon he's going to die." She paused and stared at Art, "Do you have any sort of mental powers?"
He squeezed his eyes shut, "Minimal. I don't have near the strength to fight off an attack that Lance can't even defeat." He sneered, "Servi were trained for little else but labor and servitude. My former master granted me a tiny bit of a Follower's powers for the sole purpose of his amusement. You can assume why I haven't been so keen on practicing them."
A warm hand enclosing on his wrist made him look up, where he was met with Jimena's determined gaze, "Art, you can be strong," She stated firmly, "You will be strong for Lance, the other option is too terrible to consider." She paused, "And you're not alone. Selene watches over all of her Daughters, and those important to them. She will guide you and give you enough strength to save your friend. But, you have to let her." Silence filled the room, "Can you do that, Art? Can you humble yourself?"
His answer was instantaneous.
"I'd do anything for my brothers."
The exertion was beginning to wear him down as he struggled to keep up his pace, knowing that every second he wasted was a second Lance was closer to death. Heaving and feeling like he was about to vomit, he pushed himself to the verge of his stamina, carefully following the mental signature that Lance was broadcasting throughout the night.
It was growing closer, and Art could only pray that he wasn't too late.
Turning abruptly around a corner and down a dark alley, he stopped dead when he noticed a black figure collapsed on the ground. Disregarding his earlier shock, he sprinted towards it.
Carefully, he knelt down beside the body, gently rolling him over to lie on his back and he exhaled in relief when he saw that it was Lance, with a pulse. His skin was clammy to the touch and deathly pale, his normally intimidating and lively eyes glazed over and numbly staring into the night sky.
"Shit," Art swore, fear for Lance choking him up, "It's alright, Lance, I'm going to help." He said shakily, then cleared his throat to sound more convincing, "I'm going to help."
He could see something flicker across Lance's eyes for a moment and he tried to give a reassuring smile, knowing that Lance could still process his surroundings.
"Okay," He muttered, pressing his fingers on Lance's temples and slowly closing his eyes, evening out his breath. With the little ability of telepathy he had at his bestowal, he searched and located the attack upon Lance's psyche.
/It's some type of barricade, it's freezing my central nervous system./ Came the ever-collected voice, or thought rather, from Lance /I've managed to stall its progression, to keep my major organs functioning, but I can't hold out much longer/ He sounded drained and ready to cave any moment.
Art nodded in response as he located the weak spot of the hold over Lance /Keep protecting your heart and lungs, I'm going to try to break this thing/ He replied determinedly.
/Comment (2)? I mean no disrespect, Art, but your telepathy-/
/Is pathetic, I know. But I have help./
Art cleared his throat and recited the words that Jimena had instructed him to say in order to invoke Selene's aide, "Coniunctis Viribus (3), Coniunctis Viribus, Coniunctis Viribus," He repeated like a mantra over and over again. Sweat began to bead down his forehead and his breathing increased rapidly as he began to practically plead the phrase out, "Coniunctis Viribus!"
Still, nothing happened and he began to fear for the worst.
"CONIUNCTIS VIRIBUS!" Art shouted to the night sky, gazing at the sliver of moon that hung in the sky that seemed to almost be mocking him.
"What are you yelling at?" Came a smooth, female voice from behind.
Art's head snapped around and his eyes landed on a girl that looked to be around seventeen. Her skin was pale and milky in the moon's light, her eyes glowed sapphire in the darkness. Her hair, however, was her most recognizable feature as it was as white as snow and cropped jaggedly around her chin.
"Who are you?" Art asked.
The girl looked at him, and then at the figure on the ground, "I'm-" She paused, "I'm just here to help." She muttered flatly, running a hand through her hair.
Art scrutinized her closely, trying to determine whether or not her sincerity was false, the briefest flash of a damning color across her retina immediately decided his judgment, "You're a Follower." He mumbled darkly, and his eyes widened, "Did you do this to him!" He demanded angrily.
She put up her hands defensively, "I swear, I'm just here to help! When I woke up and Isaac told me what he did…" Her voice trailed off as she stared at Lance's fallen form, "I just couldn't leave him dying like that in the dark." She whispered, more to her herself.
Bitterness swelled within Art when he stared at the Follower girl, his thoughts flashing to the already doomed Trysten and a sour taste acquired in his mouth, "I don't want your help." He spat, resuming his attentions on the dying former Immortal.
Fury overcame the girl, "Look, I'm the only one who can save him," She stated, "I know this technique like the back of my hand, hell I invented it." Her tone was harsh, "You don't have the power alone to save him, but I do! Forget your pride and let me undo the stupid attack!" She hissed, stomping her stilettoed heel on the ground for emphasis.
Jimena's words flowed through him once again, and Art sighed as he looked at his rapidly fading breath. The choking sensation reached him again, Lance was the only family he had left anymore, and he didn't have the power to bring him back from the brink of death.
But this strange girl did.
And he'd be damned if he failed another one of his brothers.
"Alright," Art muttered, relinquishing Lance's life to the girl with the strange hair, "But if you kill him, I will kill you, Atrox powers be damned."
She nodded grimly, and began her work, pressing her hand against Lance's chest, and effectively draining the freezing assault away from him.
The results were immediate. Lance's eyes shuddered shut and then abruptly snapped open, his back arching as he let out a spasm of what seemed to be a series of violent coughs and hacks. He suddenly collapsed on the ground, his breathing deep, and even.
Art looked at the strange girl meaningfully.
"He'll be fine, he's just resting." She spoke softly.
He nodded as he allowed himself to breath again, staring at Lance and once again taking his pulse, which was sure enough strong and steady.
"Thank you." He whispered desperately, turning his gaze back to the unlikely savoir.
But she had already vanished into the night.
Art sighed, and turned to the unconscious brunette, "Lance, let's go home." He muttered.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Gordon paced furiously across his surprisingly organized office, pausing occasionally to look out of the window at the moon. Clenching his hands around a piece of paper in his grip, he clenched his teeth and swore under his breath.
He had been at his office for about ten minutes, following Jimena's instructions and demands. After the two snot-nosed kids had sprinted away to save the world from the apartment, she had turned to him and demanded that he returned to work. He had been incredulous at first, how dare she demand him anything? But the curt way she had dismissed him and the hardened look in her eye had convinced him otherwise, and he found himself begrudgedly returning to work.
And he was going insane.
The night's actions had him full of adrenaline, and despite himself, worry was growing in the pit of his guts for that handful of teenagers that were currently battling evil in the darkness of L.A. Sitting here, ignoring an increasing pile of paper work, didn't seem to even come close to measuring up to what he should be doing. He wanted to help, and instead here he was, pacing.
In a sudden bout of frustration, Gordon savagely kicked the trashcan by his foot across the room, and it collided with the opening door.
"Shit!" Came the voice behind the recently opened door, and Gordon immediately recognized its owner, a guy by the name of Mickey Ramirez, a new recruit to the force and Gordon's personal slave.
"What is it?" He growled.
Mickey stepped into his office, still a bit shaken up after the confrontation with the flying trashcan, "We just got a call," He stated, regaining his wits, "Someone's reported a stiff down at the corner of Banks and Michigan."
Gordon sighed heavily, "I'll go investigate," He muttered. He might as well, and it could get his mind off of things.
Mickey nodded, "Want me to go with you?"
Gordon shook his head, "Might as well stay here and file the paperwork. I can handle this."
Disappointment was apparent before he sighed and stated, "Sure thing, boss." Before turning back to his pathetic cubicle.
Gordon grabbed his coat and quickly went to the destination.
OoO
When he arrived at the scene, the first thing he saw was a gangly looking kid with the rattiest hair he had ever seen, nervously fidgeting. The guy had brown hair, stubble, and an aura almost similar to a heroin junkie needing his next fix.
"You the kid who made the call?" Gordon muttered, resuming the 'tough cop' role that he had perfected over the years.
The kid jerked at the sudden sound put sighed when he saw the shiny silver badge, "Yeah, that'd be me." He muttered; his voice was a deep alto.
Gordon pulled out a notebook from within his jacket, "Name and age."
"Twiggy, er Todd Towlen, and I'm eighteen."
Gordon's head jerked back at recognition of the name, "The same Todd Towlen who was in a hit and run this morning?" He inquired.
He looked taken aback but gave hesitant, "Yeah." Then added carefully, "Is there something wrong?"
Gordon just shook his head as he recalled Jimena's demands, and began to wonder if there was more to this than coincidence, "No, just a small world." He stated. He paused for a moment before he looked at 'Twiggy', "Where's the body?"
Twiggy turned his head and began to walk into a nearby parking lot, "Follow me."
Gordon followed him until he laid eyes on a man, all in black. He inhaled carefully, the corpse was fresh, "How long ago did you find him?" He asked.
"About ten minutes," Twiggy shifted from foot to foot, looking nervous, "Listen, there's something I didn't tell when I called."
His eyes narrowed, "What?"
"Well, there was these two girls that were unconscious, one of them was a girl I knew." He muttered.
Gordon stared him down, immediately on the offensive, "Where are they?"
Twiggy pointed to two park benches on the side of the building, roughly ten feet away, "I couldn't leave them on the ground." He said.
Shaking his head and biting down the lecture of how you should never move anything at a crime scene, Gordon stalked over to the pair, Twiggy following reluctantly. Two girls that he guessed to be at fifteen or sixteen were lying on the bench. One was blonde, the other a brunette. Neither he recognized.
He sighed and was about to get more information from Twiggy, when something shinning in the night caught his eye. He froze when he saw the twin moon amulets hanging around the pair's necks and he automatically knew why Jimena had sent him here. He paused and turned tentatively around to face Twiggy.
"Hey, kid," He said, "Can you keep a secret?"
Twiggy seemed to scrutinize him for a moment before hesitantly nodding.
"Good." Gordon muttered, scribbling down something on his notepad before handing it to the kid, "I want you to take these two to this address and never mention this night again, you read me?"
"What do you mean? They should probably go to a hospital!" Twiggy argued.
Gordon shook his head, "That's a much safer location than a hospital, please, just trust me on this one."
A silent battle of wills was engaged before Twiggy sneered, "Any funny business with this place and I'm calling the cops and taking them to a hospital." He stated.
Gordon snorted, "Kid, I am the cops. And believe me, it's a safe house." He paused, trying to think of something to convince the kid, when it hit him, "You know Zalank, right?"
His eyebrows furrowed, "Riley?"
"Yeah, yeah. It's her place."
Twiggy didn't seem to believe him as he scrutinized the address on the paper, his eyes widening slightly as he recognized the address, "How do you know Riley?" He questioned suspiciously.
"I don't. But her guardian and I are…" He trailed off, "Old friends."
Once again silence took over before Twiggy bit out a, "Fine." There was a pause before he asked, "Can I borrow your phone? I need a ride and I don't have a car due to the accident this morning."
Gordon studied him, "Is it someone you can trust?"
The dreadlocked teen nodded, "Yeah, known him my whole life, he won't ask questions."
He relented, tossing his phone at the boy who caught it with ease.
Moments later, Gordon saw a rusted old mini-van pull up, and the trio were loaded and off within seconds. After he saw the van disappear into the distance, Gordon pulled out his phone and dialed Jimena's number, "The two are on their way to your place," He mumbled, "You know I'm going to have a hell of a time explaining a dead Follower to the forensics department."
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
A few hours later…
Jimena's apartment was quiet, tranquil despite the fact that it was currently overcrowded and the events that had occurred that night.
The first to arrive, rather abruptly, had been Riley. She had fallen, literally, out of thin air and had crashed into the floor. She had propped herself up off of the floor, registered her surroundings, and had immediately passed out, whether it was from mental strain or simple exhaustion Jimena didn't know.
About three seconds after Riley, Imy had suddenly appeared on the couch. She had given Jimena one, brief and prideful look of accomplishment before she followed her best friend into the blissful state of unconsciousness as she let sleep overtake her.
After Imy, there had been a hesitant knock on the door. She answered it to see a boy, whom she identified as Riley's friend Twiggy, and with him, were two unconscious Daughters of the Moon. As soon as Twiggy was sure that Tessa and Aria were situated comfortably in Jimena's bedroom, he had reluctantly departed, muttering something about being severely late for work.
The last to arrive had been a severely haunted Art, who had trudged in and stayed only for a few moments to ensure that both Imy and Riley were safe and away from the Followers. He had placed a kiss on Imy's forehead and a blanket over her before he left, calmly refusing Jimena's offer of staying the night due to Lance's condition back at their own apartment.
A few hours later, Riley had awakened from her self-induced slumber. She had said nothing, her gaze haunted and empty, as she walked over to Jimena, who was sitting at the kitchen table.
As if asking permission she had whispered, "Would it be okay if I cried right now?"
And Jimena remembered looking at her, for the first time, not as Riley the emotional rock, the almost cold and determined warrior of Selene, but as a little girl who had just lost one of her dearest friends. Who had lost her mother.
"You can cry all you want," Jimena responded.
As if a trigger, silent, fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Jimena, not being able to stand the fifteen year old's misery, enveloped her quickly in a hug. Riley had clenched onto her as if she were a lifeline, and the silent tears had developed into full, heart-raking sobs before she had cried herself to sleep.
It was now a few hours later, and the reddening sky that was showing outside of her window indicated that the sun was rising. Jimena watched it impassively, her hands wrapped around her almost constant coffee mug as she sipped out of it slowly.
Imy was still collapsed on the couch, her arm that wasn't in a sling hanging over the edge and the blanket twisted around her legs, indicating an uneasy sleep.
From her own room, Jimena could hear the bearish snores that must have belonged to Aria echoing, and Tessa's sleepy mumbles of protest.
No noise could be heard from Riley's room, and Jimena knew that she would be experiencing the deep sleep that only a fit of crying could bring.
She exhaled. The night had brought about a significant turn in events, one for the worse. Trysten, the Atrox's prodigal son had been turned, and implied that things were about to become difficult, and quickly. The horrors of the night were nothing compared to what this unique team would be facing, and Jimena hoped against hope that they would have the strength and resolve to meet the demons, both from the Followers and from themselves, head on.
The future would grant no reprieve for these four.
Tonight would have a lasting effect on Riley's psyche, she had been confronted rather viciously with all of her fears and doubts head on, and had lost one of her two most important people. Jimena knew first hand the guilt and self-depreciation that she would put herself through in the days, or even months or years, which followed. She had gone through the same process after they had lost Serena.
Aria, Tessa, and Imy would not remain unscathed forever either, and Jimena knew it was only a matter of time before they were each faced with the trials that Riley had faced for herself tonight.
She took another sip of coffee.
But for right now, they were all safe.
They all had their hope.
They were all still alive.
And it was the beginning of a new day.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Hope you guys liked it! Final chapter coming up!
Next Up: The Epilog, Riley plays for an audience of one. Also, a sneak peek at the next NC book, Night's Children: Cetera Desunt.
Translations:
leve fit quod bene fertur, onus- Latin- the burden is light which borne well, it's what 'Charlie' tells Trysten' earlier in the story
Comment?- French- How?
Coniunctis Viribus- Latin- With Combined Powers
!nym!