It was nearly three thirty in the morning by the time their guest left. The other children, barely phased by the emergency lockdown and the soon absence of two of the Guard, had gone back to bed and told classes would begin at ten versus the normal seven. But Damien was to wired and anxious to sleep, which was convenient for Aro. "See if you can figure out where they are. Perhaps the outcome of this next mission?" He had cooed before turning and giving the twins a side eyed glare, "So we do not have any more screw-ups or accidents." Already he was disapproving of his daughter's new wardrobe choices today. She had on a pair of black trousers that hugged her legs like a second skin and a pair of smoky lace up boots that went mid shin. Her button down black shirt had one button open too many and she was wearing one of Alec's maroon blazers with the Volturi crest stitch in black. Her flawed argument in his eye, had been how they were traveling on foot and would be crossing the Alps as well as many other mountains and forests and that her normal ankle length skirt would be a hindrance in the January snow. At least her hair was bound in a bun, incarcerated and controlled by bobby pins.
He mulled over his many woes as he waited for a response from Damien. He seemed distracted, as usual. "May I please see a map, master?" he finally said quietly. His head really hurt. Like he was in a small room full of screaming children. Closing his eyes behind his cupper hands to block out as much light as possible as he sighed at the feeling of his pupils finally relaxing, he sat on the floor waiting for a map and for the migraine to subside. The sounds of children screaming and singing and yelling still rang on and on and on. It dawned on him it was a clue.
"Didn't you say the woman claimed there was only two Immortal Children?" he asked. Aro waited for the tail part. "Master," Damien added defeated. Aro smiled, happy that his pet was being obedient for once before patting him on the head.
With a map present, he began to outline odd shapes throughout Eastern Europe where Jane and Alec planned to travel through. Within these shapes he wrote words that seemed to be in some sort of Slavic language. Nikolaev, Viktorov, Princip, IIić, Zolnerowich, Geser, Zavulon, Mishukov, and a couple others he had trouble pronouncing and seeing clearly. But the word Volkov was marked everywhere, establishing a great amount of territory. In the middle of it all, he drew a giant star in the country of Kosovo. He felt a draw to the country, like looking at a picture of a friend. But he also had a feeling that they should avoid this area as much as possible. Demetri glanced over his shoulder, curious is he had been bested in finding the guilty.
"Those are all surnames," he commented with a furrowed brow. "Like families?" he wondered as he drew a circle where he thought the Immortal Children might be kept. You had to be nowhere near humans in order to prevent being caught. But close enough their creator could easily bring back blood without being absent for too long as they waited unsupervised and unguarded. It was a guess, but hopefully a well-educated one.
Alec asked to see the map next. The hand writing was not his son's. But he had seen this exact map and handwriting before. On the wall of General Grigsby's office. This map had to be dead accurate. "I can sketch a route that will keep you both the safest distance from potential danger and the different territories," Damien suggested. Even though he did not fully approve of the Guard and its morals, he was happy he could contribute somewhat. It was the first mission he was officially helping on. He drew a jagged red line that twisted and turned. Alec smiled proudly at his son.
Demetri dug into his pocket and pulled out his Nokia. "Here, you guys are going to take mine since somehow you completely destroyed yours in the bombing. How did you guys do that anyway? Those things are more indestructible than us," he laughed as Alec tucked it in his pocket with his lighter and matches. Being a Guard member required you have more lighters than a chain smoker.
Jane was sad Donovan could not come with them. We're a team, his sad eyes pleaded scared to have her leave as he hugged her close. She missed his warm arms around her. "I know you will do great. Kick some ass and raise some Hell for me", he had said resting his chin on her head as he hugged, taking advantage of her short height. But he needed to stay behind. The Cullens would be arriving tomorrow and Edward would be with them. They couldn't risk him reading their minds or learning about the children's existence. He needed to keep them safe. She just hoped there wasn't any more murders and that maybe the Cullens had been guilty so they could kill two birds with one stone.
As they waved goodbye to their coven and slung their backpacks over their shoulder, they began the hurried journey to where they would camp out during the day. They hoped to reach the Alps by day break. The red bread crumbed trail instructed them to cross through the Swiss-Italian border through the Alps and to make a wide arc north through Germany, Poland, Belarus, and finally the Ukraine before reaching their desired location.
As they silently ran along, dodging human view, Alec returned to organizing the knowledge he had accumulated while scavenging for more clues. It did not make sense to him how the Cullens could have possibly been involved. The only connection was they would have needed a shield to get past two trackers and even his son. On multiple accounts. He remembered when Carlisle had lived with them for a brief century. How the vegetarian vampire had shed a sliver of light and compassion that was a foreign concept to them. His soft words, calm nature, and eagerness to love everyone regardless of who they were. How when he had noticed Alec's love of reading, he had practically given Alec all of his own personal medical journals and textbooks on pharmacy. Alec admired his shared desire to take away people's pain. It was rather unfortunate that Alec and Carlisle had not been closer friends. Back then morphine was a luxury and scarcely used. Had Alec decided to venture into the medical field with Carlisle, he could have taken away hundreds of thousands of people's agony under the primitive surgery practices of the time. Murder was not in Carlisle vocabulary, especially if it chanced an invocation of war where he could chance losing a loved one. He also had his granddaughter at home and would not risk her being harmed if a fight broke out between their covens, something Aro had yet to understand and Alec was slowly learning with his own son.
Not to mention all the other clues pointed towards someone else. Something Wicked This Way Comes. Written in blood from pricking your thumb. Blood had been permanently smeared on Macbeth's hands, a curse for murdering the King of Scotland so he could take his place as ruler. The person who did this could possibly too have blood on their hands, besides the murder or potential murder. He had not been alive during Didyme's murder, but from what he learned it mirrored Santiago's murder in tactics and way of disposal. Renata's was completely different, as if done by someone else entirely.
They followed the route Damien gave them and arrived at the mountains faster than expected, giving them enough time to start scaling a more deserted region where humans would not be shocked by the two fifteen year olds clawing their way up the rocky cliffs with their bare hands. "We are almost to the cloud bank," Jane observed as she slowed her pace. They would be safe from the sun up there as the rosy streams ebbed its way across the saturated sea e sky dying it with warmth and the promise of a new day. The slick ice beneath their feet and deep snow made it difficult to travel much further. They had broken the tree line long ago and were in a kingdom of isolation. The wind began howling, hinting a winter storm. Eventually the wind and snow rolling over the crest of the mountain peaks began to build as they tried to pull their hood more over their faces as the storm started to push them back, threatening to blow them over. Visibility became a luxury as they shielded their eyed with the crook of their arms and averted their eyes from the ice clawing at them. Together they began to dig a trench to bunker down and wait out the storm.
Wanting to pass the time, Alec pulled a novel from his backpack. It was one he had read before, but thoroughly enjoyed each time. The cover had a picture of glaciers that mirrored the desolate snowy landscape around them. To him it was still a relatively contemporary text and notable work of fiction. He had just reached the chapter where the Mad Scientist had just found his Creation hiding out in the Swiss Alps. "What'cha reading?" Jane asked, bored as well. She missed talking with her twin ever since she had gotten wrapped up in her new boyfriend.
Marking the book with his finger, he closed it partially to look up at her, "Frankenstein by Mary Shelly."
"I watched the movie. Thought it was cheesy and stupid and painted the monster community in a negative light," Jane laughed slowly losing interest already. Alec rolled his eyes and began to explain the plot to her hoping to prove that once again the book was always better than the movie.
"It's about this crazy scientist who tried to become basically God by creating life with his own hands. At first he had loved this creation and was proud of it, but when it finally awoke, Frankenstein feared its existence. Then he proceeded to have countless fits of paranoia and mental breakdowns. The Creature slowly learned about the world around him through observation and watching the DeLacey family to understand what the perfect family was. But then grew resentful of his creator's abandonment and began to wreak havoc on his family, killing both his brother and fiancé as well as framing an innocent girl for murder. Basically both swear vengeance on each other and devote their lives to destroying each other."
"Sounds far-fetched. Something like that would never happen."
"Actually it is filled with a lot of deeper meanings and debate. Like this idea of a creature having a sole parent being a complete copy of it. As well as a shit load of feminism oddly enough, which you might like. It also talks about the natural order and immortality a bit that I find fascinating as a vampire."
Jane picked at the snow wall around them, drawing meaningless designs. The swirling storm still persisted. "I'll give it a shot, I guess," She reached for the novel as Alec smiled triumphantly.
It was one of those annoying editions where it had a couple chapters of comments and even a short autobiography of the author. She skipped the comments and forewords and skimmed the autobiography. The author seemed to have had almost a shitty life as they had.
"It says she got the idea from the death of her first child. Apparently she kept having nightmares it would come back to life somehow and attack her. Creepy or what?" Jane read aloud laughing at what she found rather ludicrous. When she looked up and saw Alec's sad face, she realized what she had said. It was easy to forget how much Alec's first son's death had hurt him.
"If you had the chance, would you bring him back to life?"
Alec shook his head, "No, the dead should stay dead. It wouldn't be fair because although death is a tragedy, living can sometimes be worse. He is happier dead, because he has nothing to regret and if there is a heaven somehow in the twisted scheme of things, I hope he is in a better place."
Jane began reading as Alec stared somberly into the snow, enjoying catching slight glances of Jane smiling at the text in her hands. Taking time to look back at the map and make sure they were going the right way, he traced his finger along the red line. The brass compass resting on his thigh had a layer of ice, stopping the arrow from spinning. It was strange to him how Damien was able to copy the handwriting down to every crossed t and dotted i. Folding it back up to place in the safe confines of his pocket, he noticed something he had seen before. There was writing on the back. A list:
Blizzard
Hounds
Snow Ninjas
A debt paid to the Sewicks
17
Cowboys
Old Kings Court
Volterra
Damien wanted to try and get some sort of sleep before class. He felt oddly cold as if he was leaning against a block of ice. He had made sure to right several notes on the back of the map for them to find and use. They made no sense to him currently, but hopefully in time they would.
He didn't feel like walking back to his room, where he would be trapped alone downstairs with no knowledge where Jonathan could be lurking. His natural born anxiety always peaked when Alec was out of the Building. "Just where do you think you are going?" he heard a voice hiss behind him as he made his way to the safest place in the whole Building, the library.
Spinning around he found Caius, sneering with bloody teeth and crusty, rat like eyes. "To the library, Master," Damien answered lowering his gaze in submission. "Did Aro and I say you were dismissed?" Caius smirked. Damien shook his head, "I did not know I was still needed. I was hoping to sleep and be well rested for my studies in a couple hours, Master."
"You can sleep when you are dead," the vampire said coldly as he death gripped Damien by the shoulder and dragged him to the throne room by his razor sharp claws leaving red crescent marks indented on his pale skin, "We need to establish a clear plan for when the Cullens arrive tonight. Who will be coming? If they plan to attack? If any of you little shits end up getting caught? If we have to execute you for getting caught and how we will do that? My list goes on and on." Caius smiled to himself imagining the many scenarios.
Aro had Damien bow again before standing before them. "I want you to tell us what we can expect tonight," Aro demanded. He had Joham bring the voicemail box that normally sat on Joan's desk and place it in the child's hands. Damien took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he hit play for the latest phone call. He could feel the veins behind his eyes pulse and clench. Blood roared like waved against a rocky shore in his ears as a voice began to speak.
"Hello dear friend. I hope all is well with the Volturi and business is running smoothly. I am so sorry about the deaths of your late Guard members. But I can testify that my coven is innocent and we are willing to prove it. We are on our way and will be there shortly. Thank you for your time."
The speaker was a male vampire. He was kind and gentle. Damien kept imagining gold eyes, which he had never seen before on vampires. Over the voicemail, he heard the mechanic growl of what sounded like an airplane. He heard one other voice in the background that also belonged to a male, but he was a couple years younger. The strangers' tones were frustrated, but non-threatening. It would be a peaceful meeting. Both would live and leave here satisfied, but they both were frightened of something that happened. But there was this weird crinkle in each snap shot of these strangers, like a lenses flare or a photograph than had been crudely cut. No matter how hard he tried to focus on this emptiness, it still remained void and unknown. He played the voicemail over again hoping things would become clearer.
There was something wrong. Someone was shouting. Heavy footsteps were heard against the polished tile as an army marched down the stone corridors. A sheet covered a small body that lay limply on the floor as a girl's pale hair lay splayed on the stone. His eyes were burning as if someone had carved stars into them again.
Opening them sharply and rubbing them, he tried to blink away the phantom pain. He played the voicemail for a third and final time.
This time he was watching from Aro's perspective. He felt angry. He knew they weren't the culprits. He hated how Carlisle kept assuming their families could be allies and even friends. Not when Carlisle had been assembling practically an arsenal against them. He was tempted to fake seeing them plan the murders. That way he could finally wipe away the one thing that threatened his power. Once the Cullen's were eliminated, their allies would be too fear stricken to avenge them. With that chapter closed he could focus on another pressing issue. The Dhampirs. He only know the limited amount of information from Alec's thoughts, which in his opinion were almost as bad as Carlisle's. He had to find a way to exterminate them, like a nest of rats. The twins and their new found pet Donovan would be hard to convince to help in the act. Perhaps he could set a bounty on them and pay other vampires to hunt them. It worked for the werewolves, why not for these half-human excuse for immortals?
Damien found himself panting on the floor in a daze. His hands were shaking violently. "What did you see?" Aro snapped impatient. Forcing clean into his lungs, he was thankful for this odd underlying feeling of snow pressed against his back. "Well?" Caius drummed his fingers on the cold marble throne as if Damien was deeply inconveniencing him. Damien tried to compile his thoughts best he could. He wasn't sure how much he should tell them. He didn't want them to kill these strangers for some odd reason, even though he had been taught to think of them as his enemies. Plus if they were still fixated on them, then Aro would not begin to target the Dhampirs in New York. He also knew another murder was going to happen soon, but he didn't know if he should just let it happen or get them involved. Did he want Aro to catch the killer or should he let him continue to kill the very people Damien too loathed and wished dead?
"It looks hopeful. In one possible future you try to kill them, but you end up dying yourselves," he hoped the lie would divert them, "The best possible outcome is if you let them plead their case and when they prove innocent, let them walk away after making amends. The only issue I see, or rather lack of see is the huge blind spot. Their shield will be accompanying Carlisle as well as a younger gentleman, Masters."
"Are you sure?" Aro growled, sad he could not kill his friends.
"Well the blind spot makes it hard to be certain on anything, so if I am wrong in anyway, please remember that, Master."
"Fine, you can leave now."
And leave Damien did.
The sun was starting to streams over the brown rural landscape spanning across the dusty, bolted window. In the distance through the morning mist, he could just make out the outline of the mountains over the horizon. The air felt chilly, and even though every window and door were on lock down, he could feel the winter air whipping across his face, blowing his bangs from his forehead and snow brush against his cheeks as he clung to his thin sweater. He could see the cloud of his warm breath being snatched by the cold's clutches. And yet the curtains lay sleeping, the flames of the candles mounted to the walls did not tremble, the pages of books did not stir.
He heard Joan begin to shuffle about her wing of the Building. Her slippers squeaking against the polished floor as she tied the belt to her bathrobe over her flannel nightclothes. The gas stove let off a puff of gas fumes as she lit it. Any day now, she felt it would combust suddenly and burn the entire Building down. Water tinkled as she filled the kettle for her morning tea. Damien followed the scent of Earl Grey and burning toast to find her working on her morning cross word. She believed it was a way to prevent Alzheimer's and even though she was only in her thirties, one should never pass up an opportunity to keep the mind young.
"Black Hand," he said as he entered the kitchen, "Thirty down. The secret society who planned the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and sparked the Great War."
"Merci," she thanked as she filled it in with a blue ball point pen. She smiled up at him as he reached to grab the kettle off the stove before it screamed and possibly wake up the other children who were happily asleep. He made a cup for both of them before he popped the burnt toast, adding orange marmalade for her and Nutella for him.
"How did you sleep last night?" she asked as she continued her puzzle. He shrugged, "Is it too late to start now?" She gave him a mothering look of disapproval.
"You need to sleep. You are a growing boy whose brain is still developing, and at a faster pace than more I may add. You have school every day and you need to sleep to pay attention so you can learn. I understand Alec has been loose on his duties as a parent to enforce-."
"This isn't Alec's fault!" he snapped coldly, standing up suddenly. But he regretted his tone of voice as soon as he saw her face. He sat down, giving her an apologetic frown, "It isn't his fault. If anything he makes it easier to cope with the constant anxiety, which is the reason I can't sleep. It me keeping myself awake at night. It's the feeling that bad things are going to happen. It's the stale taste of death in the air that never clears out until you are choking on it. It's the fear that I will wake up and find Caius and Aro holding me down again. It's being scared to even start conversations with people and having near heart attacks when everyone stares at me that happen for no logical reason. It's seeing every disastrous scenario play out in your mind the second you close your eyes and playing Russian roulette to see which one is reality. And knowing that none of this I can control or end."
He began to talk faster and faster and faster with each sentence until it just became a mumbled blur or sounds. He felt less hungry as he stared at the blackened toast. It was hard to put in words his feelings and the second he did he regretted them. "I'm sorry," he apologized. He didn't mean to be mad a Joan or to raise his voice. "No, it's perfectly alright. You need to admit that you have anxiety about certain things and that an unhealthy amount of stress is existing in your life. Then you can look back on what might be causing it and find ways to process things in a constructive manner," she took a calming sip of her tea as the steam fogged her reading glasses, "So I notice that you don't blame Alec and Jane for anything anymore. I remember when you were younger you at times felt abandoned and angry towards them, which made it hard to have a good relationship with them."
Damien nodded along. He hadn't really looked back on when he was younger. How he had woken up alone one day locked in a room and nearly starved. How he had found out after class that they had left to go on another mission and then believed they had died. Every time Alec had left, something bad happened and it had trained him to worry whenever Alec left him. He had felt angry at him at first, but now it seemed like a childish notion. "I guess so. I was mad at times, but I was madder about the situation. Now I understand more that neither of us can control that he has to leave and it is selfish to expect him to stay. There are more pressing matters that need Jane and Alec to help and be present for. Being part of the Guard means a lot for Alec and it's not up to me to take that away from him. It's been weird. I keep getting these odd flashes of his life as a human and they were almost never pleasant. For all things are terrible here, Alec doesn't fully see it that way because from his point of reference it is better than previous experiences. It's not his fault this place has been his safest option," Damien found himself feeling more collected as he spoke with Joan. She was happy to get him to open up and wanted to keep him talking so he could become more comfortable communicating and socializing with people. Joan was surprised how mature he sounded as he started to realize a bigger picture and try to understand others from their perspective.
"Trying to see things from Alec's point of view is a great idea. But understanding what he might be feeling and experiencing, it will make it easier to relate and connect with him. You also want to remember that it goes both ways. You need to communicate in words what you are feeling and experiencing, so he can try and understand you better. You are right, it is not entirely his fault. I can tell from the few times I have seen him he is probably one of the most tolerable and level headed members of the Guard and is just trying to do his best," Joan squeezed his hand before considering picking up the now empty mugs. Damien caught this thought and collected the dishes smiling warmly, "Don't worry. I'll do the washing up." He made his way balancing all the dishes. "How did you know?" she shook her head still smiling. He humbly shrugged as he watched the crumbs flow down the sink, "It was on your mind and I like doing nice things for you."
When they were set on the drying rack, she mentioned that she needed to get dressed so she could begin her daily duties. "I say Eliza the other day. She said that you are welcome again this week if you and Enzo want to play?" she offered as folded up her cross word. It was good talking with Damien, since she had missed being able to speak her native tongue. And she always had gravitated towards broken souls, which was why she had pursued psychology as her profession. She felt like this entire building was a breeding ground for mental illness. She had a slight feeling that Damien was just naturally anxious and depressed. These were similar things she had noticed in Alec and guessed it was hereditary. But these were things that could be managed with time and working through them patiently. And if things got unmanageable, there was potentially medication, which she did not believe was always the best solution, but rather a temporary band aide. She would talk to Donovan to see if he knew if there were medications that were safe to take if it got to the point where there were no other solutions. The boy needed help and no one else was really doing anything about it but poking at it and making it worse.
After dressing she made her way to Jane's room where she knew Donovan was staying. Joan was told to make a list of furniture and other things needed to ready a separate room for him, but he still stubbornly stayed in Jane's room. She nocked lightly on the door, pulling her thin jumper over her knuckles. "Yeah?" a voice called. "Hello, I was curious if I could ask you a couple quick questions?" she called trying to articulate her English best she could. She heard rustling from the other side before the door opened.
"So you're the French Maid," he commented slyly. "Yes," she said quietly looking down. "Quelles questions avez-vous?" he smirked as she looked at him confused. She didn't know he spoke French. She asked him how he knew French, "Comment savez-vous Français?"
He rambled off rustily, "Un vieil ami m'a appris quand je étais jeune. Puis je vécu en France pendant de nombreuses années avant de passer à la Nouvelle-Orléans avant il a été détenu par les États-Unis. Et à travers tout cela, je devais un amant français. La dernière fois que je parlais français, je faisais une très discutable ménage à trois qui a impliqué certains médicaments plutôt illégales, de la corde et des bougies parfumées qui était malheureusement plus courte que je l'espérais. "
This made things easier as she tried to explain why she came to talk to him. He seemed to understand her well enough. "I just wanted to ask if you knew of any medications that were safe for dhampirs to take?"
He snorted, "Why don't you ask Doctor Joham?" His voice was dripping with resentment and sarcasm. Every time he tried to give input on what it was like actually being a dhampir and give more accurate information, he was told "Why don't you run along and let the adults handle this."
"Because he honestly frightens me. I see how he treats the children and I do not like it one bit. How he only sees them as faceless variables. I know that even though you have not been here long, you care more about the livelihood of many of the residents than he does. I highly doubt in his four occurrences he have the information I need to prescribe reliable medications," she tried to sound confident. He nodded lazily, "I might have the information. I might not. Or I might know people who do. These are all very up in the air ideas floating in my brain."
He was toying with her. Seeing how far he could test her boundaries. It was nothing more than a game. "I know we have a common interest," she tried to steel her voice, "As the Secretary of the Volturi, I have many benefits and advantages. I am required to know what is going on at all times in this household and to make sure everything runs seamlessly. I see everyone every day. I hear conversations. I control who is let into the Building. I know everyone has been running around trying to figure out who the Messenger was. I know no one entered the Building, not even through the back door during that period of time.."
"You think I am a murderer?" he interrupted. She never mentioned murder and she never accused him of anything. He only just accused himself.
"And all it takes is one person to read these thoughts," she explained.
"Are you black mailing me for drugs?" he was in awe.
Yes, yes she was.
Joan found 15 PDFs on dhampir medicine and 35 on psychology when she opened her email as she began her daily routine. Not just anyone could be the Secretary of the Volturi.
Alps
The storm seemed to be getting worse. They kept having to scoop out the snow piling into their temporary shelter so not to be completely buried. Alec could not help but be in a state of wonder. No matter the type, he always loved storms. "Will you get your bloody head out of the clouds for five bloody seconds and help me move the bloody snow," Jane ordered as she cupped snow in her hands trying to bail them out. More just kept blowing in. Alec got back to work shoveling too. This was insane.
"I really wish Damien had warned us about the storm. We could have found a new route or stayed in a lower elevations," Jane pouted. That's it, Alec thought. He pulled out the map and flipped it to the back side. Blizzard was the first thing on the list. He did warn them. "Well, it says right here," he lifted up the flapping map to show her. "Oh, shut up," she said, but he knew she wasn't really mad at him. "What's next on the grocery list of doom?" she asked, frustration straining her voice.
Alec was about the read the next item when he caught an odd scent in the passing winds. A familiar dirty, grungy musk that left a sour taste in his mouth. A cold, hallow cry echoed through the roaring winds.
The howl of a large wolf.
A Child of the Moon.