A/N: So. . . nice apocalypse we're having here.
. . .
Sorry? Uh, I don't really know what else to say. It's been a wild, crappy couple of months, so writing kind of went to the wayside. I'll try really hard not to do it again?
As an apology, this chapter is 13,000 words long. It should really be two chapters, but once I actually managed to sit down and write, it all came out in one fell swoop, so you get a megachapter instead. Enjoy!
Warnings: Mentions of drug abuse and addiction, mentions of child abuse, some actual child abuse (or at least trauma inducing events for a child), death, and vomit. Also I only edited half of this chapter, so potential glaring errors ahead.
Chapter 7: In the Beginning, Part III (The End of the Beginning)
Roanoke, Virginia
11 Years ago
Olive went to bed early that night, at her mother's insistence. Iris had shot her a forced smile as Olive moved off towards her bedroom, but when the girl had looked back, her mother had already turned back towards the tarot spread laid out across the coffee table. The smile had been gone, Iris's forehead creased once more with anxiety as she steepled her hands beneath her chin and examined the cards in front of her. Olive had frowned, guts churning, but turned away without saying anything.
Now, a few hours later, Olive laid in bed on her back, stiff as a board and staring up at the glow-in-the dark stars stuck to her ceiling in a perfect replica of the sky the night she'd been born. The winter solstice, nearly ten years ago. She and Iris had painstakingly positioned them as a project for Olive's 7th birthday, consulting star charts and divination techniques and Iris's own faulty memory. Usually, looking at them reassured Olive when she was feeling down. Now, all she could think about was how strange Iris was acting, how she seemed to think they wouldn't be together for Olive's 10th birthday just a few months away, how Olive herself was feeling. . . unsure of that as well-unsure of everything, really.
Her stomach squirmed in guilt. She should have told Iris about Leon coming to visit. About his strange behavior, and about how he was looking for the knife that Iris was suddenly keeping close. Clearly Iris knew something Olive didn't, and Olive's. . . discomfort (not fear, because she wasn't afraid) with her feelings from earlier wasn't a good enough reason to keep them from her mother, even if the thought of discussing her father's mysterious friend filled Olive with a creeping sort of dread.
Olive sighed quietly, glancing over at the small alarm clock on her nightstand. It was a full moon, or near enough one that the light streaming in from Olive's window was enough to illuminate the clock-face. 11:37. Iris didn't exactly go to bed early, but it was late enough that she was probably asleep by now, anyway. Olive wondered if she'd noticed that the sheet on the couch wasn't the same one they'd put there that morning.
She'd tell her mother about Leon in the morning. The first chance she got, she'd tell her, Olive swore to herself.
In the meantime, however, sleep wasn't coming to Olive. Her gut was still twisting with regret, with worry, with some sort of warning that Olive couldn't identify. And though she was tired, it was impossible to sleep in such conditions. Every time she closed her eyes, some instinct would force them open again, convinced that-for some reason-it wasn't safe to sleep.
Which was ridiculous, of course. There was no one in the apartment but Olive and her mother. The doors and windows were all locked, including the ones downstairs in the shop (Olive checked every night before she went to bed, even when Iris was still awake. A habit formed after she once found a homeless man sleeping behind the shop's counter, Iris having forgotten to lock up in her inebriated state.), and even if they hadn't been, their business wasn't exactly a prime target for a break-in. They barely made enough to cover their monthly expenses. Still, Olive's hindbrain could not be reasoned with. It thought something was wrong, therefore Olive didn't get to rest.
Groaning, Olive gave up on sleep and rolled out of bed. Maybe she'd go make some tea or something. Quietly, with the microwave or a saucepan instead of the kettle, since Iris slept in the living room, just a few short steps away from the kitchen. A little chamomile never hurt anyone, right?
Only, when Olive poked her head cautiously out her bedroom door, her mother wasn't asleep at all. Iris was curled up on the couch, still in her day clothes. She had a steaming mug clutched between her hands-though it didn't smell like her usual brew-and she was still pouring over Olive's tarot reading, even almost four hours after Olive had gone to bed. Iris's body was turned toward the door slightly, and the infamous silver dagger sat on the table, just a few inches from her hand. Despite the late hour, she too seemed wide awake.
Iris glanced over at Olive as she entered the room somewhat sheepishly, her brown eyes bright and alert. Olive hesitated. Was she. . . sober? "Hey kiddo," Iris said softly. "Couldn't sleep?" She didn't seem at all surprised to see Olive.
Olive bit her lip and nodded, shuffling further into the living room. "I thought I might make some tea."
Iris lifted her mug demonstratively, before turning most of her attention back to the five cards spread out on the table before her. "There's some hot water in the kettle still."
As she crossed into the kitchen, Olive caught a whiff of her mother's tea and paused in surprise. "Peppermint," she blurted. "That's. . . not supposed to help you sleep."
Her mother raised an eyebrow, seeming amused and bemused in equal measure. "Who said anything about trying to sleep?" she questioned.
Olive glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight. "Right," she muttered, confused, pulling a mug from the cabinet and filling it with water from their immense iron tea kettle. She hesitated slightly at their jar of tea bags, hand pausing above the chamomile. She thought about the promise she had just made to herself. Olive glanced back at Iris, then grabbed some peppermint instead. "Right," she repeated, to herself this time. Tea doctored to her liking, Olive marched back over to the couch, determined, and planted herself beside her mother. The mug warmed her palms nearly to the point of discomfort, but she continued to grip it tightly, trying to gather the courage to speak.
There was a long pause. Ultimately, Iris was the one who broke the silence. "I'm sorry to worry you," she said after a moment, shaking her head self-deprecatingly, but she didn't attempt to fake a smile again as she had before. I was already worried, Olive thought, but didn't quite manage to say. "It's just. . . not a very happy spread, is it?" Iris explained, gesturing to the cards. Olive didn't believe for a second that the tarot reading was the only thing worrying her mother. Iris had been acting strange ever since last night, after all. But the cards did seem to have exacerbated the issue. Had Iris really just been staring at them for three and a half hours?
Steeling herself, Olive opened her mouth to confess what had happened that afternoon. What came out instead was, "It doesn't have to mean. . . actual death though, right?" Her voice cracked a little halfway through, and Olive squeezed her eyes shut harshly, forcing herself to take a deep breath.
Irish didn't seem to notice, merely giving a distracted hum. "No, of course not. It's a little worrying, but the one that really concerns me is actually this one," she said, reaching out to tap the second card in the lineup, the one meant to represent the present. Olive hadn't paid it much attention earlier, too alarmed by her reaction to the Death card to really evaluate any of the others.
It was the Three of Swords. A red heart pierced by a trio of swords and set against the background of a storm. Even with no knowledge of its meaning. . . it didn't look great. And Olive didn't feel great looking at, either. Hesitantly, she reached out and just barely brushed the edge of the card with her fingertip. A sudden rush of trepidation flooded Olive's body, nearly painfully. Her breathing stuttered, and she ripped her hand away, filled with the desire to run and hide. And worse, a creeping sort of emotional pain in her heart that Olive didn't recognize. Harsh and deep and horrible. Unconsciously, Olive reached up to rub at her chest, but the feeling lingered. She almost wanted to cry.
Despite her earlier inattention, Iris was definitely looking at Olive now, looking worried-no longer in general, but for Olive specifically. "The Three of Swords represents suffering. Usually heartbreak or grief in particular," she explained gently, reaching out to cradle Olive's hand tenderly between her own. "It's not a very nice card," Iris murmured, "for all that it's a common enough experience." Now it was Iris's turn to hesitate. "I wish you hadn't drawn it," she said quietly after a brief pause.
Olive stared, her heart pounding. The new fear and pain from the Three of Swords mingled awfully with the old anxiety and dread that she'd been feeling for hours, creating some sort of novel, unholy emotional state of panic that had Olive blurting out, "Dad was here earlier looking for your knife," before she could even think of a more diplomatic way of wording it.
Iris's eyes sharpened in a way they never could when she was high. The reminder that she was sober and that the Others could appear at any moment did nothing to calm Olive down. "What?" Iris snapped.
And the whole sordid tale came tumbling out of Olive's mouth, tripping its way off of her tongue, which felt slightly numb and thick. She told Iris about the horrible feeling she'd had after completing the tarot reading, about how she wasn't sure whether or not she should let Leon into the apartment, but had ultimately done so anyway. She told her about his strange behavior, the high Olive hadn't recognized, and how nervous it had made her. And finally, she told Iris about the friend Leon had mentioned, the one who was interested in Iris's knife. The one who made Olive shiver with dread, who alerted her instincts and her hindbrain and sent her into fight or flight mode.
There was a long pause.
"I'm sorry, Mom," Olive said eventually, voice quiet. She wrung her fingers together around the handle of her mug, which was beginning to cool, and took a sip of tea just for something to do. The peppermint was sharp against her tongue.
Iris sighed. "Don't be," she said, squeezing Olive's hand and tracing a calloused finger over her knuckles reassuringly. She turned on the couch to face Olive fully, and to meet her eyes seriously. "I know your instincts make you nervous, sweetheart," Iris said, eyes sad. "I should have realized that suddenly telling you to focus so much on them would confuse and overwhelm you." She reached up to thumb Olive's temple, smoothing over her furrowed brow. "But ignoring our abilities doesn't make them any less a part of us. It doesn't make them go away. The best we can do. . . is to work with what we've been given," Iris softly professed. The look on her face. . . Olive couldn't quite identify it. But she didn't like it.
"I should have told you," Olive insisted, looking down at her lap.
Iris released another gusty sigh, sounding tired and sad. "Maybe," she granted, "but. . ." Iris trailed off. She paused for a moment, seeming to gather her thoughts. "Sweetheart," Iris began again, shifting closer to Olive. "I know I haven't always acted like it, but I'm your mother, not the other way around," she said. The words should have had a level of humor to them, given how obvious they were. But when Iris spoke, she just sounded ashamed. "It's-it's my job to take care of you," she insisted, looking-to Olive's horror-as if she were fighting back tears. Her eyes weren't dripping, weren't even wet, yet there was a certain quality-a certain look to them that told Olive her mother would dearly like to cry. Desperately, Olive reached up to lace her fingers with Iris's, where they were still cupped against Olive's cheek. "And if you're scared-especially if you feel like you can't tell me when you're scared. . . then that's a failing on my part, not yours. It means I haven't protected you the way I should have."
"Mom-no," Olive objected, so far out of her depth she felt like she might cry herself. "It wasn't about you, not at all! It was just-I thought it was my problem, you know? And that I should just deal with it myself."
Iris swallowed harshly. "Exactly," she whispered, bringing her forehead forward until it pressed against Olive's. "Exactly." She closed her eyes. This close, Olive could see each of her mother's pale eyelashes individually as they fluttered against her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Olive."
"Please don't say that," Olive begged, overcome. A horrible feeling was building inside of her, like a rushing in her ears. Part of it was her instincts, still clamoring for attention (which Olive was giving, now; but just because she knew something was wrong, didn't mean she knew what it was, or what she should do about it), but part of it-most of it, really-was the dreadful, aching realization that her mother was not infallible, was not an unbending pillar of strength. Olive had thought she knew this already. She had seen Iris struggle and crack under the weight of her abilities as a medium, had seen her slip into drugs again and again, had seen her get so high she was nearly catatonic. But Olive couldn't remember a time when she'd ever seen her mother doubt herself. Not like this. "Please don-Oh God please don't cry!"
Iris snorted wetly at the panic in Olive's voice and-thankfully-pulled back to wipe away the moisture that had just been building in her eyes. "Alright, if you insist," she agreed wryly, voice still a little shaky.
"Mom," Olive began after they'd both taken a moment to gather themselves-and a couple bracing sips of tea. "What's going on?"
Iris sighed and turned back towards the cards on the coffee table. She uncurled from her position on the sofa, placing her feet flat on the floor and leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, fingers laced beneath her chin as she surveyed the tarot spread. "My instincts aren't on par with yours, we both know that," she began after a contemplative pause. "You. . ." Iris laughed a little breathlessly. "Olive you're attuned to the world around you in a way I've never seen before," she said, voice proud and sad in equal measure. "But I have a sort of intuition of my own. Not as concrete as yours, not as explicit. . . but it's there." Olive scooted forward on the couch, pressing her leg to Iris's. Her mother turned to face her, and for a moment Iris's cinnamon eyes seemed to glow, nearly orange in the dim lamplight. "I feel. . . energy in a way that you don't. Life, death, change." Iris smiled wryly. "The momentum of the universe," she added, and it sounded like she was quoting someone. A fond memory, perhaps. "I don't know if I can connect to the Others because of my intuition, or if connecting with the Others gives me that intuition. . . I've been able to do both for as long as I can remember," Iris confessed, looking haunted. "Either way, that sixth sense. . . that's why I've known for a while that something was coming, just on the horizon. Change," she said, and without her permission, Olive's eyes dragged themselves back over to Death, to the fifth card in the spread. Foreboding spun through her once more, and Olive closed her eyes, nearly dizzy with it.
Only for them to snap open again a moment later as she gaped, shocked at her mother's next words.
"It wasn't until your father paid me a visit a few weeks ago that I began to suspect what that change might be," Iris admitted, lips twisting self-deprecatingly when Olive shot her an astonished look. "Now you see why I can't be mad at you for keeping what happened this afternoon a secret," she chuckled softly, tweaking Olive's nose. "I'm not that much of a hypocrite."
Olive spluttered briefly, words escaping her. "But-you kicked him out," she objected, feeling a surprising sting of betrayal which she squashed roughly. "You told him not to come back until he was clean!"
"Which he certainly isn't," Iris acknowledged dryly. Unmentioned went the hypocrisy she was capable of: forcing Leon to sober up when she herself was undeniably an addict. "But Leon made an appointment for a reading, and you know we're not in a position where we can refuse clients-no matter who they are." True. Iris had always been very honest with Olive about the state of their finances, since she often took care of household duties like shopping, cooking, and cleaning. Begrudgingly, Olive nodded for her mother to continue with her explanation.
"When Leon came for his reading, it was clear from the beginning that it was mostly a front for him to talk to me without getting booted out," Iris said, rolling her eyes. "But a customer is a customer, so I did a tarot reading for him and let him ramble." She sighed sadly, rubbing her face and suddenly looking very tired. "He seemed a little better," Iris admitted. "He didn't reek like stale beer, his eyes were mostly focused, and he looked. . . happy. Energetic, even." She shrugged helplessly. "He said he'd met someone new, that she was helping him tone down the drinking, steering him away from the hard stuff. I was happy for him, but there was something about him that made me feel. . . uneasy." Yeah, Olive knew the feeling. "And that feeling only got worse once I did his reading."
Olive shifted nervously. "Was it bad?"
Iris shook her head, looking troubled. "The opposite. There was nothing explicitly awful about it. In fact, it painted a pretty nice picture for his relationship and for his future. . . but something about it rubbed me the wrong way. Gave me this awful feeling, like something was about to go badly wrong. And now, looking at this spread," she gestured unhappily to the cards on the table, "I think I know why."
Olive's gut twisted sharply, eyes flicking between the tarot cards and her mother's worried frown. "What do you mean?" she asked hurriedly.
"I did the same kind of reading for Leon that you did for yourself," Iris elaborated, shooting Olive a glance. "Past, present, best to come, worst to come, and the results if you continue down this path," she explained, reaching out to tap each card as she spoke its meaning. "And I pulled the exact same cards."
A jolt ran through Olive's system. "What, like in the same order?" she asked, surprised and a little uneasy, though she wasn't sure why. Something told her that wasn't a good sign.
"No," Iris assured, though it didn't make Olive feel much better. "But I've never seen this happen before. Intuition tells me it indicates that your paths are entwined somehow. That the events to come-the ones that drew out these cards for both of you-will shape both of your lives irrevocably, if in different ways. For example," she said, when Olive's expression remained blank with incomprehension, "Leon's 'present' was represented by the Queen of Wands, meaning passion and determination. That probably refers to his relationship with this mystery woman he mentioned to us both, or just to the woman herself." She sighed. "That's also the card that gave me the absolute worst gut feeling I've ever had. Even though objectively Leon's present seems bright, subjectively it's occupied by a woman who gives us both the heebie-jeebies." That was putting it mildly, in Olive's opinion. "And worse, your 'present' is occupied by the Three of Swords."
Olive shivered at the thought of the card. "I don't. . . feel heartbroken though. I'm not suffering."
Iris eyed her. "And I certainly hope it stays that way," she said quietly. "But given the reaction we both had to Leon's lady friend-his 'Queen of Wands'-it seems likely to me that the suffering and grief the cards are predicting for you will be caused by her, if they do come to pass," Iris interpreted gently. Pessimistically, Olive suspected that last bit had only been added for her benefit. Something told her that Iris was expecting that heartbreak to come to pass. Maybe that was why she was so worried. "His 'present' affects yours, if you will. On the other hand," Iris continued a bit more brightly, "the Queen of Wands in your reading exists in the future, representing the best to come for you. She's the woman you'll come to be one day-strong, passionate, determined, and brave," Olive's mother told her, voice proud and affectionate. Olive squirmed, smiling a little brittlely. What else would that woman be? she wondered, glancing over her tarot spread. Would she be happy? It. . . didn't really look like it. "And though you're both represented by the same card, the feeling we get from these readings tells us that you and this woman will come in direct opposition with one another at some point in your lives."
"But there's nothing in the reading that says that, right?" Olive questioned hopefully, even as her instinct told her that Iris's prediction was accurate.
Iris looked at her a little pityingly. "Tarot isn't science, sweetheart. What you feel from the cards is vastly more important than what the traditional meanings tell you. Are you telling me you feel like you and this woman will never have anything to do with one another?"
"No," Olive grumbled reluctantly. "Is there anything else?" she asked, eager to change the subject. Thinking about that woman made her feel nauseous.
Iris nodded, reaching out to tap the card that had so unnerved Olive earlier that afternoon. "The Death card," she began. "I know it freaked you out a little sweetie, but in your spread it's really not necessarily a bad thing. Changes and new beginnings can be scary," Iris acknowledged. "But they don't have to be bad. In your father's reading, however. . ." Iris flipped the card so that it was reversed, the skeleton and his horse seeming to cling to the upside-down earth and spite gravity, which should have sent them falling into the open sky. "The card is reversed, representing stagnation or decay. Fear of change. And that's the worst thing coming in Leon's future, which will eventually lead him to his own ultimate destination." She indicated the Hermit-which sat reversed, representing loneliness and isolation in the slot reserved for Olive's own worst thing to come-and flipped it so it was upright before giving it a light tap. "He'll need to search for inner guidance, and to contemplate his own truth if he wants to escape that fate."
Olive considered this. It made sense that her father would one day need to find answers for himself, rather than just allowing others to dictate his actions and beliefs for the rest of his life. "Okay," she allowed. "So the reason you've been acting so weird lately is you've known for a while that some sort of big change is coming, and you starting acting even weirder today because you saw that me and Dad have matching suspicious tarot readings, which both have to do with this creepy mystery woman Dad's been seeing," Olive summed up, waiting for Iris's nod before continuing. "So the question is, who is this woman, and why does she want your knife?" she asked bluntly.
Iris hesitated, biting her lip, but Olive wasn't having it. "Don't pretend you don't know, Mom, you know you can't lie to me," Olive said plainly. "Besides, even if I didn't have a freaky sixth sense, I'd still know that you know, because you've been carrying that knife around with you since last night, but we only found out Dad's friend wanted it this afternoon," she pointed out, crossing her arms.
Iris groaned petulantly. "You know, sometimes I wish you weren't quite so smart and talented and observant and perfect, kiddo," she complained.
"Well, I get it from you," Olive said, demure. God knows she didn't get it from Leon. "Now spill."
Iris released a gusty sigh. "Well, to clarify, I really don't know who your father's girlfriend is." That rang as the truth in Olive's ears, so she allowed Iris to continue uninterrupted. "And I don't think she actually wants the knife. More like. . . she wanted to know whether or not it was still in the house, so she sent Leon to find out."
Olive's brow wrinkled as something in the back of her mind stirred uneasily. "Why would she care about that?"
Slowly, Iris picked up the dagger in question, weighing it in her hands and running a finger over the ornate handle. "Silver is a unique material, Olive," she said quietly after a moment's pause. "It's. . . pure in a way that most other metals aren't, which is why it has such a renowned place in folklore. That's also what gives it a number of extraordinary properties and capabilities. It has. . . certain effects on certain people," she explained, eyeing Olive meaningfully. She stared back blankly. "Effects that make silver a very useful weapon against those people."
Olive had literally no idea what her mother was talking about. A weapon? What? Well, obviously the knife was a weapon, it was a knife. But if it was really dangerous because it was made of silver that meant. . . what did that mean?
A shiver suddenly ran down Olive's spine-the same shiver that had erupted across her skin every time she thought too hard about the woman her father had mentioned. It was the feeling of eyes boring into the back of her head, breath on her nape. An age-old instinct, multiplied by a thousand, that told a prey animal when it was being stalked by a predator. And abruptly, Olive knew. That's what this woman was. A predator.
Objectively, Olive knew humans were apex predators themselves. They were near the top of the food chain-at the top, if Olive's teachers were to be believed. But something about that had always rubbed Olive the wrong way. The idea that humans didn't have predators themselves, that they were never hunted except on very rare occasions, by very large animals. . . that had never sounded like the truth to Olive. Her teachers thought it was. They weren't lying to her, not intentionally. But she had occasionally wondered if maybe they just. . . didn't have all the facts. She knew, living with a bona fide psychic medium as she did, that there were things about the world that the average person could never know or understand. Maybe. . . maybe there were things Olive never knew either. And the feeling she got from this woman. . . well, it wasn't like any feeling Olive had gotten from a person before-and she'd met her fair share of run-of-the-mill human predators.
She swallowed, heart thundering in her chest. "And you. . . you think this woman is. . . the kind of person silver could be used against?" Olive fumbled slightly, not sure what exactly she was asking, just that it wasn't good.
Iris gave her a measuring look, seeming to debate something internally. Her expression was nothing short of tormented, and seeing her normally cheerful, unflappable mother so out of sorts was almost more frightening to Olive than the thought of some sort of unknown predator lurking outside the knowledge of humanity. Finally, Iris sighed, obviously having come to a decision. One, it seemed, that she didn't particularly like. "I wish you didn't ever have to learn about this," Olive's mother muttered, eyes trailing over Olive's face as if she thought she'd never see her daughter again-not like this, anyway. Not unburdened by whatever she was about to learn. Olive swallowed, shifting closer to Iris, unconsciously seeking comfort.
"I mentioned myths, a moment ago," Iris said haltingly at a more normal volume. "And you already know of a few things which most people would consider myths or spooky stories, but are in fact terribly, terribly real," Iris continued, her voice taking on the sort of echoing quality that Olive associated with her readings. A faint, familiar blueish-white glow began to build behind her mother's warm brown eyes, giving them a cooler, otherworldly cast. Olive twitched, habitually wary at the sight, and Iris squeezed her hand reassuringly. Still her. Not the Others. "Spirits and ghosts are real," Iris pointed out. "As are mediums and psychics of varying ability," she added, gesturing between the two of them wryly. "And I've seen the gears turning behind your eyes, sweetheart, ever since you realized that something strange was going on. I know-" she stuttered, breath hitching slightly on the edge of hesitation. "I know you must have realized that-that other things might be real too," she finished at a whisper.
Iris didn't want to be telling her this, Olive knew. And maybe she didn't want to hear it, either. But this was important, wasn't it? This was. . . this was big. And immediate. Knowing this, Olive suddenly realized as a wave of intuition washed over her. . . Knowing this would change her life irrevocably.
She had to know. Even if she didn't want to. "It's okay, Mom," Olive said, a strange sort of calm coming over her. She was still afraid. Terrified really. But the panic that had been steadily building in the back of her mind had receded. For now, anyway. "Tell me," she requested firmly.
Iris blinked, visibly surprised by the change in Olive's demeanor. Surprised enough that she seemed to forget to be shaken by the circumstances, if only for a moment. After a split-second of confusion, Iris's face softened into a small, genuine smile. "My smart girl," she murmured, voice warm, as she reached out to cup Olive's cheek lovingly. "My brave girl. Look at you." She sighed quietly. "There's not really a delicate way to say this," Iris warned, before continuing at Olive's encouraging nod. "I think. . ." She bit her lip and paused, troubled and reluctant. Finally, she came out with the truth. "I think your father might have fallen in love with a vampire."
. . .
Bizarrely, Olive's first reaction was to laugh. Or rather, to stifle a laugh such that the only noise that escaped her mouth was a strangled, somewhat hysterical squeak. Even through the stunned, vague haze of stupefaction that had fallen over her, Olive sensed that a chuckle would not be an appropriate response at the moment, no matter how strong the urge was.
It wasn't funny. It really wasn't funny, especially because Olive knew it was true. While her conscious mind heard "vampire" and thought, Haha funny joke Mom, her intuition heard it and perked up, thinking, Ah yes, of course. That's right. The information slotted perfectly into place in Olive's mind as if it had always been there, throwing the fear and riled instincts that had been building in her chest for hours into sharp relief. Of course. That was why she had been afraid. Vampires.
Jesus Christ.
She didn't want to believe it. She wanted this to be some stupid, tasteless, elaborate prank. But if the past 24 hours had taught Olive anything, it was that lying to herself didn't work any better than when other people tried to do it.
"Vampires are real," Olive choked out dully, and the words tasted like the truth.
Iris simply nodded, watching Olive closely. Distantly, she realized her mother was probably worried Olive was going to pass out or something.
Huh. Tempting.
"I had my suspicions that Leon had met one after he first came to see me," Iris elaborated, reaching over to pull Olive closer with a steadying hand, just in case. "But it was your description of his behavior earlier that really cinched it," she confessed.
Olive's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Vampires are immensely powerful creatures," Iris explained frankly. "Physically, even the weakest vampire is strong and fast enough to subdue the strongest human. But their most dangerous abilities lie within the realm of the mind." Olive straightened, a hard pit forming in her stomach as her gut twisted harshly. Iris caught her reaction, and smiled grimly. "Vampires have a couple different means of. . . persuasion available to them, each more violating than the last." She turned to face Olive, expression pinched, and Olive was struck suddenly by the realization that this was the most serious she had ever seen her typically goofy and outwardly carefree mother. She knew Iris had a more solemn side to her, had glimpsed it from time to time when the Others had been causing problems or when money was tight, but Olive's mother had always made a concerted effort to be cheerful in her presence. Selfishly, Olive couldn't help but be grateful for that.
More selfish still, she couldn't help but wish Iris would put on that front now as well.
"The most common and most straightforward of their methods is called a glamour," Iris went on, apparently oblivious to her daughter's musings. "It's. . . well, it's mind control, basically," she admitted bluntly. "Most vampires can only glamour one person at a time, since it tends to require eye contact, and the commands issued have to be very carefully worded to be effective. It works best when used to control people's actions, rather than their thoughts or feelings. But I don't think that's what's happened to your father."
Oddly, the thought of literal mind control didn't evoke the sort of anxiety response from her instincts that Olive had come to expect over the course of this conversation. For some reason, Olive just didn't think she needed to worry about this so-called glamour. Hmm. . . food for thought. "What's wrong with him, then?"
Iris shook her head irritably. "Seems to me like the idiot's gone and gotten himself addicted to vampire blood."
Olive blinked. "Huh," she said. It had seemed like Leon was in the midst of some strange kind of high when he had torn up the apartment. "If that's a thing, then. . . yeah. That. . . that makes sense." She paused momentarily. "That's a thing?"
Iris chuckled lightly, eyes softening. "Yes, it's a thing. Vampire blood is a highly addictive substance, and it produces a very. . . pleasurable effect when taken in small doses," she explained carefully. "It's kind of like the world's most effective upper," Iris clarified. "It can increase your energy levels, heighten your senses, or even your physical abilities like strength or stamina." Vividly, Olive recalled how Leon had practically jittered with excess energy, bouncing around the apartment and tearing the mattress off of the couch like it weighed nothing at all. That. . . checked out, yeah. "It can also make you really hor-" Iris cut herself off and glanced at Olive nervously. "Uh, make you feel really good," Iris corrected clumsily.
Olive rolled her eyes. Gross. "Real subtle course correction there, Mom," she drawled. "I wonder what you were about to say?"
Laughing helplessly, Iris gave Olive a playful shove, which she returned without hesitation, leading to an exchange of mock blows that went on for a handful of moments, mother and daughter giggling like school children as they dug their fingers into each other's sides. For a minute, Olive was almost able to forget that anything was wrong at all.
But of course, something was wrong, and all it took was a glance at the door and a sharp pang in her gut to bring Olive hurtling back to reality. Right. Immediate threat at hand.
(Immediate? Why did she think it was immediate? Why did looking at the door have her instincts up in arms?)
Olive sighed soundlessly. "I guess it figures that even when Dad gets involved in something as crazy as freaking vampires, it still all comes back to the drugs," she muttered bitterly, and Iris's face twisted guiltily. Olive twitched. She hadn't meant to imply anything by that, not about Iris's own drug use, or about how Olive's mother was the one to get Leon into drugs in the first place. . . but apparently Iris was blaming herself anyway. "I didn't. . . this isn't your fault, Mom," Olive insisted. "If this isn't on me for not telling you about what happened earlier, then it isn't on you for something that happened a decade ago."
"I know, I know," Iris said, somewhat unconvincingly. "You don't have to reassure me, kiddo, that's not your job." Privately, Olive disagreed. She'd spent a lot of time comforting her mother over the years. Why should she stop now? But she sensed her objections wouldn't be appreciated at the moment, and wisely kept her mouth shut. "But the point still stands. Leon was already an addict. It would have been easy to get him hooked on vampire blood. It's everything he looks for in a drug. And from there, the blood's special properties could take root."
Olive's stomach sank. "Special persuasive properties?"
Iris nodded solemnly. "I don't know all the details, cause I've never been dumb enough to try it for myself and vampires like to keep trade secrets close to their chests," she explained, "but I do know that drinking vampire blood creates a connection between you and the blood donor. They can get into your head more easily, you'll be. . . attracted to them even if you wouldn't normally be, and they gain some measure of influence over you thoughts, your dreams, your feelings. And while that might not be enough to really control someone with a strong will or sense of self. . ." Iris sighed, rubbing a hand harshly over her face. "Well, we both know that your father is suggestible at the best of times. And he's always had a particular weakness for assertive women. A steady supply of blood would make him putty in this vampire's hands, especially if he has feelings for her-real or otherwise."
Well that sounded pretty horrifying. But still. . . Olive's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why bother, though?" she asked. "I mean, if she could just glamour him, why go to the trouble of using vampire blood instead?"
Iris shrugged. "Who knows. Power trip, maybe? The illusion of real love or loyalty? If he was glamoured, Leon wouldn't be much more than a mindless puppet with a brain like swiss cheese-more so than usual, I mean. But drugged up on vampire blood, he's still himself, more or less."
Olive frowned. Her gut was still tugging at her insistently. There was something more to this, something important. But that was all she knew. For all that her instincts were apparently hyper accurate and supernatural in origin, Olive still couldn't just pull information out of thin air. "I really feel like we're missing something," she confessed, troubled.
"Oh, I'm sure we are," Iris confirmed darkly. "There's no way we have all the information we would need to fully understand what's going on. But that's an unfortunate reality of life, sweetheart." Olive's mother turned to face her, reaching out to run a hand through her daughter's mass of curly hair, gently detangling knots as she went. "Your instincts can only take you so far. You need to be able to interpret them, as well as what your other senses tell you," Iris instructed. "So?" she prompted, when Olive said nothing in response. "What do we know?"
Olive frowned. There was that feeling again, the same one she'd gotten when Iris had first given her the tarot deck and spoken of Olive's birthday as if she wouldn't be there to see it. Why did it sound like Iris was trying to teach her something before it was too late? "We know that Dad has gotten close with a vampire," Olive said slowly, mulling it over, "and that she's probably keeping him close by manipulating him and supplying him with vampire blood, which makes him agitated, but even more malleable than usual." She paused, and swallowed harshly. "We know from the tarot cards that Dad and me and the vampire are all linked somehow. That we'll all affect each other's fates. And we know there's supposed to be suffering in my present." Olive glanced at Iris subtly. There had been no mention of her in the cards, or how she might play into this interaction between Olive, her father, and his vampire friend. She closed her eyes, exhaling shakily. Just for a moment, Olive would pretend that she didn't understand the implications of that. "And we know that this afternoon Dad came to the apartment to check and see whether you still had your silver dagger."
"And what does that tell you?" Iris asked gently, still carding her hand comfortingly though Olive's hair. The girl tipped her head forward into the motion, trying to imagine that her mother was soothing her to sleep.
After a moment, Olive forced herself to open her eyes. She looked up at Iris, green meeting brown. "It tells me that the only reason a vampire would care if we had access to silver, was if she was planning on coming here."
It was far too late to run. Olive knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. Her mother knew it too. Perhaps if they'd left earlier. . . but that didn't bear thinking about. If they didn't come tonight, Iris decided, then maybe they could reconsider in the morning. For now, however, they were safer in the apartment.
"Vampires really can't enter a dwelling without an invitation," Iris explained, clutching Olive to her chest with one hand even as the other remained tightly wrapped around the silver dagger. Her eyes stayed locked on the front door. That was really the only feasible entrance to the apartment. None of the windows opened wide enough for an adult to squeeze through, not even the one by the fire escape.
Olive stared ahead dully, tear tracks drying on her cheeks.
"Sweetheart. . ." Iris trailed off helplessly, pained.
"They're gonna come tonight," Olive whispered hoarsely. Her gut churned in a mixture of nausea and riled instincts, but her words rang true. She was sure.
Resolutely, she continued not to think about why Iris seemed so sure she wouldn't be around in four months. About why Iris apparently wouldn't be as influential in Olive's future as her father and some random vampire. About the card at the end of Olive's tarot reading. What will come if you continue on this path. . .
Iris squeezed Olive tightly, pressing a kiss to her crown. "I should tell you it'll be alright," she murmured into Olive's hair.
Olive shook her head. "I don't want you to lie to me." And she didn't want confirmation that those words would be a lie.
"Then I won't," Iris reassured, face still tucked into Olive's mane. Quietly, she began to sing. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You'll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away." Iris's voice wasn't anything noteworthy, but it soothed Olive the way only her mother's singing could. Still, she didn't relax, and neither did Iris.
And moments later, their strained peace was disrupted.
Olive stiffened up like a board before she was even consciously aware of her instincts screaming at her. Her stomach leapt into her throat even as goosebumps erupted over her flesh, her hair standing on end. Her focus narrowed, heart beginning to pound as her breathing stuttered and adrenaline coursed through her veins. "They're here," Olive breathed.
Iris moved almost quicker than Olive could see. In the span of a few seconds she had gotten out from behind Olive and crossed to the kitchen with sure steps. Olive followed a few steps behind, hovering anxiously at her mother's side. They both kept the door in view at all times.
Iris opened one of the lower cabinets and stuck her arm in as far as she could, shifting it around oddly. Olive heard a strange sound like the loss of suction combined with the creaking of bent wood-barely audible over the rushing of blood in her ears-and a moment later Iris pulled out a wide, flat panel that Olive vaguely recognized as the back wall of the cabinet. She barely had time to process that before Iris extracted a long, wickedly sharp wooden stake from what must have been a hidden compartment built into the wall behind the cabinet. "Here," Iris said, shoving the stake into Olive's hands. It was wide enough that her fingers had some difficulty grasping it.
Olive had less than a minute to file away the fact that she had just been handed a weapon and that apparently her mother had a second secret secret spot that she'd managed to keep hidden, before all thoughts other than panic fled her mind for one simple reason.
A knock at the door.
Olive froze, instincts screaming so loudly she couldn't even begin to process them, but Iris stayed in motion. Without hesitation, Olive's mother grabbed her by the arm, pulled her out of the kitchen and towards the back wall of the apartment, and put herself firmly between Olive and the door, palming the silver dagger threateningly.
Another knock. "Excuse me?" A female voice, thick with a rolling, rich southern accent that Olive recognized but couldn't quite place. "Is anybody home?" she asked, somehow mocking in her sincerity. This was the vampire. Olive knew it. The same paralyzing fear that had haunted her all day, the creeping feeling of being stalked and hunted was back, and stronger than ever. Olive's legs shook.
Iris reached back and squeezed her hand. "It's a bit late to go knocking on a stranger's door, don't you think?" she called back dispassionately, barely raising her voice. "How can I help you?"
"Oh, well, I am sorry about the hour. I'm a bit of a night owl, you see," the monster tittered girlishly. Faintly, Olive could make out the sound of her nails tapping rhythmically on the other side of the door. "My name's Amélie Laroux," she introduced herself. The tapping grew slightly louder. "Your good friend Leon and I are very close. He's told me all about you, Iris. Can I call you Iris?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Anyway, I was in the neighborhood, and I saw your light was on, so I thought I'd just stop by to introduce myself to his family!"
That was a lie, obviously. Olive didn't need her. . . gift to know that. Something about her name hadn't been quite right either, though. Not a lie exactly, just. . . not really the truth? Olive shook the thought away. That was so far from being important right now.
"Would you mind letting me in?" Amélie asked smoothly, voice as cool and slick as a snake-oil salesman. "That'd be alright, wouldn't it? It'd be alright, tell her, cher."
"I'm here too, Iris," Leon's voice spoke up dutifully at Amélie's prompting, and Olive's heart sank, a traitorous sting beginning at the backs of her eyes. She'd known he was in on it, she'd known. So why did it hurt so much to have it confirmed? "You can let her in, it's fine." He sounded. . . nervous wasn't quite the right word. Afraid might be closer to the truth. But somehow. . . sad? Resigned? Resigned and sad? Olive couldn't quite pin the emotion down.
"No. I don't think so," Iris said firmly, not reacting to Leon's presence beyond a single jarring twitch. She clutched the dagger and Olive's arm alike in a vice like grip. "Maybe if you come back in the morning."
There was a long, thick pause, slightly too long to be natural. Abruptly, something in the back of Olive's mind shifted and clicked into place, and she realized that Iris had given something away with that statement.
A moment later, Amélie confirmed this. "Ah," she murmured, somehow loud enough to be heard through the door, yet maintaining the threatening quality that only calm, quiet speech could produce. "So you do know. I was wondering if you might." Neither Iris nor Olive replied, which the vampire seemed to take as encouragement to continue (no, Olive knew, she would have continued either way, it doesn't matter what we do-). "I'm from New Orleans, you see, so I know a genuine psychic when I come across one. And you my dear, are certainly the genuine article." She sighed mournfully. "Ahh, it's almost a shame. We vampires do so love to collect pretty, talented things like you. If only you weren't in the way." Olive's brow furrowed. In the way of what? "Oh well. Needs must!" Amélie tacked on cheerfully, and Olive had a split-second's warning from her hindbrain before-
BANG!
Olive couldn't help it. As Amélie's fist slammed against the front door with all the noise and force of a battering ram, Olive released a single, terrified shriek, curling in on herself as tears finally well and truly flooded her eyes. "Oh God, oh God," she whimpered, gut roiling. She wanted to run, but knew it wouldn't do any good. She could hide? No that wouldn't help either, the vampire would be able to hear her, smell her no matter where she went. And if they fought-! "No," Olive moaned, shaking her head as if it could dislodge the intuitive knowledge from her brain. "No, no, no!"
"Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in!" Amélie chanted gleefully, abandoning her southern belle ruse and shaking the door in its frame aggressively. The hinges and doorknob rattled loudly.
"Get back, Olive! I'll look after you," Iris assured, turning her body slightly so she could look at Olive and still keep herself between her daughter and the quaking door. Even in the midst of Olive's panic, Iris refrained from uttering the phrase it's alright. They both knew it would be a lie.
"This is my fault!" Olive cried hysterically, tears spilling uselessly over her cheeks. "If I'd- if I'd told you earlier that she wanted the knife you would've-would've known she was coming and we could have left! We could have been halfway across the state by now!"
"And then what?" Iris whispered harshly, but not unkindly. "Sweetheart, we don't have the resources to-" There was another loud bang at the door, and Iris cut herself off. When she spoke again, her voice was low and plaintive. "Running wouldn't have done any good, baby, I need you to know that. None of this is your fault, okay? Okay?" Iris pressed insistently when Olive stayed stubbornly silent.
"Okay," Olive choked out.
"Good," Iris said firmly, glancing over her shoulder when the door rattled ominously in its frame once more. She's toying with us, Olive knew instinctively. She didn't doubt that the vampire was strong enough to kick in the door easily. Shaking the door, drawing things out, lingering outside the apartment. . . these were all scare tactics.
A predator playing with her food.
"I need you to go to your room and lock the door behind you," Olive's mother ordered, bending down and cupping her daughter's cheeks between gentle, weathered palms. "Block it with whatever you can."
Olive's heart leapt in her chest, skipping a beat or two. "No," she argued, reaching up to wrap her too-small hands around Iris's thin wrists. "No, no, no." Olive repeated it frantically like a mantra, a childish denial not only of her mother's words, but of what she knew-suddenly knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt-would happen if she obeyed. "No, I can't!"
"You can and you will," Iris spoke in a tone that brooked no argument, straightening from her crouch and manhandling Olive towards her bedroom, careful to always keep her own body between Olive and the door. "This isn't even a discussion."
"No!" Olive half-shouted, struggling with all her might, nearly feral at the thought of what she knew was coming. "I have to stay-have to stay with you!"
"And why is that?" Iris fairly snarled, voice hard as she heaved Olive through her bedroom door. Why, why, why did she have to pick now to become an authoritarian mother?!
Olive dropped the stake and wrapped her fingers around her doorframe, hanging on with all her strength. Her knuckles whitened with the strain, her wrists popped, her palms reddened, and still she refused to let go. "Because if you put me in here and close the door, I'll never see you again!"
For a moment, the very world around them seemed to still. Iris froze. The noise at the door stopped. The only sound in the apartment was the wheeze of Olive's heavy, panicked breathing.
Slowly, Iris knelt down to Olive's level. She reached up to gently cup Olive's jaw, face easing into something pained, unsurprised, and achingly tender. "I haven't been a very good mother to you," she said quietly, expressing the sentiment for the second time that night. Unlike the first time, however, Olive couldn't find it in herself to protest, no matter how untrue she thought it was. "I've left you to worry over and take care of the both of us. I've let you see me in the kinds of conditions that no child should ever witness in anyone, let alone a parent. I've let my fear and my addiction control me. I've forced you to practically raise yourself, when my first and only priority should have been watching over you. Making sure you don't turn out like me," Iris finished self-deprecatingly, smiling wryly.
Fresh tears welled up in Olive's eyes, overflowing and spilling silently down her cheeks almost immediately.
Iris ran her thumb across Olive's cheek, sweeping the tears away lovingly. She traced her daughter's features lightly. "I never understood," Iris whispered, voice thick and eyes alight with something like awe, "how someone like me could have made someone so perfect. So beautiful and brave and kind." She swallowed heavily. "My little Olive branch." Olive sobbed. "Knowing you. . . loving you, has been the greatest joy and privilege of my life," Iris professed, determined, rising to her feet even as she continued to stroke Olive's face.
Olive shook her head slowly, tucking her chin to her chest and letting loose a wracking cry. "Please don't go," she choked. "Please, Mommy, please don't go." But even as she begged, she knew it was no use. Her gut clenched harshly. The Three of Swords. Suffering. Heartbreak. Death. The end of something.
Iris bent down and pressed her lips to Olive's forehead. Her mane of curly red hair fell around Olive's face, tickling her cheeks and collarbones. She smelled of floral incense and peppermint tea. "I love you, sweet girl. More than anything. Remember that not everything is set in stone, no matter how hopeless things may seem. We have our gifts so that we can guide ourselves to the brightest paths."
"Don't go," Olive pleaded one final time, hopeless, nearly faint.
Iris pulled back and smiled. She did not look afraid. "No can do, kiddo," she said, voice as clear as the open sky, as free and beautiful as birdsong. "I'm your mother, after all."
"I hate to interrupt this touching moment," the vampire interjected, sneer audible in her voice. "But let's get back to business, shall we?"
Foreboding swelled in Olive's stomach so sharply that she gasped aloud. "Get down!" she shouted, yanking Iris to the floor with her and curling up into a ball, shielding her head. And just in time, too, for no sooner had Olive cried out than the door to the apartment gave in with a massive crack, slamming open against the wall even as pieces of broken metal and wooden shrapnel from the now-broken lock and frame shot across the room like bullets. A splinter the size of Olive's hand flew over her head and through the doorway, only to embed itself in the back wall of her bedroom with a loud thud.
Olive stared, heart jackrabbiting in her chest. Amélie stood framed in the open doorway, but-true to what Iris had said-she made no move to enter the apartment.
She was. . . surprisingly small. Slight and short, the vampire stood with graceful poise despite just having kicked the door in. The only obviously inhuman things about her were the predatory look in her eyes and the unnaturally pale hue of her skin-almost like paper. With a jolt, Olive realized that, in fact, Amélie looked rather a lot like Iris. She had a smooth, youthful face framed by locks of perfectly curled strawberry blonde hair. Medium brown eyes glittered maliciously, done up with a flawless smokey eye. All in all, Amélie Laroux looked like a younger, meaner, flawless version of Olive's mother. It was unspeakably unsettling.
"We can do this the easy way or the hard way, chérie," she smiled beatifically.
Iris said nothing, pushing Olive backwards into her bedroom and brandishing the silver dagger threateningly.
Amélie narrowed her eyes, obviously irritated. "So you did still have that after all," she grumbled petulantly. "You really can't do anything right, can you Leon?" the vampire berated.
"Sorry, babe," Leon said mournfully, stepping into view with a hangdog expression on his face. He was just as jittery as he'd been that afternoon, with a high flush to his cheeks. But there was something scared about his expression. Not scared of Amélie, Olive didn't think-though every instinct Olive had told her that he really, really should have been-but something about the situation had him spooked.
Well that didn't bode well.
Leon glanced into the apartment, and when his eyes landed on Olive, hovering fearfully at Iris's back, something in his expression faltered. For a split second, they stared at each other in dismay, identical green eyes meeting. Leon was the one to break the stare off, turning to Amélie and saying sheepishly, "I couldn't find it anywhere when I was here earlier. She musta' had it with her."
Olive's intuition leapt on the omission, and she fought to keep her expression unchanged. He wasn't going to mention the fact that she had lied to him? Had told him they didn't have the dagger anymore? What was he playing at?
"Aw, that's alright baby," Amélie cooed, turning to cup Leon's face lovingly. The gesture was shockingly empty of emotion, but Leon didn't seem to notice, melting happily into her caress. "We all make mistakes sometimes. And now you get the chance to make up for it, anyway," she said, dropping a lingering kiss onto his jawline before stepping back to leave him the only one standing in the doorway. "Go on."
Leon hesitated very briefly, then stepped forward into the apartment, eyes locked on Iris with a determined set to his mouth.
Ah. Olive's breathing stuttered, but her thoughts were now so panicked that they'd circled right back around to calm again. Oh no.
"Into your room, sweetheart," Iris said firmly.
"Mom-"
"Go."
And Olive couldn't argue. She knew-she knew. . . but if she stayed out here, she would only be in the way. She was too-too small and weak to be of any use. What could she even do? So she picked up the stake, and retreated into her bedroom. And before the door closed all the way, she looked up at her mother one last time, holding tears at bay so that the image of Iris standing tall and proud and beautiful and alive would be perfectly clear. "I love you," Olive whispered, and shut the door, locking it closed.
And if she cried a little in the dark of her bedroom, there was no one there to see it but the constellations on the ceiling.
Even as tears leaked helplessly out of her eyes, Olive kept her ear pressed to the door. She didn't want to hear this, but she couldn't just pretend it wasn't happening.
She heard Iris shift around. "What the hell are you doing, Leon?" the woman asked, voice low and tight with a mixture of anger and disappointment that Olive was familiar with. It was the same voice Iris usually used when speaking to Leon. "You're really gonna attack me just because some vampire asked you? Gonna try to kill me?" In a normal argument, this was around the moment when Iris would usually bring up how Leon's choices were going to affect Olive, but this was far from a normal argument, and Olive was sure her mother didn't want to bring any unnecessary attention back to Olive's presence.
Unfortunately, Iris's words seemed to galvanize Leon somehow, and when he spoke his voice was clearer and steadier than it had been thus far. "She's not just some vampire, Rissy," he snapped. "We love each other! She supports me!"
Given what she had observed and what Iris had told her about the affects of vampire blood, Olive very much doubted that. However, instinct told her that pointing that out would only infuriate Leon and Amélie alike. Silently, Olive willed Iris not to make that particular argument.
Iris must have had the same thought, because rather than contradict Leon, what she chose to say instead was, "Good for you, then. Why don't you go enjoy your relationship somewhere else and leave us alone? I don't have any problem with you two being together, so long as you do it away from here."
Though she couldn't see what was going on, Olive could practically sense it when Leon faltered. Why. . . ? Oh, she realized with some prompting from her intuition. That was what he had wanted to do. Even with God only knew how much vampire blood coursing through his veins, he still didn't really want to be doing this.
But he was going to do it anyway. And that, Olive decided, was what was actually important.
"Oh, but I'm afraid that's not good enough for me," Amélie chimed in happily. "You might have noticed we look something alike, darling." Olive could only assume she was talking to Iris. "And I'm a bit of a jealous person by nature, you see. Silly, I know. What do I have to be jealous of?" she giggled, and Olive felt a stab of irritation break through the haze of calm-born-from-fear that occupied her mind. Her mother was a thousand times better than this crazy freak! "Still, I needed to be sure that Leon here was really over you before we could move on to the next stage of our relationship. Eternity is quite the commitment, after all!"
A moment of shocked silence. "You're going to Turn him?" Iris whispered, quietly enough that Olive could only barely hear it, even with her ear pressed to the keyhole.
Amélie hummed lightly, and the sound practically dripped with malice. "Only if he kills you," she sneered, and Olive shivered at the sound of it. But then the vampire's voice changed back to cloying sweetness as she addressed Leon once more, and Olive wasn't sure which was worse. "C'mon, cher," Amélie coaxed. "Don't you wanna be with me forever?"
Olive had either underestimated the effect of vampire blood or her father's stupidity, because he somehow didn't notice the glaring falseness of her demeanor. Was it really obvious, or did it just seem that way to Olive because of her instincts? She couldn't tell. Either way, Amélie's words seemed to ease most of Leon's doubts. "More than anything," he said, resolute, and Olive heard it clearly when his heavy boots began to finally make their way across the apartment towards Iris. She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut as if that would somehow make the situation less real.
But Iris stood strong. "Don't forget," she snarled, "that I'm not just some human." Her voice took on a familiar otherworldly quality, deepening and seeming to echo, as if several people with different voices were all speaking at once. "I am a Ward of the Other Realm!" The door Olive was pressed up against began to shake, and so did the floors and the walls. She could hear things falling off the shelves and shattering in the other room, then the faint whistle of displaced air as things began to fly about. Leon cried out suddenly, and Olive assumed that something had hit him. Iris continued, voice reverberating at a frequency that made Olive want to put her head in her hands. "I have access to knowledge and powers that you cannot even begin to comprehend!" There was a sudden thud and a massive crash, and Leon shouted out in pain once more, louder than before. A strange, almost electric humming noise filled the air. Sparks shot out of the wall sockets in Olive's room, and she yelped. Bulbs popped in the other room, and the vampire swore violently from the hallway.
But the feeling of foreboding in Olive's stomach didn't abate. Despite the show of power, Iris still wasn't going to-!
No longer able to bear no knowing just what was happening, Olive turned her head and put her eye up to the keyhole. Squinting, she could just barely make out a narrow portion of the apartment. There were papers and pieces of shattered glass and ceramics scattered around the floor. Olive could just barely make out Leon's legs, off to the living room side of the apartment. It looked like he'd been flung up against one of the bookshelves. That must have been the loud crash.
Iris had moved forward a bit, away from the bedroom door. Olive couldn't see her face, but she knew from prior experience that whenever her mother channelled the Others, her eyes took on an unearthly blue sheen, and her face blurred so that you could no longer make out any of her features concretely. Her limbs spasmed every now and then as different spirits tried to move her body in different directions, but-for now, anyway-Iris remained in control. "We are more than you could ever imagine!" Iris boomed, and the stray, slightly hysterical thought came across Olive's mind that she was glad none of the other shops nearby had occupied apartments above them, because this was not something Olive wanted the police to walk in on. They wouldn't be able to help, anyway, since the first thing they'd encounter upon coming up the stairs would be a pissed off vampire. "And you think to challenge us?!"
Leon shifted slightly, and knowledge of what was about to happen struck Olive as suddenly as a lightning bolt. "Mom, look out!" she shouted desperately, hopelessly, reaching for the doorknob as if to help, only to be frozen in place by her own instincts which told her to STOP even as her father reached into his pocket and flung a handful of salt into Iris's face.
She gagged helplessly, stumbling back as the pure element forcefully disrupted her connection to the Others. The walls and air stopped thrumming with power as Iris frantically tried to shake the salt crystals off of her body, out of layered clothes and her curly hair. But it was no use, because as soon as the opportunity presented itself, Leon hurled himself forward with vampire blood-enhanced strength, and the struggle became physical.
Iris was a powerful woman. She was strong. She was brave, and fierce, and clever. But compared to a man twice her size and half her age who was hopped up on the best steroid known to man. . . well.
She got a few good swipes in with the silver dagger before Leon wrestled it out of her hands. She got a few good hits in with her fists before he pinned her arms together with one hand. A few good kicks before he knocked her to the ground and raised the knife up above his head, a single-minded look in his eyes.
Olive watched it all through the keyhole, unable to look away, no matter how she tried. Her eyes were dry, no matter how she tried to summon tears to blur her vision. And the terrible, awful, knowing hum in the back of her mind, the one that told what was about to happen-that wouldn't go away either. She had no control. Not over her body, or over her mind. Over anything at all.
The moment before it happened, Iris looked up. She seemed to meet Olive's gaze, even through the keyhole. She was pressed face down on the floor, Leon's meaty fist holding her arms together high up on her back as he pinned her hips and legs to the ground with his knees. Blood was smeared across her mouth and her forehead. Salt clung to her pale eyelashes. A red mark was blooming across her jaw.
Her eyes were dry too, like Olive's, and filled with a number of emotions that her daughter didn't know enough to name. But Olive could recognize fear, especially when it was for herself. Close your eyes, Iris mouthed, trying to smile. Her chin trembled.
At the same time, Leon spoke. "Sorry, Rissy," he said quietly, sounding genuinely apologetic. As if there had never been any other option.
Remember that not everything is set in stone, no matter how hopeless things may seem. We have our gifts so that we can guide ourselves to the brightest paths.
The Three of Swords. Death.
Olive closed her eyes.
But she still knew the very second it happened. Something clicked, then shattered inside of her. A horrible feeling spread outwards from her heart, an emptiness that made her entire body go numb. Her head thunked against the door as she lost the ability to hold it up. She kept her eyes shut. What would be the point in opening them?
Vaguely, she registered that conversation was ongoing on the other side of the door. "Ah, that's much better," Amélie said. Olive knew that she had just stepped through the front door.
"I thought you'd still need an invitation," Leon said.
"The homeowner's dead, and the little blood bag is too small to have its name on the lease," the vampire explained. Something inside Olive twitched. She did not respond. "No one owns the apartment, so anyone can come inside now."
"Oh."
"Aww, cher, don't worry. I know that must have been hard, even if you didn't love her anymore. Thank you for doing that for me, baby. Now I know you love me, and we can be together forever. Doesn't that sound nice?"
". . . Yeah, it does."
"Now, we just have to deal with the little breather, and we can get right to the most important part of the most important part of your life, cher! It's been a long time since I've eaten something so fresh. I bet it'll taste great!"
That's bad.
Okay.
"Wait!" Leon said loudly. "Um, she doesn't really need to die, does she? I mean, she's my-she's a kid, not an ex. I don't care about her the way I care about you."
"Hmm," Amélie hummed. "The thing is, I really don't want anything to distract you from me, baby. It's gotta be just us."
"I mean I don't care about her at all!" Leon said. "So she won't be a distraction. But she would-she would be a good witness. You know, to make sure the police don't look too closely at what happened here." There was a small pause. "The police always look harder when there's kids involved. But Iris is-was real into drugs. The cops and CPS'll know that, so they'll just assume it was a deal gone wrong or something. Killing Oli-killing the kid would attract extra attention to the case."
Amélie hummed again.
"But if you leave the kid alive and glamour her to go along with the drug deal story, they'll never look at this case again," Leon continued to explain. "And the Sheriff won't give you any trouble about making a mess in his Area. I mean, you said the guy's a real fusspot, right?"
"Ugh, he really is," Amélie confirmed. "Alright, cher, you've convinced me!"
The door Olive was leaning against was suddenly yanked away, lock cracking and breaking. Olive fell forward slightly before catching herself. She looked up at the vampire, and flinched at the sight of her. She looked too much like-
Oh, that was right. Olive still had the wooden stake clutched in one hand. Should she use it?
No.
Okay. She dropped the stake.
Amélie raised a perfect red eyebrow and yanked Olive out of her bedroom by the elbow. It hurt. She dragged Olive into the apartment proper, and Olive slipped almost immediately, her bare foot landing in something warm and sticky. She looked down.
Oh. That was a lot of blood. She was standing in it. The blood was coming from-
The blood was coming from-
Some of the tarot cards had fluttered down off the coffee table and landed in the blood. Olive bent down and retrieved them, setting them back on the table. They were still red. Maybe she should wipe them off-
Olive was yanked around away from the living room, toward the kitchen. Amélie pulled her past a stock-still Leon and over to the small pantry. She leaned down and yanked at Olive's chin so that she had to look the vampire in the eyes. Amélie's pupils suddenly contracted. "You will forget everything you heard and saw tonight. This is what you'll remember instead: a tall white man with light hair came to your apartment to ask your mother about some money she owed him. When she couldn't provide it, he entered by force, ransacked the place, and killed your mother in the struggle. Before he left, he locked you in the pantry so you couldn't call for help."
At first, Olive felt a faint desire to believe that the words were true. That was what had happened, wasn't it?
No, it's not. You remember what really happened.
Oh, yes Olive did remember what really happened. Well, there was no need to believe the story Amélie had told her, then.
Pretend.
Okay. "A tall white man with light hair came to the apartment to ask Mom about money. She couldn't give it to him, so he came inside and started breaking stuff. Mom tried to stop him, and he killed her. He locked me in the pantry so I couldn't call for help."
Amélie smiled widely, opened the pantry door, and shoved Olive inside. "Good blood bag," she said. "Oh, and a word of advice. This dump isn't open on Sundays, according to the sign outside. So it'll be awhile before someone finds you. Don't pass out, because as soon as you hear someone nearby, you'll need to scream as loudly as you can, won't you blood bag? Otherwise, by the time anyone finds you, you might be dead already!" And she slammed the door shut, plunging Olive into darkness. The lock clicked. "Let's go, cher," the vampire said from the other side of the door. "You've got a grave to dig!"
And then Olive was alone.
Olive sat in the dark for a long time, legs pretzled awkwardly so she could fit in the meager space, before she remembered that she could turn on the light. She reached up and pulled the hanging chain connected to the lightbulb, which flickered on.
After awhile, Olive was thirsty. Absently, she assessed her surroundings. There was plenty of dry food in the pantry, but nothing she could drink that wasn't in a can, and she had no can opener. She went back to just sitting there.
Eventually, the sun came up. The light creeped in under the pantry door, so Olive turned off the lightbulb. She was hungry, so she ate some crackers. Then her stomach started to twist, so stopped eating crackers.
Would anyone hear if she screamed now? It was Sunday, but some of the nearby shops would still be open by now. Olive's throat was awfully dry. Would she be able to scream loud enough?
No.
Okay. She waited.
It was hot again. Extremely hot, and humid. Olive's skin was coated in sweat, her hair heavy against her neck. She took off her shirt and wrapped it around her head and hair like a turban. This cooled her off, but made it more difficult to support the weight of her head. Her neck ached. Her head felt strange. Fuzzy. She was very tired, but she couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw something horrible, so she opened them again.
Olive was dizzy. The air inside the pantry was stifling. She couldn't take a deep enough breath to satisfy her lungs. Her stomach hurt. She couldn't feel her hands or her feet. She closed her eyes, and couldn't open them again.
When Olive woke, it was dark. She reached up and turned on the lightbulb. There was a strange feeling in her hindbrain. It broke through the haze that had fallen over her mind just enough for her to realize what it meant. Leon was a vampire now. He had woken just now, just as she had. She was so thirsty. It was still so hot. The haze came back.
Olive became aware of a strange smell. Something gaseous. Sulfuric and rotting, coming from the other side of the door. She didn't think about it.
Olive threw up. Now there was a horrible smell inside the pantry too. She shoved the small pile out through the gap beneath the door, and the smell abated slightly. She opened a jar of tea leaves and shoved them beneath her nose. Peppermint.
The sun rose again. It did that every day, Olive supposed. Strange, that it somehow surprised her to see it. Her entire body was shaking.
It was Monday. There were no appointments scheduled for today. Should she scream? Would anyone co-?
A jolt in her gut. Olive blinked, mind clearing slightly.
"Hello?" A voice in the hallway. Two sets of footsteps. "Hello, this is Brenda Worth and Charles Norton with Child Protective Services, is anyone-Oh my God! Ms. Ward! Chuck, call 911! Ms. Ward are you alright?"
A male voice. "Oh God, the kid! Olive? Olive!"
And Olive opened her mouth. . .
. . . and screamed.
"I'm sorry."
"It was a long time ago."
"I understand that. But that doesn't mean it stops hurting."
A sigh. "I guess not."
. . .
"Your mother sounds like a remarkable woman," Eric said gently after a long moment of silence, wrapping an arm around Olive's shoulders and squeezing them close together like sardines in a can where they sat perched on the bottom step of Eric's opulent staircase.
"She was," Olive agreed quietly.
She could feel Eric's gaze boring into the top of her head. "So that dagger from last night. . ." her Maker probed carefully.
Olive nodded. "It's the one that killed her," she confirmed darkly. Careful not to touch the silver with her skin, Olive brought a hand up to pat the bulge the dagger created in her jacket. She spared a moment to be grateful that it had been carefully tucked into her inner pocket when she had Turned, such that no bit of it could be exposed unintentionally. Olive exhaled heavily, breath rattling emptily in her lungs. "I was never completely sure why I took it with me," she confessed. "Not until now, anyway. I mean, it's saved my life a number of times, that's for sure. But that never really felt like. . . like its purpose."
"And what is its purpose?" Eric asked, though the feral grin stretching across his lips told Olive that he had an idea already.
Images flickered across the back of her eyelids. Olive catching a glimpse of a familiar pair of vampires across a crowded room. His eyes widening in fear and shock, hers in disbelief and rage.
Olive's widening in anticipation as she palmed the hilt of her dagger-wrapped in leather cords-and smirked at The Hermit and The Queen of Wands.
"Its purpose," Olive mused, pulling herself back into the present, "is that one day I'm going to take this dagger and shove it into Amélie Laroux's pathetic, shriveled heart."
A/N: End of flashback! We all knew it was coming, but are we sad to see Iris go? I was certainly sad to write her. It's hard to craft a character you love, knowing that she's going to die almost as soon as she's introduced.
But alas, had to be done. Now back to our regularly scheduled vampire drama! Next chapter: Pam!
Thank you for all the lovely comments while I was off procrastinating. They really are very encouraging to read, and an influx of comments over the last couple days on AO3 is actually what got my butt in gear to write this chapter. So thanks!
I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please let me know what you think!