Gratitude: Part II - Act 1
Almost as soon as the light show started, Hanna found the courage to open her eyes. She didn't close them again all that night.
With a fearsome look overcoming him, Logan swept his arms to either side, releasing the attack upon the creatures that dared frighten the most precious thing in his life. The force made his fingers bleed, his tendons and veins standing out on his wrists. The vamps caught in the torrent were swept away in clouds of glowing ash.
Logan took the opportunity to clutch his daughter's head tighter to his chest with one bleeding hand while striking out with an invisible fist at the confused and enraged vamps.
The vamp who had torn her pajamas made a rush towards Hanna, convinced he could still score some cherished blood from this encounter. In motion like a choreographed dance, Logan's hand was at the vamp's throat even as the creature's hand was on Hanna's sleeve. The burning of the man's hand in an instant melted through the vamp's undead flesh and dropped him into a pile of dust.
The rest of the gang, getting up with confusion and bitterness, scrambled away into the night. Logan let them go, knowing he had other responsibilities tonight above chasing down and killing these monsters.
Hanna, wide eyed and trembling, stared at the pile of dust which had been her attacker. His hand had been solid and real on her arm a moment ago. Now it was not. Her gaze didn't budge until she felt oddly warm hands on her cheeks, tilting her head up.
Logan stared down at his beloved with an intensity that only increased as he took in her fear. She was afraid of him. He felt the blood between his fingers leaving marks on her face. His fingernails burned like they had been dipped in acid and his head throbbed. Yet he had never felt so alive.
"Honey," Logan Kilpatrick said gently, softening his eyes for her benefit, "what were you doing outside?"
Her lips were trembling, her eyes locked with his. "Sl- sleep– sleep w- wa–"
"Sleep walking?" She nodded vigorously. He sighed and cocked his head with resignation. There were stranger things that could get you eaten. He took his hands from her cheeks and wiped them on his pajama top. "Hanna, baby," he got down on one knee on the dew soaked grass and took both her hands in his. "Sweetie, can you keep a secret from mom?"
--
Niki stood in the early morning hours at the front entrance to John F. Kennedy International Airport. Whistler stood nearby, neither of them making eye contact. They would never find the bracelet peddler inside, especially with the sword tucked inside Niki's jacket, but once the hour got late enough, the vamp would have to leave his post to sleep for the day. It would have to be before sunrise.
Watching the entrance, Niki pretended to read a newspaper. Shares Plunge After Wall Street Crash, read the headline. Whistler was looking very interested in his shoes. Niki glanced at the doors then back to the paper. San Francisco: Earthquake Kills Nine. What a depressing world, she thought, no wonder I don't read the paper.
Then the scent of vampire caught her attention. Without looking at the door, she met Whistler's glance. He gave the most imperceptible nod and after several heartbeats, Niki folded the newspaper of depression neatly in half and stuffed it into her jacket. She turned and started after the creature Whistler had identified, a vampire wearing a brown trench coat and carrying a small canvas suitcase. He could easily have been peddling watches, she shook her head. No, he was selling something much more valuable. He was selling immunity.
She followed him out to the street where he hailed a cab and Niki was forced to watch as he sped away. But their cab was still idling and the driver was getting paid a bonus tonight. They were soon in pursuit.
Mere seconds after the first pursuit began, a second continued. A black Lincoln Towncar pulled back into traffic, its headlights disconnected and its driver staring fixedly at the occupants of the taxi just ahead.
--
Hanna's mouth hung open, her face streaked with her father's blood. "You're... like a wizard or something?" When he couldn't think of a response in time, a broad grin spread across her face. "That's awsome!"
"You cannot tell your mother, understand?" He held her shoulders tightly. Her fear had been all but forgotten.
"And those were... vampires? Real vampires?" Her eyes lit up. "That is so cool!" Her eyes shifted back and forth, considering the ramifications to her struggling social status. "Kirsty is not going to believe this..." Then the realization dawned on her and she frowned. "She really isn't going to believe this, is she?"
"Hanna," Logan gripped her shoulders tighter and gave her a little shake to bring her attention back to him. "You can't tell anyone, understand? Not Kirsty, not mom, nobody. Got it?" When she looked reluctant to accept his admittedly one-sided terms, he waved a bloodied hand before her eyes and just a spark leapt between his index and middle fingers. "You don't want to anger a wizard, do you?" Hanna shook her head at once, straightening up, following his hand with her eyes. Logan nodded, satisfied. "Good, now go inside and wash up before going back to bed. No reason to give your mother a heart attack."
The thirteen year old ran inside, leaving her father kneeling in the wet grass.
So, he breathed, the life had come after him. He had left it behind and it had come after him and his own. He knew it was stupid to think heros were exempt from hardship, but he had hoped Hanna would never need to know the realities of the world around her, especially where those realities applied to her father. But she was thirteen now, no longer the ten year old she had been when this had started.
These thoughts troubled the man who knelt in the dew that night. How could he be so cavalier about this? Dammit, his daughter had nearly been killed by vampires on his own lawn! Where the hell was the Vampire Slayer? Why wasn't she doing her job?
Maybe he had made the wrong choice leaving her. Hanna and Rachel had been safe when he was still practicing... when he was still with her. Certainly the marriage had taken a beating, but they had remained at least ignorant of what sort of mortal danger he had been in almost every night of his life. Now he had recommitted himself to his family and danger chose this moment to come to him.
But dammit, this wasn't his job! He'd just been dragged into it! He hadn't asked to fight vampires – well, no that was a lie. He had asked to help Niki. She had seemed so vulnerable and scared, faced all of a sudden with a world alone, a world of enemies. She had accepted his help, perhaps rightfully without a thought to his needs. But that was years ago. She was an adult now. A Slayer. She should be handling all this.
The scent filled his head. Vampire. They had sensed that he was down and were coming back for him. Hanna was safely in the house and they were not invited in...
Logan slowly stood as the forms emerged from the darkness around him. They were wary, some of them having seen his power. Others were there just for entertainment. Logan wiped the blood from his sore hands on his pajama bottoms and tried to build some kind of charge between his fingers. But he just wasn't feeling it. The vampires' faces changed.
Logan looked about at the slowly constricting net of creatures which surrounded him. He felt a bit light headed.
Suddenly there was the pounding of boots on concrete. One by one the heads turned as a vampire charged down the inky black street toward them, his brown trench coat fluttering open behind him. He dropped something heavy on the street and it broke open. He left it without a backward glance, heading for the safety of the vampire crowd.
Logan frowned. Then he saw her. Racing fast and lithe, Niki rounded the corner from where the car chase had ended and towards the fleeing target. The crowd of vamps saw her coming, took one look at the vamp she was chasing and scattered.
A broad grin spread across Logan's face. "Ha!" he shouted after them, throwing his now powerless fists after them. "That's right! Run like the little pussies you are!"
Niki launched herself and caught the fleeing vamp in the trench coat by the legs, bringing him down to the wet grass ten feet from Logan's lawn. Logan strolled up in the light of a street lamp as Niki was beating the non-living crap out of him.
"Where did you get them?" she demanded, her fists striking his face like clockwork. "Who gave them to you?" Thwack, thwack. "Who made them?"
"I- don't– nobody!" the vamp begged. Without a thought, she drew the short sword concealed down her back and drove it into his chest, all the way to the hilt, effectively pinning him to the soft ground. The vamp let out a cry of agony which was cut short as Niki clamped a hand around his throat.
"Tell me or I start cutting pieces off," she hissed, jerking the blade for emphasis. He whimpered and Logan nodded with appreciation. Niki had certainly become more... committed since last he saw her.
"Who made what?" Logan inquired, content to observe no longer.
Niki's glance jerked up with such suddenness there was an audible crack. "Logan!" she cried with delight, standing up, the vampire forgotten. Her eyes narrowed, then softened, then her entire physique acquired a confused air. She looked around; at the house, the street, the lamppost. "Is this Freeport?"
He nodded. "Good to see you again."
She wanted to hug him. Wanted to kiss him. Wanted to do... things to him. But he wasn't hers anymore. She had beaten that addiction. Slaying was her addiction now. Victory. "Good to see you too," she nodded, her voice quieter.
"Why're you chasing him?" Logan nodded towards the vamp who had unpinned himself and was making a mad dash for the darkness offered by a patch of trees.
"Oh- shit," Niki cursed, quickly pulling a stake from her pocket and throwing it like a dagger. With a gasp the vampire took the stake through the back of the heart, collapsing into dust on someone's lawn.
The Slayer sighed. "I was trying to figure out where he was getting his merchandise," she shrugged. "He won't be talking now."
"Merchandise?" Logan pressed, crossing his arms in the cool night air.
Niki clenched and unclenched her jaw as she considered telling him, then decided against it. He had opted out of the crew after the cover at Atlantic Avenue had left him drained for days. There was no blame in it - business had been slow anyway. No need to drag him into it now.
"You're not going to tell me, are you?" Logan nodded, knowingly. "It's okay. I understand." Niki swallowed and after a brief pause stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. Logan rested his head on hers. "I've missed you too."
--
Gratitude: Part II - Act 2
"That is so lame," Kirsty scoffed, tossing her arrangement of blonde hair in a way which she knew caught the boys' attention.
"I'm serious! I think I could make up something a bit more believable than that!" Hanna held her sleeve up as several of her classmates peered at the claw marks on her upper arm. "There were at least ten of them and my dad totally kicked their butts."
"Vampires?" Justin repeated sarcastically. "As in 'I vaant to suuck your bloood,'" he made a classic Dracula posture and pretended to lean in towards Kirsty's neck. She sneered and punched him lightly on the arm.
"She's just trying to get attention," Kirsty argued, turning away from the crowd which was admiring the deep scratches. "Come on Justin, we all know you could take her dad. She probably scratched her arm herself."
"Did not," Hanna countered, pulling her sleeve down again angrily. "And my dad could kick your wimpy boyfriend's butt, if he wanted to."
"Whatever," Kirsty shrugged, leading her toy away to class, the jock gladly carrying her books. Hanna glared at their backs until they disappeared down the hall.
"How do you know they were vampires?" a quiet voice asked from behind her. Hanna turned around and saw one boy standing still among the dispersing crowd. A little smile flickered across her lips. He was cute.
--
"Hmm," Whistler looked intently at the writing on the whiteboard of Niki's fridge. "Well," he said at last, "it looks like your handwriting."
Niki waited for more. None came. "Uh... of course it's my handwriting. I wrote it."
Whistler cocked his head. "Why'd you write Now you know see our power?"
The Slayer sighed and poured herself a cup of coffee. "I don't remember writing it!" she explained. "I think it's a message from the Deceivers."
"Ah," the demon nodded, now beginning to understand. Without another thought, he opened the fridge and stuck his head in. "Got anything good in here?"
"That depends," Niki answered, taking along sip of the delicious black liquid, "how long does it take milk to turn into cheese?" Whistler pulled his head out and slowly closed the door.
"I think I know someone who can help," the demon thought for a long time. "There's this guy in Queens who might know about the Deceivers."
Niki slowly set down her coffee and frowned. "Why haven't you mentioned this seer before?"
"He's not exactly a seer," the demon defended. "He's more of a..." the demon's eyes shifted quickly, then he swallowed. "Uh, never mind. He probably wouldn't be able to help anyway."
The Slayer raised her eyebrows. "Why, what is it?" She took a step closer and laughed. "Come on, you don't get to leave me hanging like this!"
Whistler sighed and studied the Slayer's eyes for a moment. Then he shrugged. "Alright, but this information comes with a warning." He now saw that he had Niki's full attention. "The guy is a... a prophet."
Niki frowned. "Uh, like... Ezekiel?" She shook her head. "Why is there a prophet in Queens?" The demon shrugged.
"Why is there a prophet anywhere? To see the plays before they're played and do his best to level the field."
Niki took on a sardonic look. "Like you?" Whistler merely smiled. "But don't prophets see way, way into the future?"
The demon nodded. "It's not as though they can see whatever they want to see. There's some pretty hefty power behind them - direct communion with the Powers, I would think."
"So why would you have thought of him knowing about the Deceivers?" Niki turned and took up her coffee again, letting the warmth of it radiate from her core and melt her chilled fingers.
"Well this particular prophet happened to be a very wealthy business mogul," Whistler explained, "until random bad luck seemed to take him down. So, thanks to the Deceivers, he now lives under a bridge and panhandles to stay alive."
"Tragic," Niki agreed with little sympathy. "How do the Deceivers cause bad luck? Had him walk into an executive meeting without pants or something?"
"No, no, nothing like that." Whistler threw her an amused look. "They had him enter into an arrangement with a business man - a friend of mine, actually." He sighed, crossing his arms. "That's the true power of deception. If they wanted to, they could make you think you're crossing the street, when you're actually stepping into the East River."
"I know the feeling," Niki said bitterly.
"But that's not usually their style. They don't like to leave things hanging like that. They know, as most demons do, that the world will tear itself apart with only a little encouragement." The demon absently opened the fridge door again and began rummaging. "Of course it's not in many people's interest to have a prophet wandering around, so for reasons no one had been able to pin down, our prophet entered into business with a corporate corruption demon: not really evil, just a force sent by the Powers to make sure people didn't get to confident in the Free Market." Whistler stopped as he found the milk/cheese. He quickly pulled his head out of the fridge and closed it a second time. "And oil prices dropped, Dow plummeted, and now he lives under a bridge."
"So why did you not want me to see him?" Niki hadn't forgotten Whistler's initial hesitation. "I would think he doesn't have anything to lose now."
Whistler turned and began sequentially opening cupboards and drawers, looking for something edible. "How do you survive, woman?"
Niki crossed her arms and frowned. "Whistler?"
The demon sighed. "Alright." He turned back to her with an almost sullen expression. "You've obviously never seen a prophet before. Not many people can resist the urge... if you know what I mean."
The Slayer scoffed. "What, to know the future? Come on, Whistler, I've been to see your seer - what's the difference?"
The demon swallowed. "There's a big difference. Seers see... sometimes random things - they see snippets, sometimes useful, sometimes not. They don't know or understand what they see and they obviously can't control it. It's a gift, you could say, and it sometimes gives us a heads up down here." The demon took a deep breath. "A prophet... a prophet is never wrong. Never inaccurate. The apocalypse could be six hundred years away and with all the variables of human and demon behavior between then and now, they'll be right to the second, to the punch, to the shout. It's not a gift. Like I said before, it's direct communication with the Powers. It's a direct look at the Plan. And they may not be able to control it, like a light switch, but they're usually far from powerless." He waited for the Slayer to react and she finally uncrossed her arms and opened a cupboard behind her and handed him a box of cookies.
"And I'm not exactly going to win Self-Restraint of the Year award, am I?" Niki nodded. "Alright, I won't go and see him. But we have to find a way to take down these bastards before they have me running around killing innocents all night long."
"I don't think you have to worry about that," Whistler said between mouthfuls of cookie. "Like I said, that's not their style. They prefer to give a little push and let gravity do the rest. I'd be more worried about the innocent you've already killed."
Niki was silent for a long moment. "What should I do?"
Whistler shrugged. "Seeing as how 'I thought she was a vampire' isn't a valid defense in United States Supreme Court, I would recommend you don't get caught." The demon swallowed another cookie. "For now, get back to your life. Take down this bracelet trafficking ring – but do it carefully. Don't just stake the first person you see with silver on their wrist."
Niki nodded. "Don't be reckless, got it." As Whistler brushed the crumbs from his hands on his trousers, Niki took him gently by the shoulder. "Thanks, Whistler..."
The demon nodded. "It's why I'm here."
--
Harrison squinted into the binoculars, watching the playing of light and dark through the ninth storey window from his vantage point in his car across the street. She was up there, he knew. The insanity of this case hounded him. If she just killed normally, he could have arrested her back in Freeport. But no body: no case. It would be his word against hers. And he wasn't exactly popular with the bureau right now. Maddeningly enough, he might just have to tail her until she killed again without incinerating the body. By then, of course, she would have disposed of any evidence tying her to Megan Brandon's murder.
Harrison clenched his fist. And the goddamned A.D.A. couldn't get him a warrant to search her apartment. He had no problem just poking around while she was out, but since the likelihood of catching her red-handed was slim, they needed everything to be in order for a conviction. Too many criminals got away on technicalities.
Harrison slowly lowered the lenses and a small smile crossed his face. And the Cremator wouldn't be one of them: there was more than one way to get into a woman's apartment.
--
Gratitude: Part II - Act 3
Logan's fingers, wrapped in band-aids, tried futilely to flip through the pages of Aguilar vs. Felton. He hadn't even written the damn exam yet and his firm was already treating him like a criminal defense counselor. Aguilar vs. Felton was a transcript of an Establishment Clause case which Logan's associate, Eric Quinlan, had recommended he review.
"The most embarrassing thing you could do," Eric had warned him, "is miss precedent which could have won your case. It's only really once and a while that you actually have to work hard to win a case. By justice or jury, most cases win or lose themselves."
Logan slowly peeled back another page with his bandaged fingers. He prayed he'd never miss something like a violation of the First Amendment. Then he scoffed. Of course he wouldn't. It wasn't as though he was fresh out of law school. Well... he was fresh from some classes, but they didn't count. Tack the appropriate letters onto the end of his name, Logan smiled, ace the A.B.A.'s test and the bar was his.
He had thought it would be years before the firm assigned him the big cases, but ever since they'd become associated with that one client... their profits in the criminal sector had plunged. Now Wolfram & Hart sought to buy them up. Any way you looked at it, acquisition was like slowly being eaten by a python. Ambushed by poor management, constricted by deficit and finally devoured by the inescapable drive for synergy.
Obviously Morgan, Lewis and Bockius knew their heads were on the downsizing chopping-block and were trying to butter their bread a little, in this case Logan himself, perhaps in order to secure a better severance package.
Either way, Logan thought, flipping through the pages of Aguilar vs. Felton, the hostile takeover really only worked to his favor. The pages, however, kept sticking to the band-aids and he couldn't keep from being reminded of the remnants of his old life which had begun to track him down.
What was she doing right now?
--
Niki peeled the thin white T-shirt from her body which was still clinging to the summer's tan. White, as far as shirts were concerned, was silent and said nothing in particular about herself or her intentions. The black shirt which she now pulled on said plenty.
Niki sighed as she looked at her stubbornly still-tanned complexion in the old vanity. Retrieving some pale foundation, she began the tedious task of pretending not to have seen sunlight in decades.
Next, she violated her personal code of conduct and applied thick black mascara and Dried Blood Black lipstick. Finally, after the black nail polish had dried and Niki was feeling thoroughly gothic, she found several sets of appropriately cold looking earrings and within three minutes had them fed into her newly pierced ears.
With a blank expression and a slight touch up of eyeshadow, she pulled her black leather jacket back on, noticing how unusual it felt without the white T-shirt beneath it.
Into her pockets she added some weapons to those which her jacket already carried – a small, decorative dagger which she had swiped from some nameless demon this past summer, chrome knuckles, and something called the preditor; a cross between a hunting knife and wickedly spiked brass knuckles.
Stepping out of her bedroom, Niki came face to face with the demon. Whistler whistled in amazement.
"Whoa, I wouldn't recognize you – except," he frowned and took a step towards the blank faced Slayer, "your whole getup cries Goth while your hair still insists Punk."
Niki's expressionless face and serious tone were nearly as unrecognizable. "I am not dying my hair."
Whistler shrugged. "How bout this–" he pulled her hair back tight into a ponytail and secured it with the silver bracelet from his wrist. "There. It looks mildly painful so I doubt anyone will ask any questions."
"It doesn't just look mildly painful," Niki winced, touching her scalp. "But thanks, I'd hate to be found out too early."
The demon took a step back. "I know this whole thing isn't your style, and if you're lucky, that will work to your advantage: they'll never expect it. It may not be comfortable, but it's a lot safer than indiscriminately slaying."
"I feel like a corpse," Niki said sullenly, even the act of blinking now feeling unnatural.
"Good," Whistler smiled, taking her arm and leading her into the kitchen. "Now we have to make you smell like one."
--
JFK was not a place for mistakes or Plan B's.
Niki Valtaine strode through the various debarking people with the look of someone who didn't belong. Under the deathly and stoical exterior, her heart was pounding its strong disapproval. She would much prefer to be reckless and kill everyone involved with this operation, from the bottom up if necessary. But now that was dangerous. Now she knew their power.
She approached the person from behind. She could have picked him off from a mile away. He would be more careful since the recent death of his predecessor; in fact she was surprised he had been replaced so quickly. Then again, profit was a powerful motivator, even for them.
"Perhaps you can help me," Niki held her hands clasped behind her back, keeping her expression grim.
The vampire turned around with a critical expression, looking her up and down. "You smell like you've just fed–" he noticed the bracelet holding her hair back and scoffed, "and it looks like you've got what help I could give you."
Niki cocked her head in a calculated mechanical fashion. "I have several friends who will be arriving from Europe." She waited for what she deemed the right amount of time. "I wish to secure their safety once they arrive. I understand you can supply me with what they will need."
The vamp licked his lips and stroked his greasy, stubble-covered chin. "How many friends are we talking about?"
"I have sixteen arriving in the next forty eight hours," she allowed herself to blink for the first time since the meeting, mentally suppressing the infuriating sensation on her scalp. "And over one hundred and fifty arriving by the end of the week."
The vamp shifted and took on a sly grin. "Europe not been kind to your friends?"
Niki clenched her jaw. "Let's just say New York seems to be a safer haven with your business up and running."
The vamp narrowed his gaze and looked her up and down again. "Lot'a folk been worried lately. I wouldn't call the City safe, even with that trinket you got," he raised his chin and shrugged. "Only a matter of time fore the Slayer figures it all out. Is it really worth what I'm asking to protect your Euro-pals?"
Niki remained unfazed. "Family is family." To this the vamp conceded. "And you're not doing a terrific job of selling your product," Niki added, allowing herself another blink.
The vamp frowned for a moment, then broke into a grin. "You got me there. The thing is, I ain't got a hundred and sixty six deals on me right now. I'd have to get you a special shipment."
Niki closed her eyes and took on the look of an insulted serpent. "Perhaps I should be looking elsewhere. There are other, cheaper—"
"Look, I got them," the vamp insisted, opening his ratty trench coat, inside of which hung several bracelets; gold, silver, some inlaid with jewels, some with different Latin engravings. None looking precisely like the original IXI. "The only question is," the vamp tilted his head conspiratorially, "what sort of protection do you want?"
Niki cursed herself internally. This was a scam. Pure and simple. This vamp didn't have what she was looking for. He'd discovered that the Slayer wouldn't kill those wearing the silver bracelet. What he hadn't figured out was why. He'd taken the idea and run with it. He was selling protection from almost anything, the Council, the Plague, heartburn... you name it, he had a bracelet against it. He was worried because he thought if she and her hundred and sixty six friends figured out he was scamming them, they wouldn't forgive and forget. He was trying his best to get her to go away. She wouldn't keep him waiting.
"You stink of deceit, I'm taking my business elsewhere," she turned and could feel his sigh of relief.
"Your loss," he called out after her, slinking back into the shadows.
After ten minutes, she found a bench to sit down on and waited only moments before a man dressed in black and looking paler than death sat down beside her. He too wore mascara and lipstick but he was obviously more skilled at it than she, for his person radiated sophistication and fineness making her feel more and more like the fraud she was. She waited longer after he sat down before he finally spoke. When he did so it was without looking at her and she made no attempt to look in his direction either.
"I may have what you are looking for," he said simply. "How many and when?"
Niki decided it was best not to change her story. "One hundred sixty six – within the next forty eight hours."
She could tell that even with this cold character's untouchable calm, she had managed to surprise him. "How so many?"
"Family gathering," she said, not waiting too long, but not answering too quickly either. She was trying to juggle the mistrust she actually felt with the mistrust she assumed she was meant to feel.
The vamp slowly turned towards her, flickering his gaze over her entire, rather crude appearance. "I haven't heard anything about it. What coven?"
Goth vampires came in covens? Niki's hand tightened on a stake she kept in her pocket. Lie. Lie quickly.
"Slovakia," she said calmly. This seemed to reassure him. He was obviously not concerned about a coven so far out of the sphere of his influence. "How much and when?" Niki pressed with a stoicism which was the exact opposite of what she felt. If she had been fighting this vampire alone or if there had been any way at all that she could get away with dusting him, she wouldn't be so nervous. She really had nothing to fear from him, physically. It was the tension of the entire concept. Undercover. Incognito. It was actually quite exciting – in a way which left her entirely unsatisfied and itching for something to stab.
"Meet me here tomorrow after sunset. I'll take you to where we can make the exchange and decide on payment." Without another word, he stood and walked casually away, his hands deep in his pockets.
Niki waited until he was well out of earshot and let out the breath she had been holding for as long as she could remember. He would no doubt check her story. What would he expect in payment? Would he want to meet her coven? What the hell have you gotten yourself into?
--
Gratitude: Part II - Act 4
Logan looked at his house in the twilight. He had never felt so proud of himself. And it was an honest pride. He could shout it out to the world if he wanted to. American Bar Association! The smile permeated him. It was a temporary, silly joy, he knew. It wouldn't last and it wasn't the greatest accomplishment of the twentieth century, but it was good enough for now and the smile just wouldn't leave his face.
He'd stroll in the front door, the smile displayed prominently on his lips and in his eyes. Rachel would wonder what he was so smug about. He'd tell her: he'd aced the bar exam. She'd congratulate him and they'd kiss. His smile would spread to her. She'd tell him how proud she was of him. Later they'd do much more thank kiss. Maybe Hanna should sleep over at a friend's house.
Now his promotion was guaranteed. Most likely before the merger, but if not, then definitely after. An increase in salary. A new car. A college fund for Hanna. Diamond earrings for Rachel - just because.
The house looked warm and cozy – inviting him in to indulge in the fruits of his labor. Inside would be the smell of something delicious cooking, a girl's gossip and a woman's laughter. Logan soaked in the perfection of this moment, wishing it would never end.
Of course it did.
--
Niki had spent the entire morning racking her brain for everything she knew about how a vampire thinks. What would a vampire want in payment? How would she get around her 'family' not showing up? What sort of a back story was believable but couldn't be confirmed or denied?
At three in the afternoon, she pulled a grubby old denim jacket out of the back of her small closet and with a little work did herself up to be a junkie, complete with ratty hair and track marks. Gazing at herself in the mirror, the frightening realization slowly dawned on her how convincing she looked. Might this have been what she would have looked like if Stuff had had its way? Or Toe Tag City?
Shaking her head to clear it of such negative thoughts, Niki easily found her way down into the subway where the junkie vamps and their enslaved fang addicts resided during the day. It didn't matter if she smelled like a human, Niki knew, the desperate were always welcome.
The only part of herself she recognized which she kept was the silver bracelet. Unlike the counterfeits sold by the scum at the airport or the contraband produced by the Goths, or even the mass-produced originals worn by the veterans, Niki's silver IXI bracelet was crafted by the Council and given to one it had truly agreed to protect. Niki had made no such bargain.
Pearce's bracelet hung loosely from the Slayer's wrist as she made her way towards the corner of the subway platform where the vamps hung out near the service corridor which ran alongside the track back to their lair.
The doors to the cars were all closing as Niki slouched down the wall into a sitting position near to one of the vamps and the homeless junkie girl who hung around him. Bloodletting from a vampire was as addictive as any narcotic, Niki knew. But the Slayer would do what was necessary.
"Hey," she rasped, rolling her eyes tiredly, "I'll give you this for a hit," she sluggishly pulled the bracelet from her wrist and threw it to the vampire's feet. She could see he already had one but pretended not to notice or care.
The vamp didn't even acknowledge her existence for several moments, staring listlessly towards the other end of the platform.
The human junkie scooped up the silver chain and looked at it through bleary eyes. She looked eerily like Niki herself. "What's it worth?"
"Ask him," Niki answered after a moment. "He's got one just like it."
The girl —Niki placed her somewhere between sixteen and twenty five— shook the vamp by the shoulder. "Braden, how much could we get for it?" When there was no reply, Niki asked him herself.
"How much did you pay for it?"
The vampire known as Braden slowly let his head move in the Slayer's direction. The universe in his eyes sang of despair. A tragic love song with no happy ending and no escape. After a glance, the vamp turned back to his junkie. "Send her to Mama Love and forget about it."
The junkie seemed to accept this and tossed the trinket back to Niki, curling up tighter against her vampire master. "He doesn't want it. Go away." Both the vamp and the junkie closed their eyes as if sleeping away some misery.
"How much could I get for it?" Niki insisted, slowly crawling closer to the pair. "How much did it cost you?"
Though the junkie seemed to have passed out from the exertion of the conversation, the vamp opened his eyes wider as the Slayer approached. Perhaps he could smell on her who and what she was. Maybe he was even scared, but he didn't move a muscle below his neck at her approach.
Niki's hand found his dirty shirt collar and she pulled him closer to her face, accepting with it the stink of his entire existence. The train pulled up to the platform and noise soon filled the air.
With a shaking hand, the vampire took Niki's cheek and turned her head to whisper into her ear.
"If you go to Mama Love, keep the bracelet—" his words were slow and difficult but each one spoke his tired sincerity, "—you'll need it then."
Niki turned back towards him and gave him a gentle shake, no longer trying to keep up the pretense of being a junkie. "How much did you pay for it?"
The vamp slowly closed his eyes and sank back against the wall. "It cost me... too much," he whispered. She let go of his collar with a frown. In the noise of the comers and goers, she couldn't hear but could see his lips moving. "This used to be a prince."
The words chilled Niki to the bone as she slowly stood from the two in the corner of the platform. If ever a vampire, in his state of living death, could be completely and utterly dead, this vampire was it. Dead now in all ways imaginable, but still able to take life.
Niki's hand was trembling as she slid the cold metal of the bracelet back onto her wrist. This bracelet had turned Pearce back into a prince. Completely free, immunity had given him back everything he had ever lost. That same bracelet had cost Braden everything. The prince and the pauper, created by the same stroke of the pen.
But Niki had her answer.
--
Niki made sure to stay out of sight in the shadows of JFK until the sun set. It wouldn't do to be seen basking in the dying rays of sunlight. When darkness had fallen, she found the same bench as last night and sat down without a glance around.
Some minutes later, with the Slayer's composure feeling the bombardment of the very living tension, the same gothic vampire from last night strode past with a single word. "Follow."
Led to a dark car idling in the front lot, Niki soon found herself in the back seat between two figures who looked like angels of death in the twilight. The car pulled away with the screeching of tires and, after a circuitous route which was no doubt intended to prevent Niki from ever following it again later, pulled up near the door of a neglected warehouse.
Niki soon recognized it as the setting for a Goth-Biker showdown she had instigated two years ago, mentally shivering to think she was now invited in as one of its residents. Always the fear seemed to follow her. She couldn't explain it to herself in her perpetual attempt to rationalize it away; it wasn't the fear of death. She knew she could handle herself. It was the fear of discovery. An irrational fear, since she could easily take all the vampires in this car, even at once. Even if the car was moving. That was the confusion that made her question her decision to go through with this: if she couldn't figure out why this entire situation terrified her so much, how could she be sure she was doing the right thing? How would she recognize legitimate danger if it should present itself?
The two vampires in black escorted her from the car and into the dark void that was the door of the cavernous warehouse. Immediately she cursed herself. She could easily recognize the legitimate danger now. Now that she was in it. There were uncounted gothic forms stalking the darkness all around. Dozens, hundreds, too many to count with just instinct. Niki swallowed. This could get bad.
Niki walked between the two angels of death, her scalp itching, her leather coat feeling more and more unnatural over her black T-shirt. In full gothic makeup again, Niki felt again like a fraud. At least as a junkie she could convince herself. Who was she going to convince tonight?
"Welcome to my home," said a polite voice. With a hiss a match was struck and a pale face was illuminated. The glowing red of a cigarette flared to life and the match went out. She heard him exhale and she took a deep breath.
"Thank you for your hospitality," she said with measured calm. He was silent; the only thing she could see of him was the tiny red spot of his cigarette which grew brighter each time he took a drag. "Do you have what I asked for?" she asked, standing as straight and tall as she could, knowing he could see her better than she could him.
"Not here," the figure admitted. "Here we will discuss payment. If we come to an agreement, you will be taken to where we keep the merchandise."
"You fear I might steal them?" Niki raised an eyebrow – something she was sure she had once seen a Goth do.
There was a note of amusement in the voice of the figure before her. "Not at all. I fear you may not be able to pay what we are asking, and so it would not be worth the risk of transporting so much merchandise here."
"Then I fear you may be disappointed," Niki ventured, her hands in her pockets, fingering the comforting razor sharp edges and wood grain.
There was a long moment of silence where the cigarette was discarded. "There is a lot of fear here then, isn't there?" the figure noted. "What are you offering?"
Niki could have sworn her heart had started pumping ice water. He had asked simply and she answered simply. "Nothing."
--
Logan's happy moment shattered as the bullets stated flying.
He fell to the ground and covered the back of his head with his hands. He could hear the squealing of several sets of tires as cars rounded the corner onto his street and accelerated away. The gunshots rattled out of the back window of the lead car and blazed from the driver's window of the tailing car.
Logan had heard enough gunshots to know that they were aimed at and hitting the other's car. With all his logic telling him he was not in fact the target, Logan scrambled up into a crouching position in time to see the cars disappear around the next corner at the far end of his street, fire spewing from the fire arm angled out the driver's window of the trailing black car.
--
Even though Niki couldn't see him, she could tell the ring leader before her was insulted by her answer.
"Nothing?" he demanded after a long silence.
"Nothing," Niki confirmed calmly, "but the gratitude of me and my coven."
"Your sense of humor has no place here," the figure said coldly. "I am a businessman and I do not appreciate jokes."
"And I don't care to tell them," Niki agreed, just as coldly. "You are in fact no businessman, but a criminal. Since the time of my initial interest, I have had a chance to find the true value of the merchandise you peddle. I found it in the gutter, with the filth on the subways, in the garbage of the alleys and the shit of the sewers. You have brought this poverty to the City, selling your immunity for a vampire's life! For a vampire's livelihood!" The thrill of the anger she truly felt coursed through the Slayer. "Had I the time, I could have pulled one hundred and sixty six trinkets from the dead who now litter this city. My coven arrives before the end of this night and they expect to see a vampire's paradise: a place free from the fear of the Council and its agents. Instead they will find a rank pit of despair created by your charming business."
Niki could feel the ring leader diminishing under her words. The fear of this night had somehow been transformed into an unparalleled thrill. "I expect they will be quite disappointed," she said between clenched teeth. "So in payment for your reckless enterprise, you will provide me with one hundred and sixty six of your ill-gotten products and I will in turn attempt to prevent my coven from decimating your despicable business. In the best possible case, I will have secured their gratitude." She allowed a heartbeat for that to sink in. "So again I offer you: My gratitude and that of my coven."
Niki felt the warm blood between her fingers and the cuts on her palms from gripping the knife blade so tightly. There was a cold sweat on her brow and she hoped it wouldn't start revealing her tan.
"Take her," the leader ordered, his voice thinner and devoid of its previous confident power. "Give her whatever her coven desires."
Niki bowed stiffly and turned back to the entrance to the warehouse. The two angels of death escorted her back to her seat where she now felt much more like the driver than the passenger, all thoughts of fraud erased from her mind.
The car eased back into motion, taking a longer rout in the darkening evening to the undisclosed location where the bracelets were being housed, and perhaps where they were being manufactured.
After uncounted minutes on the road, the vampire on Niki's left leaned across her and whispered something into the ear of the one on her right. The one on her right nodded and leaned forward to whisper into the ear of the vamp riding shotgun. That vamp listened then turned around to look back. After a moment he reached down beneath his seat and retrieved a small automatic weapon.
Niki's blood ran cold. Had they discovered her? If they had wanted to kill a fellow vampire, a knife to the throat or a stake would do it, but a gun? They must have smelled the blood from her hands, realized she was human, or worse, realized she was the Slayer. Niki's hand took tight hold of the stake in her right pocket. She could finish the two beside her, but the one with the gun in the front seat would get some shots off. And then there was the driver...
Before she could think, the man riding shotgun rolled his window down and stuck the gun out, aiming it backwards. The inside of the car was lit up in a shocking and surreal series of directed explosions as the vampire emptied his clip at the black car which was trailing them.
Niki managed to twist around to see what was going on and saw a car a few seconds behind them with no headlights and a pistol aimed out the driver's window. She swallowed. The vampires in the back seat had no reason to fear bullets and so no reason to duck. Niki held herself straight in the seat as a bullet pierced the back window and exited the windshield at an angle bringing it so close to her head Niki didn't even want to think about it.
The bullets continued to fly as the cars swerved around corners through a residential neighborhood. Niki vaguely recalled chasing the first bracelet peddler this far and realized suddenly that the contraband production must be somewhere here in Freeport. That meant Logan was in danger. Another bullet tore through the windows as the car swerved around another corner.
The gunfire had nearly deafened the Slayer and she hoped the car following them would give it up already. She had no idea what the politics of the Goths business was, but they all seemed very calm and at least basically prepared for this situation. Then a loud pop accompanied a spurt of fire from the machine gun and the car following them swerved out of control off the road. Niki blinked as the vamp calmly returned the gun to its place beneath his seat and rolled up the window. The rest of the ride was spent in silence, though even if something had been said, Niki would not have heard it.
--
Logan slowly straightened up as the cars disappeared around the corner. Seconds later, however, he involuntarily jerked as a loud crash indicated an end to one of the cars. He swallowed. So much for a delightful evening.
He turned and brushed the grass from his dew-dampened suit, marching towards the cozy house to deliver the news which seemed less like the best news he had ever heard. What the hell was this neighborhood becoming?
--
Niki slowly got out of the car after it had reached its destination. The low building was a far cry from a warehouse, but the same feeling of neglect surrounded it. Though the architecture suggested it was actually used during the day and should perhaps be regarded with a little more respect than simply as the dwelling place of criminals, the darkness beyond the open door seemed in that moment darker than any midnight Niki had ever seen.
Walking as if through water, Niki followed the angels of death as they disappeared into the inky blackness. Then that blackness swallowed her too.
To be continued...