Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)
JPOV
I opened my eyes and felt the first rays of fresh, golden sunlight seep into my irises. The sky, though still blackened by the lingering night, had now become tinted in red as the slowly rising sun began to pierce the night. Not much broke the silence of the dawn bar the gentle rustling of winter leaves that still remained, clinging on for every moment they had left. I could see the new buds of life beginning to emerge; sceptically and timidly, they slowly peaked from the ground like elves and sprites that lived in fear of discovery. I smiled at the peacefulness of the situation before I remembered exactly what my situation was.
Shit. I cursed inwardly, pushing myself to my feet. I quickly looked around and saw Ibrahim still sleeping gently under the fallen tree, seemingly unharmed. I breathed a sigh of relief before the mental scolding began. I couldn't believe I had fallen asleep. Clearly, what had happened was I slumped by the neighbouring tree for just a second and my body took that to be, 'right, nap time'. Stupid, foolish girl! I huffed and kicked my foot against the trunk of a tree, not taking into account how much it would hurt. I hissed, stopping any unwanted exclamations to leave my lips and began pacing back and forth to try a diffuse the pain. It didn't really do much, but it provided a sufficient distraction.
Unfortunately, what it did do was stir Ibrahim from his rest. I immediately felt bad and froze, hoping that he'd go back to sleep, but no such luck. He made all the characteristic groans of someone awaking in the morning against their will and turned his body to face me. The sight unnerved me greatly: he was pale, much paler than he ought to be and the huge black circles under his worn eyes appeared to be of a greater consequence than just sleep. Every move he made seemed to cause him some form of discomfort and, in forcing his body to an upright position, he looked even more exhausted than he did the previous night.
"Good morning, Guardian Hathaway," he rasped, but still managed a grin.
I took a tentative step forward, "How are you feeling?"
"Could be worse." He shrugged as though there was nothing much wrong. I eyed him warily, scrutinising his every feature in search of any sign of his acceptance over his present circumstance, but he seemed every bit as charming and laid-back as ever.
Thus, I scowled, but deemed it best not to antagonise the situation; I had long since learned that arguing with Ibrahim Mazur would get me absolutely nowhere and really, we did not have the liberty of wasting time. We needed to move, get to some form of civilisation and preferably do so in as little time as possible, so if Ibrahim was able, I hoped to get moving as fast as possible, out of the danger that surrounded us. Though, whilst I may have accepted that arguing with him was a futility by its very nature, I most certainly did not trust his judgement on the subject of how he was feeling.
"Can you walk?" My slight want of a more medical background proved to be a minor hindrance, yet – given my present position – I neither had the time nor the means to quickly brief myself on how to be a proficient doctor. Therefore, my approach would just have to do.
"I should hope so: I've been practising since I was a child." I rolled my eyes and he made to push himself to his feet. Stumbling a little, he gripped to the tree and pulled his body upward. I instinctively took a step forward to help, but hesitated and retreated back. He managed all the same and, upon finding his balance, looked up and grinned. "Impressed?"
"Highly." I replied sarcastically. He chuckled. "We should aim to get moving before the sun gets up fully." I thought aloud, glancing towards the gentle crimson taint that lined the bottom of the endless sky.
Ibrahim's expression hardened and he nodded. "That may be in our best interests. Shall I presume we are going that way" he nodded in the direction opposite from Court.
I was taken aback momentarily by his astuteness and substantial sense of reason, for I had half expected him to flailing around like a fish who had found himself on a fishing boat, but quickly recovered and was thankful for this disposition. "Yeah," I agreed, "We should hopefully find a road or path that will take us into urbanisation, though we should probably stay clear of the main roads."
He hummed, "Yes, I should think so. Might I make a suggestion?"
"Sure..."
"Perhaps we should follow him..." He said with a slight grin. I immediately became rigid. Turning to follow his gaze, I reach for my stake and fell into almost a tensed sort of plié: taking up a defensive crouch. Only, when I had located the subject of Ibrahim's comment, I suddenly felt very stupid. A small deer shifted its way through the shrubbery; its dull, sleepy eyes were pushed forward with its head and it slowly grazed its way through the woodland.
"Jesus Christ." I muttered, breathing a sigh of relief.
"Please, do call me Ibrahim." Ibrahim's voice broke me out of my trace.
I turned and glared at his amused face. "This is not funny."
He sobered up considerably. "Of course. Animals, such as our new friend here, often head towards water at dawn. That way, we could follow a stream and it is bound to lead to some establishment. Or, if not, at least we'll have means of survival."
I blinked, once again shocked by the level of integrity of the Moroi who stood before me and continued to baffle me at any given opportunity. "Where did you learn that?" I asked before realising that that sounded quite rude.
If he noticed, Ibrahim did not seem bothered. "Ah, that would be telling, Guardian Hathaway." He replied with a wink.
I shook my head, but smiled nonetheless. "Alright, we'll follow your deer." And that is how we ended up following a deer through the outer woodland of the Royal Court. Needless to say, it was not an experience I was expecting in life, but I had learnt to expect the unexpected, particularly in the presence of a certain Moroi who had rested his hand against my shoulder, using me a make-shift crutch. Though he was much too stubborn to admit it, I could tell that Ibrahim was struggling. His walk was sloppy and breathing laboured, but he seemed quite determined to ignore it. I entertained his resolve, but kept a very close eye on his every move. I was not going to take any chances. They come first. They come first. Silently whispered in my head, reminding me of my training, but – for the first time – that same mantra, the one which had been so embedded into my very being that it almost made up all of my identity, seemed redundant. I did not need it. As though protecting Ibrahim was not so much obligation as it was instinct.
That particular contemplation unnerved me greatly, so I decided to avert my attention to my surroundings. The sun was still slowly rising as Ibrahim's somewhat brilliant survival suggestion paid off and we found a running stream. I did not even need to look at him to know how smug he was feeling at that moment as it was so radiant, it was almost tangible. With the sun to my left, I lead Ibrahim south, following the downward flow of the waterway. The damp mud beneath my feet proved to me a more difficult terrain as it resisted our movements, sticking to my boots and causing me to sink with each step, but I ploughed through nonetheless. I remained alert throughout: my senses were open and focused on every detail around me; I trusted nothing that I saw and treated everything as though it was my enemy. The early morning woodland sounds had me tensed at every chirp, flutter, rustle and snap. One of the downsides to an education at St Vladimir's was that the training was focused heavily on indoor situations as that was the situation that the Moroi would most frequently occupy. Sure, we had a substantial amount of outdoor training lest we be caught out transporting between sanctioned perimeters, but not nearly enough to be able to survive a daring yet quite spontaneous escape in the woods. And since it is safe to assume that I didn't join a Girl Guiding unit in my few and far between interregnums, I was well out of my comfort zone.
But as the sun cleared the tree canopy, it became very clear that I wasn't the only one.
"Ibrahim!" I exclaimed as he collapsed on the ground, gasping but lacking in energy to complete even that primitive task, so all that came out was a painful groan.
"Forgive me, I appear to have tripped over a root..." he said, trying to regain a sense of normality and stand up again.
"Bullshit." I snapped before I could reign myself back in. There were no roots anywhere near us, so his attempt at a lie was a weak one at that.
He, rather in spite of himself, found the energy to look surprised, if his raised eyebrows and widened eyes were anything to go by, at my choice of language. "I beg your pardon?"
I don't know what it was about that sentence, perhaps it reminded me too much of the various patronising authorities in my life, but it made my blood boil with anger. "I said: bull-shit." I emphasised each syllable as though I were speaking to a child. "Clear enough for you? Or is my annunciation to quite to your liking, sir?" I really could not account for my tone: actually, I could. I was annoyed that he was lying to me, but even more enraged by the fact I hadn't the faintest clue what was wrong with him!?
Ibrahim, on the other hand, had the nerve to look baffled. "Janine, what is the matter with you?"
"Nothing is the matter." I snapped. "I'm not the one lying about tripping over a bloody root!"
Whatever he was about to say, and the look in his eye told me that it was going to be something equally passionate as my own, was lost as a spasm ran through his body, causing him to collapse further into the wet ground. He lurched: simultaneously gasping and gagging. I tightened my hold and cast a quick glance to the sun above – now fully risen and indeed doing Ibrahim any favours. But the sun had been up for a long time, thereby rendering it not the main cause of this particular condition. I was lost as to what was wrong with him: we had been stopping for water frequently and even stumbled upon an apple tree on which we feasted; I could not discern what was causing him to act like this and it made me very worried. He was weak: the lack of sleep, of proper food and the ever glaring sun were all emphasising that, torturing him, but I knew that the primary cause was his use of magic. What little I knew about Moroi magic, I knew it drastically drained them; Ibrahim's little spectacle the previous night with my battle with the Strigoi had resulted in a major withdraw of energy; one that was now too prominent to ignore. He could very much die at any moment. He needed help. He needed some sort of nourishment. He needed...
Blood.
A Moroi could go two, maybe three, days without blood before they started to wilt, but Ibrahim's use of Earth magic had significantly taken its toll. Without hesitation, I draw my stake and slashed it through my palm. The pain was horrendous: a lot more than I thought it would be, though why I thought it would be anything bar painful was beyond me. I clamped my teeth shut and hissed to soothe its ferocious sting, but brought my bleeding palm down to Ibrahim who was still struggling breath properly. His eyes were heavy and in danger of rolling back into his head and slipping him into unconsciousness. I acted fast: lifting his head to open his airway whilst bringing my wounded hand down to his lips. The effect was immediate. His eyes widened as soon as the red fluid touched his tongue and his teeth clamped down on my palm. I cried out as I felt his canines dig beneath my skin, but it was quickly replaced by an odd sense of pleasure. The endorphins cleared my mind of the initial pain and all that was replaced was something akin to ecstasy. Everything about it thrilled me: it made everything seem so much better – more real, more tangible, more intense. I had never felt more alive. My mind was swirling and I barely managed to keep my focus in place. Through my haze, I saw Ibrahim – his eyes regaining more of their former light and life, but revelation dawned on them as he registered what was happening.
And that revelation was shock.
With no little effort, he pulled his mouth away, forcing himself backward and consequently knocking himself out. I, on the other hand, remained on my knees. The lingering effect of Ibrahim's bite was still running through my body and turning my thoughts to a pounding mush. I tried to regain my focus and, had I not been so light headed, I may have succeeded. I could feel the dizziness falling over me as I tried to shuffle towards Ibrahim. I had watched him fall back and I mentally prayed that he was not severely injured as I was in no state to fix him. To my relief, he appeared merely knocked out and I managed to pull him into the recovery position – something I somehow managed to remember from Guardian Bourne's first aid lectures – before I succumbed to the dizziness and everything went black.
[Transaction order 0012426795]
Status: Complete
Total Confirmed Charge: $2,000,000
Estimated Delivery Date: 2nd April
Shipping: Portsmouth, Hampshire, United Kingdom to Port Richmond, Philadelphia, USA
[04:32 GMT] [X2994] Items received.
[09:35 GMT] [Q1129] Mission to go ahead. Prepare for deployment.
[04:47 GMT] [X2994] Copy.
[23:54 GMT] [X2994] Mission report: success. Royal Court breeched. 234 hostages. Tatiana in custody.
Finally...
I awoke with a headache. And a bloody brutal one at that. I grunted and groaned, clenching my eyelids tightly together as though it would alleviate my blurred and fuzzy vision. A few blinks later and the soft, spring green of the woodland floor began to crystallize in my eyes, becoming clearer and more distinct. I could feel the soft moss beneath my cheek and the distant trickle of running water through my exposed left ear. I frowned as I contemplated my own adjective: distant. Lifting my head, I scouted the area around me to see that I had indeed been moved from where I had lost consciousness before.
My alarm was further increased by the fact that I could not see Ibrahim.
I attempted to jolt upright but my weary disposition rendered it a mere spasm. My anger growled at my inabilities and I uncomfortably forced myself onto my forearm when I discovered a silk, black suit jacket had been placed over my upper body. It was at this point that I also noted the soft fabric that was tightly bandaged against my palm, successfully covering both the gash I had made and Ibrahim's bite.
"Oh, take it easy there," the voice was accompanied by a pair of warm hands which guided me into a sitting position. I made a quick survey of his features: he looked much better. The paleness of his complexion had gone, reverting back to his skin's usual slightly tanned nature; he no longer had drooping bags under his eyes and his eyes themselves gave off an aura of vibrancy and life. The only fault I found was a little weariness and a lack of a right shirt sleeve. "Are you alright?"
I nodded. "You look well." I noted, for the first time taking in his hardened features.
He was silent for a moment, evidently thinking of the right words to say. In the end, he settled with: "You should not have done that."
A poor choice, in my opinion. I made this opinion known through my scowl. "Yeah, well, you shouldn't have used your fancy Earth magic in the first place." My voice was a little raspy and strained, but I was certainly not going to let that stop me.
"You were in danger."
"I can take care of myself, thank you Mr Mazur." I snapped.
He remained unscathed. "You could have died."
"And what? You couldn't?" I recoiled, taking a deep breath and settling my emotions. "Mr Mazur, I am responsible for your wellbeing. You come first."
"Bullshit."
I blinked. "I'm sorry?"
His gaze locked mine, the fire in his expression burned fiercer and more passionately than ever before. "I said: bull-shit. Clear enough for you? Or is my annunciation to quite to your liking, madam?" I scowled at his use of my words, but he continued. "Don't you dare invoke that ridiculous mantra now. We are both in this mess, equally. I am as much responsible for your safety as you are mine."
I inhaled sharply and looked away, no longer wishing to face Ibrahim's rage. I found myself fiddling with the bandage on my hand, remembering where it had come from. "Thank you."
Ibrahim, who had closed his eyes and began what looked like some form of meditation, reopened his eyelids and raised an eyebrow. "For what?" I held up my hand and his features softened. "My pleasure."
"How long was I out?"
"A couple of hours, it can't be more than about two o'clock." He said looking up at the sky.
I bit the inside of my cheek at the prolonged silence that followed this comment. Conversation with Ibrahim had always been so natural that I was not yet used to this awkward tension. "Should we start heading off then?"
He looked at me with a frown and inclined his head slightly. "You have just awoken."
"So?"
I saw a smile trace his lips and he sighed. "I think you may need some rest, Guardian Hathaway."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm fine. Besides, you said it yourself; I've already had a few hours."
"Yes, well, you have lost quite a lot of-" he cut himself. Clenching his jaw and looking away, he murmured the last word, "blood."
I looked over at him and saw only pain and guilt; it confused me great, for he needed blood. He would have died if he didn't get any quickly, or at very least, find himself comatose. "Ibrahim, you needed it." I said as softly as I could muster.
His brown eyes flicked back towards my own. "You do not understand. I do not mean that in a derogatory way, please believe me of that, but this is a belief shared among Moroi."
I frowned. "Tell me then."
I saw his jaw tense and he breathed deeply before speaking again. "In the Moroi community, to drink from a Dhampir, or even another Moroi, is seen as the lowest and dirtiest things one can do, because of the likeness to the communes and all their connotations. It is for that reason that I never have, nor ever hoped I would have, drunk from another vampire. Especially not you. You are a dear friend to me, Janine, and I feel as though I have violated you. And I cannot forgive myself for that."
I remained silent, unsure of what I could say. I knew what I wanted to say: I wanted to tell him it was alright – that he had nothing to feel guilty over – yet it was not my forgiveness he needed, but his own. For the little that it was worth, I opened my mouth to assure him once again, but clamped it shut when I heard a rustling nearby.
Ibrahim, noticing the change in my expression, frowned. "Janine-"
"Shh." I cut him off, perhaps a little more harshly than indented, but he seemed unaffected and kept quiet. Tentatively, I slowly forced myself to my knees, gripping the stake on my belt. I lifted on leg up and put my weight onto it, leaning my body forward to deepen my surveillance of the situation. There was another soft sound, indicative of movement, and – upon determining its origin – I sprang towards it, unsheathing my stake to impale the hidden threat only to have it blocked by another metallic stake. At the sight of it, I snapped my head towards its wielder and almost cried in relief. "Emyl!"
"Janine!" he exclaimed with a laugh, lowering his weapon and pulling me into his arms. For once, I neither resisted nor flinched; I even went as far as to actually welcome his embrace. For Emyl's part, I highly doubted if my opinion held any bearing on his own actions and he seemed steadfast and determined to hug me as long as possible. Eventually though, he removed his head from where it had buried into my shoulder and called out over his own. "Harriet! Come look what I found lying about on the floor!"
I pulled out of his arms and glared at his grinning face, yet found that such a state could not be maintained upon seeing the hopeful if a little wary expression of Harriet Conta as she poked her head out from the trees. Her eyes widened and she flew into me like the tide on the shoreline. "Janine? Janine! Oh my God! You're alive!" she squealed into my ear before noting my slightly weakened state. She pulled back for a full examination and gasped upon seeing my bandaged hand. "You're hurt!?"
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ibrahim, who had been silently surveying this reunion with a soft smile of his own, flinch. With all his intense and extensive training, it was not surprising that Emyl noticed this flinch too and his face immediately fell to one of stoic anger as his eyes darted between Ibrahim and myself. Therefore, I thought it best to reassure them all, "It's nothing." This, as you can imagine, put no-one at ease. I sighed and decided on a subject change, "Which way were you headed?"
Harriet bit her lip and glanced over to Emyl who was still glaring at the Moroi behind me. Eventually he managed to peal his gaze away long enough to answer my question. "East." He said, nodding in the specified direction. "I climbed a tree and saw that the canopy fades in that direction – figured it must be a road."
I nodded. "Did you meet anyone along the way?"
He shook his head. "Have you?"
"No."
I saw his eyes drift towards Ibrahim, but snapped back as quickly as they had moved. "My pager is still operational, though I haven't had anything come through."
"Nor I." I had checked almost constantly the first night out here, desperate to know if anyone had made it out besides us. "I am not sure if Croft or even Demort got out."
"We shall just have to hope."
Silence fell around us like lead in water. Whether it was a consequence of fatigue or the tension of the situation, I could not say. Regardless of its causation, Harriet decided that a couple of moments in uncomfortable silence was quite enough for her. "Hello, sorry, I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Harriet. Harriet Conta." She said, for the first time addressing Ibrahim.
Ibrahim blinked up at her and, in an instant, found his former charm. Taking her extended arm and bending over it in a gentle bow, he smiled up at her. "Ibrahim Mazur." He placed a kiss to her knuckles and she, ever the romantic, blushed vehemently. Emyl watched the whole exchange under an even hotter gaze – stalking Ibrahim's every move as though he were a grenade about to explode at any moment. Ibrahim, noticing this scrutiny, straightened up and nodded towards Emyl. "Emyl, was it?"
"Guardian Burlatsky," Emyl corrected, not bothering to hide his anger, "if you would." He added, remembering himself.
Ibrahim smirked and then sighed, and I decided to interject before either him or Emyl said something that would make the whole situation worse. "Right, I think we should continue east and find this road."
Ibrahim's smirk faltered and he looked over at me. "Are you sure you are able to-"
"I'm fine." I interrupted glaring a little at him. I had never liked to appear weak. Ibrahim did not look like he believed me for a second, but accepted that I wasn't backing down. "Truly, I am okay."
Ibrahim raised his eyebrows for the serenity in my tone surprised even me; he smiled and complied, bending down to pick up his discarded suit jacket from the floor. I sent a look over to Emyl, telling him to behave. The last thing we needed was, for want of a better term, a Civil War between us: it would hardly make the situation any better. Emyl remained with his mask in place and I realised that he would not be compromising today. The circumstances did warrant a bad mood on his part, but it was irritating all the same. Thus, I allowed Harriet to link her arm with my own and indulged her lively spirits. Honestly, I felt bad for my friend – Harriet was the type of person who wanted to see the good in everything. Ever the optimist, she tried to find joy in any situation. Unfortunately, her company consisted of Emyl and I: both renowned pessimists and, when the going got tough, we had a horrible tendency to shut down and block everyone out. I think it was Harriet's influence that actually kept us vaguely hopeful and forced us both to acknowledge the goodness in the world. Without her, God knows what we'd be like...
With that jolly thought in the forefront of my mind, I was finding it very difficult to maintain an aura of happiness or indeed a conversation, as it turned out. Thankfully, Ibrahim's coping mechanism was his beloved charm which encouraged Harriet enough to keep going. I therefore decided it would be safe to leave Harriet in Ibrahim's care and went to join Emyl up ahead.
Having listened to Harriet's rambles for the best part of an hour, his mood had improved significantly, much to my relief. We were making good time and Emyl's little tree escapade paid off: we had found a road.
It wasn't much: a small little dirt track, just big enough to fit your average pick-up truck, but a road all the same. I all but ran to the thing when I saw its flat surface through the thinning trees, but my better judgement kicked in before I could consent to that form of embarrassment. Noting the sun in the sky beginning to dip, we continued heading east, but this time, following the road. We had been on our feet most of the day, only stopping for water breaks when we needed it. I was only glad that it was April – that the sun was not blasting at its fullest like it would in June or August. Regardless of this however, I could see the effect of a day in the sun on the faces of the two Moroi. Harriet was struggling the most; Ibrahim not so much and for that reason, consequently looked very guilty. It was for these reasons that Emyl and I were positively overjoyed when, just as the sun fully dipped beneath the horizon and plunged us back into the navy abyss, we found it.
A light.
A gentle lamppost acting as a saving beacon of hope as it illuminated the entrance to a small settlement: it couldn't have had more than about twenty people actually living there, barely a letter box, but what it did have was a Motel.
I can honestly say, never before or since have I been so pleased to see a run-down, worn-out housing establishment by the side of the road in my entire life. My glee was shared between all four members of our party as we approached its doorway. I tentatively pushed open the wooden door whilst Emyl dropped back, flanking our group and making sure we were not followed. Inside was about as welcoming as a pile of crap, and the man who was intensely constructing a card tower nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw us, causing his construction to collapse in front of him. When he got over his initial shock of actually having guests, he over-excitedly ran over to us and greeted us like we were the last people on Earth.
Michael was his name. He was forty-two, originally from Pittsburgh, but had moved out because he found the vibrancy of city-life too much. He seemed to very much enjoy his voluntary solitude, even if he spoke quickly and without a breath as a result of not speaking to anyone in a long time. In spite of his spending the last twenty years out in the middle of nowhere, he remembered Pittsburgh very well and even offered us both directions and the abandoned Delta 88 that he had found in his car-park. I had informed Emyl of my plan to get to Pittsburgh and hop on a plane to one of the safe houses during our trek and he had consented to the idea as being quite good.
Michael had set us up in his 'best' room. He had asked if we required more than one, but I strongly suspected leaving Ibrahim in a room with Emyl to do more harm than good, so we elected to stay together.
"Now, if you kids need anything, just give me a ring. I can guarantee I won't be busy." Michael said with a wide smile upon his face, his features softened by his own amusement. He seemed completely impervious to the fact that four young people had just walked into his Motel very late in the evening, one of whom was lacking a shirt sleeve which was located on the palm of another. Under normal circumstances, I would have thought this suspicious, but everything about Michael seemed completely genuine. For that, I offered him a small smile which was promptly dwarfed but Harriet's huge grin as she began thanking him profusely.
I shook my head lightly and wandered into the room. Surveying its contents, I was pleasantly surprised at the level of luxury. Three beds and one sofa provided ample sleeping space and the front view of the window allowed for us to monitor the road and gave us the ability to spot anyone coming into the motel or anyone approaching it from quite a substantial radius. I had made my way over to said window and leaned forward a little just so that my forehead brushed the cool glass to inspect the range of the view. I could see where we had come but any further remained cloaked in darkness. Having been rendered unconscious for a brief period, I had lost most of my bearing and could not even fathom a guess at how far away from Court we had come. Time too seemed to elude me – it felt like an age had passed since the attack, yet it also felt as though it happened yesterday: an age in a day. I'm not sure the full weight of it had hit me at that moment, for indeed I would not allow it; putting it on hold, I sighed and carried on.
I glanced down at my bandaged hand when I heard someone come in. Turning, I met Ibrahim's gaze briefly before spying Emyl behind him, who had managed to pry Harriet away from her conversation with the cheery owner.
"What a lovely man," Harriet stated. I raised an eyebrow. "He was! You know, not everyone is as bad as you think, Janine." She said with a small smile, before her countenance turned and became pained as the familiar symptoms of remembrance flashed across her features. "Do you think she is alright?"
She did not need to elaborate for I knew whom she referred. Sometimes I forgot how close Harriet was to her mother; the very notion itself seemed so alien to me that I struggled to empathise. So I did what I always did: I gave her an honest answer, "I do not know, but I hope for the best."
Harriet, taking this in, nodded. I could see her swallow the lump in her throat before she spoke again. "What is the plan?"
"We're aiming for Pittsburgh," I answered, feeling myself slip into guardian mode.
"That way we can get a plane out to Canada," Emyl interjected softly. Harriet nodded and turned towards one of the beds. Shuffling slightly towards it and sitting herself down, she buried her face into her palms and let her emotions flood over her. Emyl, without hesitation, was by her side in seconds; bringing her towards him and cradling her small frame in his arms, he allowed her to sob against his shirt.
I glanced away, having never really been comfortable or indeed useful in these situations. I hated seeing my best friend upset and felt so utterly powerless to do anything to help.
"Why...?" Harriet's voice was strained but the question was clear, "Why did they do this?"
"We don't even know who they are." Emyl said, I think without actually meaning to, as he continued to soothingly stroke Harriet's long hair.
"La Luz."
Emyl frowned. "What?"
"One of the Dhampirs had a tattoo on his neck with that written within it: La Luz," I said, flashes of the man's limp body running through my mind.
Harriet peaked out from Emyl's torso, "The Light?" she asked incredulously.
I nodded. "Is it some sort of cult?" Emyl asked, his arms still firmly fixed protectively around Harriet's frame.
"I have no idea." I said with a sigh.
"I believe," Emyl, Harriet and I all jumped at the sound Ibrahim's voice, having completely forgotten that he was in the room with us. I glanced over and met his warm eyes which, at that moment, appeared hardened and fixed as he spoke again after clearing his throat. "I believe that I may be of some assistance in that department..."
