Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)
JPOV
I awoke to the smell of coffee. Raising my head slightly, I found my neck stiff from the fitful sleep on the room's sofa. I was surprised to find a blanket draped over my huddled frame, but thought little of it considering Harriet was in the room.
Harriet.
I opened my eyes fully and jolted upright to see my friend leaning against the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in her hand. She smiled gingerly, before turning around, picking up a new mug and offering it to me. I accepted as she sat down beside me. We were silent for but a moment before she spoke.
"I had to."
I, taking a deep breath that filled me with the bitter aroma of caffeine in the morning, smiled. "I know."
The tension in her shoulders released and she leaned back against the seat. "I was worried you wouldn't understand. You were so angry last night."
"That wasn't your fault."
She sighed. "I know, but…"
"…but I'm not reasonable when I'm angry?" I offered and she smiled.
"Maybe not always."
I chuckled into the mug. "You are too kind, Harriet. Emyl would have told me I am awful when angry."
There was a flash of sadness across her features. "I have really upset him."
I glanced up to locate the third member of our trio, but could not find him. "He just needs a little time." A little time, may have been optimistic, but I kept that to myself. Harriet nonetheless relented and went back to slowly circling her mug in her hand. The bathroom door opened and Ibrahim stepped out, still drying his hands. He caught my gaze and hesitated a little. I remained placid, not willing to address the fact that I would have to be working with him and more importantly, guarding him. Since it was given that Emyl would not be going more than five minutes without checking Harriet was okay, it would therefore fall to me to protect the other one. An odd sort of growl escaped my lips at that thought, catching Harriet's attention.
"He's not that bad." She said.
"He is a criminal." I stated, matter-of-factly.
She sighed. "He's helping us."
"Annoyingly." I muttered, not particularly caring that I sounded like a twelve-year-old.
Harriet shook her head lightly as Ibrahim approached. "Good morning, ladies." He said, bowing to each of us.
Since I was very much looking the other way, doing my darned best to ignore the hateful man in front of me, Harriet decided to speak for the group. "Good morning, Mr Mazur. How are you?"
"As well as expected." Harriet offered an apologetic smile as the door to our room opened. Emyl strode in, observed the scene in front of him before holding up a set of car keys.
"From Michael."
Michael, as it turned out, wasn't too pleased to see us go. Whether that was down to our company or our money, I could not say. Perhaps a mix of them both. The prospect of paying slightly alarmed me as I had not much in the way of funds and, since I was still in my guardian uniform, did not have the card that linked to the account I had been forced to set up in my last week at St Vlads. Neither, for that reason, did Emyl. In fact, I was genuinely quite worried when we approached the front desk to bid farewell to our amiable host.
But of course Ibrahim had his chequebook.
There was no denying that Ibrahim was, to quote Croft, an 'invaluable resource', but that only made him more irritating. I was determined to hate the man – his lawlessness was everything that I stood against and even his somewhat 'redeemable' qualities had now turned sour. All of a sudden, Emyl's initial conduct towards the man, which I had condemned, now made perfect sense. I was actually awed by the self-control of my friend that he hadn't given in and punched Ibrahim in the face.
A seriously tempting notion...
Unfortunately, I was forced into civility. Michael had insisted that we take the Delta 88 and would not hear our protests. "You would be doing me a favour, young friends," he assured after Harriet had asked if he was sure for the fifth time. I had to admit, I too felt a little bad just taking a car, but was nonetheless taken aback when I saw the sum Ibrahim was writing to Michael. Honestly, I was surprised the poor man didn't have a heart attack when it was given to him and, in a wonderful moment of circularity, it was now we who were waving off his protests.
We left that little motel, with the full assurance that we'd be most welcome any time we ever found ourselves lost in the middle of Pennsylvania, and piled into the vehicle. I really wasn't surprised that it had been abandoned: the chipped navy paint had almost dissolved to rust and provided very little protection to the slowly decomposing inside. Its long bonnet hung over front wheels that screamed "kill me now" and I really can begin on the state of the suspension.
Emyl and I looked at each other for a moment before arriving at the same conclusion:
"Rock, paper, scissors."
"Damn it!"
Emyl was driving. With me riding in shotgun, the Moroi settled into the back. I saw Harriet's hesitancy as she approached the proffered open door and even Ibrahim grimaced upon clambering in afterward. Thankfully, neither party complained and once Emyl had returned from the toilet, we were off.
Contrary to my original belief, the journey was not half as awful as I had expected it to be. There was a brief initial silence before Harriet, never one to cope in awkward situations, turned to talk to Ibrahim. Soon after, there was the first inevitable argument between Emyl and myself as he doubted my ability to navigate:
"Right!? What madness has come over you, Jenny!"
"Which of us has the map?"
"You know, there are these wonderful things called road signs which say we go left."
"I'm telling you its right. Michael said to go right."
"No offense to the man, but he hasn't left that motel since he arrived. I'm going left."
Ten minutes later, we discovered which of us was right.
"Not a word, Hathaway..."
It was well into the afternoon, the sun giving gentle flickers of its weariness and desire to sink beneath the horizon, when we arrived in the outskirts of Pittsburgh. Since we had come from the east, we had to make our way through the streets of the city at nearly prime-time driving. Being stuck in traffic, surrounded the ever-oblivious human world, gave us ample time to discuss the particulars of what was going to happen. We were to meet a man called Brian. If I'm being honest, I highly doubted that this was his actual name, but 'Brian' was what was commonly called an Alchemist. I had only briefly heard about the Alchemists, but from what I knew – they didn't like us. Croft had apparently made contact with a small group who based themselves in Pittsburgh and they had agreed to send this 'Brian' with our plane tickets and a few other "essential" resources, as Croft said over the phone. As ominous as that sounded, it wasn't quite as bad as the "meet Brian in an abandoned warehouse in Rosslyn Farms" that followed.
Regardless of the tone of the instruction, it was an instruction nonetheless and, after far too long trying to negotiate the Pittsburgh motor system, we found the building and we found Brian.
"Brian?" I asked the man standing with his arms folded against his chest. He was a thin man with eyes that were too large for his bony face, thereby giving him an almost skeletal appearance. Across the side of his cheek was a golden tattoo, in the shape of a lily. I was not so ignorant to not know that it was the symbol of the Alchemist movement, but I could not help but think back to the gold, compass tattoo on the back of Dhampir's – the one I killed – neck. A shiver trickled up my spine at the memory, but I was brought out of it by the man's response:
"If you like." The bitterness was clear and I couldn't stop the eye roll that followed on my part. I walked up to him, Emyl at the back and the Moroi between us, and took the bag from his arm. "The tickets are in the front pocket." He said.
I checked and they were, so I was slightly glad that Brian wasn't being unhelpful. Opening up the main part, I had a quick rummage through. In it, I found passports – fake ones of course, but they somehow managed to get the four of our faces onto them with expert precision. There was money, various burner phones, some spare stakes and to one side, a collection of metallic bottles. I frowned, picking one up and opening it up to see its contents:
Blood.
I glanced up at Brian who just looked bored. "And how to you expect us to get this through customs?" I wasn't completely sure, but I had a feeling that the human authorities would find four youths with bag full of blood as a little suspicious.
Brain seemed unaffected, "The bottles have been enchanted – they are shrouded in compulsion magic and vampiric blood which makes them invisible to humans as well as machinery."
I was quite impressed, but definitely not willing to give the spiteful man in front of me the satisfaction of knowing that so just nonchalantly put the lid back on and shoved it back into the bag. "Anything else?"
"Was that not enough?" I scowled, unintentionally provoking a smirk on Brian's behalf. "Your charismatic leader said you'd be sorting yourselves out when you get to England."
I assumed by that he meant he was done. I nodded, affirming his information as it was the same thing Croft had told us. Apparently, this was where Ibrahim's expertise came in, of which I wasn't too pleased about. Invariably, we would be meeting someone part of the...'organisation' Ibrahim was a part of. With that jolly thought resurfacing in my mind, I slumped the bag over my shoulder and fully intended to clump back to the car without a word of gratitude when we were momentarily held up by the subject of my musings.
"Thank you, Timothy. A pleasure as always, send my love to the girls."
I glanced over my shoulder for a second to see the Alchemist's face pale and harden; the fear in his eyes unmistakable. I could not help the upward turn of my lips but I could turn my face around so that Ibrahim wouldn't see. With Emyl and I scanning the area for any sign of danger, we piled back in the decomposing car and continued to the airport.
I had never been to a human airport before. The ones I was used to were that of the Academy's and the Court's and certainly nothing like the art-show that was Pittsburgh International Airport. I mean, it was no wonder that the place had so much pre-flight security! The likes of which took absolutely a lot longer than I had initially anticipated; it also didn't help that the woman at one of the tills kept glancing over my shoulder to ogle Ibrahim, nor did it help that said Ibrahim was actively encouraging it. I suppose on the plus side, it did mean that she wasn't really paying much attention to our false passports and so we were let through without much of a fuss, arriving at the terminal with two hours to spare before our flight. Harriet, with her ever-curious mind, was thrilled at the prospect of being so intermingled with human society and, more importantly, their environment. She therefore begged a slightly worn-down Emyl if she could go exploring. How much 'exploring' she could do in an airport was open to debate, but Emyl was hardly one to sit idly for two hours awaiting a plane and was certainly not going to let Harriet out of his sight for any length of time, so agreed happily.
Leaving me with Ibrahim.
Or rather not, I discovered. I had watched Emyl and Harriet, after inviting me along which I respectfully declined, walking off into one of the little shops that adorned the walls of the airport and then turned to Ibrahim to find he was not there. Panic arose within me and I shot up – poised like a wary antelope upon hearing the stealthy yet not entirely silent movements of a lion. My head dart around me, bearing more likeness to a meerkat than a person, as I logged everything around me, desperately searching for Ibrahim's tattered suit and flaming presence.
"Guardian Hathaway,"
I jumped – leaping to my feet and reaching for my stake as I spun in the air to face the source of the noise. Ibrahim, startled at my reaction, stepped back and held his arms above his head which, as he was holding two cups of coffee, made him look a little silly.
"For Pete's sake!" I said as I breathed a sigh of utter relief.
Ibrahim, evidently mildly entertained by this little show, smiled. "I am beginning to realise that perhaps sneaking up on you in not the best thing for my wellbeing."
I scowled. "You think?"
He chuckled. "I thought you would like something to drink. Caffeine okay?" He extended his arm towards me, offering me the cup.
I paused for a moment, considered my options, and decided to take it. "Thank you."
"My pleasure." He said, coming around the side of the bench to sit down beside me. He flopped into the partially cushioned chair and sighed, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. I watched him for a moment, scrutinising his form as I tried (again) to work out what went on in that head of his – as if I could work him out in just one moment. Realising that I was failing (again), I relented and sat down, even more irritated than before.
Ibrahim opened an eye. "Guardian Hathaway?"
"What?" I snapped.
"Are you alright?"
Not going to lie, I could've smacked him. "I'm fine."
"You're lying."
I snapped my head round. "And how exactly do you know this, Mr Mazur?"
He opened both eyes. "Because no-one who is ever fine says 'I'm fine'."
I sat back and huffed, bringing the cup to my lips in an attempt to find solace with coffee. Ibrahim, clearly not haven got the message that this conversation was now over, leaned forward and settled his gaze upon me.
"What has changed?"
I removed the cup and looked at him, not believing that he had just said that. "Excuse me?"
"What has changed?" he repeated whilst frowning, as though he couldn't comprehend the reason for my hostility.
"Are you seriously asking me that question?" I retorted with admirable coldness.
Ibrahim was, however, undeterred, "Yes. I can understand your objection but I am struggling to account for your enmity."
"Have you considered that my objection may be the reason for my enmity?" I replied sarcastically.
"You were perfectly civil before-"
"Before I found out you were some mob-leader." I elected to finish his sentence for him. Save him the trouble of having to come up with some heinous attempt at justification.
For the first time, I think, in our entire acquaintance, I saw him scowl. "I am not a mob-leader."
"No, you are just some lowly criminal."
He sighed loudly. "Is it so impossible for you to see an opinion other than your own? I am helping to protect your world."
"I am helping to protect it. You are just giving those who we need protecting from military-grade weaponry, apparently."
"Yes, so they might fight among themselves, because, Guardian Hathaway, these cults, these gangs, these sects are like competing tribes and when have you ever heard the story where the outside colonists, who came charging in with their diplomacy and their military rulings, completely eradicate the tension and achieve ever-lasting peace? There will still be insurgents and it is far better to keep their world and yours separate because clashes between those worlds, like the one we have just witnessed, get messy." And with that he rose, long since abandoning his coffee, and strode away to begin pacing up and down near the terminal's entrance.
Me? I remained frozen, locked onto my seat. There was a small voice in my head telling me to go after him, not so I could continue this conversation but more that I was still responsible for his welfare and life, but was saved the effort when, after a few moments, he came striding back.
"Guardian Hathaway, I must apologise for my behaviour. It was incredible callous, I am sorry." I could not fault his sincerity but his countenance told me that his temper had not quite curbed yet.
I decided to respond with caution. "Thank you Mr Mazur, though I feel the fault is on both parts."
He nodded stiffly as his eyes looked anywhere and everywhere bar on me. "I am sorry that you do not think what I do has any value and that you regard it with such hostility, but the circumstances in which we find ourselves in have not changed: the danger is still very much there and it would be a lot easier, for us all, if we are not fighting an internal as well as an external war."
He was, of course, right. Something I think I had been too prideful and too stubborn to admit to earlier. There was little point in my quest to loath the man that stood before me, or at least make my dislike irrefutably known to the wider world, and with hindsight the futility was made all the more transparent. All's fair in love and war indeed. I relented, nodding my affirmation and agreement on the matter. I would be civil: I would not like him, but I would be civil.
And I decided to start right away, hoping that it would relieve some of the tension that still hung in the air like shadows at sunrise. "What is the plan for when we land?" I figured I should at least have some insight on the matter, particularly as it gave me something else to think about.
Ibrahim, noting the change in my tone, visibly relaxed and retook his seat next to me, moving the forgotten coffee away. "We will need to get on a train; my associate..." he hesitated, "...has a place in one of the towns on route to Brighton."
I frowned. "We are not going into London?"
He shook his head. "Wrong direction, if we want to go to Portsmouth."
"Fair enough."
"I have asked him to gather any information he can on La Luz and Abuela so hopefully we should have some more intel when we get there."
I nodded before I caught sight of something over Ibrahim's shoulder. Emyl met my eyes and made to return my smile but Harriet managed to drag him into another shop to the right. My smile increased and I laughed inwardly. Ibrahim noticed and turned round to just make out Emyl's tall frame before he was engulfed in the small shop.
"Will she be safe?" The words slipped through my lips before my brain to process what was happening.
Ibrahim turned back around and locked onto my wary gaze. "Janine, I will do everything that I can to make sure you are all safe." It was a declaration that I believed and gave me the reassurance I needed in that moment, enough to overlook the fact he had called me by my first name.
I gave my thanks in my smile. "Likewise."
The flight, when we were finally called, was remarkably unnoteworthy. Due to the linearity between Pittsburgh and London Gatwick, as the airport was called, the journey had been split, albeit unevenly, in two. The first plane took us to JFK and then we caught another to Gatwick. Now for someone who was not a fan of planes a whole, two planes really took their toll on our dear Guardian Burlatsky. He found himself stationed, on both instances, in the aisle seat next to Harriet and in front of Ibrahim and myself, arranged similarly. I could see his knuckles whiten as the clenched the arm of the chair, Emyl refusing to let his fear show on his face. How he managed to maintain a decent degree of conversation with his charge is still very much a mystery to this day. Ibrahim and I helped a little, but I think that was more to do with the uncomfortable and numerous silences that passed between us on the first flight. Thank God for Harriet Conta.
Since the first flight was only an hour and a half long, they really didn't go all out on the comfort factor of the plane. I therefore hobbled off with a bordering on painful butt cramp, which, unsurprisingly, the rest of my party found highly entertaining. However, given that the second flight was to be significantly longer, Ibrahim decided that economy would not do and upgraded us to first class. This of course involved him disappearing for a moment which, when I momentarily lost sight of him, had me forgetting the butt cramp in favour of panic. Honestly, I was surprised I hadn't succumbed to a heart attack yet. Not just because of Ibrahim, though that would have been enough, but the fact that the airport continued to delay our flight, resulting in the layover at JFK being about the same length as the entire trip, did not help matters. I found myself constantly on edge, particularly as we were quite vulnerable where we were. I wasn't sure what the average number of Strigoi that loitered around airports was – it wasn't exactly top of Guardian Thomson's list when she was taking us through Advanced Strigoi Habitation in the tenth grade – but it did not appear to be many. We hadn't encountered any 'vampiric threats' as of yet, for which I was immensely grateful, but not in any way relaxed. The lack of threat just made everything else seem like a threat. I knew I needed to calm myself down. Guardian Paranoia was certainly not something I wanted to add to the already huge list of issues that I was currently facing at that moment.
So you can imagine my relief when our flight was finally called.
"I am a genius."
I glanced over at the self-confessed brain-box. "Modesty becomes you."
Ibrahim smirked. "You cannot argue that this is not good." He stated, gesturing around him to the luxury that was first class.
I raised an eyebrow.
He chuckled to himself, repositioning himself and stretching out his legs in the vast amount of legroom that spanned out before us. "Would you like some wine? I would like some wine." He gestured over to the hostess to convey his order.
"It is eleven o'clock at night." I pointed out.
"Not in London..." He said with a wink. I shook my head and looked over to check if the other members of our group were okay. The lack of sleep appeared to be catching up with Harriet and she had settled herself into her assumed sleeping position. Emyl was watching both her and the plane around them carefully, trying to take his mind off the clawing his fingers were doing against the seat. Emyl and I had made a pact during the layover at JFK, that one of us should remain awake at all times. I had offered to take the first shift, but – from the looks of it – I didn't think Emyl would be sleeping any time soon.
The hostess came back with the requested bottle and two glasses. I tried to get her to take one of them away, but Ibrahim had waved her off before I had the chance. "You know that I am working, right?"
"Ah, Guardian Hathaway, but what is work without a little fun." He said whilst pouring the rosy liquor into the small, plastic glasses.
"You seem to be having way too much fun." I muttered, deciding to hold back the comment about his 'work'. "You really should get some sleep."
"Are you?"
"No-"
"Then that decides it." He cut me off. "I can't go falling asleep whilst you strain to keep yourself awake."
"I am not straining."
He leaned towards me. "Guardian Hathaway, please know that I mean no offense by what I am about to say, but you look absolutely shattered."
I scowled. "Thanks."
He chuckled again and, leaning back, took a sip of his wine before his eyes made their way back to me. "Come on, just one drink..." he haggled.
I fixed him with my stare and effectively shot down his plea. "No."
"It does not have to be a whole glass."
I cocked a brow. "Is this how you negotiate deals normally? No wonder you're not in charge."
To the shock of not just me, but to the fellow passengers around us, Ibrahim burst out laughing. His voice was deep yet not so deep to appear completely intimidating. There was an almost childishness about it that startled me more than the fact he was laughing out loud and hadn't just suppressed it into his usual chuckle. It was also loud. Very loud. The aforementioned passengers – those who were still awake, or had been woken up by Ibrahim's outburst – were expressing their disapproval through angered glares, looking over at the maniac who was making such a racket at on an eleven o'clock flight.
Ibrahim either didn't care or seemed blissfully unaware of the attention he was attracting, not least from Emyl who had taken a break from documenting every passenger on the flight to turn around and frown at the two of us. Thankfully for me, and mercifully for the rest of the plane, Ibrahim's jest died down. "I can assure you, I am much better when it's important."
"I'm not important, then?" I shrugged. He gave me a fixed look before shaking his head in his amusement. I smiled. "You walked into that one."
"I really did." He took another sip. "Well, if you are not drinking then you are watching. Pick one."
I wasn't getting out of this. Ibrahim forced me to pick a film from the on board entertainment catalogue and then forced me into watching it. I think it would've been the most humiliating death in history if we were to be attacked and I couldn't defend us because I was too busy watching Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Nonetheless, that was how I occupied my time on the flight to Gatwick, accompanied by Ibrahim and I's running commentary in lowered voices as the guy sitting behind us had made quite clear that he intended to sleep and any attempt on our part to hinder that desire would be met with severe brutality.
I awoke with a start, not having realised I had actually fallen asleep, a good few hours later. My head had somehow decided to position itself on Ibrahim's shoulder, but was quickly persuaded to move when I got my bearings and sensibility back. Ibrahim didn't stir and I really hoped he didn't notice that I had used him as a pillow. I didn't have long to compose myself before the pilot's voice came over the speaker and awoke the rest of the plane.
We had arrived...
