Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)


JPOV

I walked, vaguely remembering how to do so. Harriet poked her head up from where she had buried it in her palms. Emyl turned from where he was consoling her towards my entrance to the small kitchen where they both sat.

"What happened?"

I looked up at Emyl, not sure if he was the one who had asked the question or if it was indeed me. I opened my mouth to answer regardless, but found that I was incapable of saying anything bar: "I don't know."

I saw both Emyl and Harriet frown, the former making to open his mouth again to further his initial inquiry, but found himself halted by the arrival of Ibrahim and Vincent.

"Dear Lord, I need a beverage." Vincent declared, striding into the kitchen, acknowledging the three bewildered people in front of him before locking on to the kettle.

Ibrahim walked in, resuming his aura of casualness. The eerie edge seemed to have dissipated to leave no trace that it was ever there. He chuckled at his friend, but the concern was still there. "You alright, Vince?" He asked, for the first time using Vincent's actual name; well, at least to an extent.

Vincent waved him off. "Marvellous – one may daresay spiffing, but one knows better than to encourage you."

"Does someone want to explain what is going on?" Emyl interjected, his voice not raised but there was an undeniable authority and bellow in tone. "Where's Pablo?"

"He still in the living room," Ibrahim answered.

"Recovering..." Vincent added which earned him a glare.

"Is he...unconscious?" Harriet tentatively enquired, her lively blue eyes nervously darted between each individual in the room.

Ibrahim's expression softened considerably. "No, he is perfectly well, my dear girl. He is just a little shaken up, but that is completely normal."

Emyl looked between the two Moroi. His mask was both there and not with the sporadic flecks of confusion and irritation that flashed across his features. I was still trying to comprehend what I had just witnessed, but would have probably been in a similar state to Guardian Burlatsky. "What did you do?" he asked, Ibrahim rather than Vincent who seemed to be concentrating quite hard on pouring the boiling water into a mug.

Ibrahim's eyes ventured towards Vincent's actions, watching him carefully as though he would collapse at any moment, but answered no differently than he would normally. "We found the cities in which La Luz have stationed their main supply bases: Vancouver, Monterrey and Istanbul." Emyl's eyes widened at the news. "I recommend calling our dear friend Croft and informing him of this development as I am sure he will be most pleased with this outcome."

"You know, I'm rather surprised that there was only three." Vincent commented, though I suspect he was just thinking aloud.

Ibrahim shrugged regardless. "It is not so unlikely. Remember, Magnus Dubois only had two and he still managed to bring down a well fortified political structure."

Vincent hummed his agreement. "True – though he did have inside help."

Ibrahim paused for a moment before continuing. "I think perhaps La Luz have underwent a form of centralisation. Given that their target was the Royal Court, it is not surprising that they have two so close to their object."

"They're smart." Emyl said, chipping in. "Putting them in Mexico and Canada offers two frontiers without alerting too much attention, particularly given the Court's influence over most of the USA."

"Though why Istanbul?" Vincent pondered. "What's the connection there?"

"Location." Ibrahim stated with a shrug. "Turkey offers a central location wherein they all pull resources from Europe, Asia and Africa for distribution. Spain would have worked equally as well, but it would seem a little obvious. Better to put your supply base abroad in a place where you have little if not no connection, that way no-one would suspect it."

There was a pause in the conversation before Vincent spoke up again. "Well, props to you Abe on managing to guess all three."

Ibrahim chuckled. "I believe you owe me a hundred and fifty quid."

"Oh, man! Was it really fifty a pot?" Vincent groaned.

Ibrahim chuckled again before his eyes found mine. Whilst this conversation was occurring, I remained standing by the door, with my arms folded in a very Emyl-like manner. My brain was reprocessing every little detail of what had occurred not ten minutes before, analysing every single possible explanation for how on Earth Ibrahim and Vincent managed to, for all intents and purposes, guess exactly where the three supply bases for the criminal organisation that we were currently seek to disassemble were located. I had nothing. I knew Moroi possessed some compelling abilities, but certainly not enough to read minds – which was the only plausible description that I could come up with for what I had just witnessed – and it didn't work on vampires, be they Moroi, Dhampir or Strigoi, so that was irrelevant anyway.

With all this internal chaos, I really wasn't paying attention to what I was doing externally. Heaven only knows what manner of expression was fixed on my countenance when Ibrahim glanced over at me. I could only guess it was something distantly related to complete confusion. Whatever it was, it was clearly wild enough to provoke Ibrahim to inquire if I was okay.

"I'm fine, just...how did you do that?" Strip off the Band-Aid, may as well cut to the chase.

Ibrahim opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Vincent. "I think I'll take this one, Abe." He said, placing down his finished tea and looking over at me with a slight smirk. He ran his fingers through his hair, trailing them from the back of his head along his jawbone to scratch the right side of his face. "You remember yesterday when I told you I didn't technically specialise..."

"Yes." I said remembering back to my first conversation with Vincent-not-Charles when suddenly it clicked. "Some of your own..." I echoed the words of but a day ago.

Vincent smile increased. "Yup."

"What are you talking about?" Emyl asked, looking critically between the two of us.

But I ignored him, invested as I was in my own investigation. "You're not specialising allows you to read minds?"

"You can read minds!?" Harriet's voice was raised a pitch or two higher than normal when that sentence came out.

Vincent laughed a little. "Not quite."

"But you knew...?" I drifted off, not knowing quite how to end that sentence because I really didn't know what he knew.

But Vincent took this as an opportunity to explain. "I can't read minds, though that would be very interesting." He said, glancing over at Ibrahim who did not look too pleased. Vincent chuckled before carrying on, unaffected. "I can read emotions. Sort of. It's hard to explain, but there is a certain...glow around people."

"A glow?" The disbelief in Emyl's voice was clear.

"Yes, it's rather tricky to define – the closest thing I can relate it to is...well...it's like a visual representation of an aura." He finally managed, running his fingers through his hair. "Unique to every person, it is as though a colourful halo surrounds them. Each colour represents a mood, feeling or emotion."

"And you can see these...auras?" I echoed, making sure I was following.

He nodded. "Yes. Not only that, but I can interpret them – isolate a particular colour, for instance, and determine the emotion linked to it."

"And that's what you were doing with Pablo." He nodded again. "So when Ibrahim said the name of a country..."

"...I watched the reaction." He affirmed. "From that, I am able to determine whether or not it is of significance and dismiss or affirm it respectively."

I was amazed. "But how did you get the cities? Surely you couldn't just guess and hope for the best."

He laughed. "Yes, that would take quite a while. No, because each aura is unique to the individual, I have to have a few examples. Likes, dislikes, fears – that sort of stuff."

"Which is why Ibrahim was talking about whiskey." I said looking over at the Moroi in question. He bore and comparatively neutral expression, but the subtle upturn of his lip gave him a much less serious and intimidating and therefore a kinder demeanour. I was so distracted that I nearly missed when Vincent spoke again.

"Yes, I don't keep him around for nothing, you know." He said, sending a wink in Ibrahim's direction. Said Ibrahim cocked his brow as the smirk took over his soft smile. "Anyway, once I have a grasp on their particular system of colouration, I can lock on to a single emotion or feeling, in this case the one relating to supply bases, and compel it to activate memories or stored knowledge, which used that emotion, ergo finding the cities."

"That is incredible." Harriet breathed and I have to admit, I agreed.

"And you can just do this at any time..." Emyl said, a nervous lilt shrouded his words.

Vincent smiled. "Alas, not. Vampires, whilst not particularly being natural creatures themselves, are not supposed to read emotions, let alone minds. It takes quite a lot of effort and is rather destabilising, so I don't do it very often. Seeing the auras is not too bad, but the other part, well..." he drifted off and turned around to make more tea.

It suddenly became very clear why their organisation found Vincent so invaluable.

And it was then that I began to question. Question what I knew, or at least thought I did. An unspecialised Moroi: unheard of, yet not entirely impossible. Vincent and all his gifts would have been rejected in the world I knew, yet they appear embraced in this one; the one that I had labelled as wrong, as immoral, as savage. Did that then mean that liberty and savagery were intrinsically linked? Perhaps a step too far, but I had already crossed the line to the point where it was no longer visible – relative extent seemed completely nullified. Right and wrong: I had always seen them as binaries. Black and white. As far away from each other as the east from the west. Though the distinction now appeared distinctly grey – a fact I was most certainly not enjoying.

Pablo was, understandably, a little distressed. Hysteric may be the more apt term for his condition, given that he had – though not quite literally – given away the location of the secret supply bases that fuelled La Luz and whatever it was that their Abuela was up to. Regardless, there was no denying that he was a dead man. There was no speculating what would happen to him if he was just set free, even if he did manage to convince them that a Moroi with special abilities read his aura and used it to read his mind which in itself was unlikely.

"Jenny..." I jumped, turning to face Emyl stern expression and warning tone of voice. We were still in Vincent's friend's house, midday passed and lunch consumed. Vincent had managed to find a computer and, with Emyl's technical prowess up for another exhibit, managed to get it working enough to send a message to Guardian Croft about the supply bases.

"What?" I asked as innocently as I could.

Emyl scowled. "You know what. I know that face."

I sighed. "I just don't think we should let him go."

"Pablo? You are aware he is part of the criminal organisation that tried to kill us? That have Harriet's mother hostage?"

"But they'll kill him."

"I'm failing to see how that is our problem." I scowled. He sighed. "You don't know that for sure."

I scoffed. "Oh, don't I?"

He inhaled slowly. "Alright, fine: they probably will. But who cares? He definitely deserves it."

I blinked, somewhat faltering at the callousness of Emyl's speech. "How can you say that? He was an orphaned boy manipulated into a weapon – not even that, a fall-guy: set up to take the blame."

"He was still part of it, and I have no qualms about shooting a messenger."

I glared at him in disbelief and he returned it. Who's to say how long we'd both be standing there, not even trying to find a middle ground, if the knock on the door hadn't interrupted us. Regaining our former harmony, we both snapped our heads round to the door: guardian training kicking in. The figure was distorted by the translucent glass, but it was clear he was male. Moroi most likely, though could be a dhampir. Given the time of day it was highly unlikely he was a Strigoi but I still entertained the possibility. He knocked again, the form moving to reveal an empty void behind him: he was alone. I glanced back at Emyl and he nodded. Moving forward, I ducked into the stairwell whilst Emyl sheathed his stake and made to answer the door.

Easing it open slowly he glanced out. "Can I help you?"

"Maybe, but I am actually here to help you." He had an accent, one Emyl and I and all the guardians at Court knew all too well from a certain Guardian Demort.

"Renard – is that you?" Ibrahim's voice carried through the hall. Emyl tightened his jaw, but opened the door fully. I got a full look at the man. Moroi, without question now: tall, lanky yet with a well kept stubble and dressed in a suit, the price of which I felt I did not want to know. He had quick grey eyes embedded deep into their sockets; they darted around the room as though he was making a mental log of every single atom in his environment. He caught sight of me pressed against the front-facing wall and then my stake. He smiled: his face holding an almost rat-like quality that made me very cautious.

He pushed passed Emyl and went to embrace Ibrahim. "Zmey. It has been a long time. Moscow was it not?"

Ibrahim returned the embrace, but did not look happy about it. "Perhaps not long enough."

He pulled back and laughed. "Ah, you were always so funny. Is Charlie-boy around?"

The deviousness resurfaced in Ibrahim's gaze. "Yes, he's in the kitchen." The Frenchman clapped his hand on Ibrahim's shoulder before wandering in the direction of the kitchen.

Emyl shut the door and turned around to stride back into the kitchen. "Next time you invite some of your friends, tell us." He snapped at Ibrahim, brushing past him.

I released some of the tension in my muscles and made to put my stake away. "You know, I really wouldn't have minded if you'd killed him." I glanced up to see Ibrahim smiling towards me.

I wasn't going to dignify that with a response. "Who is he?" I inquired walking closer to him in the hallway.

"Not a friend to be sure." Ibrahim muttered, glancing to where the Frenchman and Emyl had wandered away. "Jean-Paul Boursain: by far the most insufferable of my colleagues."

"In what way?"

Ibrahim quirked an eyebrow. "We call him renard..." I shrugged, indicating my ignorance on the matter. He smiled. "It means 'fox'. That should give you some indication of his character, though I do not believe it does him justice. He would be better suited to 'Janus'."

"The god with two faces?" I asked, holding back my smile.

Ibrahim now raised both eyebrows. "You never cease to amaze me, Guardian Hathaway." He bore a look rare to his countenance: an odd mix of amusement, bewilderment and something I could not place. And he was smiling again.

I sighed softly, leaning back against the wall of the staircase with my eyes fixed on the riddle that stood before me. "Ditto, Mr Mazur."

There was a moment of silence, a moment of hesitation: Ibrahim standing, pondering whether the voice the question that danced so clearly in his eyes. "Dare I ask if this has proved somewhat redeeming?"

His wariness was unmistakeable and I knew exactly what he was talking about. I sighed. "You never hurt the people you are interrogating?"

He shook his head. "What would be the point – inflict enough pain on a person and they will say anything to make it stop. The reliability of the information would be too minute for consideration."

"But you do threaten to hurt them?"

"All bark, rarely bite." He smiled. "Just don't tell them that."

I laughed. "Yeah, I think that may destroy your formidable reputation."

He cocked a brow. "Formidable reputation?"

I send him a challenging look. "Dude, you were on Croft's radar for 'influential' characters."

"Touché." He conceded with a chuckle before a slight frown crossed his features and he shot me a funny look. "Did you just call me 'dude'?"

I blinked, realising that my mission to hate the man in front of me and therefore act as passive aggressive as possible was most definitely failing. This was not the first time that my guard had slipped in conversation with Ibrahim Mazur, but it was certainly the most obvious, Composing myself, I glanced towards the entertain Moroi. "I'll keep your secrets if you keep mine."

Ibrahim smiled: fully. His lips parting and his teeth shining out, as they were on our first meeting in his first attempt to charm, but there was a distinct difference – this was genuine.

"Alright, mon cheri. Allons-y." Pablo Torres was pushed through the gap between myself and Ibrahim, closely followed by Jean-Paul. "Au revior, mes amis. It was good to see you again, Abe – we shall have to do it again," he said with a wink,

I frowned as they made their way to the door and then out of it. "What...?"

"Thank God." Ibrahim muttered, turning away from the door,

"Ibrahim Mazur!" A British accent roared through the corridor. I jumped, taken aback by the anger in Vincent's normally cool tone. I shot Ibrahim a wary look, but he just looked on the verge of laughter. Vincent appeared at the end of the hallway and locked onto Ibrahim immediately, who had resumed his lean against the wall and looked over at the fuming Brit. "I am going to murder you in your sleep!"

"Remarkably kind way to go." Ibrahim shrugged.

Vincent scowled. "Some friend you are: leaving me with Monsieur la renard. Urgh." He shook himself out. "Blimey, that man gives me the shivers. Every time I see him, I don't know if he is friend or foe."

Ibrahim scoffed. "I do not believe it is that simple with him."

Vincent hummed his agreement. "Yes, you're right about that. I am totally going to make you pay for that one, Abe – I hope you know that."

Ibrahim smiled. "I wouldn't expect anything less, Charles."

"Sorry to interrupt," I wasn't really all that apologetic, but it served its purpose in getting their attention, "but why is Pablo being taken by your...not-friend?"

Ibrahim cocked a brow. "You'd leave him to the mercy of his 'employers'?" he said with no little disbelief. I blinked. "Besides, we needed to give renard something to do to stop him tagging along."

I was about to comment when Emyl walked into the hallway, phone in hand.

"Guardian Croft wishes to speak to us."

"Vincent?" I frowned upon seeing the tall, Brit striding towards a different platform. He glanced back towards me. "Where are you going?"

He smiled softly."Unfortunately not with you, though it all sounds terribly exciting." That was certainly one word for it. After toying with the newly acquired information for a while, Croft had called us back with a plan of action. It appeared the situation back in the US had gotten progressively worse. The hostages were alive, at least, but Abuela (well, one of her agents as she was electing to remain in the shadows) had threatened the continuation of their existence unless allegiance was sworn to her. In effect, what we were dealing with was a coup d'état and this megalomaniac of an old lady wanted it with the full flourish. Obviously, that wasn't going to happen as the majority of the vampiric world were, while not completely, quite content with the old regime and this new usurpation was just not acceptable. It had served in unifying the Guardians and Moroi alike, squashing any previous concerns into the mud.

And so, she had to go. And Croft had come up with a plan for how to do that.

If I'm honest, I don't think I was completely comfortable with the whole thing. Croft, along with other remaining senior members of the Guardian community had unanimously decided that we were going to cut off their supply chains – sever their connections and stop them gaining any additional re-enforcements so that when we struck, it would be permanent. That obviously meant locating the supply bases within the locations and since we were already halfway to one of them...well, you get the picture:

We were going to Istanbul...

Well, apparently not all of us.

"It is really rather embarrassing." Vincent said, running his fingers through his hair. I looked at him expectantly. "My mother called..."

A wave of empathy fell upon me. "Ah."

He smiled. "Yes... She is apparently coming for a visit and since she believes I work for the financial services, she thinks she can drop on by whenever she wants."

"Ouch."

"Mhmm, so now I get to spend the weekend entertaining the family, including cousin Rupert who I needn't dwell on." He said gritting his teeth a little.

"La renard?" I said.

He laughed. "No, he isn't that bad. Rupert is, well, a little conservative, shall we say: somewhat of a lost ruminant of the Victorian era in his political persuasion."

"Oh." I said with a frown.

"Indeed. Well, I must bid you farewell, Janine." Vincent said with a sweeping bow.

I laughed a little. "It was a pleasure, Charles."

He grinned, the devious glint resuming their normal position. "That it was indeed." He stepped forward and took my hand in his. "I know we have not been acquainted for long, but might you grant me a favour?"

I frowned. "Sure..."

"Look after him." He said nodding behind me. I glanced round to see the direction he was indicating: Ibrahim.

"Vincent, I don't thi-"

"No, hush now. I ask as your friend: that man is my brother. Perhaps not by blood, but certainly by heart. He has helped me more times than I care to admit, even to myself. Yet, he will not hear a word of thanks nor allow himself the simple pleasure of true and honest friendship." He sighed a little, taking a step back and releasing my hand. "He does not relinquish his guard for anyone and I don't wish to see him hurt: as an Englishman it is very unsettling." He chuckled.

I rolled my eyes. "You're concern is touching."

He laughed again. "I mean well. Alas, I really must go." He cast a wayward glance towards the adjacent platform before running his hand in his hair once again. "I hope we meet again, Janine. But perhaps on happier terms."

"Me too, Vincent," I said with a smile. He bowed out again and trekked over to the adjoining platform. Minutes later, a train pulled up: its worn wheels screeching to a halt. The doors opened and Vincent stepped in, giving a solute back towards me. I saluted him back and he grinned. It was only when I turned around did I realise his action was directed at Ibrahim.

"I fear he may have made an impression on you, Guardian Hathaway," Ibrahim said with laughter lacing his words.

I scowled. "Can't be any worse than the one you made."

He smiled. "Glad to be of service."

I shook my head and located my friends. Unsurprisingly, I found them together and in conversation. Harriet's blue eyes had regained some of their previous brilliance – the events of the past not long ago had tempered her previously joyous personality. Yet, I think it would've taken the darkest corners of hell to weed-out the light that shone within her. And Emyl always knew how to make her smile.

I approached the pair. Emyl looked up from Harriet to meet my eyes, a certain caution within his own. "We good?" I asked.

His lips turned slightly upward. "We're good."

Harriet looked between us, alarmed. "You two didn't have a fight, did you?"

Emyl was quick to reassure her. "A mere disagreement. The past couple of days have been trying for us all; we were bound to get a little cranky."

She still looked wary. "We can't turn against each other – we are all we've got."

"And we won't: allies for life, right?" I said.

Emyl grinned. "Allies for life."

And it was just as the train that Vincent had bordered slugged away from the now empty platform that the speakers came alive with announcement:

The train now approaching Platform 3 is the 18:46 Themeslink service to Bedford. Calling at Three Bridges, Gatwick Airport, East Croydon...

And so it began.