Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)
JPOV
Of the few people I really got to know in my life, there were only a couple who could genuinely shock me. The first was, as it will surprise no-one, of course Ibrahim, who I was convinced had made it his mission to rendered me as shocked as humanly capable at any given opportunity to the point where I was shocked just by the normal things he did. Aside from him, I could probably count the number of people on one hand.
And one of them was definitely Vincent Alexander Cronan the Third…
In spite of the fact he could read minds, which was already shocking enough, this was perhaps his glorifying moment of sheer bafflement and shock. He had managed to turn the entire room from a bitter pit of despair to a glistening field of hope and wonder, and as he said the address, that feeling only grew.
"Are you sure?" Emyl said, figuratively pinching himself to wake up from the dream in which we had all stumbled on gold.
Vincent nodded affirmatively. "I can personally attest to that: he was not lying." And given the fact it was coming from a telepath, that certainly meant something.
And with that came a new sense of optimism. Clearly someone out there liked us, for this was a turn of events that only God himself could conjure. A perfect moment: we had information and La Luz knew nothing about it. If we planned this properly, they could do nothing to stop us.
So plan this properly we did. Vincent, after bestowing us with such a 'revolutionary piece of information' (his words), then bestowed on us the revelation that he was tired. Apparently, he hadn't slept since we separated in England, deciding that was a secondary luxury when compared to the quest we had 'so graciously included him in' (again, his words). Hamlet too suggested it would be best to sleep on this, so we can have a chance to properly clear our heads and don't start acting merely out of impulsive glee. In theory, it was sound, but practically, I knew I wasn't going to be getting any sleep. Neither was Harriet. Neither was Emyl. For Vincent, Hamlet and Ibrahim, this kind of situation was probably so regular an occurrence that it would no longer disturb their sleeping patterns. That is if they chose to sleep as it was clear that Vincent's insomnia was voluntary. For the three of us, it was different. This whole world we had found ourselves in was different, which made something like this seem like Christmas, Easter and every birthday ever wrapped in a bow. Harriet honestly looked as though she could burst into tears with joy.
Thankfully, she was spared the public spectacle when we all decided sleep was on the agenda. I was slightly concerned at Vincent's arrival as our Moroi to Guardian ratio had just gone up to 2:1. It seemed strange to me that none of the members of this 'organisation' had Guardians. I mean, I could understand Ibrahim, and maybe perhaps Vincent given his particular talent at reading people, but Hamlet? That seemed odd. And a darn sight inconvenient too, since during the nights, Emyl had to watch all three of them, while I tried to keep Harriet on the sane side of her mental capacity. In all honesty, I was surprised at how she was managing to keep it together; unlike everyone else under Hamlet's roof, she had not been trained to deal with a situation such as this. Hell, I was barely trained for this! Yet even amongst the tumult of hurricaning emotions, she had managed to stay strong. Perhaps it was time we rethought our stance on the assumed weaknesses of the Moroi? I mean, if Vincent and Ibrahim were anything to go by, we'd have them all out fighting alongside us, rather than being forced into safe houses and hidden away from the monsters that roamed the night.
Though I was not so naive to believe that this would happen in my lifetime. No, the Moroi were far too comfortable with the little arrangement that they had and any deviation from said comfort would be met with flat out disgust.
So for now, we were stuck as we were. And honestly, I didn't mind it. Sure the prospect of getting killed everyday tended to put a damper on your spirits, but it was good to have a clear and sought out purpose in life, which many find themselves wanting.
Night dragged on and dawn bled through, and in spite of my periodic dozing off, I still found myself incapable of falling asleep. Harriet had offered to compel me, but I declined on both an ethical and practical basis: if we were suddenly attacked and I couldn't get up, there would be a rather unpleasant conclusion. She, thankfully, managed to settle down into some form of sleep, for which I was grateful.
When it became too much, I decided to cease my fruitless tossing and turning in favour of a glass of water. Turns out, I was not alone.
"Vincent?"
The Brit turned towards me with a look of pleasant surprise in the bright array of candle-lit tea-lights which remained strategically placed around the room to give a steady and consistent stream of light, before looking down, realising he was without shirt and sheepishly turning away to pull on a t-shirt. "Terribly sorry, Janine."
I smiled at his actions. "It's fine, you needn't apologise."
He cleared his throat a little. "Yes, I forget you Americans have a slightly more liberal approach to life."
"Not all of us," I pointed out.
He smiled with a conceding bow. "Indeed, but given that I am myself a stereotype, I think I can be pardoned for my own assumptions."
I rolled my eyes, turning away to collect a glass from the cupboard before heading to the sink. The tap gave a steady flow of clear water, its constancy in rhythm did well to calm me and I let out a silent, but increasingly contented sigh. "Couldn't sleep?" I asked, not even bothering to look around.
I heard the gentle scrape of the chair against the tiled floor and a distinct thud of someone sitting down. "'Tis a rather unfortunate condition, I find myself in: I am putting it down to the jet-lag."
I chuckled and rotated so that my back could rest against the sink counter. "Not that I am not pleased to see you, but why are you here?" I asked the question that I had been bugging me since the moment I released he was not either a terrorist, intruder or Strigoi standing in the living room.
He leaned back on his chair and chuckled a little. "No offense taken, be assured. When I had heard what Pablo had said, I presumed that this was knowledge that would be pertinent to your predicament, but I dared not risk it falling into the ears of our adversaries, given its value."
It made perfect sense, but I could not help but feel Vincent was holding something back. I decided against pushing it as due to the certain uncertainty that littered his usually flawless tone, I suspected that whatever it was, was a hunch and one that he didn't appear fully able to commit too. With my mind elsewhere, it took me a little longer than it probably should have to notice the increase in concentration on his face. "Hey! You'd better not be poking about it my head."
He smiled, running his fingers through his hair. "Fear not, for alas I am much too drowsy for that, though I will confess to studying your aura. Despite the somewhat draining effect, I find myself needing to practise often as I deem myself to be rather ignorant of many aspects of the feat and, forgive me for saying, but yours is often an interesting read."
I had no idea what he meant by that, but it was unsettling all the same. "In what way?"
"You have a very veritable mix, Janine," he said with a smile, remaining ever enigmatic as I am sure he knew I had no idea what that meant. "The colours that surround you blend and change like no-one I've ever seen - almost as if you are in a permanent state of organised and structured, but nonetheless chaotic sentiment. It is rather mesmerizing to watch, if I'm honest." He paused for a minute and squinted. "That being said, it is a little different today."
I could feel my pulse quicken, but my curiosity seemed to overthrow my normal policy of: 'avoid talking about feelings and emotions at all opportunities'. "How?"
"It is still blended, but the structure seems weaker." he frowned, finding, rather uncharacteristically, it rather difficult to formulate his thoughts. "Everything appears to be almost clashing with each other, rather than neatly merging. You are in conflict with something, perhaps a part of you that you seek so vehemently to suppress, but it appears to be biting back at you." After a beat, he spoke again. "Are you alright, Janine?" His voice completely earnest.
Was I? I was not sure I could say. "I'm fine." I lied. "Honestly." I added to make it sound better. Having someone who could read someone like a book was definitely helpful, particularly when it came to interrogating suspects for information, but less so when it came to personal life. Yet, whether through curiosity or vanity or a little of both, I had walked into this one. Of course my aura was a mess: I knew I was a mess. And given the circumstances - you know, the fact that we were chasing a terrorist group holding our Royal Court and monarch hostage - that would be perfectly understandable. Perhaps if I had said, 'No, this whole thing is freaking me out a little', it would be fine and not met with Vincent's skeptical gaze as he now, no doubt, severely worried for my mental state. But no: the first thing I think of when he said 'inner conflict' was Ibrahim - and I hated myself for it.
"Oh-" Vincent blinked rapidly, cutting off his involuntary noise.
Panic rose within me. "What?"
"No, worry not: your aura just flared and I wasn't expecting it to. I do apologise, I really shouldn't be looking, it's hard to break that habit." he said, his honesty believable, but I was not so naive to assume he had no idea what I was thinking about.
Great. Just great. I thought, before sighing and tossing down the rest of my water. But I couldn't be angry at Vincent, not least because this was partly my own fault, but also given his rather exciting revolution from a couple of hours ago. "Do you think this will work?"
I didn't need to elaborate for him. He smiled. "I tend to avoid making such as assertions, but I do. The only people who know about this are either here or most likely still sobbing in the arms of a Frenchman. And for all the strife he causes, le renard is certainly not one to pass on the chance of eliminating yet another shady organization."
I laughed. "Man, you guys really don't like him."
Vincent shrugged. "You can't like them all, Janine."
"No, I suppose not," I said, musing a little and glancing towards the clock. 03:34. Blimey. "You got anything for sleep deprivation?" I asked, sighing as I did.
He chuckled, running his fingers through his hair. "I could offer compulsion, but that might cross some ethical boundaries." He said as my smile grew. Raising his eyebrows in acknowledgement of this, he pushed himself up and wandered towards one of Hamlet's many cupboards. With ease, he located the one containing the hot beverages; I was sure he had some sort of radar or something as he was never short of a cuppa when he needed it.
"I'm pretty sure tea has caffeine in it." I pointed out.
"Ah," Vincent replied, "but Horlicks does not."
I raised a brow. "Come again?"
He grinned. "Horlicks. A piece of British genius, my dear." he said, plonking the packeted tube on the sideboard before reaching into the fridge to retrieve one of the three milk-bottles that littered the side door.
I rolled my eyes. "You are never far a piece of this genius, are you?"
He shook his head. "Life would be so strange without a little familiarity in it." he said with a wink. Pouring the milk into a measuring jug, he clicked open the microwave and placed it in before setting it to go. "It is a cure for all ailments." he informed me.
"Right." I said, sceptical but nonetheless amused.
"If you'd like, I could add some whiskey to it? Maybe a side of haggis? Hamlet has a deep-fat-frier and I am sure there are some Mars Bars around here somewhere…" he said trailing off a little. I scowled, which only provoked him more. "No? Perhaps some tablet?"
I frowned. "Tablet? Scots are not all drug-users."
Vincent blinked back in surprise. "Oh, Janine: call yourself Scottish and you don't know what tablet is. Shameful really." he said, spooning in the...Haricks? No, Howicks? Never mind. The powder into two mugs and stirring in a little water.
I was spared my response with the microwaves' ding. He pulled out the jug and poured it into the cup. I eyed it with no little suspicion. "And that is going to help…?"
He shrugged. "It always helped me sleep."
"Really?" I asked, surprised that I was getting some insight into the life to the upper-class boy. "Did they not just put brandy in your milk?" I said, rather successfully maintaining a straight face. Two could play at this game.
I could see the corners of his mouth twitch upward. "They did, but I was a very restless child."
I chuckled. "I can imagine."
He grinned and handed me the mug. I took it, my trust in the man having grown with our every encounter made me faithful enough to take a sip. It was surprisingly nice - warm and comforting and tasted a little like a biscuit.
"Huh, quite good." I vocalised.
Vincent's grin grew. "Ah, Ibrahim may make the omelettes, but I make the Horlicks." He said with wink. I tensed a little at Ibrahim's name, which did not go unnoticed by the Moroi in front of me. I could see he was watching me closely over the top of his mug; I also noted how he used Ibrahim's full name instead of 'Abe' which both he and Hamlet, and perhaps most other people, used.
The silence around us suddenly felt very heavy and was very noticeable.
"Fear not, Janine. I am very good at keeping secrets." he said, in an attempt to be reassuring I am sure, but it only angered me a little.
"There is no secret to tell." I said a little dangerously. Vincent continued to watch me closely. "Will you get out of my head!" I snapped.
"I am nowhere near it, Janine. This is all perfectly obvious." he said in his usual calm manner.
I clenched my jaw. "This is none of your business."
"But it is yours." he said, putting down his mug. "You've seen the world we live in: for us, this," he gestured around him, but really meaning it figuratively, "is a daily occurrence. There is no victory at the end, only another problem and another reason to get killed, all with the almost irresistible lure of the evil we seek to eradicate. It is enough to make anyone mad - to drive anyone to do something unspeakable. I am not saying this for him, Janine, I am saying this for you. Forgive my intrusion, the lack of decorum I can assure you I do not dwell in often, but you must know the danger. For this is not something that you can just dip your toe in and walk away unscathed." he looked towards me, begging me to understand. It was one thing I liked about the man: he never cared what you thought of him, as long as you understood the facts and the danger you could be in. He would scream to high heaven if he believed a warning was necessary.
With that in mind, I was still angry for his breach on my life, my mind, but it was quelled by the sense he was making. It became clear to me the futility in denial, there was no point anymore: I was drawn to Ibrahim in a way beyond what I was supposed to. I hated it. I fought it. But, rather like the world he lived in, the temptation was there and all but irresistible. I felt like I was swimming against a current that was pulling me towards him whilst I desperately tried to splash back to shore, to the point where the act of fighting it was making me drown. It was all I could do to keep my head above water and my heart firmly in check.
Vincent saw. Of course he did, even without his ability, it was obvious. He raised his mug again and held it out in front of me. I watched him and sighed, bringing my mug up and clinking them together. "To the shit we find ourselves in." he said.
I laughed - it was slow, pitiful and desperate, but still a laugh. "To the shit we find ourselves in." I affirmed.
We stayed there for a while, thankfully chatting about something a little less emotionally draining which I was most happy about. Vincent was, as ever, right: the Horlicks was doing the trick as I felt the drowsiness run through my body, forcing me to fight to keep my eyes open. He smiled and suggested we go to bed. Well, he said 'retire' which only had me laughing even more and him rolling my eyes.
"Honestly, you are all as bad as each other." he had grumbled, but there was no bitterness in his tone. Thus, we departed on good terms and I shifted slowly back into my room so as not to wake Harriet. She remained sound asleep, lightly breathing, but had managed to position herself so that she lay on her front with her hair spread around her, hiding her face from the world. I smiled and climbed into the sheets, finally allowing the fatigue and the Horlicks to drift me off to sleep.
Morning then came and with it, the promise of a new plan…
"Ah, Janine: how do you like your eggs?" Vincent was standing in the open-plan dining room. He had straightened himself out since last night (I suspected that Hamlet's closet had something to do with that one) wherein he had replaced his jeans and tee with a full three piece, navy-grey suit, with polished brown dress shoes. With his slicked black hair, I would have perhaps been rather afraid of the wheel and very mobster-esque look he had going, had I not known him. As it was, however, and given that he was armed with a cup of tea and a spatula, he looked about as intimidating as a newborn puppy.
"I'm fine, thanks," I said, looking over him with quizzical amusement.
He shrugged. "Suit yourself." He said, with a quick wink with his pun as you really didn't need to be telepathic to have known what I was thinking.
I rolled my eyes and sat down on one of the stools beside the kitchen island. We were quickly joined by the rest of our party, and with Vincent's culinary skills consumed, we set to work.
"Jesus Christ, Storm," a very disgruntled Andrew Harrison appeared slumped over the screen, his eyes half shut and his face contorted into an unimpressed grimace. The six of us in Istanbul were aware of the eight hour time difference, but after a short assessment, we concluded that on balance it was probably best to wake them up. Drew clearly did not share this particular sentiment, as I doubted anyone would at one o'clock in the morning, but his presence did offer some hope, given that the last place he was in was Mexico; either the Monterey mission had been a success, or Drew had become so insufferable to his fellow guardians that he had to be taken out. If I'm honest, both possibilities shared an equal probability, but I couldn't stop the hope that the truth lay in the former. "This better be good."
"Sorry, Drew. Is Croft about?" I asked, deciding to take the lead on this one.
Drew yawned, not bothering to turn away, but I really couldn't blame him for that. "He'll be back soon: he's on the phone with some Alchemist about the update on Court. Apparently, the bitter bastards have finally concluded that this is an issue and now worth their time." He rubbed his eyes before allowing his palms to fall down his face and cradle under his chin, so he could prop himself up on his elbows and fully looked at the screen. A smile crept across his face. "Sorry to disappoint: Monterey is still operational. Don't lie, I knew what you were thinking."
My heart sank a little, but I didn't let it show. "Unfortunate. Are you close?"
He scrunched up his face a little. "Not too sure - Mexico is littered with so many gangs that narrowing down to just one is like trying to find a needle in a needle-stack. I'm only here to give an update as we've had to shut down communications due to a severe case of tapping."
"Ah, yes…" Vincent mused aloud. "City, '91." Hamlet groaned while Ibrahim chuckled. Clearly an inside joke.
Drew squinted a little at the screen. "I thought there were only four of you?" he said and his frown thickened.
"We expanded." I said with a little shrug.
Drew continued to stare at the screen. "You sure you can trust them?"
"We are here, you know?" Vincent said, giving him a little wave.
"Now, now, Charles," Hamlet interjected, "he is right to be wary: particularly on case as important as this."
Vincent shrugged. "I deny this not, but it would be nice for him to wait until we depart from earshot."
"Hey, I'm still here, you know." Drew said with irritation, evidently not picking up on the little game that was being played with him. He wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but I'd put his present obliviousness down to sleep deprivation.
It was at that point that Croft came in. He looked the same as he always did: trim and soignée, it looked as though he was ready to take on the world. But the bags that sagged under his eyes told me of his exhaustion; throughout the entire mission, I am not sure if Hans Croft actually slept, even for a moment.
"Hathaway? Is everything okay?" he asked, not bothering with formalities.
"Better: we have good news, sir," I said.
"The best, perhaps." Vincent added with a wink.
I rolled my eyes at his jest, while Croft continued to look upon us all with his usual serious countenance. "Am I going to have to beat it out of you?"
"Sorry, sir," I said, sending a quick glare towards Vincent. "We have the location of the base."
And with that, Drew promptly woke up: he jolted awake and sat straight. Croft too looked like he had just suffered an unprecedented cardiac arrest. "You are serious?"
"As a measure," Ibrahim said with a smile. "We have both the address and possible means of attack, which we thought best to run by you."
"Indeed," Croft responded, a little too quickly for his normal composure. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harriet's smile as she caught the glee of both Croft and Drew. Our eyes met and her smile grew. Oh yes, this was good. I thought. For the rest of the day, we spent time deciding upon our plan of action, including assessing every possible exit strategy and one that even took us into Bulgaria if things got really bad. But we were confident that that was not going to happen - for the first time, we had the upper hand. Even with Mexico still proving difficult, knocking out two of the three supply chains would substantially weaken the group - they would be isolated and on our turf: we knew the Royal Court, much better than any of them could have learnt in the past few weeks. This was it…
La Luz would not know what hit them…
