Author's Note: There's going to be some more action coming up soon. And it might get a lot more disgusting when it comes down to Cyril's victim-hunting.

CHAPTER SEVEN:

He wasn't fully awake yet. His consciousness had not been really regained all the way. But he could hear the soft melody playing from somewhere near. He had heard the lullaby before, in the field, but didn't tell Becky about it. It was something he wanted to keep to himself. It was his song.

He didn't know when to wake up. He wasn't even sure he wanted to. Dave knew this wasn't his bed, because this fabric was much softer. He thought he had never slept in it before. He knew he had to get up and attempt to contact Balthazar. But he just couldn't. Dave, admittedly, just wanted to continue sleeping, like he was before.

There were other sounds now. There were noises before, but not as loud. Before, Dave heard quiet shuffling. It sounded like a mouse scurrying across the floor, but he knew his family despised rats. They wouldn't have allowed themselves to live in such a lowly place. So it must have been his sister or Cyril or Levy. Now, Dave could hear the lullaby become more lighter. He could also hear violin music, Chopin's nocturnes, and wind chimes. Was he in an opera hall of some sorts?

Dave struggled to open his eyes. He did want to sleep. It wasn't a choice, though. He had been…taken, he was sure. Everything was still blurry and fuzzy in his mind. Despite his hazy recollection, Dave knew that he was brought here unwillingly, and he had every right to leave. He wanted to leave as well. Family was something he didn't need.

His lids felt as if they were sewn shut. It was hard to get them to open, but eventually, they did. There was no light. Darkness greeted him. He could see the bold outline of the objects in the room, and the door too. Dave sat up stiffly in the bed. He rubbed the nape of his neck slowly and tried to adjust his vision. He turned to the side of the bed and thought he saw a nightstand. Dave reached out and groped on the surface of the nightstand. He felt a flicker of hope as his fingers touched some kind of beaded string in midair. He pulled it.

A bright light erupted from the lamp. Dave flinched at the furious glow. He got used to not being in the darkness anymore quickly. Dave planned to step out of the bed, but his plan was ruined when he heard footsteps. He yanked on the light switch again and then put his head back down on the pillow. He pulled the blanket over him and shut his eyes, attempting to fake his slumber.

The footsteps came somewhere near his door. They stopped. Dave held his breath. After a few minutes of pause, the door was open. Dave could sort of see the gauzy light spill from the hallway (was there a hallway here?) and into the room. Now there was another person breathing.

"Not awake," the person grumbled. It was too low, so he didn't know if the speaker was Rachael, Cyril, Levy, or someone else entirely.

The door was shut. As soon as Dave was sure that the footsteps were far away, he turned on the lamp's light. The room was filled with the lamp's light again. He quietly left the bed. The floor felt unfamiliar. He saw a drawer against the other wall, next to a desk. Dave noticed the clothes he had on now. A gray t-shirt and dark pants he didn't own. He hadn't been wearing them before, he was sure of that. He grimaced at the thought of his uncle changing him, and prayed he swapped clothes magically. Dave wanted to get out of them immediately. He pulled open the three drawers and dug through them softly for something else. All of the clothes weren't any of his. Dave felt the corners of his mouth pull down. Since when did his uncle have any time to purchase him clothes? Eventually, Dave decided he wouldn't change. He marched over to the door. He opened the door as gently as he could. He didn't want anyone to hear him.

Dave had been right. There was a long hallway that led to a door. When he stepped out and looked left, he saw it led to a wall. Dave walked down the hallway and hesitated. He drew in a deep breath, then tugged on the handle of the door. He took a step forward and embraced the new light.

"Dave?"

"Rachael," he sighed. She was wearing red and black, but nothing from magical origins. She looked like a human right about now.

"It's one in the morning," Rachael observed. "What are you doing up?"

He looked around. He was in a dining room. A rectangular table stretched out across the large room. There were ebony chairs around the long table. It was like something out of Dracula's manor. Dave's gaze flickered up to the ceiling. A diamond chandelier hung from there, decorating the roof with sparkles.

"Dave?" his sister called. "What are you doing up?"

"I just woke up," he said, feeling somewhat irritated. It wasn't actually his sister he was annoyed with; it was with Cyril and, maybe, Levy.

"Er, do you want breakfast? Or something?"

"No. I want to see Cyril."

"He's not here." Rachael narrowed her eyes. She must have been inspecting him because there was something about her expression that made him self-conscious.

"Why not?" Dave demanded.

She bit her lip. He noticed they were coated with red lipstick. Who puts on lipstick on during one in the morning?

"I…actually don't know where he went," Rachael admitted.

Dave didn't trust her. "That's interesting." "Please, David. I don't care whether you believe me or not." She turned around and started for the door.

"What about Levy?" he shouted.

Now this made her pause. He watched his sister rock back and forth. Finally, Rachael said, "She's gone too. Which is kind of odd, since she can't really take care of herself that well."

Dave didn't stop her as she left. He knew that his uncle didn't have any cell phones or computers here. He wouldn't have been so stupid as to leave any type of communication here. So he was stuck, for now, with his sister. And his uncle, when he came back from whatever he was doing. He shut his eyes and remembered what he said last time they spoke. He struggled to sort through the words. But all he could recall was Becky.

Dave opened his eyes. He went back to his new room. There, he climbed back into the bed and shut off all the light. The entire room was doused with black. Just the way I like it, Dave thought to himself ominously.

Becky felt like she was back in her bed. When she opened her eyes, though, she saw she was on her couch. Veronica was hanging over her like a cloud, her eyes deep with worry. She quickly gathered memories of last night in her mind.

"You're feeling much better, Becky," Veronica said. "You can get up." Becky rose from the couch anxiously. She felt a little less morose knowing she could actually walk. Whatever pain she felt in her ankle last night was gone. Veronica offered her a cup of tea. Becky, surprised by the abrupt gesture, took it. After she finished drinking the tea in one gulp, she set it down on the coffee table.

"Thanks a lot, Veronica," Becky said, feeling grateful. The tea cleared some of the fogginess in her mind. She was free to think clearly.

"Dave," she suddenly said. "Where is he?" Of course, the answer had already came to her. She didn't know why she asked. When she saw the grim shake of Balthazar's head, her insides burned with fire. Becky couldn't tell whether this was from emotional loss or incredible anger. She did know she needed to sit down. She collapsed on the sofa and leaned against a cushion.

Veronica sat down with her and stroked her arm. "I'm sorry, dear," she said. There was real sorrow on her beautiful face. "We didn't know how to tell you that…he was gone. But it looks like you already knew."

"Yes. I did know." There was fierce fire in her chest again.

"It was our fault," Balthazar told her. This stunned her, and took away some of the anger. "We were about to take off after you. I have a hunch that Cyril was watching us, because he appeared right in the doorway. He convinced us then it was easier to stay and wait for things to blow over."

"That's his shtick," Becky informed them. "Remember the Incantus? And what Dave said? Cyril's got a mind trick."

Balthazar set his lips in a grave line. "That is true. Him having that ability is dangerous for us. And even more so, since he must need to feed a lot to maintain it."

Becky remembered when Cyril first visited. "Balthazar," she realized. "He said something about it in the apartment. He drained a girl's body of blood. I told you that, do you remember?"

"Yes," Veronica said softly. "We do remember. It means that he's had a great amount of blood in the past time."

So many people dead…just for one person. Her insides felt like flames.

"What can we do?" Becky demanded. "Dave, our Prime Merlinian, is gone. How are we to get him back? Do we even know where he is?"

"No," Balthazar said sharply. "We have no clue. But that's going to change. Charlotte Markov's book came in today."

"What?" Becky cried. She knew it was an important book. It had said something about the Stutlers.

"Yes, while you were out." In a flash, he brought out a book with a leather cover. The title was displayed in golden, stubby letters. Becky took it eagerly. She flipped through the chapter she really wanted to see. Her eyes squinted to read the tiny font. Another family, not as known, is the Stutler family. Their ancestry can be traced back to the Salem Witch trials. You may ask how they are related to magical principles. Intensive research by the Foundation of History and myself have been conducted. I have traveled over to the home of one of the Stutlers, who had been convinced to be interviewed. I am not at the liberty to reveal her name; she simply is to be called by "S". S claims that she has books and artifacts in her cottage, which date back to the 1800s. She was kind enough to show me a silver necklace her who-knows-how-many-great grandparents made. It is simple, yet extremely beautiful and elegant. Ironic, S tells me dryly, as her grandparents of long ago, were poor. They have participated as one of the people who viewed witnesses to the witches at the Salem Witch Trials. S has not seen a lot of relatives for years, but she has a feeling they will visit one day. She also showed me another fine piece of jewelry, less gorgeous than the necklace, yet pretty in its own right. Something odd happened when encountering the ring. I suddenly felt faint when I put it on, and teetered towards the floor. Doctor Novak inspected me, and she promised that my vitals were excellent, I was in top-shape, and nothing was out of order in my body. S admits this has happened before with certain people trying on the ring. Camilla Zackary of the Mythology Group believes this to be of the negative affect the ring can have on ordinary people.

Becky put down the book on the coffee table. Some of this sounded a bit moronic, if she was being honest. And then again, some did appear believable. The ring, for example. Now that was something. Every sorcerer had a ring, or some kind of item, that their power relied on. This S seemed real to Becky as well. Why wouldn't she have kept her name a secret? Considering Dave's awful family members, she didn't want to be hunted down (or something like that) for revealing crafted pieces to humans.

"There's…some useful stuff in here," she said to the two lamely. It was partly true.

Veronica let out some air through her teeth. A very ungraceful noise, Becky noted. "We know it's useless, dear," she said to Becky. "The book, I mean. But it means we have found out that Dave's family has a goal in all of those parental chaos."

"A goal?" Becky repeated. Her features displayed her confusion, she was sure. She had never thought the Stutler family had a goal. Perhaps to ruin her relationship with Dave, but nothing more than that. She was gravelly reminded of Cyril Stutler, and the cup of blood in his hands. He needed bodies. He had another goal.

"Cyril, being the sick Cruor he is," Balthazar said abruptly, tracing a circle on the table with his fingers, "will a hundred percent raid New York for some fresh bodies."

"Look at this page," Veronica said. She took the book and flipped through it. She found one page, and tapped it with one finger. She handed Becky the book. It was just about another magical family.

"Um…"

"Read on further," Balthazar urged.

Becky did as told. She squinted as she skimmed across the page. Her eyes widened when she saw one single term that stood out above the rest. It jumped out at her as if written in bold font. Cruor. Her muscles tensed up as she read the page with much more care. The Alling family was believed to be consisted of blood-drinkers, only like vampires when it came to dinner time. The only person whose name they could be sure of was Levi Cruor Alling, a young woman who liked to drink the blood of village boys. There was a single picture of her on the other page. It showed a plain-looking woman with light, blond hair. It was drawn with ink, so it was impossible to tell how old she was, or pinpoint her exact features, like the eyes or the mouth.

"So how does this help?" Becky asked.

"If you read a little bit more on," Balthazar said to her, "you can see that Levi Cruor Alling and her husband slaughtered the young throughout the village because she was falling weak. She needed the blood to drink, but she and Mr. Alling took more than they needed."

"How come?" Becky started looking for that information in the book, but Veronica laid a hand on hers.

"Because, apparently, Levi Alling had an enemy in her village. It was, ironically enough, her neighbor. She grabbed more bodies than necessary, and then drained each and every one. In the end, Levi attacked the neighbor and disposed of the corpse. The neighbor would have survived, but Levi was much too powerful to ward off alone."

"So…that means Cyril is going to look for bodies?" Becky asked, struggling with her words. She looked down at her shoes. She just couldn't imagine a man easily taking regular people, killing them, and taking their blood. How heartless was Cyril? Didn't he have some sort of good in him? No, a voice in her head snarled.

Veronica appeared distressed. "That's our closest guess."

"He wants to be more powerful than he already is, doesn't he?" Becky questioned. She kept looking at her shoes.

"And not only that," Balthazar chimed in. "He might be searching for a…for some sort of heirloom."

"A heirloom?" Heirloom: something valuable handed down from family member to family member.

"A heirloom," Balthazar repeated largely. He enunciated each word. "In this Markov's book, S talks about a heirloom. A necklace."

"So what's so special about the necklace?" Becky asked impatiently. She gathered her willpower to prevent her foot from tapping rudely.

"Who knows?" Veronica answered. She gave a light lift of her shoulders. "They could be after the ring, perhaps. I don't think it's that, but we need to keep an eye out for both items."

"Any idea where they are?" Becky toyed with her hair now. If she couldn't tap her feet, at least she could strangle some of her hair.

"Both are in S's home," Balthazar murmured. "Yet we don't know where she lives."

"This is why we need to find Markov," Veronica added.

A sudden idea light up in Becky's mind. Excitement replaced the impatience. "Balthazar! Veronica!" she said giddily. They looked at her with curious eyes. "Remember when I told you about Modessa? And the journal?"

"Yes?" Veronica prodded quietly.

"Well, it must be in Dave's apartment!" she said, her words stringing together because of how swift she was speaking. "It's still gotta be there! If we found it, we could find out more about Modessa and anything else!"

"Er, Becky, as helpful as that plan might sound," Veronica said, "we don't know for sure where it is inside that apartment."

"Please, Veronica, we could try!" she cried out. "Just let us try! Couldn't you use magic?"

"We could," Balthazar confirmed. "But if we are being truthful, Dave received this journal from Modessa. We don't truly know if it isn't guarded with spells or barriers."

"But Dave opened it!" Becky protested.

"That's right," Veronica said. "He did. But that could've been a trick on Modessa's part. She could have intentionally done it to ensure only he could look at the journal."

"Could we at least tried?" Her words were filled with anxiety. She was sure her face was imploring.

Veronica and Balthazar exchanged a glance.

"We can try," Balthazar said. "But we won't make any promises on what we might find. We could find nothing at all."

"But we're going to try!" Becky reminded him. She stood up. "Now, where's my jacket?"

"I'll get it." Veronica retrieved it and handed it to her. She hurriedly put it on.

She ran for the door, careful not to trip. A cold blast of wind came out to greet her. She looked over her shoulder and assessed the couple.

"Well? You guys coming or not?"

There were three girls sitting on the stools at the black, gleaming counter. One a blond, the other two brunettes. The blond was easily the skinniest girl, but the stick-thin look just wasn't for her. She wasn't even remotely pretty. Her eyes, perhaps. They were the perfect shade of gray-blue, but it didn't make up for her tiny face and too off-center nose. Her hair was too short as well. He made a face. He didn't like short hair, not even a little. He moved his eyes off the blond and stared at the girl sitting next to the blond. They widened slightly when he took more time to look at her face precisely. She was indeed gorgeous. Rich hair the color of chocolate. It was wavy and seemed soft, like clouds in the sky. Her eyes were brown, a factor he grudgingly had to accept. He hated brown… But she petite and beautiful with her features, perfectly good traits he had to accept. He unwillingly moved off her and stared at the third girl. She was chatting at too high speeds. Her lips were perfect, he noted. In fact, this girl seemed more perfect than the other one. But then really looked at her. If he was being honest, the third girl was too tall, too leggy, and too pouty. She was definitely a fighter. And he didn't need a fighter. He needed someone who would come with no hesitation, and would present no trouble when he took her life. Just because the third one was attractive, it didn't mean he needed her. He decided which one he wanted.

He stood up from the private booth and made his way through massive crowds. He could hear music that was too loud and disgusting noises that indicated some sick expression of teenage love. He heard some curses and name-calling as well. He couldn't help it as he smirked. Sometimes, it was so funny to hear these commoners arguing. Arguing over appearances, over weight, over themselves. They acted like nothing else was important. They clearly did not value their lives.

He tapped the second girl on the shoulder and offered her an alluring smile. Before she even said anything, she was astounded. Flustered, as well, might he add. The girl was stunned as soon as she saw him.

"Hello," he said quietly, attempting not to attract attention from the other two. "Would you mind pointing out some directions for me? I'm new in town, and hopelessly lost." He flaunted another smile.

The girl nodded, dazed. "S-sure. Can we go outside? It's too noisy here." She recovered, and gave a smile of her own. Silly, stupid girl.

"I wouldn't mind." He let her lead him outside. He chuckled to himself as they reached the doors. The girl didn't hear him.

Once they were outside, the girl paused and ran a hand through her hair. Trying again, he noticed with a tad annoyance, to seduce him.

"Where do you need to go?" she asked, smiling once more. She showed her white teeth this time.

"I-" The doors swung open. The third girl, the leggy one, came out. She shook her head, hair dancing. He sighed internally. Why was she here? The girl looked at the one he had chosen. The tall one looked at her with a worried expression.

She flicked hair out of her eyes. "Melissa, please come back inside."

"This man needs directions," the one named Melissa answered. She appeared to be a bit irritated the tall one interrupted.

The tall one looked even more worried by now. "But Melissa…"

"Go back inside, Mo," Melissa laughed. "I'll be right back in, I promise. He just wants directions. 'Kay?"

The look on this girl's face said anything but okay. "I-I guess," she said. She gave him a regretful look before disappearing back into the club.

"Now, about those directions?" Melissa said, giggling.

"Follow me." An order. A shock went up her spine, and her lips set themselves into a tight, pressed line. She followed him without a word.

"Good girl," he sighed. Melissa trailed after him as they slipped into the dark alley.

"Stand still," he whispered into her ear. "This is the right thing to do. Stand still, all right?"

"You're right. It's completely right."

Power was wonderful. He put his lips to her cheek and went down to her neck. He hated clichés, such as biting the neck. That was the vampire's way. He was no vampire. He was Cruor.

He immediately straightened up. His hands found their way to the back of her head. He ran his long fingers through her dark hair for a few seconds. Then he grabbed the long strands and jerked them back. Her head veered upwards as a sickening snap echoed off the walls of the alley. He slammed her against the wall, turned her over, and ran his teeth over the shirt covering her back. They ripped easily and the remains of the clothing fell to the floor. He used his sharp teeth to cut open the beautiful skin on her back. She would have cried, moaned, and screamed if she were still alive. But the girl was no longer among them. He chuckled at the line as he licked at the fluids leaking out of her back.

She tasted okay. Not perfect, like the blond he killed a while back, but she would do. Her blood wasn't as sweet as he preferred his liquid to be. It was a tad salty. What had this girl been drinking before? The sharp tang of alcohol stained her blood. He licked her broken skin anyways. It was good to try new things.

He finished her off within a matter of minutes. A little body held the same amount of blood as a regular person, but it was never enough, for some strange reason. He chewed on her dark hair while contemplating his thoughts. This had been his first victim since he left the house. How was Rachael doing? And more importantly, what was David up to? He was sure his niece would be able to handle the boy, but he was a tad stubborn. And whiny. Goodness, his nephew could complain at times. He knew David's grumbling was more powerful than his skills. That's right, he thought. He had yet to see his nephew's abilities in action. He would have to test them, if the boy would let him…

He needed more. He looked at the girl on his lap in disgust. As soon as her blood had left her, she no longer smelled or tasted as good. He pushed her off him in anger. He wanted more. Something better than the tiny girl who lay dead at his feet.

He remembered the blond girl and the couple. Balthazar Blake would have to be tracking him, along with his lady friend. He laughed. The blond would be furious to realize her little boyfriend was gone. An idea burrowed through his mind…

Hmm, he thought. The blond one. She would be angry. And she would want to see David…

This new idea could be entertaining...

Sorry for not updating so long! I love how this chapter turned out! I like writing from Becky's point of view.

-TracedScars