A/N: This chapter is, well, very odd. It may answer some questions. Also, I wrote my first "real" kiss scene, even if it's only a couple of paragraphs.
Next Sunday, I'm posting the chapter with the Games!
Chapter 8:
The Visitor
Edward and I "talk" on the roof for three hours after the interviews. He is eager to spend time with me. I am not. We sit, leaning close together and my fingers intertwined with his, in silence. The stars gleam above as we wait for the advent of dawn. Everything feels too wrong for the dying embers of my love to reignite. I'm going to die. The realization is so real, becoming sharper by the second. I thought I could see my fast approaching end the moment that I volunteered. Now, though, after the interviews, I see it so clearly. It's like opening my eyes to a new world. It's like yesterday morning, when I learned how much there is to see.
It isn't the fact that my end is coming that forces my spirits below the ground. Physically, these Games have already changed me. If I'm going to die, which I am, I want to still be me. But I can't. They've already proven that they own me— my body, my soul— and that I'm little more than a piece in their Games, ready to be sacrificed at will.
"We were supposed to have forever," I murmur, leaning my head on Edward's shoulder, futilely trying to relax. He runs his fingers through my sooty locks, still silken with the balms from earlier today.
"We have today and tomorrow," he says into my hair.
Today and tomorrow and the days after that are supposed to be nothing more than small but perfect pieces of our ever-blissful forever. "It's not enough," I complain after a few half-seconds.
"You don't know that," he says. "I'm an experienced fighter," he says.
"And everyone else is newborn."
"Including you."
"We're not Career Tributes," I say. "And sponsors aren't really going to do anything in these Games."
"They'll decide if you go mad from thirst or not," he says.
"That depends on the arena," I reply and he sighs, giving me a desperate, defeated look. He looks vulnerable. I don't like it.
"Bella," he says. No. No. No! You are not giving me this speech! "I don't intend to survive this, and you know it. I'm asking you. If you live, and Iwill do everything in my power to ensure that you do... don't do anything reckless."
That's what you said last time, I accuse mentally, even though he can't hear me. Instead, I nod, keeping my lips firmly pressed together. There is hardly anything to say. Goodbye doesn't cover it, and farewell is too solemn. This is a parting that was never meant to happen. We have tomorrow, and then it's time to die. "Fine."
"Bella..." he begins, but whatever he was going to say is lost to the kiss.
I pull him closer, certain that this of all things will take my attention away from everything. His hand, live with electric current, starts at my cheek and then brushes downwards before fitting to the contour of my waist. My head is buzzing with nervousness, my wild vampiric reactions taking me off guard. He's never, not once, kissed me like this, and he shows no sign of stopping.
It feels wrong to be this close to someone right before you're going to die. Reluctantly, I finally stand, managing to pull my fingers off of his. He frowns, and I don't really have an excuse. I need time to think, and I can't tell him.
I return to my room, most of me still yearning to return to the roof. I don't exactly know what possessed me to come here— it's not like I need the rest— and I consider going back up. I lay down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. It was a bit rude to leave like that. Maybe we should pick up where we left off. As I stand, I notice something sitting on the dresser. I narrow my eyes. A letter.
I blur into action. At top speed, I pluck it off of the wooden surface, carefully reading the words, written in an elaborate red script that looks like blood against the faded paper.
732 E. Avenue — Guards Are Off Duty — Come
I sigh, but I'm curious. I tiptoe out of the room and appear in the elevator, too quickly for human eyes to see. I press the button and peek. Every single one of the Peacekeepers that usually guard the Tribute Tower are off duty. Someone in power must really want to see me. And I know who without second guessing myself. She seems to have an odd fixation with me these days. I've seen her three times, and she's supposed to be dead, and so is Marcus, who I saw last night.
I consider returning to my room upstairs, but it occurs to me that this is a chance to escape the Games. I glance around. Not a soul is in this area. With my superhuman hearing, which is finally proving itself useful, I listen. Conversations throughout the building, but nothing of interest, and no people in the area. Jane has cleared the entire floor just to allow me to escape. I tentatively take my first step out of the elevator.
My first step out of the Capitol's grasp.
No alarms flare, the floor doesn't fall open, and I haven't been disintegrated. Almost as if they don't care. I inhale, and the air tastes different. Fresher, vibrant with life, and something that isn't physical like everything else. Freedom. The shackles melt off of me, and I feel alive. Liberty pulses through me, replacing my nonexistent heartbeat, becoming as vital a life-force as blood. I'm leading my own, personal, quiet revolution.
I finally spy another note, an envelop, sitting on the front desk. Usually people come and go, touring the place where Tributes are held before they're murdered. I fly to the note, not sure if I even touched the ground, and rip it out of the paper. I flip it over and over, looking for some hidden meaning in the single word. I trace it over and over with my index finger.
Hurry.
I tuck it into my pocket and fly out the door. A map of the city is situated on the large, concrete sidewalk. I glance around, feeling strangely free in this ever-constraining metropolis. I find "732 E. Avenue." It's a restaurant. Like I need to eat...
I consider fleeing to the outer rim of the city and beyond that: the mountains. I could survive. I'm hardly obliged to help Jane.
Instead, I hail a taxi.
"You alright, miss?" a driver asks, an accent more frilly than even Effie's trilling off of his tongue. I decide to mimic it— no need to draw attention to myself.
"Yes," I say, "732 East Avenue, please," I say. He doesn't seem to recognize me at all. I guess they only care about us when we're fighting to the death. He looks at me a little strangely. I'm still wearing heavy makeup, but I'm dressed simply. I look like an actual human being, unlike the rest of the Capitol. I turn away, trying not to draw attention to my face. He continues glancing at me in the mirror. I take a deep breath, hiding my cringe as his scent wafts my way.
Although the temptation has mostly faded, it is far more appealing than that thick, bitter, metallic liquid the Capitol has been feeding me. Flames lick at the bottom of my throat, gradually crawling upward and inching downward into my stomach, a hollow hunger beginning to torment me. Effie and Haymitch are easier. They aren't strangers. But here's a cab driver. No one would miss him...
It's the fact that I've already broken so many rules tonight. He catches me staring at him. Blood pools in his cheeks, making them turn a rosy, florid color, so delicious looking against his ashen skin. The ichor pulses through his body, a soft thrum of his heart taunting me. Luscious, crimson nectar— succulent, flavorful, and above all, mouthwatering. Which isn't such a good thing when that water isn't water. It's venom, and it stings like I'm swallowing a wasp. I sigh and turn back towards the window. It's like being on a diet while tantalized by the cookie jar, when you finally realize that it's in your reach.
I've no idea why I pity this man. Two nights from now he'll be watching me die.
The car rolls on all too slowly. We finally arrive at our destination. I realize I have no money to offer. After a brief argument, I flash my hunter's eyes at him.
"You don't need the compensation," I purr, reminding myself of Dracula. What am I doing?! He nods and speeds away as fast as he can. I hope he doesn't report me. I step inside of 732 E. Avenue, which seems to be a high end restaurant. The best place to hide is in public, I recall from my days in District 12.
Chandeliers. Chandeliers everywhere. And glass... and crystal... I'm completely overwhelmed by this place. My thoughts become incoherent jumbles. Silken tablecloths, people that look like animals, cakes, pastries, and something, something in the back, that smells more delicious than anything I've ever caught scent of before. On top of the sheer extravagance of the place, I'm forced to overcome the size of the palace-like halls. The elegant columns, with figures of Greek and Roman mythology depicted on the base, meet twenty-five feet in the air to form what would be ominous arches if it weren't for the bright lights and warm paintings. Marble tiles, adorned by roses made from amethyst, hang from the ceiling. Stalactite-like gold, sculpted to resemble flowers, replaces grout.
I find myself wandering within a few minutes, immediately drawn to a cake display. Little beads of icing gleam like pearls, others like ribbons. Candies I've never seen before catch my eye. One cake bears a strong resemblance to a satin, embroidered, regal pillow. Even my new eyes have trouble finding flaws in their perfection. Their aroma, although unappealing for my purposes, is dulcet; divine. I run my hand over the top of the display as I go, aching to touch them. I don't want to eat them, not at all. But they are art to me. Delicate, wonderful art. And yet the people here buy and eat them. I see some tables with each person having multiples. Some of them are only taking a few bites before throwing them away. Don't they understand how incredible it is? Don't they understand what they have?
I catch a whiff of the other scent, the kind that makes venom pool in my mouth, and spot it in a bottle on the other side of the restaurant. There's a large room, for lack of a better word, filled to the ceiling with shelves, which are filled with wine bottles. A window allows people to see all of the hundreds that they have. A woman who I could mistake for an acrobat fetches them. She wears a wooden contraption, something similar to a harness, covering her upper legs and reaching her waist. When she pushes her legs apart, she shoots upward, and when she presses them together, she drifts down. A rolling ladder or a machine could substitute her, but something tells me that this is a form of Capitol entertainment.
The bottle I have my eyes on is red. There are several of them, I realize. It burns my throat more than the scent of the humans. I know it must be synthesized, nothing else could smell like that. The Capitol has been holding out on us. They're capable of giving us temporary heaven. It hits me like a wrecking ball as I find myself ready to rip this building apart to reach the bottle. I hold my breath, but I already have a memory of it. Is this how they attract immortal customers? Cakes divine enough to attract a vampire, and irresistible ichor that makes me feel like I'm drinking lava.
No wonder this place is so busy.
I suddenly feel someone placing their hand on my shoulder.
"Stop growling, Bella. You'll draw attention to yourself," a voice says. I jump and turn to face a cold looking woman. Not cold as in like me, but blank and expressionless, almost as though she were dead. I instantly register that she's another vampire. I tense a little, though I have no idea why. "Come with me. I have a table for us."
It could be a trap.
She leads me down to a table in a dark and particularly secluded area of the restaurant. I sit down cautiously, as if a wrong step could kill me. She seems confident.
"You may call me Coral. No, it's my codename. You are Isabella Swan, correct?" she asks, pulling out something electronic and dabbing on it. I hear beeps and clicks as I nod. "Thank you for coming." She glances around anxiously for a moment. A waiter takes our orders, and she requests the "wine" that I had seen earlier. A look of recognition and panic lights his face, but he brings them a few minutes of silence later. The waiter pours it into two glasses and flees to the safety of the kitchen.
The scent of the exposed blood makes my thirst flare. I don't seem to have a choice as my hand flies, without my permission, to my mouth, goblet in hand. It's rich, slightly salty, and metallic. It's nectarous and divine, so sweet and exquisite... and yet I barely manage a sip. It's like trying to eat an entire red velvet cake at once. I can't do it. I look up to the still silent Coral and glimpse my reflection in her eyes. My lips and chin are far too red. I stain the white napkin, still folded on the table, and place it in my lap. My thirst is less like inhaling flames and more like a bit of smoke. It still burns, but it's bearable.
I expect Coral to speak. I know Jane, or whoever, ordered me here for a reason other than to let me indulge myself. I take another sip of the fluid, rushing in a torrent, and return the glass to the table. Coral doesn't move, but her eyes fall to the glass again. She makes me drain the entire glass — and after that the bottle — before she even begins to speak.
"You're newborn. I may make you aggravated, and the last thing I need is for you to destroy the restaurant," she says. I pretend not to hear her mocking tone of voice. She is silent for another ten seconds, which is long enough to make a bit of fury bubble to the surface.
"Go on," I growl. Coral smirks.
"I am a member of an underground resistance..."
"I know that much," I , snarl. Same difference.
"... an underground resistance called the Movement."
"Start at the beginning," I interject. She sighs.
"This will take awhile, but don't interrupt me." I nod. "The Volturi made themselves disappear at the start of the Great War. The knew that an enemy would destroy Volterra, but it was too late. In the bombing, Alec, Felix, Corin, Sulpicia, and Chelsea died. They fled to America, hoping the US and Canada would be safer than Europe. They weren't. Natural disasters destroyed almost everything. But the result was Panem. Aro was broken, and the Volturi dissolved quickly without Chelsea. Someone let slip who had killed Didyme... Marcus, Jane, Heidi, Afton, Demetri, and a few other members left their master.
"Jane became the leader of the, well, coven and, without Chelsea's interference, had been siding with the humans, deciding that hunting an endangered race would be cruel; it would be best to reveal their existence and work together to rebuild the Earth. Really, I think she was just worried that we would run out of humans to feed on... she was joined by another coven— the Egyptian coven. Eventually Stefan, the last of the Romanian coven, joined us, as did several others. Nomads like Peter, Charlotte, Maria, Alistair, and, of course, the Amazon coven joined us. But the French, Chinese, German, Australian, and Ukrainian covens sided with the Volturi.
"Although they were remote and less known... they were powerful. No one could withstand the death curse of Mykola or the telepathic illusions of Kalyna, his sister. Andriy and his mate, Larisa were even worse, with their abilities to capture free will and to vanish and reappear at will. Henri was quick and Yvette, though small, was strong. Micheal was more powerful than Felix. And then there was Melanie... that's a story for another time. But we had Benjamin, a vampire with influence over the elements. He was immune to fire.
"The Volturi worked behind the scenes and were soon in effective control of the Capitol. People came in but not out. Our people were infuriated by the human death toll, and by the number of vampires that they executed. Panem became less of a haven and more of a dystopia. Both we and the Districts wanted out. We rebelled, and Jane promised to win the war for the Districts. That with a little supernatural help, they could win. That's why Panem keeps so much of the Dark Days secret. The Districts, with vampires, genuinely thought they could overthrow the Capitol. They didn't.
"When the Districts lost, she lost. And the Capitol discovered our existence. When they realized what had happened— that vampires had caused the war— they began executing even more of them. The Volturi bought their way out of the death sentence... believe me, they aren't in control anymore, but they have money. It isn't that they aren't hiding, they are, but most people turn a... blind eye to them. Jane had to work to survive, as did her people. We live in the Capitol, just under their noses, fighting them, fighting the Games, and fighting the bloodlust. We have assembled an army of many vampires and many humans, but it isn't enough. The resistance, the Movement, as we call it, is too small. We have to fight both the Capitol and the Volturi, and we are outnumbered. We need your help to destroy the Volturi and to overthrow the Capitol. It's time for the two remaining races to unite," she concludes.
"Are you done?" I say. She hisses. "Where do I come in?" I ask, not sure if I entirely believe her tale.
"We have reason to believe that one of our greatest assets is being held captive by the Capitol."
"Why does that involve me?"
"It's... complicated. Your boyfriend—" I flinch at the word, it just doesn't seem right for Edward— "is not the only telepath in the Capitol. You are forgetting that we are also working against Aro. Not only are you the closest to the location where the asset is being held, your mind is also secure. The asset is in danger, and—"
I narrow my eyes at her. "Who is this 'asset?'"
"Information can still be extracted from you the... less pleasant way. It is for both your safety and the asset's that you know as little as possible."
"You want me to rescue the 'asset?'" I inquire. She jumps across the table, her hands smacking it so hard that it nearly cracks, leaning in eye to eye with me with clear aggression.
"Isabella Swan, I do not want you to rescue the asset. They would best benefit the Movement in their current position. I want you to win the Hunger Games, find the asset, confirm that they are alive, and report back to me. Do you understand?" she demands. She leans back into her chair, glancing at the now broken table. She's caused a scene. The waiter from earlier is staring at us in horror.
"Yes, ma'am," I say, not quite sure where the "ma'am" came from.
"Then you are now a part of the Movement. Please sign here." She hands me a piece of paper and pen. I speed-read the document and take the pen in my hands before scribbling Isabella Swan down in the red ink that I recognize clearly. The red is an unusual color. I'm sure I've never seen the exact shade except for in this ink. It must be a code to verify that you are speaking with the Movement, and not with a pretender. I pass the pen back to her before realizing something.
An asset? In the custody of the Capitol? "Tell him. Tell her" rings through my ears, the desperation just as clear as if I was hearing it right now. I don't know who "him" is, but "her?" Why else would he have given me the morphling? It was the asset. "Her" must be Jane. Or Coral. Or someone. I'm sure of it. So I have to ask.
"The asset. Was he a doctor?"
She looks taken aback, and I know I'm right. "It is best that you know nothing. If you knew the circumstances—"
"I've been in contact with him," I exclaim. Coral is shocked.
"Are you certain?" she asks.
"He gave me morphling during my transformation. So that I wouldn't be in pain," I tell her. She looks relieved. The first emotion she's shown. So she knows him personally.
"No, he wasn't a doctor. Or at least, that wasn't his cover. But he had medical knowledge. But he posed as a member of the Districts. We intended to bring him to the Capitol, but they found him first... Did he say anything?" she begs. Perhaps more than personally.
"He told me to tell 'her.' I think he meant you. That he's alive, probably."
She sighs, glancing to the ground. I'm certain she would be blushing if she was human. "No, I'm afraid he didn't mean me."
"Who, then? Jane?" I ask. She shakes her head.
"I already told you. It's best that you don't know the details. I'm just... glad he's alive." Coral glances in another direction before giving me a genuine, sad smile. She seems pained, but so deeply in love. Maybe she is a person, not a robot.
"Wait..." I just remembered. "Was he human?" I inquire. Coral is crestfallen.
"No. He was one of us. Perhaps we're thinking of different people."
I shake my head. "Who else could it be? The Capitol has ways to reverse the vampirism process."
"No. He's what we call a 'Vintage.' He's been around for a long time. I don't think it would be possible."
"It's not supposed to be possible for me to be here, or for Jane to be alive," I counter.
She snarls. "Better dead than human."
I'm surprised at this statement. "Why?"
"It's easier to make them suffer."
Perhaps we should remind you of our capabilities to make you suffer, the words of the woman ring in my ears. She's right. Vampires can burn, but after that they can't heal. Humans can be injured and, with the right medicines, can be repaired. I feel a pang of pity for a moment, but mostly for Coral. For some reason I think of the woman who I talked to after waking up, and suddenly... the monotone, gravelly voice, the penetrating stare, the cold heart— except Coral's fondness of the "asset..."
"Your sister. She's with the Capitol," I discover. Coral bites her lip. Apparently, I already know far too much. I've not only met and know the status of the man who I'm supposed to know nothing about, and I've also met this woman's sister.
"Gwen," she says, "Is the one who betrayed him to the Capitol."
"She was human," I say.
"I told her too much after I was changed. She disliked our kind and adored the Capitol. The asset— we called him Herb, as his codename, for personal reasons — was essential to our operation. He was experienced. We were preparing to spark the rebellion when he was captured," says Coral.
I don't exactly trust Jane's people. She is still Jane, and I am still Bella, and I don't think we'll ever be on the best of terms. Either way, I hate the Capitol and want the Games to end as soon as possible. At that moment, I resolve to be loyal to myself and my family. I'll help the Movement, but I won't be tied to them. I still need to act as though I work for them, though.
"So what do you want me to do?" I ask. Coral pauses.
"Win the Hunger Games. Find the asset. Start the revolution."
Odd place to stop, but yeah, that's it. I want to hear your opinions on "Coral," because she will be a bit of a major character (and a trouble maker) later on. Don't worry about Mary-Sues, though. I absolutely hate her.
Do consider leaving a review.
See you Wednesday, and may the odds be ever in your favor!
~Sun