Disclaimer: I do not own Demonata or any of the original ideas, characters or setups, Darren Shan does. I do however own any original concepts which are featured in this fanfic, so please do not steal!
A/N: Okay! This chapter is pretty short by my standards but that's the way I intended for it to be. It's simply letting you, my lovely reader(s), get to know my villains on a bit more of a personal level so you can understand their motives and means a little better. This chapter is pretty much just introducing the upcoming key ones and revealing what they've been up to during the time we haven't been keeping surveillance on them. The reason this chapter is shorter is because I don't want to give everything away about my bad guys too soon and thus, ruin the experience for you. As for the last chapters cliff-hanger? Do not worry! The next chapter is going to address the current situation Esther's plonked herself into soon enough, and I promise you, I hope it will not disappoint! You're going to learn a little more about the Grady family, especially its darker parts, and our female assassins motives will be revealed, along with some wonderful awkwardness for Esther! But for now, I will let you concentrate on this chapter! As they say in France: J'espère que vous apprécierez!
The brightly coloured graffiti which littered the abandoned industrial estates building's made them an obvious place which people would avoid, which made it a perfect place for them to set up shop. Loud music would often boom from shattered windows; bright, neon disco lights would thrum and burn, flashing harshly, spilling light into the night sky; the sound of laughing, screaming, cheering and the thud of numerous beings jumping up and down to the rhythm, their feet pounding against the floor. But no normal, human teenager would be seen at these parties, at least…Alive. Hundreds of young looking vampoari partying and feeding, regardless of true age, gender, sexuality or race, they would gather to socialize and enjoy themselves like any normal young people would. A rare few were permanent, only about twenty-three of them, a relatively large nest of vampoari none the less.
Brunhild Esterguard and her human assistant, or should that be servant, Crispin Guildroy pushed themselves through the crowds of cheering, dancing vampoari; some still had blood plastered around their mouths and smeared across their skin, ruining their flawless makeup and elegant images, but Brunhild worriedly pushed onwards, shaking violently. The one hundred and fifty six year old vampoari was openly nervous, and her fangs chewed at her pale lip, her eyes the colour of freshly planted cornflowers darting around nervously. The journey from Carcery Vale back to their base on the edges of Newcastle had taken some time, but she'd been dreading it since they left Esther Blake and the strange red haired boy in the woods, shamefully retreating. She'd ditched her ridiculous widow style outfit for once she much more preferred, still feeling incredible fury towards her pathetic excuse of a human, Crispin. She still wondered why she'd took him on in the first place, allowing him to access the immortality she possessed, but pitted it down to her own lowliness and need for companionship.
She'd ditched the entire layout of that stupid widow outfit Crispin told her would be thematic, how she hated the little brat who'd caused her life so much annoyance and misery, but Serse had promised her she'd be rid of him if she complied with his plans and helped him acquire the necromancer girl. Unfortunately things hadn't gone according to plan, and now she faced certain punishment; not death, Serse and Ingrid needed every follower they could seduce into joining them, but she would certainly be put into extreme pain and experience it ten times over until he had finally calmed down. She only hoped this would anger Serse enough to finally dispose of the nuisance she had taken on sixty eight years ago, but she had her doubts and suspected he would simply keep Crispin around to increase her suffering and torment. If she was still capable of sweating, she knew her literally golden blonde hair would have been sticking to her forehead.
She had been born 'traditionally' Scandinavian as her mother would have told her; turned into a vampoari at the tender age of just seventeen, she had been in her prime life of beauty, and was one of the notably most impeccably gorgeous beings on the planet, which made up for her young and lack of power. Naturally, she didn't surpass the likes of Beauté Nacré or her own superior, Ingrid Westerholden, but she stood out in a crowd, even to her own species. The mustard yellow of her thigh length, golden fur lined jacket, which perfectly matched the golden hair which swung down the major length of her back; her dark brown trousers emphasised her long, slender legs which enabled her to reach her impressive height of 5'8". Crispin trailed behind her, dressed in a simple white silken shirt with a pair of creamy coloured trousers; his hair had been back-combed but he was notably twitchy and kept staring up at her nervously, although she didn't turn around, simply ignoring her long time servant. Her beige heeled boots make slight 'clacking' noises on the floor as she pushed her way through the dancing, cheering, laughing members of her kind, edging closer to the ominously raven feather black coloured door, with gold writing spelling out 'PRIVATE' on it. If she were human, that painful sick feeling you always get when you're nervous would have formed.
Occasionally she'd feel Crispin pat her on the shoulder, but she'd simply shrug his hand away from her and proceed to just keep her eyes ahead of her, face stern with concentration. She was fully aware of how much trouble she would be in once Serse found out she'd failed collecting the girl he so badly needed for…Well, whatever his latest order was. Her features were sharp, which was what made her striking; her face was angular and made up of strong, sharp lines with almost pointed edges to everything. The lightest sprinkling of blusher peppered her cheeks which were whiter than the pearl beads sitting around her neck; she barely wore any makeup disregarding the blusher however, and her outfit, although expensive was incredibly plain. Despite this, others of her species still cast her lustful glances, although she ignored them, her hair blowing about in the fans which aligned the tops of the vampoari makeshift club. Crispin loitered behind her, shaking slightly, watching the vampoari who clustered in the club, all of whom were eyeing him hungrily.
"Oh do grow up!" She snapped, her tone one of superficial anger spilling over the top of her formerly cool, calm, collected composure. "You know it's against Serse's rules for any of our kind to take a bite out of you, so stop letting the blood flow so easily, I can smell it a hundred miles away." She had to bite back adding in 'Not that it would upset me' and simply held her head a few inches higher, long hair spilling down her back, the tips still fluttering in the fans light, hazy breeze. Despite her act of confidence, Brunhild found herself totally lacking any true inner confidence and her head was spinning so fast, she felt almost like she was fully alive and her heart was about to burst out of her chest.
"Bu-but…" Crispin faltered at her tone and simply stopped walking when they came to the door, knowing he didn't have enough authority to enter the Polish Heart Ripper's private quarters. Otis Copeland stood guard outside the door, his usual 6'9", sheer muscle bound mountain like build self. His skin was so dark it was almost mahogany, and his arms bulged out of his pale blue t-shirt which was a shocking comparison compared to his incredibly creamy chocolate coloured skin. His pure white pants were stained with bloody handprints around the thigh area but he stood as imposing and emotionless as ever, only cracking this passive, stern façade when he saw Brunhild approaching.
"Ms Esterguard," he nodded politely, but the entire time he was grinning like the Cheshire cat, his face broken into a sunny picture of intrigue and lust for the older, illusive vampoari. If she recalled correctly, Brunhild knew he had only just reached fifty years in vampoari years, and she found the concept of getting involved with him something she never planned on doing. She had never desired to date a younger vampoari, only every going for older vampoari to enter into relationships with, as she could never picture herself being with one younger than her comfortably. Brunhild nodded back, although she wished he would give her the option to turn on her, expensive, heels and run. "The boss wishes to see you immediately." His hand gently gripped the door handle and it swung open, showing the seemingly never ending white walled, cream carpeted corridor which lay ahead of her.
Swinging one long leg in front of her, then the other following her a matter of seconds after she entered the incredibly plain hallway, before hearing the door slam shut behind her and the lock clicked sharply, letting her know she was all alone but to meet her fate. Making a brisk, short walk of it, she'd reached half-way down the corridor in a matter of about two minutes, whilst it would take a human at least four to reach the point she was reaching when the pure white door, almost as white as her own chalky skin, swung open, revealing someone she'd dreaded. Although it wasn't Serse, the woman was almost as bad to see.
Ingrid Westerholden looked much more fresh faced than Brunhild did at that precise moment; whenever a vampoari had fed they automatically glowed with a sort of human aura, their skin became pinker, and they had a certain sparkle about their eyes which made them glimmer an almost human energy about them. Her face was beautiful, perfect, every woman's ideal collection of features; a heart-shaped face, rose petal lips, perfectly spaced eyes, long, sleek nose which was neither to pointy, flat, big nor small. Her beauty surpassed any other vampoari she had ever come into contact with, and probably the most beautiful of her race on the planet, with possibly only one other surpassing her. Her shell pink lips were fashioned into a smile, an unpleasant, cool one, and her eyes were the colour of the ivy which climbed the iron fencing which guarded she and her long-time companion, maybe even husband's, domain. The golden blonde colour of her hair matched perfectly with the creamy colour of her skin, the jasmine scented waves falling perfectly around her face and swinging around her waistline. Her slender, model like form was graceful and elegant, covered only with a silken dressing gown the colour of violets in a field, and stopped at the very top of her thighs; the neckline showed off her tight, perfectly sculpted breasts and it was clear to Brunhild that she wasn't wearing any clothes underneath her dressing gown.
"How pleasant to see you Brunhild," in nine hundred and twenty eight years of life, Ingrid had still managed to retain her thick German accent. "Serse has been…Anxious to hear of what progress you've made but we were recently informed you…Failed to collect the Blake girl." Ingrid's voice oozed fake sympathy, but it had a venomous, cruel undertone of happiness that clearly indicated she enjoyed knowing her lower ranking worker was in for trouble once her lover knew she'd failed the mission they'd assigned her too. Of course, the whiny, pathetic little human boy hadn't helped the situation but he was a necromancer so they needed him. Although, Ingrid had never been too sure if they boy truly was like Esther Blake, or whether he was just a two-faced liar.
Brunhild was forced into a gaping speechlessness, totally unsure of how to answer, although Ingrid had clearly anticipated this as she smiled, almost kindly, and beckoned her forwards with one, long slender index finger on her left hand. "Please, come inside, he wishes to speak to you. You are not in any trouble," now Brunhild knew that was a lie, "We simply need to discuss what went wrong." Taking a deep breath, although breathing wasn't necessarily to something like her, she continued walking down the hallway, hurrying her steps slightly and she began to shake violently, her body jittering despite not even really being aware of the temperature. As she approached the door, Ingrid shot her one last, cruel sadistic smile and slipped inside the private quarters, although it only took a minute for Brunhild to reach the door and slip inside, with it immediately closing ominously behind her.
The room was pure white and seemed to glow in the high levels of artificial lighting which lit it all up; a large, crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, glittering pristinely and almost proudly. The floor was covered with freezing, at least to someone whom temperature still mattered, white marble however was covered in a variety of white plush rugs, one of which was one of those authentic polar bear ones most people never expect to actually see during their lifespan. Large glass mirrors aligned the left wall, covering all of the plaster underneath, probably inspired by Ingrid's own self-absorbed vanity and narcissism. A large, white vanity table stood on the right hand side of the room, tucked into a little corner and was aligned with various products to enhance one's physical beauty, with a large, matching white wardrobe placed off to the side of the bed in pushed up against the wall directly facing the door. It was circular and rounded, with a white headboard constructed purely of glass, and silken cream coloured sheets with golden spirals sewn onto it, matching the array of golden silken pillows and white fluffy ones propped up against the headboard.
Serse Ripper, sometimes known as the 'Polish Heart Ripper' due to his country of origin, lay directly in the centre of the bed, with Ingrid perched daintily on the edge of it. He still looked his usual age of eighteen years old, looking a year older than Ingrid's seventeen. He was incredibly tall, his back taking him above the headboard, rendering its necessarity useless. His face held the usually timelessness which all of the vampoari had mastered, only his had an extra special quality to it. His skin was the colour of ivory, almost shimmering like gems in the moonlight because of the pale, tranquil stillness that hung around him like a scent. His paleness was ignited by a burst of short, raven feather black hair of a sleek, silky texture which amplified his paleness, almost like Beauté Nacré's, only he managed to look even paler somehow. His eyes, a midnight sky blue, stared intelligently from the midst of his intelligent, smiling face. The smile was not a pleasant one. His height was an incredibly impressive 6'8" or something around that, and was incredibly muscular, which surpassed many expectations of him. He was probably naked, with the sheet covering his lower body, his bare chest openly showing, with numerous scars littering it.
"Ah! Miss Esterguard, what a pleasant surprise." His stony eyes radiated cruelty and the smile immediately vanished from his face, making it a mask of anger and coldness, his eyes blazing with fury. "Or it would be pleasant if you hadn't have failed me!" The last part came out as such a sharp, infuriated yell Brunhild jumped and bit her lip harshly, feeling all the blood left in her body rush to her eyes, like she wanted to cry vampoari trademark blood tears. "I give you one simple goal to capture one pathetic, untrained teenage necromancer and you screw that up…"
"Now sweetie." Ingrid's sickly sweet, thickly accented voice interrupted. She was probably the only being on earth who could successfully interrupt the Polish Heart Ripper without getting her head torn off, and that clearly showed her sheer powerful position in Serse's entourage of allies, because he didn't explode like he would have if Brunhild had dared do that. Her perfectly manicured hand stroked his hair carefully, tangling in his raven feather black curls, gently resting her head against his broad shoulder and swinging her legs over his lap so she was sitting on his knee. "You can't blame Brunhild for her failures. Apparently the always annoying Beauté Nacré and her forever loyal little followers were on the scene so she had to be careful."
"Ah! Of course!" His furious face crumbled into a pleasant, business like smile, his mouth curving into an intelligent, modest, almost peaceful smile. One thousand, two hundred and eighteen years of life had taught him well on the acts of playing human. "The ever persistent and irritating Ms Nacré with her menagerie of imbeciles felt it so…How do I put it? Necessary to show up?" He looked at Brunhild after stating this, indicating she was to answer.
"Yes sir!" Brunhild gabbled quickly, evidently eager to pin the blame upon someone else so she didn't have to face yet more torture as a form of punishment. She was still heeling from having silver slowly dripped onto her lower back area three weeks prior and sometimes it stung when she took a bath. "And there was this boy with the Blake girl! I think he'd recently been resurrected by their necromancer, Marcella Garza because he smelled strongly of new life! And the earth and so forth…"
"Resurrected?" Ingrid's ivy green eyes went wide and she took a few minutes to lean down, her golden curls covering Serse's face as she whispered in what sounded like Polish to him, her rose petal lips kept close to his ear as she spoke; as his right hand gently cupped her backside, while his left rested on her back whilst she whispered whatever she'd figured. When she finally pulled back and swung her legs around so she wasn't practically straddling him, her eyes blazing with interest, boring into Brunhild as a cool, sadistic smile formed on her lips. "Well done, Brunhild!" She congratulated. "For this we won't torture you!" Brunhild immediately relaxed at that, her muscles no longer tensing and her entire demeanour automatically became calmer. "In fact, we'll let Crispin take any punishment we might have issued you."
"Thank you ma'am!" Brunhild gabbled again, smiling pathetically with relief. "Shall I go and collect him?"
"No." Ingrid smile again, her eyes glittering slightly in the bright light the chandelier which must've doubled as a lampshade of some sort; cascaded light across the room, hitting everything in sight. "Otis can collect him later onwards. Besides, we want you to meet the newest members to our oh so happy family!" Brunhild often felt bemused by the fact Ingrid chose to call their group of various rogue vampoari, witches, warlocks, faeries and necromancers a 'happy family' but never questioned why, knowing it would only anger their temperamental second-in-command.
As if it were a perfectly performed stage cue, the other door located in the room slide open, being pushed off to the side like one you would usually find in a traditional Japanese dojo type building. It was a glass door although the glass itself was blurred, covering in ridges so you couldn't truly see what was happening behind it, not even detecting shadows, and located just to the right of the bed. The first of the people to step through the now open doorway was female, and fairly young, only about seventeen years old. Serse seemed to like allies who at least looked in their late teens, probably because of his own young looking appearance.
She wasn't very tall, practically midget sized, standing at a meagre 5'3", matching that of Ellie Quinn, only notably more lovely looking. Her skin was slightly bronzed, although not that tanned for a woman born and raised in somewhere like England which was naturally colder; making her seem practically glowy in the room's incredibly overpowering lighting. Her hair was hazel wood coloured, and waving, reaching her small waist, emphasizing its smallness which many women would obviously envy. Her clothing was strange, even possibly by Serse and Ingrid style-a lavender coloured bodysuit, with no sleeves, emphasising her cleavage by pushing her breasts impressively upwards, matching the vinyl boots which rode up her short, slender legs and reached her slimmed down thighs. Matching lavender eye shadow dusted the eyelids of her pale brown coloured eyes which were mixed in with a hint of grey.
It was a young man who followed her, and he didn't look much older than the girl, only about eighteen years old himself, matching Serse in age. However unlike Serse, he wasn't composed of raw bulk and muscle, his build instead being one of tall, leanness and slender muscle, standing at a fairly impressive 6'3", however didn't shine weakness like many slender men do. His hands were large and covered in a layering of black leather, with a black briefcase being held in his hand, an accessory you'd never imagine seeing someone only aged eighteen carrying. His hair was cut short and neatly, with a fringe at the front, being such a dark brown shade it borderlined black; the only thing which gave it away as brown was when light hit it, illuminating the lighter brown shading in his hair. His eyes were a strange, honey brown coloured shade that borderlined more on the golden side of the colour wheel, and illuminated his attractive face. His outfit was luckily more toned down than his female companions, although composed entirely of black, matching his gloves and briefcase. Black shirt covered with a black suit jacket, black jeans with a pair of black converses which made his outfit slightly surreal.
Finally, coming up the rear, was the final member of the three teenagers who'd become the latest members of Serse's organization of violent, angry misfits. He was about seventeen years old like the girl, and stood at about 6'5", two inches above the darker haired boy. His golden blonde hair, the colour of a lemon it was that blonde, was jelled upwards into a fashion of spikes, and went well with his sapphire blue eyes. A true blonde haired, blue eyed, smiling boy, matching his peachy coloured skin, and muscular build. He too was dressed entirely in black, although he chose a tank top and bovver boots opposed to his companions' jacket and converses. Something about him was attractive but in a much more subtle way than his openly attractive comrades, with an eyebrow piercing accenting his…Interesting appearance to say the least.
"Meet Ms Cassandra Pierce," Serse gestured towards the beautiful girl dressed entirely in lavender. "Mister Dominic Deleon," another gesture, this time towards the dark haired boy with the gloves and briefcase. "And finally, Mister Lawrence Harper." That once was obviously the blondie; Brunhild figured that before the gesture even occurred. Lawrence could've only been the blonde because the other two were named.
"Call me Larry," he grinned charmingly, his eyebrows raising, matching the easy grin which had formed on his well-formed lips. He leaned back against the glass door behind him and Serse smiled at him, as if he was actually finding the boy amusing. "Everyone does." He nodded towards his too comrades; Dominic broke into a relaxed, yet incredibly attractive grin, whilst Cassandra simply rolled her eyes as he put one large, calloused hand on her slim shoulder.
"We've been hired to acquire the Blake girl," Dominic Deleon spoke, his accent French, which surprised Brunhild greatly. Although his name sounded vaguely French, she was surprised he was the real deal. A genuinely French boy in her midst. "Because you're neither a necromancer like I am; nor possess the shapeshifting abilities of someone like Cassandra, or have Larry's weaponry expertise, they automatically possessed an advantage over you. We're just here to even out the field." He smiled smugly, as if he knew there was no way she could possibly defend herself, which she knew as completely accurate. Brunhild was beginning to develop a sudden disliking for Dominic Deleon.
"Dominic possesses the same power level the Blake girl is suspected to be capable of achieving," this time it was lavender dressed Cassandra who spoke. American, again another twist Brunhild hadn't expected to have happened. She was from the north of American, possibly somewhere like Arizona judging by her light tan and thick accent. "And with my fighting abilities, coupled with Larry's marksmanship, we'd be an even match compared to the Blake girl, her resurrected hero boy and whatever other allies she may end up making. I have a feeling the William Spleen boy might be some trouble."
"Spleen?" Serse asked impatiently, his eyes suspicious and intrigued.
"We've been keeping her under observation, as well as some of her friends. The family is pretty much useless to us, so we figured the friends might prove more important to us. And they did." Cassandra smiled a perfect, lovely smile to match her lovely image. "Seems like she's friends with Grady's." As if it was a trigger world, all three vampoari immediately stiffened and eyed her suspiciously. Grady-a well-known, magically talented family who had a history of causing notorious problems for those of supernatural origin spanning centauries; to know the Blake girl was friends with them made everything seem a little bit more complicated. "But only really the Spleen boy has showed any awareness to the current events," Cassandra caught herself quickly and Brunhild immediately felt the nervous energy in the room drop back to a safe, comfortable level. "And even then still, he's nowhere close to discovering the truth; he's barely touching the edges of the truth. Grady's might have a naturally intelligent streak, but they're no mind readers." Her face broke into a beautiful smile, all easy and relaxed. Something was about to happen, and Brunhild knew it was highly likely she wasn't going to be liking the outcome, no matter what it was.
"Do you think there's a possibility this Spleen boy may discover the truth?" Ingrid asked and her tone was a little more harsh than before; incredibly direct and demanding of an answer immediately. "I mean, the name certainly sounds familiar to me."
"Oh it should," Dominic nodded quickly, his eyes fading slightly from their usual shining quality which she'd noticed over the past several minutes of dialog. "He was recently cured of the Grady family lycanthropy by the demon lord, Lord Loss." A business like smile graced his face and several laughter lines appeared on his face when his lips formed that reassured shape. "And he's the half-brother of everyone's favourite smart mouth, Grubitsch Grady." A collective laugh went up around the room which Brunhild was incapable of joining in on, but at least no-one turned to stare at her; rudely studying her face and the expressions she might have been pulling at that precise moment. "But now," Dominic bowed politely. "If you do not mind, Mr Ripper, we could possibly um, 'ow do you say, 'get to work'?"
Serse laughed and nodded pleasantly at his request, extending his arm towards Dominic and sweeping it throughout the atmosphere expressively, sort of over the top. "Please, Mr Deleon, Ms Pierce, Mr Harper feel totally at ease to get to what I am paying you for immediately." The three of them nodded and excited the room without saying any further words, simply going about their work like any good bunch of…Assassins? Hit-people? Murderers? Brunhild wasn't exactly sure what the term for those with jobs in that field was, but all she knew, was that Esther Blake better start counting her lucky stars before they found her.