Thanks to catsvsdogscatswin and kinigget for reviewing. I'm always happy to get feedback.
Chapter 15: Devil's Dance
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, September 18th, 2016
Seras almost fell to her knees when she tripped over one of the seemingly endless stairs. She stopped, panting, pressing her hands on her sides. Three hundred and twenty seven fucking steps and she still wasn't on top of the damned hotel. She had always considered herself to be fairly fit, but this beat any workout. She leaned on the handrail of the fire escape, trying to ease the burning of her lungs. Only two flights left. Not more than twenty stairs.
How was she supposed to help Lady Vladimira – Mira – anyway? The vampire was literally the last person that might need help in her eyes. Seras had only a handgun, which was not exactly helpful against such an enemy as -
Something on the rooftop exploded. Rubble rained down on her, including chunks big enough to make her think a whole small house might have been exterminated up there.
Her legs seemed too heavy to move, but she hurried upwards again. Hopefully Pip soon got the helicopter. Had she known they would face some crazy Nazi vampire army, she would have never talked him into this. But cash was cash and it seemed like a special betrayal to leave Lady Caitlyn alone in this situation.
The rooftop was clouded in dust. Impossible to see something. Seras was pushed from behind and fell, avoiding razor-sharp cards by inches. She hurried to a concrete wall that seemed to provide at least some kind of cover. Somebody had placed a rifle there with a full cartridge belt already put in. Seras peeked around the wall, but saw only a blur of dust and smoke. There! She pulled the trigger. It was hard enough to hold the muzzle in the right direction, let alone hit something. They were moving too damn fast! Up to now Mira didn't seem to need help anyway.
The crossfire seemed to accomplish at least something. She heard Alhambra curse.
"What'z going on up zere?" Pip's voice on the radio was almost drowned out by the noise of the battle and something on his end of the line. "Should I pick you up?"
"No. If you get here now, the helicopter will get hit."
"But you're alright, oui?"
Seras cursed. "Not now, okay?" The rifle sprayed its deadly gifts all over the rooftop, but it didn't seem like she hit anything. She couldn't even see the enemy, let alone the woman she was supposed to protect. "Stupid little bitch!" The next moment a card burrowed into the concrete and exploded. Seras screamed.
She lay on the ground, showered in dust and with ringing ears. She got up, half expecting at least one limb to be gone. But for some reason she seemed completely unhurt. Stay here. I will take care of him. The voice sounded like an echo in a tomb. The ringing in her ears drowned out every other sound, but the voice was completely clear. Seras shakily got to her knees. A dark, almost ebony-colored arm set down the biggest portable grenade launcher she had ever seen. How could anyone even carry that? Despite barely hearing her own voice, Seras looked up to thank the mysterious helper. Her jaw dropped.
Lady Vladimira's coffin got down on four of its eight... arms? Legs? Two of the free leg-arms aimed the grenade launcher, while one held a machine gun and the fourth a cigarette. Wasn't that Pip's brand? So there they had gone. On the coffin lid the scripture had been replaced by a huge red eye with two vertical rows of smaller eyes under it.
You would do good to get out of the way, the coffin told her. My master has ordered me to assure your safety. Seras just nodded. She couldn't move. That red eye stared at her for a moment before focusing on the battle again.
In the end everything went down really fast. The grenade didn't hit Alhambra. He cut it right through and the explosion only ripped through the concrete of the roof. But he had stopped, standing in the middle of the smoke, now visible even for a human. He was afraid. Right to. The shadow behind him didn't make a sound.
"Seras?", Pip asked, probably not for the first time. The ringing in her ears slowly started to fade. Maybe it wasn't that bad after all. "What'z happening?"
This time Alhambra wasn't fast enough. The shattering of his knee was loud enough to be heard in the sudden silence after the battle. He gasped.
"Now squeal like a pig," Lady Vladimira said. Her voice was soft like a mother's. It sent an icy shiver down Seras' back.
"They're... they're still fighting," she managed. "I think you can start now."
"Good. Because we don't 'ave an awful lot of time."
A hand was placed upon her head. She spun and froze, seeing it was the coffin. The same instant there was a shrill screeching that could only come from a living nightmare. Seras didn't move, couldn't even answer the increasingly worrying Pip. So that was what Lady Caitlyn meant with "off camera". The smell of blood was sickening. What would Lady Hellsing want to hear? Definitely not those details.
"Checkmate, Dandy," Lady Vladimira purred. "Now fulfill your arrangement with me. Allow me to complete my mission." The other vampire only whimpered, but that was enough answer. "You'll tell me everything. With your life."
A ripping sound and a new wave of blood-stench. "SERAS?!"
"I'm fine."
"Whew. Why didn't you answer?"
"It's okay." She could hear the helicopter approaching now and Pip giving commands to the pilot.
There was a loud hiss. Seras couldn't help but turn around. The man calling himself Dandy had burst into flames, the remains falling to pieces and then to ash. And Lady Vladimira was standing there, clapping like she had just seen the best show of her life. The last cards fluttered to the ground.
That moment, the CNN helicopter touched down on the rooftop, the rotor spraying the cards and ash in all directions until nothing was left.
"What about the coffin?", Lady Vladimira asked. Blood ran from the corner of her mouth, but otherwise she looked... normal. That somehow seemed the worst part of it all. Seras hastily turned around, but the coffin was gone. She ran over to Pip, who immediately checked her on severe injuries before turning to the vampire. "Lady – Mira, I mean. 'urry up, we're short on time!"
Behind the mercenary's back the coffin, her invaluable and eternal companion, climbed into the helicopter, making the unfortunate pilot doubt his sanity. Then the coffin threw away the rest of his cigarette and returned to his usual state, until he would be needed again.
Mira smiled, her eyes focused on the bright moon. Down on the plaza, the ambulances treated the injured, removed the dead. It was finally time for war again.
"Killing off our enemies, our allies, those we should protect, nations we should rule, even ourselves, but it's still not enough," she said, smiling. "Your lot and I are incorrigible warmongers, aren't we, Major?"
Vatican City, September 18th, 2016
"Even now that day has dawned, it still looks like a battlefield here in front of the hotel Rio as well as within the perimeter hospital camp. 107 are dead and 64 were wounded in this large scale incident. There is still no knowledge of the whereabouts of the principal offenders. A hijacked CNN news helicopter was utilized in their escape. It was abandoned on the outskirts of the city, but by the time of its discovery it was deserted. The pilot was discovered standing in a nearby field, in a state of shock. Mysteriously, the pilot has no recollection whatsoever of the incident. He isn't even able to comprehend what he was doing in such a place. Authorities are proceeding with an investigation to determine whether the criminals used some drugs on the pilot to manipulate his memory. Despite the concerted effort of each branch of the police force, the whereabouts of the criminals remains a complete mystery. This is -"
The voice was cut off when the screen went black. Bishop Reinhardt Cornelius needed a moment to turn around on his chair when he heard the door. Enrico Maxwell looked impeccable like always, carrying his coat over one arm and a briefcase. His injured hand still seemed to hurt, judging from how he avoided using it. Served him just right. The little bastard. Quite literally. Too bad this wasn't the past centuries anymore. In these times, a bastard child would never have come to such power.
Maxwell bowed in front of the Holy Father. "Excuse me for being late, Your Holiness." He only shot Cornelius a short glance, who had trouble not to snarl in disgust.
Unbelievable, but the Holy Father didn't even admonish the little prick.
"How was Scotland?", he asked instead and motioned to another chair next to Cornelius.
"Windy," Maxwell answered. The Pope chuckled. "That it is. Kenzy was a good woman. She deserves the peace."
"Indeed, Your Holiness."
"What about Anderson? I hear he is on the way to South America?"
Oh, was he? Cornelius suppressed a grin. It was not a secret that Anderson was not the most obedient agent they had. How unfortunate. For Maxwell. "So this incident at the hotel Rio could have easily avoided?", Cornelius asked as innocently as possible.
Maxwell didn't show any signs of nervousness yet. "I ordered him not to step in." He was lying, Cornelius just knew it. Maxwell hadn't known this would happen before the news showed it. Section VIII was making sure of that. "The majority of the residents there are Catholic."
"The victims were news reporters, which are mostly heathens."
"Now, now, don't get into such a discussion," the Pope interrupted. "Millennium has chosen to reveal themselves to Hellsing. We have seen what her monster is capable of. How prepared is Iscariot as the specialists to face this threat?"
Maxwell hesitated, just for the blink of an eye. He kept something to himself. Something important. How about getting out what and showing the Holy Father who he could really trust?
"I have confidence in my subordinates' abilities. Also, Anderson will no doubt be able to defeat the vampires when it comes to it."
The Holy Father had to ask a few more questions. How strong was Iscariot? Did they have all necessary information (they couldn't, because Cornelius did and he would be damned if he would hand it over to this brat without a direct order)? But no, the Holy Father seemed to set his full trust in this joke of a bishop. How the hell was that even possible? This bastard child of a Catholic cardinal, already damned to hell, with his ridiculously long blond hair (which could impossibly be natural with the dark skin he had) and the carefully pronounced Canadian accent. He was twenty-seven for God's sake! At this age he deserved to be a priest in some remote backwards village!
"The British have initiated a conference to discuss further cooperation. Their pet monster is still stuck in Rio de Janeiro, though. Unfortunately we need the information the vampire possesses just as much as they do, so we will send a private jet to bring them to the conference on the 20th. Will it be possible for Anderson to bring them the documents for the jet?"
"Of -"
"I have a question, if you allow, Your Holiness," Cornelius cut Maxwell off. "Are we sure that this will not end in another uproar? Excuse me if I seem rude, I do value Father Anderson's services like everyone else, but he seems a bit... uncontrollable at times."
Maxwell could glare all he wanted. Reinhardt Cornelius had never felt better, despite his aching foot. The moment he stepped out of here, he could enjoy one of the prescribed pills again. Thank God. For now it was enough seeing Maxwell in a tight spot.
"That might be, but -"
"The Badrick incident brought us in a situation where the Vatican had to apologize. As far as I remember, the order to move came from you, Your Excellence Bishop Maxwell. And here:"
He opened a small notebook he had brought. His specialists had had no trouble getting the surveillance video. It showed Maxwell and Lady Hellsing talking, getting more upset, then the vampire stepping onto the scene, threatening Maxwell who unsuccessfully tried to play it cool. Then Anderson appeared and everything went to hell. It was amusing how futile Maxwell's attempt at stopping the paladin looked. However they had gotten the two not to fight after all was a mystery, but none Cornelius cared about. The video ended and he closed the notebook. Delighted, he saw how pale Maxwell had gone all of a sudden.
The Holy Father didn't say anything yet. So Cornelius went on. "Don't you think it would be dangerous to send Anderson directly to the vampire?"
Maxwell's voice was slightly rough. "I admit, this incident was unfortunate. Anderson took his bodyguard duty a bit too far." Having seen the grin on the paladin's face while he confronted the vampire made this statement look ridiculous.
"Maybe you're right about that. For sure he had just the best intentions. But didn't you have another bodyguard with you? Ah, right. Your sister became a paladin a short time ago. My congratulations."
"I'll tell her. Thank you," the younger bishop said sternly.
"She is probably searching for an own... domicile? It's lovely how you have shared your own home with her for so long, but it has to get a bit... tight after a while?" The green eyes flashed at him in barely concealed anger. Cornelius smiled charmingly. "Then again, brother and sister are supposed to be close, right? That is what family is for." Not even an idiot could miss the implications. How would Maxwell react? He couldn't say they had no intention of separating. Of course the lone thought of their relationship was ridiculous. They were not even blood-related, so at least there would only be his vow to consider. And what meant that to an Iscariot?
Siblings? Platonic love? That was a joke. Cornelius had had two younger sisters and both of them had been as happy as himself when he moved out at the age of 18.
"Actually, no and yes," Maxwell said. "I don't have a problem with sharing. We don't see each other that often otherwise. That's the little inconveniences our work brings. We can split the work and concentrate more on our duty to God." Cornelius was barely able to keep his jaw from dropping. The incest-spawn had just admitted to something everybody would declare a sin, even without any serious implications. And the Holy Father just didn't see it.
Once he himself was Pope this would change. If Maxwell was still alive then he would spend the rest of his pitiful existence as a village priest in the furthest corner of the world, while his beloved little sister stayed as far away from him as possible. As far as Pope Innocence XIV. (there had been a Pope Cornelius before, but that would show bad taste) would be concerned, Maxwell would never get to see his precious sister or anyone he held dear again.
The Pope interrupted them. By now it seemed like he was enjoying watching them argue.
"We have no choice but to run with this arrangement. We need to appear cooperative. Therefore, we need an agent used to diplomacy at this conference."
"Your Holiness, it would be an honor to represent us - " Cornelius broke off when the Holy Father shook his head. His proud smile faltered.
"Bishop Cornelius, your enthusiasm is noble and appreciated. But you are in no state for traveling and your Section needs you here." Cornelius was speechless for a moment. No. NO! This brat would not take this opportunity from him! If anyone went and it would not be him – fine. But not this little prick either!
"Your Holiness, I beg to differ. After the incident in London it is only logical to assume that the vampire might want to kill Father Maxwell. In such a situation it would be devastating to lose an important authority, right?" He had to force himself not to sound strained. The bright smile he flashed his colleague hurt his face. "Aside of that, after such a bad start we will be even more disadvantaged with a representative Lady Hellsing doesn't like." Why the hell was Maxwell smiling like that? This was not going according to plan at all.
"Your Excellence, your concern about my safety is an honor, but unnecessary." Grudgingly, Cornelius had to give him one thing: He was a good actor. He actually managed to make it sound like he meant what he said. "We Iscariots are used to difficulties and Lady Hellsing will be our best shot, if you excuse the phrase. She was decidedly open to a cooperation. Religion isn't a relevant matter to her." He grinned, which made him seem even younger than he was. This brat should be a bishop? That got to be a joke.
"Her position is not safe. The Round Table is decidedly against her. She was a 16 year old orphan when she stumbled into this mess called "Hellsing". She's insecure and easy to impress. As long as she thinks we are on her side, she will help us."
"And you think you can get her to do what we want?", Cornelius asked as friendly as he managed.
"Of course. She likes me. It will be only advantageous to give her this reassurance."
Cornelius had trouble not to stare at him. What did this brat think he was? The Mentalist? Admittedly, the girl was naive and not all too bright. A girl raised in an orphanage could not exactly expected to have any higher education. Or wits. She was a woman after all.
"Exactly," Maxwell said with another charming smile. He was the perfect match for the Hellsing girl. Another overexcited teenager with way too much power at his hands. "She thinks I'm her ally, seeing we 'worked' better together than she did with her fellow peers. Millennium will concentrate on her and her vampire. I'm afraid we are not more than a slight annoyance to them. Fair enough, let them believe that. The problem is that they must not know about it. But I'm sure I can handle this."
That little bastard! This was a plan like anyone could have made it, yet the Holy Father seemed pleased beyond reason.
"Of course it would be much easier if we had a little more information about what to expect. I left these matters in the hands of Section VIII. I assumed they were the specialists, but until now there have been few results. At least none that I received."
For a moment, just a few damned seconds, Cornelius lost control over himself. "At least I can handle my subordinates," he snapped. "This situation should be handled by professionals anyway, not some shady organization whose leader is -" Damn. "incapable."
Maxwell seemed unsure if he should offended or surprised. No doubt he was laughing inside.
"My dear friends," the Holy Father said softly. Cornelius felt a sudden chill. He cursed himself and even more Enrico Maxwell. The little rat had tricked him. He would pay for that.
"I know the relationship between your Sections has always been difficult, with the clashing interests and responsibilities. But if we want to solve this problem advantageously for us all -"
Why did he look at Maxwell like they had some personal agreement he, Cornelius, knew nothing about? The preparations were no secret. Almost every section was involved, otherwise such a large scale operation would not be possible. And Cornelius was determined to lead the assault. The Holy Father would not be naive enough to give such a position to a boy like Enrico Maxwell, right? Even from an objective point of view he was unfit for this. Unlike Cornelius, who had served the military to the ranks of a colonel, he had no practical experience.
But just to be sure, he needed to find a way to preempt any contestants. First of all this little bugger with his green pretty boy eyes and sissy ponytail.
Lost in thoughts he had not listened to the Holy Fathers speech, which probably only concerned the need to rely on and help each other. The usual bla bla. He would. As soon as Maxwell was in his grave (or in a remote village at the end of the world, alone, defeated, and broken) and the new Section XIII was working closely with his Section VIII.
"Thank you," the Holy Father eventually said gravely. "I trust you to do your best for our beloved God and Church."
"Of course, Your Holiness," Maxwell said. He stood up, bowed and picked up his briefcase. What was in there anyway? Cornelius got up as well, trying not to grimace about the pain not only in his ankle. He was not getting younger. If he wanted to achieve his goal, he might need to hurry up.
"Goodbye." Maxwell even waited for Cornelius, as if he wanted to help should it be necessary. The scheming little cunt.
The doors fell shut behind them and they walked down the corridor out of hearing range, all alone in the vast hallways. They stopped at the same time. Finally, no necessity to play nice anymore. No need to hide the mutual disgust. What was in that briefcase? Cornelius wondered again. Something interesting for sure. "Don't think you're so special," he snapped. "The Holy Father is not yet senile enough to make you anything more important than a gofer, Iscariot!"
"We'll see about that," Maxwell replied with the calm arrogance of someone who thought to know more than his opponent. Fine. That game was made for two.
"You're too young to even grasp the full concept of power," Cornelius said, noting contently his patronizing tone. "As long as you follow orders that's fine. And you can do that, right, Enrico? Good old Chiara beat that into you."
Maxwell took a step back, suddenly very pale under his tan. The smile had been wiped off his face for good. Cornelius grinned.
"Why so surprised? Did you think I wouldn't find out? The documents are not exactly top secret. A young woman, falling madly in love with a Catholic cardinal almost twice her age. They get a son, and what a cute boy. Then the cardinal finds out the girl is actually his cousin. Oops. Of course, he can not pursue this road now, never should have in the first place. The lone mother, heartbroken and stuck with a brat, turns to alcohol. Her only child, poor little Enrico, has to bear her violent outbursts. For sure he only wanted to please her, but you know how it is with alcoholics. Eventually, she gets sick of him and leaves him to the orphanage. What a sob story." He didn't give Maxwell time to say something. It didn't seem like he would be able to anyway.
"But wait, there's more. Of course righteous Father Anderson cannot let it pass, the new step-parents don't either. There is a trial, she gets persecuted, shortly before the boy is brought to Canada by his new parents. The bad get punished, the good rewarded, everybody's happy. Sweet, huh?"
Maxwell stared at him, completely speechless. His left eye twitched. In the reports had been a good photo of the bruise and deep scratch Chiara Maxwell's belt had left on the face of the seven-year-old. Such a wound left a scar, if only as a psychosomatic tic.
Maxwell closed his eyes for a moment. Oh, what a delight it would be seeing him close to tears or even crying. The humiliation, the defeat! Cornelius almost rubbed his hands in triumph.
But when Maxwell opened them again, they were burning with a hate so intense even an old hand like Cornelius was startled. But his voice was calm and steady. "That's the problem with you old men. You cling so much to the past, you miss your opportunities. The future doesn't wait for senile old men."
Cornelius didn't show how angry he was. This hadn't gone as well as he had planned. "Now that I reminded you of this certainly painful chapter of your life, I guess you can go home and cry in the arms of your precious little sister. Does she know about this? Or did you keep it secret?" He forced a derogatory smile on his face. "Of course not. You two are so close, right? Or your sweet Miss Hellsing. You like her so much after all."
At the mention of his sister Maxwell had merely looked annoyed. The rumors were so old and more or less "disproved" enough that not even Cornelius made the effort of warming them up over and over. Everybody knew the girl was just Maxwell's whore in the end. What else would he keep her for?
But Lady Hellsing? Now the little cunt seemed really surprised. Then he broke out laughing. It took a while until he had himself under control enough to speak, while Cornelius was silently fuming.
"Seriously?", he managed. "Caitlyn Hellsing? That's your trump card? I thought you'd be more creative. Do you actually think anyone will believe that?" He grinned. "Then again, maybe you believe it yourself, which only proves I'm right. You're not fit to lead anything anymore if you wrap yourself in such phantasms. You're getting senile, old man."
Cornelius scowled, but had no choice but to take in his defeat. He had another appointment and not much more time to argue with this prick. He started for the doors, way too slow for his taste on the damn crutches. Maxwell followed him casually, as if they were just chatting on the way out.
Shortly before they reached the doors, Cornelius turned around again. "Be careful. Vermin gets exterminated one day or the other. A little rat like you will always land where it came from," he spat. Ignoring the confused faces of his bodyguards, who had opened the door and must have heard all of this, he stomped past them. Time to look into his relationship with Caitlyn Hellsing.
He who controls the past controls the future. He who controls the present controls the past.
It didn't matter if something was true. Truth was what people believed to be true. And creating truth, that was what Reinhardt Cornelius was good at after all.
A motel near Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, September 18th, 2016
Mira had made herself comfortable on lid of her loyal coffin. He had done his duty well and she would think of a way to reward him. The mercenary girl too. For a human, she had stood her ground exceptionally well in the middle of the earthly pits of hell. She even tried to treat Mira no differently than before all of this had happened. Of course, she could not hide a certain discomfort that made her fiance increasingly worried. She would probably tell him all about it just now. They were out, getting something to eat. Mira was not offended by their nervousness. This was the fate of a monster, no, the sole purpose of creatures like her. Spreading terror was the goal of her life after all. With the little addition to serve Lady Hellsing.
The girl would make a wonderful draculina. How unfortunate that she was probably not a virgin anymore. Otherwise Mira would have discussed it with Walter. Not that he'd be very amenable to that idea, just like Lady Caitlyn.
The sun was shining brightly outside and the room was not even dim, despite the closed curtains. Mira would like to lie in her coffin and sleep for a while, at least until sundown. The light was getting on her nerves. But first she had to call her master and give her report. And she'd like to talk to Walter. He would be happy finally to settle some scores. They both longed for a big battle. And they would finally fight together again! The last time had been in World War II, seventy years ago. It was about time.
The line cracked, then there was the sound of an open line. The steady toot, toot, toot went on for so long Mira almost thought nobody was home. But then the receiver was picked up and a sleepy Caitlyn asked: "Morris?"
So she was still calling herself by that name. Interesting. "Lady Hellsing, it's your servant."
A long yawn. "Ah. Great. Where are you now?"
"Some remote town called St. Rose or something, near Rio. I've completed my mission, master. What they're up to is now engraved in my brain."
She heard the rustling of covers. "Great," Caitlyn repeated. "You gotta be back for the 20th, which is... kinda overmorrow. Damn it." Her steps on the marble floor. Walter was obviously still sleeping. His dislike for sunlight was adorable, yet slightly pitiful for a vampire of his strength. Once again she wondered if it had been right to turn him that young, trapping him with his child's voice and body, but also stubborn mindset. Then again, what choice did she have? How likely would it have been that he had still been alive when she was freed? How likely that she would still have been able to turn him?
"Anyway, just get back as fast as possible. I need a formal report," Caitlyn interrupted her thoughts.
"Sounds like the Round Table turned up the heat."
A shrug. "Oh no, they're just giving me hell like always." She had stopped, probably somewhere on the corridor. Mira slightly tilted her head. Caitlyn sounded sad. No, that wasn't even it. Mira knew the edge in Caitlyn's voice very well, had known it since many centuries, since her own human life. She sounded very, very lonely.
"The queen called in a big meeting."
"The Queen?", Mira repeated with a grin. The young princess would always stay in her memory as one of the few that weren't the least scared of Arthur Hellsing's vampire. The fearless little princess, so similar to her own little princess if she had just grown up. It would be interesting to see what 70 years had changed. She snickered.
"Do us all a favor and don't let her wait. Section XIII will be there too." Was it just her imagination or did Lady Caitlyn sound almost wistful? Walter had mentioned it, but Mira had thought he exaggerated.
"Hoping Blondie will be there?", she asked. It wasn't her concern judging her master's taste in men, although she really couldn't exactly understand why Caitlyn would like the arrogant bishop. But a bit of mocking was always in the range of options. The girl could take it. She needed to be strong.
Caitlyn winced so much it was literally audible. "It's not important in diplomacy. I don't know who the Vatican will send. Just get here as fast as possible before the Round Table questions my capabilities again."
"Very well, my master. By the way... How did you like the joys of declaring war?"
"What?" For a moment Caitlyn just seemed to need a moment for figuring out what Mira was talking about in the first place. It was astounding. How could she possibly retain this innocence for so long?
"Did you feel your blood rush? Were you able to see the red flames of hell blazing?"
There was a pause. "I appreciate your sense of poetry." She sounded strained. "I told you to leave the civilians out of this."
"I did," Mira said. "As soon as I could. Alhambra was not exactly prone to following my commands, right?"
Another pause. "Alhambra? That was his name?"
"Yesss..." She stretched the word. Outside there were footsteps and a strong smell of grilled meat and whatever people ate these days. Pip and Seras were returning. "He gave us everything we need."
Pause. "Great." She didn't sound like she thought it was great. "I'll see you at the conference."
"Goodbye, master."
"Bye." The word was barely audible. Then the line was cut off. Mira stretched on her coffin. Humans were so wonderfully complex. She surely would talk to Seras about what had happened. After all she had experienced in her time at Hellsing, she still did not want to see the joy of war, the necessity of violence to defeat one's enemy.
The door was opened. "Lady Mira, we're back," Seras announced, hesitatingly, as if she awaited something to jump at her.
"Bon jour," Pip added, a brown and green paper bag in his arm. So they wanted to eat that? Then again, what had it been like in former Walachia? Bugs, filth and grimy meat, even for the royals. Some things did change after all. The two sat down and began to eat. Right, Mira remembered, they didn't have a rich buffet the last night. She had to grin about the thought.
"What about our return to Britain?"
"Not a chance, nope, c'est impossible. No ships are leaving for about a week," the Frenchman munched. "And ze schedule's already booked up. Bad idea anyway wiz zat luggage."
"Out of the question," Mira said. Lady Caitlyn would not be happy about this. But she would be a lot less happy if she didn't turn up at all. Aside of that, they weren't going to kill anyone.
Oh look, am I getting a conscience all of a sudden? As long as considering Caitlyn's opinion and her adorably humane standards was a form of having a conscience.
"We're stealing an airplane." Pip started coughing, spilling sickly sweet liquid everywhere. Seras was speechless. But her fiance freaked out. "Non non non non non!", he screeched. "Dead dead dead dead dead, zis time we're dead! 'm gonna die, no zanks, not -"
Mira shut him up when she shot in a sitting position. There were heavy steps on the sidewalk in front of the motel. Steps whose pattern she recognized with a flutter in her chest she had not felt that strong in years. I'm sorry Walter. It's not you, it's me.
"Get out," she told her two companions. The two exchanged a nervous glance, but didn't move.
"Get out," Mira repeated, now sharper.
"But Lady -"
"Get out!", she snapped, just when the door was kicked in. The two humans froze. Mira couldn't help a bright smile spreading on her face. And she had thought she wouldn't see him again.
"You two get out," she ordered absently when she went to face her new rival. Best enemies, so to say. She ignored them, though she heard the first hesitating step, a stop and Pip grabbing Seras' arm. Then Alexander Anderson's fist connected with her jaw while she punched him straight in the stomach. He doubled over, gasping in pain, while she was thrown back, blood running over her face. The two humans still hadn't moved. Mira sighed. That got to be a joke. She forced a smile on her face, matching Anderson's laugh. "Couldn't take it anymore, eh, Alexandru?"
"Mira," he grinned. Despite the mockery in his voice it was good to hear her real name from him again. They charged again, his fist sending a shock wave of pain through her body while she hit his nose. It broke with a crack. Her spat the blood on the floor and drew his bayonets. Pip and Seras drew their guns, cursing. Mira cursed as well, but internally. Why were they still here?
The bayonet buried in the wall. Mira hesitated one moment too long. Alexandru picked up his broken glasses and put them on again. The paper fluttered softly in the breeze.
Great. Now the two had ruined it. She could have had a good time. It was not Alex, but he looked like him. She could have at least stolen one kiss.
Hesitatingly, Seras dared to advance to the paper nailed to the wall. Anderson grinned, but didn't make a move to attack her. "Uhm... Lady Mira...", Seras said carefully, intimidated by the vampire's burning eyes. Damn this good-hearted little girl! Damn her and her fiance!
Anderson ignored her and turned to Mira. "Aif ye gae aboot thirteen kilometers til the north, there's a Vatican airfield disguised as ae cropduster's. There's ae wee jet there wi' it's engine a'ready warmed up." He abruptly turned around. "Ging on, away wi' ye. It's aw yer's, tak it and vanish. While Ah can still control ma urge tae kill the lot o' ye." He walked out the door and left. Mira blinked. That was it? Seriously?
"You two wrap up here and get to the jet. I'll join you soon." She casually walked out and changed her shape to the businesswoman she had impersonated when she arrived, but now in a quite cheeky red summer dress.
Anderson didn't seem to notice he was being followed. He just walked down the road, unfit for this environment as much as her, yet nobody dared to even look at him for too long. Then he turned into a small side street and a group of mercenaries opened fire. Mira heard their shouts, but stayed out of sight. They were nothing more than a distraction Millennium had sent for the paladin.
Anderson laughed. "Ye heathen mongrels! Wi' dae ye think that will help ye?" He took the fire, shielding his face with the strong arms, his bayonets slashing through the men like wheat. It was over in less than a minute. Alexandru was barely out of breath. He shook off the bullets, his flesh healing in seconds. Was he even feeling the pain that would have paralyzed a normal human?
"Damned vermin."
"Does that count for me as well?" He spun. Mira leaned against the wall, a coquettish smile on her face. "You didn't say goodbye properly. Where are your manners, Alexandru?"
He frowned. She could feel him fighting for patience. He wanted to attack her, a battle to life and death, that was their destiny. But he wasn't allowed to. They would get into trouble if they actually fought now and Mira planned to oblige. Her master was awaiting her at home.
"Ma name's nae Alexandru. It's Alexander," he growled, to say anything at all it seemed.
"Of course," she said softly. "I'm sorry." He stared at her, openly confused. Mira in turn stared at the ground. She was being ridiculous. A monster like her didn't feel. She didn't deserve to.
"Goodbye." She wanted to turn around and walk away for now. Then she had jumped at him, pressed her lips on his – tasting his blood she had spilled and... raspberries? -, and ran for the figurative hills. What the hell had she done?
It took Alexander a while until he yelled after her: "Next time ye willnae be that lucky!" She rose up in the air and reached the airfield. The jet was ready to start. She entered, walked past Seras and Pip in the cockpit (they were more disturbed by her weird behavior than by the bloodbath in the last night, but didn't dare to say anything), sat in a random chair and stared out of the window until there was only the emptiness of the sky and her own thoughts she didn't understand anymore herself.
Romania, near the Borgo-pass, November 8th, 1898
"Did I... lose? Have I... been bested, milady?" Her vision was swimming, only showing the slender figure above her. The sun was rising. It was finally rising. How beautiful the sunlight was. How much she missed it. She had forsaken it so long ago. Was it finally time to walk in the sun again?
"Yes, vampire queen, you have been bested. No nightmare lasts forever." Vladimira's vision cleared and she looked in the burning blue eyes of Abigail van Helsing. Her face was lined, but her wits were alive, her words soft, but strong. Her long red coat fluttered around her ankles. The warrior woman, the female professor, the one everybody laughed or sneered at, yet ran to whenever something inexplicable happened. Her short blond hair was streaked with gray, yet she was strong.
"Your castle is burning, your dominions are destroyed, your servants dead. What do you do now, no life queen? You have nothing left." She looked down on her defeated enemy, lying on the ground like the broken rag doll she was. "Even his mark from the Eucharist wafer has vanished. He will never belong to you." The vampire tried to let one last glance fall on the one she had made all those efforts for. Will Harker, that pitiful boy, was now saved from a woman by a woman. No doubt the story told would be quite different for centuries. But what did it concern him? His wife was waiting for him, he would go on and live a life after this dawn. They all would. Seward, and Stoker, and Godalming, Harker and his wife, and Professor Van Helsing.
"The boy has fled this place forevermore," Van Helsing said, as if she had read her thoughts. "And all of this for what, countess? What did you want to accomplish, pitiful monster?"
Abigail raised her fist and smashed it down. The vampire queen heard her own scream and tasted blood when the stake entered her heart. This was it. Maybe now she would be free. Free to be judged by God, or free to vanish forever. Just like the unfortunates she had killed, Lucas Westenra and Quincey Morris, and all the others throughout the years. Would they find the peace she had been deprived of and would forever?
Van Helsing grabbed the vampire's collar and shook her. "You hear me?!", she spat. "You are alone, you are defeated! Everything you had now is gone! You have nothing! You are nothing! Nothing!"
The vampire calmly looked at her. Yes, she was defeated. She had thought she could never lose, yet she had lost to this woman. She was just a human and had eventually triumphed about the forces of the night. Maybe it was best like this. Let it all end.
A smile crossed Abigail van Helsing's face. "I know what you are thinking, countess. That everything will end now. But that's not true. For them, it is over. There have been more than enough sacrifices, enough horrors. Their nightmare has finally ended. But you will not wake from this nightmare, I'm afraid. For us, for you and me, it is not over yet. No, I might be old, but this journey has just begun."
Vatican private jet, on its way to London, September 19th, 2016
"And even if I'm gone, my children can take my place. We van Helsings never leave a task unfinished."
"'ello, Lady... Mira? We'll be in London soon. Landing in ten minutes, so get ready. Lady Caitlyn called in, ze conference was rescheduled to today. We need to be zere as soon as possible."
Mira opened her eyes as the crackling of the speaker system faded. She touched her face and stared at the red on her fingers. She could still taste the blood, the smoke, the scents of her old home.
Where had they gone? To Britain, the place she had just fled, all alone. Like she had always been. This was the destiny of a monster.
"A dream?", she asked, almost scared, as if the word would make it more real. Her cheeks were streaked with the bloody tears she had cried. Monsters didn't cry. They couldn't.
"A dream," she snorted. "Me, dreaming? How ridiculous."
The jet was approaching the landing strip fast. They were back. Back in the place Abigail had chosen for the monster she had defeated, the pitiful creature she had tamed, the servant she had made for eternity. Because that was the way man and monster worked.
Mira wiped the blood off her face. Lady Caitlyn would be waiting impatiently for her report. It was Mira's duty to serve her with anything in her power. That was her purpose.
They landed and the jet came to a halt, its engines dying quickly. "Ze luggage will be taken care of," Pip said, leaning against the doorway. She didn't answer. Sometimes, blood spoke, but not now. Now it stayed silent. A dream. What a joke.
"M-Mira?" Seras hesitated before walking up to the vampire, unsure if she should be more scared of her or the freaky coffin. "Are... are you alright?"
Mira got up, flashing them both a smile that seemed just a tiny bit off. "Oh yes. It's good to be home."
The flashback is for ninjadaleburg who proposed to bring in Abraham van Helsing as a woman. Thank you for that :)
Originally I never planned focusing on the Alexander (Alexandru) / Mira thing so much. It just developed like this. For a bit background on Mira's past see "The countess' dream". Thanks for reading :)