Chapter 1 – Hell Is Empty
All things considered, Anton Zielinski was an excellent roommate.
The fifty-something workaholic wasn't home very often so didn't make much noise or mess. He couldn't cook so didn't wreck the kitchen and generally preferred takeout to raiding the fridge. He paid all bills fully and on time, and if he had any lovers, he wasn't bringing them back to his spacious three-story townhouse.
So. Yeah. Ariel couldn't complain about Anton as a roommate.
As a father, however, he left a bit to be desired.
He'd never wanted kids, and from the day his six-year-old daughter showed up on his doorstep (only after the paternity test had been triple-checked by three independent labs), he didn't keep that fact a secret. "I told your mother I would have nothing to do with offspring that resulted from our brief dalliance," he'd calmly explained to the somber girl as they stared across the polished dining room table at each other soon after the obnoxiously bubbly social worker left. "I thought she'd done the intelligent thing and terminated the pregnancy. Your existence came as a rather unpleasant surprise, but I certainly can't shirk my responsibilities now that she's made herself scarce. Any hope I'd have of a future political career would go right down the drain if it was discovered that I'd abandoned a child into the system."
Ariel remembered desperately choking down tears as the image she'd built up in her head of a parent who would actually love her and hug her and tuck her in at night—comfort her after the terrible ordeal she'd been through—shriveled in the presence of the almost expressionless individual seated across the wide mahogany slab. She remembered wanting to be angry with him, but… she couldn't manage it: as usual, all her anger at all the things wrong in her life remained directed squarely at her selfish, neglectful, entirely irresponsible mother.
"You'll be well provided for," Anton continued, ignorant or uncaring of his daughter's distress. "Within reason, of course. But if you can manage to articulate your needs in a civil manner, you'll want for nothing. However, I expect exemplary grades and behavior in return. Be warned that I don't have the time or desire to deal with a problem child. If you make yourself a nuisance or an embarrassment, then I will arrange for the strictest, most isolated boarding school the world has to offer, and you won't leave there until you turn eighteen. Do you understand?"
Ariel nodded. She understood perfectly; it was almost the same deal she'd had with her mother—except that Paulina Lahote couldn't even generously be labeled a provider and had never outright acknowledged or explained that she considered her daughter nothing but a clever pet that would be kept around only as long as doing so was convenient. Strangely, the girl remembered appreciating that her cold, stern father wasn't pretending otherwise. The plain white cast on her left wrist and the dozen staples holding her scalp together didn't hurt much anymore but had already taught their painful lessons in the danger of trusting or depending on anyone but herself.
Nodding in return, Anton easily breezed onto the next subject of their conversation, which was, "Are you self-sufficient, or should I hire a nanny? I'm unfamiliar with the level of supervision a girl your age might require."
Not having to think too hard about her answer, Ariel replied, "I can get to school if there's a bus. I can cook if there's groceries or money for groceries. Um… I dunno. I'm kinda used to taking care of myself." Because I've never had anyone who cared enough about me to bother, a small, bitter part of her whispered, only to be viciously bottled. She'd never afforded herself the luxury of lamenting what she lacked.
Anton nodded again, seemingly satisfied (though it was difficult to tell). He slid a shiny new phone and credit card across the table, stating, "I've programmed my number-" the contact was labelled Anton Zielinski, Esq., and Ari never did get around to changing it "-as well as numbers for my assistant, driver, and office. You will also find numbers for my stylist, personal shopper, and physician. I expect you to make and keep appointments with the latter three within the week and abide by their instructions. My assistant is currently researching schooling options in the area, and you'll of course be enrolled in the best private institution available." He shifted slightly, his only sign of unease, and his voice took on a… not quite warm but at least less frosty tone. "I'm not trying to be cruel to you. I simply don't…"
A charged silence stretched far longer than was comfortable for either father or daughter. Ariel remembered taking the opportunity to meet the man's gaze for the first time and being shocked to find that although she and her father looked almost nothing alike, they shared the same thick lashes and unnerving glacial blue eyes. Of course, said color wasn't quite as glaringly out of place paired against his pale skin; Ariel's light coppery hue (almost exactly halfway between Anton's pasty Polish whiteness and Lina's rich Native American russet) had always seemed rather mismatched—especially with hair that was incapable of forming a consensus, individual strands growing in ringlets ranging in size from coke can to corkscrew and in shades from chili chocolate to cinnamon sugar.
"I understand, sir," she murmured, managing a weak, weary smile as she scooped the phone and card off the table and tucked them into her threadbare pockets. "I… I appreciate…"
Anton didn't let her finish the awkward and (to him) effusive outpouring of gratitude. He stood smoothly, spine ramrod straight, suit impeccable, and declared, "The third floor is my bedroom and home office. Both are off limits. The second floor is yours to do with as you please. I'll let you settle in and start thinking of how you might like to decorate."
That initial conversation set the tone for the next ten years of Ari's life.
Not that that was a bad thing. Really, independence suited Ariel, and despite remaining distant, her father proved himself reliable. There was much to be said for having a parent who actually showed up when he promised, rare as the occasions might be. The fridge and pantry were always stocked, and he never raised a hand or even his voice in anger. Although he seldom made time for her on birthdays or holidays (or normal days), he never failed to send along extravagant gifts that showed he (or at least someone in his employ) had put a lot of thought and work and money into figuring out and providing what Ari enjoyed—cooking lessons from a celebrity chef, driving lessons from a professional stunt driver, and a trip to San Diego for a behind-the-scenes tour of the famous Safari Park were three of her favorites.
Sometimes, Anton even seemed proud of her. Or at least pleased with her accomplishments and the positive ways they reflected on him. He came to recognize the value of a daughter who skipped grades and aced tests, who won trophies and ribbons and medals, who dressed well and spoke well and could be dragged along to important events to impress important colleagues. Her skin tone even helped him with the minority vote, according to his campaign managers.
Ariel didn't mind that her father took so much credit for raising her even though she'd largely raised herself. Although not a typical example of what a father should be, he was infinitely better than her mother in every conceivable category. When the girl first came to him, she would've liked kisses and cuddles and bedtime stories, but she quickly outgrew those childish frivolities and instead appreciated the parent she had. She respected her father and preferred that greatly to the fear and rage she still harbored toward her mother. After being utterly neglected and abandoned, unfailing honesty and support (however distant) were practically manna from heaven. As long as she lived up to Anton's high standards and continued to be an asset rather than an annoyance, Ariel felt secure in the knowledge that she wouldn't experience the soul-shattering sorrow of a second parental rejection.
Until her mother decided that she was past due to yet again destroy Ari's life.
xxXxx
"Can you… repeat that?" Ariel pleaded, swallowing down bile and struggling to breathe against the crushing grip of panic, "I must've… misheard…"
Sighing deeply, Anton declared, "Unfortunately, you likely didn't. I'm sorry, but Lina's threatened to make noise in the media, and I simply can't afford any scandal with my reelection coming up." In the decade since they'd met, Ari's father hadn't changed much; his dark blonde hair was thinner up top and had a bit more silver at the temples, but his angular features remained lean and only lightly lined. He still brought her into the dining room and sat them both in the same seats for serious conversations. "You haven't done anything to displease me, and I wouldn't send you away under normal circumstances. However, my advisors determined that the benefit of having an accomplished daughter by my side will be far outweighed by the negative of having a former partner accuse me of keeping you from her. And that's at the very least. Knowing Lina, she'd dream up some vile fictions and end my career out of sheer spite."
It was true, of course. Lina Lahote wasn't shy about outright lying to get her way, and she didn't care who she hurt with her petty whims.
Case in point.
"Please," Ari begged. She hadn't been so close to breaking down in tears since her and Anton's first meeting. "Please. Don't do this. We can… We can strike first. I'll go on any talk show you want, tell them what a horrible mother she was. Tell them how she abandoned me, how you took me in and took care of me, and-"
"Ariel."
(Sometimes, she really, truly despised how he could make her own name an admonishment. All the admonishment that was needed to know she was coming close to irritating or disappointing him. Especially since he seldom bothered to use her name in any other circumstances.)
Her tight throat closed around further protests.
That was the end of the discussion.
But the beginning of Ariel's rebellion.
xxXxx
Given the fact that she was supposed to be flying cross-country as an unaccompanied minor, Ariel managed to have the destination of her ticket changed with laughable ease. However, because said ease played right into her bid for freedom, the girl failed to care. Still, it was amazing what feats one could perform with a flattering bra and a limitless credit card.
She spent her sixteenth birthday in Rome rather than with her despicable mother.
That went straight to the win column.
xxXxx
For all that Anton was a wealthy man and spared no expense on her upbringing, Ariel had always been a frugal girl. If she hadn't spent the first six years of her life relying on charity bins and wrestling food stamps away from Lina before the idiot could trade them for resonating moon crystals or bull-riding lessons or whatever other idiotic nonsense had struck her fancy during any given month, then Ari might've turned out quite the pampered princess instead of a person who still had to talk herself out of panic attacks every time she made the mistake of looking at the receipts that came with the mounds of clothes and accessories periodically sent over by Anton's personal shopper.
However, the past was the past, and occasional withdrawals from a series of well-spaced ATMs garnered more than enough cash to get through two months of leisure.
In many ways, dressing down and living in hostels was a relief: no high-society matrons or fame-hungry journalists lurked at every public venue, hoping to catch a politician's daughter in a moment of impropriety. She was letting down her father, sure, but he'd let her down first by letting go of her custody without even a token resistance; he should consider himself lucky that she respected him too much to strike back in a far more flamboyant fashion—drunken club-hopping was such low-hanging fruit, after all. That knowledge brought great enjoyment out of ugly ball caps and scruffy sneakers, holey jeans and thin T-shirts—nothing designer at all touching her slim body.
She saw the sights and sampled the cuisine and generally drifted through the city, knowing that any moment might be the one in which her freedom expired.
xxXxx
"Pardon me, Miss," the tall, whipcord thin young man greeted as he nodded toward the empty wrought-iron chairs at the outdoor café table she'd occupied since before the sun had dipped below the surrounding rooftops and conceded its battle with the crisp air, "Do you mind if we join you?"
The taller, much broader and more muscular young man at his side smirked and winked and altogether presented himself as too flirtatious to take seriously.
"Did my father send you?" drawled Ariel. She was a little surprised it had taken so long for one of his minions to track her down; she hadn't done much to hide except switch off her phone and barely use her card, so he'd either held off disturbing her impromptu vacation as some sort of apology or just had the misfortune of hiring less-than-competent individuals for the job. Knowing that Anton only settled for the best, the latter option seemed doubtful; Ari was actually rather touched by the uncommon show of sentiment.
The thin one smiled politely, hands folded primly behind his back as his odd burgundy eyes glimmered in the failing light. "I'm afraid so, Miss," he replied, "A most interesting man, your father. He said to tell you, 'Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.'" He chuckled, switching back from English to Italian and remarking, "I assume some sort of passcode to let you know we're safe to leave with?"
Ariel hummed idly, legs crossed and foot swaying to a silent beat, "Yes. We endured several security seminars after he was first elected, and all the experts recommended setting a few phrases just in case. At the very least, it would be quite inconvenient if agents sent for my own protection couldn't quickly convince me that they weren't attackers or kidnappers themselves."
"True," said the thin man, both he and his companion taking the empty seats when gestured to do so. "My name is Demetri, and this is Felix. We're pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Zielinski."
She nodded in acknowledgement and sipped the last sip of her tepid cappuccino, heart already aching at the prospect of giving up Italian coffee. "Likewise. Please, call me Ariel. Or Ari, if you prefer. Although you'll be delivering me to my bitch of a mother, I see no reason for such formality."
The hulking muscular man, Felix, burst into booming laughter, turning more than a few heads and causing his companion to scowl at him. With the opportunity to observe them more closely, Ariel noted both to be dark haired, with olive hued skin that nonetheless appeared strangely bleached and chalky. They wore similar, similarly expensive dark suits, though Demetri wore his in fastidious order and Felix in cavalier disarray. They also shared that interesting burgundy eye color, so perhaps they were brothers? Both wore acrid cologne (that wafted subtle notes of drain cleaner and stale cotton candy) and moved with inhuman grace that prickled the fine hairs at the base of her skull; she assumed them to be some sort of mercenaries—they radiated danger, and despite their pleasant introduction, Ari didn't for one moment believe that they were above using force to accomplish their mission. Hmph. Really. She'd have to talk with her father about overkill. When she was talking to him again at all, of course.
"Don't mind this simpleton," Demetri instructed, with a put-upon sigh, "He shouldn't actually be allowed in public, but I can't seem to get him to stop tagging along on my various outings."
Barely stifling an unladylike snort, Ari teased, "An outing? Is that what this is? Not asset retrieval or some such technical term? How did you end up with this job, anyway? I didn't think my father had many contacts in Europe."
As the last of his mirth calmed, Felix took up the explanation and joked, "One of those 'knows a guy who knows a guy,' 'favor for a favor' situations. Definitely not our usual gig, scooping up a runaway and all. Though your father must be far better connected than you think he is to have any pull with our employer, even second- or third-hand."
Ariel hummed once more and nodded. The thought that she didn't know Anton, not really, briefly turned over in her mind before being roughly shoved deep down to dwell with other equally unpleasant notions. "Interesting," she remarked. "However, I wouldn't call myself a runaway. More like a refugee. I'm sure you'll understand if you end up meeting my mother… Can we stop for dinner before we leave? Condemned prisoners usually are entitled to a last meal."
That earned her a raised brow from both the mercenary brothers, Felix chuckling, "Cheer up, kitten. We're in no hurry. You can have a last night rather than a last meal, ok? Our treat."
Demetri's stoic calm broke just a little as the corners of his mouth twitched upward and he agreed, "I suppose that if your mother is as bad as you say, then it would be terribly discourteous of us not to offer a little solace before forsaking you to her charge. And one of many benefits of a private jet is picking your own departure time."
Though she managed a grin, Ari didn't think it was a particularly convincing one. Nevertheless, the girl rolled fluidly to her feet and gathered her battered backpack. "In that case, gentlemen," she announced, "Let's go paint this town red."
The way they both snickered had the girl fairly certain that she'd found herself on the outside of an inside joke.
xxXxx
"Junior! Honey!"
Grimacing, Paul Lahote once again felt like a moron for ever liking Aunt Lina. Though maybe he was being too hard on himself: it was easy to like a woman he hadn't met, who his dad always told funny childhood stories about, a woman who occasionally sent postcards and gifts from exotic locations but otherwise had no effect on his daily existence. Even during his surprise species reassignment, Aunt Lina had never been a source of stress.
Then, a little less than a year ago, she'd moved back to the rez after nearly two decades away; his dad had been ecstatic at the return of his twin, and even Paul hadn't been able to resist a bit of happiness.
How the hell could he have known that his namesake—kooky, free-spirited, globe-trotting Auntie Lina—was actually a melodramatic, amoral narcissist with a knack for leaving disaster in her wake?
"Yeah?" the teen responded warily, just knowing that whatever she wanted was going to completely fuck up the first day off he'd had in weeks. Last time Aunt Lina appeared at his house wearing that sickly-sweet smile on her deceivingly youthful face, he ended up driving her to Vancouver and back to pick up forty boxes of Canucks bobble-heads that he was about ninety percent certain were stuffed with something illegal to possess and extra illegal to transport across international borders. And that wasn't even mentioning any of the other times.
Giggling brightly and bouncing on the balls of her feet, his willowy aunt reached up and patted Paul's broad shoulders. She taunted, "Oh, Junior. Don't make that face. I only need a ride to Port A, and it's to pick up a surprise for you and your dad!"
Nothing about those assurances reassured the wolf; however, knowing that his dad was completely blind to Lina's selfishness and insanity in the way only a truly besotted big brother could be, Paul simply sighed and resigned himself to a few hours of unpleasantness. His dad was as laidback as possible about the ridiculous hours his son kept, but insult to Lina definitely wouldn't be tolerated.
The "surprise" turned out to be a person. Or at least Paul hoped it was a person they were picking up from the airport. No, he was pretty sure it was a person or else he wouldn't be in arrivals holding a cardboard sign. Not that he knew what the sign said—such information would apparently "spoil the surprise"—but he didn't think he'd be holding a sign if they were there for two dozen endangered tropical fish or a life-size marzipan replica of the sword of Gryffindor.
Aunt Lina was a nutcase, but at least she generally didn't pull the same stunt twice.
"This is so exciting!" said nutcase screeched, pitch frequency in the cruel-and-unusual range. "Oh, I just can't wait! How does my hair look? Do you think we should've gotten some flowers? Or snacks? She'll probably be hungry after the long flight! Let's stop for shabu-shabu on the way back!" Before Paul managed to voice his response—probably something along the lines of "What the fuck is shabu-shabu, and would it actually be considered food by normal-person standards?"—Aunt Lina continued, "Stay right here, ok? I'm gonna go see if there's a gift shop!"
So, Paul stayed. And he waited. Then, he waited some more, growing increasingly annoyed as his insatiable stomach started to growl. Until, finally…
"You got my name wrong."
The teen turned slightly to address the speaker and found a petite girl whose sunbaked skin and high cheekbones suggested Native ancestry, probably Quileute if Paul had to bet, though definitely mixed with something from the lighter side of the racial spectrum. Likely a few years younger than him, the girl was pretty, though she'd be a lot prettier if she smiled… or even just wore an expression other than blank boredom bordering on disdain for the entire universe. The riot of dark brown curls spiraling around her little round face and tumbling over her fragile shoulders gave her kind of a porcelain-doll look. Her big, almost cartoonishly blue eyes coolly held his own and sent a shiver of unease down the considerable length of his spine.
(Also very porcelain-doll like; those things were creepy as hell.)
Before he could stop himself, he looked down at the sign he hadn't been allowed to read before, discovering the words it bore to be Ariel Lahote written in purple, in loopy feminine cursive—of course including a gigantic heart over the "i" and enough glitter to open a strip club.
Paul grumbled, retroactively mortified as he flung the damn thing away and returned his attention to the girl, who hadn't moved a muscle. "I have no idea what's going on," he announced. "Aunt Lina should probably be back soon. If she didn't wander off again."
"Hmm, yes," the girl—apparently not Ariel Lahote—hummed as she lazily swung the tattered overstuffed pack dangling from her fingertips, "My darling mother does have that tendency."
Brain spluttering over what the statement implied, Paul barely managed to stutter, "Whu…"
Still unsmiling but with a somewhat joking (if flat) tone, the girl responded, "It's ok. I didn't know I had a cousin either." She held out her free hand and greeted, "Ariel Zielinski. Please don't take this personally, but I really don't want to be here and plan to make Lina's life a hellacious nightmare from which she cannot awaken."
What the actual fuck… Paul wondered, once again struggling to offer a coherent sentence in return. In fact, his genius response went something like, "But you… But she… Um… Paul?" At least he managed to return the (surprisingly firm) handshake, the girl's delicate digits briefly disappearing in his enormous paw.
Regarding the taller teen with pity, Ariel drawled, "You're named after her? That must be horrible. I'd kill myself. Preferably in a manner that would make sure my body was never identified so that I could have the dignity of an unmarked grave."
"Uh…" He shook himself sharply—deciding not to interpret that as his cousin's advocating his suicide—and haltingly explained. "My dad and Aunt L are twins, and they've always been close. Apparently, she… er… faked her death for a few months right around when I was born. Something about running away from a cult she'd joined? They worshipped… I think it was space gorillas?"
Yet another proud moment in Lahote family history.
Rolling her scary blue eyes, Ariel muttered, "Of course that's what happened. Classic Lina." Louder, she added, "Well, I don't like to be reminded of her existence, so I'm going to call you Steve, ok?"
Actually, Paul was very much not ok with being assigned a new, seemingly random name but was too slow answering.
Aunt Lina chose that moment to reappear with a tacky bouquet, a Toblerone, and a loud, bright shout of, "ARI! OH, MY BABY GIRL!"
Given the opportunity to glance rapidly back and forth between the two, Paul felt kind of dumb for not previously noticing just how alike they looked. Aunt L had quite a bit of height on her daughter, an all-around sunnier disposition, much darker and softer features, and straighter hair. However, Ariel could otherwise pass for a miniature clone, at the very least a kid sister.
Sparing her apparent mother an absolutely hateful glare, Ariel hissed, "Why couldn't you have just crawled in a hole somewhere and choked to death on your own rancid shit, you revolting hag?"
Paul and several bystanders outright gaped at the tiny girl with the foul mouth, as well as at Aunt Lina when she simply laughed in response. "You aren't still mad at me, are you, cuddle bug?" the obviously unhinged woman cooed, trying to dart in for a hug and instead receiving a resounding slap across the face.
Stunned and unsure of whether or not to intervene, Paul and the bystanders hovered close and watched uncomfortably as Lina teared up. She cradled her injured cheek, looking for all the world like the picture of injustice and misery. With a sniffle, she remarked, "Ok. I guess you're still mad."
Ariel's glare, already menacing, turned practically poisonous. "Are you actually that delusional? You thought I'd be happy that you decided to uproot my life on one of your asinine whims after you ditched me for an entire decade?" the girl snarled, fists clenched and shaking at her sides. "After you blackmailed my father into giving up custody? After you didn't bother to even ask what I wanted because you knew damn well I'd tell you to douse your pathetic ass in jet fuel and light a fucking match? And that's not even mentioning what an atrocious mother you were to me for the six dreadful years I had the distinct misfortune to spend in your so-called care! Woman, the only thing that would've made me happy is never having to set eyes on your goddamn whore face ever again!"
More people drifted over to observe the live-action soap opera scene, and Paul saw a trio of security guards closing in as well. Having no desire to spend what was left of his day off in a holding cell, the burly teen stepped between his relatives to referee and suggest, "Maybe we should talk about this somewhere el-"
"I'M PREGNANT!"
The terminal silenced so fast that everyone clearly heard Paul choke on his own tongue. (He hadn't been home much lately and had only absently noticed that his aunt smelled a little different to his superhuman senses, but he'd been guessing STD, not pregnancy! His dad was going to flip!)
Remarkably unaffected, glancing briefly at the barely discernible (yet suddenly so obvious) bump around Lina's middle, Ariel paused long enough for the gathered crowd to start fidgeting with restless anticipation before she challenged, "So?" Barking out a grating, humorless laugh, the girl mused, "Ha. I see. Getting knocked up by some random wasted stranger in the filthy back alley of a seedy bar made you nostalgic for the first time it happened? Or maybe you just thought that the kid you threw away like trash would make an excellent unpaid babysitter until you get sick of the new sprog, too, and merrily skip off to a foreign country without such inconvenient baggage in tow?"
Dark eyes leaking copiously all over her flushed cheeks, Aunt Lina protested, "I-It's not like that, sweetie! You always wanted a little brother or sist-"
"I wanted a sibling for about a month when I was five!" Ariel screeched back, "Before I realized that condemning another child to you as a mother would be an atrocity! For fuck's sake! You are a walking advertisement for forced sterilization!"
Ouch, Paul couldn't help thinking, with a wince that was echoed by the gathered crowd. He didn't know his aunt all that well and didn't like her much either, but maybe that was a bit harsh…
Expecting the outpouring of Lahote temper (which it was, no matter the girl's surname) to continue indefinitely, Paul felt honestly surprised when his cousin simply… shut down. That was the best way he could describe her split-second transition from blind rage to rigid, unnatural composure.
She casually transferred her eerie azure gaze from her bawling mother to him, drawling in monotone, "Can we go now, Steve?" Without waiting for an answer, without waiting for the crowd to disperse (though it did almost instinctively, like prey scattering before a merciless predator), Ariel glided toward the exit.
Leaving Paul to comfort his sobbing aunt. Leaving Paul to have an… ominous thought:
Sam imprinted on Leah and Seth's cousin.
Quil imprinted on Emily's niece.
Jared imprinted on Kim, who was pure Quileute and had to be related to someone significant…
The imprinting phenomenon had proved rather… well, incestuous wasn't a great term, but it was the closest one he knew.
And now Paul had a cousin. A pretty, young, female cousin who'd been forced by circumstance and a clinically insane pregnant mother to move to La Push.
He couldn't help considering which pack brother he'd prefer as an in-law.
xxxxxxxxxx
Ta da. Are you intrigued yet? Let me know what you think! I started this a very long time ago and don't quite remember why I had Ari randomly go meet some Volturi vamps in the first chapter. Something, something, American politicians in league with Italian vampire cartel…? Well, it's not really that farfetched, is it? Anyways, I recently made a resolution to get in the habit of actually posting my stories instead of just hoarding them for no good reason. Enjoy.