Haven (13) “Yes, I am. How did you know that?” Amanda’s voice was thick with suspicion. She feared that she might have wheeled in a Trojan horse of sorts. Before the girl had time even to answer, Amanda was digging into her thoughts trying to get any hidden answers that might lay buried there. Unfortunately, the girl was still too dazed to order her thoughts in any manner other than the most chaotic. “Seamus told me what to look for,” Abby said. “How to recognize you.” “Who is Seamus?” Amanda asked. “My uncle,” Abby said before falling back into unconsciousness. Amanda was most surprised by this answer. Of course, she did not realize that Abby had been speaking familiarity of Seamus who was, in fact, only an old friend of her family. Never the less, it was explanation enough for the first of Amanda’s questions. Her closeness to this vampire unknown to Amanda would explain why she was wondering so close to the old hall, and how she had recognized Amanda as a vampire. After reflecting on these things, Amanda began rummaging through a bag of supplies she and Martin had purchased upon entering the city. She did not know why he had bought it, but somewhere in the bag was a rather long length of rope. All of the blood Abby had spilled filled Amanda with vampiric cravings, and she did not want the girl escaping whilst she was away. * * * * * * * Dom marched angrily alongside his new partner. He was not at all pleased with this Fae situation. Twice now they had been misled by this source. The first time they had come upon Jenny totally unprepared for a vampire of her strength. Now they had gone against the very nature of their mission by targeting a human. While all of this had truly angered Dom, he was more upset by the fact that Grace seemed wholly undaunted by both mistakes. In fact, just after they accidentally shot the human woman just outside the old hall, Grace had received another call from her mysterious informant. At this moment they were headed toward another vampire that Dom had never heard of. He wondered if this one too might turn out to be a human. If so, he would consider it the Fae’s third strike, and he would contact the Organization for new orders. Grace seemed very excited about their next target, but she would not share any information with Dom. Again, they were after a vampire that had not been detailed in the original list of targets. Dom was beginning to wonder just how much faith the Organization had put into the Fae. The entire cleaning seemed very unprofessional. Finally, they reached the street that should have put them directly in the path of the approaching vampire. Dom did not really know what he was looking for, so he awaited a signal from Grace. She had moved to the other side of the street from Dom, deciding on a more reliable position after Jenny’s escape. As of yet, she had not given Dom any indication that she had seen anything. Dom was first to catch a glimpse of the approaching figure. It did not take long to realize that this man was indeed not a human. He strode down the center of the street, making no attempt to hide his inhumanity from anyone. He wore only a pair of black trousers and a shirt that remained unbuttoned. Bronze hair flowed to his back and whipped wildly in the wind. Dom was truly impressed with this being that so openly flaunted his superiority to mankind. The signal from Grace came a few moments after Dom had spotted him. He readied a Render-laced bolt in his crossbow. Grace had told him ahead of time to load an especially large dose of Render for this kill. The remark was unnecessary, though. Dom had already planned on using a larger dose than usual after seeing what Jenny was capable of. At last, the vampire came into range, and Dom took aim. He watched carefully as Grace also aimed her crossbow at the vampire. It seemed an eternity before Grace’s hand signaled to fire. Dom released the bolt and watched it fly toward the creature. The whole affair seemed to happen at half-speed. The vampire heard the twang of both crossbow wires, and he appeared more curious than surprised. Even when both of the syringe-like bolts sank into the flesh of his bared chest, he did not seem affected. He simply pulled out the bolts and threw them to the ground and waited. In the meantime, both of the operatives were becoming very nervous. Dom had never seen a vampire given such a mass dose of Render. Less than half of the amount should have had any vampire writhing in agony within seconds. This one did not seem bothered in the slightest. Dom drew his knife cautiously. He had no desire to attack this vampire again, but it seemed that they might lose him altogether if he did not. Not giving himself another moment to debate the matter, Dom threw the knife at the man. He had seen countless examples of the deftness of undead reflexes over the years, and never once had they failed to amaze him. However, they were always deliberate and willful actions. It was clear that even vampires had to overcome instincts to duck and dodge to accomplish such feats of dexterity. This vampire was obviously different. As the knife approached him, he was still peering into the shadows in Grace’s direction. The vampire’s hand moved upward, and for a moment Dom thought that he meant to catch the knife, but he did not. The blade plunged into his palm with a quick splash of blood and not even a flinch of pain. This vampire, Dom realized, must have been older than any he had ever dealt with. The Render had yet to show any effects on him even though he now had more than five times the usual amount used. Now, this reflex to stop the knife really made more of an impression on Dom who had studied this sort of thing, than it would have made on most. A vampire reacting in such a manner could only mean that he had somehow overcome the human instinct to avoid all pain and danger. Reflexes attached to such primal urges took centuries to change, and even then not with the fluid grace with which this being had moved. The knife’s impact into his palm never seemed an issue to him. He only wished to stop the blade from penetrating his face by the quickest means available. Still distracted by the shadow of Grace moving about in the darkness, he pulled the dagger from his hand and let it fall noisily to the asphalt. Finally, he spoke. “Who are you?” he called out. “Why do you attack me?” His voice was crisp and clear, and he spoke with a tone that was strangely shy and commanding at once. Much to Dom’s surprise, Grace stepped from her place in the shadows and walked within two yards of the vampire. She stared at him for several seconds trying to anticipate his actions. The vampire did not move a muscle. He only stared at Grace in awe of her bravery. “What is your name?” she finally asked him. He did not answer her. After a full minute of silence between them Grace began to edge away from him. Dom did not dare aid her in this venture since he had no clue as to what she might be trying to do. He silently cursed her for her stupidity, but admittedly he was intrigued by her actions. However, with everything that this vampire was capable of, he was extremely worried about Grace’s safety. Still, there was nothing he could do about her. With every step away from the creature that Grace took, he took one step forward. “My name is Grace,” she said to him in hopes that he would reply and end this eerie silence. “Why do you attack me, Grace?” His voice was flat and cold, and it did nothing to relieve the tension between them. Grace was glad to see, though, that he had halted his approach. Grace stared at him for a long time, trying to come up with a suitable response. Dom saw her intent before she acted, but he hoped that the vampire did not. Grace’s knife was still sheathed at her side, and while she stalled for time, Dom watched her hand slide slowly toward it. By the time her fingers had wrapped around the hilt, the vampire looked as if he were getting impatient. Finally, he advanced on her. In a moment that Dom’s eyes could not track, Grace drew her blade and slashed at the vampire. At first glance, Dom thought that she had missed him entirely. She did not run from the vampire, though. The being fell to his knees revealing to Dom a splash of blood at his throat. Grace fumbled inside her coat until she withdrew and uncapped one of the white tubes of Render that she carried to coat her weapons. With the cap to the tube clenched in her teeth, Grace jammed the open end of the container into the vampire’s neck wound and squeezed. He let out a choked scream that completely shattered the night’s silence. Dom winced at both the scream and the action the elicited it. The vampire doubled over completely and ceased all movement. Grace ran back toward the shadows and called out to Dom. “We’ve got our mark, I’ll meet you later.” After this Grace disappeared into the night. Dom followed suit and started toward his apartment. * * * * * * * Dawn was fast approaching the horizon and Haven’s darker creatures were beginning to scour the streets for Martin. Had the High Ones been alive they would have appreciated how easily Sarah was able to unite so many different creatures for one cause. Never before had such a diverse group been gathered peacefully in Haven. Rumor even had it that Sarah had recruited some of the unknowns into her search party. Not every creature took part in Sarah’s witch-hunt, however. Most of Haven’s nightmares had no interest in such matters, and they preferred not to get involved in the affairs of vampires. Most of the city’s supernatural citizen kept to their usual routines and left the vampires to do the same. Molly was one of the latter sort. She knew all too well that beings like herself did not have a place in any vampire’s business. Shadows were not viewed in high respects by any vampire. The sole purpose of their existence was to keep the undead population in check. Molly was shunned by the undead primarily by instinct. Vampires could scarcely stand to be in the same building with a shadow. They were instinctively filled with fear and the urge to run as far away as possible. So, Molly chose to avoid the throng that gathered to chase down this rogue vampire. She skirted the crowds and tried to pick off any strays that found themselves alone in her territory. This strategy was thus far unfruitful. Molly had never been a particularly good vampire, and she was little better at spying on them. She had all but given up hope on ever regaining her vampire status. With dawn fast approaching, she found herself too far from her lair, and as of yet, unfed. The scent of unnatural blood assaulted her senses even through the cold night air. Normally, the scent would have sent her body into a fit of hunger. Something was different about this, though. The blood smelled tainted, and not quite enticing. This aroused Molly’s curiosity more so than her hunger. She followed the scent of vampiric blood straight to its source. As she followed the coppery scent, Molly was stopped in her tracks by a painful scream that stained the night’s silence. When it stopped the only sound that could be heard was the hissing of the snow falling. Molly stood there on the empty sidewalk debating whether she should continue forward. Finally her curiosity overcame her fear, and she found herself running toward the place where the scream had sounded. Snow around the body in the street was slowly going red as Molly approached. The vampire appeared to already be dead, but Molly’s preternatural senses told her that this was not exactly true. She could almost see the life emanating from him, but it was slowly fading. She considered her position for many moments before deciding on a solution. Molly eventually came to the conclusion that trying to save him was the most worthwhile option. She had not time to take his life without being caught by the rising sun. So, she decided that she would make an attempt to drag him to her lair, and if he lived she would take his life the next night. It was obvious to her that this one was more powerful than most of the vampires that she had come across in Haven, and she wanted him to be in full health when she took him. For an hour she dragged him through the shadows of the city, trying to avoid the sun. The streets were, for the most part, empty. Molly had little trouble lugging his body around, and if at any time he did regain consciousness, she did not notice. She was actually surprised that he did not react violently to her presence even in his unconscious state. Finally, the pair reached a back alley door that led to the apartment that served as Molly’s lair. After hefting her future victim up a steep flight of stairs, and into her apartment, Molly threw the man onto an already bloodstained couch. For the first time since she had found him, Molly looked at his face. Not for the first time she wished that she were a vampire again. Molly could not deny that, beneath all the blood, this truly was a beautiful creature that she had dragged home. Honestly, she wished that he were not. She knew from experience that killing anything that one found attractive was difficult. In her case, vampires were always more physically appealing to her. She had only been a shadow for a short while in comparison to her vampire life. Second thoughts about bringing this man to her home began to circle in Molly’s mind. It was a little known fact that shadows need not sleep at all in their existence. This knowledge might have been all but forgotten by the vampires of Haven had it not been for Stephanie’s miraculous transformation. Suffice it to say the due to vampires’ and shadows’ similar aversion to the sun, Molly’s days were usually very dull. She bided her time this day by cleaning her apartment. Reasons for such behavior were obvious even to Molly, and she felt silly and girlish because of it. She knew that logically there was no reason to make her home presentable to someone that she planned to kill. As she cleaned and rearranged things, Molly often checked the vampire to make sure that he was still alive. It appeared to her that he was recovering a little slowly for a vampire, but everything seemed to be healing well. Molly found that she was a little too pleased at how well he was doing. After a few hours the vampire began to stir. Molly heard him groan from the next room. She immediately ran to her den to make sure that everything was all right. She found her vampire half-sitting on the sofa looking at his surroundings in confusion. For a long time he took no notice of Molly standing in the doorway of the den. When he finally did see her standing there, he still said nothing to her. He only sat up farther and observed her carefully. Molly almost thought she might blush under his intense stare. She knew, though, that something was very wrong with the situation. Any normal vampire would had bolted toward the door the second he awoke in the same apartment with a shadow. This one, however, only stared at Molly as if she were the only person he had ever seen. Then, in a hoarse raspy voice, he spoke. “What are you?” “Before I tell you that,” she said, weighing her words carefully. “I want you to know that if you run, I will kill you.” The vampire’s face lit up with interest and a boyish grin spread across his face. “I’m a shadow,” Molly said. “What’s a shadow?” He was still in awe of her previous confidence. Molly almost laughed at the child-like manner in which he asked the question. “I feed on your kind.” She thought this answer should have the effect that her first remark had failed to have. “Oh,” he said, drawing the word out and looking awestruck at Molly. He leaned forward from the couch trying to get a better look at her. As he craned his neck to look at her, Molly saw the wound across his throat reopen and several trickles of fresh blood stream down his neck. His face twisted into a mask of pain, and his body wrenched backward to once more lie on the sofa. Molly ran across the room and knelt at his side. She did take not that her proximity to him seemed to have no effect on him. A rosy sweat had broken across his body and great crimson tears rolled across his cheeks. She pitied this creature, and as much as she wished it were not true, she knew that she would not kill him. She silently cursed herself for not taking his blood the moment she had found him. “Are you all right?” she asked sincerely. “I want my mother,” he said through lips smattered with blood. Molly thought that this was one of the strangest things she had ever heard a vampire say, not to mention one that had been a grown man before that. Anyone else she might have had trouble not laughing at, but this vampire had already evoked her sympathy. In fact, the comment had only given him more of a boyish charm. “I’m sorry,” she said with much compassion. “Just rest a little while longer, and you’ll be fine.” “No,” he said, causing a trickle of blood to run from the corner of his mouth. “Something is wrong with me.” “You’ll be all right,” Molly tried again to assure him. “Somebody hurt you, but if you rest here for a while you’ll be fine.” “That’s not it,” he protested. “Something is wrong with me.” “What is wrong with you?” she asked. Suddenly she was a little worried, and she remembered the scent of tainted blood that she had first sensed about him. He lay back a little and appeared to relax. “I have been watching the others like me,” he said. He paused for a long time as if that was all he had to say. “Yes?” “They don’t get older,” he said with dire urgency. “You aren’t supposed to get older. How old are you anyway?” Molly was beginning to wonder if he were just delirious. “Twelve nights,” he said. “But I’m getting older.” “If you have only been changed for twelve days, how do you know you are getting older?” “What do you mean by changed?” Molly thought about her response for several seconds. When she had finally come up with a response, she never had a chance to voice it. “I was born twelve nights ago.” Molly was too shocked to speak. That was all right, though, because a few seconds after that he fell back into unconsciousness. Molly was no longer interested in caring for or killing this man. She wanted him out of her life and out of her home as quickly as possible. * * * * * * * As the sun rose over the city once more, life again bustled in its streets. Outside the city, though, stranger forms of life began to stir. In a remote region of the forest south of Haven, the Fae were going about what some might call very dark business. That is to say, some of the Fae were doing this. A large group of the Stazra and Vindo clans had gathered in a rather concealed glen deep in the forest. For a long time they hurried about greeting one another and speaking casually of the weather and people they had encountered and other matters that the Fae are concerned with. All the while remaining totally unaware of the fact that they were being watched. Methos narrowed his eyes on the gathering and hoped that what Toby had told him had been wrong. If it were not, then these Fae were breaking several of their laws, and the only punishment would be to banish them from Haven. The laws were there for good reason, but most would agree that too many Fae were involved to banish them all. Other forms of punishment were available, but most were too hideous for Methos to fathom. After a time, the group began to calm down a bit and come to some kind of order. The Fae seated themselves here and there on the ground. Methos watched intently as one of the younger looking Fae came to stand at the head of the gathering. “Everything is going as planned,” he immediately announced to the throng. “Our human allies have begun their attack on the undead in the city.” Methos gritted his teeth as cheers began to issue from the crowd. Toby had not been mistaken, and these Fae were guilty of too many crimes for him to count. Methos disappeared. A few moments later he materialized at the front of the crowd, alongside its apparent leader. Several gasps and more than a few shouts of fear came from the audience. “My message to you all is very simple,” he said in a dire voice. “What you have done is wrong. The oldest venders will be alerted, and you will be punished.” The youth standing beside Methos turned a very harsh grin toward him. “And what will they do to us?” His voice was cold and condescending. “Most likely you will be banished.” Methos did not like the sound of the question, and his own replay had been filled with a contempt scarcely heard among the Fae. “And if we refuse to leave?” Methos heard the challenging tones in his voice, and rounded on the lad. “There are far more horrible punishments among our kind that can be enforced. You would be wise to accept your, whatever it is, without too much fuss.” This did seem to reach the youth, but Methos wanted to make his point very clear. “You are lucky that we don’t just inform the undead of your plans and let them sort it out for themselves.” The young Fae stepped back in horror of his words. The vender waited for the effects of his words sinks in among the crowd and disappeared. * * * * * * *
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