Satis House

[Okimiyage]

"You knew he was coming," VIkteren said, with a sigh. "That's really what I think--disturbs us all the most. You knew, and you took no steps to save yourself." He cracked a smile at her. "Funny how inevitable you used to think your death at his hands."

Cian felt quite dizzy with all the new information he was taking in. Did this mean that they were seriously considering offering him up to the Mayfair family? He had always thought that all the witching families were as territorial and secretive as his own. But when they paused for breath, he nodded at them and stood, and smiled. He called his witchlights--glimmering golden honeybees--and they scrawled a looping shall we? on the wall behind him. Awaiting no answer, he exchanged the good scenery of the library for the muggy evening heat of Satis House porch.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

"Antha has accepted you," Lawrence said simply, as if that were the only prerequisite to joining the Mayfair clan, and then left with Vittorio and Dolly Jean at his heels.
Antha joined them shortly later, clothed in a dress that for her was almost frighteningly modern, all white chiffon with intricate black lacework as the top layer, sashed with black satin that made a large bow to hang down her back. "You four go on," she said simply, motioning her cousins away, "Nicolae will drive me, and Vikteren if he decides to join us." She called to the vampires then, her voice ringing through the house, and Nicolae joined her seconds later with her own keys in hand.
"Let's get this over with," he said grimly, taking her hand and going to the car, opening her door and helping her to slide in. Dolly Jean was the one to take Cian's hand, her cheeks flushing scarlet, and lead him to the towncar, tugging on his hand as she slid into the backseat, Lawrence going behind the wheel and Vittorio occupying the front passenger seat.
And then they were all off, Nicolae peeling out and zooming through the swamp road, quickly losing his cousins behind him, through the city streets and into the garden district to Mayfair Manor.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

It was just after eleven when Antha pulled up the drive to Satis House, stepping out into the slosh of the flooded swamp and running for the safety of the dark, creaking old porch. The power was out of course, it always went out here in the middle of nowhere, but when Antha stepped inside the candles littering the crooked, groaning old halls flared into life, casting that haunting glow across the ancient furnishings. She almost expected Rynn to be there, lingering in the shadows somewhere, lying in wait like a poisonous spider, but she knew he wasn't. Whether or not he would be soon...well, they would see. "This is my house," Antha explained to Liesse as she shut the door behind them, leaving it unlocked, "My sanctuary. If Rynn decides to come---" She put a great deal of emphasis on the 'if', glancing at the nearest of the many antique clocks, "---I told him to be here at midnight. Time will tell, I suppose. Meanwhile..." Her eyes sharpened, turning and settling on the figure lingering in the shadow of the stairwell, "I don't recall inviting you to join us."
With all the boneless languor of a ghost, Petyr Van Abel stirred, raising to his feet and walking towards them. He said nothing, Petyr never did, but Antha rolled her eyes at him all the same, as if he had said something and she thought he was being foolish.
"Stop worrying about me," she chided him, throwing open the doors to the parlor and going to sit on the divan near the fire, "Oh, but where are my manners? Liesse, Petyr Van Abel. Petyr, Liesse Calais."
Petyr nodded his head politely before Antha waved him away and gestured for Liesse to take a seat. "I brought Cian and Rynn here, after the fire. I didn't know what else to do with them." Her eyes flashed strangely as she spoke, her gaze fastened on the flames the licked at the fireplace. "As you can probably imagine, Rynn didn't stay long. At all. I tried to keep an eye on him, but as he said he didn't want to be a...what did say? Ah, yes, a pet. And anyways, he despised me too much. He blamed Nicolae and me for your death, for saving him and Cian instead of you." She paused, her expression flashing thoughtful. "To be fair, it was my fault, to some degree, but it was hardly a choice. I would have rather saved you than him anyways, but he was the one right beside me when the flames began to consume everything. And Cian...well, I think Cian blamed himself for being saved instead of you. It's hard to tell with him. He didn't speak for the longest time, not a word." She shook her head then, smiling despite herself, and finally turned her gaze to Liesse. "But then, maybe you knew that. I have no idea what you saw, between the world of the living and the dead. The only person I know to inhabit that space is Alistair, and Alistair hardly seems aware of anything but me. I have a theory though that it's because he was so fleetingly a part of the world of the living." There was another pause, another quiet moment as Antha studied Liesse and then, in the quietest voice, confided, "It scared the hell out of me when I saw you. Not because of you, really, but because of the state you were in. I never thought of what state Alistair might be in, what the consequences were to being dead with a twin in the land of the living. It was...the first time I thought of him as anything more than a drifting shade in that in-between world. And I can't bear it, the thought of him being like that. If I weren't going to die so soon anyways, I might..." She drifted off, shaking her head again, but this time there was no sort of smile at all. "And I don't want that to happen to Rynn, either," she continued, making sure that Rynn wasn't near them, that he couldn't hear, "Despite himself, what a fool he is, all the terrible things he's done, I don't wish it upon him. But that requires knocking some sense into his thick head. If it can't be done...he can't be allowed to continue this way. This is my city and I have to protect it from him, one way or the other. Bringing you back to the world of the living was my last hope for saving him and if it doesn't work..." She glanced again at Liesse, her voice going soft, "I thought I should warn you."  

[Okimiyage]

Around Satis House, something moved amidst the rain-slickened trees. Snapping branches went unheard amidst the mad percussion that was the storm; whoever it was made no effort to be stealthy.
Liesse had not yet taken her eyes off of Antha.
She turned back to the fire with steady patience. It was almost impossible to mistake her for a real little girl at the moment; there was something in her eyes that was old and patient, far too patient for a child, as she stared into the flames. She drew her feet up, locking her arms around her knees, and wriggled her toes deep into the plush carpet. The design was an antique floral, acres of stylized roses floating upon a rippling golden pond. Liesse found herself feeling strangely ill-at-ease, despite the storm shutters, despite the merrily crackling fire. Softly, she said, "You needn't explain yourself. I forgive you--even if I don't understand you."
The child paused, wet her lips, and then turned her head slightly to watch Antha's face out of the corner of her eye. "This is the first time we've had a chance to talk, isn't it? Alone, at least." And she sighed, deeply. Reaching forward, stroking the thick carpet almost as one would a cat, Liesse went on.
"You came into our house under false pretenses, which you knew already and bore with long enough to see the spirit of my poor sister unchained. And in the same hour, you slew my brothers, my--old body, and left the tombs of our ancestors in rubble. And then you resurrect me, to ask me for my help." Her tone had gone sharp for the first time, squeaking with emotion. The effect was almost charming. "What makes you think that a man whose designs go as horribly awry as that--whose designs were as ill-intentioned as that--is someone to have on your side? Why is it so important that you earn back Rynn's trust? Your own abilities are far more advanced. And if I cannot persuade him, if his mind has broken beyond repair, what is so important that you would invite an agent of your enemy, a man whose initiating act into your acquaintance was to betray you, into this house?"
Seeming to realize that her voice was on the verge of becoming impassioned, Liesse fell silent again, and drew the curtain of her hair about her face.
The mood was absolutely spoiled by a muffled thud on the stairs. Liesse's head jerked up in shock, and her eyes immediately went to the door. But it was not Rynn, it could not be--she would have felt his presence long before he came this close. Instead, the vampire she remembered so dimly from before, in that initial Great Hall, stepped out of the shadows.
Vikteren's face was wan, his eyes bruised with weariness. Antha should not have been surprised; after Nicolae had led him away, he had not desired to stay in the Mayfair home, swaddled in all its finery and pedigreed gloss. His spartan courtesies were ill-suited for Antha's nights at the theatre, the glamourous, flashing lifestyle that their family epitomized. There was little place for him in that house. He had come to realize that Cian suited Antha, and Antha--well, her emotions were inscrutable, but she loved him enough to bear his children and the enmity of his family's patriarch. Despite the vampire's somewhat haggard appearance, he stood absolutely straight; Vikteren had the bearing of a king at all times. "My apologies. I let myself in through one of the upstairs windows." He pushed a hand back through his hair, his expression a little abashed. He didn't like to admit how uncomfortable the idea of sleeping in that house had made him, with all the activity of the entire family hiving about. He still wasn't used to the idea of becoming part of that hive, one of the many-allied protective drones, and a little peace had been welcome. And he'd wanted to lie on the floor of this creaking old house, to close his eyes and remember what had happened here, recall to mind his fondest memories of Antha. A eulogy before she was even dead. Vikteren hadn't dreamed in years and years and years, but he'd lain there tonight praying desperately to find the ability again.
When he'd awoken to the glow of lights and the soft chatter of voices below, he initially thought he'd been successful. But creeping downstairs, he realized that his hope had been incredibly misguided. The vampire was never ungraceful, but he hit the side of his fist against the wall in order to announce his presence rather than appear like a ghost out of nowhere.
Vikteren was watching Liesse with a curious but guarded expression, and he came closer to the divan where Antha reclined. He seemed to want to put himself between the two of them, but resisted the urge to do so. Something about the girl was--wrong. There were two scents on her, one rapidly fading whilst the other grew stronger all the time. And the latter--that was a familiar scent, but one he had never expected to encounter again. The Calais family estate had the same scent, a mixed perfume with head of blooming roses, heartnote of rampant decay, base of dust and bones. "You're an unfamiliar face," he said, his tone carefully neutral.
The child smiled, and lightning illuminated the crease in her cheek. "We've met before. I was taller then."
Her voice made it all snap into place, and he nodded. "Liesse. It's--good to see you again." He glanced questioningly at Antha, but by very virtue of the fact that the girl was in the same room alone with the Mayfair designee without ten armed guards made it clear that she was considered no threat. "I feel perhaps I have interrupted, but if it would not trouble you, I would prefer to remain here. If your guest does show, it may be wise to have a third party on hand."
On that note, predictably, there was a rumble of thunder. Liesse cocked her head, questioningly, as the thunder resolved itself into the roar of an engine motor. Her ears would have pricked, had she been a cat. "He's here," she whispered, and she could not keep secret the elation that rose in her heart. With a cry of delight, she rose to her feet and rushed with fumbling steps into the hall.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Moments passed in relative silence, the fire crackling and house groaning like some great monster intent on trapping them, swallowing them. The ghost of Petyr sat beside Antha, stared evenly at her as if he were concerned, and Antha continued to stare at the fire. "Because Rynn is me," she whispered finally, oh-so quiet, heartrendingly honest, "Because somewhere at our cores, something is the same. Because if my family depended on it, I would have done what he did. Because if I had watched everything I had, every trace of my family, go up in flames, I would have become what he has. How do I blame him for that, Liesse?" Antha let out a long, slow sigh, leaning back on the loveseat and trying, just for a fraction of a second, to relax. "I want to save him because Mayfairs hold family above every other little thing in this world, it's programmed into every little cell of our bodies, because I already love my children more than anything else, there is nothing I would not give them, and he is their uncle, whether any of us like it or not. Because even if I can never trust Rynn so long as he lives---and I do not think I ever could---I want at least one moment of peace in my entire life before it ends, just one. And ultimately, I want to save him because it is the only way to save anyone else. Because of the rest of my family, of every other witch I know, Nicolae is the most powerful and he cannot do what needs to be done. Because the creature coming for me is too powerful and as long as I am alive, he will maintain the will to stay awake, to end my existence, so I have to die to rid the waking world of him, but only I have access to the methods that will put him back in the ground and after me, only Rynn has the ability to use that magic on him." Antha leaned forward again, her hands clenched together on her knees, relenting that she was too tense, that there was no single moment right now in which to try and relax. There was something she wasn't saying, some reason she would not even admit to herself, but she turned her face away from Liesse, gazing out the windows, because she didn't trust her own expression. "We didn't grow up together, Liesse, we don't know one another's secrets, but we are all family now, we are bound by blood and law, and that will never change back. Something tells me you've realized by this point that there is no use in railing against family, that you accept it and you try to co-exist and, if you're wise, you try to love and trust one another. If you don't, it destroys you."
The thump distracted her, turned Petyr to a wispy, shimmering cloud beside her, a presence that stretched around the room, tense and protective, until something seemed to register with him and he vanished.
Antha knew it was Vikteren before he ever entered the parlor, her momentarily tensed posture easing back into something more familiar. "Is it so completely impossible to conduct anything in secret around here?" she sighed in exasperation, crossing her arms as the little impetuous pout came to her lips, "And I went to such lengths to be sure you two didn't hear my invitation. It isn't easy pulling another dimension out from this one you know, much less pulling someone else into it with you, and then back out again." She sighed, shaking her head and giving in, there was nothing she could do about it now. "You're welcome to stay here, of course. It's not like I have any use of this house lately, being kept under surveillance at Mayfair Manor where it's 'safe'. As for this meeting---"
"There is no use in trying to send him away, I suspect." Antha did start at the new voice, resonating quietly from the shadows of the hallway. "It is your own fault for doing such things in secret, really. But then it is their fault, too, for worrying over you."
"Julianne," Antha greeted the vampire that stepped out of the shadows demurely, her face going carefully neutral. Julianne was not quite an enemy force, not quite a hostile creature. She was Sleet's maker, though they had been estranged for so long and Julianne did not particularly mind. The woods surrounding the city were her territory, that had never been negotiable for anyone, and there she lived in her prized solitude. Julianne did, at all times, what was best for Julianne. She craved no power, belonged to no faction, held no grudges, her enemies were those who threatened her, up until they did not, and her allies were the ones working towards her same goal, up until they were not. Julianne was the simplest, least complicated creature to ever be found, and Antha let Vikteren know so. "It's rare to see you, Julianne. I assume you did not come because of---"
"My fledgling? Not interested. That was his business, and yours." Her eyes, true shades of gold, dark and glittering, as sharp as so many daggers, narrowed at the witch girl, though the vampire did not move. "I felt that shift, not so long ago. Nero is coming, is he not?"
"You know him?" Antha questioned, her interest truly and direly piqued.
"Well," Julianne hissed shortly in response.
Antha nearly smiled, but held herself back, knowing Julianne would not approve. "Are you that old?"
"Older," she assured her, as if it was not a matter of consequence, "I did not help to put him down, back then. He was not in my territory, never so close to me to bother. But it was, as you can imagine, a deed that needed to be done. It needs to be done again."
"You don't need to tell me that," Antha murmured, sighing before she glanced back to the vampire, "And you want to help this time around?"
"He is coming into my territory. I would be rid of him when he does."
They were interrupted by the roar of an engine, a car rolling up the drive, and Antha was on her feet instantly. "Liesse!" she called, and the doors slammed shut on her path, Antha half reaching for her, that stricken look in her eyes, "Liesse...we have to be cautious here. Rynn has changed, there is no telling what..." She trailed off, silent, because she wasn't sure how to finish that sentence, or if she wanted to.
"That child?" Julianne questioned, her gaze snapping to the door, "I have heard of that child. And the other, Cyrus? He has no business in my territory, but he has invaded it regardless."
"Child?" Antha nearly laughed, and it showed, "You are terribly old, aren't you, Julianne?"
Julianne merely blinked at her, as if she were being foolish. "As I have said."
The porch creaked and Antha's attention diverted back, her eyes focusing sharply on the front door. She hadn't the vaguest idea what to expect, so she prepared for anything.  

[Okimiyage]

This was an entrance that had been a long time in coming.
Liesse stood on tiptoes, twitching aside the gauzy window-sash at the door to peek out at the figure on the porch. Leaner than she remembered. A little taller, but dirtier, too. There was a fresh cut on his lip which was in the process of scarring. He was wearing the suit that had marked him as a professional at the cafe earlier, but the top buttons of his collar were undone and he slung his rain-soaked jacket off his shoulders as he stood there. Stamping mud from his shoes and shaking water from his sleeves, Rynn took a deep breath and looked at the door. Antha was waiting for him, along with three more figures whose identities he was less intent upon. Two familiar, one not. It was a long moment before he raised a hand to knock, but he'd come such a long way. It would be foolish to turn around now. He needn't have mulled over the decision; his knuckles fell against empty air. Liesse was way ahead of him.
One hand on the door, she looked up at her estranged twin and struggled for an emotional direction. Anger and elation fought, subsided, and resolved peaceably into reproach.
"You look dreadful," she said, firmly. "Come inside."
Rynn stared. Whatever he'd been expecting, it was not this child. His mouth opened, and then shut firmly. It was impolite to gape. "Thank you," he said tersely, and crossed the threshold.
As soon as he stepped into the room, he regretted the decision. All eyes were on him, and he hated their immeasurable weight. Beautiful Antha, her vampiric guard, and this child who he could not place but reminded him, in an unfathomable way, of a childhood friend. That was stupid. When he was a child, this girl was not even a twinkle in her father's eye yet.
Still, he couldn't shake the feeling.
He didn't put down his jacket, but held it in the crook of his arm as he tucked his hands into his pockets. He wasn't planning to stay long. "I made it despite the weather." Behind him, Liesse's face, her blinding smile, was slowly becoming crestfallen.
Rynn felt the voice before it vibrated his eardrum. Petulant, childish, but--"Rynn?"--somehow a child he knew.
Any thought of his mission was abandoned, as with dazzling clarity, like beams of light splintering through a stained-glass window to make a picture, Rynn comprehended why he'd been lured here. Under his breath, he whispered, "Oh no,"--and his legs went weak, coming out from under him, and he staggered--but the door behind him was already closed, the child had made sure of this--and rounded on Antha instead. "You brought me here for this?" he hissed. "Is this your idea of a joke?"
Liesse had gone very pale. This was what she had feared, all of it, coming to fruition before here eyes. "No!" she cried, and her voice came out too loud, too sharp with frustration. But it stopped Rynn. "No, it's not--" she faltered as he looked back to her. She swallowed hard. "It's not a joke. It's not a trick. Just me, Rynn. Really." He stared at her coldly.
"This is impossible. This is--what you're proposing is heresy, and impossible. You can't--" his voice broke. "I saw her die." He didn't want to look at the little girl anymore, couldn't stand the cruelty of Antha's--poppet standing there, taunting him.
the poppet that smelled like Liesse, that used her words and sank a voice like thorns into his mind like and old war wound opening up all over again
He didn't want to look at Antha, either, hating the idea of revealing the furious tears that stood trapped in his eyelashes. "You cut her throat," he said hoarsely, staring at the floor instead. "She bled. I felt her die."
"And now I'm back," Liesse whispered. "I swear, it's the truth--"
"Why would you tell me the truth?" Rynn demanded. "Why would you or any of your people do anything to help when they went to such lengths to destroy us, Lie--" he stopped himself before he acknowledged the girl by his sister's name, but it was a close thing. He knotted his hands in his jacket. Vikteren was watching him with an expression of odd sympathy, and he sighed before he spoke. "When two souls are linked such as yours are, one cannot pass on before the other does as well. She is bound to you like a slave. They raised her from the limbo where her soul had gone to, and that is a hell you should be grateful that you were not sent to." Rynn's mouth was a thin, bloodless line. He sank his teeth into the scar on the corner of his lip, hard enough to draw blood again. "So what, what is this? You just decided to--" his laughter was more bitter sob than mirth. "--to reunite us out of the 'goodness of your heart', because you're all such wonderful samaritans. Is that it?"
"Rynn!" Liesse cried out, in exasperation. "They're trying to help us, Rynn, for the love of God, let them."
"That name means very little here," her brother whispered.
Vikteren glanced over to Antha. "They went to great lengths to bring about this meeting, Rynn. You might at least be decent enough to honor this show of good will by hearing us out."
If nothing else, Rynn could not stand to have his gentleman's honor insulted. Simmering, he glared across the room at Vikteren, then reluctantly stamped mud off his boots and entered the parlor. Liesse followed, her face much relaxed, and urged him to take a seat in one of the plush loveseats. She crawled into a chair opposite him, dwarfed by the high-backed cushions, and looked to Antha expectantly. She must have something to say.This was an entrance that had been a long time in coming.
Liesse stood on tiptoes, twitching aside the gauzy window-sash at the door to peek out at the figure on the porch. Leaner than she remembered. A little taller, but dirtier, too. There was a fresh cut on his lip which was in the process of scarring. He was wearing the suit that had marked him as a professional at the cafe earlier, but the top buttons of his collar were undone and he slung his rain-soaked jacket off his shoulders as he stood there. Stamping mud from his shoes and shaking water from his sleeves, Rynn took a deep breath and looked at the door. Antha was waiting for him, along with three more figures whose identities he was less intent upon. Two familiar, one not. It was a long moment before he raised a hand to knock, but he'd come such a long way. It would be foolish to turn around now. He needn't have mulled over the decision; his knuckles fell against empty air. Liesse was way ahead of him.
One hand on the door, she looked up at her estranged twin and struggled for an emotional direction. Anger and elation fought, subsided, and resolved peaceably into reproach.
"You look dreadful," she said, firmly. "Come inside."
Rynn stared. Whatever he'd been expecting, it was not this child. His mouth opened, and then shut firmly. It was impolite to gape. "Thank you," he said tersely, and crossed the threshold.
As soon as he stepped into the room, he regretted the decision. All eyes were on him, and he hated their immeasurable weight. Beautiful Antha, her vampiric guard, and this child who he could not place but reminded him, in an unfathomable way, of a childhood friend. That was stupid. When he was a child, this girl was not even a twinkle in her father's eye yet.
Still, he couldn't shake the feeling.
He didn't put down his jacket, but held it in the crook of his arm as he tucked his hands into his pockets. He wasn't planning to stay long. "I made it despite the weather." Behind him, Liesse's face, her blinding smile, was slowly becoming crestfallen.
Rynn felt the voice before it vibrated his eardrum. Petulant, childish, but--"Rynn?"--somehow a child he knew.
Any thought of his mission was abandoned, as with dazzling clarity, like beams of light splintering through a stained-glass window to make a picture, Rynn comprehended why he'd been lured here. Under his breath, he whispered, "Oh no,"--and his legs went weak, coming out from under him, and he staggered--but the door behind him was already closed, the child had made sure of this--and rounded on Antha instead. "You brought me here for this?" he hissed. "Is this your idea of a joke?"
Liesse had gone very pale. This was what she had feared, all of it, coming to fruition before here eyes. "No!" she cried, and her voice came out too loud, too sharp with frustration. But it stopped Rynn. "No, it's not--" she faltered as he looked back to her. She swallowed hard. "It's not a joke. It's not a trick. Just me, Rynn. Really." He stared at her coldly.
"This is impossible. This is--what you're proposing is heresy, and impossible. You can't--" his voice broke. "I saw her die." He didn't want to look at the little girl anymore, couldn't stand the cruelty of Antha's--poppet standing there, taunting him.
the poppet that smelled like Liesse, that used her words and sank a voice like thorns into his mind like and old war wound opening up all over again
He didn't want to look at Antha, either, hating the idea of revealing the furious tears that stood trapped in his eyelashes. "You cut her throat," he said hoarsely, staring at the floor instead. "She bled. I felt her die."
"And now I'm back," Liesse whispered. "I swear, it's the truth--"
"Why would you tell me the truth?" Rynn demanded. "Why would you or any of your people do anything to help when they went to such lengths to destroy us, Lie--" he stopped himself before he acknowledged the girl by his sister's name, but it was a close thing. He knotted his hands in his jacket. Vikteren was watching him with an expression of odd sympathy, and he sighed before he spoke. "When two souls are linked such as yours are, one cannot pass on before the other does as well. She is bound to you like a slave. They raised her from the limbo where her soul had gone to, and that is a hell you should be grateful that you were not sent to." Rynn's mouth was a thin, bloodless line. He sank his teeth into the scar on the corner of his lip, hard enough to draw blood again. "So what, what is this? You just decided to--" his laughter was more bitter sob than mirth. "--to reunite us out of the 'goodness of your heart', because you're all such wonderful samaritans. Is that it?"
"Rynn!" Liesse cried out, in exasperation. "They're trying to help us, Rynn, for the love of God, let them."
"That name means very little here," her brother whispered.
Vikteren glanced over to Antha. "They went to great lengths to bring about this meeting, Rynn. You might at least be decent enough to honor this show of good will by hearing us out."
If nothing else, Rynn could not stand to have his gentleman's honor insulted. Simmering, he glared across the room at Vikteren, then reluctantly stamped mud off his boots and entered the parlor. Liesse followed, her face much relaxed, and urged him to take a seat in one of the plush loveseats. She crawled into a chair opposite him, dwarfed by the high-backed cushions, and looked to Antha expectantly. It was impossible to imagine the Mayfair princess did not have a contribution to make to the discussion.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

For a long few moments, Antha stood staring hard at Rynn, and there was something in her eyes...not quite anger, not quite pity, but something mingled with both. She had been afraid of this, perhaps more than an attack, for Liesse's sake. But Antha did not speak to Rynn first, rather she turned to Julianne, murmuring in a stony voice, "If you will, I have slightly more pressing issues than Nero on my mind at the moment."
"We will talk later," Julianne conceded, her sharp golden eyes cutting at Rynn, and then she was simply gone.
"Vikteren," the girl continued then, turning a gaze to him that was frighteningly serious, weighty, and beginning to burn with quiet fury, "If you would not mind, could you escort Liesse to the kitchen for a moment? I asked Rynn here for a private word, and I would much like to have it right now. My apologies, Liesse. I will not be long." She waited for them to leave, all the while focused intensely on Rynn, and only when she shut the double doors behind them did she snap, the room trembling around them. "I didn't ask for this," she rounded on Rynn sharply, turning to set those outraged, disgusted eyes on the boy, "I was appalled by the thought, terrified of the repercussions of putting a departed soul in a living body, but I was convinced to do it. Not for you, Rynn, but for Cian, and for Liesse who was lost and terrified and in pain because as long as you live, she cannot fade into the world of the dead. I was the one who put her there, I recognize that, I'll take my share of the blame, but you were at fault for it, too. It may not be the body she was born into, but that is Liesse in there."
The girl had to pause, taking a deep, hissing breath and stalking across the room, shaking her head. "How heartless do you mean to be, Rynn?!" she screamed suddenly, and she wasn't sure if it was her complex as a younger sister flaring to life or something else that had her so worked up, so absolutely disgusted with the boy, "You denounced your brother, abandoned him for having anything to do with us, but Liesse?" Her steps echoed ominously as she walked up to the boy, took his chin roughly in her hand and forced his eyes to meet hers. To hell with it all, she didn't want to be careful right now, to tiptoe around Rynn and try not to set him off. "What fault is she at, Rynn? Forget that I had anything to do with this, forget any motivation I may have had for it, that's none of your business anyways. That is Liesse, her immortal spirit bound to a new body, and she's frightened and confused and the only damn thing she wants is you, Rynn." Slowly, bit by bit, the emotion began to drain from Antha's face and she dropped her hand, gazing at the boy for another fleeting moment before she turned on her heel and resumed her seat, emotionally exhausted for the moment. "I always thought Liesse was the only thing you cared about," she murmured, resting her cheek in her hand and gazing across the room at Rynn again, with that hint of pity, not necessarily for him, "But I never questioned that you loved her. She was...what was it you said? 'The only good one' out of all of you? The one I should have saved?" Again, she shook her head, turning her gaze finally to the fire. "I can't make you believe me, or her. I can't make you look at her and realize it really is Liesse. And even if you did, I can't make you accept her. But dear God, Rynn, really? I don't even know what to make of you if you reject her, what kind of hollow shell that would mean you've become." Only her eyes moved then, glancing sidelong at him. "Pretend, if you can, that you don't despise me for a moment and take some advice. You wanted your family. You have a brother and a sister in the land of the living again. And, before the thought even crosses your mind, I'm not saying this for you. I'm saying it for Cian, because he realizes what you don't, that no matter what new family he's acquired, you are still his brother, his family, and he loves you and misses you. And I'm saying it for Liesse, because she has suffered terribly because of both of us and I don't know what's going to happen to her if you reject her, and she doesn't deserve it. Of all of us, that girl did not deserve what happened."
There was that momentary, involuntary flash, that memory of the night of the fire---sitting on the edge of her tub with a cigarette, staring down at the dark stain of Liesse's blood on her dress, dried under her fingernails beneath the soot and earth. That break, her mind snapping, collapsing down on the floor in hysterics, sobbing, tearing madly at the cloth of her skirt, desperate to have the stain of the girl's blood as far away from her as possible, scrubbing it from her flesh until the skin was raw and painful, and it still wasn't enough. That moment of sitting in the floor of the library, flinging the bloodstained clothing into the fire as if it stung her, the creak of the door behind her and Rynn's quiet footsteps as he padded carefully nearer, the thought that she wanted to cry again, that she would tear apart if she didn't, that she wanted to cry and scream and take the pretty boy's face in her hands, that cruel, wretched boy, to kiss him and tell him she wished she could take it back, all of it, that blood on her hands, the soot, the singed flesh. And then his hands had been on her shoulders and she had remembered, with an intense, burning clarity, that he had tried to kill her, even worse he had nearly taken her brother away from her, and Antha had said nothing, her eyes dry. And then...then Cian had come along.
Antha turned, not quite trusting the look in her own eyes, and quietly she said, "Liesse has a second chance at life. To be alive. I will do what I can for her, provide her with what she needs, that is the least I can do after everything that has happened. But either way, she and Cian will live their lives regardless of what happens here, of what you decide. You can either be part of that, to have your family and live your life, or you can forsake them and, in doing so, lose anything you ever were, your last shred of humanity, and take that final step into being a heartless, hollow shell of being, nothing but bitterness and darkness, lust for power. It's a slippery slope, Rynn."
Another moment of silence, that darkness in her eyes. "This was never my plan," she murmured, in something like an apology, "I hardly even expected you to show up tonight. But when I asked you here, I never for a moment thought this would be our situation. It never even crossed my mind to bring Liesse back into the world of the living, and when the suggestion was made, I was too horrified to even consider it at first. For the first time in my entire horror show of a life, I felt like the only sane person left. But none of that changes who she is, Rynn. It's no use being appalled---and really, it's the strangest thing to see you, of all people, so flabbergasted when even Cian and sweet, innocent Malakai hardly blinked an eye at it. I thought you would be better acquainted with necromancy----it simply is what it is. Witches such as you and I are supposed to be living with these wild and unusual circumstances, these crimes against nature." And then, suddenly rolling her eyes as if it had been irritating her for the longest time, the girl stood again, going and yanking his coat from his fingers. "Give me that," she hissed, straightening the damp coat out and shaking it free of the lingering rainwater, setting it carefully upon the coat rack near the fire where it could dry, "You'll catch a cold if you run around in a wet coat, and you look dreadful enough without being ill. And what a pity that is, you're such a pretty boy." Her fingers slid aimlessly down the folds of cloth, looking desperately for something else to occupy her because Antha was restless and nervous and she wanted to be doing something, rather than sitting around staring Rynn down, which did nothing to soothe her. None of this was readily apparent, however. Indeed, Antha's demeanor was quiet, soft, the earlier flare of outrage melted into something nonthreatening. "You are my business, Rynn," she murmured then, before he could hiss anything about mock concern or ulterior motives, "Perhaps you can't fully understand that, and I don't expect you to, I can hardly even explain it myself, but it is the simplest thing in the world. No matter what part you play in any of this, where you exist within this horrifying, glittering constellation, you are part of my world and it will never be rid of you, and whether you like it or not, I'm part of yours and it will never be rid of me. And spare me any of your venom about how you don't, and after that about my conceit and how I'm not even worth that much to you, how your universe does not revolve around me." Oddly, the girl laughed, her hands falling to her sides as she turned those few inches to face the fire. "Tell me Rynn, what do you see when you close your eyes?"  

[Okimiyage]

"You want to know what I see when I close my eyes?"
Rynn did not have an answer for her for a long time. He hadn't even protested when she'd taken his jacket. Something in him wanted to rage, to leap to his feet and demand of Antha, how could you--but after her rebuke, he somehow didn't have the energy for it. Instead, he sank wearily back into the chair and looked at the fire. Just the two of them now, and in the past that would have been cause to raise his guard tenfold, but now he thought, what is the point? If Antha wanted to kill him, she would have done so already. And so he drew his cigarette case out from his pocket, holding it to disguise how badly his hands shook, and watched her with tawny, half-lidded eyes.

"I never thought it was possible." he said, quietly. "Do you think if I had, I would not have raised her myself? I would have killed everyone in the whole goddamn world if I thought their sacrifice could have brought her back to life."
He had promised, no matter what it required, he would take vengeance for his sister's death. If that was truly her spirit in the other room, no revenant trickster come to mock him, then everything he had done so far was for nothing. He'd lost his family for nothing. He'd paid innumerable prices for what he had believed was power--nothing but a pittance of what Antha held, not even enough to summon up a shade. Ah, there it was--that would be the shame, the shame of his own impotency, flooding in from every direction. He shook his head as though he could throw out his own thoughts. He wanted to ask why Antha had waited so long to bring his twin back, if this had been within her power the entire time. It couldn't be that she was frightened of Cyrus, now--and if what she said was true, then the idea that Antha had purposely inflicted the torment she said Liesse had endured was impossible to reconcile.

"It's hard to believe." he said, at last. "I'm sure Cian and Malakai think you're a--a goddess whose magic can do anything, but I am a little unfamiliar with seeing miracles performed like they're parlor tricks." He opened the cigarette case at last, drawing out a hand-rolled white cylinder and putting it to his lips. "I'm sick of fighting with gods, to be honest. It feels like shaking my fist at the heavens, and you all just smile down like, 'oh, isn't that quaint'."

Rynn leaned forward, the cigarette flaring into life, illuminating his face with strange shadows for an instant. "Why not just get this over with? Nobody just does something like this out of the goodness of their heart, because they feel sorry for someone." Certainly not for Rynn, who hated the idea of being felt sorry for. "There has to be a catch somewhere. You've married Cian, you put Liesse into a body of your blood, and now you're trying to entice me into joining your team, too. Do you want to collect the whole set, is that it? Are Aedan and Aleric the next ones you'll raise?"

Rynn stopped, seeming to realize that the sarcasm wasn't going to help anything, but it was already out there. He needed a damn leash for his tongue sometimes. With a grimace, he sat back in the chair. "Sorry. I just--all of this is a lot to take in. And it's not exactly welcome, you know? An hour ago I was planning your grisly demise, you're not supposed to be doing nice things for me right now. Especially not after our shared history." There was a glossy green ash-tray on the table beside the loveseat, and Rynn tapped his ash into it, letting his eyes linger on the smoke. His eyes went distant for a moment, and his mouth twitched into a smile. "She keeps trying to talk to me from in there." His head jerked towards the kitchen, where a murmur of conversation could be heard. "Like we used to. I just don't know what to say back. 'I'm sorry'? That doesn't cut it. How can 'I'm sorry' make up for anything I've done? It killed her. I killed her, as surely as if I'd held the knife myself." It wouldn't matter if she forgave him a thousand times over. He knew the truth.

Again, Rynn fell silent, and the smile lingered, but there was nothing in it worth smiling about. "You want to know what I see when I close my eyes?" he asked again, taking another drag on the cigarette. "The lid of a coffin. The black of grave-dirt above. I dream about that place. I'm starting to think of it as home. I'm dying, Antha, not of any disease or because some creep in the dark comes and sucks out all my blood every night, but because I can't think of anything that's worth <********> living for anymore. I know that the ancestors are still there. You destroyed their home, but you can't just send them away. They're waiting for me. And Cyrus promised that he would give them what they wanted. You probably know a little about that--what it's like to lay awake with the voices of phantoms in your ears, you can't even put a pillow over your head because that just makes them louder."

He sat up straight, the bones in his back cracking, and yawned. It had been a long time since he'd slept, he realized now. Throwing the half-smoked cigarette into the tray, Rynn stood up and came close to Antha. He looked at her a long time, his arms crossed, before his posture relaxed. "I can't say that we're going to be friends. But I want to believe you, no matter what it costs. The worst that can happen is that you'll kill me, and if what your vampire friend said about Liesse's experience is true, then it's probably what I deserve. No matter if her soul is trapped in a Mayfair poppet, she's still a Calais. She's still my sister. I don't care what you want out of this--I'll do whatever it takes. You can have Cian, the remainder of whatever the house is worth, I'll draw up a legally binding contract and sell my soul to you if you'd like. Just give me Liesse. Please."  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

The emerald of Antha's eyes darkened, taking on strands of black, shadows in those depths as she stared at Rynn, studied him, and by the time he had finished speaking, that gaze was full of more scorn than she had ever looked at him with. "Maybe there isn't any hope for you after all," she whispered, half to herself, and then turned back to the fire as if she couldn't stand the sight of him. She was furious, and that fine, quiet rage radiated from her to make the house groan around them, furious for Cian's sake, because he still loved Rynn, he missed him, and Rynn showed absolutely no concern for his brother at all. "You've been spending too much time with Cyrus," she said after a tense length of time, "I can't give you Liesse, just as I can't give Cyrus Vikteren. They are not my property, they have their own free will and they will do as they please. But really, Rynn?" She turned back around, her eyes dangerously sharp. "You'll give me Cian? Is that what he's been reduced to, a gambit?"
There was more silence and again, slowly, Antha's fury receded, left her calm and thoughtful. "What do I want, you ask?" The girl went quietly to Rynn, studied his face for a moment before she took it in her hands, gently, leaning her forehead against his, and suddenly---

"Rynn?" Her voice wavered, her vision blurry, but she could still make out the splash of red against the white marble, the dark, crumpled shadow on the ground. "Rynn?"
Vanessa and Sebastien were at home, probably sleeping quietly in their little cradle, wrapped around each other. Her family was probably out searching for her everywhere, frantically, but they would never find her here, and that was for the best, because Antha was about to die.
The blurriness of her vision, brought about by the pain, the blood that made her hands slip beneath her, almost kept her from noticing the tears that rolled down her blood-splattered cheeks, stinging her eyes as she touched his hand. Cold, still, lifeless. Rynn was already dead, and even she was surprised to hear the raspy, screaming sob that issued from her lips.
"To cleanse this world of you abominations..." Antha's hand clenched, her head almost turning, but she didn't want to look. She didn't want to see anything.
The world flashed, almost imperceptibly, shifted just the slightest bit, and Antha was alone on the cold, bloody marble and had been all along. "It could have been worse," the girl murmured, laying her cheek against the floor, feeling her own spilled blood as it rapidly cooled, a split second before the icy fingers closed around her arm and wrenched her over onto her back, that crimson glow and then only pain, screams.

"You're such a fool," Antha murmured in such soft sincerity, her fingers still gently curved over his cheeks, "Truly. Stubborn and spiteful and utterly foolish. You're going to destroy yourself for nothing, and I don't want that. Whatever my reasons, I don't."
Gently, she touched a tendril of his hair, streaked with gray, and something passed through her eyes that was hard to read, some soft emotion that she didn't want him to see, and turned so he wouldn't. Behind her, the lock of the door clicked and the doors themselves creaked open. "My apologies for the wait," Antha called, resuming her seat and waiting for Vikteren to return. She waited patiently then, silent, letting them take their seats before she began softly, "Here is what I want. Liesse---or at least the body you are in, under it's former name---has been legally placed under Michael's guardianship for the next three years, until you are legally eighteen. I'm proposing that you live at Mayfair Manor, at least for a little while, as something of a transitory phase, a way to ease you into regular society while you adjust to being back in the flesh. It won't be easy, keeping your grip on that body, and if worse comes to worst, Malakai is the only one capable of keeping you anchored in it. And besides, it would do Cian worlds of good to have you there, and Malakai and Dolly Jean have taken to you instantly." Antha paused, glancing to Rynn, and she almost laughed at herself for what she was about to say next. "As futile as it is to even mention this again, I offered you a room once, Rynn. I need someone to teach this magic to, someone to put the vampire back into a coma in his coffin in the ground, and time is running terribly short. You're the one that fits. Nicolae has been too badly scarred by dead magic to use it properly, Malakai's magic is something else entirely, he can't even begin to use it, and the others are not strong enough to be sure it will work. And if you want to save yourself, and Liesse, someone has to do it."
Around them, the world froze. Antha hardly seemed to pay attention to it, the sudden silence, the flames still in the fireplace and the raindrops suspended in midair outside the windows, she only gave a flicker of her eyes as the hazy matter blossomed from nowhere at her shoulder, a semblance of a person, a silhouette with a face to glance at those present in turn, the nonexistent gaze settling finally on Antha. The power from this shadow was immense and effortless, enough to make it hard to breathe the air, to feel the press of it physically against one's body, painfully so, washing over the mind and turning it into a haze, shattering even Antha's ironclad barriers. "It wants you, too," Antha murmured quietly, her voice only carrying a hint of the seriousness that was the truth of the matter, "Though it always has, ever since that night in the crypt. It wanted your blood, first one way and then another, but I denied it that. Now, it wants you as the successor to this particular bit of magic, because you intrigue it and that is not easily done." Another pause, a curious expression upon her face as if she were listening to something peculiar, watching it play out on a very small scale before her. Whatever it was, Antha merely shook her head at it. "Do not be absurd." The power that shifted about the room stilled, growing heavier as it contracted around Antha, but all at once her power flared, first tenfold, then a hundred, until that great power of the silhouette was utterly dwarfed, pressed back like a kitten that had challenged it's mother, and all at once it vanished, the fire crackling back into life and the rain pounding on the windows again, the wind whistling through the old house, the wood creaking, and the power that had emanated from Antha seeped quietly back into her, her lips forming a slow, apologetic smile as if it had been nothing. "Perhaps I had mentioned already, but I am nothing to be trifled with. Your power does not even begin to concern me, Rynn. The only power that ever has is Nero. That is why I'm offering to make you into something more than you are now. You know how that old saying goes, the enemy of my enemy is my ally." She laughed briefly as if at some inside joke, that electric darkness pulsating in her eyes. "Something you're quite familiar with, I'm sure. But time is running short, and you have one last chance to choose if you want this power or not. Are you in, or are you out?"  

[Okimiyage]

Rynn wanted to round on Antha then, to snarl at her, but he held his tongue. He didn't care if this girl judged him, surrounded by her courtiers and ivory skyscrapers--what could the girl known as the ******** mad princess of the city, what could she know about the damning bargains he'd made? Over and over his blood had spilled for the promise--that elusive power of vengeance, to amend--at least in Rynn's mind--for the damage she'd done. But now she had him up against a wall. She'd brought back the one--weakness--Cyrus's words echoed in his ears--that he had. When again Liesse and Vikteren entered, the girl ran to his side, her eyes stark with fear. Rynn came forward out of his seat, sinking to his knees to look her in the eyes, and took her face in his hands. Her was looking at her for a long time, re-memorising her features, before he kissed her forehead, gently. Liesse's face worked, crumpled, and she pitched herself into his arms, tears streaming down her cheeks. For a long time, the only answer to Antha's proposal was the sound of her muffled sobs. Rynn was stroking her hair. There was something different about his voice when he sighed, finally, "Yes."

The wind howled in the trees. Branches snapped wildly against one another, caught up in the sudden fiercening of the storm. Inside the house, the candeflames flickered and lashed about in their containers. Liesse suddenly cried out, and flung herself back from him; the palms of her hands were reddened, as if she had encountered some great heat. Vikteren came forward, suddenly, his eyes intent as a cat who had just saw the flicker of a mousetail in long grass. There was something building in the air, a toxic scent he recognised well. He could guess who it was coming from.

Rynn's body stiffened, jerked to his feet like a puppet suspended by strings. The ring he wore, the blackened circlet beneath the crest of Llyr's Court, was coming to life. Tendrils of long, shadowy thorns extended from it, whippet like, forming a cage about his arm, and then extending to engulf his body. The metal of the heavier silver ring was melting, streaming down his hand The smell of scorched flesh filled the room, and Rynn's mouth opened in a silent scream of agony, the sound of a man's soul on a nailboard. His feet kicked in the air; he twisted, writhed, clutching his burning hand to his chest. Liesse's hands clenched in her hair, pressed over her ears; her entire face was screwed up with pain, and her spine went rigid--

Then, something pitched into both of them that slammed the twins to the floor. A presence moved through the room, a great invisible animal, something that sounded like the rustle of wind in fur and smelled like evergreens in dusk. It circled the boy, snapping, and the vibrations of a silent growl shook the room. The cage around Rynn shuddered, and broke. The boy's face was streaked with sweat; he gasped for air. Vikteren, his hands pressed on either side of the doorframe hard enough to splinter the wood, glowered down at the boy. The shadows of the room seemed, for a moment, to deepen and grow. The brightest light glinted off the emerald in the vampire's eyes.

"Cyrus," he hissed, coldly.
Then, the shadows receded. The presence passed away, drawn into some hidden crevice, and Vikteren let his hands drop away from the door-frame. Beneath a rapidly scarring-over cut on his left palm, a smear of blood on the wood was all that remained of a sigil.
"You must have impressed him," the vampire noted, coming forth into the room. "I haven't seen him mark a servant like that before." The ice in his voice was rapidly thawing; Rynn, panting, threw himself over on his back and wrestled with his hand. Liesse came to his side, crying, "Wait--wait--"
It had been a very trying evening for her. She had been up all day, anticipating--well, certainly not this. She put her hands over his, cupping his longer fingers in her own, and examined the long tears of silver that the family crest had been reduced to. The ring was gone--all that remained was a circle of charred, blackened skin beneath the disfigured wreath emblem of Llyr's Court. She took the pain away, carrying it for his sake, and sat her brother up, holding his shoulders. Rynn leaned into her, too exhausted to protest, and murmured, "It's okay. Liesse, don't cry, it's okay…"
She did stop crying, then. "You stupid--"
Liesse wanted to hit him, but didn't quite dare. Instead, she whirled around. "You heard him," she said, trying to mask the emotion in her voice with commanding volume. "We'll help you, anything you ask. He'll help. Please, let us all--just--go home."
Rynn put his hand up then, saying, "Liesse, calm. It's okay."
His eyes shifted to Antha, then; he leaned back against a leg of the furniture, and twisted his mouth into a pained, rueful smile. "As I was saying. I'll accept any terms you propose, but I will give fair warning--I will be with Liesse, now that I have her back--"
"We're not going to lose one another," said the girl, firmly. "Ever again."
"--but living in the Mayfair Manor may not be the most ideal solution. As much as Cian would enjoy watching the ensuing chaos. I will go wherever Liesse goes, but I very much doubt that this is going to go over smoothly with your family."  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Antha watched the events unfolding before her for several moments as a great cat would watch some small predator that neared her, not worrying with it just yet but waiting, in case it grew into a true threat, her power shifting, waiting to strike, but the need never came. "Well that was cute," she stated very simply when it was over, a clear insult against Cyrus, her power slowly retracting. "Yes, I think it is about time to go home. Come along, we'll get Jacob to make you some tea before bed."
And she stood, dusting off the skirt of her dress, and fetched Rynn's now dry coat, handing it over to him as she said, with the smallest little amused laugh, "That house is always chaos, regardless. But you let me deal with them, if they don't approve." She turned to Vikteren then, the light humor in her eyes turning to something serious and thoughtful, "You're welcome to stay here, if you like, always. But it might be wiser, and would set my mind much more at ease, if you would go to stay in the crypt with Nicolae and your coven, at least until your sire is dealt with." The whisper in his head continued, away from prying ears, I worry about you.
The girl turned back to the twins, motioning for them to rise. "Let's go home. Though it would be nearly impossible to claim we didn't sneak out at this point, I have the most terrible feeling that Pierce is causing trouble in our absence, and Malakai has always been his most convenient target."
Before she left, already heading down the hallway, Antha stopped thoughtfully, turning rapidly on her heel and running back towards the stairs and into one of the back rooms, at length returning with a bag clutched gingerly in her arms. "Let's go, Petyr," she announced, stepping out the door with the bag full of his bones, "You're moving." Whether he liked it or not, Petyr went with his mortal remains, which Antha set carefully in the front seat of the car, leaving the twins to sit in the back together, and when they were safely shut in the car, down the flooded little road they went.  

[Okimiyage]

It seemed like it had been years since he’d last been here. Satis House.
Vikteren climbed the creaking porch steps a little before morning light began to hit the top of the trees. The front door, when he first tried it, stuck as though it were locked. With a little frown, Vikteren worked the handle again and put his shoulder against the wood with a grunt of effort, and the damn thing flew open, smooth as oiled silk. He stumbled over the lintel, and could swear that, as he did, he heard the faintest of giggles fade into nothingness.
Vikteren’s frown dug deeper in. A vampire’s senses were supposed to be keenest of keen. He didn’t like the idea of something playing with them, especially after the night that he’d just had.
Then again—as he glanced out the window, and winced at the gray dawn that was beginning to cast its light throughout the house—he didn’t have much choice right now. He entered the library; crossing to the window, Vikteren jerked the heavy velvet curtains shut.
Besides, knowing the…personalities which had hung around here, certainly long enough to rub off, maybe this was just the house saying ‘hello again’.
With a sigh, Vikteren made his way around the room to the other window, shutting out the morning light as best as he could. Right now, he wanted to rest. Ordinarily it didn’t matter where, a closet or a basement, but after the gauntlet he’d been through for the past few weeks, it felt…important…to make his bed somewhere ‘human’-ish today. He didn’t want to be reminded of sleeping in the catacombs, waking up with his cheek pressed close against stone, dirt, or bones. So instead, Vikteren took up position in a comfortable lounge chair, a thickly padded one, with a leather back that had long ago lost its shiny lacquered finish. There was a stack of books next to it; Vikteren selected one at random, a slim volume of translations of French poetry, and started skimming through it. He wanted a distraction right now; it didn't do to think about the battle, what they had left seething behind them in the other world, or the way he'd been saved by the two of them...Alistair and Nicolae. The way Nicolae had seemed almost to welcome his return. Though he avoided reflecting on all of this, it wasn’t long before the night he had just been through caught up with him, and romantic poetry could hardly be expected to keep the vampire awake. It would have made a very charming tableau, admittedly: book still in hand, the cracked binding spread-eagled across his chest, birds chirping their respective territorial cries as the day began, Vikteren nodded off.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

There was something terribly nostalgic to Antha about Satis House. It was the place she considered home, more so than Mayfair Manor. It was hers. “The vampires will be up soon,” she sighed, eyes narrowing at the fiery horizon as she closed the front door behind them, “So we’d better get started if we ever want to find Marguerite’s notes.”
“I don’t even know where to begin…” Alistair murmured, following her down the dark hall and up the creaking stairs, his gaze sweeping across every board and corner, “Where could mother have hidden them?”
“I thought I’d been over every square inch of this place.” Every unusually loud creak seemed suspicious suddenly, a possible hiding place. “It just means we’ll have to be more thorough. I’ve looked in every book, closet, and box in this house. If they’re still here---” She threw open the doors to the library, not entirely surprised to find Vikteren dead to the world in one of the chairs. “---we’re going to have to think outside the box to find them. Secret panels in the walls or floor seem like the most likely possibility. If we can’t find anything…I don’t know, we’ll tear apart the furniture. Failing all else, we'll rip the house itself apart, board by board.”
“What about mother’s room?” Alistair added, glancing thoughtfully around him, “It’s been locked for twenty years, something might be hidden in there.”
“Aunt Bianca tore through it when Oncle Louis died, trying to find anything of his I’d hidden. We’ll save that for last. We’ll start in here. Airi, check the floor. Rynn, the walls.” She went over every inch of everything else, checking for secret compartments in the desk, anywhere the chairs had been stitched up, false linings in the books…
Nearly the entire library had been combed over by the time the doors were thrown open again and Nicolae stood in them, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the group. “…what in the hell are you doing?”
“Our mother took Marguerite’s notes before she died,” Antha answered shortly, flipping through a decaying old volume and casting it aside into the massive tower of books she’d already checked, grabbing another, “I need them. It’s a matter of life and death.”
“And here I thought you came to see me,” the vampire muttered, clearly bitter, shaking Vikteren’s shoulder once and then plopping down in another chair, eyes narrowing at his sister. He had the aura of a man scorned, hurt and jealous and trying to pick a fight. “Don’t tell me---something, something, Cian. Am I right?”
“Real mature, Nikki,” the girl sighed, not even sparing him a glance, and then paused like she was thinking about it. “I suppose it is, in a way.”
“Good.” He smiled, as coldly and bitterly as ever, folding his hands across his stomach as he lounged back in his chair, making a point of not helping. “I hope Liam burned them.”
“That’s not amusing,” Antha responded sharply, casting another book aside and narrowing her eyes at her brother. Noting Vikteren stirring from the daytime death, she cast him a brief look and called, “Welcome back. How was your foray into the clutches of a demon?”
“Evie…” Alistair sighed, on his knees beside the rolled-up carpet, knocking on floorboards, “It wasn’t exactly his choice.”
“I never thought it was,” she said simply, returning to checking books, “This would be going very differently if I blamed him.”
“Don’t mind her,” Nicolae said, glancing over at Vikteren, “She’s just consumed with her husband’s welfare. Never mind everyone else.”
“Alright.” Antha made a face like she’d had all she could take, eyes narrowing threateningly as she slammed the book in her hands carelessly down on the floor. “You want to do this right now? I have had the worst ******** day, so by all means, let’s hash this out. Do you want to start? Because when it’s my turn, I’m going to set you on fire.”
For a moment, Nicolae made an irritated face like he was itching for a confrontation. But gradually as he looked her in the eye, he began to realize just how serious she was, how close to the edge, and he went carefully neutral. Consequently, Antha simmered down as she perceived he was backing off. Alistair sighed in relief, returning to inspecting the floorboards, while Antha took up another book and inspected the lining. “I’m pregnant again,” she said after a moment, as casually as anything, “And Marguerite’s notes are the only chance I have at getting this child out of me without killing it.”
“Again?” Her brother’s eyes went wide, the muscles in his pale face all tightening as he leaned forward.
Antha glanced at him, and already knew what he was thinking without the help of magic. “Don’t start, Nicolae. Don’t even start with me, not today.” It seemed like a real struggle for the vampire. On the one hand, he wanted to hiss and pout and argue. On the other hand, she was visibly out of patience for the day and he genuinely did not like getting stabbed. So, in an exceedingly rare display of restraint, Nicolae held his tongue, only watching her as she moved. “Am I asking for the stars if I suggest you lend us a hand?” she asked meanwhile, gesturing around at the dark, cluttered mansion.
“Yes.” His eyes hardened, leaning forward with his hands clasped between his knees, ignoring the others present as he continued seriously, “I already offered my help. You refused.”
Yet again, this seemed to be a push too far for Antha, who turned and made a great deal of toppling a tall stack of old books, yelling, “Help? You tried to get me to sacrifice our family and run ******** them,” he said, flatly, completely unsympathetic, “You know exactly where I stand when it comes down to you or anyone else. Let Nero raze the city. Hell, let him call down his plagues and wipe out the rest of the world. I really don’t give a ********, if it means you survive.”
She held up a hand for silence, like she’d had enough, laughing slightly at herself that she had expected any other reaction. “You are deranged,” she muttered, running a hand back through her hair, “Truly. And I’m not going over this again. I’m not running, or abandoning our family, or sacrificing half of the city in my place.” He opened his mouth, eyes flashing, but she gave him her most poisonous glare and repeated sternly, “End of conversation.”
Clearing his throat, Alistair endeavored to change the subject, standing up and wiping the dust off of the front of his jeans. “One secret compartment full of our father’s blood, but no notes.”
Sighing, Antha instructed, “Help Rynn with the walls then. If you don’t find anything, start on the second library while I finish here. Oh, but ignore the secret panel beneath Peter’s portrait. I have…things, in there.”
“Things more disturbing than bottles of blood you drained from our father after you stabbed him to death?” He paused, flashing her a little amused smile. “Noted. Anything else that might send us out screaming?”
“I’m not going to make a list of every single horrific thing I have hidden in this house, Airi,” she sighed, like it was common sense, “Just work on the library and we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. But we’re getting sidetracked. Vikteren---” Still poring over every inch of every book on the shelves, she half-turned to Vikteren with a flickering glance. “---we need to discuss this demon of yours. Airi is still intent on killing it.”
“I can’t start my record off by not killing dangerous enemies, Evie, I just can’t.”
“However, my concern lies in the mortality of such a creature. If it can’t truly be killed, all we’ll be doing is setting it up to return with a massive grudge. However, I’m not sure if we have any way of banishing it, and we absolutely cannot risk it possessing you again, or anyone else in the city. But you know more about this thing than we do.” Casting yet another book aside, Antha allowed herself a momentary break, turning and leaning against the desk with arms folded, eyes narrowing seriously at Vikteren. “So I suppose my question is which do you think is more dangerous, fighting this creature or letting it go?”
Alistair, meanwhile, was mumbling to himself like an upset child, “Rynn gets to go to hell and fight the original vampire but I can’t even kill the demon that’s running around possessing our friends. It’s not right.”
“Airi,” his twin sighed, her patience tested yet again, “Please.”
“C’est bien,” he murmured, and offered up a cheerful smile to show that he could behave.  

[Okimiyage]

All the way along the drive to Satis House, Rynn had been quiet. Not in a way that was sulky, for once, but pensive. Thoughtful. He hadn’t really spoken since Antha had pulled him out of his trance, at least not beyond asking to get the hell out of the airship.
He’d been thinking about what Cassian said.
It was true, in some sense. He wasn’t strong enough, at least not compared to Antha. He might have held his own against a common Mayfair, but if she was what Cassian expected him to measure up against…

Rynn wouldn’t dare to admit it, not even to himself, in his own head, but he was afraid. Antha had called him her protégée. She had entrusted no small part of her plan in his hands. She thought that Cassian could teach him something.
And Cassian had thought him weak.

He had wanted to interrupt. but the conversation was held between Cassian and Antha alone. Rynn had only been able to stand by and watch.

Then again, Cassian was an emperor. Rynn supposed he could not imagine what it was to ask the source of your authority, the populace itself, for the benefit of their power. An emperor commanded. He did not bargain or petition for his power. There was no need for finesse.
It had been a while since he had the strength of the ancestors behind him, in its full force. Rynn could not remember the last time they had all consented to give their favor, their reservoir of their untapped power all channeled through the vessel of his body.

To Rynn, it was if his power came in the form of a thousand silver strands, the souls of countless generations, an innumerable legion. Magic, to Rynn, was as though he was expected to grasp all of them at once, a struggling fistful one could barely close their hand about, and braid them into a perfect coil of rope as they threaded through his fingers.
And now, they were braiding themselves, willingly, for him.
What’s more, they were all watching to see what he did with it.

When he concentrated, he could see the hedge-rings of the Calais labyrinth behind his closed eyelids. Sometimes, when he moved his hand too quickly, silver smog trailed after his fingers as if an after-image of his body was imposed upon his sight. When he touched his fingers to the glass of the car window, looking out into the mossy forest, white frost spread as slow smoke upon the glass.
When they arrived, Antha ushered Alistair and himself into the foreboding manor house eagerly. There was a sense of intense isolation here; Rynn suspected this was not only because it was so far away from the rest of the Mayfair’s extensive properties.
Anyways, the place stank of death. Strange to admit, Rynn found the familiar scent almost comforting.
The two boys followed Antha into the library, as she laid out their plan of attack. Although Antha seemed unperturbed to find a young man asleep in the decaying wreck of her athenaeum, Rynn was stopped in his tracks. He gave the familiar figure a long, puzzling look, trying to figure out where he had seen him last. One of Antha’s friends, no doubt—she would not have excused the presence of a stranger in this place, after all—
And then he remembered, out of the entourage that Antha had brought with her to Llyr’s Court—yet it was impossible to imagine that this was the same creature. But the dark, roughly cut hair was the same—and it was the same slope to his nose, the same cheekbones sharp enough to cut your finger on, the same sensual (albeit cruel) curve of his lips—but that creature from before had looked gaunt, predatory, and alien. There was no mistaking him for a human. This vampire could have passed even in good lighting: there was a bloom in his cheeks, the shadows beneath his eyes were gone, and the hollows in his face and hands had been smoothed away like clay under a potter’s fingers.
Still, they had time enough to begin their monumental task before the vampire could wake, and so Rynn carefully skirted about the sleeping monster in their midst. Beginning at the left-hand side of the door, he began tapping the faded silk wallpaper, listening for the tell-tale hollow echo behind it, and running his fingertips along the edges of panelling in search of any hidden notch or mechanism.
He had nearly reached the other side of the room by the time they were joined by another of Antha’s old crew—just as familiar, and just as unwelcome. Rynn, kneeling next to the corner panelling, thought briefly but seriously about going invisible again, before deciding that this would look like shameful cowardice to the ancestors.

With the sun down, Nicolae’s insistent shake was enough to draw Vikteren out of his somnolent state. The vampire’s lurid green eyes slitted open, catlike, and then cast themselves sidelong at Nicolae as the other man settled into the chair at his side. “Looks like we’re all here, then.” he murmured, as his gaze slowly made its way about the room in an assessing manner. It paused for only a moment longer than necessary on Antha. The vampire’s jaw tightened, briefly, and he sat up straight in his chair.
Motherhood suited Antha. It was true what they said: she had a kind of glow to her cheeks which was impossible to ignore, her skin lit by the kind of pearly luminescence that Vikteren ordinarily associated with the paintings of saints and angels which had been popular in his youth.

He did not address her, though. Not yet. There would be plenty of time for that later.

Anyways, as Nicolae was there to keenly remind him, it would have only distracted from her purpose, here. ‘Cian’. Vikteren remembered the man as an unapologetic rake, tripping through that cumbersome old ruin of a house in a haze of drugs and alcohol.
That was who Antha had chosen?

Then again, Vikteren could not fault her. It was her right to choose, of course.
And Nicolae would not fault her, his beloved sister. Instead, he found fault with Cian. Perhaps it was the only way he could give release to his resentment.

After a moment, Vikteren forced his eyes away from the—woman. It was odd how he still thought of her as a ‘girl’ even now, although the waifish quality of that young witch he had met wandering through the catacombs, so long ago, had long since left her.

As she traded laced barbs with her brother, Vikteren inspected the other two. Rynn, of course, the fledgling necromancer. There was still part of him which was amazed by how casually Antha had forgiven his attempt on her life, but Vikteren supposed she must have had her reasons. And he trusted her judgement. He had little other choice—so the boy was spared the sharp look which Vikteren might have ordinarily cast at his presence. Besides, there was something…different…about the child, now. Something had changed, while Vikteren had been lost in the induced madness of Cyrus’s mistress. He could not say what it was, for Rynn did not interest him enough to merit a closer inspection. All that mattered was that the Calais boy was harmless, now, or at least deemed harmless enough to allow into Antha’s home, the scent of which still clung to his clothes.
Finally, Alistair:

There was much that Vikteren would have said to Antha’s twin, but now was not the time. Instead, a rare smile flickered and disappeared at the corner of his lips, like the flame produced by a dying lighter, and he gave the witch boy a deep nod of acknowledgement.

He’d been listening to the conversation all along, throughout his perusal of the company which he had awoken to find himself in, but suddenly, Nicolae’s petty sniping seemed to strike a critical nerve.
Vikteren stood slowly, in anticipation of the familiar ache that usually encumbered him after rest, but there was none. He flexed his hand open and closed, and watch his long nails grow and then sheathe themselves. Almost absently, in a curiously passive tone, and without looking up, Vikteren interjected.

“Peace, Nicolae. She has made up her mind. You ought to know well enough by now that nothing will move her. Stand against her decision if you will, but it will accomplish little.” Raising his eyes, then, Vikteren made a wan attempt at a jocular smile. “Unless you enjoy the endless frustration that it generates, that is. You’d have more luck attempting to persuade a stone battlement to unbuild itself.”

Rynn sighed. At least the argument was over—for now. Turning back to his task, he resumed feeling along the edge of a particularly complex bit of woodwork, until he heard Antha’s suggestion. “Help Rynn with the walls, then.”
If the boy had fur, it would have bristled like a bottle-brush.

Vikteren finally sheathed his claws for good, when Antha addressed him. He thought about adopting an expression of surprise, but decided that it served no purpose.
“It is not so simple as the choice which you propose.”
The vampire tugged at his sleeves, loosening the buttons of his blood-soaked cuffs, and then pushed them both stiffly up his forearms. Crossing to the bookshelf, he started pulling books from the other side of the shelf which Antha was now investigating, and settled on the floor next to her, cracking open one of the antique tomes in his lap.
“While the demon was within me, I experienced what I suspect is only a fragment of the scope of ‘her’ experiences. Nevertheless, it was enough for me to infer certain hypotheses.”
He turned a yellowed page carefully. In the margins, a flourishing hand had written small addendums to the text, which seemed primarily concerned with the properties of certain local herbs.

“There are many legends about the origin of my…my ‘species’, for lack of a better term. Some say that we are descended from Cain. Others suppose that the gods of Egypt were progenitors of the curse. Still others believe that it is some kind of virus or mutation, like a bizarre form of cancer.
I have come to believe that there is very little difference between gods and demons. All that separates the two is how they present themselves to their prey. Even the Christian god, for all his banal teachings on ‘forgiveness’ and ‘contrition’—in the same texts which praise his clemency, there are stories of his evil-doing. Perhaps it is true that a demon, in the guise of a god, once traded its strength to humans for the acts of sacrifice which they consecrated in its name. But it would be foolish to believe that only one such entity would be clever enough to come up with such a ruse.”
Vikteren sighed, and the paper crackled beneath his hands as the pages turned.

“All of this, perhaps, sounds like useless rhetoric. Allow me to speak frankly. The demon which I…encountered…I believe her to be the progenitor of my line. She knew magic. Her mind was encyclopedic in its knowledge of runes and rituals, some of which—“ his lips tightened, “—I remember from my time of vassalage with Cyrus. She was the one which imparted that knowledge to him, knowledge which was accumulated throughout centuries of skipping from body to body, seeking any host willing or weak enough to serve her. I was nearest to Cyrus when he died, and he was my sire. It is because the curse I bear was wrought in her name that she was able to infect me, to ride within my body as she had ridden in his for centuries. How much of his evil-doing was her influence, I cannot begin to suppose. Certainly, I imagined myself above, incapable of, committing…any of the acts which she—I—have been responsible for over the past months.”
His speech was beginning to become stilted, which was a dead giveaway that Vikteren was flustered. It would have been impossible to discern from his expression, stoic as a statue, but his halting speech was more of a tell than any blush or scowl.
“‘Kill’ is not the right word for it, Alistair. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to destroy her, after what I have seen her do, after what she has done to me. But I have seen many hunters, in her memories, who sought the same. When they burned her host at the stake, she burst into a thousand kinds of vermin, and escaped in the form of a worm, which wriggled into the earth beneath the boots of her adversaries. When they staked her host in the heart, her essence fled into the corrupt priest whose hand struck the blow. When they cast her host into a chasm, and left his body to be rendered to dust by the dawn, she entered the body of a bat, which fluttered home to its colony before the sun could rise, and devoured its pups.”

Vikteren had nearly finished inspecting the book by now. It was only a slim, hand-bound volume, after all. In the last few pages, however, he paused, then reached with the delicacy of a surgeon between the sheets.

A flower which had once been white, the teardrop-shaped petals now yellow with age, was withdrawn from the book. Carefully, holding the stiff, black rod of its stem by the tips of his fingers, he passed it to Antha. Little thorns stuck out from it like the spinal column of a skeleton.

“I fear to advise you. I am biased in this matter. Destroying ‘her’ would give me great relief, for it would be the end of her legacy. However…I do not know how it might be accomplished, at least on this plane. We would have to force her into total isolation, so that she could not escape into so much as a dust mite or a fly. The alternative is to fight her upon her own territory, where we are at a decided disadvantage.”
Vikteren paused.

“And if she is the progenitor of my line, then it is possible—or at least, it is theorized—that destroying her may destroy her offspring as well.”

“Still, the thought that this parasite exists in the world gives me a certain amount of dissatisfaction. Perhaps the act of ending her existence would, in some way, compensate for all the evil which I have done within my lifetime. I do not know. But I can tell you this:

Tracking her will be next to impossible. This demon is not used to being…challenged. Her brief encounter with Alistair—“ and he glanced up towards the boy, and gave him another of those rare, brilliantly flickering smiles—“He frightened her. The Mayfair ‘god’ is an entity that she would not dare to face head-on. If we choose to ‘let it go’, as you suggest, she will not seek out your family for revenge—and as long as I stay within proximity of such an entity, she will not challenge its domain. You have a claim on me…that-which-binds. It was never formally declared, perhaps—at least, not in the rituals with which bound Cyrus and myself—but I called upon it when I gave you my gratitude, the first night that we met. It is a bond which will not break.“

Vikteren closed his eyes. It was almost a mercy to be relieved of their hypnotic emerald light.
“But your time here is short, I know. Another bond must be established, once you pass to the world beyond; either by Alistair, by whose strength I have regained my sanity; or by Nicolae, who defended him nobly, and who has honored me with the offer to govern the night-walkers of Osiris City in conjunction with him.” He glanced toward Nicolae, as if suddenly realizing that others could hear the conversation which was conducted. “If you would still have me, that is. I refused you before, I know—because I was afraid that I would become the tyrant that my sire was.”
“But perhaps that is the point. I wonder, sometimes, if he showed me the worst part of his nature in order to encourage my revulsion against it. Perhaps—knowing what I know now—I can make up for his mistakes.”
There was a heavy pause, pregnant with possibility.

Rynn gave an appreciative low whistle.
“Nice monologue.”