Night's Omen

The part of Marrakesh Jonathan was in smelled like shit and sweet orange blossom - and one was winning. It was leather, though not shit, actually; the tanneries permeated the air with their putrid smell, and Jonathan actually had to get used to it because otherwise he couldn't go outside without gagging. He coped with it, though, eventually, despite being called a bitch by everyone else on his team. There were four of them there, just to grab a target and get the fuck out, but the timing had to be absolutely right, and so they planned to stay two weeks. Since it would be weird if 4 American men just stayed in their hotel rooms the entire time they were there, Jonathan felt it only right to go out and experience the city.

He ventured into the city and wandered through the souks, eyes catching every movement around him. The trouble was, there was so much movement, it made him a little dizzy. He realized after wandering through the maze for several minutes that he was turned around, and unfortunately it was incredibly easy to become lost in them, especially with how busy it was becoming. He felt a bump behind him, and whipped around, ready to absolutely wallop a pick-pocket, but he found himself face to face with a woman - a blonde woman, from what hair he could see peaking out from under her covering anyways. Some tourists refused to adhere to Arabic custom, and it made a lot of trouble for them.

"Parlez vous anglais?" she asked, blinking her eyes rapidly.

"Yeah," he said, feeling a little dumbstruck. Her eyes were so blue.

"Good, because I'm lost," she confessed. "Do you know the way out?"

"Not at all," he laughed. "But I think I've passed that same stall about three times now, so I'm feeling less and less confident every pass."

She made a face. "Well, guess I'll treat it like a maze and only follow the right side until I get lead out of here. Thanks anyways," she added.

Jonathan stood there for a minute, and then called after her. "Wait up! I'll go with you - if that's okay."

There were multiple reasons for this - the first of which NOT being that she was gorgeous. It was easier to blend in if you looked like a tourist, and what ensemble wasn't complete without the typical American husband-wife duo? The second reason was that she was gorgeous, though. He wondered why she was even there.

"Sure," she said. As they walk, she introduced herself. "Chase."

"Jonathan," he replied.

"Not John?" she asked, giving him a sideways glance.

"Ah, no. It's not my thing." He paused. He was about to tell her that he usually only heard his last name, but honestly, that made him sound military, and then he'd have to explain more, and in a public setting that was not happening. Nor was it happening with a complete stranger.

"Fair enough," she laughed.

The two walked for another ten minutes or so, doing exactly what Chase said she was going to do, and eventually found a break in the souk that opened into the rest of the city.

"Thank fucking god," Jonathan muttered. He glanced down at his watch and realized that he had been gone way longer than he'd originally said, and his buddies were probably wondering where the fuck he was. He hadn't even bothered to look at the little burner phone he'd gotten; he'd been too occupied looking at - well, Chase.

"Well, it was nice to meet you," she said, holding out her hand to shake his. As he took her hand, she started for a second, her grip tightening on his own as she gasped. She released it - more like dropped it, pulling her own back like she'd been burned.

"Chase?" he asked, giving a cursory glance at his hand to see if there was like, a bee in it or something.

"In the cafe - don't take the back exit. The door will be rigged as an IED. Take your man and walk out the front. There will be two men waiting to your right, but you can handle them," she sputtered, like she was describing something that she was seeing. She looked at him, focusing her eyes on his, and reached out, grabbing his arm forcefully.

"Don't use the back door, Jonathan. You, and your men, will die."

Jonathan stared at her, hard, and then nodded. "I don't know what you're talking about, but if I go into any cafes, we'll be good little boys and won't try to skip out the back," he assured her.

She fixed him with a frown, then let go of him. "I'll see you around,"  she said, offering no other explanation, and turned to walk away.

"I mean, probably not - we're two Americans meeting randomly in Morocco," he called after her, thoroughly shaken by what she'd said - and a little irritated, if he was honest with himself, because he really didn't need someone spouting his plans on the surface streets like that.

Without glancing over her shoulder, she said, "No, we will. Pretty sure about that one, too."

Jonathan stood there, utterly mystified, then felt his phone going crazy in the folds of his clothing. "Oh fuck," he muttered, trying to answer it before it stopped. "Yeah Shaun, what's up?"

"Dude where ARE you? We just got pushed up to tomorrow. Get back here, NOW."

"What?"

Loic was staring at her critically, and she had no idea why. She set the shopping tote down on the pristine marble countertop and put her hands on the counter, leaning a little. She gave a little head shake, still staring back at him, her gold eyes locked on his, full of suspicion. When he didn't say anything, she pushed off the counter and folded her arms.

"You look different," he said. His voice was almost accusatory. He still remained where he was, his body in the doorway of the kitchen, leaned against the frame of the door.

"No I don't," Selene said, head tipping back in indignation. "How do I look different from three hours ago when I left?" she demanded.

They did this a lot, lately. Ever since he'd had the human experience, he'd become strange - not really cold to her, but more standoffish than usual. She didn't feel his draw much either; she was unsure if it was because he had finally listened when she told him that he didn't need to burn extra energy just to keep her there. She wasn't planning on leaving. "You are my entire life," she'd told him. He hadn't said anything in response, just grunted and went back to staring out the large glass patio doors into the darkness.

"You do," he insisted. He pushed off of the door frame and approached her. Loic had known for a while now why she looked different. He wondered if she was lying to him - playing some game with him, trying to hide things as though it would have worked. But when he took a quick glance into her thoughts, he saw nothing but confusion - and irritation, with him mostly - and something about someone taking the last of whatever it had been that she'd been looking for when she was out.

"Okay, well, when you figure out what it is, you let me know," she said tersely. She wasn't about this married-couple argument lifestyle. They picked at eachother from time to time, but she wasn't in the mood. She had been tired for the last few days, far more than usual, and it was routine that he found her in bed in the afternoon fast asleep. She was feeling that fatigue now, but she was also hungry, and so she set forth pulling the things out of the tote that she'd bought - ingredients for dinner, presumably.

She pointedly ignored him as she began pulling pots out, filling one with water and setting one aside. She placed a jar of spaghetti sauce in the pot she'd set aside, and opened a box of spaghetti, carefully snapping the noodles in half.

"Shit," she muttered. She'd meant to do that after the water was boiling. "Where is my mind today?"

She turned from the stove after clicking on the burner, discarding the noodles in the pot with the jar in it for now. Loic was right there, and she gasped as she bumped into him. "Fucking hell!" she snapped. "What? What is your problem?"

"Selene," he said, warning in his voice. "How are you feeling?"

"What? I'm feeling like you're in my way, god damnit." She felt her cheeks warm as her blood pressure rose; fuck but he made her feel so hostile sometimes. She had grown inexplicably aggressive over the last two weeks. Probably because it was so damn hot out, she wagered. They kept the house cool but it was never enough for her.

He held his hands up, letting her know that he was backing off. Wordlessly, he turned and left the kitchen, missing the angry gesture Selene made in his wake. He went to the patio, shutting the door behind him. He could still see her in the kitchen, and glanced over his shoulder as she completely wrote off whatever had just happened and went back to making her dinner. He shook his head, then glanced back out into the yard, and beyond. The sun was close to setting, finally. Daylight savings was a whole joke. It was almost 8 o'clock. He tapped the cell phone in his hand, wondering if it was worth it to call that voodoo man and even bother with an inquiry.

Selene ignored him for the rest of the evening. He was in one of his pensive, brooding sort of moods, and she had long ago given up the idea of being attracted to some Byronic hero type - which Loic had never been. She blamed it entirely on him having been turned human, even for however brief it was. He needs to get the fuck over it, she thought, angrily eating her spaghetti, which was overcooked and not very fulfilling. After she'd finished, another wave of exhaustion hit her, and she decided to just call it.

"I'm going to bed," she told him, hair still damp from her shower. The heat had made her feel a little light-headed, which was new, but she chalked it up to stress - and the fact that the water was damn near scalding. For someone who disliked a hot house, she sure enjoyed bathing in what felt like lava.

He had been reading through some old text in their living room, the television on but not on anything he'd been watching. He looked up, and then closed his book suddenly. "I'll join you."

"I - okay? You don't have to. I'm really tired. Stay out here and do your thing, it's fine," she insisted. She honestly didn't want him to come to bed; she didn't feel like laying there while he stared at her, trying to figure out whatever "difference" he noticed. Oh yeah, she knew he was still on that, even if he'd let it go. Because, Loic never really let things go.

He was already standing up, hand on the remote to turn the television off. "No, it's okay. I'm done for the night. I'll lock up." And with that, he set about the house, checking doors and turning off various lights. She knew he'd make a pass at the thermostat and turn it up from what she kept trying to set it at. As much as she insisted that 62 was perfectly fine for the interior, he disagreed. This had been a new thing, of course, and it only added to the list in his head of things that had changed about her. Avians didn't like the cold.

She was already in bed when he came in; deliberately, she'd turned off the bedroom light. He was a vampire, he could see in the dark. She heard him shuffling around, and she could tell he was trying to be quiet, despite knowing that she was wide awake. She sighed, closing her eyes. Oh, they fucking burned, too. It was like she hadn't slept in days. When she felt him get into bed, she rolled over onto her side, facing away from him.

"Selene," he said softly. The darkness seemed to swallow his voice up; or maybe he was just trying to be that quiet. "I know you're not asleep."

"Of course I'm not asleep," she said matter-of-factly. She felt hot all over again, and violently kicked until she had maneuvered the thick blankets off of herself, exposing her to the elements. The ceiling fan was on, at least. She reached up, pulling at her thick blonde hair, and piled it on top of her head, trying to relieve her neck from the heat of it. "It's too fucking hot."

She heard him sigh, which was new to her, and looked over at him incredulously, eyes wide in the dark. For a moment, she wanted to ask if he was okay, but she thought better of it. "Are you still brooding?" she settled on.

"I've got a lot on my mind," he replied.

"Story of my fucking life," she muttered. She saw movement in the darkness, and then felt his hand on hers. His touch was gentle - it was funny, Loic had spent his lifetime razing cities and had even cut a kingdom or two down to size, but here he was, touch as light as a feather, his fingertips brushing against her own. In spite of herself, she laced her fingers with his. It was so easy for him to do this, to just melt away her bad moods - but this time, oddly, she still felt that hostility in her chest.

"How do you feel?" he asked. "Honestly."

"Honestly?" she parroted. She looked over at him, then moved to sit up, letting go of his hand. She crossed her arms, and even in the dark he could observe that she was closing herself off. "Tired. Irritated. All the fucking time. It's not you, either - though today you contributed," she added with a laugh. "I don't know what my problem is," she sighed. "Maybe I just need you to do the magic thing again," she suggested, though it was obvious by her tone that wasn't what she wanted. "Make me feel better."

He sat up, too. "Selene, if that's what you really want, than I can, but I don't think it's a good idea," he said, and it gave her a little pause, because it was uncharacteristic of him in the sense that he wanted such rigid control he wouldn't turn down the offer.

"What?" she asked, unable to hide the shock. She uncrossed her arms, moving her body so that she was facing him, and drew her knees up. "So if I asked you, right now, to just - make it go away," she said, gesturing in reference to her shitty mood, "you would say no? I want to be absolutely sure that's what I understood you said."

"I would refuse you, yes," he admitted.

"Okay," she said, her tone dismissive and finite. She started to get up. "I don't know who you are, or what you've done with my Loic, but when he gets back, tell him I'll be on the couch."

He reached out, grabbing her before she could fully get out of bed. His arm hooked across her chest, and she felt the warmth of his body pressed against her back. "No, no running," he told her.

"Loic," she said firmly. "Let go."

"No."

"Then I will let go for you," she snapped. She grabbed his forearm, meaning to pry it off of her, but he squeezed just a little, and despite her strength, he was simply stronger. "Loic, STOP." She was getting mad again, but this time it wasn't just that mild irritation of fatigue that had been at her all day, it was actual fucking anger. And, if she would admit it, fear. He was very, very rarely rough with her. Despite their relationship and its complexities, he respected boundaries.

"No," he said again. "We need to talk about this."

Selene took in a shaky breath. "Please let go."

He did that time, cut from the fear that he heard in her voice. She got up immediately, putting distance between them. "Selene, wait," he said.

"No." What the fuck is wrong with me? she thought to herself. She felt like she was about to - to cry? Was that was that sensation was? It had been so long since she'd cried, it was such an unfamiliar burn in her throat - but, yes, she felt hot tears spring into her already burning eyes, and she went for the door.

Loic was there before she could open it, using the perks of being a vampire to his advantage. He grabbed her, this time far more gently, shushing her as she cried. "I'm sorry," he said, and he meant it.

"Why are you being so weird?" she asked, struggling to contain her small sobs before they gave way to larger ones. Fuck she felt overwhelmed all of the sudden. "What is wrong with me? Why am I crying, I should be hitting you," she sobbed. Fuck, she was so frustrated.

"Selene, we're going to go back to the bed, okay?" he said, coaxing her like a scared animal back to the king-sized bed. Once he got her seated, he brought a tissue to her, and knelt before her, placing his hands just above her knees. "I didn't mean to upset you," he told her. "I'm sorry, I just wanted you to stay, and to tell me what was wrong."

"Just make it go away," she demanded. She was so tired of feeling tired. Hell, she was tired just sitting here, and she felt a sinus headache creeping in. Crying was the worst.

"I can't, love, I can't," he murmured, taking her free hand and kissing it lightly.

"Why not? It's never been a problem before. Is this because of the human thing? I told you that you didn't have to waste energy but that doesn't mean you don't have to use it at all, ever."

He chuckled. "Oh, I think it's about the human thing, but it has very little to do with magic and a lot more to do with nature."

She had finally stopped crying, but now was quiet, unsure of what to say to that. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Here, lay down," he instructed. "I'll explain," he said, holding a hand up as she opened her mouth to protest. "I will explain, but I think you should get back into bed, first."

She felt utterly drained, now, having been wrung out by rapid fire emotions that changed on a whim, and so she did as she was told. Her body felt heavy and her head felt fuzzy - and ached, now. When he was settled next to her again, she reached out, putting her hand on his chest. "Will you tell me now?"

He could hear the fatigue in her voice. Christ, if this was any indication of how the next several months would go, he was going to have to seriously consider consulting one of those gypsy girls for some sort of potion to calm her nerves. Or his. "Do you remember the second night that I was mortal again?" he asked, placing his hand atop hers.

She looked confused, but then smiled a little. "Yes. You wanted to watch the sun set, and have dinner outside on the patio. You complained about mosquitos, and we had too much wine. We - " she paused. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Selene, I was mortal," he told her.

She just stared at him for a moment, and then her mind started racing.

"No," she said softly - unsure if it was to him, or to herself. "No. No, no, that's not how - I don't - no, no, no," she repeated. She tried to sit up, but Loic had been prepared for that, and stopped her.

"Calm down, Selene - calm down," he told her, already having seen her panic session on the horizon. "Breathe," he coaxed.

She did as she was told (for once), but she felt numb all over as she tried to breathe.

"Your kind run hot, but you've been running extra hot the past few weeks," he explained softly, beginning to tick off all of the indicators to his suspicions. "You've been angry to some degree steadily, mostly at me, but at just about anything else in your radius - including the toaster," he added.

"That toaster knows what it did," she hissed.

"Yes, but the fact still remains, level-headed people don't fling it into our neighbor's yard when it burns their toast. You've been tired all of the time, which is out of character for you, as much as you'd like to argue about the other two points. And, finally, tonight when you made that garlic bread, you took one look at it, and gagged so badly you went to the sink thinking you'd puke. Yes, I saw that," he added, giving her a Look.

"Okay, but none of this means - "

He placed a hand on her abdomen, and she stopped talking, the contact making her uncomfortable.

"And I can hear it," he concluded.

"Loic, I can't," she said, pushing his hand away. "We can't. Okay? This can't."

He fell silent, and she could see in the dark that he simply nodded. She thought he'd say something else, or protest, but all he said was, "Okay." She felt his fingers brush her hand gently, and then he shifted, turning his body from hers and laying down, mirroring exactly what she'd done when he'd come in at the beginning of all of this nonsense.

She sat there for a while, knowing that he wasn't asleep, and wondered what the hell he was thinking. What did he expect to accomplish by this? How could he possibly think that this would work out? If she was being honest, she knew that Stockholm Syndrome had played a large part in her upbringing, and now she felt okay - she had seen her family, she had been offered freedom - but she stayed. Did that make her a monster? Would bringing a child into this make her a monster? She looked over at his silent form, and pursed her lips. Part of her wanted to get up and go to the couch, but there was another part of her that wanted to stay.

She finally slid down under the covers, rolling to the opposite side of the bed. It felt cold now; or was that just because she was running so hot? She curled up into a ball, still lost in her thoughts, when she felt Loic moving. He was at her back again, and slipped an arm around her to hold her, dropping a kiss on her shoulder.

"I'll figure it out," she told him. "We'll figure it out."

"I know," he replied. And then she felt a warm sensation rush through her, the familiar feeling of his magic creating a calm within her. "Get some sleep, love," he whispered. She didn't even hear it - she was already gone.

Selene walked slowly on the sidewalk, phone to her ear as she searched through her bag for her wallet. "No, no," she said to the person on the other end of the line. "No, he said no shifting. No roughhousing. No nothing. Bed rest," she spat.

On the other end, Loic sighed. "Did you ask if he thought my power would impact you negatively?"

"I did, but he couldn't say." She paused, looking up. She had a sudden strange feeling rush through her, like she was being watched.

"What?" Loic said, aware of how her voice trailed off. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just - I don't know, I got a weird feeling," she confessed.

"Maybe you should just come home," he suggested. "Skip the errands."

Selene snorted into the phone. "Oh, are you going to come do something as mundane as Christmas shopping?"

"No, and neither should you. We don't like anyone enough to give them gifts."

"Yeah, yeah, well - it's good to keep up the appearance of positive relationships, Loic. You were a warlord. You know this." She stopped, having arrived in front of the department store she wanted. "Listen, I'll call you when I'm on the way home, okay? It's only going to be an hour." She paused, hearing him make a noise. "I'll be fine. One hour, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed. "But I don't like it."

"You don't like anything," she challenged.

"I like you," he said, voice softening.

"I like you, too," she laughed. "I'll be home soon."

Selene walked through the department store, basket on her arm, small items such as scented candles and Christmas ornaments in them. In her other hand, a bottle of red wine. Just because she couldn't enjoy it didn't mean it would make a bad gift.

"How."

It was not a question, it was a demand.

Selene turned, brow arched, having a sneaking feeling that the demand was directed at her. She wouldn't have been wrong, either - she turned to face a shorter woman with long, dark hair and honey-gold eyes. She knew that she recognized her, but she couldn't place her face. "I'm sorry?" she asked, mind still indexing what she'd need to do when she got home, before Loic sequestered her to the bedroom.

The woman was gone, very suddenly, and before Selene would really say or do anything, she was behind her, a knife pressed against her round belly. She froze so badly that she dropped the wine, and the bottle shattered, spraying red liquid all over the white floor, and both of their shoes. "Don't," she hissed. "Please don't."

  "Walk. Straight to that exit door. Now," the woman said.

Selene did as she was told, considering fighting back. The woman was a vampire, that much she could tell. Selene had taken them out in the past, but it wasn't her specialty. She thought perhaps she could take her by surprise, and at least get away from her. She'd call Loic; he could be there in an instant. Could he still feel her? She had been feeling pain when she was under stress, but would it be worth the risk? She was pushed through the door, and found herself in an empty stairwell.

The woman let her go, walking to face her, and gestured to her with the knife. "Tell me."

Selene swallowed, hard. Fuck, this was the most scared she could remember being - even from childhood, things had never scared her. They had only enticed her, sparked her curiosity and sense of adventure. But this? This situation was volatile, she could feel it. She tried to keep her emotions tightly contained; if this vampire knew Loic, she'd know that he should be able to know if his pet hawk was in distress. She didn't want to tip her hand; it was all she had.

"Who are you?" Selene demanded.

The woman rolled her eyes, but she did lower the knife. "Come on," she sang, walking towards Selene and then around her in a small circle. "Think really hard. I'm sure you've read it in his history books. Does he still keep all the ones that mention him? Back when I was with him, he had scribes writing scrolls for years, documenting every conquest, every win, every nightmarish victory." She held the knife up again, but it was merely something in her hand, and she pressed her fingertips to the point of the blade idly, spinning it.

Oh, fuck. Selene realized who the woman was, and her eyes went wide for a moment until she could reign it in. "I see," she said, her voice thin, the hint of a tremble on it. There was absolutely recognition on her face, and Ember gestured to her.

"Now, answer my question," she directed.

  Selene hesitated, but realized that she wasn't getting out of this. She looked away, and began to speak, unable to make eye contact with the raven. "It was when he was human," she said softly. "I know you remember. You were all affected by whatever it was."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Ember snapped. "So he turns human and the first thing you did was fuck?" She snorted. "You should have killed him and run when you had the chance. He has no hold over us as a human," she informed her, tone sharp. Ember could not fathom, in any reality, where she would have ever let that piece of shit touch her again, let alone put a fucking baby in her.

"I know," Selene said. "Listen - I will give you whatever you want. Please, just let me go. I won't even tell him. I swear."

Ember laughed a little. "You're not lying," she said, her voice impressed. "You really wouldn't tell him about this. Why? What would he do to you?"

"He wouldn't do anything to me. It's what he'd do to you," she replied. Something in her tone was pained, as though she were speaking of an outcome she didn't want. "I know who you are. I know what he did to you. He will come for you, Ember. He will never stop. He will take everything you have and crush it until it turns into dust. You know this. So please, just let me go. I'll walk out of here, and we will never, ever see eachother again."

"Pffft, do you think he still scares me?" Ember said, a Look on her face. "If you know what he did to me, you know he already took everything from me," she snapped. "So now, it's my turn." Her expression darkened, and all humour had drained from her voice. "It's my turn to take."

Irene had gone; where, Sylvia didn't know. She supposed they had already killed her. As she looked upon the massive stake in the center of town, she could see that the wood in the pile had already been scorched. That and, there was the remnants of a body. She tried not to think about that, though. She closed her eyes tight, asking again for God to save her, but a sharp cuff to her head forced her eyes open again.

"Confess, witch," the man spat.

"Reverend Lockwood, you know me!" Sylvia cried, trying to appeal to his common sense. "I played with your girls when we were young! You married my parents! I cannot be a witch, I am not a witch," she insisted.

"Don't listen to her, Matthew. She's trying to bespell you," another man hissed to the reverend, jerking Sylvia to the side to let the man pass. To prove his point, he stuffed a gag in her mouth.

She was lead up to the stake, hands bound, and then secured with ropes. The ash was still warm at her feet, and she swore she saw a hand half-buried in the rubble. Around her, a crowd was beginning to build. Strangely, her brother was not in it, not that it would have mattered. Jeremiah had chosen his side. She wanted to tell them that it was he who summoned the dark lord to their town, not her, but they'd left the gag in.

"Sylvia Talbot, on this day of the twenty-second of April, in the year of our lord 1693, you stand accused of consorting with the devil, and of witchcraft. Confess, and end this madness. Confess, child, and save your soul!" the reverend commanded.

"Mmf-hmm," she said, and the reverend rolled his eyes and gestured to someone to pull the gag from her mouth.

"I AM NOT A WITCH!" she screamed.

The reverend regarded her for a few more moments, and then nodded to the man who stood at the ready with a torch. "God save your soul, child," he sighed. He turned to the crowd, raising the hand that held the Bible high above his head.

"And let all who are here today witness what happens when one of our flock is lead astray by Satan!"

"Man, you people never fuckin' learn," said a man directly in front of him. The reverend had not noticed him before - mostly because the man had not wanted to be noticed before. He wore dark clothing and a hat that obscured his face, but with his head tipped up, all the reverend could really notice was his eyes. They were of a bright blue and they burned.

"A warlock!" the reverend screamed.

"Christ," the man spat. He raised a hand, and the entire crowd - men, women, children, and some animals - all fell down. He took a step back for a moment, clenching his muscles as that bolt of power had ripped through his body most uncomfortably. He hadn't done a mass feed in a while, and for good reason. He didn't often let loose, but boy when he did - still, it was the quickest way to his goals. Sylvia's screaming brought him back to reality, and he rushed to the stake. The fire had already started, and she was dancing about around the stake, having wiggled through her ropes, but not enough to get out completely. As it stood, she would have some minor injuries, but he wasn't worried about that.

"Come on, I got you," he soothed, loosing the ropes and pulling her from the flames. She was no longer just screaming; her screams had turned into loud sobs that had screams attached to them. He could feel her pain intensely; she was full of emotion. So much so that he thought briefly about having to subdue her with magic to get her to calm down so he could get her out of town. He didn't though, because she had stopped screaming and instead was trying to breathe deeply, now coughing from the smoke that had been previously forcing its way into her lungs.

"We need to leave," he told her, crouching down next to her.

Sylvia looked up, hands and knees in the dirt as she wretched. "Are you an angel?" she asked, rocking back so that she could wipe at her eyes with her arm. She hissed as she realized she'd not escaped unscathed, and surveyed burns as she trembled from pain and shock.

"No," he said, holding his hand out to her. "I can fix that, but we really do need to go. They'll be up again soon."

She stared at him for a moment longer, and then took his hand. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I'm Sylvia."

"Chadwick," he said, giving her a little nod. "Come on, I have a horse not far. We need to put some distance on us. I'm sure I'll hear about this one," he muttered to himself.

She nodded and followed him, though Sylvia had no idea what he'd hear or from who. She knew very little of the world outside of this place, only what her brother had told her. At the brief thought of her brother, she grit her teeth and felt her insides harden to stone. She let out a slow, steady breath behind Chadwick, trying not to bump her burns.

When the arrived where Chad had tied off his horse, he turned to look at her. "Okay, let me see those burns," he instructed.

Sylvia held out her arms, and then tugged up the edges of her dress to show where she'd gotten singed on her calves, too, and Chad made a noise that she did not understand. He took her hands, and told her to close her eyes, and she'd feel a tingle. She had no idea what that meant, either, but she did as she was told, and felt herself suddenly relaxed. She felt as though she'd been surrounded by a gentle white light, like nothing had ever been wrong before, and nothing would be again. She opened her eyes, and the man was grinning at her.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded, unable to speak. He helped her onto the horse, and then got on after her, guiding the beast on the path out of town. Finally, she said, "You said you weren't an angel. But, you are."

"Not long before we can stop and rest," was all he responded.

Sylvia had made a makeshift bed upon the hay they'd tossed into her cell. It was moldy and damp; she assumed they'd parsed the bales out so they wouldn't set fire - no doubt yet another thing they'd blame her for, of course. She sat up, making a face in the dark as pieces of the hay stuck into her like needles, and moved off of the pile and onto the cool earth. Perhaps it was better to lay in the dirt. Perhaps then God could hear her.

She heard coughing coming from a space adjacent to her, but she couldn't see exactly where. They were in cages inside a wooden shed, and only tiny bits of light peeked through, but not enough for her to make out solid shapes. The coughing came again, this time harder, deeper, and gave Sylvia the idea that there was sickness in them.

"Are you well?" she asked hesitantly, not really expecting an answer.

"I think I should pray that I may not make the trial," the voice replied, between coughing.

"Irene?" Sylvia asked, surprised. "I thought they killed you!" Sylvia rose, going to direction that Irene's voice came from, and grasped the bars, pressing her face to them. "Oh, I'm so happy to hear the sound of your voice. I thought I was alone in here."

"You may soon get your wish," Irene muttered. "They mean to burn me tonight. You might last another day or two at most. It helps that your brother is on the council," she said bitterly, and Sylvia was positive that there was a double meaning to her words.

"But we are not witches," Sylvia said, confused. "You are not a witch. I am not a witch. How could they find us guilty of witchcraft when we are not witches?"

Irene snorted. "Idiot child," she chided. "Tis a farce. Tis meant to be a way to stifle us, or teach us lessons. Tell me, have you denied any man your hand? Or any other part of your body, for that matter?"

Sylvia was appalled. "No, there have been no suitors - "

"Perhaps from afar, then. Perhaps there was also a portly wife who noticed her husband's wandering eyes and thusly you were accused of bewitching him," Irene insisted. "Sylvia, mark my words - we are not in here by chance."

Sylvia sat down, back to the bars now. She looked up into the darkness of the ceiling, and sighed. "Did you reject someone?" she asked curiously.

Irene laughed, and it was a throaty, scratchy sound. Thankfully it was dark, so Sylvia could not see that Irene had ripped a piece of her dress off to dab at the blood that sprang from her mouth every time she coughed. It was tuberculosis, though she didn't know that yet. Just evidence of how she paid a price for using magic; it must be that God's wrap had stricken her down for her betrayal.

"Yes," she replied, after she was done coughing and laughing.

Sylvia frowned. "Well, who? Who would accuse you of witchcraft because you rejected them?"

"Your brother," came the reply.

---

Sylvia awakened again with a start. It was dark, strangely so, and there was a breeze. She looked around, siting up to get her bearings, and realized that her cage door was open, as was the door to the shed.

"Irene?" she called softly.

She heard stirring from the cage adjacent to hers, and thought for a moment. Was this a trick? Would the council free them to see if they would run? By running, she may look guilty - but she'd been praying non-stop and God had not shown them her innocence. She thought back to something that Jeremiah had said before, asking her what if there was no God at all? She hesitated, and then put her arms out to stop herself from hitting the bars of her cage, or anything else for that matter, and carefully picked her way out.

She was maneuvering her way around in the dark to Irene's cage, but realized that hers had been opened as well. She called her name again, but still received no answer. Whispering outside drew her attention, and she went back towards the door, pressing her body against the wood to hide herself as best she could in the darker parts of the shadows.

"Irene, come with me, this can all be over," she heard Jeremiah saying.

Irene coughed, and Sylvia closed her eyes - had there been any doubt in her identity before, the cough had proven it wrong. "I said no, Jeremiah. You were content to accuse me of witchcraft, and now you only show regret because your sister became involved as well. You thought you could wield your position on the council to benefit you, but you forget that those men are older and have been in power far longer than you. They used you, not the other way around. And now Sylvia is going to pay the price."

"And you?" he asked darkly.

She laughed. "I've been coughing up blood for days. Tis the consumption. Either they burn me, or I drown in my own blood. Tis all the same to me," she snapped.

"Burn, then," Jeremiah said glibly.

"Brother!" Sylvia called, choosing this moment to reveal herself. She greeted him by grasping him tightly, squeezing him so hard that her arms hurt. "Jeremiah, please, you know these are falsehoods, you must get us out of here. Please, tell them the truth," Sylvia pleaded.

Jeremiah looked at her for a long while, and then leaned in, giving her a kiss on her forehead. "I'm sorry, sister dear," he whispered. He lifted his head, then, and yelled loudly, "THE WITCHES ARE ESCAPING!"

Sylvia was frozen in shock, and in horror. "No," she whispered. "No, Jeremiah. NO, PLEASE, YOU CAN'T DO THIS!" She began to screech as men grabbed her from behind, and as she was dragged kicking and screaming back into the dark of the shed, her screeching only grew louder and more insistent. "BROTHER! BROTHER! TELL THEM!" she yowled, like some sort of rabid, cornered animal.

Irene said nothing as she was apprehended, but she did make it a point to cough on Jeremiah, landing a massive glob of blood and spit on his face.

"You're gonna burn in hell for this," she hissed, being jerked away before she could say anything further. Men called for gags to stifle their screaming before they could utter any curses, but it was all well and good - she'd said all she had to say.

  Birthdays weren't really celebrated where Sylvia lived. They were considered frivolous, and encouraged idolatry. Sylvia was neither of those things, and so she quietly went about her day, from waking her younger siblings to making breakfast to feeding the animals to running errands. Errands, specifically, she had not looked forward to. The old shopkeep had been leering at her since she turned 15, and it made her uncomfortable. She was glad to have her brother with her, even if she was forced to. It would be improper to wander about on her own.

"Tis lovely outside," she offered, trying to make conversation with her brother, who had thus far remained silent. The walk into town was not long, but long enough for them to converse freely.

"Indeed," Jeremiah muttered.

Sylvia frowned. "Brother, is something on your mind?" She tugged at his arm a little. They had always been so close, despite him being older - lately, though, he seemed distant. She couldn't discern as to why.

Jeremiah looked at his sweet sister, and felt an ache in his chest. Could he tell her the truth? That he'd seen a dark man in their barn who had held out a dark book for him to sign? He hadn't, yet, but he'd been thinking about it, despite knowing that it would mean certain death if anyone knew. The dark man came every night to see if he'd considered the offerings of eternal life, wealth, and the prospect of being his own god rather than some nameless, faceless, ever-present sense of anxiety looming in the sky.

"Tis a special day," Jeremiah said finally, his hand over hers. That dark man had given him a gift to give to Sylvia for her birthday. Jeremiah hadn't even told him the occasion was approaching; he simply knew, and had produced from the folds of his cloak a lovely trinket. It was a hair comb, decorated modestly with a single red gem. It was silver filigree, with teeth wide-set apart enough that it could sit in her thick blonde hair comfortably. It was quite lovely, and Jeremiah had often taken it from beneath his pillow where he'd hidden it to admire it.

"No it isn't," Sylvia said, though her cheeks reddened a little. Always so hard-pressed to have any attention on her, Sylvia was. She was the perfect example of modesty and piety.

"Yes, it is," he said, stopping on the dirt path. He turned to her, and put his hands on her face. "Tis the day I was graced with an angel such as you." He gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek, then, and smiled. "Of all our siblings, you are my favourite. Don't tell the others, though; I think playing favourites is considered ungodly."

Sylvia laughed her shy laugh, but couldn't hide her smile. "Brother, you flatter me. We are only separated by three years, but it feels like some days we could be twins."

"I've gotten something for you," he said, and pulled the comb from his pocket. "You can't show anyone, sadly, but perhaps someday - "

"Jeremiah," Sylvia exclaimed, stepping back from him as she saw the gift. She looked horrified, not elated. "I cannot accept this," she hissed. "Tis too rich, father would - "

"Forget what father and mother would say," he snapped. "Sylvia, there is an entire world outside of this place that we're in, and there, nobody would care if you wore such a trinket in your hair. They might even admire it; attempt to procure one of their own, in fact," he insisted. "Now, I realize that I'm acting out of sorts right now, and I understand your hesitation, but sister - what if - what if I left?" he asked, finally.

"What?" she said, eyes squinting in confusion.

"What if I left? What if we left? We could leave tonight if we wanted."

"Jeremiah, have you been bewitched?" she demanded. "We couldn't just leave. We have no money, nothing but the clothing on our backs, and father and mother - we must, stay, we must stay and honor them and care for the family," she rambled.

Jeremiah grabbed her by the shoulders, giving her a shake as she babbled about her duty in Christ to be a good daughter. "Fuck Christ," he finally spat. "Tis all lies, Sylvia."

She yanked out of his grasp, face twisted in disgust. "I should go into town on my own today," she said, straightening her modest brown dress. "I will tell them that you had to turn and go home to help with the horses," she added. "Give me the money father gave you to purchase our supplies." She thrust her hand out, palm up. The gesture was hostile, and it matched the look in her eyes.

"Sylvia - "

"Give me the money, brother," she insisted. "Give it to me, and go home, and we shall forget this ever happened."

Begrudgingly, he gave her the money, and watched helplessly as she walked away from him in the direction towards town, pulling her cloak a little more tightly about her shoulders as the wind picked up. When he lost sighed of her, he heaved a loud sigh, then bent down to retrieve the rejected gift that she'd dropped in the dirt. His fingers brushed against the toe of a black shoe, and he fell backwards, squarely on his rear.

"I see she did not love the gift," the dark man said. "Tis a pity. It would have suited her."

"She did not love much of what transpired," Jeremiah admitted bitterly. He got up from the ground, brushing his backside off.

"Perhaps she would not come with you as you previously suggested," the man said, a hint of something in his voice that Jeremiah did not understand.

"I could make her," Jeremiah insisted. "I could make her see."

"I don't think so, child," he replied. His voice was soft, quiet and smooth; like the hiss of a snake, but not. "And you?"

Jeremiah shook his head. "I did consider your offer, but I cannot sign your book, sir."

The man shrugged. "Perhaps you will change your mind," he said cryptically, "in the upcoming weeks. Should you find yourself on the precipice of that decision, all you need do is call my name, child, and I will be there."

Jeremiah swallowed. "And what is your name?"

"I think you know," the man said. And then he was gone, and Jeremiah was left standing alone on the dirt path.

  Shit was hitting the fan. Narkisa heard Corinne screaming Niall's name and sensed Raphael calling her at the same time. She paused, not knowing whether to go towards the yelling or towards his beckoning, but he broke into her thoughts, issuing a solid NOW to her. She was unable to resist, and her muscles flexed for a moment as she dwelled, then spun on her heel and sprinted through Midnight, running to where she knew the cells were. She slid to a stop in front of the elevators, and when she realized they were both up several floors, she hissed.

"Fuck it," she said, flinging open the massive doors to the stairs. Fucking narrow pieces of shit, she nearly fell on her ass a few times as she raced down, nearly slamming directly into Raphael as she came skittering around the corner. "Fuck!" she yelled in surprise, jumping back from him. "You scared the fuck out of me! What is going on!?"

He reached out, his hands firmly planted on her shoulders. "Listen to me very carefully. I need you to try and beat Cerberus to wherever he's going. Just - just get on the road, I'll give you the address as soon as I have it." He glanced over his shoulder as he heard noise coming from the other way. "Fuck," he hissed to himself. It was Stefan's voice. He didn't know which side he'd be on, but he wasn't going to keep her around to find out.

"Raph, what the fuck is happening?" his bloodbond asked again, and this time when he urged her to leave, she slapped his hands off of her. "No! Look," she said, dropping her voice. "Corinne is upstairs freaking out, and I think - I think she fucking killed Verity," she said, her voice shaky with adrenaline.

"It's happening," he said, and for a moment, she didn't know what it was, but then she looked past Raphael to Stefan and watched as he hit the bars of a cell, hard.

"Is this a fucking jailbreak?!" she asked, her accented voice shrill.

Raphael closed his eyes, tipping his head back for a moment. "Listen, Narkisa, just go, please," he urged her. "Get there before Cerberus. I'm pretty certain he's on our side, but I don't trust anyone at the moment. Kill him, if you have to," he said, dropping the bomb on her.

"I - what?" she barked. "Whose side are we on?"

"A little help here!" Stefan called.

"For once in my life, the right side," Raphael told her. "I know he was told to retrieve an asset, but I don't know if he's going to retrieve an asset or to kill an asset. Narkisa, do not let him do anything stupid. Get there first, see if you can get the asset back here. We need a particular kind of firepower I think only this one can bring. Can you do it?"

"Yeah," she said, completely beside herself. "Yeah, I can." She turned to leave, but felt him hook her arm and pull her back.

"If we get out of this, Narkisa, you're free. I promise. No tricks. I'm done. We're done."

She looked at him for a moment, a look of confusion, and then horror crossing her face. "What? No - Raphael, that - that can kill me, I'm as fucking old as dirt. If you release me, I'll just turn into dust!"

"Then I'll turn you!" he argued. "I don't care, just - we're running out of time, go," he commanded.

She stared at him for a moment longer, and then turned, running back for the stairs. SO many fucking stairs. She busted out through the door, avoiding Raven Guard killing eachother in the hall, and headed for where the vehicles were kept. She grabbed a handful of keys off the rack, pressing alarm buttons until one close to her chirped, then ran to it, dropping the other keys on the ground as she did so.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck," she chanted, backing out of the drive recklessly and dumping the car onto the street. Why were they in the middle of fucking nowhere? Of course we are, she thought bitterly. Couldn't traffick people through an establishment on the corner of a busy street, now, could they? She sped down the road, hitting some railroad tracks hard enough that it shook her teeth. "Whoops!" she said, to nobody.

She didn't know what direction she was supposed to go, so luckily she had picked the right one when Raphael sent her the address. Mentally, of course - it would've been too easy for him to text it so that she could just select the navigate option. She tried to drive and punch the address into the GPS, nearly hitting another car while she tried to do so. "Fuck!" she yelled, swerving into the shoulder and then around the car before she slammed into it. She pushed the talk button on her phone and yelled the address into it, relieved when it chose this time to understand her.

Since Cerberus had had a detour, Narkisa beat him to the address. She got out of the car, unsure of what she was walking into, and walked quickly up the stone path to the rather posh home. She looked around once she reached the door step, realizing several things: it was late, it was dead quiet outside except for her vehicle having just nearly taken out their mailbox, and she didn't know whose house she was at. How to approach this? She settled for knocking timidly at first, but she heard no response from inside. She tried again, this time harder, and finally resorted to pounding on the door with her fist.

It flung open at that, and she lept back, absolutely having not expected that. A very large man stood in the doorway, and he looked annoyed.

"Can I fucking help you?" he asked, though it was more like a low growl.

"Uhh... it's happening?" she said, hoping that he'd know what she meant.

She heard noise from behind the door, and saw him look away for a moment to argue in hushed tones. After a few more seconds, the door was pulled open more by something behind it, and Jillian stuck her head out into the cold.

"Narkisa?" she asked, confusion on her face. "What is it, what's wrong?"

"She said "it's happening"," the man replied.

"Oh," Jill said. "OH!"

Behind them, Cerberus' SUV pulled into view, and it did successfully take out the mailbox. The window rolled down, and the man shouted over someone in his passenger seat. "Beat me to it, I see," he called.

"Yeah - there was some doubt about where you fell in all of this," she called back, now completely ignoring the seething Triste and the confused historian.

"The right side, girly," he chuckled.

Whatever or whoever was next to him began clamoring about in the vehicle, and she heard the sound of Cerberus arguing with him about 'that's what a fucking seatbelt does' before the door opened and a man fell out, tangled up in - the seatbelt. He was yelling something about Layla, hanging like a fish in a net helplessly while Cerberus had to go and untangle him.

"What the bloody fuck is going on?" Narkisa breathed.

"That's precisely what I'd like to know," Gareth snapped.

Separately from Stefan, Victoria had run down to the cells for her own purposes. She stepped over fallen bodies of Raven Guard, steeling herself as she continued on. What the fuck was happening? It seemed that the Midnight Hierarchy was finally collapsing in on itself, and though Victoria would be irritated to find a new home, she had long since stopped trafficking and had concentrated on more valuable things - knowledge, mainly.

She had down in the cell a particular Serpiente who had knowledge of all sorts of things about the royal family - things that were not common knowledge. She'd been threatening him with violence, but he'd only spit in the white viper's face when she did. Now, she would offer him a choice - freedom, or die in the cell when the building eventually turned to rubble.

She passed the hullaballoo with Stefan, Raphael, and the blonde in the cage, ignoring it all for the time being. Something told her to go back, but she had to get what she came for, first. As she approached the cage, she saw that he was already up and moving.

"Lorenzo," she said, her voice hurried, but hushed. "Tell me what I need to know, and you walk out these doors, and we will never see eachother again."

The Serpiente regarded her for a moment, dark eyes narrowing. "You're scared," he said slowly. "Why are you scared?"

She stared at him, then set her jaw. "Fine," she said quickly, taking her hands off the bars and turning. "You can rot." She was walking fast, too, and almost didn't stop when he called out to her. Almost. She turned, slowly, face curiously devoid of the satisfaction she would've otherwise had. Truth was, she was pretty sure that the longer she stayed, the shorter her lifespan was becoming. She approached the bars again, this time arms folded tightly. She didn't come as close as she had before, either.

He sighed, resting his head against the bars. "Oh, the things you do to me, daughter of Maeve," he said softly. He looked up at her, and for a moment said nothing.

"Well?" she asked impatiently.

Quietly, he told her what she wanted to know.

As she opened the door to his cell, he regarded her with a wistful expression. "You know, if you would have just been straight with me, I would have told you anything you wanted to know," he informed her, his accent obvious as he spoke.

She stared at him for a long while, then blinked. "No, you wouldn't have. Your kind are hardwired not to betray eachother."

He reached out, touching strands of her blonde hair. Victoria didn't flinch, but she did clench her jaw a little.

"Maybe," he said. "Maybe. But for you? I would have given you the world had you asked."

She rolled her eyes, slapping his hand away. "You'd better give yourself the world and get the fuck out of this building before it caves in," she snapped.

"Well, now that I'm going to be a wanted man for selling secrets, maybe we'll see eachother again, daughter of Maeve," he said, giving her a half-bow before turning and walking casually toward the stairwell.

Maeve stood by the cell a second longer, and then went back the way she came. Where was Stefan? She was going to offer to grab Desten and get her to safety, knowing his predilection for violence might tempt him to stay around and fight it out. She didn't realize she was actually ahead of him, running an alternate hall in the goddamn maze that Midnight was, but as the egresses would all bleed into one eventually. Victoria was ahead of Stefan by only a few paces, but when she rounded the corner, she gasped loudly, raising her hand to her mouth. Her face reflected total shock from what Stefan could see, and he hurried up to find out what it was.

Imagine his surprise when there, in the hall, Betty stood. Her usually angelic face was half-covered in blood from a messy feed, and it stained the front of her light blue dress. Behind her was a body.

"Betty," Victoria said slowly. "What did you do?"

She saw Stefan come up on the other side of the hall, putting Betty squarely in the middle of them. She looked past Betty to Stefan, who was blinking rapidly as he tried to comprehend the scene. On the ground, Desten lay, throat completely torn open, limbs splayed with no defensive wounds. It seemed Betty hadn't given her a chance to fight at all.

"Oh my god," Victoria whispered.

“This is fucking unacceptable,” Justinian growled out, his anger washing out over his companion at the cell door in pulsing, disorienting waves that made Stefan feel unsteady in both stance and mind, but at the same time, there was a calming influence from within the cell itself - like a warm, safe place despite knowing that there was nothing safe about where they were.  It made something inside Stefan's chest ache, and he thought of the home he'd once had, the people he'd once loved, with near crushing sadness as he looked upon the unicorn sheathed in a woman's body.  He'd never seen one before, and he certainly made no claims to being familiar enough to have truly known what she was in an academic sense, but there was nothing academic in this for him.

This was a truth that he felt deep within whatever remained of his soul, deeper than the memories of that home that wasn't ever as comforting as the presence she had, and he knew what he was seeing.  Justinian must have, as well, but whereas Stefan was moved nearly to tears at seeing her, and seeing her caged as she was, the older vampire was utterly furious at the fact that she'd been taken.  Stefan moved almost imperceptively, but it put him closer to the bars, enough that he rested his hand against the cold iron.  It didn't clear his head, because this wasn't a mind trick.

"What do we do?" he asked Justinian, because he knew what he wanted to do, but he was than a century as a vampire and while he was very powerful for his age, he was no match for the powerhouses in this building.  Trying to break her out by force wasn't going to work out in his favor, or hers.

"Verity is already bragging about having her, so if I try to move her immediately, it will raise alarms.  I was told there was a man involved, where is he?" Justinian demanded, obviously annoyed at feeling unable to just act, but Stefan had long ago noticed that the most ancient vampires cut a very weird balance between taking instantaneous, devastating action or laying out the perfect plan.  Stefan hadn't known it was a chess match they were in, but apparently.

"This is him," Stefan informed him when they stopped in front of the wizard's cell.  It had felt like a near physical pain to tear himself away from the unicorn, and it only increased the sense of loss already living inside of him.  If Justinian was similarly affected, he didn't let on that he was. 

"Get a car, Cerberus should be back from whatever inane errand he was on by now.  I'll give you an address that he's to be dropped at," he instructed Stefan, the address appearing in his mind with a mental sensation almost like a slip of paper being flicked at him without a second thought.  Stefan disappeared to go get Cerberus, but not without hearing the rest of Justinian's instructions as he slowed to take in one more long look at the unicorn herself.  "Do you hear me, wizard?  You will find a man named Gareth at the home I'm sending you to.  Tell him that Verity has your unicorn friend and that I will open the doors.  There is no time to waste."

It was true that Cerberus was back, though he was not exactly happy to be summoned from the kitchens, not that he did more than roll his eyes when Stefan told him to bring the car around.  Fortunately, Justinian's name got him moving, so that Stefan met him near a back entrance with only just enough time to bring the wizard up from the dungeons.  They'd moved fast to avoid being seen, but without looking like they were sneaking.  Stefan was on Justinian's orders, after all, and he was himself intimidating enough to prevent most people from stopping him. 

"What happened to the car?" he asked as they approached, Cerberus getting out to get the door for the bloodied wizard who actually would not shut up, even if Stefan wasn't doing a whole lot of talking to him and had actually told him to shut his trap a few times.

"Niall sent me to pick someone up, but he strongly suggested I treat the guy like a really old vamp," Cerberus said, shrugging.  "So I hit him first.  Not sure what he is, but he was trying to run his mouth and get up afterwards.  Normal people just don't fucking do that.  Where am I taking your guy?"

The big black SUV looked like Cerberus had creamed a deer, and if the bitching from the backseat was any indication, the injured party had been dumped unceremoniously back there to be carted off.  Stefan gave the address, frowning at the damage.  "Where did you take the one you hit?  We haven't had anyone come in, especially not that injured."

"Niall said take him to Loic.  Something about 'professional opinion' or some shit, I don't fucking know.  Can I go, or are you gonna ask me what I had for breakfast and where I took a shit next?  I got places to be."

Cerberus got a dry look in return, but no response otherwise as both men turned and went their separate ways. Where Justinian went, Stefan didn't know, but he wouldn't have been surprised if Verity's lounge-inspired 'office' was the man's target, except that...it wasn't Justinian there when he arrived, and the woman he did fine was screaming Niall's name in challenge.

He stopped short, frozen in place and expression closed off as he watched Corinne, pretty well covered in blood, dragging Verity's lifeless body along behind her with her fingers in the dead triste's eye sockets like a damn bowling ball.  For all of the violent things he'd done, he wasn't actually sure that was an image he was prepared for.  He also wasn't prepared for her to spit orders at him (it was apparently a theme for him today, to run into ancient vampires and be sent on errands), but she wanted him to free the unicorn, and that?  That he could do.

He gave her a nod and was gone, headed for the dungeons and the prisoner that never should have been there.  He had to get her out of there, before anything worse happened, because there was no way in hell that Corinne killing Verity wasn't going to blow up everything inside the building.  The faster they got out, the better their chances of survival, but there was another quick stop that he had to make.

He found Ember on his way to the dungeons, actually, which was convenient.  It was not preferred that she was violently murdering a member of her guard, or that another was trying to jump her from behind, which just wouldn't do.  Stefan darted forward, plucking the raven out of midair and changing his trajectory to smash his face into the stone wall.  It wasn't elegant and it left a pulpy mess on the stones, but it wasn't the only blood being splattered across them that day.  He thought back to the literal trail that Corinne left behind, and didn't feel so bad.

"So, obviously, you've noticed that it's happening.  Right fucking now," he told Ember, not out of breath, but not surprised when she was.  He got the feeling that both had jumped her at once, and she'd just tossed the one he killed aside initially.  It didn't matter, because they were both dead now, but it meant that shit was already hitting the ceiling.  "Verity is dead, Corinne is dragging her body towards the atrium and screaming for Niall's attention.  I don't know what Justinian is planning, but he's angry and they've both told me to get the unicorn out of the dungeon.  Are your people ready?"

"We've been waiting for this, I'll give the word."

"Good.  We need to evacuate this shithole.  I wouldn't put it past Niall to bring it down on top of us all."

"We'll do what we can," she said, and he nodded.  There had been enough lives lost already that they could try to save what they could, but he wasn't going to risk their own lives for it.  He was practical, and he couldn't do anything else to help if he was dead. 

"Happy hunting," he told his blood-sister, clasping her on the shoulder firmly and then darting off towards the dungeons.  When he found Raphael in his path, he honestly expected the worst and he was ready to see it through, except that his eyes flicked over to the movement he caught in the cell in front of Raphael - the door was open and obviously damaged to do so, and the occupants were eyeing him fearfully.  He locked eyes with Raphael again, but stepped aside to let them past.  "You?  You're helping?"

"Are you kidding me? Do you know what Katya would do if I told her I had the opportunity to save a unicorn and didn't?" the other vampire shot back, seemingly willing to assume that Stefan was on his side on this and kicking in another cell door.  He was right, because Stefan just darted past him, looking for the unicorn's cell. 

"That's fair, I suppose.  She's here," he called out, stopping in front of her cell and glad that he at least had the keys.  Victoria passed, seemingly ignoring all of them as she went for a cell they hadn't gotten anywhere near yet, and Stefan decided to worry about which key he needed instead of who she was talking to.  One major problem at a time.  "Where's Narkisa?"

"We were too late for her to go with Cerberus to get the monster hunter, so she's meeting him there.  Hoping to instill in him how urgent the situation is, and hopefully give him a reason not to just start killing all of us."

"That would be nice," Stefan agreed grimly, pulling the cell door open and tossing the cell door open and drawing the unicorn's attention to him.  "I'm sorry that you're here at all, but we're leaving.  Can you walk on your own?"

"Yes," she said, standing and striding across the cell quickly to actually take the keys from his hands.  "But if I'm understanding what's happening here, we can't leave anyone in these cells."

"I have to get you to safety--"

"Then help me, and we'll go," she said, her tone lowered and firm, and though he knew that it wasn't the smartest way to do it, he grit his teeth and left her with the keys so that she could open cells as she went while he went with Raphaels' method of just breaking the doors open. 

"Go, go down the hall, get out," he was urging people, glad to see that some that were in better shape were stepping up to help those that struggled, because he couldn't actually stop long enough to move people, not if he was going to get the unicorn out safely.  It was only when the dungeons rang only with the fading echoes of feet on the damp stones that he took stock, and his eyes landed on Raphael.  "I have to get Desten, I left her upstairs in my quarters to keep her safe.  Will you get a car ready?"

To the unicorn, who he dared not touch with his bloodied hands, he gave a short bow that was mostly just his head and shoulders, but it was heartfelt.  "I'll return soon.  This is Raphael, and I'm Stefan.  We'll take you wherever you'd like."

"Layla," she said, and he smiled a little.  "And thank you. Hurry back or we're gonna come looking for you."

It was a nice sentiment, that a unicorn would go looking for him rather than leave him behind, but little did he know, it was an entirely different sort of unfinished business that was going to draw her upstairs, in the end.

incident
forget
blade
trouble
threat
ex
organize
room
suspect
cemetery