The dining room stood quiet as Lucy sat back in the uncomfortable wooden chairs the compact had been using. No, that was a silly name. The Accord? Had a bit too much discordance for that. With Lucretia recovering under the care of streaming services and bagged blood, the journalist had been forced to reckon with the reality in front of her. Making fun of the senate was just her way of coping. No, too few of them for a senate. Even with the wives in attendance, there weren’t more than fifteen people set to appear that night. As she tapped away at her laptop, investigating a corrupt police department, the wives discussed things between themselves. With a little impolite curiosity, Lucy found herself listening to them discuss the situation with their wife. A sensitive subject, given the shouting matches she’d heard through the walls some nights. At first, they had been surprised in the Brit’s view. But that momentary shock had turned bitter, rage spilling over toward the Fulcrum and Cavendish. That they’d pushed their dear fragile love over the edge. Whatever made them feel better about themselves, Lucy thought to herself as she sipped her coffee. From where she was sitting, the psychic superposition had been quite clear who she blamed. Everyone.
Sulis’ dire need for therapy aside, she allowed the polycule to bicker amongst themselves while they waited for the other factions to dignify them with their presence. Lucy had already mentally prepared for the vampiric melodrama that was probably about to unfold.
“Lucy, you’re a neutral voice,” Livia began diplomatically as their tiff broke the banks of their relationship.
“No I’m not,” she countered firmly. Her eyes flicked up to meet the blonde’s before returning to her work. She was an investigator not a politician. While yes, she did uncover a lot of unscrupulous bastards for her work she wasn’t about to wade into the mire that was centuries of backroom deals and personal beefs. Once Lucretia was off the hook, and the serial killer bereft of a head most likely, she was excommunicating herself from whatever fresh hell her elders were cooking up next. Probably to go fishing with Ansa and learn how to do it with a rope like she did.
“You’re right, you’re not,” Auset corrected her wife with a meaningful look. The Brit’s typing stopped, and her fingers balled into fists. “But you have all her memories. You must know why she left us again. Why she won’t come back,” she asked insistently. It seemed the scary aura of Ansa had faded, and they felt confident they could bug the grumpy newfang with personal requests.
“Did you consider that you’re being clingy?” Lucy snapped facetiously before returning to her work with a grunt of irritation. The look of hurt on Francheska and Auset’s expressions made her admonish herself, even as Livia seemed to take the criticism at face value. Her thoughtful expression did little to stop Lucy from sighing after a few moments. “Sorry, that was out of line. I can’t help you,” she apologized shortly without looking up from her work. The financial reports she was perusing for embezzlement were fascinating, truly.
“We thought it would be over once she found her old body,” Francheska commented in a small voice, leaning her head on Livia’s shoulder with a defeated expression. “She seems worse now than she was in the 19th century” the bereted vampire continued thoughtfully. Lucy raised an eyebrow as the other two comforted her in soothing voices. It was the first time in a while that they’d not been at each other’s throats. “We noticed. Whatever Sigrun says, we saw it happening. We just didn’t know how to stop it” she insisted toward Lucy.
The younger vampire took her words and pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her laptop. It was clear that she wasn’t getting any more done tonight. Knotting her fingers together, she stared at her hands with an intense expression. Her lips were pressed together as she contemplated exactly how far she was willing to go in assuaging their guilt.
“First thing. I’m not Sulis and never have been. If you’re looking for absolution, it ran into your haunted doll’s house of a castle,” Lucy began with an icy stare at each of them in turn. “I don’t think you need it, for what it’s worth. Sulis was terrified that people would know she was struggling. That the mythology of a witch queen of the vampires would fall down and bring pretenders and hunters with it. So she locked it up, wearing her persona until she forgot who she was. Even with her hiding it, you still spotted it so hey, Sigrun was wrong. Congratulations,” the Brit recounted with sarcasm. She then leant back in her chair and squeezed her eyes shut. She really didn’t want to think about this. But the observation was leaving her lips before she could stop it. “It’s why I’m not trying to stab her or you three. Or resent all this shit,” she said, gesturing vaguely to the manor around her. The vampire nonsense had been irritating but it was part of her now. “She chose to come back to all this rather than just let me die and steal another body. ‘Sides, Sam has a bit of the blame too. And he came away from it smelling of roses. Nobody blames him for helping her make the damn spell,” she shook her head, looking toward the encampment of tribes. It was barely visible through the treeline, but their fires gave them away. Kept to themselves mostly. Understandable, given the clientele and owners of the bar. “Nobody’s blameless in this whole sorry story. ‘Cept me of course” she concluded with a cheeky grin, leaning back in her chair.
There was a long pause in their conversation then, thankfully. Lucy used it to check her phone, mind moving from the memories she’d inherited. The coverup was taking its toll on the local police who were being pelted with criticism. Incompetents who couldn’t catch the serial killer. Usually it was police incompetence but not this time. This time it was Cavendish leaning on them harder than a collapsing building.
“Did she love Ansa, back then?” Auset broke the silence, her amber stare waking Lucy from her torpor. She tapped her chin with her phone, consulting Sulis’ brief meetings with her old flame. The other two wives tried to persuade the eldest not to pry into that. It would only open old wounds. But Lucy was a principled woman and not petty at all. The truth had to be known!
“Well, they never did anything scandalous together,” the journalist relayed with a speculative pout. She didn’t remember anything physical. But the connection positively smouldered. “It’s like you said Auset. They were bad for each other. And Sulis wasn’t stupid enough to entertain it,” Lucy lied easily. She was used to it by now. And the measure of relief she saw on the Egyptian’s face was worth it. If there was to be a correction, it would come from the horse’s mouth. And she always had the little speech Ranjit and Amara had told Ansa about. It was all a matter of interpretation after all. “Ansa was well into her human hating arc by then,” she added as she thought it over.
“So why did she deign to help you?” Livia asked pointedly.
The question had been posed again. One that Lucy couldn’t answer. Thankfully, she could pass it off with a shrug as the doors to the dining room opened and the factions filed in with all the enthusiasm only a group of politicians could muster. Monmouthshire and his toadies were present with Sigrun and her husband entering arm in arm. Someone was concerned about the rumours then. With a pang of disappointment, the Brit noticed her mentor hadn’t decided to attend. Mary and Hana had though, the pair of them following a sombre Sam as he sat opposite Lucy. He tried to smile at the wives though it ended up looking more like a grimace. As the dignified, the great and good sat themselves down with Sigrun remaining on her feet, an old saying crept into the Brit’s mind. Something about sharing tables with fascists. She wondered whether they’d even have a say without Sulis’ influence. Then again, they had a terrifying capacity for violence. And even Cavendish wasn’t exactly enthused by their ideas. But aside from Sam, they were the one with an army. And bigger armies opened doors.
The meeting began tediously enough with a debate about territory and jurisdiction. All three groups had laid on different claims to the same patches of land. Monmouthshire and his conservative posse had laid claim to the thirteen colonies and Canada, the original British territory. Sam had understandably told them to stuff it and laid claim to all of North America. Not even he was about to step on Olivia’s toes. Which left the Fulcrum claiming all land for a unified vampire race. While it sounded positively utopian, even Lucy knew who’d been in charge during the colonial project. It was only when the grim business of setting up a tribunate was done that the Fulcrum ‘graciously’ gave the land over to the clans. The European ones. For most of it, Lucy had her boots on the table with her phone between her hands. Her gut had told her that Lucretia’s black goat hallucination was worth looking into.
The internet disagreed. Aside from the obvious satanic connection, folklore was undecided on what it meant. Even Ansa had dismissed it and when it came to spooky nonsense, she was the go-to gal. But still, a feeling of unease pervaded her thoughts as the council decided their fate. After a particularly vile speech by Sigrun denouncing Sam’s liberal attitude to mixed relationships, Lucy came back into the room to see the sireless seething but otherwise sticking to his peacemaker monicker. Residency for non-Native vampires but it was their land, their rules as far as Sam was concerned.
“Do I need to be here for this bit?” Lucy called over the ensuing argument. Her voice was lost in the morass of noise before she repeated it. Louder, with more expletives.
“Why, missing Ms. Carmello already?” Sigrun smirked knowingly as she leant on her husband’s chair. She made a spurious comment about young love. The kind that made the Brit’s uptight upbringing roil with discomfort. “You have Sulis’ memories. You might be needed to remember her personal opinions on the matter,” the ice-eyed harridan added. As if that trainwreck of a psyche was likely to help. Without patience for politeness or politics, the younger vampire got to her feet with a roll of her eyes.
“Sulis saw you all as a collective burden and wanted rid of you,” Lucy answered staring directly at Ansa’s pet. While she was useful and loyal, she was also incredibly arrogant for a glorified thug. The younger vampire imagined she’d be one of those dictators with a ridiculous brace of medals she didn’t earn. “And honestly, I’m coming around to her way of seeing things. Can we just grab up the guy killing people? You know, the guy who directly threatened me?”
It was all so absurd. A bunch of long in the tooth plutocrats, doddering over nonsense while she feared for her life. While people like Lucretia were left in his wake. Not for the first time, she considered hunting for the git herself. But once again, she reminded herself, she wasn’t a fighter. Ascertain and report information. Give it to the right people. Pray they did something with it. But the man was a ghost. Either he was a hitman of considerable experience or trained to avoid leaving evidence. Even his MO was a message to the idiots dithering over lines in the sand. As her eyes flitted from elder to elder, she was surprised to see Sam nod at her suggestion.
“Being my sister’s puppy is adorable, Sigrun but I remember her philosophy pretty well too,” the Native man grinned mockingly. “I wonder why you don’t trust me to tell you what she would have thought.” Sigrun snapped back, losing her temper a little. He obviously had conflicting interests. It was technically correct. A certain someone’s favourite method of lying. “Well, I think we can afford to prioritize. You’ll get to show off this vampire supremacy you’re so proud of!” Sam suggested in a voice so saccharine it could turn Boston Harbour into a decent cup of tea. “That is of course unless anyone else has an idea or two on how to catch him.”
It was almost perfect. Teed up better than the Ryder Cup. Lucy’s eyes slipped almost automatically to the conservatives, who were doing their best impression of the adults in the room. Dignified and reserved, allowing the passion to fly beneath them. An old act performed by people who confused cruelty for competence. Her thoughts slipped briefly to the memory of the Throne of Tribes. Clawed fingers tapping on an armrest while the senate argued about her. And she had the nerve to abdicate responsibility. To claim she just gave ascent. But she was just a figurehead, right? That was why she’d left a power vacuum. Symbolic leaders were well known to wield actual influence.
“While I am not a tactician of Sigrun’s skill or experience, it strikes me as strange that we should use Ms. Devereux as bait,” the Butcher of Usk spoke in a refined accent that bore the tiniest hint of Welsh. His ring-laden fingers tapped the table as if in thought while Sigrun explained herself. It had to look real, or he wouldn’t come. “Then would it not be appropriate to use some form of stand-in or double? It would subvert his expectations and we can keep the object of his fixation beyond his grasp. I do not know much about witchcraft and the like but it’s possible he may have laid a trap that’s magical in nature.” He droned on in what Lucy felt was a deliberate tone. A boring, safe, calm affection that suited his persona well. Her eyes slid to Cavendish, recognizing his role for what it was. So that was his game.
Lucy mulled over the problem much like everyone else at the table. Sigrun, Gunnar and Amara, who stood in for Ansa, seemed to stand alone against it. Sam, Mary and Hana looked thoughtful while the conservatives laid out their plan in earnest. John had been doing a little digging with Cavendish’s help and discovered that the Church had set up across the river from his hidey hole. That effectively gave their man two exits back into the city. A fact he no doubt knew, Sigrun was quick to point out. But it did give them a chance to lock him into a single place. Perhaps, in his madness, he trusted the twelve of them to show lenience. But she didn’t care about his tactical blunders. She saw Henry elevating himself, as he always sought to do. He just had to persuade Sam the plan had merit. The mousy-haired vampire looked to Sigrun with lips taut. She could throw herself into the lion’s jaws, cast all their nice little plans into the wind.
Her hands shook beneath the table. Her heart pounded in her ears. The table took on an almost hyper-realistic quality. She could hear who’d fed well. See the toolmarks on Cavendish’s buttons. She looked up, his designer stubble seeming impossibly to be distorted and sharpened. Almost as if he knew she was wavering, the former tribune directed his eyes to her with a sympathetic expression. His lips moved but her hearing had been swallowed by her heartbeat.
“I don’t want to be in the same city as that man, forget the same fucking room,” she garbled out. It was a coward’s choice. She could soothe herself with Lucretia’s safety. With her own. But as she saw the fury hidden behind the shieldmaiden’s impassive expression, she felt the Fulcrum at her back. “Fulcrum can help Sam’s people. Just catch him. Please” she begged with a faltering voice. His voice haunted her thoughts. That he didn’t mean her harm. No, they never did. But it happened anyway.
She heard the tearing of fabric beneath her fingernails. Looking down, she saw rivulets of blood begin to stain her ruined jeans. With a curse, she stood up and made her best attempt at an apology. Her vote was for Monmouthshire’s plan. She looked to the wives with a conflicted expression. Livia regarded her with sympathy, instructing Auset to take the ailing newfang back to her room.
“No that’s fine!” she almost snapped before clearing her throat. “I just need a little air. Some blood and I’ll be fine. It’s good, you lot can do the tactics without me,” Lucy explained before limping a little to the door. She heard Francheska giving her a free drink before she left, intending to hold her to it. But she needed something a bit more substantial. Her eyes slid to the basement entrance.
She slipped down the old stone steps with the grip of panic still driving the breath out of her. She could barely see for black spots, wishing her vampiric thirst would turn off her biology already. She staggered to the bottom of the stairs, finding Ansa braiding a great archway out of long thin yew branches she’d found. From where, Lucy wasn’t even going to question. She turned to look at who’d intruded and seemed surprised as Lucy slipped into the armchair her mentor usually slept in. After taking a few moments to catch her breath, she relayed the events on the evening to the concerned witch.
“You should have let me kill him,” Ansa soothed with her fingers at the newfang’s hair. “You’ve gone and hurt yourself. Here” she said, applying a hand to the furrows Lucy had scratched into her own thighs. They were deeper, more jagged than she’d thought. With a hiss of pain, she felt them close as her strange saviour rubbed some kind of unguent into them. Soon after, a cup of blood from a thermos was placed in her hand. Apparently, it sped up the healing process but made it more expensive. There was a joke about US healthcare in there somewhere, but Lucy was too overcome to make it. “You can trust Sigrun. Though we shall respect your wishes,” she advised earnestly before rummaging through the strange nest of things she was content to call her bed. Lucy remembered their brief time in the castle, sleeping in the rotunda while Sigrun and the others had taken rooms from the refugees there. The ancient vampire had always been uncomfortable with luxury. Even at the height of European vampire dominance she’d never owned her own home. Eventually, she emerged with a camp stove and a tea kettle, water already steaming within it. “You still haven’t told me about Lucretia,” the older vampire smirked with a teasing tone, placing a tray before her.
“Sorry to disappoint, mum, but she’s straight,” Lucy giggled, more at the insanity of it all. The eve of war, a serial killer on the loose with three sireless in residence and there they were. Taking tea and gossiping about girls. “I’m not really sure love is on the cards for me. There’ll always be some weirdo. Some Sulis fan looking to search her memories,” the journalist observed with her chin resting on her palm. Ansa looked concerned for a moment or two before taking Lucy’s hands in her own.
“Life doesn’t stop for love. But it can make a squalid life bearable. And a bearable life feel like flying,” the elder vampire encouraged. Then her expression fell a little. “It can also make the lightest burdens feel like Atlas’. It can make you feel scared and alone in a room full of people,” she expounded before pursing her lips. Lucy had no doubt who she was referring to.
“Even if she comes back from her trip feeling better, do you really owe it to her to cling on for this long? You’ve been faithful, held up her ideas for centuries. Sulis takes and takes and leaves you all emptier for it. You could love anyone else and be happier,” Lucy argued, hoping that reason would reach what it obviously wouldn’t. Sigrun had probably had this exact same talk with her. Or Sam, John or any old vampire who’d known her long enough. Someone had to have told someone so kind they deserved better than the original vampire in all possible ways.
“I can’t love anyone else,” Ansa sighed eventually. She’d at least done Lucy the courtesy of pretending to think about it. “We were together for twice as long as the eldest of my replacements. She is a landmark in the dizzying forest of my life. That’s what it means to hold her in my arms,” the witch spoke with conviction. A principle that almost unnerved Lucy. “She’s hurt. And she’s lost. And she won’t let me help” she continued, unable to hide her emotions any longer. She kept as strong a grip as she could, but her eyes had reddened. Her voice shook with suppressed sobs. “And I have to carry our people alone until she recovers. Because that’s our promise. And I’d sooner throw myself into the beyond than betray it.”
“Sulis wants to be alone because she feels betrayed by everything, even her own senses. She isn’t sure what’s real. Any time she reaches out for steady ground it falls away. So she’s stopped trying,” Lucy explained with an odd level of certainty in her voice. She poured the ailing vampire some tea, adding extra sugar. The poor woman seemed like she needed it.
“How do you know? Did she feel like this before?” Ansa asked with growing concern. Probably worried that the perennial liar had kept something from them again.
“No. That one’s from my memories” Lucy answered resolutely, casting an eye toward the witch with a glum expression. “It only stopped when I let go of the way things should be. How I understood the world before all this. I hope she does too,” the Brit said with genuine empathy. It was tough to find yourself empty, without a clue who you were. Turned out that there wasn’t just one victim of her idiocy. “I never felt freer than I did on the highlands. My first run as a vampire. I didn’t need to be anything to anyone. Practically screamed with excitement.”
“I heard you,” Ansa reminisced, wiping her eyes gruffly with a thumb. She took her tea with a nostalgic expression, tinged with something else. “Testing your limits. Almost flying. Sigrun wanted to stop you, said you’d fall off a cliff,” she stifled a laugh then. She tried muffling it with a sip from her cup. “I think she’d be proud of you. As much as I am. You’re stronger than you think you are.”
Lucy was taken aback. She looked into the dark contents of her cup for a moment with thoughts racing. That felt good. Why did she care? The tattooed menace was responsible for it all. Yet the idea of her approval fixed something. Shifted a resentment. A weight from her shoulders.
“Strong or not, will you stay here tomorrow?” the newfang asked with a soft voice. She felt foolish for even asking. Of course Ansa was going to stay here, hammering her head against the castle’s walls. Then, the black-haired witch turned her eyes to the yew arch and looked to the dregs of her tea. Literally reading the tea leaves? Lucy didn’t know how this witchy stuff worked.
“You’re right. Sulis needs to do this by herself. Maybe the humans won’t be useless” she smiled, gripping her protégé’s shoulder. “I’ll be here. Protecting you.”
