[Veta] Alone with Two Killers (Bay Area, 2007)
Well. That was unexpected.
I hear the door click shut and two bolts slide home, but it’s softer than the sound of the air swirling as he turns and snarls at me. “What the fuck was that about, Veta?”
This is also unexpected. He’s almost a consummate gentleman, save for the occasionally unruly Carthian behaviour. Was it the danger? No - couldn’t be that. Perhaps the fact that we were caught mostly by surprise. Or that I was utterly useless, as usual in such circumstances…
I find myself staring at him. I’ve never seen him angry, and he’s never used this sort of language with me.
And I realize that I don’t much care for him this way. I don’t like the tone of his voice - I would prefer that he not sound that way. But that is all - dislike. Nothing more. Nothing further. Nothing … deeper. At least - I don’t think so. Would it be safe to suggest that were these other circumstances, I would not care that he was angry at all? And yet … he’s said sometimes his smile makes him uglier. I see now that he’s right; his anger makes him beautiful. The space around him nearly glows, like some sort of fervent nimbus…
Sweet heavens, but this experiment is complicated! Who knew it would be so difficult. I’m only barely closer to understanding what’s passing before and within me. Are there too many variables here? No … only two, and that’s certainly not too many. Too many unknowns. That is the problem. But then again, in a way this isn’t an experiment at all. It’s a research project. Perhaps it will go better if I think of it that way ….
“Eliza!”
My eyes widen. He’s never yelled at me, either. He is absolutely beautiful in his temper. I want to laugh, but that would be wildly inappropriate at this moment, so of course I don’t. But I really, desperately want to.
“I’m sorry, Anthony.” My voice sounds soft, even to my ears. I wonder why that is. “I was … this all has been quite a shock to me. I don’t actually know what to tell you.”
“You don’t … know? You don’t know what that was about.”
“No. I don’t. I’ve only ever seen one of those men in passing. And even then, we weren’t introduced. One of us wasn’t important enough. Probably me.”
“So then why - “
I hold up a hand and rise from the bed I’ve been sitting on to step lightly over the carpet towards the torpid body on the floor. “I truly, honestly don’t know. But there’s one person here who might be able to tell us.”
Kneeling, I tilt my head and focus, delving into the mind of the sleeping Kindred -
Thug for hire. Well, also an associate. Worked together before. Inside job. Purpose? Kill. Scare, if not possible. Varies to opportunity.
Check the area around to make sure there aren’t any sneaking Shadows - just the one we can see. She is standing with a little tote bag in her hand, looking like a Stepford Wife in brunette who walked out of a Neiman Marcus catalogue. Which she might have done. She doesn’t suspect, but the man with her does. He’s an unknown. Abort? No. He’s not known in our circle, and there’s only one of him. He won’t be trouble. Split them up. One on him, two on objective.
The unknown spins, alert before the first move has been made, and chooses the right direction. Facing us and not the mark. Keep his attention before he notices the boss-
I know the rest.
Anthony had landed a stake in this one’s chest at the same moment my Covenant-mate had landed his claws across my chest and throat. I am still pleased at the lucky fact that he managed not to sever the muscles of my larynx so that my vocal folds remained intact for yelling.
I hadn’t seen him coming. Too distracted. I’m always too distracted. Then there was more pain. But then it stopped, and the clawing Invictus went with it. Evidently, a man who has bits of wood is a reasonable threat. That, or the assailant though he could take care of Anthony before he continued with the currently useless, damaged me.
I hadn’t seen the other one, either, but at that point it was less a lack of awareness and more pain that dulled my senses. It was like the third man dropped before my eyes, another stake sticking out from his thoracic cavity. I remember idly wondering what Anthony had done to develop such spectacularly consistent aim. I remember idly wondering at the calm, almost peaceful look that suffused his features, though the rest of him was a blur that few eyes could track. I remember pulling out my little phone and pushing the panic text key. I remember taking a moment to glance about for mortal onlookers, being thankful that there were none, and despairing that a member of my Covenant would, in broad moonlight on a city street near the Bay, jump me. So much for the preservation of the Masquerade.
He got away, the “boss.” I can slow it down in my mind, now. First there was an attempt at hand to hand - Anthony was too quick, or he knew the tactics they were trying to use against him. A pause to regroup, a flicker of attempt at distraction; something that could only work once, and already had. Neither of them were specialists. They didn’t have any flash and dazzle powers of the blood to use, thank goodness. And I’d managed to get too far away by that point to be in any real danger, unless Anthony was unsuccessful in his defense, so he wasn’t worried about me anymore. Another flicker of movement, a flash of bright golden yellow, and he landed that second thoracic strike.
The Invictus darted past, swiping his claws across the fallen body of his first comrade and running for the shadows. I don’t think I’ll ever know quite why he killed the first. But we weren’t interested in asking him. We collected the bodies, one Torpid and one slowing decomposing, and hid until we could chuck them in the SUV my accountant pulled up in. And then we came here.
“Their intent was to kill me. Or at least harm me significantly. This one didn’t know exactly why - he was doing it for the pay, or in return of a favour. But they hadn’t counted on you.”
“Lucky for you then, huh.” His voice is still a snarl. I don’t look up at him, because I am still having trouble with the contradiction of disliking his tone and being awed by the physical allure of his anger.
It occurs to me suddenly that he might not be angry at all. It is completely possible that I have misread him. Of course it is; I am dreadful at identifying emotions. But now, I do not think, is the time to ask. I shall file it for later -
“Veta, you’ve got that look in your eyes again.”
“What look?”
“The look you get when your mind is moving too fast and you’ve forgotten there are other things around you.”
“Or other people. Like you. Yes - again, I’m sorry. But you can understand that there’s a lot to think about right now.”
“Like what?”
More than you know, cousin.
“Like who did this. Who they are, and why they came here, for me. Do you mind if I take this one with me when I go? After my skin knits, that is.”
He shakes his head and I see his eyes travel to the deep, livid gouges peeking out from the remnants of my blouse. The anger - or whatever it is - seems to drain out of him.
Something shifts. I don’t know what it is. But there’s a lot I don’t know these days.
He begins to postulate on the nature of our assailants, their reasons for the attack, who might have sent them….the analytical mind of an Egregoroi at work, taking its specialty and spinning it far off into the highest realm of Intellect.
I watch him stand, still and economical, while he speaks.
To know, to know, to know.
We must know. That’s why I’m here.
I hear the door click shut and two bolts slide home, but it’s softer than the sound of the air swirling as he turns and snarls at me. “What the fuck was that about, Veta?”
This is also unexpected. He’s almost a consummate gentleman, save for the occasionally unruly Carthian behaviour. Was it the danger? No - couldn’t be that. Perhaps the fact that we were caught mostly by surprise. Or that I was utterly useless, as usual in such circumstances…
I find myself staring at him. I’ve never seen him angry, and he’s never used this sort of language with me.
And I realize that I don’t much care for him this way. I don’t like the tone of his voice - I would prefer that he not sound that way. But that is all - dislike. Nothing more. Nothing further. Nothing … deeper. At least - I don’t think so. Would it be safe to suggest that were these other circumstances, I would not care that he was angry at all? And yet … he’s said sometimes his smile makes him uglier. I see now that he’s right; his anger makes him beautiful. The space around him nearly glows, like some sort of fervent nimbus…
Sweet heavens, but this experiment is complicated! Who knew it would be so difficult. I’m only barely closer to understanding what’s passing before and within me. Are there too many variables here? No … only two, and that’s certainly not too many. Too many unknowns. That is the problem. But then again, in a way this isn’t an experiment at all. It’s a research project. Perhaps it will go better if I think of it that way ….
“Eliza!”
My eyes widen. He’s never yelled at me, either. He is absolutely beautiful in his temper. I want to laugh, but that would be wildly inappropriate at this moment, so of course I don’t. But I really, desperately want to.
“I’m sorry, Anthony.” My voice sounds soft, even to my ears. I wonder why that is. “I was … this all has been quite a shock to me. I don’t actually know what to tell you.”
“You don’t … know? You don’t know what that was about.”
“No. I don’t. I’ve only ever seen one of those men in passing. And even then, we weren’t introduced. One of us wasn’t important enough. Probably me.”
“So then why - “
I hold up a hand and rise from the bed I’ve been sitting on to step lightly over the carpet towards the torpid body on the floor. “I truly, honestly don’t know. But there’s one person here who might be able to tell us.”
Kneeling, I tilt my head and focus, delving into the mind of the sleeping Kindred -
Thug for hire. Well, also an associate. Worked together before. Inside job. Purpose? Kill. Scare, if not possible. Varies to opportunity.
Check the area around to make sure there aren’t any sneaking Shadows - just the one we can see. She is standing with a little tote bag in her hand, looking like a Stepford Wife in brunette who walked out of a Neiman Marcus catalogue. Which she might have done. She doesn’t suspect, but the man with her does. He’s an unknown. Abort? No. He’s not known in our circle, and there’s only one of him. He won’t be trouble. Split them up. One on him, two on objective.
The unknown spins, alert before the first move has been made, and chooses the right direction. Facing us and not the mark. Keep his attention before he notices the boss-
I know the rest.
Anthony had landed a stake in this one’s chest at the same moment my Covenant-mate had landed his claws across my chest and throat. I am still pleased at the lucky fact that he managed not to sever the muscles of my larynx so that my vocal folds remained intact for yelling.
I hadn’t seen him coming. Too distracted. I’m always too distracted. Then there was more pain. But then it stopped, and the clawing Invictus went with it. Evidently, a man who has bits of wood is a reasonable threat. That, or the assailant though he could take care of Anthony before he continued with the currently useless, damaged me.
I hadn’t seen the other one, either, but at that point it was less a lack of awareness and more pain that dulled my senses. It was like the third man dropped before my eyes, another stake sticking out from his thoracic cavity. I remember idly wondering what Anthony had done to develop such spectacularly consistent aim. I remember idly wondering at the calm, almost peaceful look that suffused his features, though the rest of him was a blur that few eyes could track. I remember pulling out my little phone and pushing the panic text key. I remember taking a moment to glance about for mortal onlookers, being thankful that there were none, and despairing that a member of my Covenant would, in broad moonlight on a city street near the Bay, jump me. So much for the preservation of the Masquerade.
He got away, the “boss.” I can slow it down in my mind, now. First there was an attempt at hand to hand - Anthony was too quick, or he knew the tactics they were trying to use against him. A pause to regroup, a flicker of attempt at distraction; something that could only work once, and already had. Neither of them were specialists. They didn’t have any flash and dazzle powers of the blood to use, thank goodness. And I’d managed to get too far away by that point to be in any real danger, unless Anthony was unsuccessful in his defense, so he wasn’t worried about me anymore. Another flicker of movement, a flash of bright golden yellow, and he landed that second thoracic strike.
The Invictus darted past, swiping his claws across the fallen body of his first comrade and running for the shadows. I don’t think I’ll ever know quite why he killed the first. But we weren’t interested in asking him. We collected the bodies, one Torpid and one slowing decomposing, and hid until we could chuck them in the SUV my accountant pulled up in. And then we came here.
“Their intent was to kill me. Or at least harm me significantly. This one didn’t know exactly why - he was doing it for the pay, or in return of a favour. But they hadn’t counted on you.”
“Lucky for you then, huh.” His voice is still a snarl. I don’t look up at him, because I am still having trouble with the contradiction of disliking his tone and being awed by the physical allure of his anger.
It occurs to me suddenly that he might not be angry at all. It is completely possible that I have misread him. Of course it is; I am dreadful at identifying emotions. But now, I do not think, is the time to ask. I shall file it for later -
“Veta, you’ve got that look in your eyes again.”
“What look?”
“The look you get when your mind is moving too fast and you’ve forgotten there are other things around you.”
“Or other people. Like you. Yes - again, I’m sorry. But you can understand that there’s a lot to think about right now.”
“Like what?”
More than you know, cousin.
“Like who did this. Who they are, and why they came here, for me. Do you mind if I take this one with me when I go? After my skin knits, that is.”
He shakes his head and I see his eyes travel to the deep, livid gouges peeking out from the remnants of my blouse. The anger - or whatever it is - seems to drain out of him.
Something shifts. I don’t know what it is. But there’s a lot I don’t know these days.
He begins to postulate on the nature of our assailants, their reasons for the attack, who might have sent them….the analytical mind of an Egregoroi at work, taking its specialty and spinning it far off into the highest realm of Intellect.
I watch him stand, still and economical, while he speaks.
To know, to know, to know.
We must know. That’s why I’m here.