Amberlight pt. 7
Title: Amberlight
Fandom: AU The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating:Mature
Summary: A year after Paris, Andy has her life on track again, she's rocketing to success in her job at the Mirror and her freelance work has caused her to be taken under the wing of one of New York's elite writers. So, it's obvious that it's about time for fate to throw a wrench into the works once again.
Author's Note: It's been a while, and yes, this part is one of the shorter ones, but that's because after fretting, I had to snip the second bit and put that into part eight. It just didn't roll together rightly. My apologies for the wait, and thank you for sticking with me!
Miranda allowed Andy a half-hour to compose herself fully, get the remaining jitters out of her system, and be dressed in an outfit that rivaled the ones she 'loaned' from Runway's closet. When the time was up, Andy smoothed her hands nervously over her shirt and gave a tentative look to Miranda, who was wrapping up a call to her daughters. Her affection for them shone clearly on her features and her voice was regretful as she ended the call and flipped the cellphone shut.
“How are they?” Andy asked, wanting to stave off the first few steps into bizarre-world a tiny bit longer.
Miranda tapped the phone with a nail. “Disappointed that I cannot make it to their father's house to bake the brownies for their sleep-over.” She caught Andy's look. “They're children, Andrea, I'll only drive my employees into half-starvation.” She walked over and gestured impatiently for Andy to turn about and show her the outfit. “Yes, I thought it was your size. Thankfully you've maintained your figure.”
Andy resisted the desire to retort. Only Miranda could coo about her children and spoil them with sugary sweets in one breath, and the next cut a grown woman to pieces because she couldn't use a pair of straws as pants. Instead, she spun in place and allowed Miranda to fawn over her outfit. “Do they know?”
Miranda's expression froze. Then faltered. Her shoulders slumped, and she shook her head with a measure of disappointment. “No. I wouldn't want them to know, either way.” She coughed. “Let them pretend the world of monsters that go bump in the night a little while longer.”
“Will you tell them?”
Miranda tilted her head, thinking. “Someday, maybe. I know Jane, she's another one in this, has a son about a few years older than my girls. She was a single mother and had to bring him here when time wasn't on her side. He's learned that secrecy is the best policy.”
“They're ok with him knowing?”
“He doesn't know anything specific, simply that his mother's close friends with Elizabeth and if he wants to see the inside of an Ivy League, that's all he will ever explain to an outsider.” Miranda turned on her heel and moved across the room to the door. “Come along, I've a few stops along the way before we touch on the basics.”
Andy trotted to keep up, wondering how Miranda could walk in heels like a track runner in sneakers. “Is he a ... you know?”
“A Lupus? No. It's not passed from mother to child, though I do understand that a geneticist is trying to find a remedy for that.”
“Why?”
“Simpler. If a child is born with the gift, then there's no need to hide a part of your life away from them. You can integrate them swiftly into the society and stress the need for discretion with proper examples.” If Andy struggled, she could have sworn there was a hint of distaste in Miranda's tone.
“You disagree?”
Miranda blinked, her step faltering for a second. “Not the place, Andrea.” She ushered Andy towards the stairs leading to the great room and the kitchen. “I need to speak with Elizabeth.”
A breeze pushed past Andy as Miranda quickened her steps and was into the kitchen by the time Andy was at the foot of the stairs. She wondered if she would ever become used to Miranda's hot-and-cold mood, then trudged into the sunlit room. Miranda was standing, waiting for her. Elizabeth was at the sink, rinsing out a cup. She hadn't looked up even when she picked up a tray of steaks and set them into a pan. “I wouldn't doubt that any of us were hungry. Andrea, is medium-rare all right for you?” Andy choked out a sound that could be taken as a yes, and Elizabeth nodded. “Very well. James has decided to go home until the evening's events. You will be joining us, Miranda?”
“Of course, Elizabeth.”
“Wonderful. Andrea, I have to apologize but I am afraid that tonight is invitational only. If you do stay, please remain in your quarters after eleven. No accidents, mm?” Andy's jaw clenched but she vocalized a cheery agreement and sat at the island counter. Elizabeth placed the third steak in and turned to face them, looking them both over.
“I told her what she needed to know.” Miranda started, her voice clipped and curt. “She deserves that much.”
“She does, dearie.” Elizabeth rinsed her hands in the sink and wiped them on a dishtowel. If she was dismayed by Miranda's newfound formality with her, she didn't show it. “Despite what you're both clearly thinking, I did not intend for this to happen, but I also know the risks of even allowing Andrea here to live to experience any sort of metaphysical or even an actual change.” She did look a bit saddened, but Andy wasn't going to relax. Barely an hour ago, Elizabeth was ready to kill her. Still was, if Andy twisted her words right.
“How long?” Both older women glanced to her. Andy pushed her hair behind an ear. “How long until that happens, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Miranda. “Some of the myths surrounding the Lupus are purely fictional and keep the masses of humanity from catching on.” She checked over the steaks, then leaned against the counter, still keeping one eye on them. “Others are completely accurate; our connection to the full moon, for example.”
“Connection?”
Elizabeth took two steaks off the heat and allowed them to rest as she continued. “Think about it, Andrea. The full moon tugs at everyone. Hospitals cite being busier, more children are born at the full moon, it tugs at the human psyche, why wouldn't it tug at us as well? The full moon compels a Lupus to give over to the wolf inside. Anyone bitten, either from the gatherings where they are assured to change with all their human instincts intact, or ...mongrel-bitten, where they fall into a state of depravity and live only to kill and to maim.”
“Can we.... not call it that?”
Elizabeth wrinkled her brow. “Call what that?”
“Mongrel. It sounds dirty.”
Elizabeth plated the two steaks and handed one to Miranda, while leaving the other for herself. She took the final steak off the heat and set it aside to rest. “It is dirty, Andrea. Mongrels are...” she trailed off, trying to find the right words. “ The gift we offer, the reason we become a Lupus--”
“Elizabeth, I hate that new-wave mumbo-jumbo and so do you.”
Elizabeth's eyes flicked to Miranda. “Fine, the main purpose many of us take from being a werewolf, are you content with that description Miranda?” She didn't bother to see Miranda's response. “The reason is power, Andrea. Have you ever walked into the room with someone powerful and you could -feel- them?” Andy nodded, having been around Miranda and all the other top-dogs of the fashion world. “Well, becoming a werewolf amplifies everything. Your presence, your influence, your drive, your ambition. Today's society is a dog-eat-dog world, no pun intended, and this gift grants you the fast ticket to success.” Elizabeth set Andy's lunch before her. “Eat. You'll need the protein.”
Andy didn't feel hungry, but Miranda prodded her shoulder. Elizabeth waited until Andy took a bite, then resumed talking, “What I do is cultivate those who I see can handle that drive, make sure that they don't fade into obscurity.”
“So, what's a mongrel?”
“Someone who takes their newfound abilities too far.” Elizabeth's expression darkened. “They choose to focus on the depravities of human nature. Instead of being driven to succeed and make a difference in everyday life, they're content to revel in the blood lust. We would rather them be exterminated than associated with us. Makes our lives harder.”
“I don't understand.”
Miranda spoke up now. “Andrea, you know of Jack the Ripper.”
“He was the first modern serial killer. What?” She caught their amused smirks. “Oh, come on, you can't tell me that -he- was a werewolf!”
“You're right. Jack the Ripper was a name given by the press to cover a series of murders in the fall of 1888. What most don't know, or seem to understand that there are actually eleven brutal murders that occurred from the spring of that year until at least 1891, when we finally found the rest of that monster's entourage and dispatched of them.” Andy tilted her head, intrigued. “Yes, Andrea, Jack the Ripper was an everyday, average human murderer. But, his and his little groupies posed as much of a threat as a mongrel on the prowl.”
Andy leaned back in her chair. “The brutality of the murders made the police investigate everyone far more closely than investigations had before. Anything out of the ordinary, secret meetings, long hours unaccounted for ... all of that would put you underneath a spotlight.”
“Exactly!”
“So, why be in the spotlight now? You're Elizabeth Wiltshire. You're in every newspaper and tabloid when you catch a cold.”
Elizabeth's smirk was just a tiny bit patronizing. “Because humanity has made themselves immune to the fear of things that go bump in the night. It's completely normal for a bunch of snobs to gather around and make fun of the lesser people excluded from the party. Honestly, the world expects it now.” Elizabeth stabbed a piece of steak with her fork. “The best hiding spots are the ones right in the open.” She went quiet and the trio completed lunch with an uneasy silence.