Treason: Chapter 1 - Home Sweet Home
The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together
- William Shakespeare, All's Well that Ends Well
***
The air in the house was still warm from the day, not even the closed
shutters had been able to keep the heat outside. A smell of dust and old
leather was lingering in the hallways, adding to the general atmosphere
of the building. Everything seemed old in here, but in a remarkably good
condition. Vases, statues, canvases... historians would have happily
killed for just one tenth of the items collected in here.
The inhabitants did not care about them at all, and did not even look
at them consciously. There was no need for them to do so, they knew
exactly what the things looked like, how they felt. They had watched the
crafting of a few of them.
Jesse was in the library sorting the new books she had purchased
during her latest journey to Calcutta. She enjoyed living in India, to
see the places again where she had already been once with the Talamasca,
while researching cases of reincarnation. Knowing a country made
returning to it a lot easier, and there was a lot here that connected
her to her mortal life. She knew that Maharet disapproved if she went
off to see old friends, she wanted Jesse to cut all her bonds with the
mortal world as soon as possible. But Jesse wanted to spend time with
her acquaintances and friends as long as she was able to. Soon the
danger that they would notice her stagnating age would be too great, and
she would have to leave them behind. The few years she had left she
wanted to enjoy.
Life here was peaceful, and she loved to sit in Maharet's study and
help her creator and many times removed mother to update the records of
the Great Family. It amazed her that Maharet had been able to keep track
of nearly every branch of the family, hardly anybody ever got out of
sight. Jesse had been typing a lot of Maharet's old writings into the
computer and had created a database with the names. Currently she was
working on cross-referencing the entries.
She could tell that Mael and Eric were not exactly interested in the
work she and Maharet were doing, but that did not matter. The two male
vampires would entertain themselves elsewhere, and they had not
complained yet. Sometimes Jesse wondered who of the two was Maharet's
lover; she knew that it had to be one of them, but she had seen both
Eric and Mael leave Maharet's bedroom from time to time. It was not that
she cared; after a brief affair with Mael she had no longer been
interested in him, and Eric was absolutely out of the question. He could
be an amicable companion for one evening, but after some time he
inevitably became bored by whatever she was doing, and would mock her
mercilessly for it.
It bothered her that she could not read his thoughts; during her
mortal life she had become a little too dependent on her telepathic
abilities for her own good. Judging the emotions of a person just by
means of their voice and body language was not always an easy task. But
Jesse and Eric were too close to the primal fount to be able to hear
each other. The connection was too close, and it was the same with
Khayman.
The ancient Egyptian had visited them only a few times, and Jesse
suspected that Mael and Eric were relieved every time he left. She was
not sure if they saw a concurrent or a danger in him, but she did not
care about it a lot. To her Khayman was a charming being, and she
enjoyed being in his company. She loved him, but it was a daughter's
love, not a lover's.
Balancing a stack of books in her arms, Jesse carefully took to the
air to put them into one of the top shelves. Had she still been mortal,
she would have had to get a ladder to accomplish this. Immortal powers
had advantages in everyday situations.
"Jesse!" Eric was calling her, the usual teasing edge in his voice.
He looked at her as a child and let her know it. Sometimes she felt like
hitting him for it, but Maharet had made it clear that she wanted
harmony in her home. Jesse had bowed her head to the rule.
"I am coming," she called back, shoved the last book into its place
and left the library. She briefly wondered what he wanted; maybe he was
up to hunting and looking for company.
She found him in the living room, he was sorting through the mail.
Four neat stacks of letters were on the table in front of him. When he
heard Jesse come, he handed her one of them. She took them and quickly
looked at the senders when she felt Eric's eyes on her.
"What?" she asked, a hint of defiance in her voice. She did not feel
like answering his prying questions right now.
"May I ask why you get postcards from Santino?"
"You read my mail?" Jesse stared at him angrily.
"Yes. So why does he send you a card?"
"If you read it, you should have noticed that it is not only from him
but also from Pandora. She promised to stay in contact with me when we
last met, and I suppose that Santino just signed the card. Why do you
ask, are you jealous?" Eric shot her a questioning look, he tried to
find out what she was thinking. Once again she could see the frustration
on his face when he remembered that he could not read her.
"Jealous of Pandora?" He gave a little laugh. "Why should I be
jealous of her?." Jesse raised an eyebrow to indicate that she did not
entirely believe him. She remembered that the first time she had seen
Eric he had been in the company of Santino, but she had never again seen
them together. If they had ever been lovers she did not know, and she
had never felt like asking. But she had noticed that Eric tensed every
time Santino's name was mentioned. Or Pandora's, for that matter. Jesse
could tell that Eric did not exactly like the female Roman vampire, and
she supposed that Santino had something to do with it.
"Because the last time we all met she and Santino left together, and
because they have stayed together ever since." Eric stiffened, and
looked at Jesse coldly.
"That was only a year ago, that they are traveling together does not
mean anything."
"If it makes you happy to believe that..." Jesse shrugged. Eric had
been edgier than usual since Lestat's supposed journey to Heaven and
Hell. Something bothered him about it, and she couldn't quite put her
finger on what it was exactly. She doubted that he was concerned about
Mael's well-being.
The druid had stepped into the sun two days after Armand in a
half-hearted attempt to kill himself, or maybe just to see what effects
the light would have on him. They had dragged him away, Maharet and
Jesse, into a safe place where they had rested for the day. And as soon
as the night had come again, Jesse had been sent off to India with him
to take care of him while he healed.
She had never asked why Maharet had not come with them. Her maker had
returned a month later, a worn out look on her face, and had refused to
talk of what had kept her in New Orleans. Jesse had later heard tales,
but she did not believe them. It was unthinkable that Maharet would have
chained Lestat up in a basement, no matter what state he was in.
"Stop it." Jesse was startled, she hadn't noticed that she had been
staring at Eric. "You know nothing." Eric stood, nearly turning over the
chair he had been sitting on, and went to the window. Leaning heavily on
the sill, he stared out into the night.
"I may lack your enormous experience, but I am not stupid." Eric gave
her a malevolent smile.
"That remains debatable." Jesse fought the urge to comment on this
and chose that silence was maybe the best answer. Eric had clearly
expected her to say something, but she did not feel like having yet
another battle of words with him. He had had thirty centuries to
practice his stinging comments, and the experience showed.
Gripping her letters, she turned to leave the room. And froze.
"Yes, Armand, we will be there tomorrow evening."
Lestat sounded annoyed, Louis thought, but he seemed to be acting a
great deal of it. Listening to Lestat and Armand on the phone was
something well worth interrupting his reading, even though Louis could
only hear Lestat's side of the talk.
"Well, what did you expect? Should I have waited for somebody to let
me in? I would still be standing on your balcony if I had done that. You
should be grateful that I didn't break the door." Lestat chuckled.
"Don't worry, we will use the door bell, though it is definitely not my
style."
Louis shook his head in loving exasperation. Lestat would never stop
trying to live up to the concept he had created of himself. The Vampire
Lestat, the name stood for everything Lestat wanted to be. And Louis
knew that struggling to live up to the standards he had set himself was
tiring Lestat more than he wanted to admit.
"Mon Dieu, Armand! You sound as if you think I will bring Armageddon
with me..." Louis could imagine Armand's answer on that one. Lestat had
a certain ability to attract trouble, and Louis had found that Armand
was nearly as talented at it. Sometimes he wondered why those two always
had a feud going; they were so similar. Probably that was the reason,
they could not stand having another being close who acted as a mirror,
reflecting their soul.
Lestat finished the call and came over to Louis, who was sitting on
the sofa, the book he had been reading still in his hand. Curiously,
Lestat took it and looked at the title, then frowned as he returned it
to Louis.
"Dracula? Louis, why do you read that?" Louis sighed, he was not sure
if he should bother trying to explain to Lestat that he rather enjoyed
reading Bram Stoker's work. It was fiction, and an interesting read.
Besides, Louis had become fond of the Victorian writers during the last
months and had devoured Mary Shelley's writings as well as Lord Byron's
poems. They were dark, but strangely comforting; as if the authors had
known of a world that existed within their own yet could not be seen.
Louis lived in this world, as did all the other vampires, witches and
immortals he had heard of. And he felt that a few mortals had caught a
glimpse of their domain.
"I don't see why I should not. Stoker's style is very interesting."
Lestat's eyes went wide as always when he listened to Louis talking
about some book or other.
"If you want to read a vampire story, why do you have to take the one
of that boring Irish? Why not read mine, or Armand's, or Pandora's?"
Louis smiled gently, the way an adult smiled at a child before he tried
to explain something which he knew the other would not understand.
"Dracula is fiction, it is a tale while the books written by you and
the others contain our history. And I do not want to read of all that
again."
What he did not mention was that it still hurt him to read of
Lestat's love for Akasha, no matter that she had died fifteen years ago.
The evidence was in the books, that was one reason why Louis dreaded
them. They were the collected proofs and confirmations of everything
that had happened, and very often he would not want to be reminded of
it. His own years, decades of suffering and self-loathing, the pain to
find Lestat only to have him ripped away again. Armand's story had not
hurt him nearly as much as Lestat's. Sure, there were triggering
elements in it, and Louis had cried when he had read of the horrors
Claudia had gone through before her death. But he had felt strangely
detached; this all had happened a long time ago, the memories were
beginning to fade.
Running his hand over the smooth cover of the book, Louis leaned back
on the sofa and gave Lestat a questioning look.
"Are we still going to visit them tomorrow?"
"Yes, though I swear Armand is becoming far too materialistic these
days." Louis laughed softly, running a hand through his hair.
"And that from you?"
"I was never materialistic," Lestat stated with an authority in his
voice that made Louis feel that commenting on this was not the wisest
thing to do if he did not want to spend the rest of the evening
listening to Lestat's proofs for his argument.
"Of course you were not."
Contented, Lestat smiled and touched Louis' cheek with his
fingertips.
"I knew you would agree with me. Do you think we should bring them
presents? Sybelle would certainly like a new piano, wouldn't she?" Louis
sighed.
"Lestat, you only sent her a piano two weeks ago. Marius' house is
not that spacious, and he must have one of the things standing in every
room by now."
Lestat shook his head. "I am sure he has not. Can you imagine a piano
in his kitchen?" Louis began to laugh quietly, which appeared to
encourage Lestat. "Or the bathroom, so Sybelle could play while she is
soaking in the tub?"
"You are being silly, stop it" The blond vampire looked startled.
"How did you find out?" Louis gave him a stern look.
"Stop it."
"Kiss me and I will stop immediately." Expectantly Lestat closed his
eyes, waiting for Louis to do what he had told him. Louis smiled and
bent forward. A moment before touching Lestat's lips he pulled back, and
brought the book he was still holding to his lover's mouth.
Lestat's eyes snapped open in surprise, and he growled at Louis.
"Tomorrow we may be invited, but not tonight." Faster than Louis
could even think of it, he was caught in Lestat's arms and pinned to the
couch underneath his lover's body. He tried to get away, but stopped
writhing as soon as Lestat kissed him gently, running his fingers
through Louis' hair and tickling the nape of his neck.
The sound of a fly buzzing through the room was the only noise that
could be heard. The insect was drawn to the small lamp on the desk, and
kept flying against it until it died in the heat of the light bulb.
Jesse didn't dare to move, not even when she felt a cold brush of air
when Eric moved to stand at her side. She didn't even remember to
breathe. She only stared at the sight that presented itself to her.
In the door frame, half into the room, stood Mekare, or what Jesse
thought had to be her. She had only seen the old vampire once, and that
had been so shortly after her death that she had not really taken notice
of her. But now Mekare held Jesse's undivided attention. She looked
white, nearly translucent, as if she had not fed for too long. Her face
was gaunt; had she starved? Green eyes poised on Jesse, she slowly rose
a hand that was coated in dirt. After a moment Jesse broke the eye
contact, she could impossibly continue looking at this face that was so
similar to Maharet's and at the same time so different.
A small noise came from Mekare, a sound of disappointment and
disapproval. She was looking at Eric now, and he held her gaze, not
blinking once. Jesse could see her eyes widen; what was she trying to
do? Then she realized. Mekare, unable to talk, was attempting to
communicate with them, and could not hear them, could not reach their
minds because they were too close to her. It frightened Jesse only to
think of it, to imagine being unable to talk to anybody. Unconsciously,
she reached for Eric's hand, and to her surprise he did not pull away
but squeezed her fingers reassuringly. She could feel that he was
trembling a little; he was scared too of this sight. Jesse prayed for
Maharet to come back; but her maker would only be back in a few nights,
she had traveled to Moscow with Mael to visit relatives.
"We have to take her back," Eric whispered. Jesse nodded slowly. How
had Mekare been able to escape at all? Maharet had always said that it
would be impossible for her to escape the hiding place. She had said
that nobody would ever be able to reach the Queen, and that she had
taken all precautions necessary to prevent Mekare from walking into the
sun, unconscious of what she was doing. Did the Queen know that she was
the source of life for all vampires? Was she aware of that?
"But how?"
Eric looked at her, then at Mekare. "We lead her back... She
hopefully won't resist. We cannot leave her up here."
"Alright. Tell me what to do." Jesse noticed that Mekare was
intensely listening to their words, as if she understood them. But she
couldn't know what they had said, could she? Maharet had said that her
twin had never learned to speak any modern languages, and she could not
read Jesse's and Eric's mind to find out what they were talking
about.
Eric moved towards the silent figure slowly, Jesse could see that he
was carefully avoiding all disjointed movements. He was behaving as if
he was trying to capture an untamed animal, and Jesse disapproved of
this. She knew that they had to bring Mekare back into her refuge, but
there was no reason to treat her as if she was mad. But hadn't Maharet
said that the Queen was mindless? Jesse did not know what she should
believe. When she went with Eric she felt as if she was doing something
wrong, as if she had no right to do this.
Mekare watched their movements attentively, she appeared to be making
a plan to escape them. Jesse had seen this look on cats when they were
trapped in a corner. And cats used their claws if they could not
escape...
Finally Eric was close enough to touch her. He slowly lifted one hand
and touched Mekare's shoulder. She did not do anything but turn her head
to look at him. Jesse sighed with relief, she had feared that the Queen
would react instinctively to the touch, like Lestat had done while in
the coma.
"Help me. We have to bring her back to the refuge." Eric had both
hands on Mekare's shoulders now, and was beginning to exert pressure.
Mekare opened her mouth in silent protest, then took a step forward,
into the room.
"Please, Mekare," Jesse pleaded. "You have to go back, you cannot be
here." Mekare stared at her, and Jesse saw something like understanding
in her eyes. Understanding, but not agreement. Frowning, Mekare shook
her head, slowly, very slowly.
"Mekare!" Eric sounded impatient. "You cannot possibly stay here!" He
pushed again, and this time stepped back a little. "Jesse, help me, I
cannot get her back on my own. Together we should be strong enough." He
stepped behind Mekare, and his hands on her arms, he tried to pull her
while Jesse watched, not sure what she should do. She was strangely
reminded of the first aid course she had had to do when she had done her
driving license; the way Eric attempted to drag Mekare away looked like
a grip they had learned to get injured people off the street. She
finally put her hands on Mekare's shoulders, tried to push her while
Eric kept pulling. They managed to move her a few steps backwards, but
then Mekare began fighting their efforts and made it impossible to bring
her away.
Eric shook his head, he was pale with tension. He knew as well as
Jesse what it would mean if they could not take Mekare down into the
refuge. She might accidentally kill them all, without even knowing that
she was doing it.
"We could try to carry her," Jesse suggested. Eric nodded, and put
his arms around Mekare's chest while Jesse bent down to lift her
legs.
The next thing she knew was that she was flying through the air. Her
body hit the wall a fraction of a second before her head did. The sound
she heard could only have come from broken bones; and she could feel
blood flow from the back of her head. When she tried to move the room
was spinning around her; groaning in pain, she slumped down to the
floor, helplessly watching the scene that unfolded before her eyes.
Eric used Mekare's distraction with Jesse to drag her nearly
completely out of the room. But now the ancient vampire turned around,
faced him. Eric was beginning to tremble, he fell to the floor and began
to crawl towards Jesse, one outstretched hand reaching for her. Jesse
wanted to help him, she tried to get up only to be slammed back against
the wall by an invisible force.
When he had reached the middle of the room, Eric tried to get on his
feet again. He nearly managed, but then broke down again, clutching his
head. Blood was flowing from his nostrils, and he was turning pale as if
he felt intense pain. Mekare followed him slowly, and Jesse could have
sworn that she had a satisfied smile on her face. Helplessly she watched
as Mekare sat down on the sofa, on the same spot she herself preferred.
She could feel that she was close to fainting; she had the eerie feeling
of having gone through this already. Hadn't she had a fractured skull
before? Thinking hurt, she tried not to do it, to let her mind
drift.
A scream, then there was fire in the room. Eric was burning, Jesse
could see his silhouette surrounded by flames. It looked pretty when she
did not think of it that it was a friend who was dying in front of her
eyes. But could he die in a fire at all? She was not sure about that.
Maharet had not known if Akasha would be able to kill her fledglings;
could Mekare do it? It looked as if she would find out.
The figure - no, Eric- was rolling on the floor in a useless attempt
to extinguish the flames that engulfed him. The heat of the fire burned
on Jesse's cheeks; this was much hotter than normal flames would be. It
hurt her, she felt her skin redden almost immediately. Another scream,
more a wail, and another.
Jesse smelled burned hair, burned flesh; she tried to ignore the
stench, but it was impossible. She saw Mekare rise, saw her walk towards
the window. Would she open it? Yes, she did, but why? She could not find
an answer for that question, and continued watching Eric, who was
writhing in pain. The screams grew louder.
And then there was silence. Only ashes indicated that there had been
a third being in the room seconds ago.
Then the room was on fire. And Mekare was
gone.
