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.
