My Little Ventrue Pt. 06 Ch. 04

Julias nodded, and Clara managed a smile before she opened her mouth. But Julias, thank god for Julias, raised a hand high enough to cut her off. A small finger wave was enough to convince Clara to not speak.

He took a deep breath. Useless. He took another anyway, hoping that maybe some vestigial biological awareness would calm him down with the breath. Nothing. He stared at his mom, his nearly dead mom, stared at the big tube taped into her mouth, at the way her hair was ruined, at the wires sticking out of her, at how still she was. This wasn't the woman he saw in the window a week ago, a mom who was getting over her horrible past; no one could be expected to get over losing both a husband and a son. But, she had been. With the help of her daughter, she was putting her life back together.

And now she was in a fucking hospital, with thirteen fucking stab wounds.

Thirteen. Thirteen! He was going to kill Angela when he found her, rip out her innards, dance in the rain of her blood-spurting cries, and spit on her face when she fell to her knees, dying. He was going to stomp on her skull and smile as it cracked under his heel. No, those deaths were far too quick. He was going to tie her to a chair, summon an army of rats, and invite them to slowly eat her. Nibble, nibble, slowly bite away her flesh. First the fingers. Then the toes. He'd tie belts around her limbs to prevent her from bleeding to death. He'd find drugs to inject into her to make sure she didn't pass out. He'd—

Julias put a hand on his shoulder, and Jack snapped his head up, as if someone had popped a balloon next to his ear. He looked down at the bed railing in his grip, and removed his hands. The metal was bent to fit the shape of his fingers.

Sighing, he came around the bed again, and leaned in over his mom once more. So pale. He forced down the rising terror in his throat, and kissed her on the forehead.

"Let's... go see my sister."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was easier to be in a room full of dead people, than seeing his mom hooked up to tubes and wires. There were a few metal tables around on wheels, of the proper length and width to hold a body, but they were moved out of the way. All the small doors on the walls were closed. The LEDs above were plain white, and the computer was off. A cold, quiet, dead room.

Clara sniffed a few times, and walked over to one door. "You sure... you don't want to call the Prince?"

He looked down and away, and clenched his fists at his sides. Antoinette. God, if he saw her, he'd break down. He'd shatter into a million pieces. He'd grab onto her and cry and scream and whisper 'Mom' and 'Mary' into her suit as she held him. She was the only person in the fucking universe he had ever truly let into his mind, into the emotional part of him, and if there was anyone who could demolish the walls he was putting up in his mind, it'd be her.

He couldn't handle that, not yet. He wasn't numb anymore, and that was good enough.

"Maybe tomorrow night. But for now, she probably doesn't know about this, and I'd like to keep it that way. I'll... I'll tell her, when I go to her tower tonight before sunrise." If he told her just before sunrise, maybe he'd be able to keep that conversation short.

Why was he avoiding it? Why didn't he want her to know? Fucking coward. He knew, he fucking knew, if Antoinette looked at him with eyes of pity, of sadness and empathy, he'd crumble. Others would call that mourning, and dealing with your emotions. And they'd be right. But for now, it wasn't something he could handle, and he didn't think it'd be a good thing to take on when they had bigger fish to fry.

That wasn't everything. A small part of him was terrified he might hate her, for looking at him with pity. He wasn't in a rush to find out.

They were losing night hours, and with hunters ruining their lives, his life, he didn't have hours to lose. He needed to get back out there, join the sweeper teams, work on resolving any arising issues with the Uratha and Kindred teams, go talk to Azamel and see where she wanted to put her three, and above all else, find Jeremiah. They'd already taken time to recuperate after the last run in with him, and now it was time to find the hunters so they could strike first. Every moment he was in this hospital, was a moment wasted on a personal indulgence.

His dead sister and dying mother were a personal indulgence. Christ, that did sound like something Viktor would say.

Stop. Thinking. About. Viktor.

He stepped up to Clara, and grit his teeth as he read the name on the small metal door. Mary Terry. A small grin forced its way onto his lips, despite his best efforts to keep it suppressed. It was a funny name, Mary Terry, and when he was young, he remembered the other kids used to tease her about it. Course, Mary was an outgoing person, fun, high spirited, and she just laughed it off. She was more like their mother, happy and laughing, never letting other people bring her down.

Then Dad died. Jack had pushed her away, and she got into the nasty sort of shit social people did when they were depressed. It was a miracle she came back at all.

Then Jack died. Only the women in the Terry family were left, and Jack got to watch through a fucking window, the fall and rise of his sister and mother from the pits of what must have been suicidal depression. They kept each other going, supported each other, and from what he could see through glass, became closer than ever.

Then Mary died. If his mom lived, there was no hope for her. She'd kill herself. He didn't want to think that way, and he couldn't be sure it was true, but the human mind could only take that level of pain so many times. To ask a parent to accept the disappearance of one child, and then to accept the death of another, their only remaining offspring, not even two years later? Parents were not meant to bury their children.

He pulled open the door, and slid out the metal bed. A white sheet covered a body. The final frontier was nothing more than a thin white sheet, cold from being inside a fridge.

"Jack," Clara said, "you don't have to."

Julias shook his head, dismissing her words. "Yes, he does."

Yes, he did. He pulled the blanket down from her head, and exposed her face.

He was looking at a vampire. An unmoving vampire. If she turned her head to look at him, he would not have been surprised. Pale skin, thin, highlighting the structure of her bones. But it was still her, just a vampire version of her. Dead, like him. Whenever he didn't Blush Life, this was what he looked like; especially when sleeping during the day. A still, unmoving corpse. Not breathing, deathly pale and sunken cheeks, eyes closed with no movement under her eyelids. It was a face any vampire saw when they looked in the mirror.

He reached out, and touched her forehead. Nothing. No movement, no reaction, nothing. A lifeless, unmoving bag of bones.

He could almost hear the sound of her voice.

"How many times was she stabbed?" he asked.

"Doctor said seven times." Julias kept his voice cold, curt, to the point, and spared him no sympathy. The man knew him too well.

Jack managed a small chuckle, and slid his knuckles along Mary's cheek. "And yet Mom's the one that survived."

"I... is that a bad thing?" Clara said.

"Yes," Julias said, "it is."

Jack looked over his shoulder at his sire. He knew Julias hadn't felt this sort of pain, but the man was a century old, and had no doubt seen it before. Live long enough and you could probably map out the human mind.

Maybe that's why he was so terrified of talking to Antoinette about this? His pain was nothing new to her. She'd have advice, things to offer him, and she'd do everything to try and soothe his wounds. He didn't want that right now. Like a fucking moron, he wanted the pain; better than going completely numb. And he almost had, before Clara snapped him out of it.

He looked at the werewolf for a moment, just enough time to get a snapshot of her face. She adapted quickly. No more pitiful gazes from her. She figured out what he wanted fast, and for the life of him, he couldn't see Antoinette giving him that hard edge. The Prince could be brutal, but with him, about personal things, heavy things? He doubted it.

Stop thinking about it. You can tell her later; or she'll find out herself. No doubt she would. Hell, she might know right now, and was letting you come to her. Maybe she did actually understand he needed a little space right now, and he was being a fucking idiot. He'd find out tonight.

He leaned in, kissed his sister on the forehead, and pulled the blanket up over her head. "Let's go."

"Go?" Clara said.

"Yeah, go. We have a job to do."

"Jack, you can't be serious. You just had a huge loss, and—"

He looked over his shoulder and frowned at her. For a moment, she might have been pitying him with her eyes, but if she had been, it was gone by the time he looked at her. Instead, when she met his eyes, she pulled her head back a bit, and blinked at him, several times, surprised.

He was giving her a death stare.

Sighing, he shook his head for a moment to dislodge the expression. "Sorry, I... We can't put the sweeps on hold because of this. If anything, this means we shouldn't have taken as long as we did to recover from the previous encounter."

"Assuming the hunters are to blame," she said.

"Thirteen and seven stab wounds. That's something Angela would do. Were their belongings taken, Julias?"

"No."

"Then my mom and sister were hunted down, and assassinated. Angela and Jeremiah are to blame." With a snarl, he swung the door of the morgue open, and started marching. "I'm going to hook back up with Isabella and Gloria, and go see Azamel."

"I'm on your sweeper team," Clara said, "so I might as well join you."

"Oh. That why you came here with me?"

"Nope."

"Oh." He tried to smile at her. It didn't happen. Best he could manage was to not give her that death stare he was trying to stop doing. She came to provide him support, be there for him, and he let her in. The least he could fucking do was stop looking at her like she was Angela.

"Give me a short report before the night is done, " Julias said as he joined them. "I'll see what footage I can find around this incident. Got a team of thralls pouring through available options."

"Thanks." He nodded at his sire, and continued along as Julias stayed behind. The man pulled out his phone and started a phone call, and from how it started, Jack figured he was calling the council to report.

They met eyes for a moment, and Julias gave him a solid, stern nod. Jack returned it. No one else would have understood. No one else would have known exactly what Jack wanted, and needed, immediately.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was surround by women.

He looked beside him, at Isabella and Gloria. Isabella was a powerful Daeva, and had learned to Obfuscate, to use the Cloak of Night to a passable degree, despite it being outside a Daeva's natural talent pool. She was a deadly creature, committed, and focused. Gloria was a quiet, shy ditz, short black hair and an average height and build. She blended perfectly into a crowd; just like a Mekhet wanted. And it was her they were relying on for their sneaky endeavors.

Clara walked ahead of them, each step purposeful and calculated. He might as well have been watching the Discovery channel. Maybe David Attenborough would chime in? 'Notice, how the deadly female handles her movements with a more specific grace, than her male counterpart. The werewolf breathes deep the air, using her unparalleled sense of smell, to hunt for prey. She is a patient hunter, and practiced. The rest of the pack follow her lead, and by observing the wise alpha female, they will learn what approaches to utilize, and what mistakes, to avoid.'

Not even Attenborough could lighten his mood. Sighing, he looked behind him. Athalia. He was hoping Azamel wouldn't do this, wouldn't put any of her troupe with him, but the fucking old woman was too damn smart. Athalia wasn't going to let him do what he wanted if he... when he got his hands on Angela.

She looked uncomfortable. Good. Your daughter is the reason my sister is dead and my mom is in a fucking coma.

That wasn't fair, and he knew it. Athalia had tried to defeat Angela, tried to help him and his team when they were rescuing Jessy, and had nearly succeeded. She'd done everything he could have expected of her, and more. The fact she'd begged him to spare Angela at the last moment was hardly something he could blame her for.

But it was still her daughter, and no matter how logical he was, no matter how much he could set aside his emotions, he had just come back from looking his dead sister and dying mother in the face, kissing them goodbye, and went out on a hunting mission. He couldn't help but hate Athalia. And that made him a hypocrite. Flip the switch? Like he'd told others to do? Easier said than done.

At least he wasn't numb anymore. Now, he was boiling. Instead of cold metal walls between him and the people around him, there was fire, lava, and boiling blood scalding his withered veins.

He probably seemed like a colossal asshole right now. If that meant people would leave him alone, or at least be direct with him and not treat him like he was made of porcelain, all the better.

"Where we going?" Gloria said.

Clara nodded forward, into the shadows of the tunnels they walked. "This network of tunnels is stupid complex. Apparently, there are tunnels that no one uses anymore?"

"Correct," Isabella said. "The kine use none, but beyond that, there are tunnels so old they have been abandoned by everyone. The elders thought it would be important for future safety. If there are tunnels that fall out of favor, there are more tunnels that can be used when someone needs to hide."

Jack nodded. "If anyone knows these tunnels, it's Damien."

The werewolf agreed, nodding as she rounded one of the curving tunnels. "Text from Avery said she put Matt on his team. He's got muscle if he finds shit and can't get out."

"And Fiona is with them." Shrugging, Athalia pulled ahead, and started walking beside Clara. Didn't want to be in the back alone, not with Jack right in front of her, probably. Too uncomfortable. He agreed.

"We need two teams down here then?" he said.

The werewolf nodded again, and glanced back before continuing on. "Too many tunnels for us to cover. Your elders went overboard I think, cause there's enough underground network in this fucking city to house an entire city's worth of people."

"That was their goal, probably. Antoinette thinks far ahead, very far ahead, more than most elders. I wouldn't put it past her to have a back up plan for if everyone, humans included, needed to go underground to hide from an apocalypse on the surface." Considering her age, and considering it hadn't been so long since the Cold War, she'd no doubt felt justified in that preparation. He would have, too.

Sniffing the air deep, Clara sighed and shook her head. "I don't smell anything but a few vamps, and us."

"Nosferatu hide in these tunnels," Isabella said. "Liliana and Robert"—Bob to everyone else but the icy Daeva—"may sleep nearby."

Jack pulled out his phone and checked the city blueprint. With a few taps, he had the layout of the tunnels highlighted. So many old tunnels, and while the subways were all abandoned, there were tunnels below those that had never been used by the public. Those tunnels connected to the old subway, the newer-but-still-abandoned subway, and the sewers.

To any creature that loved the dark and didn't need to eat or drink, like a vampire, such a place was a haven. Any vampire not engaging in combat or using their disciplines regularly didn't need to feed often. If they were, or using the Blush of Life frequently, regular feeding was required, but still not nearly as often as a kine needed water. Deep, complex tunnel networks were perfect for vampires, and other monsters. They weren't perfect for humans, far from it. But these hunters had a monster with them, and that changed the game.

There was a very real chance they'd run into the hunters down here, and he was looking forward to it.

"We need to address the elephant in the room," Isabella said. Oh fuck, not now. "The attack against Jack's kine family was likely done by Angela and Jeremiah, based on all reports I've read about their psychological profiles. The hunters in their employ, I can't imagine are that bloodthirsty as to kill innocent kine. Those two psychopaths likely acted on their own, but to what end?"

"Trying to draw me out, I imagine," Jack said. It was easier to think of it like that, to address the situation as if it was a puzzle to solve, like it was a scene on a predictable crime show, than to think this was happening to him. Maybe that was Isabella's goal? If it was, she was a nicer woman than he figured. She did have a bunch of acting students under her wing, so maybe it wasn't so radical an idea, if she was capable of keeping so many people cooperative.

"Then I would have to assume this was an act on Angela's part, and not Jeremiah's," she said.

Athalia coughed, and everyone looked her way. "If you're going to assume Angela's the vengeful one of those two, think again. Jeremiah's gone to hell and back because he has a grudge against Azamel specifically."

"It's an Ahab situation," Jack said, "far as I can gather. Azamel is Jeremiah's Moby Dick. Unless you know more, Athalia." Keep the venom out of your voice, Jack. Athalia's not to blame. She's not to blame. Repeat it until it fucking sinks in.

"It's close enough. Azamel has a long and varied history, and the destruction she has left in her wake has scarred more than a few souls."

"Explain to me," Clara said, growling as she turned around, bringing the group to a halt, "why we're helping her, then?"

Jack put up a hand. "In the story, Ahab was the psychopath that got his crew killed, with his obsession in killing a whale that bit off his leg. He wasn't a valiant hero or anything, just a powerful madman devoured by rage." He did not like how real that statement was. But, it did give him an idea. "I have to wonder if these hunters are actually with Jeremiah and Angela on this hunt, committed, devoted. In Moby Dick, Ishmael saw the man's descent into madness. It was something he was aware of, could see, and so could members of his crew."

Gloria tilted her head. "You... you think you can talk reason to the crew."

"Maybe. Unlikely. Like in the story, they all died except for Ishmael. His crew followed him into the maw of death, despite plenty of forewarning about their doom. It's tough to break free of the shackles of a powerful, vocal figure, especially when they're a passionate one."

Everyone let out a small sigh. Yeah, they all knew that was true. Much as everyone liked to think of themselves as valiant, truth was more people followed the words of another as pure instinct.

Jack scrolled through his messages again. Instructions on where to explore, what areas needed an Uratha's nose, what areas could do with surveillance footage checks, and what areas were likely to need a Kindred's eye for separating city kine from hunters. But the last message, he didn't like the sound of.

The council wanted them to capture Elen alive, and not tell the Uratha or Begotten about it. Like Jack's efforts to keep people getting along wasn't hard enough as was.