My Little Ventrue Pt. 07 Ch. 06

"No lying then." And information was the most valuable commodity, to Kindred and to anyone who knew a thing or two about the seedy underbelly of Dolareido. Answering a question could be his undoing, for all he knew. But he needed to know. "When I was in the Hisil, we were attacked by these... red wraith things, that I'm pretty sure work for you. They wanted flesh. Why?"

"Ah yes, my friends on the other side." The black mist lifted, swirled upon itself within the sacrificial altar, and something resembling a human stood within, with only the most vague features, like a cloud of obsidian. "As you have seen tonight, there is more to flesh than simple meat and bones. That Elen witch knows this. My old friend Malachi knows this. Flesh is a machine with power, meant to carry a soul. Learn to bend it, work it, shape it, and a host of options come up."

Of course the ancient entity of death and murder and dark magic and only God knew what else would want to develop an understanding of flesh magic. If spirits embodied their intentions, then Black Blood likely had parts to him that existed in a weird, 'I am witchcraft and flesh ritual' sort of way. No wonder he was so strange compared to other spirits.

"This flesh magic," Jack said, "is pretty fucked up shit, you two. Even worse than sacrificing people to perform rituals."

Jacob set his hip against the side of the bowl, head pointed at him and arms folded across his chest. "Oh?"

"Yeah. I saw the shit Elen did to track me and Eric down. She figured out how to use flesh like... like... fuck me, I don't know. It was sickening, the things she'd drawn, analyzing skin and muscle and... and... tapping into something that let her learn about me, and Eric. And now you're telling me you two have been trying to do the same thing? You must have been pursuing this for a while, if there are literal incarnations of this fucked up desire wandering the Shadow half of Dolareido, ready to attack my friend, for a chance to see her guts!" Again, the curse took a joyride on Jack's behalf, and announced his words as a shout. Jack didn't mind this time.

Jacob looked to the mist, and the mist looked — probably — at Jacob; hard to tell where mist was looking.

"Don't go walking where you ain't welcome, boy," Black Blood said. "There's alligators in them waters. Don't come visiting my realm unless I'm there to oversee it. Something might bite you."

This conversation was quickly making it apparent, that Jack had a lot of growing up to do. He wanted to argue, spit bile, throw a fit, and maybe even challenge them. This curse made him feel like he could do it, too. To set aside the impulse, ignore it, let the emotion pass and then default to a logical decision, was a skill he prided himself on, but no one could do that easily when frustrated. His poker face was shattered, and he fucking knew it. Regain control, pause, let the bubbling rage settle, and then speak.

"You live in the Shadow Realm, Black Blood, but it's not yours. Besides, we used a door that someone else put there. Your doing, I assume?" No point in keeping the Begotten's ability to open inter-dimensional doors a secret, not after Black Blood had rescued them, and watched the Begotten leave the strange in-between realm on their own. He no doubt knew Fiona had been the one to open the portal to take Jack and Damien into the Shadow Realm. Maybe Jack could learn about the portal Fiona had found, and—

"That's a second question," Black Blood said, chuckling.

Jack bit down again. "Shit."

"My turn for a question," Black Blood continued, "about this curse of yours."

"Of course you'd want to talk about the curse."

The black mist leaned forward toward him. Dark fog flowed from its body, and dripped off of it like dye dispersing in liquid. "Don't be getting too big for your britches, boy."

"Sorry," he said through clenched teeth. Like fucking hell he was sorry, but he had to play nice. God, he sucked at the Danse Macabre.

"Right you are. Now, the curse, explain to me the ritual that your ancient sire performed. Every detail now."

Fuck. If they learned about the details, they could perform it. But it wasn't like there were any Strix in Dolareido; that he knew of, anyway. And that tree at the bottom of some ancient cave seemed to be important, too. He had no idea where it was, and he had no idea if Black Blood could leave Dolareido. He seemed awfully attached to it, connected even.

"I guess Triss told you."

"Yes," Jacob said, "but what you told her was vague. Give us details."

Frowning at Jacob the whole time, Jack recounted the tail. He did his best, and extrapolated where he thought it was safe. Susanna and Diablerie, how she performed it on someone who was likely a family member, and how she'd rubbed the ashes into the old, dead tree. How the Strix, the whole flock of striges, descended upon her, and filled her with the curse.

It was not a fun memory to go dancing through.

Jacob laughed, holding his face in his hand as his cackles filled the cave. "The amount of sins that woman committed in a single night, is astronomical. Your great great grandsire makes me seem tame by comparison, Jack, even when compared to my most wild nights."

Well, that was a good thing, if Jacob was telling the truth.

"I have another question," Jack said.

"Shoot," the darkness replied.

Ok, time to be smart about this. He couldn't just outright ask if Black Blood knew about some mysterious force conspiring to destroy the city. If Jacob or Black Blood were actually that force, perhaps pursuing resurrection or something, him tipping off his hand could get him killed. Back to the portal question then. Hopefully it wouldn't give him away.

"When we visited the Shadow Realm, we came through a portal, some sort of cut that went from one world to the other. Your doing?"

"I reckon it was. Few of them are my projects, and I'd appreciate it kindly, if you let em be."

Finally, progress. If that one was Black Blood's doing, the others Fiona said were found in Dolareido probably were, too. Someone was cutting, or tearing, holes in the fabric of reality, and that someone was Black Blood; or at least, was Black Blood in several instances.

Fabric of reality. He almost laughed. It was like out of a fucking comic book. No, it wasn't the general fabric of reality being cut up. Be specific Jack. Black Blood was somehow creating holes from his world to theirs, and was probably doing other things, too.

"And you, boy, answer me this. What have you learned about that tart Maria?"

Jack blinked at the misty ghost, and glanced between him and Jacob. "Uh... Madam Turio? Why do you want to know—"

"Them's ain't the rules, little vampire. Answer the question. What have you learned about Maria? And you know damn well what I'm referring to."

Shit. Fucking shit fuck.

"Maria... There's evidence and rumors, that she's been... trying to... Well, we don't know. She might be trying to resurrect Lucas, but it might be something else. Maybe she just wants to talk to him?" He managed a shrug, but it wasn't a very convincing follow up. "From what I'd heard, she was seen talking to spirits at some point." A little prodding had garnered that information from Natasha, and now he regretted it. It was information he had to share, to uphold the deal.

Both Jacob and Black Blood made some weird grumbling sounds. Either they didn't know that, or they did, and weren't happy Jack knew about it.

Why though? Why would Maria be talking to the spirits? If they were Black Blood's wraiths, and had become weird flesh-obsessed creatures because that's what Black Blood was into, what did that mean? He wanted to ask. Christ, he wanted to ask. But if he gave Black Blood another question, he'd have a chance to ask Jack about anything. He might ask Jack a leading question, and Jack would unintentionally expose his motives about looking for the reason for Azamel's warning.

"I... think I'm done," Jack said.

"Very well," Black Blood said.

Jacob nodded, and so did the mist. But as Jack walked away, Jacob held up a hand.

"Do try and keep Elen alive, Jack. You owe me and Black Blood a favor."

"Favor..."

The eyeless bastard grinned at him. "For saving your lives, lest you forget."

Fuck.

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~~Damien~~

Damien sat within Maria's abode, deep underneath the Grand Cathedral of Dolareido. Nearby, Maria Turio sat at her piano, and played music with the delicate exactness of a virtuoso. Near her, her large, hunched ghoul swept the floor, tended the candles, and wiped the shelves. Damien sat at a desk with two laptops, and perused some ancient texts, looking to cross reference with the book that sat between the two screens.

Curses and Rituals, a Summary, by Sir Isaac Landers. There were many such texts in the world, of people attempting to decipher magical concepts, and many more that were tomfoolery — as Maria would put it — or just fiction. It was all worthless, except for a few texts that the Lancea et Sanctum held.

Whoever Sir Landers was, Damien didn't know. A vampire probably, based on the way the man approached concepts like blood and sunlight, without ever actually saying the word vampire or Kindred. Learning to read old English was a pain in his ass, but slowly, Damien was discovering how to understand Landers's words.

"I assume," Maria said, without ceasing her quiet playing, "that you research such old knowledge, to help your friend."

"Indeed." The internet, for all its infinite wisdom, was full of shit. It was taking ages to find credible researchers, and those he did manage to find, had their careers silenced, delayed, or unfulfilled. Research into the dark arts of Crúac, he could understand being stonewalled. But Theban sorcery, he hadn't expected to be so closed off and buried. It was damn secretive.

A mention of a concept here, an altar there, a long lost manuscript in a foreign tongue with a shoddy sketch, it was all so difficult to dig through.

"Though..." He groaned, ran his palms over his face and fingers through his hair, before he turned to Maria. "I'm hitting a wall. Trying to make sense of all this chaos is difficult."

"Lucas spent centuries researching this material, Mister Burksen. And we have only a fraction of what he originally once had, due to Garry's sabotage."

"Do you have any insight to offer, Madam Turio? Jack says that his curse was originally sealed away by a Sanctified. I can only assume it was a spell of some sort, meant to seal away whatever sorcery the striges cast upon his great great grandsire."

"I am afraid I do not." She stopped playing, set down the cover on the grand piano's keys, and walked over to his desk. Her white dress flowed on the mist that seeped from her skin, and Damien did his best to pretend he didn't notice that. It wasn't real, just an illusion, something her Kindred vitae perpetuated through her Nosferatu curse. Real or not, it, along with her cracked and destroyed skin, made her look like a ghost. No, a ghost would have been envious of how terrifying she looked.

He was getting used to it though, being around her as often as he was. Behind the cracked skin and cold mist, Maria was a woman, a heartbroken woman who refused to let her woes prevent her from doing her job. Admirable. She scooped the book off his desk, and began to examine its texts. She could read the old language far more easily than he, no doubt.

"Maybe the Prince's friend Elaine will know something," he said.

"Elaine? Elaine is visiting?" Maria leaned her hip on his desk as she flipped through the pages of the ancient text.

"So says Mister Terry. You know her?"

Rolling her eyes, Maria continued flipping through the pages. "The woman is strange, even by Kindred standards. She is like fire; a breeze may settle her or have her blazing."

"Volatile then?"

"In a way. And no doubt she will indulge the Prince's sexual appetite. I expect the white-haired one to host a ball soon, similar to last, with flesh on display and blood to be shared."

Damien offered his mentor a knowing smile. He didn't mind the sexual displays anymore, uncomfortable as they made him, but he knew Maria did. She wasn't Lucas, but she still hated such blatant, sinful indulgences.

"Do you trust her?"

Maria shook her head. "Never trust a dragon, Mister Burksen. They hold their pursuit of knowledge above all else. They're the sort to read an ancient tome bound in human skin, in a room filled with dangling hooks and skeletons, and smile with delight as they accidentally summon Death herself. Knowledge for knowledge's sake. Such types would destroy a world, if only to learn whether it was possible."

An oddly powerful, and frightening description of Antoinette and her order. Damien looked down, the images of such ideas stirring up his imagination. He could understand Jacob pursuing deadly rituals in his desire to expand the reach of his power, but for someone to perform dark arts to learn if they could, seemed even worse.

"In... one of the rooms," he said, "in the Elysium tower, I saw some strange symbols drawn upon the floor and walls."

"When was this?"

"When I assaulted the building."

"Ah." She nodded again, and stopped walking in front of one of her hanging drapes along the cave wall. A beautiful tapestry of blood red and gold embroidery. She pushed it aside, exposing one of her paintings. Jesus Christ, being stabbed by a spear, wielded by a soldier.

She normally left it covered. Perhaps the image bothered her. But then, why keep it and expose it occasionally, if it did? He'd found her staring at it on several occasions, when she was in thought. Something was on her mind, something about the Second Estate.

Maybe she was prompting him, to inquire specifically about the Lancea et Sanctum? He hadn't done a good job pursuing anything in that region of his job; far too busy dealing with hunters and searching for a cure to Jack's curse. But, the least he could do was inquire.

"Have you spoken with the Prince about our desires?" he said.

"The next Primogen meeting is soon. I will speak with her then, as unfortunately, reviving the Second Estate will require the ears of all Primogen. Antoinette will have the last word, but the others must have their say as well." With a tired groan, she gave him back the book, and began to pace about, hugging her chest and chin in hand.

"You believe the Prince will resist."

"Undoubtedly. But, time has settled her rage. With Lucas... gone, and with you being a valuable asset to the city, I feel I can convince her that a small revival of the Second Estate is warranted, and earned."

"Me, a valuable asset?" He blinked at that.

"You are her lover's friend, and have helped him in multiple situations. You have also helped in general, Mister Burksen. Do not sell yourself short."

That was true, in a sense. Damien had become an active member of Dolareido in the months since his return, and since Lucas's death. He aided the Invictus, fought monsters in the sewers, helped Jack on a rescue mission, and aided the Prince when Jack summoned the crows at the hospital. Go him.

"Thank you, Madam Turio. But I worry not only for the Prince's resistance, but Garry Tones's as well. He despised the Lancea et Sanctum as much as she did, when my sire was Archbishop."

"Indeed." The corpse woman walked about, chin in her fingers, eyes up. Her pondering stance. "We will need to convince him that things will be different this time. I trust Mister Terry and yourself to handle such a discussion."

"Oh? Not at the Primogen meeting..."

"No. Speak to the man on his property. I trust Mister Terry to handle the conversation with delicacy, and I trust you to explain the desires of the Lancea et Sanctum, Mister Burksen."

Wonderful. Sweeps for hunters already devoured much of his time, and now he had to prepare for a personal meeting with the strongest Carthian in the city.

"Should I—"

"Wait until our Primogen meeting is done. I will report the... temperature, of the idea. Act accordingly." She nodded, and he nodded. Silence fell, a comfortable silence, filled only with the swish swish of the ghoul's broom, and—"How goes your relationship with the Begotten?" Whoa, what?

"My—oh, Fiona. It goes well, it does. She's a delightful person, and I can't help but be happier in her presence."

Maria smiled, but continued to walk around, likely juggling two thoughts: the Primogen meeting, and for some reason, Damien's relationship. But, if she wanted to talk about his romantic situation, he could oblige her. She knew more about romance than he did, and honestly, he felt happy knowing he was making her happy.

How much had the elder changed, since she betrayed Natasha?

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~~Natasha~~

If the sex went on much longer, she'd have run out of space on her SSD. Apparently, the boys and their libidos agreed with being filmed, far more than she could have anticipated.

She stepped out of the shower, wrapped her hair in a towel, and started on the rest of her. The shower wasn't big enough for three people, so they took turns; naturally she went first. Soon she was out and walking around her room wearing a towel on her head and a towel wrapped around her.

She looked at herself in the mirror hanging on the back of her bedroom door; without any makeup on, and the blush of life turned off, she was as white as a sheet. No makeup meant her lips were a pale, dull pink, and her eyes had no pop. Human women would have to deal with all the skin blemishes and discoloration caused by frequently putting on and taking off makeup, but at least vampire skin didn't do that. It was just pale, smoothly pale.

Matt stepped behind her, and hugged her from behind, her head pressing to his chest.

"You look like a queen," he said.

She laughed and rolled her eyes. She could have covered herself in dirty rags and mud, and they'd say she was beautiful. They meant it, too. As for a queen, she had her long black hair all done up in the towel, so it did kind of look like a tall crown.

Matt was in his jeans and nothing but. His hair was still a bit wet, and it fell heavy around his head, long blonde dirty air that matched the gruff on his face. A big, handsome lumberjack of a man. She doubted he'd ever used a computer in his life except to browse YouTube and send e-mails. How did she end up with someone like him, and Arturo?

"I c-can't... b-b-believe you told Eric to... to do whatever he wanted. If he were Kindred, w-we'd have him... under scrutiny, you know? We c-can't let Kindred j-j-just do whatever they want. It could violate the M-Masquerade."

"I guess we play a little fast and loose with the rules. Not all Uratha packs do that. The Iminir — Storm Lords — are practically a military cult. They'd put Eric in chains if they had to."

"And... y-you? You call yourselves, um, Hunters in D-Darkness."

"Mhmm. The Meninna."

"W-What are you known for?"

His grip around her body tightened, and he squashed her to his chest harder. The giant, solid wall of muscle was steel, and she froze, like a deer in headlights. His head came down lower, and lower, until she could feel the warmth of his breath on her ear, and feel his heartbeat against her back.

"Meninna pay respect to the Black Wolf, who gives the Meninna his favor. We Meninna guard our territory with total commitment, and protect what is ours." His grip tightened a little more again, and she found her legs wavering, as Matthew, gentle giant Matthew, smiled at her in the mirror. It was Matthew's smile, but it had more edge to it, more animal hunger, more aggression.

And it was not good that she liked it! This was obviously a case of Stockholm Syndrome, because a massive man had his hands around her, trapping her, and was implying that she was his and he'd protect her like property, and she liked it. Nope, not good. Definitely bad thing. Bad bad. Toxic relationship!