My Little Ventrue Pt. 07 Ch. 13

"You will do no such thing."

Ah shit. The group of them looked to the roof edge, and Jessy almost jumped back, as a crystal blue wave flowed up and over, onto the roof. And angel wings came with it.

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~~Natasha~~

"Flowing Sanctuary," Tash whispered.

"Indeed." The tall goddess of flowing water and angel wings — two types of spirits with angel wings! — flowed over to them, and hit them with water. For a moment, Tash wasn't sure how to respond to that, or if it'd be actual water that hit her. It was. That begged a billion questions about what it was that a spirit's body was made of, because there was no question that all five of the paranormals on the roof were now knocked onto their ass, and soaked.

Uh oh. Uh oh uh oh. She looked between the group, the skylight that was now covered in water, and the enormous water spirit that had risen to join them on the rooftop. Her Cloak of Night was shattered, and it wouldn't have been strong enough to keep something as huge and majestic as Flow hidden anyway.

Flowing Sanctuary really was a beautiful creature, the very definition of a water goddess, a human-shaped torso of water so pristine, it was crytal. Its angel wings started blue, and turned into white mist at the tips of their feathers. No arms, but small waterfalls for arms that turned into the same sort of mist her feathers did. No legs, but instead a slow-swirling vortex of water, like a reverse whirlpool that supported Flow's body. She had no facial features, but at certain angles, and when the water flowed just right, Tash was sure she could see two glowing white slits for eyes.

The fact Flow and Safe both had angel wings was a pattern she'd noticed before, and now that she thought about it, both spirits had similar motifs. Flowing Sanctuary provided a form of protection for her Uratha clan; assuming her name was indicative of her nature. Safe of Grey Street and her fellow, younger spirit, were literal spirits of safety that hung around suburbs where kids grew up. It wasn't like kids couldn't feel safe in an apartment, but there was something unique and powerful about owning your own home, and the spirits must have picked up on that. Why they both manifested with angel wings, she wasn't quite sure.

"The fuck?" Jessy said, getting up from her butt and back onto her feet. "Whoa, what's this?"

"This," Arturo said, grumbling as he also stood up, and spent a little time wringing out his t-shirt, "is Flowing Sanctuary, our pack's totem."

Jessy held up a hand, not dissimilar to how Tash would have. Maybe Jessy was picking up the habit; more likely, just mirroring Tash's mannerisms to get answers.

"Totem?"

"She's part of the pack," Matt said. "She helps us, and we help her."

Help a spirit, a spirit named Flowing Sanctuary. If spirits always tried to spread their influence, and create more of what they were reflections of, then Flowing Sanctuary would probably try and create a sanctuary of some kind. Or maybe, being that it was some hybrid of water and protection, it was too complicated for Natasha to figure out with such simple labels.

Jessy raised her hand again. "Help her with...?"

"None of your concern," Flow said, powerful voice almost booming. "But I will not let my pack mates destroy the tenuous truce we hold with Black Blood, on some flight of fancy. And I assume this ridiculous plan is yours, Eric Tanverson?" The water goddess pointed one of her—its mist arms at Eric.

"It is." Eric wiped some of the water off his clothes, before he walked up to the enormous water spirit, and looked it in the face. "And I'm not part of your pack. You can't tell me what to do."

"Can't I?"

Natasha didn't have to say it. The look on Eric's face may as well have blared it out with a loud horn, and comedic sound effect. Mistake.

A crashing wave smashed into the roof. Flowing Sanctuary did not pull punches, and Tash couldn't help but think about real water, as a colossal, heavy wave of liquid smashed into her and her friends, sending them off the building like leafs to the wind. Real water was impartial, and some might say, even cruel. As much as Flowing Sanctuary looked like something that would protect those that it cared for, it also attacked them with the same callousness and total indifference of a monsoon. Or, maybe the better comparison was angel. Much as its angel wings reminded her of Safe and how joyful it'd been, Flow was quickly reminding her of angels from the Old Testament.

Thankfully the spirit didn't throw them out onto the main street. Instead, it tossed them onto the back alley that separated Doc Omala's from the other entertainment buildings. Except, there wasn't much room in the alley, only six feet wide, and to Flow, that wasn't much room at all. As the group of them plummeted toward the asphalt below, water poured over them, crashing downward faster than gravity allowed, and encompassed the five paranormals.

With zero concern for avoiding damaging its passengers, Flow threw them out from the alley onto a distant street, dumping them into an intersection. Nearby car and street spirits swerved out of the way, and left tire tracks behind as they sped off as fast as they could. Crow spirits fled to higher perches. Nearby rat spirits unleashed a choir of shrieks before scampering into the sewers. Random spirits that were drifting between the warped, half glowing, half lit up buildings, scattered and disappeared into the buildings they'd been leaving.

The water drained away, as quickly as it'd arrived, and Flow stood before them, tall, and immutable.

"Avery expected this," it said. "I said she did not trust her Uratha, if she thought them capable of this. Silly me, for not believing her."

The group of them slowly got up, grumbling and groaning with each step. From wet to dripping soaked in seconds.

"Shit, really?" Matt said.

"Fuckin' boss." Grumbling louder than necessary, Arturo rung out the base of his shirt, again. "We weren't going to violate any truce, Flow."

"You know very well Black Blood would not accept this action."

Art threw his arms up. "You know damn well that's not how it works. We weren't going to disturb the peace, and that'd keep Black Blood happy."

The water angel shook its head. "You underestimate the connections of this city, Uratha. As usual, you do not appreciate the politics of the Hisil. I can forgive Eric for his ignorance, but I will not forgive you."

"I don't—"

And up Arturo went. Natasha stepped back and gulped hard, as water poured out from Flow's base, crashed into Arturo, and literally threw him into the air. Thirty feet into the air and then down again. Flow didn't brace his fall this time, but Art was ready for it, and he landed on his hands and feet. Big as he was, it was still a rough landing, and he collapsed onto his side with the impact. Thud.

With a squeak, Tash ran over to him and helped get him onto his knees. "I thought you said F-F-Flow was part of the pack?"

"It is. That doesn't mean it gets along with us all the time."

"Avery and I get along beautifully." With a sigh, Flow began to circle them. A fairly theatrical feat, considering they were in the center of an intersection, and spirits were watching them from a safe distance. "You two troublemakers, on the other hand, are a problem. You disturb the sanctuary I seek to create."

Matthew, still on his feet, got between Flow and Art. "Alright, we get it, you don't like us. Can we calm down?"

"I do not think so. You two need to be taught a lesson."

Jessy stepped up, earning some raised eyebrows from everyone. Well, Natasha knew her friend would throw herself into harm's way, but the boy's were surprised. Even Eric blinked at her several times.

"So, uh," Jessy said, "we're making quite a bit of ruckus out here. Isn't Black Blood going to come around and, I dunno, smack us?"

Everyone went silent, and looked around. Considering the power of the spirit, Tash did expect it—him to arrive the moment he felt a disturbance in 'his' city.

Where was Black Blood?

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~~Damien~~

Never, in a million years, did Damien expect to find the horrors he did. But the dark forest proved to be the thorny barrier that tried to keep prying eyes from witnessing its secrets. A forest worthy of the Brothers Grimm. Now that the werewolf and the demon ripped that barrier apart, the secrets of the forest were laid open before them.

Jacob would have been envious of the secrets they found.

At Jack and Clara's feet, Damien could see black soot; the dust Angela used as a barrier in the hospital. Just inside that, was a glowing amber line, and it circled the small forest clearing all the way around, same as the black soot. It was a barrier Damien was all too familiar with. Just within the circle, there were twelve trees, fat, twisted, black, withered, and barbed. Each tree carried a body, a naked corpse, crucified, nails hammered in through the ankles and wrists. Their stomachs were cut open, and contents spilled at the base of each tree. It reeked, and the nightmare was content to have flies buzz around the corpses.

"Your work?" Jack said with a cackle. The demon kid gestured to the tree near him, and then to the hunters beyond the barrier.

"Like this even compares to the shit you've done!" one of the hunters said.

Angela lifted her head from the bag she was digging through with Jeremiah. "Fuck you, vampire. You'd never understand."

Damien wasn't so sure about that. Jack and Beatrice had been up to something, and he didn't know what, but it was safe to assume that nastiness had been involved. A glance to the Nosferatu confirmed his suspicion, as she looked up at the corpses on the trees, caught his look, and looked down for a second. A single second was plenty, for him to recognize a touch of guilt on her face.

"How far the righteous have fallen!" Cackling, actually cackling, Jack began to make his way around the circle. If he was scanning for a hole in the defense, Damien knew he wouldn't find it. Just like the trap that had caught Damien in the tunnel, the amber circle would block paranormals from crossing, and the black soot seemed to stop anything from passing it at all.

This was probably what Jeremiah had meant by plan Vandermont. If the word had any meaning, Damien couldn't surmise it, and Harcourt mentioned nothing of the sort; probably just a meaningless name, or something that only meant something to Jeremiah. But the plan had obviously been about retreating to a new position. Harcourt said Jeremiah had a habit of not explaining everything involved in his plans, so the hunters had probably retreated to this location on blind faith, following Jeremiah and Angela to a place they'd never been to before.

No, not quite true. Four of the hunters, two men and two women, were likely privy to some inside knowledge. Those were the four that the Kindred had descriptions of, that'd been scouted out by Jack when he was hunting for Barry's killers, and by Eric the night Jack had been kidnapped. These four hunters were the four that had already been in the village when Clara had broken through the door. Two men, white and Hispanic, and two women, black and Hispanic, wearing various mixtures of jeans, leather, and straps holding lots of pistols, magazines, and a couple grenades. They had plenty of tattoos on what skin was visible, more than Harcourt, and almost as many as Angela and Jeremiah.

It made sense that Jeremiah would have some hunters he'd trust a little more than the others. A rank system, or maybe he just relied on them more, and didn't tell the other hunters what he told these four. Either way, those four pulled assault rifles out of the bags sitting in the center of the clearing. One of the four, the white man, took the flamethrower from one of the other hunters, and rejoined Jeremiah in the circle center. None of them looked directly at the vampires.

"Sacrifices must be made," Jeremiah said as he stood up, "to defeat vile creatures such as yourself." A book sat in his hands, and Damien glared at it, squinting, making out every detail he could. The book looked like a movie prop, cover thick and enveloped in the sort of bumps and grooves you might find on dried flesh.

"Oh yes, sacrifices," Jack continued. "Let's put this into perspective, for your hunter buddies here that you've been keeping in the dark." The little man braced one hand against the invisible wall, set another against a tree, and pushed it down, opening up the path before him to continue walking around the perimeter. Crash, boom, a thunderous applause of destroyed wood, before he resumed his walk. "You and your group show up in my city, hunting an old monster named Azamel. Fine, I can understand that. She's your Moby Dick. But then you kill Barry to cover your tracks. That was dumb. The Dolareido vamps would have been much slower to jump on your ass, if you'd left him alone."

That was true. Much as Damien didn't want to admit it, Dolareido vampires were attached to the peace they had. They'd have been far more reluctant to get involved with hunters, if the hunters had let them be. Earning Isabella's ire, on the other hand, expedited how soon there would be inevitable conflict with the hunters, ten fold.

"And then, because you know I know Azamel, you kidnap me and torture me. Heh, if only you fucking morons knew about me and Susanna, you'd have run." His words earned nothing but confused, raised eyebrows, and glances shared between the hunters. "So, you've been kidnapping humans off Dolareido's streets, and using them in some pretty fucked up rituals, rituals so twisted they'd make any witch of the Circle envious. You used this fucked up magic of blood and flesh, to literally divine useful information for you. You used haruspex to figure out I know about Azamel and her lair. You used it to learn about Eric, and that he also could be an 'in' to Azamel's lair. You used this fucked up magic to enslave a Begotten, and use him against us! And you know what, you fucking know what? I don't take any of that personally. They're tactical decisions that are questionable, but I can understand coming to those conclusions, in your situation.

"But, there is no way, no fucking way, no possible fucking way, that you can justify killing my living family. My mother and my sister were completely uninvolved in any of this, just a couple of innocent humans." Jack pushed down another tree, a big one, and the forest went silent in the wake of the following explosion and thunder.

"Wait, what?" one of the hunters said.

"It's true, guys!" Harcourt said. Everyone, except Jack, looked back at the man, who was moving among the trees to stick with the group as best he could in the thick forest. "Angela's crazy. She's been on this vengeance kick against Jack. I saw it, in the hospital, and Jack mentioned his mom and sister there. It—"

"Shut up!" Angela screamed. "Traitor."

"I'm not a traitor! You tricked us! You and Jeremiah and that old bitch, you tricked us!"

"Brace, you've been brainwashed," one of the hunters said, daring to take a step toward the invisible barrier. "You've got to realize that. You—"

"Oh, I could have brainwashed him, easily" Jack said. "I could have broken this poor fool and turned him into my doting slave. But he wouldn't have this spark in his eyes, would he? Wouldn't have the same panic and mannerisms you probably recognize. But, it doesn't matter if you believe me or not. Harcourt gave you the opportunity to surrender. Two of you did. They get to live. The rest of you? Too late now." Down went another tree, and the group of paranormals winced as they watched the kid destroy with as much concern for his surroundings as a child.

Jeremiah and Angela offered Jack some quick glares, too quick for proper eye contact, but it was enough for the other hunters to notice. And when they noticed each other noticing, they started looking between each other, confused. The four hunters that seemed to be the more trusted of the group, on the other hand, mirrored the glares of their bosses, and stayed close to the old woman in the wheelchair.

"Jack," Harcourt said, "please, come on. If they—"

"They had their chance!" Jack spun and slammed his hand into a nearby tree. With his other hand braced against the invisible barrier, the demon's true strength went into the punch, and wood shattered around his fist. Bark flew, splinters showered around them, and Othello and Harcourt both ducked to keep the exploding wood from stabbing them.

"So," Jack continued, "is this where Elen's been doing the truly wicked stuff? Have you hunters even noticed these corpses on the trees? They're not from the nightmare. They're real." He reached out for one of the trees, but it stood just within the circle, beyond his reach. "She uses these sacrifices for more of her magic. How many citizens have you fuckers killed, since you arrived? You open portals with blood, you divine information with guts, and you control Sándor through sacrifices. And these corpses on the trees? What do they do?"

As he walked, slowly circling the clearing, Jack continued to create his path, leaving a trail of destruction behind. Rats followed, hundreds of them, and they pushed against the invisible barrier. Some dug at the earth, and tried to get under the black soot, but they didn't get far. The soot either went deep, or its magical properties extended deep. How deep? Damien looked up, and his frown deepened. The crows above were circling, trying to find a way in, but they couldn't.

"The whole lot of you," Jack said, gesturing to the hunters, "have sold your souls down the river. None of you are heroes. None of you are valiant defenders, fighting the good fight. You're all cockroaches who infested my home. Jeremiah, Angela, and the old witch, are horrible fucks with delusions of valor. Your masters, dear hunters, are psychopaths who don't give a damn about saving lives. And worst of the lot is Angela. She stabbed my mother and sister in broad daylight. My mother nearly died, and my sire sacrificed himself to save her from the bitch. My sister is dead! Her ghost haunts my home. And you know what? I bet telling her that—fuck that, I bet bringing her Angela's head will help her move on."

The more he talked, the more Damien felt an ice cold pit growing in his stomach. This wasn't Jack. This was the demon he'd met at the hospital, the one that had unleashed his army of crows on the building, and the one that had literally popped a hunter, as Jack said, like a grape. But, unlike that hospital encounter, this Jack was piloting for an extended period of time. He was dancing around in Jack's body, and toying with his voice, using inflections and sinister tones that just didn't fit Jack. Cackling was just the tip of the iceberg of the mannerisms this new Jack was using. Everything from how he walked, stood, twitched his head faster when looking around, and flicked his eyes like a schizophrenic, was unnerving. And much as he was disturbing Damien, the Mekhet could see Jack's attitude was disturbing the hunters as well. His words were getting to them, making them sweat, tremble, breath faster, and step back from the barrier.

Several of them had interacted with Jack before, in the prison, in the nightmare castle, and at the hospital. This was not the Jack they were familiar with, either. Or, it was the Jack some of them had seen emerge, when Julias had died. No doubt, the kid had become a horror story they told each other. No doubt, Jack was the vampire they'd told each other to now avoid at all costs.

Jack the Ripper. He dare not say it.

"Well, come on!" Jack said. "Let's have it. Let's have whatever final move you're going to do, Jeremiah. What last trick do you have?" As he said it, he motioned for Clara to start digging at the ground. Growling quietly, she obeyed, and started ripping and tearing at the earth and the lines that blocked them. "We'll break these lines eventually. And then what?" A tall mountain of rats splashed against the invisible barrier in front of Jack, pouring against it before collapsing, like a tidal wave crashing against a glass wall. "I'm going to butcher every one of you. I'm going to rip out your insides, and make you watch. I'm going to Dominate your friends, and make you kill each other, slowly. I'm going to make you look each other in the eyes, and strangle each other to death. Ever read The Sandman, 24 Hours? I'll make that seem tame." The kid tapped his chin thoughtfully, juggling fantasies. "Maybe a little Russian roulette. Maybe a little fun with razor blades, or barbed wire? I'm going to strip the skin off your limbs and—"