My Little Ventrue Pt. 07 Ch. 15

"Why do you believe Sándor will be freed by Jack tonight? Much of this madness revolves around that assumption."

Azamel looked over her shoulder as Daniel joined them, and annoyance crept into her cracked, hanging skin. "Jeremiah will go to ground. Jack has attempted on an assault on him once before, and the attack took Jack into my kin's nightmare. I know Jeremiah has been consorting with this shaman, Elen, and I... know more, about Jeremiah's defenses, than he realizes." The old woman looked up over her shoulder again, this time at her escort Mark.

"You have managed to penetrate the man's defenses?" Rage once again ran through Antoinette's limbs, until her fists trembled at her sides. "How long have you been playing this game with Jeremiah, Azamel? How long have you been able to attack him on his ground, and yet, you invite his pursuit, in hopes of obtaining this 'inheritance' you so desperately want?"

The old woman scoffed, coughed, and shrugged again. "Jeremiah and I have jousted with each other for a long, long time. We've been able to attack each other and go for the kill for a long, long time as well. Jeremiah has been trying to find a way to do so without getting himself killed in the process. I've been trying to find a way to kill him in such a way that the battle will be legendary, in the literal sense, made into legend, never to be forgotten." She clenched and unclenched her hands on the arms of her wheelchair, and Antoinette almost winced at the cracking sounds the frail creature's hands made. "But as I said, time has caught up with me, and now I... do what I can, for my fellow Begotten."

Antoinette stepped away and began to pace, slipping her hands into the small of her back as she looked down, frowning. With Daniel at her side, she was more than confident that if the old woman presented her with an opportunity to attack Jeremiah, now that the hunter was distracted with Jack, she could deal with him. She and Daniel could kill him, Angela, and every human the man kept at his side. No matter the tools he had available, there was little the hunter could do if she caught him unawares.

"Why do you devote yourself to a stranger?" Antoinette said. "You do not know this man."

"I know he's a slave, and that he's kin."

"Is that all?"

"Do I need another reason?"

Antoinette paused. Yes, she needed another reason. People did not simply risk their lives for strangers, even those of the same kind. Vampires certainly did not. Then again, Azamel had said that she did not consider Kindred to be the same sort of monster as her fellow creatures of nightmares. Vampires often avoided each other, as if driven by instinct to be solitary, and to fight each other for territory and food. Were nightmare monsters creatures that actively sought others of their kind? Werewolves generally found themselves in packs, after all.

"A leech would never understand," the old hag said with a small, dismissing wave, confirming Antoinette's suspicions to some extent. "You might be satisfied, hiding in the millions of humans walking around, a wolf among sheep, but we Begotten are... primordial, Kindred. We are ancient, and what defines us, separates us from the world." Leaning toward her, Azamel licked her teeth loudly, twice, before squinting a single eye at Antoinette. "How much do you know about Athalia?"

Athalia. Antoinette knew little of the woman, honestly, except that she had once lived in Dolareido, left, and returned with Azamel a year ago. Though perhaps, the trouble the woman suffered, the curse of her existence, were problems Daniel knew of. She looked to her sheriff, and waited.

"I know she's... what you monsters apparently call Eshmaki, a monster of darkness. I also know that she hungers for... ruin," he said.

Antoinette raised a brow as she looked at her old friend. Ruin? He had never gone into depth about his conversations with the woman, leaving Antoinette to assume the woman was benign. This was the first hint that, perhaps, her sheriff had reason to consider Athalia a threat to Dolareido.

"Elaborate," Antoinette said. It was not a request.

Daniel adjusted his glasses, and his face set in stone all the more, as if preparing to hold his tongue. She knew the man had a strange affection for Athalia, but never to such an extent that he might defy her. Would he? There was a moment's hesitation, several seconds of deathly silence, as the sheriff met her eyes, and considered.

"What he means," Azamel said, sparing the man, "is that Athalia needs to destroy the safety others feel, in order to feed. We Begotten feed on fear, as we are creatures of the nightmare, as you know. How we create that fear, and in what form we seek that fear, is different for each hunger a Begotten may be bestowed, for all time. Fiona, bless her young heart and old soul, feeds on the fear people feel when they are being pursued or punished for their transgressions. Her Horror, a strange, ancient Horror, lost to the realm of nightmares, unfettered and wandering the land of our Mother, emerged from the darkness to enter such a lovely girl. It hungers for the fear of the guilty. An easy craving to satisfy, as long as she isn't too gluttonous.

"Athalia hungers for the fear people feel when their sense of safety is ruined, obliterated, ravaged. When the walls you cherish and barricades you defend no longer provide you with a feeling of security, as they become destroyed, compromised, or left in shambles by her, she feeds upon the fear that follows." Glaring, Azamel gestured for Mark to turn her chair, and he did, pointing the old woman directly at Antoinette. "Imagine, vampire, how difficult it is for a woman such as her, to have a life. Every moment of her existence, she struggles with a need to destroy the safety of others, to leave them feeling vulnerable. While a leech such as yourself must feed on the blood of the living, it is an enjoyable act, and sluts like yourself have built an entire city on its pleasures. You're a leech which people line up to let bite them. But no one enjoys feeling the security of their job, their home, or their lives, being shattered."

Antoinette folded her arms, and tapped fingers along her bicep. It was a sad tale, true, and if Athalia had come to her seeking her help, Antoinette would have listened to her plight.

Alas, be truthful with yourself, Annie. You would have listened to her, but you would not have helped her, beyond insuring the Kindred of the city knew to give her a wide berth. Dolareido is your concern, as are the Kindred within it. Begotten, Uratha, and other strange creatures, are unknowns, and not a part of your plan for a utopia.

"You vampires," Azamel continued, "can frenzy, correct? You can lose control, and give into the Beast." Antoinette nodded, and glanced to her sheriff. His gaze remained steady, while hers did not, balancing annoyance with Azamel, and annoyance with Daniel for his hesitation seconds earlier. "Your Beast is contained. It's inside you, a part of you. It is something that has latched onto your soul, and dragged it down into the muck. If it wants to act out, it has to go through you." Chuckling, the old woman lifted a hand and flicked it back at Mark, hitting the man's stomach playfully. "There's a reason vampires are considered damned, Prince. If ever a creature was close to Hell, it's the vampire. You should give more credit to the Lancea et Sanctum."

The Voivode would not grind her teeth, or bare her fangs, or clench her fists, or give any indication this infuriating woman was, indeed, infuriating. For all Azamel's arrogance and cliché need to tell stories, the old woman was both sharing information Antoinette ached to know, and also held the key to rescuing Jack tonight.

"The Beast is a taint upon our souls, you say."

"Hah, yes." Again the old woman reached for a cigarette from her breast pocket, and sighed as she found none. "I can see it, but I cannot reach it easily, locked away as it is where souls reside. For us Begotten, our Horrors are not so... limited. Our Horrors are creatures of the Dream. Just as a human's soul resides within a chamber within the person, a place we cannot physically enter, a place that exists within a different realm and state of being, a Begotten's Horror resides within a chamber as well, a place sealed off from intrusion. It has devoured our human soul, vampire, replaced it, and elevated us to myth, and legend."

"And yet," Antoinette said, "intrusion into these nightmare chambers seems to be a common act, this past year." She let the statement about a soul slide by, ignoring the overwhelming urge she had to pounce the old woman, and demand answers. A soul. The old woman knew much about the soul, that such a thing existed, and apparently, of a chamber it resided in. Antoinette's own studies, and the studies of the Ordo Dracul, had mostly confirmed the existence of a soul, but to define and understand it, were beyond their abilities.

The old woman coughed, and made no attempt to hide how much Antoinette's statement infuriated her. "Consider the many, many, many stories that exist in all cultures, of entering someone's mind, and finding the person's soul, or spirit, or true self. Such tales often describe the journey, or the interaction, and share of the environment. That environment, that realm, is not of the Dream, but it is where the soul resides. Sometimes the soul can leave. A human who sleeps deep, very deep, who experiences life-altering dreams, has a soul — if it is truly their soul that does this, or a projection — with a tendency to drift from the walls of its realm, and into the Dream, where it may stumble onto many things... including us.

"And, in a similar way, our Horrors may leave their chambers while we sleep. Unlike a human, our Horrors hunger, vampire. They hunger for fear. They swim through the seas of humanity's consciousness, swim deep, and find the chambers of human souls. They leave nightmares, grand and terrifying nightmares. And like any predator, they return to places where food has been found."

"I do not—"

"The more a Begotten denies the hungers of their Horror," Azamel interrupted, "the stronger the Horror becomes, and desperate. And Athalia denied her Horror for many years, feeding it only enough to keep herself sane. She gave birth to a girl, a human girl, vampire, something you will never be able to appreciate. And for years, Athalia fought to keep her Horror under control, to keep it out of her life, only for it to feed upon her daughter once her tiny eyes closed for sleep. Nightmares, vampire, horrible nightmares, visited upon a small girl, again and again and again. Imagine the guilt, leech, imagine the pain Athalia felt, wanting nothing more than to take care of her little girl, and yet every moment she spent with her, she was the greatest source of pain in the girl's life. Imagine the sorrow, at being forced to leave a daughter you love at an orphanage. Imagine the agony, at knowing your daughter's mind has been left in ruins, ruins no amount of years can repair.

"What comparison is there between vampire and monster, Prince? In what possible world, could your pathetic need to drink blood and hide from a giant ball of fire in the sky, compare to that struggle?"

The single second of chuckling Azamel had shared with Mark was long gone, and now, there sat only an old woman, a creature who had seen troubles and suffered troubles well beyond the scope of Antoinette's experience. Antoinette was, as the monster said, a vampire. Her struggles were internal, forever battling the desires of her Beast, and the weakness of her Humanity; cliché, but true. Despite the very real battle of resisting her Beast, and maintaining a balance of her human and beastly desires, it was always a battle she was able to win, and easily at that. How long had it been since she had suffered famine? Not since the early years of her arrival in the village that became Dolareido, had she been concerned with unleashing an unwanted frenzy. For a Begotten to both forever battle their hungers and their unusual needs, but to also have their soul — or rather, Horror — hunt through the minds of nearby kine, and to bestow nightmares upon them in order to feed upon their fear, she could indeed not imagine.

"I do not deny that some Begotten suffer a burden greater than ours," Antoinette said. "And, yes, I can understand that a shared burden of such magnitude, can create powerful companions."

"Family, vampire. We're a family. Me, Athalia, Fiona, Mark here, and even this man Sándor. Hell, even you vampires, and the wolves, are distant cousins. We don't really want you around, or at least I don't, but I'll invite you to join us for Thanksgiving, if you agree to civility." Sighing, Azamel shook her head again, and gestured to the man chained up. "This cell blocks a person off from other realms. Why hasn't it blocked him from the spell?"

Knowledge the old woman did not have. Finally, a dent in her relentless ego. But what little joy such an admittance brought Antoinette was short lived. She did not have the answers either.

"This room, as you said, prevents a person from reaching across realms. If Elen's magic does no such thing, then I can only assume that the symbols I have placed upon this Wyrm's Nest do not affect magical energies." Magical energies did not do justice the mystery that was magic. Mages existed, of that she knew, as did several elders, but their nature, their motives, such things were as secret to her as the Ordo was to the other covenants; they and it existed, but whatever happened behind closed doors was entirely unknown.

"If he begins to speak, will you release him?"

The reality of what Antoinette had done to Sándor wormed its way into her mind. Azamel insisted that, while a vampire's soul was tainted by the Kindred infection, becoming 'damned' as it were, it remained within a chamber quite connected to the human. She also insisted that the Horror, an entity that had apparently replaced, or devoured and replaced her own soul, was a creature that existed parallel with her in another realm as well. Similar to a normal soul, and yet different, as it came from a different realm, a realm her cell rendered inaccessible.

She had cut the man off from his soul. The ramifications of such an action, she could not begin to consider. Perhaps that was the true reason Azamel was desperate to have him released; though, she did not exclaim such. The mystery of the soul was ultimately a puzzle for another time.

"I will, if you take me to where you believe Jack is," she said. Azamel nodded. A deal struck. Now, to wait, the most difficult task in the universe.

Daniel frowned at her. Frown was, perhaps, too strong a word for the look he gave her, but nonetheless, she recognized the disappointment and annoyance on his stone face. Well, she was disappointed in him, and her frown was a touch less subtle, enough that the man was the first to look away.

They did not have to wait long. How Azamel could have predicted this, Antoinette would demand to know later; there was no way, in any statistical sense, Azamel could have simply guessed correctly. But sure enough, after fifteen minutes of waiting, they felt something. She did not know what she felt, what the strange sensation was, but a fleeting breeze flowed over her. The air did not move, but it was a breeze nonetheless, or at least the feeling a breeze would give. It washed over her, and the others judging by their reactions, the feeling of something being released, tension being loosed, a wire snapping, or a window being opened. It was a tension she had not noticed before, and only now that it was gone, did she notice its absence.

The four of them looked to each other, standing in the marble hallway, before they looked to the cell and its open door. The man stirred.

Daniel drew his sword, and Mark turned around in an instant, facing Daniel, hands at his sides, ready to do something. But Azamel reached behind her, thumped the man on the hip, and rolled her wheelchair closer to the door again. She did not enter the cell.

"Sándor," she said. "Are you awake?"

Antoinette stepped into the cell, her sheriff behind her, sword still drawn, and she peeked around at the man's back. The large symbol was, indeed, gone. The chances it had healed in this particular moment were astronomically low. She had no choice but to accept that Azamel and Mark had spied Jeremiah's defenses, and knew where he would go when chased by Jack, his friends, and the Strix curse.

"I... I..." Slowly, with the obvious discomfort of someone fighting against stiff joints and borderline atrophy, the man lifted his head, and looked to Azamel. "Y-You... you're..."

"You know me?" Azamel frowned slightly, before Mark came up behind her and again set his hands upon the handles of her wheelchair. "I suppose you would, what with Jeremiah capturing you, and... Yes, I am Azamel."

Groaning quietly, Sándor twisted his head around more, taking in the sights and digesting his environment. For a moment, Antoinette expected the man to begin to panic. But no panic came. Instead, the man looked up to her over his right shoulder, Daniel from over his left, and then back to Azamel.

"I remember," he said. "I... remember... everything."

"Bien. That saves us much time." Antoinette came around and looked down at the man. Blue eyes, with a hint of gentleness, buried under exhaustion and turmoil. She felt for the man, she did, but she cared far more for her city, and she would not take unnecessary risks. "You understand that you were captured by Jeremiah, and have been used by him and his shaman woman, as a tool?"

"Yes. Yes, I... remember what Elen did to me." He shivered, quite visibly, enough to rattle the chains. He had a deep voice, once he added some volume to it, enough for quiet conversation. "I remember that... that kid, Jack. Angela, she... she was obsessed with revenge, and... and..." His head shot up, and he yanked on the chains around him. The sudden motion was enough for Daniel to swing his sword with a snap and place it against the monster's throat, forcing his cessation. "They're in my lair! I can feel them... see them... I"—again, his head snapped around at the room that held him—"I can see them, but I can't... burrow... from here. There's a... wall. I'm blocked."

Antoinette felt a kernel of relief within. Her cell did not separate the man from his other essential half then, only limited his ability to enact his will from within her prison. Useful information. If she locked away creatures of a strange nature in the cell, she now knew there was a likely chance they would still be able to feel, sense, and perhaps communicate with supernatural means, but not leave the cell, or use abilities from the other realms within it. She could not wait to share this knowledge with Elaine.

Spare your academic obsessions for later, Antoinette. Deal with the current situation, immediately.

"You can see what your Horror is doing?" Daniel said.

"Y-Yes. That's... we... it's normal, for us... monsters." After a quiet groan, the man lowered his head, and started fighting for air. He was far more exhausted than he should have been.

"We merge when we are in the Dream," Azamel said. "The relationship we have with our Horror is far more complicated than you, and your soul. Sorry, tainted soul." A grin from the old woman sealed the insult, and Antoinette struggled to keep from showing an angry fang.

"What do you see?" Antoinette said, and she reached down, took the man's chin, and pointed his face up at her. There was no time for softness. Action needed to be done, now, and if she had to be stern with this broken man in order for such action to occur, then so be it.

"I... I'm att—It's attacking... Jeremiah. Jack's there. So is... a werewolf woman, and some other vampires, one with... some crazy teeth." The man shivered again, but made no effort to look away from Antoinette's eyes. He looked defeated, weary, and guilty.