My Little Ventrue Pt. 08 Ch. 01

"She sounds very intelligent."

"Extremely. But, I still manage to surprise her. Sometimes I find a way to phrase a hypothesis she hadn't considered, and her eyes light up, intrigued. When I can find a silver lining in dire assessments about things like the future, humanity, etcetera, it makes her so damn happy. Sometimes, I can poke a hole in a philosophy she's proposed, and she'll almost bounce with joy."

"The Prince? Bounce?"

"Ha, I know, right? But she will, or you know, almost, when she's with me." Bounce was probably the wrong word. More like, purr. "She likes talking to me, because when we talk about things, it's both an intellectual exercise, and we both genuinely enjoy analyzing and dissecting things. Our egos don't get in the way. It's fun."

Damien nodded. "I think if I asked Fiona to analyze why she likes a movie, she'd... give up, in seconds. She just likes things."

"I'm surprised you don't want to debate with her."

"I... don't enjoy debating, analyzing, obsessing."

Jack raised a brow. "Really? You're a natural at it, and you're a Mekhet. I just assumed--"

"I'm good at it, but honestly I wish I could just... enjoy things mindlessly, like Fiona does."

Ah, yeah, Jack could understand that. He could never do it, but he could understand why someone would want to.

"And when we're not debating or analyzing things, Antoinette and I, we can just... lie down and hug each other, you know? We can cuddle," he dared not say that Antoinette was usually the big spoon, "and talk about emotional things. I confide in her about all the shit that's been happening to me all the time. She confides in me about her struggles with Dolareido, about how frustrating it is for her, to try and get everyone cooperating. She..." He laughed as he rubbed his head. "She likes to talk about her day, and I like to listen. And vice versa. Our days, er, nights, are pretty strange compared to kines', but still, we genuinely enjoy talking about them with each other."

"That does sound a lot like love, when combined with everything else. Not that I would know from personal experience."

"You haven't been dating Fiona very long. Give it time. And it's not like you have to love her."

Damien sighed and nodded. "I guess. But... I don't know how I'd feel if I lost her. Never, in my whole damn worthless life, did I feel happy to wake up, until now. Is that too dramatic?"

Laughing, Jack buddy punched his friend in the shoulder. "A little. But I can tell Fiona likes that dramatic stuff."

The Mekhet smiled, but it faded after a while. "Speaking of drama... you were talking to Clara at the ball yesterday."

"Yeah... I was. I didn't think it was a very dramatic moment though."

"To everyone observing, there was drama. Your eyes--"

"Fuck! Ugh, fuck. I should start wearing a bandage over my eyes, like Jacob. They got see-through bandages and shit, right?"

Damien shrugged. "Yeah, maybe."

Sighing, Jack got up, and started pacing. Damien had gone quiet, obviously waiting for Jack to speak on his own. Nice of him, but now that the man had brought up that painful conversation with Clara, it quickly dominated Jack's thoughts.

"So, what do people think, after seeing me talk with Clara?"

"They think you're caught between a rock and a hard place."

"Well, fuck, I mean, yeah, I am."

"Why? Just tell Clara to back off."

Jack walked over to the door of the mansion, and set his back against it as he looked down at the beautiful floor, and then up at the more beautiful chandelier. "I don't want to hurt her feelings anymore than I already have. She's great."

"She's insistent. You'd think she'd have backed off on her own by now."

Jack shook his head. "She thinks my relationship with Antoinette is doomed."

That earned a startled expression from Damien, and then, a nod of understanding. "I can see why she thinks that, considering what we just talked about."

"The age difference?" The heart of the differences between Antoinette and Jack. Sure, Damien was a fair bit older than Fiona, as was Jessy and Eric. But that didn't hold a candle to the difference between Jack and Antoinette.

"The age difference. You're so much younger than her. I get that you and the Prince connect and love each other, but... Clara's concern is warranted, don't you think? Antoinette is absurdly old. She has watched the rise and fall of nations. She's so old, Dolareido is a petri dish she's been working on for over two centuries." Damien shrugged and stood up. "What happens in five years from now? Will she grow bored of you? Or will you start to crave a more... even relationship?"

"Even?"

"Well, Clara isn't that much older than you, compared to Antoinette. The Prince has experienced so much, that nothing is new to her. If a couple is meant to grow together, then I'm not sure how you can do that with Antoinette."

Leave it to his friend to say what he was thinking.

"You think I could have a healthier, more normal relationship with Clara."

Damien put up his hands in surrender. "I don't think anything. Like I said, I'm the last person to ask about this sort of stuff. But Clara's probably thinking: Jack's dating a succubus, and even if Antoinette means well, she's so old that she's just reliving her youth, and hurting you in the long run."

"Reliving her youth..." It was a line of thought he'd gone down several times, and each time, it always scared him. Was Antoinette actually in love with him, or was she just reliving her youth through him, and was addicted to that feeling? "I don't think so."

"No?"

"No. Well, I mean, she probably is, but it's no different than how I enjoy her intelligence, wisdom, and maturity. She knows a billion more things than me, about everything." He shrugged, opened the door, and waited for Damien to follow. "I don't think it's the basis of our relationship or anything, though. But, I see what you mean. It's a very strange relationship."

Damien followed him out of the mansion, and they stood at the top of the small stairway that led down to the huge driveway. In Rich Side, places like the mansion had long driveways that twisted left and right over small hills, before eventually connecting back to South Side. It was quiet. Behind the mansion was the edge of the city, and the rocks and sand of the desert. Secluded. The perfect place to be a scary Ventrue with a host of ghouls and thralls guarding his home twenty-four seven.

But he wasn't an elder. Creating and maintaining thralls was draining. Creating and maintaining ghouls was even more draining, supposedly. If he created them, it wouldn't be from his own power, it'd be from the curse. Sounded like a recipe for disaster.

Back out in the night air, and without Michael to scare them, Mulder and Scully rejoined him. Each found a shoulder to perch on, and each gave Damien some inquisitive looks before taking a turn nuzzling their heads into Jack's temples. Without thinking, Jack reached into his pockets, into a hidden bag, and pulled out a little bit of oat mix for each of them.

"You owe Clara a favor," Damien said, smiling at the two crows, but speaking to him.

"Yeap."

"Know what she'll ask for?"

"Not a clue. You... you don't think she'd ask for something like a date, do you?"

His friend shrugged, and joined him as the two started to walk down the driveway. No need to explain, or ask, Damien just followed him as Jack wordlessly decided to go for a walk. Or had Jack decided to follow him, when Damien decided to go for a walk?

Two friends, talking about girls, and not having to say a word about where they were going. They just went. God damn, it felt nice. Even with Julias, he hadn't ever really been in sync with him to that point. Julias was a good mentor, and a great friend, a father figure, but he'd been a very different person than Jack. Damien and Jack weren't nearly as different. Hell, they were similar in a lot of ways.

Which made Damien's opinion on what to do about Clara very important to him.

"I think she might," Damien said. "Maybe if there was something more perilous going on, she'd ask for a favor about that. But since things have calmed down a bit, she might ask for a date."

"Seems kind of dirty."

"Maybe. To her, she's rescuing you from a relationship with an ancient succubus, someone she assumes is just using you for her enjoyment."

"I really don't think that's fair."

"Neither do I. I trust you Jack, when you say your relationship with Antoinette has depth. But, playing devil's advocate, I can see where Clara's coming from." Damien stroked his chin for a second as he considered. "Maybe spend some time with her to tell her that?"

Spending time with Clara wasn't high on his todo list. Hell, he was avoiding her. He didn't want to have a beautiful, fun woman trying to convince him he shouldn't be with Antoinette. There were too many valid points she could make, and he liked Clara lot.

A week ago, Antoinette would have shot Jack down, and prevented him from going on that mission to kill Jeremiah and Angela. Clara hadn't. She'd joined him without hesitation.

He liked her more than he liked to think about.

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

Damien and Jack stood side by side, deep underneath Dolareido in the abandoned tunnels. The trip wasn't nearly as stressful as it'd have been in the past, what with hunters laying traps around back when Jeremiah was still a threat.

Well, there was still a little stress. This deep underground, he couldn't call the Begotten and tell them he was coming, and attempts to contact Fiona before going underground proved unsuccessful. Either she was in her lair, or she was with Azamel. Considering Damien had drained her last night, probably in her lair, sleeping a monster's sleep, or maybe passed out on her real bed. That meant Jack was about to commit a great sin: the surprise visit, assuming Azamel was in her chair. He kinda hoped she wasn't. If she wasn't around, he could just leave and forget about his responsibility of keeping peace between the paranormals. He could leave, and not worry about having a conversation with Athalia.

But, she was there. So was Mark. Athalia, on the other hand, was not. Thank god.

"Azamel," Jack said as he sauntered up to stand in front of the raised concrete platform her strange living room was built on. "How are you?"

The old woman looked horrible. The cigarette between her fingers had a long tail of ash on it, ready to be tapped onto her ashtray, and her sunken eyes stared ahead, only occasionally glancing at Jack. Her breathing was labored, and her skin sagged more than usual. She looked like she'd aged a decade in a single week.

"What do you think? Idiot child." She raised a shaking hand, and blew smoke. Normally, she'd have blown the smoke straight at him. Not tonight. Blowing smoke six feet was probably too much effort, based on how she looked.

"I think... you look like you're dying, Azamel."

His brutal honesty managed to get a smile from the old woman.

"I am. Jeremiah's ritual was partly successful, as you saw."

"Yeah." Sighing, Jack pulled himself up onto the stage. Mark got up immediately from lying on a nearby couch, but Azamel waved him down with a tiny, trembling gesture.

A living room on a concrete stage. Such a horrible way to live, but then, Azamel and the other Begotten used it because it was easy to portal in and out of their lairs to here. No need for a bathroom, he guessed, if they just went into their lairs to do... that.

"I suppose you want to know how much longer I have left," Azamel said.

Damien tilted his head to the side, eyebrow raised, and looked to Jack. Jack shook his head. Trying to be friends with Azamel would be harder than ever, after what Antoinette did, and especially now that the old woman was dying.

"No, Azamel. I wanted to thank you."

The old woman coughed, coughed, coughed some more, and looked over her shoulder at him, eyes a little bloodshot. "Thank me?"

"Thank you." He grabbed a simple kitchen chair, one they kept near their old, dingy couch, and sat down on it reversed. "You've been a royal pain in my ass, Azamel, but in retrospect, you've been a greater help to me than my bosses Maria, Michael, or Viktor ever were. And everything that happened because of Jeremiah and Angela is... understandable, I guess."

"Understandable?" She choked on a laugh. "Did the Prince tell you what I was up to?"

"That you were trying to kill Jeremiah here, in some sort of grand battle, to make your name a legend? Yeah, she told me." Shrugging, Jack slid the chair in closer, and eyed the woman while wearing a small smile. She didn't scare him half as much as she used to. "But you didn't actively try and get us killed. You didn't go out of your way to hurt anyone. And, you even offered advice and information every so often."

"Pfft. You fucking vampires and your incessant need to fight each other over every scrap. I simply don't attempt to usurp you, and you think I deserve thanks."

"Yeap."

Again, she scoffed, and took a drag of her cigarette. "What else did you want?"

"I thought, maybe... you'd want to talk?" If there was one thing, one thing in the whole world he new about old people, it was their love of telling stories to anyone who'd listen. "Some crazy shit happened, you know? Jeremiah got his hands on, what I guess was a knife made of elephant tusks? Ivory?"

Much as old people loved to talk and tell stories, they also weren't stupid. One glance from her told Jack she knew what he was doing, getting on her good side by luring her into telling a story. But, it also told him she didn't really mind.

"You heard the story, from Jeremiah's own mouth. And the knife, he... had on his person, hidden. It was a part of the ritual, I suppose, that it would join him, and he would use it on me while I was vulnerable."

"That ritual. That was... insane. So many people died."

Azamel breathed smoke into the air after another puff. "Heroes like Jeremiah have always found ways to do strange things, tools to allow them assaults of such. Elen was a tool."

"Is a tool."

"Ha, yes, I suppose. That snake Jacob has her, doesn't he?"

Jack sighed and let his head droop. "Yeah, but, I'll deal with Jacob. And--"

"Jack." Azamel set her cigarette down, and stared at him with heavy eyes. "Don't underestimate this thing that's wrapped itself around your insides. Don't underestimate it or rely on it. It's merged with your Beast, Jack, the very thing that makes you a vampire. It's strong, and it is not to be trifled with, by others, or by you."

That was painful to hear. He'd heard it before, from her specifically, but with the dead look in her eyes, it hit particularly hard.

"Thanks, again, for the warning. But, I'm not here to talk about Jacob, or even Elen. I wanted to talk about you, and what happened. Like, what happened to that knife? If Jeremiah had it hidden on him, on his physical body, then--"

"Then Sándor ate it. And I doubt it could survive in the gargoyle's gullet."

"Heh, I guess that's one way to get rid of a deadly weapon."

Laughing, Azamel managed another puff, and tapped out her cigarette again. "It was deadly to me, because of my past. I was... well, you heard Jeremiah. I was just a roaming fool, little vampire. Just a roaming fool, caught up in nightmares I could not understand." She shuddered as she looked down again. "Do you have any idea, Jack, what it's like to roam fields of tall grass, of jungle, or savanna, in total blackness? Do you have any idea what it's like, to hear the rumble of the earth as something colossal crushes rock and tree underneath its feet?"

"No, I don't."

"Neither did I. But the nightmares came nonetheless. And this... this creature, it drove me insane for years. Always I ran, and I ran, and I ran, until I went to the Middle East in search of answers." Another laugh quickly turned into a coughing fit, and she set the used cigarette down once the coughing past. "I listened to the locals as they told tales about elephants, and then finally, the horrific tales of warning. I always thought elephants were cute, large creatures. I had no idea, no idea at all, how terrifying they were, before the nightmares came. And deep in the jungle, I learned... the nightmares weren't an exaggeration."

Jack put up his hands for a moment. "Don't need to convince me, Azamel. I grew up watching nature documentaries. Elephants are terrifying." Lots of videos out there of elephants going on rampages, flipping cars like they were nothing. "I suppose Jeremiah got that knife made, when he realized the origin of your Horror wasn't based on Ganesha, but real elephants. Or, rather, a horror story spun because of real elephants."

"Yes. But the knife was useless on its own. He needed a way to trap me and expose me. The ritual."

"I'm... sorry, that I couldn't stop it in time."

"Yes, well, all things must come to an end eventually, I suppose." She reached for her breast pocket of her old sweater, took out the pack of cigarettes, and fought to open it.

Jack snatched it from her hand. Before the stubborn woman could say anything, he snatched the lighter from her other hand as well.

"You know, you really pissed the Prince off, spying on her." He slipped out a cigarette, gave it to her, and flicked the lighter on. Fire, even a tiny fire like this, was vampire bane. It was to him what that strange ivory knife had been to her, what silver was to werewolves, something the universe deemed meant to kill them. The universe was a strange place with strange rules.

Azamel eyed him, obviously annoyed. But after a few seconds, the annoyance faded, and she set the cigarette between her lips. He lit it.

"Sorry, if I don't like surprises," she said. "Mark is good though, isn't he? Hard to detect."

"Yes, he is." Jack eyed the man, and the man eyed him back, the barest hint of a smile on his face. "He's also very lucky to be alive. Any other city, and he wouldn't be."

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps? Antoinette is the nicest elder vampire on this damn planet, and you know it." He grinned at the old woman and rolled his eyes. "What's your opinion on Sándor? And where is he?"

"Why should I tell you?" She took another puff, and this time, did blow the smoke at him. He was a lot closer, so she didn't have too try hard. But he also didn't have to breathe, and the smoke past him without getting into his mouth or nostrils.

"Because I'm not your enemy. I'm your friend, Azamel. And I think you know that. Otherwise, why would you have told me about... whatever it is, sneaking around in Dolareido?"

The old monster let out a long sigh, and a long puff of smoke with it. "Sándor is powerful, very powerful. And broken."

"Broken? Right, because of his family."

"Yes. Outside of that, I know little of Sándor. He has not spoken to me more than once, since the incident, and his lair remains sealed off from mine."

"Sealed?"

"We could break in, but that requires effort, and is hardly courteous to a neighbor." Another puff. "He prefers to be alone."

"Heh, I think Jennifer is trying to change that."

"Whore."

Damien laughed. He'd been still and quiet the whole time, but as the conversation went on, Jack could see his friend slowly become more comfortable with Azamel.

"And the thing," Jack said, "the thing that's sneaking around in Dolareido. Other people know about it, but no one knows what it is. Is--"

"It's still here. I stumble onto the scars it's left in the dream, every so often."

"Jesus. The dream, too?"

"Yes. It's torn at the... the... fabric of reality."

"Now you sound like a comic book character."

That earned a laugh from her, and she continued to laugh, even as she coughed and smoke came out of her nose. "I struggle to describe it any other way. Fiona has shown you the scars it's left in the Shadow realm."