My Little Ventrue Pt. 08 Ch. 06

Earthquake? Felt like an earthquake, except not. Felt more like a volcano erupting under their feet.

"Let's get out of here," Matt said. "Avery said if Red Tide came around, we were to avoid it. It's hard to predict, and it's always angry."

"Red Tide?" She put her weapons away, and pointed to the side door. "Uh, do we have to run quick? We can break down the door, and--"

The front doors of the church swung open, and true to name, a red tide poured into the church. A lot of red, a lot lot. Crimson. And it was blood. Natasha almost squealed, but managed to keep her voice under control as she snapped her gaze to the boys, but found neither of them panicking. In fact, they were standing their ground, each watching the oncoming wave of thick, red liquid as it crashed over the pews. Wood cracked and smashed, and many of the candles died to the splashing fluid as the entity filled the nave of the cathedral, and the transepts.

The Grand Cathedral was a massive building. Hundreds of people, maybe thousands could have filled the pews on the bottom floor. Red Tide filled the church until Natasha looked down, and found the liquid churning and splashing up against the three-step stairs that led onto the stage with the pulpit. It was almost overflowing. Where, where had she scene this before? As the spirit thrashed and smashed weight against the walls of the church, tossed pews around, and roared with the anger of the ocean, she stared at the blood red liquid and where it splashed back and forth against the stairs of the stage. Where had she seen this before?

A movie, one she'd seen when she was still human, before her embrace. A man with a staff told the pharaoh to let his people go. The pharaoh said no. The man called upon God, and God turned the rivers to blood. In the movie, that had included a temple that doubled as a fountain and river. That scene had terrified her as a child.

Red Tide made that scene look tame.

She didn't really know what to expect from the spirit called Red Tide. According to the boys, the pack avoided it. It was in a turf war with Black Blood and Street-Tail King, and as far as the pack could tell, it was a spirit of blood, likely birthed hundreds of years ago by early vampire activity. When Dolareido's vampire population began to boom, back when the elders had grown comfortable with their work on the city, about two hundred years ago, blood became a commodity. According to the boys, that sort of event triggered all sorts of spirit development in cities; it was always cities with the greatest spiritual upheavals, because of the human population.

Well, if the boys weren't going to run, it was either because they knew it was pointless, or they weren't worried. They did just say they were supposed to avoid it, but now they stood their ground. Not long ago, they'd all run into Black Blood in the middle of the street, and the spirit hadn't touched them, so maybe Red Tide wouldn't be a concern either? Or, running was pointless?

She fidgeted, fought the desire to pull out her weapons, and watched the giant pool of red settle. As it did, something surfaced from the red. It didn't come up onto the stage with them, but rather emerged from the center of the red liquid itself, in the center of the pool. With only the two big sets of candles behind the trio still lit, the lighting drowned Red Tide in high contrast, emphasizing the shadows of its squirming body, and Natasha trembled as she stared. It was like watching some sort of god of blood who deigned it necessary to form itself, for communication purposes.

If it'd taken the form of a burning bush, she'd have turned around and bolted. Damien would have probably imploded.

Unlike Black Blood, who seemed to be made of black ooze, and a giant black skeleton that put Athalia to shame, Red Tide didn't show any bones. At first, the form it took was far closer to Flowing sanctuary, a torso atop a slowly spinning vortex. But as the blood dripped away from its body, she realized it looked nothing like Flow. The mass of its body, if that's what it actually was, looked a lot more like a tentacle monster with leathery red skin. Much as she tried to think of it more like an octopus or a squid, those weren't accurate. Tentacle monster was the best her brain could come with, considering the borderline panic surging through her, sending vitae into her fingers and toes.

It had a mouth, something huge and carved out of the red, with enormous white teeth within. It had eyes, dozens of them, all black and all over the upper half of its fat body. And, of course, it had tentacles, red tentacles made of leathery red that crashed down against the crimson liquid around it. Each forty-foot tendril cracked at the air, and Natasha braced herself to get splattered. She didn't. Somehow the entity's pool of red and dripping crimson droplets remained attached to it, like how Flow's water body followed her perfectly.

"Uratha. K... Kindred," it said, struggling with the second word. Uratha was a word in the First Tongue. Kindred was not. It had trouble with other languages then. "Why here?" Oh god that voice. If a kraken sea monster could have a voice, it'd be this.

She raised a brow as she looked up at the boys. Black Blood was verbose and even artful with its English. Flowing Sanctuary spoke well, too. Even Safe of Grey Street spoke decently. Red Tide struggled. Either it didn't know English, was too stupid to talk in any language, or it just didn't care. Then again, it was talking English, and since the Uratha spoke the First Tongue, it was doing it for her sake. How... nice of it?

"Red Tide," Art said, and he nodded to the spirit. "We're here investigating the wraiths that abandoned you." For some reason, he started grinning. Hitting the spirit in its ego was a surefire way to make it angrier. Damn it, Art.

The red kraken creature snorted, and slapped a tentacle against the pool around it. "You. Here. Hunting tears."

Natasha opened her mouth, and shut it quick. Don't speak unless spoken to was probably a healthy approach right now.

"Maybe." Art stepped out from around the pulpit, and slowly walked the edge of the stage, feet inches away from the red liquid. "What's it to you?" Wow. He was being very ballsy with the colossal, and likely very deadly spirit. Maybe it wasn't allow to attack them? It had bans, like any spirit, but she didn't know what they were. Far as she knew, the Uratha didn't know them either.

"They grow. Black Blood near. Azlu."

"Azlu?" Matthew, never leaving Natasha's side, ground his teeth until Natasha heard a click. "Street-Tail King said the azlu showed up unnaturally."

"Tears," Red Tide continued, "and more."

"More?" Art said.

"Azlu came for tears. Came for different... reasons."

Art, on the other side of the stage, looked at Matthew with raised brow. Something about Red Tide's information shocked them, which was weird, because it mirrored what Street-Tail King told them about the azlu.

"Know what those reasons are?" Art asked.

The spirit snorted, a loud, booming sound that made the pews floating around in its body tremble. "No. I am... controlling... tears, until resolution."

"Makes sense. If you can control them, you can prevent problems. But, I don't understand why you're here, in the Grand Cathedral."

"Tear... below." It slapped the red water once. "Get out."

Everyone stood up rigid, glanced at each other, looked at the floor beneath them, and then back to Red Tide.

"Are you sure?" Matt asked. "We can--"

"Yes. Get out."

Natasha took a small step forward, and slightly raised a hand. "B-B-But, we're trying to find out if--"

"GET. OUT." The pool of red churned and boiled, and the kraken grew higher and higher, adding a dozen feet, and then another onto its colossal height, until a monster capable of swallowing a house stared down at them with its many eyes. "GET. OUT." The cathedral shook, pews cracked against each other, and crimson liquid splashed up against the walls.

Natasha backed off. So did the werewolves. She didn't need to know much about spirits to recognizing when something far stronger than reasonable, was no longer willing to be reasonable. They turned, and fled; upstairs, because the titanic, angry blood monster didn't bother to move out of the way despite its orders. It wasn't a very nice monster. She found herself wishing it was Black Blood.

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They rejoined the rest of the pack in the apartment building Avery stayed in, and Natasha could see the pack leader was angry. But judging from the expression on her face, she wasn't angry with them specifically. Woo.

"Ran into Red Tide too?" Avery asked. That explained her mood, then.

Art matched her mood as he explained what happened. It wasn't usually what Art did when talking, but Natasha could see he was matching Avery's mood because it made Avery easier to deal with. It was a family thing, something family did when they were around each other for years and years. They figured out each other's personalities and learned to work with -- or fight -- each other's idiosyncrasies. If Avery was grumpy, it seemed she was happier if she felt everyone else was grumpy.

And Arturo played into that with expert control. The man really was smarter than he let on.

"A tear, in the Grand Cathedral?" she said.

He nodded. "But we didn't have time to find a way down there. Or, hell, maybe there isn't a way down there? Could be an underground passage or something that comes from somewhere else, or--"

Avery shook her head, "Red Tide ran into us, and told us... mostly that we're useless and can't find the azlu. It'll kill them itself. Then it moved onto the cathedral, and booted you three out because it doesn't trust us. It thinks the cathedral is a way to that tear."

"Red Tide's an idiot. It could be wrong."

"Red Tide isn't an idiot, idiot." Growling, Avery poked the big man in the chest a couple times. "It just doesn't think the same way we do. If it went to the Grand Cathedral because it doesn't want you three around a tear, then it's a safe bet there's a tear you can get to from the fucking Grand Cathedral."

Matt and Art sighed but nodded, growing quiet.

"Now," Avery continued, "you said you found red wraiths talking about Maria?"

"Yes," they said, in unison.

"And they were talking about the tears? And a ritual? Blood flowing?"

"Yes," they said.

Ugh, it was happening. People were making assumptions, and that was not acceptable. She stepped up, and Avery eyed her as she sat down on her couch.

"What, Tash?"

"D-Damien sleeps in Maria's den. He's with her all the time. He hasn't seen a thing t-t-to make him think Maria is doing anything strange, anything involve tears, or anything involving sp-pirits."

Every werewolf in the room, which was all of them save three, watched her with sad eyes. They all knew where Avery was going, and none of them looked ready to disagree with her. If anything, they all looked convinced, even Matthew and Arturo, and that was not acceptable.

Avery shook her head. "Tash, come on. If it quacks like a duck, it's--"

"There are plenty of birds that quack and look similar to ducks from a d-distance!" She glared at the woman as she stood in front of her. Avery was short, not as short as Tash, but short, and was sitting on the couch. Easy eye contact. "It's... it's not smart, to assume anything."

Avery watched her for a while, her hard expression softening to something closer to reasonable. After a minute of silence, Avery sighed and nodded as she sank back into her dingy old couch.

"The only reason I brought you in on this is because Matt and Art can vouch for you. But the evidence is piling up, Natasha. I trust that you're not telling Maria about any of this?"

"I'm n-not. I made that promise, remember?"

Avery leaned forward, and held out her pinkie finger. "Swear? Even with this new info?"

Natasha blinked at the finger, at the woman, the finger, and eventually took it in her own. "N-No spit? Or cut open the palm?"

"You can't spit or bleed without faking it."

"True." Tash looked down at where their two fingers were hooked, and then gave Avery her best serious face. "I swear."

She meant it, too. But, just because she promised to not tell Maria about the pack looking at her like she was a target, that didn't mean Natasha wouldn't do something else to prevent a catastrophe.

"Alright," she said with finality, then let go. "You really think Maria isn't the cause of these tears?"

"T-Too many things don't add up."

"Yeah, I get that. If they did add up, I'm sure a lot more people than us would be looking at her. But, if you think Maria's innocent, I'll try and be more thorough with our recon."

"Thank you. How long d-do you think you'll be?"

"I don't know. I'm not rushing into anything, Tash, but I'm not going to sit around and wait for shit to get worse."

Which meant Natasha had an unknown deadline to race against, if she wanted to help Maria.

Mekhets hunted out the truth behind secrets like moths to flame; the curse of their bloodline. But she had a hard time believing her desire to find the root of this mystery was the only reason. A part of her wanted to help Maria, the part of her that was too damn nice.

Hopefully that niceness wouldn't get her killed.

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~~Jack~~

Waking up from a stake in the heart was never fun. It probably wasn't a good thing he recognized the feeling, but also probably something a lot of vampires did as they got older. Still, it really sucked. Pain flooded him, and only began to recess when his vampire blood filled the hole a piece of wood had put there.

He lifted his head. Apparently he was against a wall, and when he looked up at his hands, they were bound by some seriously hefty chains. Like, extremely serious chains. He gulped. Those were the sorts of chains someone would use to tie up a ludicrously powerful person.

There was light, some LEDs built into the ceiling, and he sighed relief as a few more glances around showed the familiar black marble under the familiar light. This was the Elysium Tower.

Movement drew his eye. There were people in the room with him, two of them standing very close, and a few standing further back.

After a harder sigh, and a few experimental jingles of his chains, he smiled at the two women in front of him, wearing business suits, with arms folded under their chests like they were in an important meeting. They kinda were, he supposed.

"Prince. Great grandsire."

"Jack," they said together. He chuckled a little at that.

"My little Ventrue," Antoinette continued, "what have you gotten yourself into?"

Elaine came closer, and took his chin in her grip. She was gentle. "It is him. It's in his eyes." Eye contact. A dangerous thing, considering what the curse could do. But then, she was an ancient Ventrue, and one who'd survived the curse. If anyone could handle a mind meld with the Strix curse, it was her.

She had really pretty eyes, brown, with a hint of harshness to them he didn't see in Antoinette. Maybe it was a Ventrue versus Daeva thing. He knew Antoinette could become an ice queen, and slaughter dozens with her bare hands if she needed to. He was sure Elaine could do the same. But Antoinette could hide her brutal side, pretend to be the innocent doe or the playful vixen. He doubted Elaine could ever disguise the edge in her gaze.

"It is him," a quiet voice whispered in the dark. "Auspex sees only Jack."

That was probably the sheriff, but Jack couldn't see him anywhere. Creepy. Impressive.

"He won't take over unless I let him. That seems to be the pattern," Jack said. "He's never taken over without my permission."

"He?" Antoinette said.

"He, it. It's a part of me. It..." He winced and looked away, only to get a glimpse of the people standing further back. Damien and Jessy, his friends and fellow Right Hands. They looked at him like he was dangerous.

He looked down at himself. Suit gone, weapons gone, pants half gone, shoes still mostly intact. His wounds were mostly healed, but some remained, and he winced. It wasn't like he didn't remember what happened in the fight, what he'd done to beat that monster in a legit fist brawl, but seeing the result of it must have painted a pretty horrible image for his friends. Seeing it actually happen wouldn't have painted a much better one, honestly.

"Where're the others?" he asked.

Antoinette sighed, came closer, and gave his cheek a soft pat. "Athalia and Fiona took Sándor back into the Dream, and likely off to speak with Azamel. Now that he owes them, he will be more apt to listen to their request.

Jack nodded. "That's... good. He'll be fine."

Elaine chuckled and gestured to Damien. Damien, a little hesitant at first, eventually walked up to join them. The door out of the prison cell was wide open, letting in more light from the hallway, and telling him where he was: one of those hallways he normally avoided. Antoinette kept prisoners in these cells, and she still had some.

"Sándor will be fine," Damien said. "Once he got back into his lair through the tear, his recovery was quick. Clara will be fine, too. Sabrina--"

"Sabrina?" Antoinette asked, eyebrow raised.

"A ghost," Jack said. "We ran into her when the azlu attacked us. She, uh, was Viktor's ghoul." Elaine, who'd been looking down in contemplation, raised her head at that, and they met eyes again for a few seconds. Jack continued. "She found out who I was, and pledged to help me, because I am... Viktor's grandchilde." The words tasted bitter.

"That is strangely fortuitous, my love." Antoinette stepped back to stand beside Elaine, and also held his gaze. "And from Damien's recounting, as much as it pains me to say, you owe your life to the curse. It defeated the azlu, alone. Damien and his companions merely dealt with what remained."

He choked on a small chuckle, looked at his palms, squeezed them a few times with the disgusting memory of what the curse did, and then looked back at the two elders. "Think... think you can leave me here for tonight? I'm starving, but I need some time to... to do a little soul searching, I guess. The curse is weak without blood."

Damien nodded and stepped back with Jessy out of the cell. Elaine stayed with Antoinette for a moment as the two looked at him with worried expressions, before they too, eventually left.

"I will be here come dusk, with food, my love," Antoinette said.

Daniel stepped out of the shadows, making Jack jump a little, before the man stepped past the Prince and into the hall.

Jack gave Antoinette a small smile, nodded, and closed his eyes. Antoinette closed the door.

Ok, curse. We need to talk.