My Little Ventrue Pt. 08 Ch. 13

Except, this was his skull. Jack had let Black Blood in, so he could prove he could do something about the curse. He hadn't expected the curse to fight back. But that didn't matter. This was his skull, and Black Blood only got in because he allowed him.

Rules. He said he followed rules.

Black Blood reached out, set a hand on the swirling mist of Jack's Beast, and unleashed his own hell. Raw, cold death radiated from his skeleton palm, and engulfed the dome and everyone in it again. No rage, no hatred, at least not the sort the curse had. Black Blood was simply annoyed, like a god would be annoyed with a gnat. It was more than enough.

With a rasp and roar, Black Blood reached upward with his left hand, and pressed down on the smoke body of the Beast with his other. A hailstorm of black ice rained down on the curse, summoned by Black Blood's raised hand, even as the giant skeleton pressed down on him harder, and harder, until the wriggling mass of the Beast squashed to the white stone. Black shards pummeled him, crushing any attempt for him to form his myriad of limbs into something more concrete.

"Here, in the mind," Black Blood said with a quiet chuckle, "you can resist me, curse. Out in the physical realm, I'd crush you into paste."

Except, he wouldn't, couldn't. He had to follow rules. Time to take a stab in the dark at what some of those rules were.

"Black Blood! Enough!" Jack yelled.

Black Blood slowly turned his giant skull to look down at him. "You've put up with this lowlife for this long, Jack? Color me impressed."

"I said that's enough! This is my mind, and you'll behave like a guest. Let him up."

That brought the giant to a standstill. They stared at each other for a moment, one small vampire meeting the gaze of a giant black skeleton, currently in the process of crushing into the ground the Beast and curse Jack had considered nuke-level dangerous. Letting him into his mind had been way too risky, stupid move, but maybe there was something to salvage from this.

With a snort, the skeleton released the Beast. Immediately the curse rose to his full height, or metaphorical power or whatever, and shrieked complete, abject hatred at the entity.

"Curse! Enough! Or I swear to fucking god, I will ask Antoinette to lock me up and do experiments on me until she can figure out what to do with you. Months and months of lying around, tied to a table, doing absolutely nothing."

He wasn't sure if it was the threat of Antoinette removing the curse, or the threat of months of boredom that did it, but the curse calmed down. It shrank down to something only moderately colossal, and hissed and snarled and cawed, but didn't attack Black Blood. Finally, some progress.

"Black Blood," Jack said, stepping in closer. "I have heard your proposal. I have no idea how or why, but I believe you when you say you could remove the curse." With the obvious intent to use the curse for his own personal gains. Black Blood was some kind of entity of death, or dead blood or something, which must have meant he had a bridge to Kindred other beings didn't; Kindred were walking corpses, after all. If the curse affected vampires specifically, and Black Blood could interact with vampires in this sort of way, in this psychic-communication-Discipline-using kinda way, maybe he really could just throw the curse into a jar, and use him like an ingredient in deadly magic.

Course, the curse could hear these thoughts. They could have a nice fucking chat about it later.

"Well then," Black Blood said, emphasis on the drawl, "let me just--"

"I didn't agree to that. You proved you could do it, and that the payment would be you get to keep the curse for yourself. Am I right?"

Black Blood glared at him for a few seconds before speaking. "Yes."

"Then this meeting is concluded. I'll contact you after deliberation." Just like Julias taught him. Position of power. Control the meeting.

The Beast rumbled, a heavy chuckle, predatory and amused. Black Blood, on the other hand, remained silent for ten whole fucking seconds. Might as well have been eternity.

"Very well." With an annoyed sigh, the huge skeleton lowered himself back down through the huge pool of blackness he'd come up from. "But, make sure to chew on this nugget, boy, before I go. Diablerie was the sacrifice this curse's original owner used to be blessed by the striges. Imagine then, what some vampire might have to do to expunge it completely, without the help of someone like me."

Before Jack could ask what the fuck he was talking about, the skeleton disappeared into the onyx water, and moments later, the mind meld ended. A flash of white hit Jack's eyes, and then he was back in Jacob's cave. Triss and Jacob looked at him, heads tilted to the sides, and judging from expressions and posture, they'd been waiting a whole three seconds or something. Yeah, that made sense. The mind meld with the azlu had felt like it took minutes, but it'd only taken seconds, from what Clara had said.

"We're done here," Black Blood said. "Think about what I said, boy. Might just save your life." The shadow silhouette fell apart, like droplets of ink in water. And a moment later, the black water that engulfed them fell apart too, draining through the floor, the walls, even the fucking ceiling, defying gravity and oozing away like sentient slime.

"That, was weird," Triss said. Weirder was how her candle re-lit as the black water left, taking the green glow with it. "His shadow just touched you, and then he says we're done?"

Jacob laughed. "They had a chat, dumbass, in here." He pointed at his own temple. "And judging from the kid's expression, it didn't go well."

"It went fine, Jacob." Jack frowned at the man, and almost laid into him. Who the fuck was Black Blood? The curse was adamant he wasn't a spirit, and considering Jack's own suspicions, he had no choice but to believe him. The curse had known the azlu creature was ancient when they'd had the mind meld, said he could smell it on the spider. And for all his asshole attitude, the curse didn't seem interested in lying. Raping and pillaging, torture and mass murder, sure, but not lying.

"What'd he mean?" Triss asked. "About, thinking about what he said?"

"It's personal."

"Personal? He said it could save your life. Doesn't exactly sound personal."

"I'll... tell you later, ok, Triss? Promise. Just, needs to be between me and him, for now." Hopefully Black Blood would respect that. It wasn't the end of the world if he told Jacob, and Jacob told Triss, but it was something Jack would prefer to get figured out before anyone else did.

The fuck had Elaine done to get rid of her curse?

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Back up on the surface, Triss and Jacob left. Said they had their own shit to do. He had no idea what those witches were up to, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. They weren't involved in the covenant disputes, so it wasn't like they were preparing for war or anything.

He watched their backs as they left, and sighed. Beatrice was becoming more and more like Jacob each passing night, and he didn't like that. Not because he felt Jacob was an asshole. But, he was pretty damn sure whatever sort of dark shit Jacob regularly got into wouldn't help Triss get over Julias.

A couple caws drew Jack's eyes up, and he smiled as his friends flew down to him. Mulder and Scully perched on each shoulder, and he offered each some oats from his pockets. They pressed into his neck, and he gave each of them a few scratches behind the head, before--

You seriously going to let that thing have me?

Jack almost jumped, before he looked down at his necklace, still in his hand. Shit, forgot to put it on.

Just listen to me for once, asshole.

I listened to you far too much. Listening to you has caused me nothing but pain.

Bullshit. But don't distract me, this is fucking important. That thing, Black Blood, he's no fucking spirit.

I... believe you.

I know. But there's something else. I recognized the smell on him.

Tell me about it. Every time I'm around Mary, that creepy, cold, dead feeling, feels like that.

That's her aura, and yeah, it's damn fucking similar. But I said smell, something you'd never pick up unless you learned how to use your nose like a proper Kindred. Like a proper--

Get to the point.

I smelled something a lot like that fucker Black Blood, every time we found one of those tears.

Ice ran through Jack's veins, and his eyes opened wide as he watched Jacob and Triss disappear around a building corner as they walked off.

You're sure?

Damn fucking sure. I'm not saying it was him, but it sure as fuck smelled like him.

The portal Fiona took Damien and me through was his, according to him. Sky called it a verge? It said the verge was from before Black Blood's time, and that Black Blood had claimed it.

That one was a lot older, and stable. The new tears are the problem. They're the ones the azlu are going for.

Maybe he just... investigated the tears before we did?

Maybe. Or maybe the fucker's up to something. Talk with Azamel. She's still alive, right? Before the old bat croaks, see if she can piece something together.

That wasn't a bad idea.

Think the Uratha have picked up on this? They can smell spirit stuff.

Probably not. I couldn't smell this part of him until the mind meld.

Nodding, Jack quietened his mind, and slipped the necklace back on. The curse would have protested, but Jack did it quick, on reflex, fast enough the curse didn't know he was doing it until it was done. Thoughts, into the flame. Urges and raw desire, into the flame. And with the necklace on and telling his Beast to settle, Jack could think clearly once again. Just him and his thoughts, in the haven of his mind.

And that's when he realized his phone had buzzed when he'd come back up from underground.

"Busy busy busy. I miss my old job," he lied, and checked his messages.

The first buzz was from Avery. She wanted him to go check out something in Devil's Corner. Ugh, long way from here.

The second buzz had been distinct, and only now that he could think, did he realize what the unique buzz indicated. Damien or Jessy had triggered their emergency app. Checking the phone proved it. Damien had sent out an alert.

"Shit. Shit shit. Where is Damien right now?" He pulled up the Invictus GPS tracker, and couldn't find him, only his last known coordinates. The Grand Cathedral of Dolareido. That meant he was under it, in Maria's dome. "The fuck? Why would he... fuuuuck." He sent Antoinette and Michael a quick message, and took off running straight for the Cathedral. It was nearby. He could be there in five minutes.

But if he guessed right, five minutes might not be enough.

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He threw open the Cathedral doors, and Mulder and Scully each flew into the building and up high, scouting. No one inside. He ran to the pulpit, up onto the stage, and beside the organ where the curved wall held a door at the corner. He ran down, almost falling over steps as he jumped down them four at a time, down and down, until he came to the tunnel of Maria's den. Mulder and Scully each took a shoulder once again, and he marched forward.

The gate was torn open. Didn't take much analysis to see it was done by hands and claws. Shit shit shit. Yelling echoed through the stone, screams, hollers, and visceral cracks and breaks. They were fighting.

He ran faster, balls of his shoes slamming into the smooth stone as he darted through one broken gate, then another, and another, each one torn open. The Uratha had come, and had zero intention of letting something like rules stop them from their hunt. God, if they killed Damien, he wasn't sure what he'd do. God, if Maria killed all of them, he wasn't sure what he'd do then either.

He came out of the tunnel, and into Maria's den. A huge dome, with the walls covered by history. Hanging drapes and curtains that looked like they belonged in Jack's mansion. Paintings, many obviously Catholic, decorated her walls. A huge piano. An actual coffin. Maria was old school, the sort of vampire people told stories about, stories of fear and reverence. She was the vampire people thought of when someone said Dracula, not Antoinette and the other dragons.

As Mulder and Scully resettled on his shoulders, Jack looked around, and gulped.

Avery, or probably Avery, judging from the lighter color of her fur, held Maria up by the throat in the center of the huge room. The vampire's arms were gone, ripped off, and bits of bone stuck out from the loose sleeves of her ruined dress. She glared down at the werewolf, eyes full of ancient rage, but despite her legs being free underneath her, she made no attempts to kick the werewolf.

More werewolves, all the werewolves, stood around, each fully transformed into their big war forms, and each covered in blood. The place was a mess, with curtains ripped and one of the desks smashed. Their big foot claws had left a lot of huge gashes on the once pristine, smooth stone floor, and shards of metal and wood were everywhere.

One of the werewolves held a large man by the back of the collar. Dead? No, breathing, unconscious. Maria's ghoul, Matthias. A nasty gash sliced across his chest, exposing his muscular body underneath.

And one of the werewolves, one Jack recognized intimately, one that had literally once licked him, stood on Damien, her massive weight and strength pinning his broken, battered body. She half turned to face Jack, and her visible eye widened as she recognized him. But Jack didn't look at her for long, eyes falling and staring hard at his friend on the floor.

One of his legs was gone. And, like Maria's, it hadn't been cut off cleanly by a sword or anything. And it hadn't been ripped off either. The pant leg, the flesh and bone, it was mangled and shredded.

It'd been bitten off. And Clara had clothes stuck to her snout.

Jack met her eyes, clenched his fist, and took a step forward. The pack, who'd already half turned to face him, all turned completely, and in unison. A lot of them had blood on them, and since vampire blood turned to ash in seconds, that was their own blood. A quick glance to the floor showed Damien's pistol, slide back and awaiting a new magazine, while his sword sat on the other side of the den, soaked in blood.

The wounds on the werewolves' bodies hadn't healed, not completely. Some of them audibly sizzled, as if they'd been burned by acid, and still were. At least seven of the werewolves had huge gashes on their bodies, but none of them had cuts deep enough to put any of them out of commission.

He took another step forward, and both Scully and Mulder let out announcing caws. Every single werewolf took a step back, including Clara, abandoning her position atop Damien to get herself closer to Avery, who stood the furthest back.

"Jack," Clara said. "We--"

"You know, I tried. Everyone in this damn city wants to kill each other, or at least jump to violence as their first step in negotiation. But I really fucking tried to help everyone get along. Everyone has their reasons for doing shit, for getting in each other's way, but I thought for sure, if people just talked to each other, everyone could just... live and let live."

Clara looked down. Even in werewolf form, it was easy to read the shame on her.

"Jack," Avery said, turning to face him, hand still wrapped around Maria's throat and holding her up at a distance beside her. "Turn. Leave. This is our business. Our hunt. Go." As typical of transformed Uratha, her speech was broken, choppy, and harsh, almost like a bark.

Jack took another step forward, and both of his crows took the air, cawing and circling above, like vultures. And again, every werewolf, save Avery, took a step back.

"Jack," she continued, "I'm warning you. Go."

And with a hardening glare, he licked his fangs, and took off his necklace. "No."