Humans are stupid.
I wish I could blame most of the nonsensical behaviors to either fate or an addled, fringe elements. Unfortunately, the case remains that even those who should know better do worse. It is with disappointment but no great surprise that I watch Millie enter the building just before dawn, interrupting the rogue vampire’s departure preparation.
“Where are you? Come out here?” she half-sobs, half-screams. “I won’t let you hurt anyone else!”
Her small mage light wobbles in the frigid air. From the rafters, I wonder exactly how she intends to achieve this. The answer is soon provided when the young adult exposes her throat willingly and quite dramatically. If we were at the opera, I would have judged her performance dramatic and over-the-top. Fiction is often no match for reality, it seems.
A hiss answers her from deeper in the warehouse. The rogue releases her pack to investigate the cause of the disturbance on her domain. If Millie had used a quarter of her brain, she would have realized the rogue would have stayed the day and departed at twilight. Who leaves only shortly before the outside world turns into a deathly oven, I ask? Foolishness of all foolishnesses. You have to understand the prey when you hunt, or you are playing a game of chance.
“What… are you doing here?” the rogue asks in a cracked, low voice. She has still retained her ability to think to an extent, though it matters little. Conversations with a rogue only ever end one way.
“I won’t be a burden on my friends anymore. I have betrayed them… betrayed the person I used to see as my sister, and for what? He doesn’t love me! It is better to make myself useful in the only way I can still think of!”
“What?”
“You heard me, beast! I am here to die.”
“That… is good then.”
Ah, the heroic sacrifice trope on the road to redemption. I am familiar with the concept and still find it overused to this day. Many times, such as now, the life of the guilty could have been spared for later use if only they had not chosen the easy way out. But I digress. Perhaps it is godling magic or simply youthful hormones driven to despair. The question remains. Do I save Millie?
I believe I have to.
Constance has already derailed the tragedy with her multiple use of that incredible power: basic common sense. If I were to let Millie die, it would not make the story much more convincing. Worse, I would lose any chance I have of attracting Constance to my cause.
No, I believe I am compelled to save the horrid little airhead. Curses. May Darwin forgive me for what I am about to do.
“Now… stay still. Morsel… Youngest princess.”
I dramatically drop from the ceiling in front of the slavering rogue, then grab her by the shoulder and smash her against a nearby wall. She falls, temporarily stunned.
“You are being silly,” I tell the flabbergasted young mage. “And if it is death you wish for, I shall contact your instructor back in Marquette. There are some drills that will make you wish you were.”
“I just wanted to stop her!”
“And you picked the most costly and inefficient manner to do so. Your friends will mourn your loss more than you could ever know, so sit down to the side, shut up, and let me work.”
“They hate me!”
“There is a terrible gap between being annoyed at someone and seeing their lifeless body sprawled on the ground, believe me. This is my last polite request. Do as I say.”
Millie trots to the side, chastised and denied her moment. Silly humans.
I return my attention to the rogue vampire. She has picked an abandoned factory with all its equipment taken, leaving naked walls and rusty doors. The lingering scent of old blood and the general air of abandonment suit her. The biting cold of the pre-dawn has frozen the fresh blood on her throat into a shiny ruby coat. Her acid smell mixes with that of the pungent setting. As soon as she sees me, her mouth opens with disbelief, revealing eight stained fangs.
“You. It is you!”
The woman has straight black hair, cut short around her neck, and hooded dark eyes. The tattered dress reveals a thin build with the corded muscles of a dancer. She is hunched and feels frail, brittle, an impression only reinforced by the caked blood on her talons. She sways dangerously.
“He spoke of you. Said many things. Too many. TOO MANY. I tried. I tried so hard,” she wails.
She clutches her forearm with her filthy fingers while her face shows rage and despair in equal measure.
“I tried to please him. Tried tried tried. I gave him everything, but it wasn’t enough. I was never enough. He was bored. Your fault. Your fault!”
“I am sorry,” I say, and find that I mean it.
“Do you know what he did to me?” she whispers.
“I am sorry. He broke all of us but he let some go. There are no words I could say that would make it better.”
“Why did he have to throw me away? Why not just let me live? Why did it have to be me?”
Millie remains frozen in fear. It matters not. The rogue is far gone, too far gone. Her rictus of rage mark a Devourer and the claws show she is far beyond salvation. Thrown away too young, broken too fast. She never stood a chance. Our instincts are so difficult to manage if we are left alone. And she was left alone.
“He wanted another you.”
“I am sorry.”
“If I kill you, maybe… IF I KILL YOU!”
It happens very fast.
Nirari did not force feed that specific spawn, not like the others. She is terribly weak. I grab her mid air, then drink her dry as softly as I can. I discard her memories. There is nothing to find here that I do not already know. She fades away, though I manage to grant her a few seconds of peace before she leaves for the Watcher’s embrace, free of the Thirst for some precious moments.
She did not deserve it. None of us did.
A wave of exhaustion washes over me. The sun will rise very soon. I leave Millie with her friends who came rushing to her rescue as soon as they realized she was gone. They would have found her lifeless body and the sleepy vampire, which would have been at their mercy. I believe I prefer my version better. With little else left to do, I leave them to their reunion.
***
Reynaud laughs when his grandchildren hit his legs at full speed. They squeal ‘Papy!’ and demand sweets. Their mother scolds them shortly after while her husband smiles.
We watch from the carriage like thieves.
After a short discussion, the young couple leaves in their finest clothes for some spring event while Constance’s father walks back in with his grandchildren. There is no denying the air of familiarity between all of them, though the old mans’ traits are smoother where Constance is all sharp angles and exotic grace.
Constance keeps quiet for a while. I wait.
“So… he really doesn’t know I exist?”
“No.”
“Explain. I know how babies are made, Ariane. Surely he would know that if he sowed his seed, there was a chance it would take? No?”
“He was not himself.”
I sigh. There is no good way to say that.
“Your mother damaged his mind when she forced herself upon him. She was not trained in mind magic. She still is not trained in mind magic,” I amend. “We let the memories fade because it would let him recover quickly.”
“So he doesn’t know. And he is mundane. And he would not believe me. And his family… this is a Puritan region.”
“It is still your right, and he is still your father,” I tell her. “You were right to tell me I had no authority to deny you this birthright. I could arrange a meeting in private. Keep it secret.”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“I don’t want to be a dirty secret!” she roars back. “I want to be accepted! I don’t want some cloak and dagger meeting, alright? I want the real deal.”
I do not speak. We both know it will not happen. My negligence made sure of it. So did her mother, and so did puritanic society.
Mundane humans do not really understand mind magic. If I had explained right away he was spelled, it would have been a terrible indiscretion that endangered his marriage and I could have smoothed things over. Now, though, so much time has passed that the wound has scarred over. Constance’s appearance would never go smoothly. Not even with a generous dose of charm, which I am wary of using.
“I… need to think. I don’t want to meet him like that. I want to see my mother first. I need to understand… what or why she was doing. What she was trying to accomplish.”
I nod to the chauffeur and we are out.
***
The Allister House of Retreat stands on the shore of the Patapsco river, just before it pours into the Chesapeake Bay. It also belongs to the sphere of influence of Madrigal, Mask ambassador to the Accords and a man known for his neutrality.
Few in the entourage of vampires fall into substance abuse with the exception of alcohol. The presence of a powerful supernatural creature tends to captivate the mind, I have found, and all but the most alienated artists prefer the mysteries of reality to the mist-filled dreams of opiates. Mages even more so. Perhaps it is their fae ancestry, or perhaps changing the world with one’s mind provides a deep sense of satisfaction that leads to violence before it leads to listlessness.
There are, of course, exceptions. The Allister house welcomes all those who cannot face the day and their own cravings in its calming embrace. A thousand acres of park and forest surrounded by tall fences protects its inhabitants’ privacy, but the orderlies that patrol it also protect them from themselves. I have no need to hide here. My existence is well known, and so we park near the entrance in a designated spot.
“Well, this is it,” Constance says without break. “Three days of travel for this. Eighteen years for this, actually.”
She looks at me, searching for words.
“Am I making a mistake?” she asks.
“I do not think so. You need the truth now, even if it turns out to be disappointing. What you are feeling is nervousness.”
“Are you reading my mind?” she asks with suspicion.
“I do not need magical powers to understand the motivations of young adults, fortunately.”
“True, you just don’t care. Most of the time.”
“There happens to be a lot of you around,” I reply without much bite.
“Hmph! Well, I’m off. Don’t leave the engine running.”
She is off like a storm. Chauffeur leans to the side and we exchange a glance. His dark eyes under the bushy brows express only one emotion: doubt.
“Ma’am?”
“Leave the engine running. I will spy on them.”
His wordless disapproval radiates out when I leave the car. Constance is still in the lobby, signing some admission papers. I cleared her in advance and, instead of following, climb the outside wall to Natalie’s room where I settle in to wait. It only takes a minute for Constance to reach the locked chamber.
“You got a visitor,” a female orderly soberly announces.
“Yeah?” a voice replied.
I use the eye spell to observe the following scene through the wall. Natalie looks good in a conservative dress, despite the circumstances. She is clean and healthy with dark hair that reaches her shoulders, full cheeks, a rosy skin, and the general poise and strength of a mage in her prime. Her dark eyes follow Constance’s own gray when she arrives, then she blinks.
Between the two, the air of family is more than evident. Constance really takes after her mother, though her chin is more forward and her beauty more unconventional. Natalie is not stupid. She immediately understands who she faces, and grips Constance’s shoulder with great strength.
“It… it cannot be. It’s you? You? Constance? My… my daughter?”
Tears well in her eyes, an emotion mirrored by her daughter. The two stay there, standing in front of each other in disbelief that they finally meet.
“Look at you, so big already. So, tell me how you are? I was told you've graduated?”
“Yes! You know? I mean, you know about me?”
“Of course, I’ve been following your progress for a long time. It’s unfair that we’ve been separated like that, but now that we’re here we can all make it better. Stay together, be a family! Listen, I am sorry I wasn’t there before. The years I had you it… was really hard. Luck really tossed me around you see? But now, it will all be right.”
“Yeah, yeah but I got questions. Stuff I need to know.”
“Oh, of course, sweetie, anything you want, I’ll tell you. Your mother won’t hide from you.”
Constance blinks slowly.
“I mean… yes, fine. Yes, the truth. I heard, well, I heard you and my father, it didn’t go well.”
“It’s not fair of you to say so. They have lied to you,” Natalie replies with a frown.
“Sorry.”
“Oh, it’s nothing sweetie, not your fault at all either! Anyway, he was looking at me with all this desire — men are beasts, you know — then we grew close… very close, over a period of a few weeks. He was away from an unhappy marriage to a harridan down south, arranged by his parents. Some woman he’d barely ever met before.”
“But then, why use mind magic?”
Natalie’s smile freezes on her face, though she battles on.
“Oh sweetie, it ain’t that simple. I had no choice, see? I just wanted him to see me as I was, not the daughter of someone or a member of a family but me, your mother. A person undefined by her circumstances. I was untrained, so it ain’t my fault. No one ever told me that my wishes could hurt people! But that’s water under the bridge. We don’t need him. Just you and me, we’re going to have such a grand time together. Think about it!”
“But errr, you’re trained right now?”
“Yes, yes, I’ve done some of those horribly tedious exercises. Images and whatnot. Not that it would matter since I am shackled like an animal. Look!”
Natalie pulled on her collar, revealing a silver filigree torque of good make.
“That’s… a restraining collar. Used on rogue mages. But… mother, those visualization exercises are the base of mage training. Have you not achieved materialization yet? Or do they prevent you from manipulating your essence?”
“Oh, I can’t possibly practice when no one lets me do anything and I constantly have someone looking over my shoulder like I am a child. But you are here now! We can do it together! It will be a great bonding moment.”
“Right. Right, that sounds good, I think. Yes. We should spend more time together. That practice sounds good. I’ll make sure that… yeah, that I am here.”
“Oh, honey, we are not leaving? I thought we could go together.”
“I don’t know… you are not in control of your abilities if you are still at this early stage of… how can it be, you must be at least… but no. No.”
I watch Constance lose her sheen of hopeful happiness with morbid fascination. In my breast, I feel an unusual, cold feeling of dread. I realize what it is with painful slowness.
Sympathy.
For what is happening.
For what I can count on Natalie to reliably do next.
“It’s alright, sweety, it’s alright. We can take our time. I’m sure those reasonable ladies and gentlemen downstairs will let me go after you make a demand. You’re important now, right? I can wait a bit longer. It’s an important moment for us.”
“Right.”
Natalie licks her lips, considering. And here we go.
“Just wondering, could you give me a little something? Five dollars would do. It’s so boring here, I need something to take off the edge.”
“What?”
“Just to tide me over until we leave. I’ll arrange something with the guards.”
Constance opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water.
“You…what? Mother, you are sick.”
“No! Don’t listen to what they say, I’m perfectly fine.”
“You… you… but we said together, we…”
“Of course, dearie, of course, together! Your mother just wants to live a while, is all. Don’t hold it against me, yeah? It’s nothing. I’m in control.”
Natalie’s smile grew strained.
“I… gotta go. I got to go now,” Constance says.
I watch her storm out, her back bent under the weight of pain.
“I love you,” Natalie sweetly says while the door slams shut.
With a simple spell, I open the window. Natalie’s head swivels towards me.
“You are such a fuckup,” I say.
“You bitch, you turned her against me!”
I watch her rage-filled face for a few moments.
“You’ve always been my greatest disappointment. Well, I’m off to pick the pieces. Farewell.”
“Curse you!”
I let myself fall down while taking great care not to let my dress flare. This is a civilian outfit. It does not come with my many improvements. I am inside of the car by the time Constance strides through the lobby.
“Miss, you need to sign…”
“FUCK OFF.”
I can hear the staff girl talk to an orderly.
“Wow, rude.”
“She’s Natalie’s daughter, met her for the first time.”
“Ah. The poor thing. I forgive her then.”
Constance gets in the car, slamming the door behind her with such strength that the glass shakes. She places her head against the driver’s seat and sighs heavily. A few hiccups follow.
Hmmm. She smells of extreme distress.
This will not do.
“You know,” I hesitantly start, “one of your ancestors on your father’s side was my brother Hercule. I miss him dearly.”
She looks up, eyes red and filled with tears.
“Which makes me your great great aunt, I believe. And thus family.”
She sniffs, possibly a bit lost.
“So. Hug?”
“Yeah, I could use a hug right now.”
“Then hug.”
We hug.
I believe I have not hugged anyone in forever. Embraced a lover, yes, but not… hugged. It feels quite strange. Since it is her, I do not mind.
I signal the chauffeur and we are off while Constance bawls her heart and snot out over my shoulder. It takes quite a bit of time for her to go through all that pain, so I merely stay there.
“You smell comforting,” she says as we finally split apart. “Why do you smell comforting?”
“Perhaps because we are family.”
That is a lie. We smell comforting because it lures the mortal, yet I have no wish to hurt her or prey on her. For once, my scent becomes just that.
“Oh. Pfft. Wait, do I have more living relatives? Besides those two, I mean.”
“Yes, your maternal grandfather will be quite cross with me when he finds out I hid your existence from him.”
“I am still quite cross with you as well, Ariane. Do not think that a hug and a sorry will erase eighteen years of absence.”
“Naturally. And you have more mages on your mother’s side. Lynn, for example. She is your great grandmother.”
“Lynn Merritt? She was always kind to me. Do you think she knew?”
“I did not tell her, but perhaps she felt something. Enchanters like her tend to be more sensitive.”
“Right. I want to talk to her and my grampa. What’s his name?”
“Alexander Bingle. He is a marshall. Still not retired, though I understand he is busy writing his memoirs right now, having accumulated a good amount of wealth throughout his late career.”
“Bounties.”
“No, ah, grateful widows, if I understand.”
“Ah. And I want to know more about you. I have questions. And I want to ask your staff what they think of you. I don’t want to just take your word for it. Like the chauffeur. Chauffeur, you will tell me what you think, right?”
The chauffeur stops the car. He turns and gives Constance a look of condescending incredulity, then stare pointedly at me, present next to Constance and technically his employer, then back to Constance with the most speechless befuddlement I have ever seen in a mortal, then back to the road.
“Generally you should not ask what people think of their bosses in front of their bosses if you want an honest opinion,” I kindly inform her.
“Right, I knew that…” she grumbles.
The rest of the trip is spent answering questions about my past. She attempts to count the total number of people I have killed and I must admit that I do not like where this is going.
***
Constance prowled the Nirari vault for documents. The Nirari vault could also be called the archive room, complete with dust and a sour staff member. Constance preferred her term.
The answer she sought was here, hidden in some volumes. A janitor and Ariane’s butler had strongly hinted that the answer to her question slept in those drawers. After almost half an hour of search, she found it. An article clipped at the edge of a motion aimed at a certain A. Reynaud, preventing her from accessing IGL’s official automobile for her personal use. That was it.
Constance checked the date. The document dated back to 1891.
Terror on the road.
Chicagoan police are on the hunt for a deranged harridan who caused the death of one man, injured another, and caused significant property damage.
On May the 12th, the unidentified woman ran a carriage out of the road after an altercation with the driver using a brand new automobile. The man, identified as Horace Caldwell from Willings street, was uninjured but one of his horses had to be put down. Later that day, it was reported by a Miss Butler that a certain Oliver Twill, 42, unmarried, was justly remarking that women did not have the temperament to operate such heavy pieces of machinery as she drove by. Mr Twill reportedly heckled the woman while she was crossing the street at a slow pace to allow pedestrians to make way. At the end of the road, she turned her wonder of technology around then ran him down, killing him on the spot.
“Twas ghastly, he screamed and then it sounded like crunched wood!” Miss Butler was reported saying.
The hunt for that lunatic has not yet borne fruit because the model of the car could not be identified. The Chief of Police has so far declined to comment on the odious crime.
So.
Constance made a quick calculation.
Cars were only just getting started on mass production now, which meant that automobiles were far and few at that time. The implication was clear.
Ariane was not just the first person to have a car accident. She was the first to commit vehicular manslaughter. All in a window of a single day.
Ariane was the world’s first automobile road rager.
That was why she was banned from driving.
“God help us all if she gets her hands on a wheel,” Constance muttered.
“Amen,” the archivist replied.