"IRENE!"

At the call of her name, Irene's eyes thrust open. Her consciousness and coherent thought lagged behind, trailing cautiously back into being. There were no thoughts in her mind as she looked down at herself. Where there weren't scorch marks on her shirt, there were dark red stains around a small hole. Her view trailed down to the floor, where blood stained the wood. Heat had caused it to bubble up in a sickening display. She heard feet rushing towards her, and she lifted her dry eyes.

"Cyrus," her throat burned as she spoke, but the fact that she spoke almost surprised her. "I'm alive."

Cyrus stared down at her, as though he was equally surprised, furthermore, horrified. He hesitated before kneeling down and sliding his arms beneath her to lift her up. Irene watched as his eyebrows drew together in an expression she rarely saw. Something was troubling him, and for once, he avoided eye contact. "No time to talk."

"I saw…" Irene began, uncertainty in her voice.

"Shush!" Cyrus carried her over to a window. He threw back the curtains, tore down the sheet, and ripped the wooden planks off. He glanced behind him, where some beams came tearing down only a few feet away.

Irene peered out the window. "We're jumping?" she asked, wrapping her arms around Cyrus's neck tightly.

"Yeah, I can hear them coming."

Irene blinked. She could hear them too… calling out for any survivors. She wasn't sure who 'they' were, though. She inhaled about to call out to them and announce herself, but Cyrus quickly covered her mouth.

"Be quiet!"

Irene hiccoughed, and blinked away moisture that was finally revitalising her burning eyes. Everything was confusing, and she felt disconnected from the danger. All she could think was how pretty the fire was, but also how nice the cool night air felt on her warm cheeks.

Cyrus crawled onto the window sill, crouching awkwardly as he tried to manage Irene's limp body. She wondered why she was being carried; she felt no pain. She didn't feel weary, or bruised, or sick, or choked. She also felt the air rushing through her tattered clothes and over her skin as they leapt down from the window. Yet, there was no thrill nor fear attached to this plunge from a second storey window. She barely felt jarred when they landed on the pavement below. Nothing felt real anymore. Life had been unbelievable as of late, but it always at least felt real. She always felt something.

"We'll talk once we're safe." Cyrus darted into the shadows then looked around. After scanning the area, he set Irene down on her feet, but kept a hand around her wrist. "You're well enough to run." He stooped down, and grabbed a pack that had been lying on the ground and slung it around his shoulder.

"…I... But I was shot…" Irene looked down, holding out the bottom of her shirt to better examine the bloody bullet hole as confirmation.

"Do you not feel well enough to run?"

Irene looked down at her legs, and shifted her weight experimentally. "I…"

"Let's go!" Cyrus jerked her into a gallop with him. Although Irene could feel the ground every time her feet struck it, she felt no pressure from the impact or the weight of her body as she ran. She'd never felt this sort of weightlessness when she was alive.

Wait. Am I still alive? How odd. I don't really feel alive. But I don't really feel dead, either.

Cyrus brought them both to a stop. "Let's head back to your place. There'll be no reason for Gabriel's men to watch it now."

"If it isn't still cordoned off…" Irene responded dismally.

Cyrus clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Such a pessimist…" Cyrus muttered, glancing off into the distance.

Irene sniffed. She felt she had every right to be pessimistic, all things considered.

Cyrus looked back at her. "Why would it be cordoned off?"

"Because Gabriel's men smashed the place."

"Son of a..." he hissed under his breath. "Well let's take a look then decide what to do."

Cyrus crept over to a car parked out on the curb, peering into the window. He knelt by the driver's side door and dug something out of the pack he'd slung about his shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

"Stealing a car. What does it look like?" Cyrus jammed a wire down the crevice by the window. Irene leaned against the hood of the car, watching him work at it for a moment. However, she lost interest fairly quickly and glanced around. It was dark. She knew it was dark. But everything seemed in such concise contrast.

With a resounding pop the door swung open. "Get in."

Irene didn't condone being part of a car theft, but her state of mind left her apathetic towards commonplace principles. All she wanted was to figure out what had happened this time, and why she felt the way she did. As her mind trailed back the present, her stomach churned unpleasantly, eliciting a groan.

Cyrus glanced over from fiddling with some wires. "You alright?"

"I feel… nauseated…" Irene reported, her voice more of a whimper than she would have liked. She gently rubbed her hand over her upset belly, but a part of her felt better feeling something.

"It will pass," Cyrus said without moving his eyes from the task at hand. Finally there was a rumble as he got the engine started. Satisfied he sat up and shut the door. "Alright… here we go."

"I'm going to be sick…" Irene moaned as the car pulled out. Cyrus shrugged his shoulders at her. Unfamiliar and vastly unpleasant sensations writhed through her abdomen. She curled up in her seat as best as she could.

"I repeat, it will pass. When we get to your place, I'll make you a warm drink to soothe your stomach," Cyrus reassured, keeping his eyes focused on the road in front of him. Irene glanced over at him. Seeing him drive a car seemed somehow incongruous.

Irene stared at her singed and blood-stained clothes. Without thinking about it, her hand went into her pants pocket. Her fingers closed around something warm and metal. She hesitated, but then brought it out. It was the locket and key. Her eyes slid over to Cyrus, whose eyes were, thankfully, still on the road. She quickly slipped it back into her pocket before he noticed. How did that get there? She remembered throwing it back into the drawer. Another ominous feeling came over her.

Irene was relieved when the car rolled to a stop in her long driveway. Her house was still there. More importantly, the yellow tape was not present, nor was her father's car. She hadn't realized how much she was shaking until she tried to stand, and almost fell over. This felt right. This was normal. She should be weak.

Cyrus slung her arm across his shoulders to give her support. Slowly, the two of them walked towards the house. Irene's eyes darted to the horizon, where the slightest hint of light was forming along the outline of the mountains. It felt so familiar, except this time she was the one who was injured, and it was Cyrus carrying her to the old porch. The sun would rise soon, and they had to be inside before it did. She felt unusually apprehensive.

The door swung open as Cyrus lightly pushed on it. Irene felt alarmed at first, but then remembered she was forced to leave it that way. The cops could have shut the door when they were done. As expected, there were signs of disturbances. The kitchen chairs and table were all moved to one side, and a small pillow, which was usually on her bed, was lying on the ground in front of the basement door.

"Did you have a pillow fight with Gabriel's men?"

Irene shook her head. "No…" she whispered, slipping away from Cyrus and kneeling down in front of the pillow. There was a vague dirty shoe print on it. She frowned and looked up, towards the hallway. Keeping one hand on the wall, she walked carefully towards her bedroom. Peering in, she saw that her bed had been removed, and her nightstand was across the room. Irene closed the door and stumbled into the kitchen. From there she could see Cyrus staring down at the basement steps. "Cyrus… my bed is gone."

"Strange. Don't see why either Gabriel's mooks or the cops would remove that," he said before descending. After a moment she heard him call up. "Found your bed."

"What?" Clinging to the wall Irene hobbled down the steps.

Cyrus returned, meeting her half way. He took both of her hands. "I'll help you to your bed, get you a drink, then we can exchange stories."

Irene nodded. Cyrus turned sideways, guiding Irene past him, and then followed her down into the basement. She stared at her bed, set right in the middle of the room. It was too bizarre. Who would do such a thing? Still all she wanted was to lie down, and she stumbled across the room to do just that. Relief swept over her as she laid down, the familiar smells - her smell - reaching her. She closed her eyes and curled up, thinking over what had happened.

Cyrus eventually came down with a mug and sat beside her. "Irene, sit up and drink this. Try to ignore the taste, I assure you that it will do you some good."

Irene sluggishly half-rose, knitting her eyebrows together, studying Cyrus. His warning only served to make her wary. There was a thick, dark, ugly looking liquid in the offered mug. It was almost black, leaving a residue on the sides of the mug that looked like some horrible colour trying to be purple, but failing somehow. She purposely did not sniff it, and tipped the mug to her lips, a little afraid of what the taste might be.

When the substance finally greeted Irene's tongue, it was pleasantly warm. The taste instantly made her hair stand on edge, and a tingling sensation to prickle along her jawbone. It was a familiar blend of salty and metallic. There was also a bitterness that was out of place. Still, she drank the entire cup, trying her best not to think about it.

"Good." Cyrus took the mug from her as soon as it was empty. After analysing the flavour more, she realised she could also recognise the bitter taste. It was food colouring. Irene expected to gag, but curiously, her stomach felt settled and the shakiness ceased.

Irene lowered her head and glared at Cyrus. "What did you do to me?"

Cyrus shook his head, setting the mug on the ground. "I didn't do it…" Cyrus insisted, bringing up his hands with the palms outwards.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Irene inspected her mouth with her tongue. Something had been off, but she had been too distracted to identify it. She expected to feel long sharp fangs when she brushed her tongue along her canines, but instead felt a gap and a fleshy mass there instead. But she became aware of a pressure on her palate as she pressed her tongue against the excess gum tissue. Using her finger, she palpated around until something triggered, and fangs flicked forward on a hinge.

"Who else would do this to me?" Irene asked, aggression filling her voice.

"I don't know Irene! But trust me, you're no use to me like this!" Cyrus held up a finger in protest.

"Oh yeah? Or maybe you would because it'd force me to obey you!" Irene accused, violently shoving Cyrus. He wasn't the immovable statue he used to be, but he still offered her some resistance. He grabbed her hands and pushed her back, pinning her to her bed, baring his fangs at her.

"Listen to me!" Cyrus snarled, his face inches away from hers. "I never wanted this!" He drew his head back, the folds in his face relaxing into a deadpan, but he remained on top of her. Irene struggled, and could feel that he was having to exert himself to keep her pinned. "Hey! HEY! Blood chalices lose their value when they become vampires!" He released her and drew back to a sitting position, crossing his arms over his chest. "Besides, the last thing I need is the immortal wrath of a scorned woman."

As soon as she was free, Irene pulled away, knocking her pillows off the end of the bed. As angry as she felt, she knew, for once, there wasn't any point of directing it towards Cyrus. She also knew, remembering Cody, that as a new vampire, she could not stack up against her elders. Shivers ran through her spine. The only other person who knew she was there was Cynthia, but it was unfathomable to think that parasitic wasp could be her creator. She watched Cyrus as he sat with his arms crossed, sulking like a petulant child.

"Is there... some way to know who made me this way?" Irene's voice sounded small. She felt small. Smaller and weaker than she ever had. Young, new, yet weathered and tired. From the floor, she picked up her pillow and hugged it close to her chest.

"Sort of, but not exactly." Cyrus rubbed the back of his neck. He glanced over to Irene who hugged the pillow tighter. His eyebrows drew close together, creases forming on his forehead as he frowned. He looked suddenly older. "Hrm... there are certain traits that follow a vampire's bloodline. In my case, Gabriel and I gained the healing saliva from our dam. Other bloodlines have things like, oh, euphoric bites, another has venomous fangs, another doesn't even have fangs and has to use sharp implements to help feed. Yeah. They're kind of the laughing stock."

Irene listened, absorbing the information. Naturally, she had to consider he may be lying, or telling partial truths. But it was a starting place. "So... depending on what my bite does, it can narrow down who made me? Well... what about some of the vampires working for you? Kendrick, Cody, or Cynthia?"

It took a moment for Cyrus to respond, his frown deepening. He pressed his hands together, holding them like a man in prayer, and touched his joined fingers to his lips. "Honestly, I don't know. While it's normal to wear your bloodline loud and proud in most of Europe, here in Canada people don't talk about bloodlines much. It's even rude to ask someone." He pressed his hands to his chest. "Of course, I ask anyway, but rarely get a pleasant answer."

"So even if I discover what trait I have, we won't know who it ties me to," Irene concluded. A sigh issued from her lip and she sunk her chin into the pillow.

"I can tell you it was not Cody. He's just a baby - he can't procreate yet. And he wouldn't have the balls, anyway." Cyrus scooted over a bit closer to Irene. "Kendrick doesn't have the patience for new vampires and wouldn't create one. Cynthia? Well... uh... hmmm.... not sure about her. She's just spiteful enough. Though she'd be just as likely to hump you as murder you any given day, so... let's hope not."

"She shot me." Irene's voice came out flat. She wanted to be angrier, but her emotions all felt soggy. She looked to Cyrus, hoping to see shock, outrage, and indignation. At least she might be able to experience it vicariously. But he provided no such service, instead tilting his head to the side and sucking on his lower lip.

"She shot you? Didn't bite? Interesting."

"Why's that interesting?" It was easy for Irene to keep the disappointment out of her voice, as it was only mild.

"I thought she may have figured out what I was hiding about you. Maybe she thought she did, but came to a different conclusion." Cyrus narrowed his eyes, playing with his lower lip. "It's possible she believed you to be a cornerstone, instead." he shrugged and laid back across the foot of Irene's bed.

"Gabriel mentioned the cornerstones." Now a vampire, suddenly all of this information became relevant, whereas before, she could care less. "What are they?"

Cyrus shrugged, staring at the ceiling. "Myths. You'd think living as long as we do, we'd know everything there is to know about ourselves. We're just as divided in our theories and beliefs as mortals are."

"But what are they? What did Layla believe they were?" she persisted, still holding the pillow close. The pressure helped some of the uncomfortable sensations that would occasionally shift in her body.

"Layla... how did... oh right." Cyrus closed his eyes. For a moment, he didn't breathe, seeming as if he'd fallen asleep. Then his words continued. "Gabriel and I did discuss that in front of you, didn't we? Well." His eyes opened. "Vampires used to be able to walk in the sunlight without burning, we were just weakened. Each generation, the sun became more harmful. She believes the cornerstones are special vampires that, when assembled together for some kind of ritual, will restore vampires to their former state. Reset us, if you will."

"But that's not what Cynthia believes?" Irene was trying to figure this all out, and understand why she ended up the way she did. She had thought Cynthia did it purely out of petty spite, but now she began to wonder what deeper layers there were to the minx's actions.

"Some believe that gathering the cornerstones will cause a calamity. They also believe the cornerstones themselves will be very powerful and hard to kill, so it's best to wipe out potentials before they can become a vampire." Cyrus ran a hand through his hair. "They also believe the very blood of a cornerstone can cause obsession in vampires."

"So... she may have killed me to break you free of your obsession with me," Irene reasoned.

"Psssshhhh! I'm not obsessed."

Irene turned and stared flatly at Cyrus. He turned his head and caught that look, then placed his hands under his head as he returned to staring at the ceiling.

"Well. Maybe a little. Gee. I sure hope this wasn't because I called out your name while Cynthia and I were f-"

Flumpf! The sentence ended in a muffled garble as Irene pressed her pillow into Cyrus's face. "Keep that to yourself!" she rebuked. It was a thrill to feel again. The problem was, the suddenly change in position to smother the vampire into silence caused another upheaval of her insides. One of the hands she was using to press the pillow down came up to cover her mouth, and then she rolled off to the side, curling up. An intense pain and sense of torsion caused her to moan.

A gentle hand on her back caused her to tense. Not now. Just back off. All that came out were garbled syllables of protest. The hand remained, rubbing slowly. Irene curled tighter, feeling as though an invisible string through her entire body was being pulled taught, forcing her to cinch in on herself. The hand continued rubbing in wide arcs and rhythmic circles. It actually felt... good. Soothing. Slowly, she was able to relax and straighten up. She felt him behind her, and it made her uneasy again.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have got you worked up in this state," he whispered.

Irene was uncertain how to feel or respond. She loathed being touched by him, but she didn't want it to stop. If he stopped, the pain might return. As it was, there was still discomfort and pressure in parts of her body she'd never felt any sensation in before. Her mouth filled with saliva, and she swallowed it carefully, fearful she would vomit. While he continued to rub her back, she rubbed her stomach.

Eventually she entered into a state of partially dozing. She was aware that the nice rubbing stopped, and he had left. She rolled over on her bed, curling up and burying her face into her pillow. There was the sound of a drier door snapping shut which almost drew her out, but she surrendered to the fuzzy limbo between conscious and unconscious. Rhythmic white noise helped her sail off.

Another metallic slam. Unsure of how much time passed, Irene peeked an eye open. She saw Cyrus holding her grandmother's quilt, bundled in her arms. She wanted to protest; she didn't want him touching that. He wrapped it around her when she sat up. It was warm. Fresh from the drying machine. She settled back down into it, nestling into its cozy embrace. "Why're you being so... nice?"

Cyrus laughed as he sat at the foot of her bed again. "I'll leave that up to your imagination, Breaches." The sound of cracking knuckles drew her attention to him. He sat, arms out straight, fingers interlocked and slightly bent back. "Now then, let's hear what exactly happened to you."

"Oh..." Irene wrapped the quilt tighter around herself. She had been reassembling the fragments as best as she could. But she began to wonder what was real, and what was just a dream filling in the gaps. The face she saw. She knew it. She knew it. Irene dug her hand into her pocket again, feeling the mysterious locket.

"Take your time."

"I was sleeping..." Irene recalled. She furrowed her eyebrows and tried to order her thoughts. "Then there was a crash that woke me up. I heard voices. They were looking for me I think. Then Cynthia came into the room."

"You didn't lock the door?" Cyrus asked, tilting his head and lifting his eyebrows.

"Oh... I did." Irene scrunched up her face. "I heard a scraping sound first, I think she picked it."

"Wouldn't put it past her. I suspect she's snooped around my office a few times. But I never kept anything juicy there, well, other than yours truly."

Irene stared at Cyrus for a moment, before averting her gaze. It was easier to focus when she wasn't looking at his smug beaked face. "She told me to beg for my life. When I did-"

"You did?" Cyrus interjected in obvious disbelief. "I have a hard time imagining you beg for anything."

"Stop interrupting," Irene scolded. She sniffed and picked up her pillow, tucking it into her warm cocoon. "Sorry, she didn't tell me to beg for my life. To beg for her not turn me over to Gabriel's men. Which she didn't. Instead she shot me. No explanation." She shrugged, still unsure whether Cynthia's motives were jealousy or zeal.

Cyrus scratched his head and stared across the room at nothing in particular. "Huh. Well... damn. I knew she couldn't be trusted, but I expected her to go after me once we dealt with Gabriel." Cyrus leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees. "She probably still will, now that she's played her hand."

"But... you two..."

"Eh..." Cyrus waved his hand dismissively. "I know that I joked that Cynthia wasn't easy, but she's always been a whore. She just trades in for power and perks instead of money. She was banging one of Gabriel's boys at the same time as me, and I know she was playing both sides."

"If she wanted power, why not go straight for Gabriel?"

Cyrus erupted in laughter that caused him to flop back onto the back, rolling side to side. Irene narrowed her eyes, unsure what was funny about that question. However, still not feeling quite herself, she waited for him to get his guffaws out. "Gabriel hates women. He'd sooner behead Cynthia than bed her. I can't believe you didn't pick up on that."

Irene let out a long sigh. "I got a sense he hated me, and Layla, but not all women." She lifted her chin. "Speaking of Layla..."

"What about her?" He asked snappishly, seeming suddenly guarded.

"You turned her into a vampire, right? She's part of your bloodline?"

Cyrus turned to face her, eyebrows furrowed and nostrils flared. But he quickly calmed himself and looked away. "Yes. She was my spawn. Why do you ask?"

"Do you have any other spawn?"

Cyrus's eyes fluttered and his mouth parted to speak, but then pressed into a thin line. "No."

"But Gabriel has made several himself and you are from the same bloodline?" Irene asked further.

"Ah... yes. He's keeping the bloodline quite well populated." Cyrus sat up fully and leaned closer to Irene until they were nose to nose. "Are you thinking one of his men turned you?"

"I don't know." Irene looked away, not wanting him so close to her face. "I heard a voice. I felt the flames. I saw a blurry image of someone and I tasted blood."

Once again, he moved back to the foot of the bed, leaving her personal space. With an elbow rested on his knee, he leaned forward. "Very unlikely. If they did, they wouldn't have left you behind. They would have brought you to Gabriel. Unless one of his spawn have gone rogue."

"Maybe they couldn't. Oh. I never asked... did you get Gabriel?"

With a loud huff, Cyrus shook his head, lip curling up in a sneer. "No!" He crossed his arms and slouched. "The intel wasn't a trap exactly, it really was one of his safe houses. But he wasn't there. But it got complicated once we discovered a child there."

"Not a child vampire?"

Cyrus shook his head and straightened up. "No! No, good heavens, no! Turning children into vampires has very bad results. It simply isn't done."

A comment that Cyrus had made about Gabriel grooming 'little boys' wandered into her recollection, and the nausea returned. Irene bit her lip and scrunched up her face, bringing a hand to her mouth. "Oh..."

"It's not like that." He held his palms out. "Gabriel is a monster, just not that sort. What he does is still awful. He'll get fixated on some child, always a boy, and kidnap them. Then he brainwashes them, and spoils them. And when they come of age, he turns them into a vampire."

Irene furrowed her eyebrows. "What happened to the child? The one you found?"

"Oh, well, we rescued the poor little chap. Then since I'm not that great with children, I left it to someone else to make sure he got to the authorities. They can figure out who he belongs to and get him therapy or whatever." Cyrus shrugged his shoulders. "I was in a rush to get back because we also learned that Gabriel knew our location and was making his move. And then I found you, as you are."

"And you didn't see anyone leaving?" Irene asked.

Cyrus shook his head. "No. Are you sure you don't remember anything more? You said you heard a voice. What did it say? Was it a man or a woman?"

"I... think it was a woman's voice. I think she asked me to forgive her." Irene sighed and looked away. It must have been a hallucination. Because it just couldn't be her.

Layla.