Chapter 105

~~Beatrice~~

“It this ... everyone?”

Sighing, Jack nodded, crouched low on the roof of Robina’s. “Clara’s not here yet, but yea, h this is everyone. If any of the hunters escape into a nightmare, Azamel will send Fiona to help us on that end. You know, assuming she can find us.”

Beatrice started counting. Six vampires, one werewolf, and one monster; potentially two monsters, if they had to fight in the nightmare. That was not nearly as many people as Triss was hoping for. And, for some reason, a human was there, too.

“The fuck? Isn’t this Azamel’s problem? Why isn’t she coming?”

The kid shrugged as he stared over the edge of the building, and to the small, distant bridge beneath them. No movement. “Azamel’s old as dirt. So unless the fight comes to her, and in the nightmare, she can’t do much. Mark is her bodyguard, more or less. And Fiona’s just a young girl.”

“You’re just a young vampire.”

Jack chuckled quietly, smiling. It sounded forced. “Damien said it best. Fiona can’t survive a bullet, but her Horror can. Better if we don’t throw her life away if we don’t have to, right? And Athalia’s here because ... well, obvious reasons.”

Every witch looked at Athalia, and frowned, a quartet of annoyance with the woman. They all knew who she was, and that this was partly her fault.

“I don’t give a fuck if you all hate me,” she said. “It’s my daughter.”

Growling, Triss slowly crouched down next to Jack. The cool night air and the clouds above held little noise, and Triss did her best to listen for any potential danger. All she could hear was the distant sound of traffic, and Athalia’s breathing.

“What about Jessy?” she said. “Figured she’d help, and maybe her boy toy Eric too.”

“Can’t reach them. I tried to get Natasha too, but she’s MIA.”

If Natasha was missing, along with Jessy and Eric, there was a decent chance they were off doing something werewolfy. Natasha and Jessy wouldn’t just shut off their phones; disable the ring and buzz, sure, but not turn off. They were indisposed somehow, unreachable, probably by either doing something super sneaky, or being in the Shadow realm. Three werewolves and one very curious little vampire meant research opportunities, Triss figured.

“Ok, I can wrap my mind around that,” she said, “but who the fuck is this guy?” Some kine, a black dude with short curly hair, was staring at her and her teeth like he’d never seen a Nosferatu before. Well, he wasn’t freaking out and screaming or anything, so he must have seen similar at some point.

“A hunter,” Jack said.

“I’m sorry, I think I misheard you. Say that again?”

Rolling his eyes, Jack motioned for them to get low. Apparently they’d all started standing up as the conversation took a definite turn toward argument. Damien and Triss were keeping everyone wrapped in the Cloak of Night, but it still paid to be cautious.

“Um, hey, yeah, I’m Harcourt. I came to see the vampires here in Dolareido, because honestly, we need help getting rid of Angela and Jeremiah. I want my friends to survive, and you know, Angela and Jeremiah are going to get them all killed. It’s pretty crazy. I was hoping—”

Athalia backhanded the still-standing man in the stomach, sending him down onto his knees, gasping. “Shut up.”

Beatrice stared at the man, and flexed her fingers tight, until the joints hurt. “This is a hunter? One of the fuckers working for the psychopaths?”

“He is,” Jack said. “I tested his mind myself. He’s legit. Wants to help, and knows where Elen’s set up the portal tonight. The issue now, is we need to get it open.”

Oh sweet mother of fucking god, they were all going to die.

“Ok,” she said, “so, setting aside the insanity that our entire plan relies on the word — even checked — of a hunter, why can’t this fucker just walk up to the portal and open it?”

“Few reasons,” Harcourt said. “Only Elen can open the portal, and Elen has ways to tell if someone’s mind has been tampered with. I dunno if she’d open it for me. And we don’t just come and go randomly anyway. We leave, set up meetings and rendezvous by phone later, and—”

Beatrice threw up her hands. “Then how about, we sit on this fucker, and make him arrange a rendezvous with his buddies? Instead of jumping into the mouth of Hell, we’d have time to set up a proper ambush. You could easily turn him into a puppet, and—”

Jack shook his head, and started rubbing his buzzed hair as he stared down at the building roof. “I thought about that. There’s nothing I could make this guy say or do, that would trick the hunters into making the opening he’s provided for us tonight. I could use him to capture a few more hunters maybe once, and then the jig would be up. It’s not like Jeremiah and Angela would come to rescue this guy, and you know it.”

“I ... yeah, you’re right. Fuck me, we have to do this now, don’t we? Ugh. Ugh!” This was not a good way to do this, and Jack definitely noticed the similarity with this and his previous attacks on the hunters: done last minute and without planning. But he was right that, if they wanted to kill Jeremiah and Angela, this was probably their best chance.

And she wanted to kill them. Fuck, it was an itch inside her that she couldn’t get rid of, an itch that turned into a boiling heat that scalded her every time she thought about it. She had to get it out, get it to stop burning her insides, and the only way to do that would be over their dead bodies.

“Hey, don’t forget your promise!” Harcourt said, loud enough that Athalia, again, hit him, this time with a smack to the back of his head. She was no human, and a hard slap was enough to send the man to the roof on his stomach. Any harder and she’d have injured him.

“Promise?” Aaron said.

Groaning, Jack nodded, but kept his eyes on the distant bridge that showed no signs of movement or life. “Yeah, I promised him we’d spare any hunters that didn’t get in our way.”

Beatrice pointed a claw at the human, currently coughing and rubbing the back of his head. “You’re shitting me. These fuckers—”

“Are being tricked by Jeremiah and Angela. They didn’t know about what Angela did to my family.”

“And? They still killed Julias.”

“Trust me,” Harcourt managed to say, whispering this time, “no one came here to fight the vampires. Our eyes are on Azamel. You heard about the crazy shit she’s done? She enslaved whole towns!”

“You only heard one side of the story,” Jack said to the hunter, “and from a couple of nutjobs at that; the king of nutjobs, given what I’ve seen of Jeremiah. Not that I’m excusing Azamel’s behavior, but lots of Begotten do their best to not be the monster you think they are.” When he said it, he glanced to Beatrice, and the inner conflict in his eyes was obvious. Yeah, they’d been up to some pretty monstery shit lately, sacrificing kine and speaking to otherworldly gods that were most certainly not benevolent.

She shrugged at him. She was willing to do a lot more than that to make sure she got to feel Angela’s blood on her hands.

“And ... I know I can’t ask this,” Athalia said, “but I’m asking anyway. If we can capture my daughter, instead of killing her, I’d appreciate it.”

Beatrice laughed, and gave the woman the finger. “Fuck that.”

The stupid bitch got in Beatrice’s face, but of course Beatrice didn’t flinch. If Athalia wanted to fight, here and now, over whether her psychopath, murdering daughter deserved to live, Triss was perfectly willing to rip the woman’s throat out to prove her point. Or maybe bite it out.

“She’s my daughter.”

“She’s a corpse, she just doesn’t know it yet.”

“Ladies,” Jack said, and motioned for them to crouch. They did, glaring and frowning at each other all the way. “If the opportunity presents itself, sure, we can capture Angela.”

“What!?”

“The chances of that happening are unlikely, Triss. Unless she’s down and out with broken legs and broken fingers, consider her a kill target.” Shaking his head, Jack made a vague gesture back toward South Side. “And if we capture her, we keep her locked up with a chain around her neck for the rest of her life. We’re not just going to hand her over to Athalia.”

“Fuck. Fine.” Beatrice crawled over to the edge of the roof, and looked out to the small bridge. Just a tiny thing, some wood and concrete, maybe thirty feet long with a small valley or crevice underneath it, with some rocks, dirt, and no water. It’d totally be filled with kids hanging out if it was closer to the Carthian half of South Side, or even Devil’s corner. The hunters chose a place no one would give a shit about.

As the silence dragged on, everyone looked to Jack.

“We’re waiting for—”

“For me.”

They all turned as a woman hopped up onto the roof to join them. Clara Moreno, average height with an athlete’s build, tan skin, with box-braids in her hair. Beatrice had had almost zero interaction with the woman, but even she knew the werewolf had a strange relationship with Jessy, and news spread about the werewolf’s involvement with the vampire’s ghouls. And everyone knew she liked Jack, so, there was a whole mess of drama there Triss had no intent of touching with a ten-foot pole.

Like the witches, she was wearing some jeans and a shirt, nothing special, no weapons. She would transform once the fight started, and Triss was looking forward to seeing that chaos again. Rip and tear. Queue heavy metal music.

“Not much of a group,” Clara said. “I’d ask some of the pack to join, but Avery would have their hides.”

“But not yours?” Othello said, smiling as he stepped in closer. Right, it was the man’s first time really interacting with Clara, and it was obvious the dude liked what he saw.

Jennifer grinned too, probably enjoying the idea of watching Othello fuck Clara in a place where she could watch. So Triss smacked her in the shoulder, gently, but hard enough to remind her now was not the time. Besides, it didn’t look like Clara was taking the bait, offering Othello only an eye-roll and a quiet grunt.

“I’m second in command for my pack. Avery will get into an argument with me, sure, but after the results of tonight, she’ll let it go.”

“Right,” Triss said, “because we’ll either succeed, or we’ll be dead and it won’t matter.” Everyone but Damien and Aaron groaned as they looked at her, and she returned their groans with a shrug. “Don’t give me that shit. You’re all thinking it.”

Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. While she was willing to put her life on the line to make this happen, the others — besides Jack — weren’t so committed. They had no reason to be. Hell, Athalia probably wanted them to fail, so her daughter would have a chance to live. Then again, tonight might be the woman’s only chance to save her daughter’s life.

“Alright,” Aaron said, “I’m guessing Jack is leading this?”

They all looked to the kid, again.

“ ... I guess I am.” Jack sighed, rubbed his head several times, and stared out at the small bridge. Poor guy, having to come up with plans in such fucked up circumstances. Plus, you know, the whole being a kid thing. Everyone there was much older than him, and yet they were looking to him to make the decisions.

Well, he was a Ventrue. This was the stuff Ventrue did, give orders and shit. Triss could see Jennifer was itching to say something, provide her take on the situation as any Ventrue would, or maybe complain about her position, but she defaulted to the stronger Ventrue.

Nah, it wasn’t the Ventrue thing for the kid. Jack was taking charge because he was good at it. He was taking charge because this plan was his. And he was taking charge because they all knew the kid had been fucked up with some curse, and that it was going to do something insane once the blood started flying. Triss was banking on it.

“Alright, plan. Damien, go scout the bridge now. I don’t want any trouble hitting us while Triss does her thing. Triss is going to open the portal. I’m going in first, along with my reinforcements. Jennifer stays outside, in case shit happens out here; it’ll be up to her on what to do if something happens, coming in to get us or handling it herself. The rest of you, follow behind me.” Jack took a deep breath, checked his pockets and chest for what Triss guessed were weapons, and gestured to Damien. “Go.”

And Damien was gone. Christ, he was a fast fucker. The idiot hunter on his knees let out a small squeak as Damien bolted, Celerity and Cloak of Night turning him into a blur. Being that close would have startled anyone who wasn’t ready for it.

“And that’s why we like to stay at a distance,” Harcourt said. “Or, you know, hide behind a lot of fire. And—wait, you said reinforcements, Jack? Then you told the rest of these dudes to follow behind you. Um, aren’t they your reinforcements?”

Beatrice expected Jack to smile, smirk, grin, anything to tease the incoming carnage the kid would summon. But a glance showed the kid’s face was pained, conflicted, and frustrated. He didn’t want to summon the curse.

Well, it was a curse. It was a bad thing, and it was probably doing all sorts of nasty shit to Jack’s mind. If he summoned it, let it loose, would it be as simple as returning to normal once all this was done? Or would it change him, and turn him into another Viktor. You didn’t need some ancient curse for a vampire to become a fucking sack of shit like Viktor, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t involved. Poor kid probably spent every night worried about that.

He was going to do it though. He needed to, and she needed him to. Both of them had to do this, and the consequences be fucking damned.

Damien came back a moment later, silent as a shadow. “No one.”

“Right,” the hunter said. “If we had a lookout, we might give away the position of the portal the night we’re using it.”

“Risky,” Aaron said.

The human shrugged. “Everything we do is risky. Gotta take risks to win.”

That earned a small snort from Jack. Vampires didn’t think that way, normally. To a vampire, a risk was how you ended what would otherwise be an endless life of indulgence. If smart planning and paranoia allowed a vampire to live in decadence for centuries, why wouldn’t a vampire do it?

Because of shit like this. Because of revenge and vengeance. Because some people deserved to die.

“Like I said earlier,” the hunter said, “you’re expecting probably a dozen of my friends. There’s another dozen out in the city, doing shit. Far as I know, Jeremiah, Angela, and Elen are in the chamber tonight, still helping with Angela’s injuries. You guys fucked her up pretty bad last time.”

Aaron raised a hand. “And Elen. She’s been putting the hunters back together?”

“Yeah, sorta. She can do some impressive shit for my friends, but for Jeremiah and Angela, it’s like she’s rebuilding them from scratch. Something to do with the special tattoos they got; lot more on them than on any of us.”

“She manage to revive that hunter I shot in the head?” Jack said.

“No ... almost, but no.” The hunter shuddered. Must have seen a real life Frankenstein moment, from the look on his face, and it wasn’t sitting well with him.

This hunter was far too nice to be a hunter. He was cute though, fit like all the hunters, a bit tall, nicely built, and she was digging the short, almost-afro he was sporting. The smile was contagious too, or it would have been, if the sight of him didn’t make her want to rip him in half for being part of the reason her lover was dead. Shame.

Jack pushed himself up to his feet, and took one of those long, slow breaths he seemed rather attached to. “Alright, let’s do this. Stay behind me, and ... don’t freak out. I’ll be doing this as Triss opens the portal, so I need people to stay calm. Just stay out of my way, and try and remain ... yeah, calm. Don’t, uh, be surprised, if I’m different, ok?”

“Different?” Harcourt looked around, eyebrow raised, confusion blatant. “Uhh ... don’t forget about our promise, right?”

“And my daughter, Jack,” Athalia said. “You said you’d spare her life, if the opportunity presented itself.”

“I will.” He twitched when he said it, and ground his teeth. “Yes, I will, if I can.”

That twitch was strange. Triss glanced to Damien, but the Mekhet’s face was stone; which said a lot. The twitch wasn’t all that subtle, and more than Triss noticed it. If Damien refused to react to it, then it was something he’d seen before, and either knew what it was, or didn’t and was ignoring it anyway.

“Alright, so, we doing this?” Triss said.

“Yeah, we’re doing this.” With another heavy sigh, Jack pulled out his phone, and sent a text.

Oh, right. He was sending a text to his mother, and his lover. If he died tonight, those two would be broken. The guilt that must have been eating at him, with how much he loved those two. Fuck. The only people Triss had were right here with her. If things went sour, they’d all be dead; except Jennifer hopefully. But the kid, he was doing this knowing full well if he died doing it, he’d be leaving an amazing woman alone, and an already heartbroken mother probably suicidal.

She was tempted to tell him to not do this. They didn’t need to do this. Revenge could wait, vampires were good at that. They’d bide their time, look for a better opportunity, play safe and keep everyone on their toes. That’s what every elder would say, to not gamble lives on a risky play. Take advantage of immortality, plan, manipulate, deceive, and concoct the perfect scheme to get these fuckers.

And in the meantime, other Kindred would die, Kindred who didn’t have the resources to build themselves underground fortresses. Hell, more than them, the monsters would die too, and more kine that didn’t deserve it. Much as Beatrice had bathed herself in murder, she still kept those kills to the worst Dolareido had to offer. Jeremiah and Angela didn’t.

All of that almost felt like background noise though, or a poor excuse. Deep down, she wanted to do this now with every fucking fiber of her being, because if she didn’t get this burning ache out of her chest soon, it was going to kill her. And the only thing that’d do it was Angela’s head on a stick.

Damien wrapped them in the Cloak of Night, and the group of them approached. What a fucked up looking bunch. One human, six vampires, a werewolf, and a bona fide monster. Eight paranormals and one pile of baggage to drag around. Well, if Harcourt proved useful, then he proved useful. If he turned on them at the last moment, the fucker would quickly realize how easily and happily Triss would turn him into a corpse, or a meal.

The group of them stood underneath the small bridge, and everyone scanned the surroundings, convinced someone was watching them. It was dark, and it was quiet, the only noise coming from a cool night breeze that cut down into the tiny ravine. The sounds of cars and taxis blaring their horns were a mile off, nothing more than whispers all the way out here. It was the sort of place a traveler might sleep, where no thugs would rob her or disturb her.

Underneath the bridge, where it connected to the earth, was a concrete wall, each side. A small drain was at its base, a place that collected rain could flow. The expanse of wood above was only wide enough for two lanes, so it wasn’t exactly a well hidden fortress, to hide here. But that was what made it such a good place for one of these portals, that no one would think to look here, in a giant city with millions of people.

But there it was, the symbol, etched onto the wall in black. Jack had said these were created with blood. Maybe this one had been, and the blood burned away? It did smell burned.

She looked behind her, and checked the faces of people waiting for her to do her thing. The witches looked confident. Damien didn’t, and neither did Athalia. Clara was in wait mode. Harcourt just looked confused as all hell. Well, they were about to see a thing or two.

“Ok, you begin, Triss,” Jack said, “and ... so will I. Just ... yeah ... stay out of my way, everybody.”

Poor kid. Poor fucking kid. She’d asked him to do this, to be ready to jump into this insanity in order to get revenge, and he’d agreed. She’d asked him to be ready to use his curse for this, and he’d agreed. He’d helped her butcher kine, and speak with ancient, evil gods. And now he was going to make good on his word.

Christ, if this broke him, if something happened to him, Julias would ... Julias was dead. His childe was on his own now, and more than smart enough to make his own choices. Don’t feel guilty for this, Triss. You want this, and he wants it. He—

“The fuck!?” Harcourt jumped back as Jack took a bite out of his wrist. Clara and Athalia both did as well, without noise. The vampires didn’t budge. They all knew Ventrue could do this, use blood to summon animals to their aid; Gangrels could do it, too. When Gangrels did it, it was like watching a monster summoning his brood. When Ventrue did it, it was like watching a lord summon their army.

While Jack did his thing, Beatrice got to work. She touched the crow skull on her chest, and traced a claw along the drawn lines of the ritual symbol Elen or one of her flunkies had made. It was almost invisible, in the dark, charcoal-colored lines on concrete at night. During the day, it’d have looked like silly graffiti to anyone who noticed, and in the shadows underneath the bridge, out here between North and South Side, no one was going to notice.

So close though, she could feel the power emanating from it, subtle, but distinct. It felt like the flesh chamber Natasha and her had found the night Julias died, so she was sure Harcourt was telling the truth. Whatever madness Elen performed to create things from flesh, and to divine information from haruspex, Triss had no idea, but she couldn’t deny that it felt familiar. Maybe it was the blood and murder, maybe it was how it was founded on death and darkness, but there was something similar between Crúac and whatever it was Elen was doing. Crúac reached across the ether, tapped into something hellish and twisted, and used vitae to fuel that effort. Elen, on the other hand, found a way to do it with the flesh and blood of the living. Vitae was what the vampire curse created when given the blood of the living.

Might as well have been neighbors, 665 and 667 getting buddy buddy with the handsome dude next door.

Electricity danced along her fingertips, and she shivered as the power of it practically burned her fingers. Yes, this was the power the Crone had exposed her to, introduced her to, and scarred into her mind. She’d never forget this pain now, this sensation, the way this portal worked, the way it opened and closed. It’d take her months, maybe years, to figure out how to open it with a sacrifice, but she was a vampire, she had vitae to fuel her efforts, unlike Elen.

Skittering sounds drew her gaze, tiny movements that ran along the corners of her eyes. Everyone else in the group started looking around as well, even Harcourt, once the noise grew noticeable to human ears. When he noticed, he started spinning around and around, breath quickening as it became obvious the noises were coming from all directions.

Triss was supposed to be focusing on opening the portal, but for a moment, she let herself stare in awe at the sight unfolding around her. Rat eyes. There were rats eyes everywhere. Tiny orbs that caught glimmers of nearby streetlights, and what little moonlight slipped through the clouds. They glinted and moved, dozens of them at first, each flowing along the pavement, and then down to join them in the dark and rocks. Dozens more, and then hundreds, flowed along the bridge above them, tails and claws rubbing against wood and concrete in such number, it sounded almost like churning water.

The shadow may as well have been a flowing, black creek around them, with how it moved, and rose. It started to trickle down over the edges of the small ravine, and then flowed, and then poured like rapids, a bubbling mass of black fur, claws and tails and eyes, that filled every crevice. And as the rats came to join them, the skies above darkened.

“The longer we take,” Jack said, eyes on Triss, “the more likely they’ll be prepared. There’s no way they don’t have some method to peek outside of their portals, or they’d never use them. So open it up, and let’s get to killing.”

Time had come to a standstill, and Beatrice found herself unable to move. That was Jack? His voice had changed. There was a bounce to it, almost a chuckle, a sound she was used to on Jacob, but not on the kid. And the grin, the Joker grin, looked freaky as fuck on him.

It was more than rats; there were plenty of those, but Jack seemed intent on bringing Armageddon. Two crows, without a caw or croon, glided down under the bridge and perched upon the boy’s shoulders. He reached up, stroked the back of each bird’s head, and grinned up at each, a knowing grin. It was then that the dark clouds above began to descend.

The shadows around them, churning over each other, were the rats of Jack’s army. The black sky falling upon them, was his crows.

“Oh god oh god oh god.” Harcourt had backed up to the other side of the pit, and he was quickly becoming a panting mess. Wide eyes snapped left and right, up and down, each trying to take in the madness collapsing on him. “Sweet fuck, oh mother fucking god. Merciful Christ protect me, mother fucking g—”

Athalia smacked him, again. That caused Clara to chuckle, but it didn’t sound natural; of course it didn’t, considering the fear Triss could see on her face. They were all frightened by the display, and Triss had to force herself to hold still as she felt rats begin to climb over her combat boots. Jennifer and Aaron were in awe, jaws dropped in what must have been envy over the display of Animalism even Michael McDonald couldn’t have done. Othello had a new grin on his face, one Triss wasn’t used to seeing, something that mixed excitement, surprise, and fear. Athalia had backed away from Jack, and it looked like the monster was struggling to hide her trembling, rubbing her fingers together and lowering her gaze down from the boy. She didn’t want to look at him. And Damien looked like he was watching his best friend march into the valley of death.

Another glance at Clara showed she truly was scared, but not of the animals, or even scared of Jack. She looked scared for Jack, and that drove a knife into Triss’s gut she didn’t need right then.

Triss recollected herself, and looked back to the portal. Ignore the scurrying, the tiny squeaks, ignore the thousands of moving bodies swarming around you. Ignore the strange look in Jack’s eyes. Jack was the trump card, the big move no one was expecting. Ignore anything strange, ignore that voice in your head telling you to stop this before the kid loses something, and commit to the fucking goal.

The choir of rats and crows, fur and feathers, claws and talons and beaks, were the music to her ritual. The beady eyes were the lighting. The flapping wings and chattering chirps were the rustling of her audience. They all grew silent, and almost completely still, as they stared at Triss, waiting.

Time to get this show on the road.

She lifted her t-shirt with her left hand hand, up to the neck, and set the claw of her right hand high up against her sternum. The portal was a concoction of flesh, woven together using some intangible energy that permeated the world, and she could feel it. As she sank the claw into her skin, she closed her eyes, set the hand that lifted the shirt against the concrete, felt the symbol beneath it, and searched for the connection. She had to find it, the same way she could find another’s mind if she wanted to bestow a nightmare upon them, as all Nosferatu could. Instead of another person’s mind, she was connecting to something magical, something mysterious, something royally fucked up and twisted. She was connecting to unnatural flesh that could split apart and close itself, guarding another world.

Her chest cavity would serve as the conduit, the connection, the way for her vitae to cross the space between her and the portal, and rip it open.

She kept down the growing scream as she forced her claw into the bone of her sternum. Jacob had introduced her to many forms of pain, in his growing efforts to teach her Crúac rituals. The physical pain was almost blazé. Several times now, when buried to the neck in agony, she’d quieted her mind and found a way to commune with her Beast. When she came to, waking from the coma, the details of the encounter were lost to a haze and fog. But she could remember the shadow creature, and she could remember the feeling it shared with her, of there being something, or someone else out there it could touch.

She summoned that feeling as her Beast had taught her, as the entity Jacob called the Crone taught her, and ripped apart Elen’s magic as she ripped apart her own body. Thankfully, she didn’t need to literally rip her ribcage open, but that didn’t change that she had use Kindred strength to drive her claw down through the bones of her chest, and into her stomach. With each inch her claw cut open, the wall before her began to bleed from its own forming vertical cut, deeper, and longer.