Act IV

Hawk twirled the long blue tinted feather between his fingertips, white teeth catching his lower lip deliciously. He lay on his bed and swirled the feather in the air above his head. He wished now that he had never mentioned to Angel about the Shade, he also wished, deeply, painfully, that he had come back sooner, that he had arrived on his knees with the words that would win Angel back. It was not to be. Hawk had allowed himself to drift into wild daydreams while the other attended the needs of his wings and his muscles. It had been nice, to be petted, pampered. The strange invoking of lucid memory. Hawk wanted to wish himself back to that summer, all those years ago, when he and Angel had met. Oh to be easy and free again, flying under the sun, to see nothing in Angel's eyes but joy. And that winter too, both of them wrapped around each other, protection against the cold, sharing wing space as they lay in bed, Angel, taller but more fragile, hunched under Hawk's arm, warm breaths on his chest.

Now he threw the feather up in the air and let out a long slow sight. Angel hadn't stopped since Hawk had delivered his message. Everything was up in the air. Angel stormed around the house, making phone calls, sending short messages by pigeon and starling, worrying, head in hands, his knuckles white, his brow furrowed, and in spare moments, shooting Hawk looks that made the younger think his heart was going to break. The hate, no, the distrust was as clear as daylight through glass. Hawk had betrayed him, again. This time he knew there really would be no coming back. Of course he could visit, of course he could fly to Rouen, but never again would there be room in Angel's heart for him, not there. There was no nest in his feathers for Hawk any longer.

The knowledge stung deeply, the bitterness of his actions a vile taste in his mouth. And in the midst of it all Hawk had time to wonder, that if he felt so dejected, what must Angel feel. True he didn't know if Angel had been holding out for him to come back, waiting for him to return to see whether or not they could give it another go, but there was that feeling. The care, the tenderness, the welcoming embrace. It had been the look in his eyes, the hopefulness. He had wanted Hawk to come back. Hawk drew his brown feathered wings over his head and plunged himself into darkness.

In the next room the Winged One called Angel finally slumped into an easy chair by his big bed and put his head in his hands. There was no one left to contact, all parties agreed. It was his job, he was the closest, he was the one who knew, the messenger had come to him. He must go and fight the thing. He must go and face the truth of the whispers. Angel did not want to go to London, he hated English cities. He did not want to have to go and stay with Hawk, since there was no where else. Angel gathered up the length of his hair and began weaving the lot into one heavy plait, anything to keep his fingers busy while his mind worked.

Hawk had returned, and as always he had brought bad news too late. Sure he had been weak, but surely he could have communicated the words 'Shade' and 'London' without too much trouble. And Angel had cared for him, worried about his weakened state, wanted him to get better, wanted to see him smile again. The man with wings gave himself a mental shake. No, he would not cry, not here, in his own room when Hawk could walk through the door and see him any second. He wasn't sure why he cared anymore, why the lingering emotions were so strong. Hawk was brash, loud, unreliable, impulsive. All the things that Angel wasn't. Why would he want to be with such a boy?

However, he had to go to London, and for that, he needed Hawk's help. With a deep sigh, flicking a short strand of hair away from his face, Angel got to his feet and went next door.

He should have known that Hawk wouldn't like the plan. Destroying yourself by flying long distances was one thing, but to take a ship, a old slow diesel belching ferry across the water? That was way out of the question. Hawk knew, despite his tirade that he was too weak to fly all the way back, but he didn't want Angel to think he was useless. Angel didn't budge an inch. Either he came, and shut up, or Angel left him there to keep house and he would go and fight the Shade himself, alone. With much melodramatic rolling of eyes, Hawk agreed. They packed.

Angel hovered over the house, high in the sky, watching the sun creep over the rim of the world. Hawk hung lower, not wanting to intrude, and only to happy to watch his friend be lit in an orange gold glow. Angel's hair hung down below his ankles, his wings settling softly on the air. He was the perfect picture of his name. Flawless, beautiful. Hawk felt heat rising in his stomach and forced himself to look away. They flew at speed toward the sea. Hawk tried to focus on the route ahead, but he was distracted. Angel flew so well it was as though he wasn't even trying, there was no effort in his wide graceful strokes, only power and latent strength. Hawk knew in his gut, that angel was better than him, in just about every way.

The world below them flashed by almost unnoticed, there was no need to pay the land heed this early in the morning. Hawk kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, his fingers clenched inside his gloves, determined to prove that he could fly just as well as Angel could. He found himself wondering what to call Angel. He was certainly not his lover any longer, he hadn't been for many years. He was neither partner nor friend. There was an unspoken animosity between them and Hawk knew it was because he had let the other down again.

They put down on the deck of a ferry almost identical to the one Hawk had nearly crashed into. It was painted off white with blue plastic seats on deck. Within the glass doors things looked rosy and warm. It didn't take the two of them more than a few minutes to stow what little gear they had, wedged in the gap between a ladder and a lifeboat on one of bits of deck only used in emergencies. And so they walked into the lounge along with several other passengers who were just coming up from the car decks. The boat was crowded and noisy and Hawk kept his wings folded flat to his back despite the knowledge that no one could see them and so wouldn't bump into them either. Angel and Hawk themselves could be seen. Angel ordered coffee and pastries and he and Hawk ate the meal in silence. Both of them knew what they'd done wrong, and in a way that made in better, knowing what they were about to have to do.

Luka let out a soft groan of delight and slumped sideways onto the pillow. He yawned wide, and closed his eyes, listening to the faint buzz in his ears, a kind of tinnitus that replaced the thought-voices. The young boy smiled. It was so nice, not to have to worry about the far off worries of everyone else in the city. There were no thoughts now, lost in oblivion. He couldn't even feel the thoughts, words or vague shapes, of the two people lying next to him, one on either side. Luka purred in the back of his throat as a long fingered hand traced lines down his spine. The massage wound him down and gently pushed him over the edge and into a calm sleep.

Sera chuckled and reached over the young boy to his lover, cradling Thomas's head in the palm of one hand. Thomas smiled and leant over to kiss him, full on the lips and passionate. Sera glanced back at the third member of their group in bed and smiled again. Sera and Thomas had been together for years, what felt like forever to the dark skinned Latino, and they had been introduced to young Luka through various friends and had left a club to meet him one wet winters evening in Oxford. None of the three were quite sure whose idea the sex had been, though everyone suspected Sera. Neither of the older two minded, in was fun, different, and Luka was always so incredibly happy afterwards, catapulted into a place where he was far too aware of himself for his gifts to function properly.

Thomas got up and wandered into the adjoining bathroom, not bothering to close the door before he stepped into the shower. He washed himself down, pausing over bite marks and fingernail bruises left on his pale skin by two pairs of hands. Thomas was marginally younger than Sera, and always looked it, gold blonde and hair summer blue eyes. He was strong, but yielding, which was why he had ended up on the bottom, his legs hitched up over Luka's shoulders, while the other boy was taken by Sera above him. It had been really, really good. Like always which Luka, the more intense the better and the more self aware they could make him feel the easier it was for his gift to let go of the outside world. It was fantastic, a complete surrender of pride.

Thomas switched off the shower and dried himself with a towel, taking a flannel and wiping down the young boy that lay in the centre of the big bed while Sera, with a cursory kiss, went to clean himself off. Luka was different from them, only younger by a few years, but with ice blonde hair where Thomas's was gold, his eyes a more intense lapis shade of blue. Thomas ruffled Luka's hair and settled down beside him, curving the boy into his shape, taller and protective. Thomas kissed the back of Luka's neck and let himself drift off.

The Latino brushed long damp strands of hair out of his eyes and stood in the doorway, drying his hands on a towel, and watched his lover settle down beside their third partner. He was never really sure how to address Luka. They were both very fond of the boy, but it wasn't love and the three of them certainly were not all boyfriends. Thomas and Sera had their own entirely separate life, lived out in the small flat in Lewes and the other large condo-apartment in London where Thomas had an office. And here too, in Luka's house, a sprawling, lovely, expensive things given to Luka by a man he called his guardian. There was no doubt that Luka was this man's ward, Luka having run away from school and from his parents about the age of sixteen after some bloody and quite horrific incident in a history lesson. As far as Sera understood that was the reason for the long scars on the boy's forearms, the world had simply gotten too much for him. Sera wasn't really sure what had happened after that and he was never sure he would, but it was enough to know that there was someone, or several someone's, watching over Luka when they were unable to, that there was always someone between him and the outside world that understood. The last thing Sera or Thomas wanted was for them to hear the news that Luka had tried to do it again.

Sera remembered how had blushed when he'd first been told of Luka's strange gift, how glad he'd been that his dark skin tone made it less easy to tell that he was embarrassed by his own thoughts. Suffice to say that he had not, like Thomas had, learned to modify his behaviour or curb his thoughts. At first Luka had been pissed with him, as had Thomas been, by his arrogance, and his refusal to give way to anyone else. But slowly Luka became used to Sera's odd quirks and inappropriate behaviour, it became a laughing point, and a sort of introduction for Luka to the real world. He was used to hearing terrible things, far worse than anything Sera thought on a regular basis. But mixed in with Sera's sex and drugs attitude there were other things. Hints of love, Luka caught him once, staring at Thomas, thinking of nothing other than how much he adored the way Thomas would tuck a curl of his hair behind his ear. Despite everything he'd been through, and all the things he'd done to Thomas in the early stages of their relationship, he was, in a way, a well balanced person.

As Sera watched Thomas fall asleep his gaze softened, his long lashes blurring his vision. It had been his behaviour that had lead to the sex, he was almost sure of it. He had loved to make Luka blush, adored to watch the boy giggle and was more than delighted to see his eyes widen as Luka heard just what Sera thought of him, every visual delight and every flaw, and in the middle of it all, Sera had gone and stolen the boy's first kiss. Sera dropped his towel and wandered over the bed. He slid in next to Luka, where there was the most space, and rolled to face the other two. Luka was snuggled into the shape of Thomas, two beautiful blond boys too far gone to notice his soft kiss. Then he pulled the sheets over the three of them and wrapped himself up in his dreams.

The dark boy dreamt strange dreams. That in itself was not unusual, with a past like his, well, nightmares were part of the psychological territory that various therapists had mapped out for him just after the accident. He was damaged goods and the mental scarring that had occurred, most of it brought on, not by the crash or the sight of his dead parents, but by the time spent in the clinic, forced to stay indoors with a group of children who ranged from ill to completely insane and quite dangerous, was mostly permanent.

In his dream, Sera was running. His boots pounded on the cobbled pavement, and his breath caught in his chest, the cold air making his lungs raw. But he ran, rounded the corner, slipping on unseen ice, arms flailing to keep his balance. He had no idea what he was running away from, but he didn't want to stop long enough to find out. His breath came in white clouds, his muscles ached. The streets and buildings blurred and Sera felt as though he had been running forever. He couldn't breathe, his lungs bursting, acid building up in oxygen starved muscles. He stopped running, he could barely stand and he turned to face to the thing that was following him. As he saw it, he knew his life was over. The thing was huge, dark, smoke and fire and terrible beautiful eyes and Sera woke up screaming.

Thomas's arm, surprisingly strong was over his chest, pinning him to the bed. Sera flinched and snarled and then he relaxed enough to breath. Panting heavily he gripped onto his lover, something solid and real he could put his faith in. Luka appeared at the bathroom door, toothbrush still in his mouth. His eyebrows lowered and he looked worried. Sera shook, his whole body unable to cope with the stress of the dream. He turned dark burning eyes upon Thomas.

"Call Kieran. There's a beast in London."

Kieran Tristan Tyne answered his phone as he always did. Caller display meant nothing to him, despite the fact that the name on screen belonged to one of the four or so people who ever call him not on business.

"Strange Fish Productions."

"Kieran! It's Thomas." Thomas heard the phone being lifted away so that Kieran could look at the display.

"Hey Tom, how goes it?"

"Kieran, you sound as though you've just woken up. Dare I ask what you're lying next to?"

The voice on the other end of the phone made an appreciative noise.

"Little glam rock thing I picked up. He's still out of it."

"Kieran..."

"So to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We've got problems Kieran, big time. Sera had a dream."

"Ouch."

"He thinks it's got something to do with all these rumours we've been hearing lately. We're coming back to London."

"Good, come and see me as soon as you get in."

"Kieran we're bringing the boy Luka with us."

"You sound really worried Tom. Give Sera my love yeah? Of course, I've heard of your young friend."

"Can he stay with you?"

"Yeah, sure. Call me as soon as you get back."

"I will, and Kieran?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful."

Hermes wandered along the luxurious hallway towards Hazan's door. What he had seen had shaken him deeply, the power and force of mind that Aska had commanded over him. Hermes was going to prove that he couldn't be scared away so easy. He had woken that evening to find Ivan gone, no note, but none was really needed. The two of them, good friends already, had built up a mind link over the day, unwittingly connecting themselves on a more primal nature. Hermes knew Ivan supported him in what he was about to do and he also knew the fears of the other that Hermes would get his heart broken. The vampire clutched tightly to the little box in one death pale hand and knocked.

He got no answer save a short grunt and wandered in, slightly scared by what he would find. Just Hazan, sitting on the window seat, gazing out at the black landscape with blank eyes. He turned toward Hermes, and with total indifference he said;

"Oh, it's you."

Hermes's brow furrowed and he stepped into the rich room, closing the door behind him. It was then he noticed the change about the place. Nothing dramatic, no great changes of furniture or décor, but different all the same. Every trace of Hermes had been removed from Hazan's bedroom. All the things he'd given him, right down to silly little things like pens and scarves. Hermes's clothes, the jacket that was usually hanging by the door, the boots that had lived by Hazan's bed since spring, were all gone. It was though he had been extinguished, like a candle that had been burning too long.

"Hazan?"

"Yes?"

"What happened?" Hermes felt his voice quiver and he was not prepared for the look in Hazan's eyes, that blank condescending look that sent him reeling. It was dispassionate. Hazan had never looked at him that way.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand Hermes. You're not a clan vampire, you never really were. Don't you think that it's time to stop kidding yourself?"

"What are you talking about?" Hermes would have hated the plaintive note in his voice if he hadn't been so worried or so scared. He went over to where Hazan sat, dying to reach out and touch the boy who had made him so happy, "What did he do to you?"

"My Sire brought me back to who I really am. Who I am supposed to be." The voice was plain, the gaze level.

"Aska tricked you, he bewitched your mind." Hermes closed the gap between them, pressing his lips to his lover's. Hazan didn't respond, just pushed him sharply away.

"I don't love you Hermes," and then, almost as an afterthought, "I never did."

The older vampire had enough composure not to burst into tears. He settled his shoulders and stood firm, facing the thing that was walking around inside his lover, using his voice.

"I'm going to London with Ivan. I hate this house." He threw the little box down onto the floor, it sprang open, something beautiful and gold and glittering shone up from within, "I was saving it for your birthday, but I suppose you'd better have it now." And with that he stalked out of the room.

Fuming, Hermes threw some gear into a bag, found his big leather coat and pulled in on just as the door opened. He span round, hoping to see Hazan, but Ivan stood in the doorway, looking sombre. He held up the keys to one of the House's fastest cars.

"Who's driving?"

The tech vampires could trace the car but Hermes really didn't see that it mattered. They'd dump it on the outskirts of London and get lost in the city that Hermes had originally come from. He knew people in London, friendly places they could sleep. Ivan drove and Hermes didn't speak, lost in re running his conversation with Hazan through his brain. How much was true, how much was influenced by Aska's will and hoe much of it had he simply read in the body language, or lack of? He remembered the ring, specially crafted, absolutely perfect in every way, wings from the messenger of the gods to the messenger of autumn. Their private joke. Even now was Hazan crying, wishing Hermes back him, of had he stared at the ring with that same indifference and simply cast it aside. Hermes, scared, tired and heartbroken, fell asleep in the passenger seat under his coat, and Ivan drove on in silence, watching the road with a hunters eyes.

Nassau woke up to the smell of coffee. He loved the way Mattias made coffee, hot as lava and strong enough to stand the spoon up in the mug. The stuff was thick and black and resisted stirring. It also contained enough sugar to make enough sweets for a small shop to make a decent turnover. At lest, Nassau's did. Mattias drunk his coffee plain, but the third son of Lucifer had always had a sweet tooth. To go with your face love Mattias had said, back when they'd first met. Nassau rolled over, stretching, delighting in the feel of silk sheets under his skin, the limitless space of his bed bigger than most rooms. He rolled his joints, felt the soft cracking of his spine and stretched out his wings. The gold, red and bronze feathers glittered in the soft morning light that fell in stripes through the big windows. Nassau purred like a cat, then really purred as a hand glided down his spine, between the joints of his wings where skin and feather merged. He opened storm grey eyes to smile at Mattias.

"Good morning." The former human bent low to give his mate a kiss, chaste almost in the morning after.

Only now you're here, thought Nassau, knowing the other would hear him, "Is there coffee?"

Nassau sat with his long finger wrapped around his mug and watched his lover move about the room. Mattias was very different from him, taller and more well built. His waist was slim but with tight muscled chest and shoulders. His blonde hair, curling these days under his ears, a messy length where it couldn't be tied but kept falling in his face, tended to make him look like a handsome surfer rather than a curious street waif. Despite Nassau's meagre height he was skinny as all hell with a rangy look that belied the power in him. Mattias wandered around, taking sips of coffee and locating clothes. Nassau watched the sunlight play across the corded muscle of his chest, his eyes resting upon every scar, remembering the stories Mattias had told him that went with it. It was a human thing, the picking up of clothes, sorting the laundry and hanging things up in the cupboard. Nassau didn't have a wardrobe. Whatever he needed was summoned into existence by sheer force of will, fantastical clothes that often as not defied the laws of gravity. Tidying his house worked in the same way to, only with less conscious effort. Mattias was learning, slowly, slowly, how to control and use his power without really having to form words or pictures in his mind. And yes it was slow, but Mattias was a surprisingly fast learner, and they had all the time in the world.

Nassau closed his eyes and thought vaguely about putting the light back and few hours and not getting up. There was no need to anyway. Then he remembered what day it was and knew that no, he really would have to get up. That didn't make him move. He just groaned and rolled over. Mattias strolled over, the gait of a man going for a walk in the park. He held himself well these days, a better man than he had been when his life was lived through the sights of a gun and Nassau was the one target he couldn't bring down. Not surprising in a way. Only too right that he should be bested by such a foe. Not that the bullet, even if it had hit, would ever have killed him. With his tan skin, greenish tinted blue eyes, blonde hair like spun gold, and now, the grey feathered wings that were Nassau's gift, he looked almost Holy. The wings were works of art. Not as big or impressive as Nassau's, but subtly beautiful. They weren't white like Ade's or grey like a pigeon wing, but titanium steel grey, gorgeous, deadly. Gunmetal grey Nassau called them, the same deadly glinting shade as the weapons that lay, despite their impracticality in Hell, in a trunk in Mattias's side of the room.

"What's the matter my darling?"

"I don't wanna get up." Nassau sounded like a spoilt child and he didn't care.

"Then don't," Mattias's voice was a warm blanket, luring sleep in from the dark places, "We don't have to get up."

"You're already up," Nassau pointed out with a pout, then softly underneath, It's meeting day.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Mattias moved away a little and Nassau wasn't sure which statement the answer was to.

The pair of them met Ade on the white bridge. Nassau loved and hated it here. This was the blood lake. Like all things it was somewhere in Hell, suspended in the inner circle. But things shifted and changed, distances and time were often irrelevant. The living and breathing of the minions did most of the hard work to keep the place from falling apart, that and meticulous perfect design by Nassau's great great great grandfather. The white bridge spanned the distance between the shore and the island that only the children of Lucifer and a certain few of their choice were allowed to step on, their own private playground. It took only ten minutes to cross the bridge, but you could see one end from the other. The island was created so that you could walk across it all day and not reach the other side, or sit in the middle and see the shore. It was wonderful, confusing and enchanting that way. The island was haven to strange birds and all around was pink and white cherry blossom. Never any cherries though which Mattias always though was a shame. Through this perfect forest they walked, the human made demon, and two of the Hell brothers. Nassau and his next eldest sibling Ade.

Ade was an angel to anyone who didn't know better. Long white hair, silvery eyes, big white wings. He was also quite the most genuinely nice person Mattias had ever met. Unlike his younger brother, brash, sensual and impulsive, Ade was calm, with a clarity of mind usually only found in those who are deep within a trance, and a smile that could melt hostility. Nassau's smile melted people's self control. In the centre of the clearing to which they came was a statue. Mattias had spent a lot of time here, especially in the early days when he was new to Hell, unsure about how to get around on his own and the garden was the one place apart from Nassau's house that he could get a permanent mental focus on. The statue was either grey veined white-blue marble or silver freckled black granite. It was both at once and flawless in detail. And it depicted two winged fingers holding up a forth, who, wings half unfurled, face raised to the sky, was in the act of taking flight, gaining freedom, locked there forever in uncertainty. One of the figures, supporting the flight seeker, was Ade, right down to the well manicured nails and the long hair. The other was their eldest brother Nathaniel, big, brutish, with black wings and a cruel face, his hand was curled around the ankle of the flight seeker, holding him up and trying to pull him down at the same time. The flight seeker was Nassau, ever feature perfect. You could almost believe it was really him. The statue had been carved before any of them were born and yet it was so perfect, a prediction of their looks, their faces, their lives. The image of Nathaniel began to form the third point of the brother's triangle as they said the old words their Father had written for them.

"One born in the night under the blood red moon, born to hate and hurt and reap the bodies of others. One born in the day under the light of a white sun, born to love and forgive and reap the souls of others. One made of stardust and shadows, born at dusk in the depths of twilight. A demon born to live among humans. Born to live immortal through the changing ages. Our brother, we call you, and you are duty bound to answer."

The shape of Nathaniel took on solidity and form, growing bigger and rougher looking. Mattias felt himself shiver at the sight of the brute, even though he knew he couldn't hurt him from where he was, locked in silence, cast out of Hell and the light of his Father. But the image and the memories, some of them not his own, stung his eyes. Nathaniel's image took on enough form to become real and began to swear at them. This continued for a long time and finally, Ade waved his hand, closed the lens-window and they left Nathaniel in the dark again, alone with is atrocities. It was a pointless ritual, the two checking to see if Nathaniel had calmed down enough yet to talk, listen to reason and begin to atone for what he had done. Some crimes are even considered that bad in Hell. If Nathaniel didn't begin to make sense soon, he would be trapped in there forever, or die, which would be more merciful to be sure.

When they got back Mattias slipped behind the bar in the downstairs lounge and began to pour things into the silver shaker. His cocktails were irregular, fantastic and guaranteed to make you lose all sense of self control, unless you were Nassau in which case your vision just blurred a little. Or Ade, who just sort of retreated into himself and spoke a little less than usual. Ade had gone back to his one house, a small whitish grey affair that hardly anyone else ever went to, it was his retreat and he liked it that was. Nassau's place, now Nassau's and Mattias's place was designed for company, large parties and guests. It was sprawling, many roomed, with the innate ability to add rooms and space at will and always contained enough alcohol and food to feed a large army or perhaps most third world countries for a year. The concoction that he poured into two hi ball glasses and topped with little umbrellas was violently green with black and red swirls. Nassau's paper umbrella had devil horns. He giggled.

Mattias's hands were gorgeously cool on his overheated skin, too hot through wanting and being denied. Mattias had a surprising self control at times and loved nothing more than watching his lover squirm. Nassau never asked, but with Mattias he pleaded, moaned, begged. And the other demon touching him was so blissfully sweet, so right and good and Nassau's wanted it enough to make the strange fire tattoo that wound over his skin flicker and illuminate the whole of the dark room. Mattias looked good in that fire light, brought on by a peculiar mixture of lust and love. Nassau could do little more than breathe in shaky gasps as they melded their bodies together in the dark, his skin hot enough to brand, all his muscles straining for relief. Mattias's face above him, those delighted eyes and the smiling mouth that Nassau kissed over and over again, unable to convey the love he felt even with mind speak. He came, and the dream vanished.