Act 5

Black Sync, London's most reputable vampire club, was an unchanging and gothic kind of place. Sure it moved with the times, it was all digital music now, replacing the CDs, tapes and vinyl records of past days. The décor was largely the same, sharp and black, the long granite topped bar running down one side of the room and stopping before the dance floor. An area for sofas and easy chairs, the wooden decked dance floor where bodies twisted and writhed to the best in black, and little alcoves curtained off with heavy red velvet drapes. If the curtains were drawn on one of these booths, it was a well known warning. Do not enter. You look nervous, but I have been here many times before. I know many of the faces. Barren is the owner, the black haired chap behind the bar; the girl all in tight PVC whose figure turns all heads is Anis; that one, the burly man with a human servant bleeding on either side is Mais. There are new faces and old faces, some in the easy chairs in waistcoats and smoking jackets, not wanting to shift into modern times. Others, like Anis, all too ready to slip into modern gear and hold the attention of others. I guide you, a hand on your elbow, to an open booth where we can sit and watch the proceedings in relative privacy.

Seated at the bar next to each other Hermes and Ivan passed the roll up back and forth. Barren set shot glasses down in front of them. Blood, probably mixed with some alcohol, whiskey for Ivan, rum for Hermes. Hermes is drinking A-positive, Ivan prefers a rhesus. There is a bottle of Jack Daniels on the bar between them, they don't seem to be bothering with glasses. Ivan doesn't speak, just sits and twiddles his fingers, fixing another roll up. It is early in the evening but the two of them have been drinking since sundown. The two of them abandoned the house car on the edge of London, left the keys in it, and the door open, probably was nicked only seconds after they'd rounded the corner. It had been almost dawn by then and so the pair had found themselves and man hole cover and crawled down into the gloom. Of course it was pitch black down there, but there are some rules, like being able to sober up with a thought, that didn't apply to their kind. Some light or no light, they could see fine the sludge there were walking through. Neither of them really wanted to look. When they'd come up in the basement of Black Sync, Barren had been waiting for them, hand s on hips but with a pair of towels and a key. Told them to leave their boots down there and go take a shower. The room was nice, twin beds and big bathroom and they had spent what was left of the day lazing, dozing and catching up on well earned sleep.

The cool sharp wind of winter in London swirled in through the open door, a dead leaf or two skittered around Ranyah's feet. His dark eyes fell on the two oh so very familiar figures sitting at the bar and he smiled a brilliant smile. Hermes felt a presence on the edge of his mind and turned, but only to see and young human boy with wild red hair shutting the door. He was dressed very nicely in black and eyes glittered with the cold.

"Reid," Barren nodded to the boy who gave him an enchanting smile, "What will you have?"

"Just the usual please."

Hermes raised an eyebrow. Unless times had changed greatly since he'd been here last, which he doubted, it took a great deal of visits to the club to have Barren remember a usual drink for you. Especially if you were a human, no matter who your host was. Barren poured the boy out an interesting glass of whiskey, fizzy orange and lime cordial. Not all things he usually kept. And then the boy turned that lovely smile on Hermes and Ivan and the both of them were at a loss for words. He had a face like Hazan's, and despite their radically different colouring the two of them could have been brothers. It was the same shaped face, the pointed chin, the high cheekbones, the bright wide eyes that made them both appear boyish and young. Hermes felt himself go suddenly warm and Ivan's heart flipped over in his chest.

"Hi."

The boy was definitely human, and untainted by the bite of any vampire. Hermes shuffled nervously on his stool. Their voices were different, the lack of fangs in the smile obvious, but it was very easy to mould Hazan's looks onto that face. Hermes knew he shouldn't be looking for a replacement for the boy he'd loved so many years, but the anger had burnt through into desire and Hermes was suddenly at war with himself. Ivan on the other hand, wasn't at war with anyone. He wasn't beholden to anyone and the human was far too tempting a treat to pass up.

"Hey there sweet thing," Ivan gave the boy one of his most dashing southern smiles, "What's a lovely thing like you doing in a place like this?"

"I think you mean 'who'," said a voice behind the pair and Hermes looked up to see the hazel haired figure of Ranyah strolling towards them in leather and black. He wound his arms around the human and nuzzled his hair, "Well done my darling."

Ivan blinked.

"What's going on?"

"Sorry boys," Ranyah smiled and sat down on a bar stool, pulling Reid firmly into his lap, "I just had to watch the two of you squirm. Hermes, you'd better not let Hazan know what you were thinking about my boyfriend. He'll kill you."

Hermes flashed Ranyah a look and mental jolt and painful understanding spread across the younger vampires face.

"Oh, Hermes I'm sorry. Aska always was a bastard."

The four of them got more drinks and went to go and sit in one of the alcoves. Reid left the three friends a short while later, giving Ranyah a kiss before he left to go and dance, weaving amongst the other dancers as though the music was being played upon his bones. Watching, Ivan turned to Ranyah, who he knew, but not well enough to have a mind link with and appraised the boy in a glance.

"You lucky bastard," he said evenly, "What did you do to deserve a creature like him?"

"Pretty isn't he?" Ranyah rested his chin on his arms, apparently content to watch his lover dance for the rest of the night.

"He's more than that and you know it." Ivan smiled and ruffled the perfect fall of Ranyah's hair. The goth turned back to the conversation at hand.

"So what happened?" he asked. And between them, Hermes and Ivan told him mostly everything, how life had been in the last few years at the house, Aska's return from Rome, his disappointment in Hazan and his disapproval of Hermes. Then it was Ranyah's turn to speak, and as Reid was returning from the dance floor, shirtless and sweaty and drawing all sorts of attention, Ranyah told the pair of their meeting, just a few days ago, with the winged demon who claimed to be, and almost certainly was, the third son of Lucifer.

"What do you think he wanted?" Ivan frowned and took another swing from his bottle.

"Have you heard the whispers." There were nods all round, then Reid spoke up.

"You don't think they were about him?"

"No," Ranyah shook his head, "They were about something else. I think he's come to do something about it."

"Like what?"

Ranyah raised a single perfect eyebrow at Hermes.

"Kill it."

Kieran Tristan Toyne was a very peculiar sort of young man. The number of people in the London underworld who hadn't heard of him, at least by reputation could be counted on the fingers of one hand. He was a dangerous person, a good loyal friend but definitely not someone you wanted to take too close an interest into why it was your enemies wanted you dead. A hit man with morals, who would have thought. Since the illustrious and notable Mattias had vanished from the scene four years ago Kieran had been top dog in London and almost every major city this side of the equator, which was most of them. No one quite knew what had happened to the former hit man, just that he had vanished while on a job for a client, who had later turned up very very dead indeed. Of course, Kieran knew that it had something to do with demons, little did these days.

Thomas and Sera passed most of this information on to Luka while they were on the train, and so it was a surprise when they were buzzed in to be greeted by a man who absolutely could not have been more than twenty one. Kieran took one glance at the look on the boy's face and smiled.

"I've been killing people since before I could legally drive. I'm Kieran, pleased to meet you."

"L-Luka." The boy stood there in something like amazement until Sera pushed him.

"Come on kiddo, quite dallying in the doorway. Some of us are getting rained on out here!"

After much shaking of coats and wiping of boots, hugs and introductions and hair ruffling they got the door closed, got comfy and were lead into the lounge where they were served proper English tea in heavy china mugs. Kieran drank his pale with too much sugar. Luka sipped at his and wrapped his pale fingers around the blue mug. Being in London in general gave him a slight headache, but as soon as he'd stepped into the house that had gone, replaced by an odd sort of calm and feeling that Kieran was not all he seemed. He couldn't hear the man's thoughts as he stood there, leaning against the fire place, drinking tea, so he reached out, just a little bit, to find out what he was thinking.

He was thrown back with force, feeling his body push deeper into the sofa. Kieran had plenty of mental walls around his head, and it seemed, a fair few defences as well. Luka wondered where he'd learnt to do that. Slightly scared now, Luka was too nervous to notice a shape come around the edge of the sofa to his left and growl in his ear. Sera almost jumped and Luka froze.

"That's the biggest dog I've ever seen," Sera stood up and went over the huge beast, holding out his hand in the way you should act with all unfamiliar animals, especially ones that stood three feet tall, "Where on earth did you get him?"

Kieran clicked his tongue and the animal went trotting over to him. He stroked its head and the beast nuzzled at his hand.

"Arda is not a dog, he's a wolf. Don't worry, he won't hurt you." Kieran crouched down and made a soft purring noise in the back of his throat, exactly like a cat. Luka didn't think humans could make noises like that. And since the man's mind was a closed book to Luka he focused instead on his appearance. Kieran was built like Sera, strong, lithe, whip thin and tall. He had pale skin and long jet black hair that fell sharply to his waist, shining blue in the light. He moved like a predator, Luka could see it even in the small movements. The way he stood, half tense, knowing that while this was his territory there was always the threat of danger. He handled objects like they were weapons, careful, firm, almost reverent sometimes. He was ease with the wolf, who padded around the room like he was a king and leapt up on the sofa between Luka and Thomas and began to use the latter as a pillow.

"So what brings you to London?" Kieran turned to Sera, "Thomas said you'd had another of your dreams."

"Yeah. Kieran there is something bad, and it's going to happen here and it's going to happen soon."

"Human or other?" Kieran's tone was calm, as though he often spoke of things that were not widely accepted by anybody.

"Other. I'm fairly certain," Sera seemed slightly nervous, but better than he had been that morning, "Look Kier, have you heard the whispers? I know you only just got back and-"

Kieran held up a hand to stop the flood of explanation.

"Sera, I heard the whispers when I was in Las Vegas last year. Other people I know have hard them all over, most of the way around the planet. Why would it happen here?"

"This is where everyone's at," Sera finished his tea and set it down, "Sure the Citadel is in Rome and New Orleans has tonnes of vamps, but this is where the people are and you know it. That's why you live here."

"I did know you were so observant Sera. How many people do you know?"

Sera sighed heavily and frowned.

"You and Luka and maybe two others. There's a guy I meet in clubs sometimes whose part snake and there's a dude round the corner who's a vamp. That's it. Small fry compared to you."

Luka was getting a bit lost in the conversation by now and so he tapped into Sera's head and had a glance at what was going on in there, and was surprised and worried to find that Sera was scared, for himself, for Thomas, for Luka and for Kieran. Luka didn't know what Sera had seen in his dream, and he suddenly didn't want to know.

Sera and Thomas stayed until dinner and then decided to depart for home. They were both exhausted, especially Sera and while Kieran's offer of a bed was welcome and quite tempting, they both felt it better to be in familiar surroundings. Thomas kissed Luka goodnight on the doorstep.

"Be good OK?"

Luka gave him a lopsided grin.

"I'm not a little kid anymore Thomas. I can take care of myself."

"I know. Call if you need anything alright," and when Luka raised an eyebrow Thomas persisted, "Promise."

"I promise." And Luka closed the door in his two friends praying that everything would be fine and he would see them tomorrow none the worse for wear. Kieran, with Arda at his heels showed him around the house. Most of the rooms had labels on the doors.

"Bathroom, kitchen, my room, lounge. Only go into rooms with label on them," He turned harsh eyes on Luka and looked down on him, standing two stairs above, "I catch you in any of the unmarked rooms and there will be hell to pay. It's for your own safety." Luka wasn't sure, but he could have sworn he heard Kieran think or sanity over the end of that last sentence, "There are plenty of guest rooms, this is yours. You want anything from the fridge, help yourself. Except the venison, that's for Arda. Any questions?"

What's in the unmarked rooms? Luka didn't phrase the question, although curiosity was begging him to.

"Thanks for letting me stay here."

Kieran shrugged, as if it meant nothing.

"Friends of Tom and Sera, could hardly refuse. Anyway, I find you interesting. You are The Boy Luka after all."

"What do you mean?"

"You haven't heard?" Kieran raised a surprised eyebrow, "You're quite famous in certain circles." Ignoring Luka's puzzled expression Kieran continued, "Now I must go, I have a guest who-" He was cut short by a yell from downstairs.

"Fish?"

"Coming!" Kieran turned to Luka.

"Fish?" He asked, eyebrows raised.

"You're cute when you pout. Yeah, trade name, Strange Fish. I am a hit man after all." With that he turned and began to descend the stairs.

"Who are you talking to Fish?"

"No one babe, come on."

"Where've you been, I was asleep for ages..."

Luka stood in the doorway of his room and tried not to strain to hear the sounds of what was going on below.

Hazan pulled up the van outside the abandoned church and switched off the engine. In the back, all four of the humans lay stretched out on the mattresses. Hazan climbed over the front seat. They were all breathing, if a little shallowly, and the puncture marks on their necks, with the help of Hazan's saliva, were healing nicely. It had almost been too easy. Shy had not lived up to his name, very brash and obvious in the way he pressed up against Hazan, playing with his hair. The vampire had allowed himself to be wooed and while Nick was shooting up, lost in heroin ecstasy, Hazan drew the American boy low and silenced him with a kiss before muffling him with a hand and drinking from his neck. The pain had forced Shy to sleep and so Hazan had merely taken what he wanted and let the boy rest. That was how it had been with all of them. Lured in by Hazan's beautiful smile and bitten. Their blood swirled around in his head, making him high along with the heroin touch he'd got from drinking from the junky. Hazan had made them comfortable and driven the rest of the way.

The squat was empty when Hazan arrived, dark and dank and scented with dry rot and mould. The scent was strong enough to drown out his higher senses and it wasn't until he tripped over a figure in a sleeping bag that he realised his mistake. There were groans and muffled curses as various figures pulled themselves awake at the commotion Hazan had made, trying to pick himself up while pots and pans and things clattered around him.

"Who are you?" the guy in the sleeping bag he had fallen over was sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

"Name's Autumn," Hazan tried to smile apologetically, "These guys I'm with said to drive them here, they were on their way to meet some people."

"What guys?" asked a girl with spiky pink hair.

"Tom, Will, Nick and Shy, they're all asleep in the van outside."

"They're here!" A nice looking guy who was standing up cocooned in a bright yellow sleeping bag wore the world's biggest grin on his face, "It's about damn time. You must have driven most of the night to get here this early."

It was only then that Hazan realised the time, how early in was, how light the sky was getting and how badly he was going to be a crisp if he didn't get out of the light soon.

"I was wondering if I could stay here today?"

The dude with the yellow sleeping bad stepped out of it to reveal crumpled jeans and ragged t-shirt. He came across to shake Hazan's hand.

"You got nowhere else to go?"

Hazan shook his head.

"Sure thing, the floor's yours. Bunch of the windows have broken glass and let in the wind, the ones at the back are all boarded up so it's warmer back there mostly."

"Thanks." Hazan gave him a genuine dashing smile and went to curl up in a corner while the other residents set about waking up the occupants of the van and getting them and their stuff indoors.

You and I walk around and observe the conversations that go on. Junky boy Nick, Tommy and Will and Native American Shy are all still exhausted. They don't remember too much about the previous night, just picking up Autumn and all sleeping when it was someone else's turn to drive. Shy doesn't say anything but he remembers kissing the dark skinned boy they picked up. In the morning light everything seems different for them. For while you and I know the truth about Hazan, they don't, and Shy skirts around the room for a long time before making for the gloomy corner where Hazan has hidden himself, deeply wrapped in a coat and wedged between an old tea chest and some metal parts that might have once been part of a lawnmower.

I feel sorry for the boy Shy, who by the looks of him has seen fair bit of life and might be older even than me. He tries to be open, friendly, kind. And Hazan just ignores him, snappish and uptight, his collar drawn up over his head, his hair hiding his face. Shy reaches out to brush away those lank locks and Hazan grabs his wrist with fingers like steel. Hurt looking, Shy wanders back to the main group.

Some of them go out and come back years later with groceries and weed, roll up too many joints and pass them around in a never ending circle. The vampire does not let himself be drawn into the warmth, the smoke and the friendly smiles. He lets himself be ignored, forgotten. Not everyone forgets him though, and from time to time as the day wears on people come over to him and offer a friendly ear or a roll up. Many find him asleep, un-wakeable and cold. They joke and that Will and Tommy have brought a corpse with them to live. We sit close to him, alone in a room full of happy faces and you fall asleep in my lap, exhausted by our hectic journey. It's alright; I'll stroke your hair and keep track of everything until you wake again.

It was a grey day over Camden, the winter setting in earnestly now that it was almost Halloween. Shops full of orange pumpkins and plastic skeletons. Vampire masks and black bats. It was enough to make any real demon feel ill. Of course, that sort of thing is common at any time of year around Camden and so to some extent residents like Del Deorion were immune to it. He hadn't gotten dressed before he'd stormed out of the house in the aftermath of Yosui's electric temper. His mate might just control the winds but with a little breeze you can stir up fierce storms. Deorion had learnt that to his own cost. And so in nothing but a pair of loose cotton trousers he strode along the road the people who sae him painted him with face paints in their heads, their eyes unable to see the shadow wrapped figure who walked with them.

He passed under the rail bridge and walked to the lock where he hopped up onto the wall and played with the idea of throwing himself off and going for a swim. He did this for a few minutes until he noticed the three punks who were sitting alongside him on the wall staring at him. There were two guys, one in plaid and one in leather and studs, both with radical spiky hair and a girl with a blue and pink under cut and a very short skirt with very big boots.

"Hey Mister," asked the boy with leather and yellow hair, "Are you alright like?"

"Sure," said Deorion, "He rubbed at the bandage at his throat and his fingers came away bloody, "Shit."

"What happened?" asked the girl and handed him a roll up she was smoking. Deorion took a deep drag on it, letting unfamiliar and comforting smoke fill his lungs. He blew it out in a series of perfect smoke rings.

"I had a fight with my boyfriend." There were raised eyebrows all round at that, but they weren't too high. This was Camden and in general it was a revelation that no one really cared about.

"He hit you?"

"No, that was another guy. Friend of his."

The boy sitting closest with the plaid all over look and green hair peered at the wound.

"Looks more like a dog bite."

"Well he looks like a dog to me to so I guess I'm glad someone agrees with me." Del Deorion was surprised to find that speaking a lot actually hurt his throat. He was more surprised to find tears rolling down his cheeks and ever further surprised when a plaid clad arm was lain across his shoulders with an offer of comfort unspoken. Deorion allowed himself to be comforted under the punk's shoulder. He hated himself for crying, hated himself for being upset over Yosui and hated the fact that he'd made Yosui mad at him. He was surprised to admit to himself that he really was in love with the strange and beautiful Lord of The Dreaming.

The punks chatted amongst themselves for a while and then Deorion, still wiping away the last tears joined them in their conversation. They were friendly, frank and perfectly accepting of Deorion's odd looks and strange appearance. The punk with the leather jacket draped said jacket over Deorion's shoulders since he had long sleeves on underneath. The demon wasn't exactly cold but unless he consumed himself in fire he wasn't going to get any warmer. A grateful smile made the punk grin and there was a faint blush across his cheekbones. And it was only a while after, that Del Deorion realised that there was someone watching him. Lots of people stared, but this person was watching the true form of the demon, not the face paints version. The boy stood on the other side of the road, stock still while traffic and pedestrians wove around him. He was dressed in black jeans, boots and a black suit jacket with rolled up sleeves, a red t-shirt on underneath. Long black hair, no where as long as Del Deorion's blew in the sharp edged wind. The mind-voice stung even from a distance, the message hurled over the heads of the crowd with force.

Shadow, I must speak with you.

Del Deorion frowned.

"You know that guy?"

"Yeah," Deorion lied. He slipped down off the wall and handed the punk's jacket back to him. He took it and held the warmth to his chest, "I should go meet him."

"It's was good to meet you."

"You too." Deorion smiled then stood up on his toes and wrapped strong arms around the punk. I will not forget your kindness young human. You will be rewarded in time. I promise. He walked across the road without looking and the punks watched him go, a sad light in one pair of brown eyes.