The lake’s waters were mirror still, reflecting the gray clouds that filled the sky above them. The reflective surface hid the darkness that lay in the water’s depths. Instead, all the eye could see was an endless field of clouds, broken only on the far shore by the image of a heavy stone keep on the edge of the lake.
Only Corliss could see the lake’s dark heart. Today, she had killed to sorcerer’s last remaining pet - the very creature that had stolen her life. She held one of its large brilliant feathers in her hand as she looked at the lake. That was where the rest of the gryphon lay - beneath the lake’s calm waters.
Footsteps treaded softly on the dying grass behind the Slayer. She turned slowly to see Leal, the very mage that had trained her, regarding her with a sympathetic and sorrowful gaze. He looked at the feather in her hand. “It’s done, then?” he asked softly.
“It’s done.”
Leal sat beside her without a word, silently gazing at the still waters. He plucked a pebble from the earth beside him and tossed it into the lake. Its ripples continued past Corliss’s vision. “I have not yet spoken to the Circle about your battle,” he said.
Corliss did not even acknowledge his comment.
Leal sighed. “The vampire is in an underground room at the rear of the keep. He is guarded by two lower level mages at night only, kept unconscious at all times by magic.” He paused briefly. Neither Corliss nor Leal turned from the waters as he spoke. “I meet with the Circle in one hour to report on your progress.” With that, he stood and left with no goodbye. It would have been unwelcome anyway.
A long unbroken silence settled over the placid lake. In her heart, Corliss knew she would never see Leal again. Part of them had parted ways the moment Leal assisted in the binding spell. This final parting left Corliss feeling empty inside. Still, his parting gift warmed her slightly.
His final words were laden with meaning. He’d told her all she needed to know to live beyond tonight. As much as this immortality was a dark curse, she was not so ready to give up her life. Leal had confirmed her suspicion that the Circle would kill her, however indirectly, once her task was complete. Tonight, Leal would have to inform them that it was. One hour was all the time she had to rescue the vampire, and thus herself.
Standing, Corliss looked at the gryphon’s feather one last time. Slipping it into her belt, she turned her back on the lake, the keep, and the past they stood for. It was time to start a new life.
Getting into the Circle headquarters was no problem. After all, the mages had nearly raised the young Slayer. The guards at the door never turned her away. Blithely unaware of what would happen tonight, they let her in with a smile. She went unchallenged through the halls as well. Why challenge those supposedly on your own side?
Quietly, Corliss progressed to the rear of the keep. A set of narrow stairs descended into a series of small rooms, storage rooms that were rarely used. It was here that the vampire would be kept, safe from the sunlight and easily guarded. If Leal were correct, except for servants who might be getting dinner supplies, the narrow corridor would be empty.
It was. The silence was as tangible as the darkness beneath the keep. Not a soul stirred in the hall. Quietly, Corliss peeked into one room and then another, searching for the creature that shared her life. The first couple were simple storage rooms, but in the third she found her quarry.
He was a young vampire, his demon face evident even as he rested in a magically induced sleep. No effort had been made to make him comfortable - he was simply laid out on a rough wooden table. Around his neck he wore a pendant that matched the Slayer’s own, an oval of bronze with strange markings and a large red stone.
Corliss regarded the vampire seriously. She’d been worried about getting in here, she’d given little thought to getting out. She could not carry the vampire into the daylight and live. Looking frantically about the room, she finally spotted a large roll of sackcloth, probably used to protect vegetables from rodents. It should be sufficient to protect the vampire from the sunlight.
Carefully wrapping the vampire fully in the tattered cloth, Corliss listened for any movement in the hallway. Hearing none, she slung the bundled vampire over her shoulders and slipped silently back into the dark hall. She walked in the opposite direction from where she’d come. A second set of stairs connected to the other end of the hall, a servant’s access from the kitchens to the storerooms.
Praying she would meet no one, Corliss carried the vampire up the stairs. Even with her increased strength she was getting tired. Fortunately, there was a door right near the top of the stairs. Unmolested, she carried the vampire out the door and into the remaining sunlight. Then to the stables, where a horse was waiting; more of Leal’s silent help. She slung the vampire onto the back of the horse. Mounting as well, she rode from the keep towards the setting sun. No one saw her. No one stopped her.
Corliss never looked back.
December 28, 1999
If there’s one thing a vampire can never mistake, it is the scent of blood. After all, it is their sole source of sustenance, that which keeps them undead. The need for blood was the basest of instincts, pure need and the root of their evil. The smell of blood was like nothing else.
When Angel approached the blood smell, it was not out of hunger. Not that he did not feel the hunger; he couldn’t be a vampire and not feel it. But he ignored the hunger, or rather, controlled it. Instead, he approached out of concern for whoever was bleeding. If there was any chance the person could be saved, he could not turn away.
The small was thick in the darkened L.A. alley. Part of Angel knew that no one person could loose this much blood and live. But if there was any hope, any at all, he had to try and find the injured person. Following the smell, he found her indeed.
As he drew close, Angel could hear her quick, labored breathing. She was a young woman, maybe fifteen years old with long, dark hair and brilliant green eyes. Her hair was tangled and her clothes tattered. The source of the smell, the wound that was slowly killing her, was a long gash across her abdomen. Her expression was weary and pained.
Even knowing there was no way she could survive, Angel knelt down beside the girl. “Hold on,” he said when her eyes met his, “I’m going to call an ambulance.”
When he began to stand again, the girl grabbed his arm with surprising strength. “Don’t,” she whispered, “It’s long past time for me to die. I want to go.”
Angel had never heard a young woman so ready to give up on life. “Please,” he pleaded, “let me try.”
The girl did not let go. “I will not survive the time it takes you to make the call,” she said. “You can not do anything. This wound killed me 700 years ago. It’s only taken me a long time to die.”
He stared at her for a moment in surprise. Seven hundred years? Even having seen 250 years himself, he could not imagine 700. She seemed just a girl, a dying, human girl, but she’d seen nearly three times the years he had. He could not argue with her will to die. She was probably right about the time she had left, and there was nothing he could do.
Kneeling beside the girl, Angel looked intently into her eyes. They were bright, but somehow weary, showing her age. She still seemed young and scared, no matter what her eyes said. “Do you want me to . . . do anything?” he asked softly.
She reached up a bloody hand and grasped his jacket. “Just stay. I don’t want to die alone.”
The movement caused her wound to tear, and the blood smell intensified. The demon stirred at that, reminding Angel that he had not fed tonight. He felt his features shift and pulled away from the girl to regain control.
The girl gasped and tightened her hold on his jacket. “You’re a vampire!” the girl breathed.
Closing his eyes for a moment, Angel managed to return his features to normal. “Yes,” he replied softly.
She looked at him oddly. There was no fear in her eyes. “Why do you care about me, vampire?” she asked curiously.
Angel knew she did not have time to hear his whole story. He did not wish to explain. Instead, he replied simply, “Because I care.”
The girl’s gaze shifted. “And you kill your own kind.”
Angel had forgotten about the stake that he’d taken out when he’d first smelled blood in this alley. It was that her gaze caught. “Yes.”
The girl was silent except for her harsh breathing. She closed her eyes, her brow creased with thought. After a moment she gasped in pain and her eyes flew open. She regarded Angel seriously. “What is your name, vampire?” she whispered.
“Angel.”
She smiled slightly. “Do you know today’s Slayer, Angel?”
The question caught him off guard. Angel closed his eyes, trying to control the emotions that question stirred up. “Yes. Buffy,” he answered in a whisper.
The girl was looking at him oddly, as if she knew something. It made her seem old. “Could you give something to her . . . or her Watcher, rather . . . for me?”
Angel did not inform the girl that Buffy no longer worked for the Watchers. He could get something to Giles if he had to. And . . . avoid Buffy again while at it. “Yes.”
“Then take this,” the girl said, and reached with a trembling hand to place something in his own. It was an odd bronze pendant, very old, on a heavy chain. “Take the one from around my neck as well. Give them to the Watcher - he will know what they mean.”
Carefully, Angel reached to remove the matching pendant from around her neck. She gasped as he lifted her head slightly to slip it off. When he held both, she smiled and seemed young again.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and then her body seemed to glow. It was an odd, soft light that seemed to consume her from within. Then it was gone, and with it the strange, ancient girl. Only the bloody handprint remained on his jacket to show that she had been there.
Standing, Angel gazed at the matching necklaces she had handed him and the task they represented. They did not look like much, but they were heavy with meaning. With a sigh he did not need, Angel slipped them into his pocket and turned away, back to the nighttime streets. Whoever she was, he hoped the girl found peace.
One thing remained, unnoticed
behind him; fluttering in the dark, a single, brilliant, purple feather.
Feedback
makes the world go round
Back
to Cynamin's Fan Fiction