by Kallysten
Both hands on the hilt of her practice sword, she spread out her feet in a defensive stance. Blake observed her carefully, finding no flaw in the way she held herself. Turning to the closest observer—if he remembered correctly, his name was Simon—he asked, “Is that true? She's never been hurt in battle?"
Simon did a double-take when he realized who was standing next to him, but he didn't move away. “She ... she hasn't, no. Not in almost ten years of fighting. I mean, she's had scrapes, and bruises, we all have—” He stood straighter and puffed up his chest a little at that, as though putting himself on the same level as her. “—but nothing that wasn't healed in a couple of days."
Blake nodded absently. He had figured out she was good the previous night when he had seen her fight demons, so he wasn't too surprised. Still, for a fighter to remain unscathed that long while confronting demons took a lot more skill than he had credited her with. Even he had a few fading scars to show after more than eighty years of this. He touched his face gingerly. The newest one didn't hurt, but he could feel the raised skin above his eyebrow and down his cheek.
Still thinking, he let his eyes trail over the audience. The dozen or so men and handful of women had formed a loose circle around Marc and Kate, giving them enough space to move freely. Most of them were smiling and clapping with both fighters’ best moves, but a few stood with their arms crossed, stone-faced, their eyes rarely leaving Marc. They seemed ready to intervene at the first hint that Marc was about to truly hurt Kate. Blake snorted. Charming lot. He'd never understand what was so important about helping humans. It wasn't like there weren't enough demons for all of them.
He shifted his shoulders as he returned to watching the sparring match. He missed the weight of Seneca hanging at his back, and wished he had strapped the scabbard on before leaving the bedroom. He should have known better than to come out unarmed. After all, he had seen the previous night that their hosts were not without prejudice against vampires.
As he looked on, he realized something. They were both fighting hard, both attempting complicated moves and feints, but they did so without ever playing dirty, something he had seen both of them do in battle. Instead, they seemed to follow some unvoiced rules of fair play, each waiting for the other to be ready before launching a new attack. On top of that, there were those praises they exchanged every so often, small words that brought quick grins to their faces in turn. Blake gritted his teeth. It seemed as though the game he had decided not to play had started without him, after all.
All of a sudden, things seemed to accelerate in the center of the circle. Marc and Kate each thrust and parried in turn, back and forth and again, each pushing the other harder every time. She was really good, Blake thought. It didn't look as though Marc was holding back—or at least, not much. It finally ended with a clever feint from Marc. Kate attacked high, striking toward his left shoulder. For an instant, it seemed as though Marc would be too late to parry. His foot slipped, and he fell down to one knee even as he blocked her attack from below. Using the odd angle, he pushed back her sword and immediately struck back.
The dull point of his sword stopped just an inch away from Kate's throat. Gasps erupted around the circle, but the most surprised of them all had to be Kate. Frozen in place, she looked at Marc with wide eyes, her sword still held high above her head. The standoff ended with a blink and a smile. Lowering her weapon at last, she held out her free hand toward Marc, seemingly unconcerned by the slightly wavering blade between them. He finally put down his weapon and took her hand, allowing her to help him up. Clapping rose through the circle, some observers already breaking away.
"Good fight,” she said, still smiling. “You'll have to give me a rematch, some time."
She held on to his hand as he answered with a smile of his own. “It'll be my pleasure. It's rare when I find someone who's a good match for me."
Pushing back the scowl that wanted to burst through, Blake approached them. Rare, was it? So he didn't spar with Blake every other day, winning as often as he lost? And why wasn't he letting go of her hand, still? It looked as though he had gotten quite a head start already. Blake would have to catch up fast.
"It was a nice show,” he said, standing by their sides. “It would have been more fun with real blades, though."
At last, their hands fell apart. Blake's fists, in his pockets, relaxed. Both of them looked at him, Kate a little amused, judging by her scent, and Marc wary. Neither had time to answer before Daniel did, however. He had been amongst the onlookers, seated at a lunch table, and had also come closer at the end of the fight.
"Training with real weapons is too dangerous,” he said, sparing Blake a quick glance before turning his attention to Marc. “Will you talk to me about this breach now?"
Marc nodded. “Let me just put the sword back—"
"I'll take it,” Blake cut in, seizing the hilt just below Marc's hold and pulling it free from his grip. He then turned to Kate and gave her his widest smile. “Kate, would you like to play?"
She chuckled, shaking her head. “Another time, maybe. I'm beat. Plus, I've got a meeting to attend.” She looked at Daniel at that and nodded once. “I'll join you in a minute. Your office?"
"Yes. Hurry up. And bring Simon with you."
Daniel pointed out the way to Marc, indicating a door on the opposite wall from their bedroom. Marc took a few steps with him before looking back at Blake, frowning slightly.
"Don't cause any trouble, Childe,” he said very low.
Annoyed that Marc thought he even needed to say it, Blake didn't respond. Turning away, he followed Kate to return the sword to the wall rack, catching up with her before she got there.
"Are you hungry?” she asked as he was still wondering what to tell her.
He missed a step, taken aback. She couldn't be offering, could she? “What?"
"I asked if you're hungry. Or thirsty. What do you call it, when you need to feed?"
Having returned her sword to the hooks on the wall, she turned a curious look at him, her eyes bright and earnest. Humans were rarely so direct when they asked such questions, and his usual jokes felt out of place.
"Hungry, I suppose,” he said, stashing the sword away. “Why do you ask?"
"Just playing hostess. Marc said he was fine, but if you're hungry, we've got blood in the kitchen freezer."
He heard each word, understood the sentences, but it still made no sense. He frowned and repeated, “You've got blood in your freezer."
Her eyes sparkled in amusement at his confusion, and Blake couldn't help the stray thought that, as much as he had been trying to rile up Marc when he had said it, she was pretty. More than pretty, in fact.
"You're not the first fanged guests we've had,” she explained. “We figured out long ago that there was no sense in throwing out medical blood bags when they expired if they could be used by vamps."
"Clever,” he murmured. He had lost count of how many army camps, dying villages, and fortified cities Marc had dragged him to since turning him, but he was certain no more than a dozen of those over the years had had a supply of blood for visiting vampires. “A bit early for dinner, but I'll take you up on your offer later. When you're done with that meeting, maybe?"
"Sure. But don't you want to join us?"
He shrugged. “Marc's the talker. I'm more of a doer."
"If you say so,” she said, the chuckle barely hidden in her voice. “Stay out of trouble."
While Marc's admonishing him had riled him up, words to the same effect from Kate only drew a bark of laughter from him. Did she know him so well, already? Clearly, she thought she did. His eyes followed her as she walked to the lunch tables. She stopped to talk to Simon, just a few feet away. He had been inching closer and closer as Blake and Kate talked, clearly listening in. Simon didn't look all too happy at having to go with her, and he threw a couple of hopeful looks toward Blake while arguing. What he expected from him, Blake had no idea, and before long, they both left toward the bac
k of the building and that meeting with his Sire.
Left alone, Blake quickly regretted not having tagged along. He had no interest in Marc's crusade; all that mattered for him was hunting demons, and it was much easier to do when he and Marc didn't have a bunch of fragile humans to keep an eye on. Still, looking in on that meeting and adding a word or two might have earned him points with Kate. Definitely a bad move on his part there. Knowing how much Marc liked the sound of his own voice, that little talk might take hours. What was he going to do until they were done?
He looked around him. Many soldiers had moved on since the sparring session. Two pairs of them remained in the center of the room, practicing like Marc and Kate had been earlier. Another four, seated at a table, played some kind of card game. In the center of the table between them, a pile of small stones seemed to serve as currency. Blake was thinking of joining them when he caught the eye of a thick-necked man at the table furthest away from him. He remembered him from the previous night; this one had been particularly intent on getting rid of him. Even now, with no weapon in hand, he seemed ready to stake Blake on the spot. Unimpressed, Blake raised an eyebrow at him. The man seemed to take it as an invitation. He stood slowly, pushing himself away from the table with thick hands. His eyes never looked away from Blake as he approached. His combat boots hit the floor heavily, coming to a stop inches from Blake's bare feet.
He crossed his arms and looked Blake up and down. “So you wanted to fight with a real sword? Think you can handle one?"
Blake let a sliver of his amusement pierce through. If this guy thought he was intimidating, he was in for a cruel disappointment. “Why? You're offering to give me lessons?"
The man's smile bared his teeth and made a grand gesture toward the wall. “Take your pick, then."
"I've got my own, actually. Give me a minute to get him, and we can start the lesson."
He snickered on the last word. He'd no doubt get hell from Marc, but this was going to be fun.
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Chapter 6
If not for the metal desk, Daniel's office could have passed for another storage room. Marc's eyes followed the shelves around the walls, stopping here or there on unusual objects. The binoculars or walkie-talkies, he could understand. The empty terracotta flowerpot, however, or the horse figurine, its translucent blue glass reflecting the light from the bare light bulb on the ceiling, didn't seem all that useful in a soldier's headquarters. Marc tried not to wonder what kind of organization he and Blake had stumbled on. The army had long since lost all semblance of efficiency, and all over the country—all over the world—small groups had formed around improvised leaders to combat the demons. Some of them relied heavily on military experience, equipment and men; others were ... less adequate. The latter rarely lasted long. From what Marc had seen since the previous night, it was hard to judge how good this group was. Their leader had been trapped in demon territory with too few men for an apparently useless mission, but their camp seemed professional enough—glass figurines notwithstanding. All Marc hoped was that they'd be able to close the breach.
"Have a seat,” Daniel said, pointing at the chairs in front of the desk.
Marc chose the armchair that matched the one on the other side of the desk, leaving the plain metal chair for whoever would join them. Rather than sitting as well, Daniel rummaged on the shelves for a moment, moving aside boxes and mismatched objects to reach the back. The dusty smell in the room only increased, and Marc rubbed at his nose absently.
"Here it is."
Daniel turned back toward the desk and sat down, placing a palm-sized voice recorder between them. Marc hadn't seen one of those in decades. The light humming of the device, along with a glowing red dot, announced that Daniel had already switched it on.
"I hope you don't mind,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “My superiors will want to know about the breach, and I hate writing reports."
"No problem.” Marc relaxed in his seat, matching Daniel's casualness. “The more people who know about this, the better. Where do you want me to start?"
Daniel glanced at the door as he answered, nodding at the two new arrivals. “Why don't you start with how you first learned about the breach?"
The group's mage, Simon, came to the stark chair by Marc's side, pulling it a little further away and angling it toward both the desk and Marc before he sat down very stiffly. His scent, when he walked by Marc, held the acridness of annoyance. He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at nothing in particular. Ignoring him, Marc addressed Daniel as well as the recorder, very aware of Kate's presence on his right by the door she had closed behind her.
"I first heard rumors from groups like yours when I was on the East Coast six years back. I tried to follow the rumors back to the source, and found they came from a vampire. She had been held captive by demons and taken to their world for a while."
His right hand contracted at the memory, forming a fist that he consciously forced himself to open again. Her wounds had been healed, by the time he and Blake had tracked her down, but the scars had been proof enough of her captivity.
"Details,” Daniel said, making use of Marc's pause. “They'll want to corroborate your story. What was her name? Where did you find her? How long was she held? What was the demons’ world like?"
Marc grimaced despite himself. He had hoped he'd be able to skip over Jen's involvement as much as possible. “She goes by Jen Dwight,” he said. Even now, her name made something twist painfully in his stomach. “She said she was held for more than ten years, but less than a month had passed in our world by the time she ... escaped.” He continued without stopping, hoping they wouldn't wonder too much why he had hesitated. “She didn't like to talk about her captivity, but she described the breach through which she had returned. I convinced her to take me and some fighters there."
The words had the bitter taste of half-truths. The humans around him or whoever was going to listen to this didn't need to know these details. More than convincing Jen, he had bargained with her. Excited by the knowledge she had to share, flattered that, although much older than he was, she had accepted him as an equal, thrilled that she knew about the ancient Pacts and understood his desire to protect humans, taken by her simple beauty, he would have given her anything she asked for. The price for her cooperation had been unexpected, and Marc was still dealing with the consequences.
"Where was ‘there'?” Kate asked, bringing him back to the immediate present.
He glanced at her, and she gave him an encouraging smile.
"In a swamp, down in Louisiana. We found it easily enough, but it took our mages a while before they came up with a ritual to close the breach."
He didn't elaborate on why it had taken them so long. It didn't matter anymore.
Across from him, Daniel leaned forward over the desk. His eyes gleamed with hope.
"Tell us more about this ritual. Would you be able to recreate it for us?"
Marc shook his head. He had some magical potential in him, but nowhere near enough to work on a breach. Daniel looked crestfallen for a moment, but he perked up again when Marc tilted his head toward Simon.
"I can't do it, but I'm sure he will be able to."
He pulled from his shirt's breast pocket the piece of paper he had put there when dressing and passed it to Daniel, who unfolded it and looked at it briefly before handing it out to Simon. Simon's lips moved silently as he read over the list of ingredients and description of the ritual. A small smile started tugging at his lips, but before he could say anything three loud knocks resounded against the metal door. The four of them looked at it as Kate opened it.
"Sky?” She frowned at the young woman on the threshold. “What is it?"
"Kate, you've got to come,” Sky said, frantic. “They're going to kill each other!"
Kate threw a single glance at Daniel but didn't wait for an answer before hurrying out. With the door open, the distinctive sound of steel clashing on steel r
esounded through the room. Without thinking, Marc stood and followed Kate. It would be too much to hope for that Blake wasn't involved in whatever was happening.
* * * *
As she hurried out after Sky, Kate could already tell what was going on. It was difficult to miss. In the center of the room, Elliott and Blake faced each other, swords flashing between them as they attacked and parried. The sound of their weapons hitting each other gave it away just as well as the light reflecting on them or the cuts that adorned Elliot's body: they were fighting with real swords, not the training ones Kate and Marc had used earlier.
"Stop!” she shouted, now just a few feet from them.
Blake glanced at her for only a second, yet long enough for her to see the fire in his eyes and the mischievous upturn of his lips. He was enjoying himself, she realized with some shock. Elliott, on the other hand, didn't appear to have heard her. He took advantage of Blake's momentary distraction to launch an attack. Two steps brought him within striking distance and gave him momentum. With both hands gripping the hilt of his sword, he raised it high, then slashed down sideways at Blake's chest—or rather, at the spot where Blake's chest had been just an instant earlier. He grunted as the movement made him lose his balance, and he took a few stumbling steps forward. On his right, Blake's feet shuffled, angling his body for an attack. With Elliot's back to him, his next move could be fatal. As much as Kate disliked Elliot, she didn't want to see him dead, especially not in such a senseless fight.
"Stop it!” she said again.
Only when the words passed her lips did she realize Blake wasn't moving. He kept the same stance, guarding himself she now saw, but he didn't attack. Elliot didn't seem to have as much common sense. He had regained his equilibrium and was whirling back, his sword raised yet again. Kate crossed the last couple of feet that separated her from Blake and closed her hand above his on the hilt of his sword. He gave her a startled look, but when she pulled, he let go of the weapon. She faced Elliot with the sword in hand and scowled at him.
