“Oh,” was all Tristan said. It made sense, but he didn’t really care at the moment as he thought hard of a way to get out of the mess. “Chopsticks.”
Now it was Mamoru who tried to turn his head. “Nani?” he chirped out before he remembered what language he was speaking. “What?”
“You know, like Jackie Chan in Shanghai Noon, dug himself out…”
Mamoru paused for a second before answering in a dry tone, “If I weren’t up to my neck in dirt, I’d hit you.”
Tristan laughed. “Hey, don’t take this the wrong way but I like you.”
The other man chuckled. “We do work fairly well together, in the heat of things… sans the water throwing.”
“Sure, ‘cause you can read my mind.”
“No,” Mamoru said quickly, “not so much your mind as you. I can’t explain it, but all Uruwashi work in this symbiosis that’s been my experience so far and it’s universal. Whether you’re from America, Europe, Australia… all Uruwashi just sync together. I suppose it’s just in our blood. We all share the same blood after all. You’re inexperienced, but you have good natural instincts that you listen to.”
Usually. “Too bad we just weren’t strong enough though… Who was that guy?”
“I really don’t know. I thought I knew all of the ancients, but I can’t even guess who this is.”
Tristan sighed to himself in dismay. Ash used to believe Yuki was the oldest vampire alive, mostly because Yuki engineered it that way. But their trip to France proved that wrong. Turns out there were vampires even older than Audric’s thirteen-hundred.
“If he’s really the Viking he claims to be,” Mamoru continued, “then he’s at least three thousand years old. He could have killed us, Tristan. It wouldn’t have cost him a thing.”
Tristan sighed. “Except his final mission to find Genoveva. I just hope he kills that crazy shit.”
“Agreed. We need to get out of this mess. I don’t know about you, but I can’t even move a little.”
“Just my fingers on my good arm.”
“Great,” Mamoru muttered. “At least the sun won’t kill us…”
“I guess that’s something.”
“Oi!” the strong voice called out of the darkness, “Think we micht be a wee bit of help then, aye?”
10: Aftermath
TRISTAN groaned and would have pulled at his hair if his fingers weren’t treading earth. “God, could this vacation get any worse?” he muttered as the last vampire he wanted to see, ever, stepped in. “The fuck you doing here?”
“Damare!” Mamoru snapped at Tristan, afraid he’d run the vampire off. To Desmond, he said nicely, “Can you help us, please?”
Desmond crossed his arms over his chest, grinning at the two men buried up to their chins. He looked like a really weird tourist—a really pale tourist. He was wearing a pair of white khaki pants with a tacky-bad flamingo Hawaiian shirt and leather sandals. His normally wildly spikey hair was free of product and styled in an average Joe sort of do. He just looked all wrong. The shovel on his shoulder didn’t help. “Dinnae ken, mate. Seems to me that two Uruwashi buried alive is where they bloody belong…”
Tristan cringed. So Desmond finally found out what he was. But did he really understand though? Even Tristan didn’t understand. At his back, Mamoru made a little noise of warning.
“But, Master micht take me baws if I dinnae help yur lot.”
The big vamp was probably right. Yuki wasn’t exactly stable, but she didn’t seem that violent. Then again, she was a vampire, they were all violent in their own way.
“Dinnae bloody forget it neither,” Desmond said as he slung the shovel down. Tristan wondered if Lilith told him—however it was that she communicated now being mute—that he’d need a shovel or if there was another pythia involved. God, he was really starting to dislike the pythia as a general rule.
“Yew ken many pythia then, is it?” Desmond asked as he started to dig.
“Christ!” Tristan snapped as a spray of dirt hit him in the face. “Watch it.” While he enjoyed yelling at Desmond as a general rule, he did it to stall as he took a moment to not answer and force his mental bock into place. His mind was his territory and his alone. It was bad enough someone he liked treading in his head.
Desmond harrumphed and went around to dig out Mamoru first. “Asta taught yew tae block your thoughts then. How bloody guid fur yew.” The words were nice but the tone was anything but. There was a bit of a bite to his words and that made Tristan smile. “Where is the wee lass anyway?”
“Just get us out,” Tristan grumped. The last thing he needed was Desmond getting in the way. He had enough people—shinwa or otherwise—getting in his way lately.
“Aye, fightin’ again is it? Ah well, bound to happen when yew can’t even trust the person yur wit.”
“What do you know? You don’t know the first thing about me or my relationship with Ash.”
“Ken what yew is, mate. That’s ‘nough for us.”
“Oh yeah, and what is it you think I am?”
“Part vampire and killing your own kind—that makes yew a traitor. Worse than the fooking elves.” He spat.
“I don’t have my own kind.” It probably wasn’t the best answer, but Tristan was really starting to lose his overall patience, not that he had a lot to start with.
The earth shifted around him as the hole grew bigger and then Mamoru was climbing to his feet. “Thank you, friend,” the man said and offered his hand.
Desmond scowled at him a moment and then thrust his big hand out with a grunt and shook Mamoru’s. “Aye.”
“A little help?” Tristan grunted. His arms came free but he couldn’t pull himself up out of the hole, not with his shoulder out of joint. The wall of dirt separating him and Mamoru had crumbled and trapped his legs.
Mamoru went over and reached out a hand to help. Tristan started to reach for him but stopped, blinking up at him in shock. “Dude, you look like shit.”
The other man took a moment to digest and then burst into laughter. “You’re no pageant queen yourself.” His hair was in thick gray clumps, face dark with dirt, clothes spotted with dried mud. “Pretty sure you helped me look that this too. Thanks for that, by the way.”
“Oh my god,” Tristan grunted as he slapped his hand into Mamoru’s and the two worked together to free him. “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry? Next time I think you’re on fire, I’m just going to let your ass burn.”
Mamoru’s chuckle turned into a deep groan. “You’re really stuck. Desmond-sama?”
Sure, pour on the charm with the ridiculous honorific. The vampire gave him a dirty look but went over to help Tristan out of the hole. The movement of the two over him sent up a cloud of dust that made Tristan sneeze. He hated that that he needed help from the prick, hated that he even had to touch him, but he learned something from that little touch: Desmond was cold. He hadn’t fed today. Interesting.
“That be none yur business.”
With a groan, realizing he’d let his block down… again, Tristan was finally freed. Desmond snatched his hand away, stepping back to keep the others in sight. He didn’t trust Mamoru at all and just plain disliked Tristan but gravely underestimated the young American.
“Let me set that,” Mamoru said, pointing to Tristan’s shoulder.
He nodded fretfully at the thought of pain and went to kneel in front of Mamoru. The Japanese man pressed a leg to Tristan’s back and with his opposite hand shoved at the shoulder. Tristan cried out and then cursed when he could think again.
“Okay?” Mamoru asked, looking truly concerned. He knew it was useless to offer Tristan a potion from his bag, thankfully left behind by the angry vampire, so he didn’t.
Tristan looked up and scowled at the sneer Desmond was giving him and answered, “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.” He was sore as shit but he’d be able to use the arm again.
“Where to now?” Mamoru asked, giving up on the idea of being clean right then.
He needed to change his clothes and shower but it could wait. He was rather fond of Ash for their short companionship and felt he owed it to her and Tristan both to save her from Genoveva. And to kill Genoveva as quickly as possible before anything bad happened to other innocents. He turned in a tight circle and crouched as he remembered his dropped knife. Too bad he never got a chance to even use it on Netty, he was rather proud of his knife skills. And enjoyed it more than a little.
“Well, we’ve got to—” Tristan stopped short and turned to Desmond. “Why are you in here anyway? Are you following me?”
The big vampire crossed his arms over his chest. “Dinnae Master send yew a message, said it were urgent? Sent us to bring yew back to Japan, mate. Here.”
Tristan huffed but took the bit of crumpled paper that Desmond produced from his back pocket. When he looked at the paper, he huffed again. “I can’t read this shit.”
Mamoru who was standing close enough to see that it was written in Japanese, took it from him. “It says there was a murder. A man drowned.”
“Drowned? How the hell does that have anything to do with me?”
Desmond grinned. “No’ the first. It’s a serial killer, mate.”
“Again, how’s it my problem?” He only policed vampire, not human.
“Oh,” Mamoru muttered as he skimmed the rest of the article and then recited a part of it. “…authorities are further confused by the complete absence of blood from the victim…” He looked up. “Where are you currently living in Akita?”
Tristan stared at him a moment before deciding he didn’t really care if the guy knew—he was going to be Tristan’s mentor when this was all said and done anyway. He hoped.
“Sō ka… That’s about an hour and a half or so from where this happened.”
Desmond’s grin spread. “It be yur lot’s job to kill bad vampires, right… Uruwashi?”
Oh and suddenly he needs Tristan, the traitor? Jerk. “Yeah, well I’m busy here.” And already a day behind…
“Behind what?”
Dammit, again? He was actually getting worse at holding his block in place. Or rather, as the stress got to him, he lost focus and control. He was only good at it if it was on his own, calm terms. He sighed heavily and reluctantly answered, “Finding Ash.”
“What do you mean, finding Asta?”
“Someone…” He coughed. “Took her.”
Desmond narrowed his gaze on Tristan. “Who?”
“Some intersexed, bipolar freak named Genoveva?” It came out sounding like a question but really it was uncertainty stemming from the look on Desmond’s face, like someone just stabbed him in between the eyes.
The vampire’s bright green eyes widened and Mamoru cringed. “Genoveva? The fuck yew say—Yew, yew let that fooking monster take her?” There was a rush of movement and Tristan gasped when he realized Desmond had ahold of the collar of his shirt. Mamoru was suddenly at his side too, knife pressed against Desmond’s temple.
“Don’t do it,” Mamoru warned. He would just love to drive the knife in. He didn’t need blood to survive like the vampire did but that didn’t mean he didn’t like it any less.
“How could yew?” Desmond asked in a breathy whisper, expression full of pain.
That’s when Tristan saw it, the emotion hidden behind Desmond’s eyes. The big vampire was in love with her too. It all seemed so clear now.
“It’s not like I wanted this to happen,” Tristan snapped.
“Dae yew have any idea whut that monster’s dun tae her?”
“No. I don’t—”
Desmond’s expression shifted into a grimace. “Then let me show you,” he spit out through gnashed teeth and slapped a palm to Tristan’s face.
It hit him all at once, the barrage of emotions: pain, misery, fear… they weren’t his own, he knew that, but the way they made him feel still had him screaming out his anguish. Within seconds he felt the pain of dying over and over again—stabbed, bled out, limbs torn away, they all hurt as if they were fresh wounds. And the fear, oh god, the fear was enough to drown in and never find the surface ever again.
Ash always knew that she’d live through whatever was done to her, but the fear of living through the pain—she’d rather of died. And it wasn’t the pain. No, not really. Pain she could take, compartmentalize. It was the promise of better things that hurt the most. The mind games that broke her down and destroyed her.
“If you’re a good little witch maybe your beloved Master will see you tonight.”
And hate him, but need him.
But Malik never came.
“If you’re a good little witch maybe you’ll get a mouthful of fresh blood for good behavior.”
And hate that I love it.
But the meal never came.
“If you’re a good little witch maybe you’ll get to have an hour of quiet time.”
And loath every minute of feeling abandoned as much as I love the reprieve.
But the quiet never came.
“If you’re a good little witch maybe I’ll finally let you die.”
The fear of death comes with an overwhelming sense of relief.
But death never came.
And that’s all she wanted, to die. Dead ears didn’t have to listen to empty promises, lies of placation. Dead bodies didn’t have to fight the pain rent upon them. Dead souls didn’t have to feel. And that was her curse. No matter what was done to her, it was the lies she couldn’t ignore. To the core, Asta Moriakos was a good, kind, gentle person. She wasn’t what these others were making her to be, telling her she was. She was no killer. She was no murderer. But, by the Goddess, she was. They made her—no, showed her. Proved her wrong. She was a killer, she had to…
“Stop!” Tristan screamed, feeling his own body again. He hurt and it was more than his tingling flesh that ached.
Desmond grunted and the images and emotions hit him again. Faintly, Tristan felt himself fall to his knees, felt the ice cold palm of that creature holding his face but there was no fighting the despair.
It was Genoveva again, as it had been for the past three years. Every night that monster would find Asta curled up in her cell, pretending she were invisible, hoping that Genoveva would lose interest. And every night she was proven wrong. Abusive and dismissive words of her precious Goddess were cursed. Truths of her very nature spoken. Genoveva was her evangelist. No, more than that, her new God. Genoveva’s truths were spoken with such veracity how could anyone debate their validity? Still, it wasn’t in Ash to deny her birthrights, even after death. And it was Ash’s birthright to follow and cherish her Goddess. The only one who could have saved her soul.
“If you’re a good little witch maybe your Goddess will forgive you.”
“No,” Ash answered through cracked lips. “She won’t.” She said it with a certainty that made it fact despite the softness of her broken voice.
“But I already have.”
Ash opened her eyes to look up. She wanted to lift her head but the tendons Genoveva had severed in her neck and shoulder were still trying to repair themselves to something useful. “You…?”
“Yes. I am your Goddess. Prove to me your deference and I’ll save you.”
“You, you can’t save me. No one can.”
Genoveva was growing frustrated. “Sins can be forgiven, child.”
“When I was alive, perhaps. Now I’m… I can’t live in amiable equanimity, nor die in peace. I’m damned. You’ve done that to me. You and Malik… you damned my soul, for now and forever. There’s no going back, no forgiveness to be taken. I’m in utter… ruin.”
Genoveva smiled darkly. “My work is done then.”
“Please stop,” Tristan said through tear-stained lips. He’d been crying this whole time. The hand on his face slowly lifted away and when he opened his eyes he saw that Desmond was silently weeping too, trails of red lines staining his face.
“Don’t you see?” Desmond said with no accent, sounding so not like him. “It wasn’t M
alik who killed her, he only took her mortality and physically abused her. But Genoveva, she was different. She fucked with the lass’s head. Destroyed all her beliefs, destroyed the very core of Asta’s self. If one has no sense of self, then who are they?”
Tristan fell forward to his hands, letting his head hang down between them. He was trembling and hated that the others were seeing him like this, so vulnerable. “Empty,” he whispered.
“I think you finally understand.”
He looked up, licked the tears from his lips. “She can’t always feel like this, can she?”
“Dinnae ken, mate.” Desmond shot Mamoru, still holding the knife on him, a look and the man backed off. He stood slowly, dusting off his knees. “Ask her yur-bloody-self.”
“Tristan, are you okay?”
He looked up and saw Mamoru’s concerned expression. “You knew?”
The other man shut his eyes a moment and nodded.
“Oh god,” Tristan whispered, hanging his head again. He couldn’t believe all the pain she’d lived with, survived. Only just though. Could Desmond have used his powers to alter them and force false memories on Tristan? Sure, but somehow he knew that wasn’t the case. The memories were second hand but he felt Ash, her presence in them. That right there, while not Desmond’s truth, was the most honest the man had ever been with him.
“We have to get her back,” Desmond said again in that accent-less whisper. “Now.”
Tristan nodded, wobbling to his feet. When Mamoru grabbed his arm, he let the other man help him up. “I’ve got one thing to do first.”
“Whut? We can’t go fooking ‘round yur arse—oomph!” Desmond’s head snapped back with the impact of Tristan’s fist.
Tristan hissed, shaking out his hand. That actually hurt less than last time. “Now we can go.”
Desmond smiled. “Aye, where tae then?”
Mamoru shot Tristan a concerned look as he brushed by. The other man understood the weight of those memories, maybe even more so than Desmond because he was still emotionally human.
“Don’t have a fucking clue.” Tristan stopped and huffed when he got outside. There was only one car there, the Rover that was there when they arrived. “How did you get here?”
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