by Lily Luchesi
Angelica wrenched herself from his grasp and said, “If you ever lay a hand on me again, you will leave here with two less limbs than you entered with, mortal.” It seemed that she had inherited her father’s attitude.
Leander took out a sheathed sword and poked Quentin with it, to get him to wake up. When he did wake, he saw Angelica realizing why he had insisted on just killing him. He knew that Vincent and now his halfling daughter’s sympathy would come back to bite them, and he allowed them to see just what it was a demon left behind in a vessel’s abandoned body.
It spat insult after insult, some so severe and vulgar that Leander found it difficult to listen. Vincent looked at the shocked expression on his wife’s face, and the hurt one on his daughter’s, and asked why Leander hadn’t ended the miserable thing’s life yet.
Leander held out a hand calmly, silently asking for Vincent’s gun. Vincent handed it over to his old friend without a qualm. Despite their differences, he still trusted him. Leander stepped up to the dhampir and held the gun out to her.
“Why me?” she asked.
“Because you started this, little girl. You must finish it,” he said. “It will give you closure.” And possibly keep you in line when you see that taking a life isn’t all your mother has made it out to be.
She sighed, and looked at the device in her hand. She held the gun before her and said, “I am so sorry, my friend.” Not even flinching, she aimed at his heart and pulled the trigger, killing him instantly. His eyes widened and he did not even have time to register pain before the metal tore into his muscle, ending his life.
“I hope you understand now, Miss Cross, why I suggested murder first. It was to spare us all what just happened.” Leander gave her a last look before he held his hand out to Vincent.
Vincent took it and said, “Thank you for coming.”
“Don’t contact me again,” was Leander’s response before he stalked out, his coat trailing behind him like a cape. He had to get out of there, his mind reeling with everything that had just transpired in that basement.
Surprisingly, Angelica followed him, but it was not to thank him. “Leander, wait,” she called.
He turned, arching one thick brow at her. “What?” he asked rudely, not willing to be alone with this thing if he could help it.
“Mother said Father used to protect London from evil paranormal creatures. And I assume that you do, too,” she said.
Trying to look bored, Leander said, “Get to the point, Cross.”
“I want to help.”
He burst into unexpected of laughter. “You want to be a hunter? You’re part vampire, in case you’ve forgotten!”
“You and Father saved a lot of people tonight. I want to be able to do that as well. I want to keep humans safe from those of us who…aren’t as law abiding as Mother and I. Can you help me?”
Her face was soft, sweet and open. Leander found himself touched by her plight. Perhaps the prophecy was wrong. He’d have to check it again. It had been years since he had last read it. He gave her the little book he had gotten the exorcism from and said, “Here are some basics on hunting various creatures. Use this well and do not make me regret helping your family. I hope our paths never cross again.”
“Because you’d kill me, correct?” Angelica guessed.
“You’re as quick as your father,” he commented before exiting her life as quickly as he entered it. He needed to hurry to the library. He hoped he knew where to find that old legend.
Perhaps old was not the right word for it. One of his ancestors had come across this particular prophecy in Italy. The language was so old, it had taken a while to translate it. Leander thought that he remembered it, but maybe he was wrong. He hoped so, or else all of humanity could be in grave danger because Ben and Michael had not allowed him to go and kill both Veronica and Vincent when he had the chance!
When he got to the library, it was blissfully empty. Ben and Michael were apparently off hunting some vampire that had eluded them twenty years ago, and Leander was grateful that the thing had reappeared. He did not want to alarm them and he knew he must look a fright.
Most of his books were back in America, but the most important ones he had brought over with him on the ship. This one had been very important, as it told the history of the vampires. The first vampires had been considered the Queen and King. When they died, no vampire would come to claim the title, though there was a rumor that there was an heir somewhere. Veronica Delarue had been descended from that direct line. How direct, Leander did not know.
After scrambling about the place, he finally located the volume and opened it, rapidly scouring the pages till he found the article he was looking for. The prophecy was vague, but it was clear enough.
“When there comes a vampire descended from the original line, born on the side of the mortals, they shall rise up and return us to our rightful glory, but only after they have been made to their full potential.”
Full potential. Side of the mortals. Yes, he knew what that meant. He knew quite well. However, he could not, in good conscience, go and do what he needed to do. He was not strong enough. They could kill him as quick as look at him. He needed time, but mortals do not have the same time that vampires have.
He needed to buy more time. He remembered once when his father had used a werewolf for intelligence, and he had asked him why.
“Son, sometimes to combat truly evil ones, you need to lower your pride and get down on their level. It’s the only way to win against them.”
At the time, Leander had not understood what he meant. Now he knew. But how did one use the paranormal to extend his life? He refused to be turned into a vampire. There was working with the enemy, and then there was complete foolishness. Becoming a vampire meant losing all sense of self, and if that happened, the reason for his immortality would be moot.
It was over a century before Robert Johnson would make selling your soul something that normal people actually thought about in any capacity, and nearly two centuries before the CW Network would make selling your soul seem as simple as buying milk when Leander found a dirt crossroads right outside London.
When the woman with the black eyes appeared and asked him what his greatest wish was, he said, “I want to save humanity.”
She cocked her eyebrow. “By becoming a demon?”
“I never voiced that part,” Leander said, suddenly feeling quite in over his head.
She smiled. “I know. Explain yourself.”
“There is a chance, even in a hundred years or five hundred, that you, me, and everyone else could be killed. I want to stop that. Not only do I need immortality, but I also need power.”
She considered him for a moment. “I believe you. The fear radiates off of you like a sweet perfume. I can make a deal with you, but with one condition: I claim your soul now. Not in ten years. Not in a hundred. Now. You’re a hunter, which means that you can’t be trusted.”
Leander agreed without thinking twice.
***
Chicago, Illinois
Present Day
Fiona laughed. It was that laugh that made Leander want to throttle her sometimes. There was a difference between a strong, confident woman and a conceited bitch who thought she was better than everyone else. Angelica was the former. Fiona was the latter.
“You became a demon because of some vague, inane prophecy from the days of the Roman Empire? I thought you were more intelligent than that,” she commented.
Leander sat up, feeling the cooler air now that the sheet was off of him. Funny how Hell could be considered “cool” once you’ve lived there for nearly two centuries. “You’ve been practicing the same rituals for over six centuries. So what is the difference between your actively practicing Wicca and my believing that there is a major threat out there that could destroy us all?”
She tossed her hair and sniffed, offended. He hoped that she really could kill Angelica on the one night of the year where her powers had no limits. Were she to
fail again, Leander might have to retire Fiona…permanently. That is, if Angelica didn’t do it for him.
***
“Are we not going to talk about what happened back there?”
Danny and Angelica were in the Presidential Suite, waiting while the cleanup crew took care of the body in the other room.
“What’s there to talk about?” Angelica asked, taking off the long, grey tweed coat that went with the costume. Danny doubted that Watson ever got this kind of view from Sherlock as Angelica’s curves were ready to burst out of her black button-down shirt.
He scoffed. “Really? You were torturing that thing, and you were liking it!”
“Liking it?” Angelica cried. “You think I enjoyed that? It’s part of the job and the only way to deal with demons. They might like to negotiate when souls are on the line, but otherwise the only language they speak is violence. I did what I had to. Thanks to you, that got cut quite short. Usually that will go on for hours before they crack, if they ever do.” She turned to him, and he saw blood tears were in her eyes.
“I never liked this part of the job, Danny. Killing humans because of the possession; torturing demons who look like mortals. It’s hard. And even after a hundred and eighty years of doing it, it never gets any easier. So yeah, you can get pissy with me, and you can call me whatever you like: it still won’t hurt half as much as what I just had to do did.”
Danny reached for her, lightly grasping her cold hand in his. “Angie…”
“Don’t. Just don’t. Your apology isn’t necessary. Human perception can be clouded. I know from experience. For two centuries I had to suppress that side, and it was hard. So I can’t imagine what you were thinking as you watched that. Let’s just call it water under the bridge, okay?” She turned away, sitting in one of the plush armchairs. “We have bigger things to talk about than our emotions.”
“Like Fiona’s contract. She can kill with magic on one night of the year. So, what do we do about it? Was the demon right: does that mean she can kill you?” Danny asked, taking the other chair.
Angelica sighed. “If that is the case, there’s a chance that we might not be able to stop her. Not this time.”
“What about attacking her before All Souls Day? She’s a demon, so that means we can summon her,” he suggested.
Angelica shook her head. “No, not exactly. We don’t know how to summon her. The best I can do is summon Leander or a crossroads demon, and that would just be one big cluster. To summon a specific demon, you need a specific ritual, unique to that particular demon. I don’t know her ritual, and I can’t risk summoning a random demon and having to fight it, even if we trap it.”
“Shit.” Danny laid his head back on the cushions. “Is there any other way?”
“If there is, I don’t know it.” Angelica stood up, pacing before Danny. “We need a strategy. A way to attack her and dismantle her powers before she has a chance to strike. I have about four more hours till the sun rises. You get some rest, and I will see what I can come up with.”
Danny stood up, and he grabbed Angelica by the waist, pulling her to him. “Angie, for decades you have been alone. You’ve had to make plans and run the PID by yourself, except for when the old director helped out with the business side of it. Now it’s not like it used to be. You’re not alone. Despite the fact that I love you and want to help, I am literally trained to do this. I enjoy it. I wanted to fight evil since I was a little boy. I am here with you, and I will help you as much as I can. As long as I’m alive, I will help carry your burdens, whether you need the help or not. You deserve a break.”
Angelica looked down, placing her hand on his heart. He wondered if it felt different to a full vampire that it would had a mortal touched his heart.
“Danny, you’re right: I don’t need your help. I have always been alone, despite small bits of assistance here and there. I built the PID from the ground up. I made it a worldwide enterprise. And I did all of that on my own.”
Danny felt his heart drop. It sounded to him as if she was going to tell him to fuck off and leave her alone.
“I don’t really know how to work with someone. However, I will accept your help, if only because I like having you around. And yes, you are good at what you do. You always were.” She smiled up at him, caressing his bearded face. Electricity sparked between them, and he knew she felt it as she leaned up and pressed her lips to his.
“Now,” she said with a wicked smile, “what do you say we take a short break and make ‘Johnlock’ canon?”
Danny laughed. “What?” Wasn’t John Locke an old philosopher? Who put him in a cannon?
She moved away and swatted him on the ass. “Our costumes. Oh, never mind. That just means that you need to get your ass in bed— now.”
***
Angelica had let Danny sleep after she had thoroughly exhausted him. He needed his rest, and she could leave him her ideas for a plan and he could go over them while she slept. She considered his words to her, that she wasn’t alone anymore. She was so used to being alone that putting her faith into another person frightened her. It had been hard enough realizing that she didn’t want to spend a moment without him. To have him be more active in the company— on her level —and to rely on him as not just a hunter, but a strategist was something she was finding it hard to grasp.
She had always been, excuse the expression, a lone wolf. Like most vampires, she preferred being alone. She never understood why some of them formed nests. She had learned the hard way that having attachments was a disadvantage in this life. She had lost Jonathan, and had never become truly close with anyone till he returned.
She glanced over at where her costume had been tossed and smiled. Like Sherlock letting John in, she supposed she could manage to rely on just one person.
Turning her mind back to the matter at hand, she knew that speed was the main factor in killing Fiona before she had a chance to test her powers. They had to be quick with their attack, or else they ran the risk of her going on a killing spree. Angelica prayed that Fiona wouldn’t start her assault while she was sleeping in the daytime. The good thing about the beginning of November was that it was darker out than usual, which meant that she had more time to be awake and plotting. She had one day to figure out the best plan of attack.
Looking out at the sky that was just beginning to lighten, she prayed: God, please, if You can still hear me, just promise me You will spare Danny this time. If one of us has to die, let it be me.
***
“This is a terrible plan.”
Angelica rolled her eyes at Danny’s obvious statement. “It is the best any of us can come up with on such short notice, including you.”
He leaned back in the chair at the PID office and said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
Angelica’s plan was simple, as they did not have the time to rehearse anything complicated. Before Fiona appeared, there was a good chance that Brighton’s infernal energy detector would pick up on the gathering bad vibes. That would give Angelica just enough time to rush over there with Danny at vampire speed. With luck, they’d get there at the exact same moment she did, surprising her. If luck was better than good, they’d get there even ten seconds before her.
Angelica hoped for the latter. Even ten seconds more to savor finally killing Fiona would be sufficient for her. Since turning, she had, as mentioned, seen an increase in her bloodlust and murderous desires. Since the day before Halloween, those desires finally had a place to be centered and (hopefully) relieved.
While she knew she might need to make this a quick kill, she fervently hoped that she could drag this out. On normal occasions, torture had no appeal to her. When it came to the evil witch who had killed Jonathan Price, had gotten her friend Frederic Dominic killed, and had been trying to kill her for over a century, she would revel in the screams and pleas as she peeled her skin off layer by layer.
“It’s awful, but I’ve had to execute worse plans when I was with the CPD,” Danny said.
“We just need to not let ourselves get distracted. Evil such as her should not be allowed to live as long as she has. It’s time she finally died.”
Angelica smiled. There was that fire she knew he possessed! It was quite sexy, and she was reminded of their first meeting, in that alley all those years ago. Funny how both times they “met”, it had been in a dirty Chicago alleyway. Being reborn with no knowledge of his hunter past had made him a bit more placid than he had once been, but more and more she had seen that flash like white lightning spark in his eyes.
“Then let’s prepare.”
She led Danny down into the armory, where Bart was still holding his position as the head of security.
“Are you finally going to rip that bitch a new one?” he asked when they entered.
“Hello to you, too.” Angelica was relieved to see that he was much more comfortable with her in her new state than he was after she had been newly turned. “And yes, Fiona is finally going to get what she deserves…tenfold.”
“So, there is a special way to kill witches?” Danny asked. Angelica assumed he felt the murderous tension in the room and wanted to alleviate it.
“Yes. Two ways, actually, but one isn’t exactly a thing I have already attempted. That would be burning her alive with holy fire. There’s a chance she could escape it once again, and if I am being totally honest, it’s a pretty horrifying scene. I’ve done it once, and once was enough.
“The second way is five iron bullets. You can group them any way you want, but they have to be in both the head and the heart, or else it won’t work. That will turn her magic off permanently. Her being a demon, I’m not sure if it will make her go into a coma, but that is what usually happens. Then you have to cut out the heart and bury it, and then burn the body separately. After that, you have to scatter the ashes in the wind. It’s a witch thing: giving her back to Nature and the Goddess she believed in. So that she can’t ever come back to life.”
“Since she’s a demon, will that still work?” Danny asked.
Angelica nodded. “Same body. Same soul.” She walked over to the gun rack and gout four guns down. She gave two to Danny. “One of the fastest shooting modern guns: Heckler and Koch P7. They stopped making this one in 2008, but I made sure to get a bunch from the manufacturer. Not exactly traditional FBI issue, but then again, none of this stuff is.” She smirked. “They only have an eight-round magazine in this particular model, hence the reason for two guns each. Plus, two extra magazines in case you need to reload. With thirty-two bullets between us, hopefully no one needs to reload. If we do, we might as well surrender to her then and there.”
