The Vapor

by Nathan Parks

  This seductress was Queen to her followers, and to her Clan she was the goddess; but to this figure standing before her, she was a necessity, an alliance that had its perks . . . but mostly a respectful agreement.

  She walked forward with the confidence of a viper. She drew in close to him, her lips against his ear, her hot breath sending tingles down his spine. “Be wise and gentle with your words, My Dear, for truly you have more to lose in this roughly drawn alliance of ours. Don’t forget I am the one already exiled. The stories I could share with the members of the Arch Council . . .” She paused and pulled back. She looked him directly in the eyes. “Phew . . . I believe I may be blushing.”

  He smiled. She was good . . . and always had been. Before the War of the Serpents they had been more than just Council members, but that had all changed for a while. Today, it wasn’t about pleasure but business. A new direction had to be laid out or all the planning and manipulating would have been in vain . . . or as Hecate liked to say, “In vein.”

  “It is such stories that bring me here tonight.”

  She stepped back and tilted her head to the side. She gazed upon him. He was still strong and handsome to her, but he would always be a game piece on the board of the universe to her. “Oh, and which stories would that be?”

  “You pick.”

  “Azrael, do I need to remind you what happens when I feel toyed with and feel as if someone is trying to push my buttons?”

  “No, but I also need to remind you that I am no longer your naive lover; but instead, I have gained a lot more wisdom since you last lay in my arms. Trust me, my bitterness towards your deceit, tricks, and manipulation runs deep.”

  “Yet, here you are.”

  “Simply for business, Hecate, simply business. I believe we are at a position within time and space to make our move . . . to put the nail in the coffin of everything that we attempted to do during the War of the Serpents. I also believe that the window of opportunity is very small. If you aren’t willing to listen to what I have to say, I can always go to Mantus.”

  Her face changed, and all allusion of seduction and pleasure vanished. She became cold and rigid. “I said don’t toy with me or play me. I have no belief whatsoever that you would appear before Mantus. If you did, it would be the last meeting you ever had; and you know as well as I do that your existence would become merely a speck within any knowledge.”

  She turned away from him with little flare. “Let’s go into the study,” she said as she motioned to a door behind them, “before I get weary of this meeting and send you to my beloved husband myself.”

  Chapter Three

  Azrael smiled; he had played her right into his hands. He knew that her “beloved husband” wanted just as much to do with her as Mantus wanted to do with him. He followed her.

  The study was a blend of comfort and ancient delight. There were walls lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves filled with artifacts from the ages that would make an archaeologist drool and a large desk with high-back chairs behind and in front.

  Hecate walked around the back of the desk and placed her hands on the back of the oversized chair. “Azrael, so, what are you wanting to tell me? I will give you about ten minutes to keep my interest. After that, if I am bored, you will leave; and I will go back to my planned evening.”

  She walked over and stood by the lit fireplace. The glow of the flames danced upon her skin and dress. Curled up on the rug was a Demon Dog. These protectors of the Fallen were the source of legends and dark tales. Mortal man told stories of men morphing into wolf-like creatures within the reflection of a full moon. Legend always had a weird way of mishandling truth; the truth was that once a mortal chose to surrender to the status of a Demon Dog, rarely would he ever be seen in human form again, instead staying true to the form of a vicious guard dog.

  This particular Demon Dog was especially rare. In a time long ago, this protector had been born with a deformity. Human twins in the womb of their mother, a deformity had joined them. They had been born with two distinct heads but shared one body.

  Hecate had discovered the brothers in a gypsy show somewhere in the heart of Europe. Stidoch and Seirbeubar would have been a formidable team separately, but their deformity would eternally bind them as one: two vicious minds joined together by one body.

  Hecate had seduced the brothers; and they had sworn allegiance to the House of Hecate, soon making the rare choice to keep their form as a Demon Dog. They had transformed one last time; and ever since, they had kept their canine form. The fear that most had for Hecate’s pet was justifiable. Now as one unit with two canine heads, they were her ever-constant protector. Cerberus had taken the lives of too many would-be assassins for his master.

  “Azrael, I am not going to keep waiting,” she stated impatiently as she watched him staring intently at Cerberus.

  He smirked as he helped himself to her liquor tray. “You have spent the last five years attempting to manipulate different power structures within the different Clans, and each time you have failed. We both know that your biggest weapon and tool to success is still splintered with a huge portion trapped away within the dark confines of Mantus’ Abyss.”

  Her eyes flared, and he knew that he had just earned more than ten minutes. “We both know what it would mean for your House if Legion was brought back.”

  “You are mistaken with your assumption, though,” she leered.

  “What assumption is that?”

  “That I need him in order to rise to power over all the Houses.”

  “Am I? Is that why you are still struggling to rise to the pinnacle? Look at you, Hecate! The Houses have been in disarray for the last five years . . . and even before that, they were only loosely bound!”

  He walked over to her but stopped when he received a growl from the portion of Cerberus that was awake. “Hecate, we are at the perfect time to finally make our move!

  Hell, most of the Clans are in total meltdown; many of the Houses have no real organization to them. Familiars are following the idea of being part of a Clan but have sworn no true allegiance to any particular House!"

  “This means nothing!”

  “You are once again wrong! It means everything! If we could unite the Clans behind one House, then the Familiars will identify the strength and power and align themselves with the reigning House. If that happens, then there would be no stopping the House of Hecate! You could finally obtain the seat of Morning Star and reap the benefits and power from the rest of the Houses kneeling before the House of Hecate!”

  She gazed into the flames of the fire and held silent as she dwelt upon what he was saying. During the War of the Serpents and before the exile, she had come so close to overthrowing everything and reigning as Queen of the Eternals. So close . . . but then in a blink, everything had crumbled before her like a castle built upon shifting sand. She had not only lost what she had thought would be hers, but all her manipulation had been exposed. Her husband had walked away; her lovers had faded into the shadows. She would eventually lose her only offspring.

  She had raged with anger. Her wrath was felt by not only her newly formed House but also by the Alliance, Mortals, and even the Grigori. She had played a key role in their demise. Of course, she had no idea that it would be a Grigori that would eventually get revenge and banish her son.

  “What card do you have on the table, Azrael? Not only that, but how would you propose such a thing? You have nothing to offer me but your lofty words and schemes. Where is the power behind your words?”

  “You want me to lay all my cards on the table at once, is that it?” he asked. “Come on, Hecate, you know I am not going to roll over like that.”

  “Fine,” she stated with firmness. “Then you can find your way back to the vehicle that brought you here. I don’t have time for this.” She walked toward the door of the study. “Cerebus, let’s go.”

  The Demon Dog stood up and began to follow his mistress. One head stayed focused on Hecate, but th
e other zeroed in on his master’s guest, snarling.

  “Azrael, if you care to share more than just words, then please come back; and I may give you another few minutes of my precious time. However, until then, I would suggest you stay far from any of the Clans. You, Dear, whereas you may have once been close to me, are far from falling upon my friends list now. Don’t you believe for one moment that I do not believe you are focused on your own goals, greed for power, or lofty dreams.

  “I also want you to know this . . .” She turned and looked at him. Her eyes were far from seductive but instead, those of a warrior, a leader, and full of bloodlust. “I never have, nor ever will, NEED you! I have used you in the past, and I am the master of manipulation. Do not manipulate the manipulator.”

  “Hecate, you will regret this.”

  She laughed. “I only regret that within the exiled form of my son there is a portion that comes from you. Fortunately for all, that is a very small portion.” With nothing more to say, she exited, followed by her protector.

  Azrael stood there quietly. For a brief moment, his face was expressionless, but then slowly a large smile broke across his face. This had gone exactly how he had expected. He knew, no matter the bravado she spoke, he had danced her right into his arms. She was teasing the hook, and soon she would bite.

  Time to return home. He had been gone for too long already. He exited the manor and stopped to take in the evening scenery. He did enjoy the fresh air from where he came, but there was also something about the dark nights here within the world of mankind.

  There was a bright moon shining above, and the stars of the galaxy where sprayed across a canvas of inky darkness. The smell of the forest touched his nostrils, and he took in a deep breath.

  “So sad that all of this has been wasted upon a creation that has no real understanding of time and space . . . a creation that has no inkling of the truth. These poor creatures can’t fathom the depth of the lies and cover ups they have lived, all the while having the audacity to believe that their version of life is the truth and that no one can understand it better than them!” he thought to himself.

  The driver opened the back door to the black sedan in which he had ridden to the House of Hecate. “Profitable meeting, Sir?”

  “It was profitable enough,” Azrael chuckled. He sat down and adjusted the tailored suit he was wearing. “I also believe it was a deeper investment into more profit in the future.”

  “Very good, Sir.”

  The vehicle sped into the night as Hecate watched the taillights disappear down the long lane that led up to her estate. She reached for a cell phone that was on the small table to her right. She picked it up and hit one of the speed dial buttons. “It’s me. I need to speak to Mantus.”

  The voice on the other line stated something, and she felt her body tense. “I understand that he is busy, but tell him it is urgent. I need to meet with him . . . and better sooner than later.”

  The individual on the other end responded, and she simply hung up. She hated that Azrael had her wondering if she should have listened to more. What was he planning?

  ◆◆◆

  The sun was creeping up over the horizon as Zarius stood in the doorway with a cup of coffee in his hand. He had everything prepared but just wasn’t ready to make the final step out the door. So, he stood in the doorway, allowing the aroma of the fresh brew to tease his senses.

  “I didn’t think you would be here when I woke up,” his wife stated as she walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. She rested her head against his strong muscular back and sighed deeply.

  “Really? I don’t believe that for one second,” he grinned. “You know good and well I would not have left without saying goodbye and giving you a long kiss.”

  “Well, Mister, you better get busy with that long kiss, because you have to get going sometime!”

  He turned in her embrace and held her face in his hands. He looked deeply at her and then bent down and kissed her. Her lips always felt perfect against his. He soaked in the moment and held her close. “Make sure you keep your phone charged and near you. I will call when I can.”

  “I know, Zee. I know.”

  He grabbed a backpack that he had placed just outside the door and threw it over one shoulder. “I should be in Eden in a couple of days,” he said as he walked over to his bike. “After that, I can’t promise what will happen.”

  “I know,” she stated again. “We will take it with the wind. That is how we always have done.”

  She stood strong and determined. She would not allow him to see her breaking inside. She knew he had to do what he had to do. “By the way, I received an email this morning from Gerault.”

  “Gerault?”

  “The priest with whom I have worked before on a few archaeology sites.”

  “Oh, yeah, I remember you talking about him before.”

  “He has something he wants me to check out. He has been working on translating some manuscripts at the church where he has been working. He said that he needs a second set of eyes on something . . . stated if what he is translating is correct, it would be earth-shattering.”

  “So, you’re headed to Europe?”

  “We could do it remotely, but since you will be gone for a bit, I thought this would give me a chance to keep my mind occupied.” She paused. “. . . And IT IS Europe!”

  He smiled and nodded, “Yes, I know.”

  He smiled one last smile, and then the motorcycle roared to life as he looked back at her and blew her a kiss. With that, he was off. She watched him until all she could see was the cloud of dust that his motorcycle was kicking up, and she walked back in.

  Her heart was heavy. Almost from the moment they met, they had been by each other’s side. This moment of separation felt as if eternity had begun already. The further he drove toward the horizon, the more separated from him she felt.

  She placed a kettle of water on the stove and turned the knob. The igniter clicked once, gas sparked, and a flame roared up, kissing the bottom of the dark kettle. She reached up to one of the shelves that held several glass jars full of different tea blends and pulled down her favorite: orange zest with mint. She measured it out and then placed it in her tea strainer, waiting for the water to heat.

  She forced her mind to focus on the email that Gerault had sent her. She and the old priest had spent many years together—he as a mentor and she as a young student—soaking in his passion for ancient text and artifacts. He had expressed his disappointment when she had chosen to leave the field and settle down with Zarius, calling it a waste of a future expert within the field of archeology. He, of course, had no way of knowing all that a life with Zarius had to offer. If he only knew who and what her husband was, he would have just shaken that already-grayed head of his and sat down, loudly stating, “Well, I never . . ..”

  She completed her cup of tea and walked over to the rustic table that acted as her desk. She sat down, opened the email again, and leaned back, smelling the aroma of the steeping tea leaves and studying some of the photos that Gerault had sent her.

  There were several photos of old manuscripts that appeared to be written in a language of which she was not familiar but with sporadic splashes of Sumerian, Aramaic, and some Roman and Greek. For most, including herself, she would have dated each of these within different ages, as well as studied them each separately: different cultures, different times, different languages. The uniqueness and possible link lay in the fact that each manuscript page within the photos had similar contextual sketches. It appeared, with just rough translation, that many spoke of a similar event.

  “Of course, that is not unusual,” she stated to herself. “Even what would be considered biblical stories can be found throughout different time periods and ancient text. So, why these, Gerault? What are you not telling me?”

  She scanned over his email again, and it seemed just as vague as the first time she read it. She opened another tab on her browser and started wor
king on finding a cheap flight to Heiligenblut. Soon she had a flight booked, and she felt butterflies in her stomach. She may not actually be out in the field again, but to be able to once again reconnect with the past while preserving it for the future would be refreshing.

  ◆◆◆

  His fingers moved across the old parchment as his dimming eyes squinted at the message that was scrawled there. Years of candlelight vigil had forced his eyes to almost rest in eternal darkness, but the man was determined to not let it stop him from his life’s quest. Time had taken the elasticity from his skin and had left it paper thin. His bones, many times, decided they would not move; but his will was still there, strong and enduring.

  His surroundings had become his “body.” They were as comfortable and familiar to him as the brown robes that had been his coverings now for more years than not. The masonry, though, had begun to crumble with age, ironically mimicking his mortality. Just outside of the flicker of the candles, he knew there was a rat or two; but the cat, Cornelius, would keep them from venturing too far out.

  Bookshelves lined two of the four walls; and stacks of different parchments, scrolls, and antiquities lay in different states of disarray, creating almost an ancient catacomb of sorts. He had never been an organizer, but he knew where everything was in the basement of the small gothic church.

  He had not really inherited anything organized, either. In fact, most of the things down here had been stored away and had never really been studied. Now in his mid-80s, he had been examining such things for years; these manuscripts had become his addiction. He never could have imagined, as a young priest, what historical artifacts would be left to him and to his protection or the amount that he would acquire himself, working numerous digs over his long life. No one could have imagined, either, the information that he had come to know and what it would do to him. It had not just become his addiction, but it also had begun to spiritually challenge everything he had spent his younger years learning and in which he had been trained. Everything he had kept in journals would become priceless to any who would follow in his footsteps. It brought ages of cryptic writings, hidden secrets, and immortal visions to rest in one place . . . well, several places if you considered each journal a different place rather than a continuation of the one before it.