by Lexi C. Foss
Crispin lunged forward, barely catching the baby before he hit the ground. Crispin did his best to soothe the child as he walked toward the small group of young children huddled in the corner watching him, some of them sobbing, some of them simply watching with wide eyes as he approached. He held the child out to the oldest boy who seemed to be about eight or nine years of age. “Take the baby, he is unharmed.”
The boy hesitated, but darted forward and grabbed the baby before slipping back into his spot in front of the other children. “You need to keep those windows closed at night,” Crispin told them, indicating the huge, old windows that ran almost to the top of the vaulted ceilings in the old orphanage. “In the day, they’re fine, but at night, you need to close them. You need to place a cross in each window, and splash some holy water across the window sill of each. Do you understand?” Crispin asked.
The boy nodded vigorously.
“It will keep my kind out. They will go where there are no wards in place, rather than back here,” Crispin explained.
The boy nodded again.
Crispin walked over to the first of four windows and pulled it down, closing it tightly. He did the same with the remaining three windows, then turned facing the boy who’d ventured a little closer to him.
“I can’t help you with the holy water, but I can send crosses to the orphanage with instructions they are to be displayed in the windows here in your dormitory at night. Tonight, you should be safe. But the crosses will be delivered tomorrow, you will know what to do with them, won’t you?” Crispin asked.
“Yes, sir,” the boy answered on a whisper.
There were footsteps outside the door before a portly nun rushed into the room, coming to a stop as she crossed herself and began mumbling her prayers when she saw Crispin standing there.
“Stop your chattering, woman. I am no threat to these children or you.”
The nun’s chattering as she rushed her prayers actually got louder.
“Do you hear me, woman? Hush!” Crispin said so loud he almost shouted.
The nun startled into silence as she watched him.
“These children need more protection than you’ve afforded them. Each of these windows needs a cross in it leaned up against the glass, holy water sprinkled on the windowsills.”
“There are not enough crosses,” the woman responded. “We keep those we have in the rectory.”
“There will be a delivery tomorrow. There will be a cross in every window here every evening and night. You will see to the holy water on the window sills.”
The woman didn’t seem to understand, or she resented being commanded by what she considered a devil.
“I said, ‘Do you understand?’” Crispin repeated, with more force to his words.
“Yes!” the nun responded with alarm in her voice.
“I will check back. If you’ve not taken precautions, I will come for you. Do you understand? Keep these innocents safe from my kind,” Crispin ordered.
The nun nodded, sidling across the room and taking up a position in front of the children.
“Very good,” Crispin said softly. He made eye contact with the boy still standing only a few feet away from him, still holding the quieted baby in his arms. He inclined his head to the boy one time, then closed his eyes and faded away, his intent to try to track Alastair wherever he’d gone to this time. One slaughter averted, countless others to stop, he didn’t fear Alastair as most did, as most should. Instead he’d come to fear the results of what Alastair could do. He had a unique connection to Alastair which made it possible for him to track Alastair.
Alastair had made Crispin, and it had been centuries since Crispin had anything left to lose. He’d become so frustrated at trying to curtail Alastair, that he’d almost decided to just kill him. The only problem with that was that if the master, the creator was killed, all those he’d created died as well, or at least in theory that was what happened. And Crispin was beginning to think maybe that was more of a blessing than a problem.
The double French doors marking the entrance to E.V.I.E.’s New Orleans location opened, causing the delicate bell mounted above them to jingle pleasantly.
The receptionist looked up and immediately plastered a smile on her face. “Good morning. Welcome to E.V.I.E. How may I help you?”
“Good Morning,” Solange said, looking around the front office at all the standard business decor decorating the walls. “I’d like to speak with Gillian Laurant, if I may.”
“I’m sorry, she only sees those with appointments. If you'd like to leave your name, we will be in touch to set up an appointment later this week.”
Solange regarded the young woman just doing her job, and decided that maybe she shouldn’t have come here anyway. “You know what? Never mind. I shouldn’t have come anyway. Thank you.” Solange turned away and only got two steps toward the front doors when she heard Gillian’s voice call out behind her.
“Solange! How wonderful of you to come by!”
Solange stopped walking and stood there for a few moments before slowly turning around to face Gillian. “Hello, Gillian.”
“Why are you leaving? You just got here,” Gillian said.
“Thought better of my decision,” Solange said truthfully.
Gillian nodded. “What part of your decision brought you here in the first place?”
“Intel,” Solange answered without hesitation.
“Are you offering intel?”
“No. I need intel. I need to know where to start,” Solange explained.
“And I need a new operative.”
“I’m not ready to answer to anyone but myself,” Solange said honestly.
“Fair enough. But are you ready to find yourself in a situation that you wish you had someone to call on, and not have anyone? We can offer you support in more ways than just intel.”
“I know that.”
“Backup is not just a word, Solange. It’s a very smart thing to have access to in any line of work, especially ours.”
Solange nodded.
They stood there, Solange not sure exactly how far she wanted to take this, and Gillian wanting desperately to bring her into their fold, but smart enough not to push too hard.
“Why don’t you come in my office, we’ll talk about things. No strings at all, you decide if you don’t want it, and if that’s your choice — you walk away.”
Solange lifted her eyes to Gillian's, trying to decide if she wanted to do even that much. “I have trust issues,” Solange confided with a hard edge to her voice.
“Good. It’ll keep you on your toes.”
Gillian saw a ghost of a smile pass over Solange’s face. Then she played her trump card. “No matter your decision, when you leave here today, I’ll give you what you’re looking for.”
“You know where he is?” Solange asked, taking a step toward Gillian.
Gillian shrugged one shoulder. “We know where we think he is from the description the children gave us. We’re not a hundred percent sure, but, we believe it was him.”
Solange stood straight, put her shoulders back. “Lead on. Where’s your office?” she asked.
Three Months Later
Crispin leaned against the corner of the building in one of the poorest sections of London. He’d followed the trail of bodies and bloodshed across two continents, but had yet to actually set eyes on Alastair again. Every time Crispin came upon the latest site of carnage and senseless killing left behind by the vampire that created him, he died a little more inside. It was not necessary. And it could have been prevented, had Crispin taken the opportunity and killed his creator the last time he’d seen the male. But because of the children that would have borne witness to the battle, and possibly have become casualties themselves, instead of attacking, he’d simply warned Alastair off.
Crispin bit the inside of his mouth to prevent himself from screaming his frustration and self-targeted anger. He tasted the metallic tang of blood as it wetted his tongue, and
his conscience made itself known. ‘Maybe tonight, maybe this time I’ll have another chance’, he thought to himself.
He glanced toward the dingy basement flat that reeked of Alastair and showed signs of him having hidden away there recently. He tilted his head to the side, confusion crossing his features as he detected movement in the dark, dusty, deserted place. He knew for a fact Alastair wasn’t there. He’d already searched the flat himself and could sense his maker when this close. So who then was inside the flat now?
8
Solange flicked the tip of her finger in the general direction of the locked basement door. She heard the click of the doorknob as it immediately obeyed her thought to allow her entrance. She stepped inside, but didn’t reach for the light switch on the wall, nor the pull-string hanging from the bare bulb she could see in the middle of the room. She didn’t need to. Her unique heritage gave her the gift of perfectly clear vision in the darkness.
She lifted her chin, scented the air and wrinkled her nose at the odor that greeted her. It was a rancid smell, like that of a wild animal — unclean, maybe ill, and definitely reminiscent of a pet having rolled in something dead. The scent of decay hung heavily in the air of this dark, musty flat. Silently, she placed one foot in front of the other, calling on all her training and her gifts, as she moved though the cluttered one room flat, looking for any confirmation of who its most recent occupant was, and where he may be now.
Crispin stood undetected just outside the door of the flat he’d been watching most of the evening, quietly watching a young woman methodically search through all she found. She’d not flinched when she lifted the filthy blankets from the floor and found them stiff and stained with old blood. She’d not even caught her breath in surprise when she’d nudged more discarded debris out of her way with her boot and come across a dead rat, being feasted on by other rats. She’d merely hissed at them, and they all scattered. Crispin smiled to himself at her reaction.
He watched mesmerized as with every second he became more fascinated with the female he could at this point only see in silhouette from the moonlight through the windows, the tops of which barely reached street level letting in only a sliver of natural light. But that silhouette was stunning. She was tall, slender, yet muscular — athletic even. She had dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail high on her head. She was dressed in black jeans and black combat boots. Her blouse was a long-sleeved black Henley, and she had the sleeves shoved partially to her elbows. She obviously knew what she was doing, she was well-trained and methodical, not taking for granted anything she saw and examining each thing she came across for information.
When she turned toward Crispin, his breath caught. Her skin was pale and creamy, her cheekbones high and sharp in her heart shaped face. Long, dark lashes framed eyes he couldn’t quite see because she kept her eyes downcast, looking through all the things Alastair had left behind. Her lips were full and pouty even when pressed into a line as she concentrated on the clues she was looking for. She was stunning.
She lifted a discarded cushion from the top of a stack of accumulated junk and peered inside. She paused, then reached toward the stack and pushed a dirty towel from the heap, tilting her head to the side to better see the item she’d just found. As she lifted the very old, very yellowed newspaper from the stack of refuse, she spoke. “I know you’re there. I knew the moment you arrived. You have two choices — leave, or enter and have your ass handed to you.” With her challenge issued, she raised her eyes to Crispin’s and stared him down.
Crispin had been lost in admiring the female and was taken off guard by her words. He watched her, watching him, and lifted an eyebrow while trying to hide a ghost of a smile. “Good evening to you as well.”
The female just stared dispassionately at Crispin.
“I know you can speak. I heard you,” Crispin said. “Will you not return my greeting?”
“Are you leaving? Or am I making you wish you’d left?” she asked tersely.
Crispin laughed. Not at her, but because her threat was so easily delivered, and she had no idea what he was, how much power he truly possessed. Then his laugh died down when he realized that if she did know, she’d not be standing here talking to him. She’d have run screaming from his presence. And why, after all these centuries the thought of this single female running from him, fearing him, made him sad — he had no idea.
“I don’t wish to battle with you, female — I have no desire to harm you.”
“Then go,” she demanded.
Crispin stood admiring her, not just her physical appearance, but her heart, her courage, her self-confidence. “What is your name? Who are you?” he asked. Then he thought perhaps if he offered his own identity, she may not see him as foe. “I am Crispin,” he added, hoping to put her at ease at least a little bit.
She shook her head as she rolled up the newspaper she’d found and stuffed it into the back waistband of her jeans, pulling her shirt down over it. “Unbelievable,” she muttered.
“What is unbelievable?” Crispin asked.
“Men… they are all the same. Even the vampires hit on you these days,” she answered.
Crispin’s mouth fell open, she knew him to be a vampire, and he thought he’d hidden so well. He straightened up from leaning against the door frame, prepared to ask her again who exactly she was and why she thought him a vampire. But he didn’t get a chance to.
The moment he straightened as though he intended to step into the room, Solange flicked the fingers of her right hand in his direction. He was pushed back a few steps, having to put his arms out to keep his balance, and the door slammed in his face all at the same time.
“Bye, Crispy,” he heard her voice clearly through the door.
It had only been a few seconds since the door had slammed. Crispin snarled and stalked to the door, throwing it open and stepping into the room. “It’s Crispin!” he insisted. He looked around the room, but the female was gone. She was nowhere to be seen. Crispin looked over at the windows, even walking over to them to be sure they were still closed, and sure enough, they were.
“Where the blazes did she go?” he asked aloud. He looked around himself. The room was empty, just as though she’d never been there. And if the tattoo he’d just barely glimpsed peeking at him from her wrist as she slammed the door on him was what he thought it was, that was exactly what she’d been trained to do. Slip in, do what you need to, slip out, leave no trace.
Crispin left the flat, pulling the door closed behind himself and looking around the hallway and dimly lit stairs at the end of it that led up to the street level flats. She wasn’t here either, she’d truly just vanished before his eyes. Well, not before his eyes, but immediately after she’d slammed the door in his face — from across the room, without touching it. There was a lot more to this female than he’d already discerned. From the tattoo he’d partially glimpsed, he knew one thing — she was a slayer — a vampire slayer. Sworn by oath to eradicate his kind, all of his kind, from the face of the earth. But from the other little tricks he’d witnessed, she was much more than that. His curiosity was piqued. “Just who the hell is she?” he asked the empty hallway.
Crispin began his walk up the stairs and out of the building, with a slight smile on his face. He had no doubt he’d soon know. For the first time in a very long time, he found he’d developed an interest in something other than the utter destruction of his maker. He wanted to know, no that wasn’t right, he needed to know, all there was to know about the slayer he’d met tonight. And he’d find out. No matter where he had to go, he’d find out. The heart he’d forgotten he’d had, had just come back to life, and it would accept no less. The little slayer was now on his radar.
“It is frustrating, I know that. But this clearly proves that he was there at one point,” Gillian said, looking down at the old, yellowed newspaper on her desk.
“I just can’t imagine how he got a newspaper with my mother’s obituary in it,” Solange said softly.
/> “Some part of him must have focused on her. Perhaps she really was his mate, but regardless, he’s kept it all this time, apparently taking it with him each time he moved from place to place.”
“I could still smell him! He was just right there! It’s the third time I’ve just barely missed him,” Solange complained. “I feel like I’ve achieved nothing.”
“Look at everything else you have done. You’ve taken out two others who would have hurt innocents. You’ve been with us less than three months, Solange, and have accomplished so much more than I thought you would in such a short period of time.”
Solange let herself plop down in the chair in front of Gillian's desk. “I know. I’m just anxious for my time to come. I’ve trained my whole life.”
“It will come,” Gillian promised.
Solange looked down at her wrist, ran her thumb across the black tattoo she’d had inked there. It was the symbol of the slayer sisterhood. An ornate Gothic cross with the Roman number thirteen inscribed within it — the number one on the left, the number three on the right just below where the two bars — one horizontal and one vertical, crossed — paying homage to the original thirteen slayers that had banded together and formed E.V.I.E. so long ago. Some slayers wore the tattoo or some semblance of it, others chose not to. For Solange, it was personal. And while she’d chosen to wear it, hers was adorned with a tiny difference most wouldn’t notice unless they got close enough to realize what it was. Since she didn’t allow anyone close to her, it wasn’t a problem.
She looked down at the cross on her wrist once more. She’d had tiny red jewels drawn into the cross on her wrist. And if you looked closely, the two jewels nearest the center of the cross were not diamond shaped as the rest were, they were eyes. And those eyes were meant to be Solange’s eyes as they truly were when she dropped the glamour connected to the cross she kept in place at all times unless she was alone. The glamour that kept all around her from knowing that she was, half of her at least, the very beast that E.V.I.E sought to eradicate.