by Sean Davies
Winston said nothing as she approached, and sat perfectly still at his desk, digging his fingers into the pages of his book. Veronica peered over his shoulder and saw crimson red gibberish littering the pages, as if the book was bleeding.
“What is it that you want?” Winston finally asked uninterestedly.
“We need to talk,” Veronica informed him in her most fearsome voice.
“Not now, dearest,” Winston replied, pushing his brown hair out of his eyeline. “I’m forcing knowledge out of my book.”
“Forcing? I thought you just had to use your will?” Veronica asked, disturbed by this information.
“If you want to stay weak,” Winston chuckled snobbishly. “Did you like what I did with the Manager, by the way? His supporters think Daedrian had him killed and are now returning to the flock like good little lambs, whilst the Darkheart organisation’s reputation has been shattered into pieces. I’ve truly outdone myself this time!” he added with an arrogant laugh.
“You did that?” Veronica was more surprised that he’d admitted it than anything else.
“Did I?” Winston asked, looking up into space. He seemed genuinely confused. “No… I wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” he mumbled, before turning back to his book.
“Winston, I’m worried about you,” Veronica said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I think that Omniosis did something to your head.”
“That idiotic collection of half-warped Archmages? Not a chance,” Winston said in a dry, bored tone.
“I’m not leaving until we talk about this!” Veronica yelled, losing her patience. “I feel like I don’t even know you anymore! We were so in love, and now… now it’s like you don’t even see me.”
“Oh, I see you all the time,” Winston hissed, rising from his seat. “It’s impossible not to see you in your ridiculously embarrassing non-existent outfits. You’re a silly little slut. You’re everywhere I turn, always poking your nose in, always—”
Veronica slapped Winston as hard as she could, but her husband’s face stayed perfectly still, and her hand felt as though it had been crushed in a vice.
“When you’re quite finished with your outburst, sweetie, I have a world to save,” Winston said snidely as he returned to his seat.
Veronica screamed in fury and pulled the chair out from under him, but it disappeared in a buzz of static and reappeared beneath Winston’s backside like it had never been moved. In her fuming rage, the Vampire Bloodmage used her telekinesis to trash the well-organised room, but once again, everything simply vanished and returned to its rightful place.
“I can go all night,” Veronica began. “Who are you, and what have you done with my Winston?”
Winston sighed, and once again rose from his desk. He looked at his wife with a stern, unamused expression on his handsome face. “I’m the new and improved Winston, and if you don’t like it then tough luck. I’d kill you for your insolence, if the public didn’t love us being together so much. Get out, and don’t come back until you’re needed. As far as I’m concerned, we’re married in name only.”
“You’re not Winston,” Veronica said defiantly. “He’d never say those things to me!”
“You’re boring me with this childish skit. Get out.”
“Make me,” Veronica said, crossing her arms stubbornly.
“Suit yourself,” Winston said with a shrug.
The Book Wielder flicked his hand and Veronica was sent hurtling into the study’s closed door in a gust of force magic. She smashed through the wood so hard that even the surrounding stonework was blown to pieces, and her broken body smacked into the floor and rolled several times before she came to a stop. Veronica groaned as her broken bones pulled themselves back together, making a series of loud snapping sounds as they did so, and she watched from the ground as the study’s door repaired itself, erasing all traces of the attack.
Although her quickly healing body was crumpled in agony, it was dwarfed by the overwhelming tide of panic, confusion, heartache, and guilt swelling in Veronica’s mind. She wanted to storm back into the study and beat the real Winston out of the overpowered psychological imposter, but her resolve waned and her emotions completely overwhelmed her. Tears streamed down Veronica’s pretty face and she ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her and completely obliterating it in the process. She slumped to the floor and rested against the wall, cradling her face as she sobbed hysterically. Veronica felt completely lost, and she didn’t know what to do.
Veronica sat in the dark for what seemed like an eternity, trying in vain to pull herself together again. Her situation seemed completely hopeless, and she’d allowed her husband to become warped and twisted before her very eyes, under the belief he had simply fallen in love with the politics and power. The Vampire Bloodmage felt as though her Winston had died, and that her negligence had played a part in it.
Then the dire thoughts of what would happen next flooded into her mind. Would Alice have to fight—and possibly kill—whatever Winston had become? Would the world have to fight him? Or would they sit idle until she and Alice had an unfortunate ‘accident’ like the Morriganigh Mage in Gaelliard City, or were ‘targeted by terrorists’ like Edward Anderson? Veronica had no answers, and couldn’t think of a single chain of events that didn’t end in tragedy.
She wistfully remembered the good old days, living the high life in the Hotel Noir courtesy of Lucius and the Shadow Circle, and couldn’t believe that it wasn’t actually that long ago. It seemed like decades, or even centuries had passed since the simpler times, rather than mere years. She remembered the night Winston had first walked into her life, and suddenly her face became a fierce mask of determination. The Winston she knew and loved wouldn’t give up on her if the roles were reversed, so Veronica picked herself off the floor, washed her face in the pewter sink, and dusted off her torn lacy black dress.
The ground rumbled, and Veronica stared at herself in the mirror, psyching herself up for round two as she waited for the floor to stop shaking. The tremor died away and Veronica headed into the kitchen, opening her gigantic fridge and pulling out three packs of blood. One by one, she quickly pierced the packs with her fangs and drained them dry, topping herself up after the grievous injury she had suffered, and she gave herself a bit extra in preparation for more pain. Then the room began to shake again, but this time was different than before. It was like every surface and every item within their home had begun to vibrate, and Veronica was sure that some of them were rippling like they were made of liquid. She took a deep breath and prepared to breach the study, ignoring the household items that were now floating towards the pulsating stone ceiling.
“Dark-Winston—Omniosis—whoever the hell you are!” Veronica yelled. “You can drop the reality manipulation bullshit, I’m coming for you!” she yelled threateningly, before smashing the study door again.
Her rampage ended as quickly as it began. She froze on the spot and her eyes grew wide in terror as she saw Winston standing in the centre of the room.
He was hunched over, his brown hair ruffled and dangling over half of his face, and his skin deathly pale. His body was shaking side to side, as quick as a hummingbird’s wings, making it appear as though his whole form was distorted. He looked up at Veronica with a pained expression, and his white eyes ignited in a blaze of multi-coloured energy. All of a sudden Winston was tugged upwards by his arms like a puppet on strings, and he hung suspended in the air as the room around him rippled and warped impossibly.
Veronica took a step towards him but quickly retracted her foot when her high-heel sank through the stone floor. Winston gave his wife a terrified look.
“I… me… we… you… us…” Winston spluttered incomprehensibly, as a shiny white substance leaked out of his bright eyes like tears made of melted plastic.
“Winston!” Veronica cried as she tried to run towards him, but she was blasted back by her husband’s invisible aura of sheer magical power.
The liquid spr
ead, and soon Winston’s face was buried underneath a neat white mask. The Conclave’s open book symbol appeared upon the mask’s forehead, amidst an intricate raised laurel wreath pattern, both of which were decorated magnificently with obsidian and diamonds. The eye sockets were filled in with two amused slits of dark glass, covering Winston’s glowing gaze.
The room stopped shaking as Winston dropped to the floor, his aura faded, and his inexplicable display of reality manipulation magic came to an end as Veronica rushed to catch him.
“He’s taking over,” Winston droned from behind his mask, as Veronica cradled him in her arms.
“No, no, no!” Veronica screamed, shaking him in a panic.
She prised the mask from his face with her long red nails and was relieved to see her husband’s face was still there; Winston was perfectly still, however, and completely lifeless except for an extremely erratic pulse.
Veronica tossed the mask across the room, and it shattered like glass when it hit the wall. She focused her chaotic thoughts and prepped her blood magic, hoping that it could cure whatever was happening to Winston. She put everything she had into the healing spell, surrounding her husband in a hazy red mist that pervaded his being, but Winston was completely unaffected. Veronica wheezed as her nails grew longer, her teeth sharpened into savage-looking points, and her skin began to turn grey.
“Fuck,” Veronica cursed in a frightening hiss that didn’t sound like her voice. She’d drained too much of her live blood in her effort to heal Winston, and realised that she was dangerously close to turning into a Feral Vampire. “I’ll be right back!”
Veronica placed Winston carefully onto the floor and ran back to the kitchen. She grabbed as many blood packs as she could carry and stuffed one in her mouth, suckling on it ungracefully as she charged back into the study.
Winston hadn’t moved, but his mask was back in one piece and resting upon his face as if it had never left.
✽ ✽ ✽
Constance pushed the door of their cinema screen open and held it open for her sexy Vampire date and a couple of regular humans behind, feeling cheery despite the nail-biting film she’d just watched. Connie reached down to hold Genevieve’s hand, enjoying the touch of her soft cold skin, and she smiled when she saw the coy grin on the Vampire Nightclaw’s beautiful face as they walked through the busy cinema. Dinner had been a complete success, they’d both enjoyed the film, and now Connie was looking forward to carrying on from where they’d left off in Genevieve’s residence.
“So they’re stuck on a loop?” Connie asked about the film.
“Until they figure it out, and actually want forgiveness,” Genevieve smirked. “I still can’t believe you haven’t read the book.”
“It’s not my kind of thing, I’ll be honest,” Constance replied. “I did enjoy it more than I thought I would. I’m more of a romance, comedy, and action kind of girl.”
Genie looked at the films showing on the large flat-panel displays and frowned. “Why didn’t you get tickets for one of the other films then?”
Connie shrugged. “I figured you’d like the one from the book more than the others.”
“Good guess. Thank you,” Genevieve said kindly, “but next time we’ll go see your choice.”
“There’s going to be a next time?” Constance asked cheekily.
“Well, yeah… if you want to,” Genie said, quieter than before as though she’d only just realised what she’d been saying.
Connie noticed that Genevieve’s free hand was twiddling the silver locket around her swan-like neck and she felt a quick pinch of heartache, along with a bit of jealousy over her late lover Annabelle. She quickly realised how bad that sounded and chided herself for thinking so selfishly, reminded herself that they weren’t starting anything serious; they were just having a bit of passionate fun for the night before Genie went back home to Rura.
“I suppose you might not like what’s underneath,” Connie joked, hoping to lighten the mood and fast-track them towards the bedroom.
Genevieve looked the Book Wielder up and down, taking noticeably longer on her shapely behind. “I seriously doubt it,” she said, licking her lips slowly.
Constance’s heart fluttered, and she struggled to keep her cool. Connie had always considered herself to be quite a reserved individual, but there was something about the Vampire Nightclaw that got her blood racing, and she just wanted to leap on top of Genevieve and tear her clothes off with her teeth. Constance had spent most of the day reliving their interrupted encounter and tingled with ecstasy when she recalled the moment her fingers had slid inside of Genevieve.
“You okay?” Genie asked.
“Yeah, I was just thinking about earlier,” Constance admitted with a naughty grin.
“Really?” Genie asked nonchalantly. “I’m more focused on what we get up to tonight,” she added naughtily. “So, your place or mine? Or do you want to go out for some drinks first?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never really done this before,” Connie said, flustered by the minutia and feeling a bit embarrassed.
Genevieve pursed her lips, taking offense. “I’m not, like, a pro at one night stands, you know. Especially not by the Supernatural standards.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Connie replied grumpily.
Genie sighed. “Sorry. I’m not too good with stuff like this, like dates and relationships. I don’t think I’ve ever had a proper situation going for me, as depressing as that sounds. Just crazy situations.”
“Remember—sometimes crazy can be good,” Constance said, quoting Genie while trying to keep the mood light
Genevieve smiled, but didn’t say anything.
“We should get a hotel room,” Constance said, answering Genevieve’s original question. “That way it won’t matter if it gets totally wrecked.”
Genevieve snapped out of her reverie and giggled. “Oh, my… what are you planning on doing to me?”
“Everything I can get away with,” Constance replied naughtily.
“What has gotten into you, in all seriousness?” Genie asked, before quickly adding, “Not in a bad way—I just couldn’t imagine you being like this after our first few conversations.”
“I’m not sure, but the madness on Desem definitely made me realise that I should live life to the fullest, while I still can…” Constance paused, and her mind wandered back to the sphere of light.
The Book Wielder could hear its distressed chiming calling out to her, but it didn’t know it needed her, just like Constance didn’t understand what she meant to it. The ground shook, and everyone in the cinema gasped when a group of masked Archmage ghosts waltzed through the room, making rude comments about the awestruck people around them.
“These earthquakes and apparitions are becoming quite regular. I wonder what it means,” Genevieve said, as she watched the spectres vanish into thin air.
“Huh?” Constance asked, snapping back to reality.
“Didn’t you see the ghosts? They were right here,” Genie told her, slightly amused.
“No. Sorry,” Constance said airily. Her head felt strange, but she shook it off and planted a quick kiss on Genie’s lips. “Let’s get out of here.”
Genevieve grabbed Constance around her waist and returned the kiss, but slower and far more seductively. “Sure thing, Connie Lee.”
They switched on their mobile phones and left the cinema in high spirits, walking down the streets of Lyrimia town hand in hand looking for a place to stay overnight. Then, their phones began to chime with missed call notifications and text message alerts.
“Just ignore them,” Constance said through gritted teeth.
However, the speedy Genevieve had already plucked her phone out of her handbag. “It’s Veronica. She says it’s an emergency.”
“What, has she mixed up a vat of Artravenia that she wants us to go skinny-dipping in?” Constance asked angrily.
“Probably,” Genie chuckled, before skimming more messages. “No, shit�
��this is real. Winston’s in trouble.”
Connie frowned sceptically, until she checked her own phone and saw dozens of short frantic text messages from Stitches. “For fuck’s sake,” she mumbled, aggravated that her night with Genevieve had been ruined right before its sweet finale.
“It will be quicker if I run,” Genevieve began, looking towards the centre of the Isle. “Do you want to hop on my back?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Connie asked, trying to hide her aching disappointment.
“I suppose that would be a bit weird,” Genevieve replied. “Let’s call a cab.”
“No, you go on ahead,” Constance said. “I’ll meet you there. Oh, and if this turns out to be Veronica crying wolf again, give her a slap from me,” she added, moodily.
“I will do, right before I punch her in the face,” Genevieve replied, although she knew from the details in Veronica’s messages that it wouldn’t be the case. She put her arms around Constance and gave her a romantic kiss. “We’ll have our moment, I promise—and best friends keep their promises,” the Vampire Nightclaw assured her, before darting off in a flash.
“I don’t want to be your friend. I want to be your lover,” Constance admitted to the space Genevieve had been occupying only seconds before, wishing she had time to take a cold shower.
✽ ✽ ✽
Veronica had placed Winston on their luxurious red bed and sat faithfully by his side while the others assembled. Genevieve had arrived first, followed by Stitches, Alexander and Brooke, and then Constance Lee. Alice Eve had left her crusade against Corriztis and Darkheart to see what had befallen the Primary Regulator first-hand, and Queen Azalea (who had been down in the Catacombs on the way to see Winston) had also joined the Lord Imperator. Everyone present had been filled in on the details, from the DVO shortage and the null zones to the pillar on the other side of the world. She hoped and prayed that at least one of them would be able to think of a way to help her husband.
“Are you sure Stitches and I should even be here?” Connie whispered to Genevieve, feeling as though they were intruding.