Forbidden Drink

by Nicola Claire

  Rick just smiled at me, his head cocked to the side, his eyes an angry red and his teeth way sharper than a human's should ever be. The overall effect was not comforting.

  “You look like shit, Luce.”

  “You're not a pretty picture either Taniwha-man.” My voice was strained and weak. Shit, not a good sign at all. I shifted the hold on the Svante and almost dropped it, my grip tightening in response, making my knuckles go white. I gritted my teeth through the pain in my chest at the added force I was using just to hold onto the damn thing.

  “This doesn't have to be hard, Luce. You know what the outcome will be in the end, just let it happen. And if you do, I promise I won't hurt your girl there.” He nodded towards Amisi, who was still trying to get up off the floor, having collapsed back a couple of times now.

  “Why Rick?” I had to ask. I'd been asking myself this again and again. Why was Rick doing this? Why had he killed Jerome, a man he had recently loved and respected like a father, why was he insisting on killing me? We had been friends, once upon a time, how had it come to this?

  “You know why. They have to die, all of them. They are unnatural, they are dead already. They prey on the living, they consume everything around them, turning it evil, tainting this world.” He laughed, a bitter bark of a laugh. “Look at what they did to you. You are just as evil as they are, because of him, because of them. Can't you see? You all have to die to keep us safe, to keep out the evil you breathe.”

  He had that fanatical look to him, the one hard core evangelists have. They truly believe they are preaching what is right for everyone. There is no reasoning with them, there is no argument to be had, they have already signed on the dotted line, they are committed to the end.

  The fact that he was so far from the truth was irrelevant. The fact that I am the one who is meant to protect the world from Dark, from evil, would not compute. I could try to tell him about the Prophesy, about my role in it, about the consequences of having me killed now, before the war has even truly begun. But it would be to no avail, it would be futile, useless, he had already started his crusade and he would die finishing it.

  My sword hand had lowered, not intentionally, just holding it up had become a mission. I was starting to feel so cold, so numb and shivery, I don't even think I could feel the pain any more, but the room had dimmed. Rick was starting to look blurry. I struggled to raise the sword when he stepped forward, noticing my strength was waning. I managed to get it back up, but my whole arm was shaking. The blade was a blurring mess of shiny metal under the artificial lights of the room, it was vibrating like a tuning fork, but I held it firm, straight out in front. I would not give an inch.

  “Then let's end this,” I whispered. I was done trying to convince myself that he could be reasoned with, that the path he had chosen could be changed. He was what he was now, for better or worse and certainly not because I had put him there. I would not fight the losing battle of turning him back toward the Light, but I would fight him. I could not let him kill me or the vampires. It was wrong.

  Besides, he had killed Jerome, he had killed Bruno, if not by his own hands, then by his command. He had chained my kindred and caused him pain and wished him the final death. And he had trashed my house. My coffee machine, dammit. There was only so much a girl could tolerate before she lost her rag completely.

  I felt myself pull on what tiny reserves I had left and I steeled myself for the final clash.

  Three things happened at once. Rick changed into a Taniwha in lightning speed and with the glorious colour display that accompanies a shift to animal form. Amisi threw her remaining stake towards him, the sliver point tipping end over end, sparkling in the lights of the room and then getting engulfed in colours of his magical change. And I ran towards him with my Svante sword held high and a war cry ringing from my throat. Slashing downwards as I approached that wall of magic, slicing through the the colours, making them split like a prism catching the sun's rays and spreading them around the room.

  There was a loud crack that reverberated around the club, shattering the top shelf bottles at the bar, making the glasses splinter one after the other like falling dominoes and pushing what little air that remained in my lungs out. I collapsed back on the ground, my sword lost, the knife in my chest having long fallen out and the world quickly fading. I struggled against the black that was encroaching, rolling onto my side to see where Rick was coming from next, trying to get my silver knife from its sheath at the waistband of my skirt. My fingers were numb, I couldn't even tell if they were touching the knife hilt or the skirt material, or simply just twitching in thin air. I couldn't breathe, I don't think I had taken a breath in since I had struck down with the sword and although I tried now to get some precious oxygen in my lungs, to stop the scream of pain that clenched them tight, nothing happened. Nothing moved, not my fingers, nor the knife, nor my mouth to inhale much needed air, nor my lungs. And if I was quite honest, I didn't care. Not for me. My thoughts were of Michel when the blackness finally came, engulfing me in its bitter-sweet blanket, surrounding me like a tomb.

  I didn't visit Nut, nor hear the wonderful sound of children laughing. I was looking for it. I had expected it. I was prepared to welcome it. Maybe, she was angry with me. I had failed the Prophesy, I had died needlessly, fighting a shape shifter who shouldn't have even been part of the fight for Light over Dark. He was a meaningless distraction in a world subjected to war. I shouldn't have let it happen. I had failed Nut.

  I wondered if the void of blackness I was now in, was what my fate for eternity would be. No sound, no sight, no sensations, just a suspended void for my conscience. Aware, but not aware. As far as punishments go, it was pretty nifty. I could think about the consequences of my actions, the fate I had left the world to. Dark would be rallying, the Light would be growing weaker without an advocate to shine bright. I could think about who I had left behind, to suffer in that increasing Darkness: Amisi, Nero, Erika, Gregor. Michel's vampires, who were now masterless, trying to find their way, trying to join other families for protection. Maybe they would band together under Jett or Erika, maybe they would continue the battle without us.

  I could also think of Michel. Was he in the afterlife set aside for Nosferatu? What had Gregor called it? Elysium. Was he happy? Did he even remember me? The thought that I no longer existed for him brought tears to my eyes. I could feel them hot and wet rolling down my cheeks. I could feel them being brushed away by something soft and warm. I could feel.

  I could feel.

  I could feel.

  And then not just the wet streak of tears but the stabbing pain in my chest, the throbbing ache in my head, the rasping agony of my breath. My body spasmed at the onslaught of pain, the agony that was my physical self, meeting my cerebral. Everything I had been thinking now associated with everything I was feeling.

  My eyes flickered open and it took a moment for the scene in front of me to make sense. Everything was at an odd angle and then it dawned on me, that it wasn't the sight that was off kilter, but me. I was on my side on the polished concrete floor of Sensations. Amisi was stroking my cheek, wiping away the tears and Nero was trying to stem the blood flow at my chest, with towels from behind the bar. I could smell the faint hint of beer and wine and spirits, mixed in with laundry powder and detergent as he shifted the material into a better place. Pressing firmly against the knife wound, sending a shocking wave of stabbing pain straight down to my toes. I whimpered, but tried to move. I really wanted to sit up.

  “Hush, my Kiwi. Stay still. The paramedics are on their way.”

  It took several efforts and he had to lean in to my mouth to hear what I was trying to say, but finally I managed a very weak, “Rick?”

  It was Amisi who answered. “He vanished, just disappeared. I don't know where he is, or what happened. The colours were everywhere and then, when your sword shattered the pattern, he just flashed out of sight.”

  I wanted to ask more, I wanted to ask about Michel and the o
thers, but the blackness was returning as the front door to the club opened and two uniformed figures walked in, carrying bags and bottles and God knows what else. I didn't get a chance to see, because the pull was too strong, the black too inviting and I was just so tired. I couldn't resist it any more.

  I couldn't tell how much time had elapsed, but I woke up feeling like a train had run me over. My body ached, my head thumped, I could even feel my blood moving through my veins and it hurt. There was lots of pale blue and white. Blue on the walls and the blanket that covered me, white in the lights and sheets and ceiling. Tubes and wires, flashing lights and silently blinking buttons. A heaviness to the air that felt oppressive and someone at the side of my bed.

  I didn't know them, I had never seen this person before. She was pressing buttons and checking wires and tubes and writing something on a board. I tried to turn my head to watch her and found I couldn't, something was holding me in place. I realised that something was coming from my mouth, down my throat. I tried to swallow past it, but couldn't and that's when I got scared. That's when I felt really trapped.

  My fear must have spiked my heartbeat, or my respirations, because the person next to the bed turned to me and frowned. Reached for something on a tray beside her and then lifting a syringe to a bag hanging at my head. I watched helplessly as she pushed the syringe plunger home and whatever had been in it mixed with whatever was in the bag and flowed down the tube to my arm.

  It took mere seconds for it to have its effect on me, making the world turn black again and my heartbeat slow. And all I could do was scream in my mind while I listened to the sounds of quiet that taunted me.

  When I awoke the second time, I was in the same bed, screens on two sides, open at the end, machines still surrounding me, but nothing down my throat. I could swallow, though my mouth was dry. There were still tubes in my arm and one down my nose, but that was all. The air was still heavy and silent. It took a few minutes for cognitive thought to return and then I recognised where I was. Hospital. A public hospital, maybe on a ward, but there was no one else in my room, or my opened cubicle, so maybe ICU, maybe post-op recovery rooms, I wasn't sure. But I knew I wanted out.

  Where was everyone?

  The nurse returned, the same one from before and this time she smiled. She had a friendly open face, but a short severe haircut. She was in pale green scrubs and had a name badge pinned to her breast pocket, Sally. Sally was friendly but a little intense, I was guessing, probably very good at what she did and dedicated to her job.

  “Hello there, Lucinda. How are we today?”

  Why is it, that caregivers always talk in the plural?

  We feel like crap, thanks. “Fine.” It was croaked out of a very dry throat. The nurse let me sip from a straw in a cup of water. Relief.

  “What time is it?” I needed to know if it was nightfall, if I could see Michel. I needed Michel as much, if not more, than I had needed that drink of water.

  She glanced at her watch. “It's almost 7.30 pm. Your husband should be back soon, visiting hours start at 7.30.”

  My husband? Oh. Michel? Couldn't be anyone else, could it? Please God, please let it be Michel.

  “You are one very lucky lady. That stab wound punctured your lung. The doctors have patched you up, but we've had you in an induced coma for two days. It'll probably be another two or three before we release you to a ward and another week or so before you are released altogether.” Like hell, I thought. “Do you remember what happened?” Her voice had softened when she asked that last.

  I shook my head. No point telling a Norm that a shape shifter had thrown a dagger at my heart while trying to rid the world of vampires.

  “Never mind, it may or may not come back to you, but the police will want to know. You should expect a visit from them soon. We'll try to delay them as long as we can, we don't particularly like them up here in DCC, but once you're back on the ward, they'll come calling.”

  DCC? Department of Critical Care. I'd seen the directory in the hospital foyer before, when I'd visited ED, or the Emergency Department, after particularly bad hunts. I wondered what my hospital file told them. Was I a repeat trauma patient, did they think I had an abusive partner perhaps? Jeez, just what I needed.

  She finished up whatever it was she was doing, checking machines, fiddling with buttons, then fluffed my pillows, gave me another sip of water and left. I heard her soft rubber soled footfalls on the linoleum floor as she walked away and then her hushed words from the distant end of what was obviously a large open plan room, the cubicles were situated in.

  “Ah, Mr Durand, you'll be pleased to know your wife is awake.” Her voice had a sing-song timbre, she was actually flirting with him. I couldn't hear his reply, but I did get her soft laughter as she headed further away.

  Was I even well enough to be jealous? Nah. Especially as she had called me his wife.

  I held my breath in anticipation. I wanted Michel so badly, but I was scared of how hurt he was, of what news he would bring, of everything. I suddenly felt so small in the big hospital bed I was lying in, surrounded by bulky machines that I didn't understand and the weight of a Prophesy crushing into me.

  He rounded the end of the partition and just stood there. He could have been an angel, he was awash with light. Maybe it was just the position he was standing under the fluorescents above, or the fact that my eyes had welled up with tears and everything seemed a little blurry, but he was beautiful, perfect. And apart from some faint marks at his neck and wrists, I couldn't see any other injuries, despite my eyes moving over him and devouring every inch of him that they could.

  He was beside me a second later, his hand on my face, his mouth on my neck, words and sentences in French tumbling out against my skin, hot and fervent and alive.

  I had my hands in his hair, pulling him closer. I wanted my lips on him too, but he seemed unable to move, unable to let me go, unable to pull his face away from his marks on my skin and unable to stop the desperate spill of French from his mouth. I couldn't understand a word he was speaking, it was all so fast and his accent so strong, but I understood what he meant. I was glad he was alive too.

  Finally, he ran out of steam and the odd English word started slipping into his monologue. I hadn't interrupted, I kind of felt like he needed to get all of that out before we could actually have a conversation. But when he slowed enough for there to be pauses, I pulled his head up off my neck and dragged him to my mouth.

  He managed to keep his weight off me, placing his arms on either side of my head. His mouth was perfect and soft, the touch of lips, like coming home. He sighed against me.

  “You had me worried, ma douce.”

  “Likewise, you.”

  He didn't pull away, just rested his forehead against mine, letting his breath wash over me, his scent fill my nostrils, his Sanguis Vitam flood against my shields. I lowered them automatically, but he didn't rush in, he pulled back slightly and looked over his shoulder, then said, “If I do this, they will know and there will be questions. I can glaze the staff now and remove your records, but there could be a chance that I miss something or someone. This could prove troublesome for you in the future should you require medical attention again.”

  Plus, he knew how I felt about glazing.

  “You could do it though, couldn't you? Cover it up, I mean?" I asked biting my bottom lip.

  “Yes.”

  “Then take me home, Michel. Get me out of here.” To hell with the repercussions, to hell with glazing up a storm, I needed to be back on my feet now, not in two week's time. I needed to be with Michel.

  His Sanguis Vitam came flooding in as soon as I had finished talking. It felt like sunshine on a winter's day, like your first taste of ice cream as a toddler, like the moment you realised you were in love and that person loved you back. It was filled with light and love and happiness and was so much more powerful than I had ever felt before. It also went on longer than Michel ever had to before, when healing me. I gathered I
had quite a bit to heal. No wonder the Norms would have kept me for two more weeks and even then I would have been a battered and bruised wreck.

  Finally, it pulled away and I felt relief from the aches and pain, but also so tired, I could hardly open my eyes. Michel was breathing deeply beside me, leaning on the edge of the bed.

  “Are you all right?” I asked sleepily.

  He nodded, but looked a little pale. “I'll deal with the staff and the records. Erika and Jett are here, they'll help you out to the car.”

  He turned away slowly, moving at a much more deliberate pace than usual. I was suddenly a little concerned for him. That had taken a lot to do.

  Erika appeared around the corner of the partition, all smiles and bright eyes.

  “Hey, chica. You call for a taxi?”

  She started to help me out of the bed, removing tubes and lines and God knows what else from God knows where else. She knew what she was doing though, as though it was all par for the course. Then Jett came into view.

  “Need a hand?” he said smiling at me.

  I shook my head. “We'll be fine, go help Michel. Healing me was harder than he expected, I think.”

  Immediately Jett was on full alert, he nodded and swung away to cover his master.

  I swayed a little when I made it upright, but with Erika's arm around my waist, she steadied me and somehow we made it out of DCC and to the lifts without bumping into a soul. I was guessing there was a fair bit of Sanguis Vitam floating through the air, but I couldn't concentrate enough on sensing it, all my attention was on putting one foot in front of the other and not blacking out.

  I was healed, physically all the holes were fixed and the connections remade, but my body was screaming for rest. Even vampire healing mojo can only do so much.

  We made it to the car parked in a special temporary car park at the front entrance, no doubt hidden by a ward and Erika helped me into the back. She slid in next to me, but I didn't register anything else, falling asleep pretty much straight away. When I awoke, the car was moving and it was no longer Erika at my side, but Michel, holding me in his arms and kissing my head.