"Do ya need a lift?" Sully asks.
"Nope. We're grand!" I laugh, immensely proud of my Irish slang.
"It appears so," he says, "with drinkin' and having a laugh like. But really, Liv, do you need me to drive you lasses home?"
"Nah. I've been sober for hours," Liv says. "Sweet of you, though, thanks. Tell Mary I said hello."
He opens the door for us. "Oh, you know Mary. When she gets her panties out of a knot, I'll be sure to!"
Once we're outside, after I've waved to everyone at least twice, spilled any secret I'd ever been told and declared unwavering allegiance to Ireland, I decide that I have staggeringly little interest in riding in the car and that I'm quite capable of taking the ankle express home.
"Come on," Liv says. "There's no way we're walking home this time. It's three miles!"
"Sure we are. Watch," I say. "We'll do just fine." We're a good half-mile out before I find myself on my ass. For some reason I find this absolutely, Earth-shatteringly hilarious.
"This isn't funny! Come on. The boys are already going to be ill with me for letting you do this. Get up." She tugs on my arms, and ideally she should be able to lift me. She outweighs me by about twenty pounds.
"I rather like it here, in the motherland," I giggle. "And I like this rock." I pick up a random rock. Nothing spectacular about it, I'm sure. To me, it might as well be a diamond. "Wow, can you believe they just leave these lying around?"
"Jessica," Liv moans, "you are sooo drunk."
"I prefer to think of myself as post-sober."
"Why don't I ever say no? It's not that hard. No. See? Liv, will you enable me to get utterly trashed? No. Why couldn't I have said that?" Liv is talking to herself, all the while trying in vain still to lift my sorry butt from the ground. "Shit. Quinn's gonna kill me for this."
"You cussed again!" I point at her and cackle.
"Get up!" she says articulately, sort of like those people who slow down English for foreigners, as if it's going to help them bridge the language barrier. This is more of a whiskey barrier.
"I don't want to," I say with equal enunciation.
She sighs, dropping her hands. After a couple minutes of standing there staring at me, she sits down. "Happy?"
"What's so wrong with here?" I ask, lying down. Still laughing, mind you.
"Aside from it being in the middle of the road? Why nothing at all," she says nicely.
I start laughing harder and Liv groans. She probably thinks I'm laughing at some random thing that is only funny to a drunk girl.
"Why are you laughing?" She finally gives in.
"You just sat in a pile of shite!" She couldn't have felt it—the grass is wet with dew and the sheep could probably stand a tad more fiber in his diet. I know this because I almost sat there myself. And don't ask about the smell. Everything out here smells like sheep shit.
"Ugh, seriously?" She bolts to her feet, running her hands over her ass. "Jess! Oh, gross. Come on, will you please get up. Don't make me stand here with this … stuff … all over my pants."
"Well, since you asked." I laboriously stand and make it a few feet before I can't tell where to put my foot.
Liv puts an arm under me. "One in front of the other."
"I knew that. I soo knew that." I did. I swear.
"This was a lot more fun ten years ago," Liv says curtly.
"Are you saying my shit's not good enough now?"
"I've avoided sitting in shit in the past. Thank you kindly. What I meant was that we didn't have any worries."
That's absurd. I don't have any worries now. "Bullocks," I snicker.
"No, you do this when things get too serious. I can set my watch to it."
I hiccup, which entertains me. "Then why did we drink before, if we had no worries. You just said that I do this when we have worries. Make up your brain. Mind, make up your mind."
"We didn't know how bad it could get. Compared to what we face now, we had nothing to stress about. That doesn't mean we were aware of it then. And we were stupid!" She pauses before saying, "Old habits die hard, I guess. We used to always wind up walking home."
Strangely, somewhere beyond the liquor-induced fog, something feels very wrong as she says this. And I wonder if I should be concerned, but then I remember that even were I to concern myself with this something, there isn't much I could do about it. Whether I could wipe my own ass right now or not is up for serious conjecture.
"Iris used to come with us occasionally. Sully almost asked her out, but she could be so unpleasant sometimes. She's not completely unfortunate. If she'd have just taken a little more time with her appearance … " Liv is rambling, more to herself than to me and my heart starts to race.
"Iris would know we'd walk home?" I mumble.
Liv stops walking long enough to look at me, nod, and then amble forward a few more steps and stop again. "Why? You're awfully quiet all of a sudden."
I've never been this drunk. Okay, let me amend that, I have no recollection of being this drunk before. So fighting to say a comprehensible sentence is a new thing for me. Fighting not to laugh at how dire I feel our situation is about to get is worse. "We should have taken Sully up on his offer."
"Why? Jessi, why?" She sounds scared and I want to tell her it will be all right. But it won't because, once again, I've gotten us in deep shit. Literally, in Liv's case.
I laugh, tears coming to my eyes. "Because Iris is planning on me being too trunk, no, drunt, damn it! Too drunk to fight her." My foot doesn't quite make it all the way over a root that has grown up through the ground and I fall out of Liv's grasp.
The sound of clapping reaches my ears and like most things in my world lately, I doubt this is a good thing.
"Excellent deduction. Especially considering how trunk you are," Iris sneers.
I turn to see an Iris-shaped shadow behind us in the road. "Hey Iris! How's it going? You know, from here, you take up the whole road. Does that mean your ass is as big as a truck?" Giggles overcome me. This isn't the best time to engage in this kind of reckless behavior, but my good judgment fled six shots of whiskey ago. Or was it seven?
"Go ahead, have fun at my expense. It's never stopped you before."
"I wouldn't know." I slur my words miserably, "Fried brains … remember?"
Iris hauls me up by my shirt collar and out of reflex I go to attempt to break her neck. This does absolutely nothing for me. How could I have forgotten that right hook?
After hitting me hard enough to knock out a mortal, Iris tosses me against what I hope are shadows. No such luck, those shadows have arms and I notice circular scars mar those arms.
"Liv. I have no quarrel with you. Go on, get out of here," Iris says this like Liv is just going to leave me here.
Liv looks over at me and it strikes me how fragile she seems all of a sudden. She was mortal at one point. And has no formal training, unlike yours truly—and I'm getting my homeostasis adjusted. "Go," I say.
Forgive me, Jacelynd. I never meant for this to happen. I love you.
Liv seems to consider not leaving, but as more Death Dealers emerge from the darkness, she turns to run back to the castle.
"Oh, we're going to have fun with you," Iris whispers in my ear, then turns to shout to the others. "Let's go!"
Enter Sandman
I've pondered once already the sheer inconvenience of waking up in strange places. In retrospect, I might take those strange places over this one, because at least in those places some prayer of my safety still existed. Here, not so much.
My head is absolutely killing me. I can only dry heave because there isn't enough blood in my system to throw up and judging by the wet condition of my shirt, I've already evicted all of the whiskey.
It takes me a second to realize I am standing. Sort of. My back is cold and when I move I hear the distinct clink of metal on metal. When I try to bring my hands from behind my back, I find that whoever has restrained me knows exactly what they're doing. And now it dawns on me why
the steel-lined rooms blocked my Tithe with Jacelynd. Duh. If it blocks our powers in general, why wouldn't it hinder, at the very least, a mental connection?
Shit. This may mean that I'm in a steel-lined room now. Jacelynd? Trinity?
I hear nothing but my own heartbeat.
Trinity, I'm in serious straits here. If you're ignoring me because you're mad, you can hate me later! Please answer me!
Oh. My. God. I'm really alone. I'd started to kind of get used to sharing that space and now to suddenly have deafening silence, well … oh my God. I would linger on that thought a little longer, but more dry heaves wrack my body.
Bright, unbelievably hot lights flicker to life around me. I can barely see at first, but after a few minutes my sight adjusts and lo and behold Iris appears.
"You enjoying your stay so far? You've spent most of it in a drunken stupor. Classy, Jessica, really." Iris' skin looks like its simmering and bubbling, her scars swirling madly on her body, but logic tells me that it's the heat from the lamps I'm seeing.
"Why am I here, Iris?" I can't believe how bad this hangover is. I won't even bother guessing the time.
"Because you're predictable. I needed you away from the others and like a lamb to the slaughter, you came."
"That hardly answers the question. I was told that you and I were close. Jacelynd still doesn't want to believe that you're responsible for all of this." Well, that isn't really true. Not anymore. But, come on. Give me a break here.
"No? Then how could I have planned on him sacrificing his immortal soul ten years ago? I'm frankly shocked that he let so many years pass by."
There's no way she could know this. Unless of course she is the all-encompassing evil heinous bitch I think she it. Then she might know.
"And then there is always the second soul involved in all of this," she says elatedly.
"What do you—where is my son?" And like they say, those instincts kick into hyper-drive.
Iris laughs and I swear that if there were ever a time I could break through vampire-repellent steel, it would be now. "You told me a few days before the concert that you were pregnant. Do you know how long I've waited for this? The blood of two royal blood immortals is worth so much more than what Trinity offered the Guardians. Hmm, his disappointment will be so lovely to watch. Well, there will be time enough for that."
She turns and I can't see what she's grabbing a hold of. It's not until the blade slashes across my chest that I realize it's a small hand blade. The laceration cuts across my collarbone.
"No one to hear you scream. No one to heal your wounds. How does it feel? To be alone? Are you scared?" She saunters past me too slowly, then lashes out again and drags the knife three times across my left thigh. I was holding out pretty well, but this elicits a cry.
I'm shivering again, because even with the heat lamps it's been over two days—assuming I've been here more than a few hours—since I've had Trinity's blood and it feels like thirty below zero. In fact, I haven't had any blood at all since the last time Iris and I crossed paths.
"Why, Iris?" I ask tiredly. My voice is exhausted from throwing up and from all the loud, stupid singing I did in the pub. I've never regretted a decision more than to leave that castle. God, I feel for Jacelynd. I've done it again, for a third time now he will wake and find me not there. Please know that I didn't do this on purpose.
"Do I really need to go into all the reasons?"
I'm beginning to understand why some cultures drown their firstborn children. "Well, since … "
She breaks the skin at the top of my left shoulder and slowly starts to drag the blade downward.
"Since I have no … memory of the past … I thought you might want to tell me. I can't be … sorry for what I don't remember." I suck air through my teeth, somewhat taken aback by how bad this shit hurts. You would think deeper wounds would feel worse.
I am expecting to hear the typical stuff that any sibling might hold against another. Maybe she had a thing for Tristan, or even Jacelynd. Maybe I stole something out of her room when we were children and it's driven her mad ever since. Who the hell knows?
"Do you know who was supposed to marry Lord Tristan?" she asks.
I shouldn't. I really shouldn't, but my mouth parted ways with common sense sometime after the third round of Murphy's drinking song. So I smile and say, "Your momma?"
Shit. She's my mother, too. It was so much funnier without that knowledge.
An incredibly fast swing takes the blade across my face, cutting from the middle of my forehead down across one eye. I taste my own blood as it passes over my lips.
"I was!" She is leaning into my face, her rancid breath filling my nose. "Not so beautiful now, are you?"
I guess now isn't the time to tell her that I couldn't care less how I look. I might own two tubes of lipstick. Maybe some mascara. You don't take much time to consider how you'll look to someone you intend to kill. And for the last decade my social circle has consisted almost exclusively of just such individuals.
"So, you're in love with Trinity? Big shock there," I hiss. "Well, that rocks because you can have him!"
I hear a clatter and assume that she's dropped the knife. She looks at me, tears streaming down her face. And come to think of it, why do they always stream? I guess saying they dribbled wouldn't be as poetic?
She sways on her feet, struggling to cry effectively. Not much is left of her nose, which makes breathing and containing snot an arduous endeavor. I am hoping this is where she breaks down and we hug.
Alas, the white-hot pain in my abdomen tells me there'll be no Full House moments for us. Once I finish screaming bloody hell—you probably expected me to say bloody murder, but hello? we're vampires—I look down to see her pull a still-glowing hot poker out of my stomach.
"You think I'm going to finish things now, don't you? Kill you and end your pain?" She is flipping the effing poker around in her hand like she did the gun earlier.
Once again, I really shouldn't. But I hurt like hell and this "let's make Jessi pay" business is seriously starting to cramp my style. "No, Dr. Evil, not since you're telling me that."
Her hand snatches my chin and she leans in until we are mere inches apart. "Oh, I will kill you. I'm just going to take my time."
I bare my fangs and hiss because it's all I can do at the moment. There just aren't words for this kind of pain.
"I am no longer just a vampire, Jessica. When the flames were surrounding me, I harnessed them and released my true potential."
She doesn't know that it was because she died. She has no idea what really happened.
"If only Trinity had given me the chance, we could have ruled this world together. What a shame. He chose the wrong sister." Iris touches the tip of one of my fangs, pricking her finger. She sucks the blood away and smiles before she drives that poker somewhere else in my midsection. I have no idea where because if I didn't know better, I would swear the pain was radiating from the inside out. And for once, I am grateful to pass out.
"You know, had you shared with me that my mother was the embodiment of all evil, I might have told you she was at Callmadus."
I can see fairly well out of one of my eyes. The other is swollen shut. "Lucan?" Wow, I sound awful. I bet I look even worse.
"Last time I checked."
I want to laugh in relief but that takes a couple organs that aren't in such hot shape right now. "Are you hurt?"
"Physically? No. Emotionally? Scarred for life."
God, I love this kid. "I'm so sorry. I wan … " I pause because the pain has come rushing back to me and it's absolutely nothing like a Celine Dion song.
"Hey! Hey! Damn it, don't die on me!" He sounds panicked, poor little guy.
"Don't … use … that—insert a few gurgling coughs and a couple death rattles — … kind of language."
Did I really just say that?
Lucan is tied to a chair across from me. His hair is messy, his clothes are wrinkled. I marvel for a moment that a kid
as snarky as mine would wear a Snoopy shirt before I realize he's in his pajamas.
"I always hated Snoopy," I say weakly. Kind of a dumb thing to say but "I've always loved you, even though I didn't technically know you existed until just recently. But don't worry because we have time to make up for that later," just won't make it off my tongue.
"Eureka! My other pants do hold the power to save the world. If only I had remembered to put them on before being kidnapped." He looks down and I can tell he's a little embarrassed. "Besides, even Snoopy could kick your butt right now, so shut up about my jams."
"Touché."
"So every time Trinity said I reminded him of my mother, was he talking about Iris or you?"
"Me. I think. You don't … strike me … as evil."
"That's debatable. Did you want kids?"
I choke up a little and try to swallow the tears. "I read a letter I wrote before my memories were altered. You were little … asleep on my chest and I was … so happy. We'd waited on you for … a very long time." I cough more and start to feel like I'm going to black out again.
"You mean my dad?"
"Jacelynd," his name is little more than a whisper on my lips and I want to tell Lucan that his father will be coming for him—for both of us, but he won't be.
"Do you think Trinity knows my dad?"
He doesn't know that Trinity and Iris both are responsible for this. How do you tell a child that the person he adores is the reason he wasn't raised by his real parents? I decide that's a question better answered later. If we have a later.
Two immortal souls.
"Lucan, do you have … a tattoo or … mark of some kind on you?"
"Yeah, carpe diem is written in Old English on my forearm. I'm nine. No, I don't have any tattoos."
See, fruit of my loins. "Birthmark?" If they had used the right color ink, Lucan would never know.
"I have a small birthmark on my wrist. It's nothing apocalyptic though. In case you're looking for something special."
It means your soul will be turned over to another realm upon death or whatever agreement Iris has made with the guardians. "Nope. Just wondered. Your father has a similar, uh, birthmark."
Icarus; The Kindred (A Paranormal Romance) Page 22