The night continued to wane, and as the final stratagems were put in place for the battle on the horizon, Frankie found herself combating the same anxious uncertainty that had driven Vladislaus from the house. Last she had checked, he was still wandering the endless rows of graves on the hill that overlooked the estate, but when he had assured her that he was well and just needed some air and time to think, she chose to leave him be with his thoughts.
Now she was back in the Vilkova library, absently thumbing through the countless tomes of Mariella Bernardini's journals, as if those pages could offer her the assurances she was unconsciously in need of. But they provided her no such thing. Without even making the conscientious decision to do so, she was soon in search of a phone, fishing out one of the burners from an old crate that Jack had been keeping on hand for the last several months. After tracking down a charging cord, she slipped into an empty sitting room for some privacy, closing the door behind her before locating an outlet. The mobile charged fairly quickly, and with pure muscle memory she dialed the number to her uncle's estate.
Fabian, the butler, answered after the third ring.
When she asked to speak with Armand, the man hesitated, which was rather unlike him.
"I'm sorry, Miss Francesca, but I'm afraid your uncle, the Comté, is not on the grounds at the moment," he said after a spell.
"Oh. That's strange," she admitted. "Any idea when he'll be back?"
"He didn't say."
Odd.
"What about Alayna? Is she around?"
"I'm afraid she's gone as well."
"Is Señor Meirás still there?"
"No, he departed before your uncle did."
"Did he say where he was going?"
"The only thing I caught was that he had some business in Geneva to take care of. Perhaps he intended to meet up with one of your cousins?"
Curiouser and curiouser.
"And he didn't say what kind of business it was?"
"I didn't think to ask. You know how Satanas is, my lady – tends to come and go at will."
That was true.
"Is anyone at home that I could speak to? Any of the family?"
"None that are readily at hand. Is everything all right? Should I have someone reach out to you once they're made available?"
Frankie sighed, trying to conceal her disappointment.
She supposed she shouldn't be so surprised – her family had always been so far removed from all the goings on in Budapest, and while she may have been up to her eyeballs in a war that was on the verge of coming to a head, that didn't mean that her uncle and cousins' lives had come grinding to a halt like hers had.
With great reluctance, she said,
"There's no need to alarm anyone. I just wanted to check in... see if they learned anything new about the Sumerian glyphs on Lyra's arm in the last few hours."
"I'm afraid I'm quite ignorant on the matter, my lady. Forgive me."
"It's all right, Fabian."
The words came out easily enough but she immediately questioned their sincerity the second she uttered them. The rather abrupt and inexplicable absence of her family, her safety network... perhaps it was the stress she was under, but she couldn't help but feel abandoned suddenly.
"I shall inform the Comté you called as soon as I see him," the butler assured her. "Can I do anything else for you?"
"No, that will be all. Thank you, Fabian."
"Of course, Miss Francesca. Good night."
Frankie disconnected the call with a disappointed groan.
Her uncle had certainly picked a terrible time to be unreachable. The man had never really taken to personal mobile phones, having never liked the idea of being accessible at all hours – even though he readily took issue when others were not immediately at his beck and call. In fact, he was usually pretty perturbed when he couldn't get a hold of someone right away. That thought sent a half-smile to her lips. She'd have to give him a hard time about that when next she saw him.
Gathering up the charger and with the mobile still in hand, Frankie left the sitting room to return the device when she ran into her brother in the hall.
"Any luck?" Rémy asked. When she sent him a questioning look, he motioned to the phone she was holding. "I assume you tried to get a hold of Armand?"
"I did... and no. No such luck. It appears everyone is out and about, enjoying their immortal lives except for us," she said with a defeated huff, falling into step beside him.
"I talked to him briefly before we had that web conference with Alayna and Gigi, but even then, the conversation was unusually short."
"What did you tell him?"
"It was just a quick update on things. I told him about Bernardini and that you had managed to save Jack from the brink of death with those new powers of yours."
"Is that all that's happened?" she asked with a chuckle. "The last twenty-four hours are admittedly a blur."
"I also mentioned that you recently and formally adopted five grown-ass kids, but he didn't seem too surprised when I told him."
"I wonder where they could have all gone. They were all at the house at the start of the evening when that whole thing with Lyra went down. Seems an odd time to just up and leave."
"Maybe Marceau found something at the archives in Geneva and the whole family decided to take a trip?" he offered with a shrug. "But I agree, it still doesn't account for why they all felt the need to leave... and with no indication as to why."
"I don't like this, Reynaud," she admitted. "Something about it isn't sitting well."
"I guess we'll find out soon enough. Hopefully if they did find something in Geneva, it'll prove helpful."
"You don't think they're on their way here, do you?" she asked him.
"I doubt it," Rémy assured her. "Besides, I didn't tell them we were planning to finish this with Augustine tomorrow night – did you?"
"I haven't had the chance," she said. "Everything has been moving so quickly."
"No shit... I still can't believe I found out who Vlad not even a week ago!"
"How are you doing with that knowledge these days?" she inquired, genuinely curious.
"Still processing when I have a spare moment to," he answered candidly. "I sometimes find myself wondering if our friendship will ever be what it was... in part because I just... I can't look at him the same anymore. Not in a bad way," he quickly tacked on as if to reassure her. "It's just... it's an adjustment."
"I can respect that," Frankie replied with a bit of a smile. "I certainly needed time to come to terms with that, and even after all the time that's passed since, after everything... I still have moments where it feels like all of this is just some strange, elaborate dream."
"No kidding," Rémy sighed, chuckling a little to himself. "Do you remember how furious you were with me when I first told you about how you'd be meeting with the Dracul Sânge?"
Frankie laughed, covering her face in embarrassment at the memory.
"I still can't believe how prejudiced I used to be!" she moaned.
"All of us were," he replied. "Although I suppose now would be as good a time as any to say I told you so."
She smacked his arm playfully even as they both chuckled.
"That was a lucky shot in the dark, brother."
"But a direct hit nonetheless!" he declared triumphantly. "Do I know my sister, or do I know my sister?" and he sent her a wink.
"You're incorrigible is what you are," she said with an affectionate smile. "But as much as I tend to hate your prodding and meddling, I suppose in a way I am grateful."
"She supposes!" he repeated, rolling his eyes. Frankie took his arm and rested her chin on his shoulder briefly as they continued to aimlessly wander the halls.
"I'm more grateful that you care about me enough to prod and meddle when I need it most, though," she said gently and with a sudden earnestness. "I don't know what I'd do without my big brother."
Rémy untangled his arm from hers only to wrap it around her waist, pulling her close as he pressed an affectionate kiss to her temple.
"I love you too much to do otherwise," he admitted. "And I assure you – no matter what happens tomorrow night, no matter how this story ends – so long as there is undead life in this body, I will always be there to fight with you... and for you."
The sincerity of his words sent had her vision blurring and her face crumpled a little, the woman clearly moved.
"I don't deserve you, Reynaud."
"Yes you do, Frank. You deserve nothing but the best and so much more."
----
It was nearly a half an hour before dawn when Vladislaus finally returned to the house, the cold having seeped into the very marrow of his bones. He was lightly dusted with freshly fallen snow that immediately melted upon his entry and he briskly wiped away the residual moisture from his coat before draping the errant garment over the nearest piece of furniture. The house was notably silent, only the faint murmur of activity dispersed throughout as everyone finished settling down for the coming day – one final rest before what would hopefully be the conclusion of this war.
Contented when he found that all were present and accounted for, he then tuned-out the inaudible hum of the place, instinctually reaching out for Francesca's location. Like a soft beacon of light, he found her in their temporary bedroom at the far end of the house. With an exertion of will, he materialized from the foyer to the darkened corridor just outside the chamber, discovering the door to be slightly ajar as a dim glow gently poured out into the hall.
He located his wife seated on the floor. She was situated in front of the roaring fireplace with a menagerie of weapons – predominately of the blade variety – spread out in front of her. His entrance was silent, and though she never looked up from her work as she continued to sharpen the push dagger in her hand, he noticed the corner of her lips tug upward just a little, clearly aware of his presence.
"When did it start snowing again?" she murmured, lifting the blade up in front of her, briefly studying its edge before running it a few more times over the whetstone. "I can smell the damp on your clothes."
"Only a few minutes ago," he answered, kicking off his boots and discarding them near the door before making his way over to her.
He loved the way the firelight danced across her face, her features accentuated by the shadow of the rest of the room. Her expression was one of immutable focus, brows just barely knitted over impenetrable eyes. And yet, for all that stern and cool concentration, everything about her radiated warmth – even more so than the fire in front of her.
"I can feel the cold roiling off of you," she commented. "You were out there for a while. Is everything all right?"
She looked up to steal a quick glance at him before returning her attention to the blade in her hand. In one smooth movement, he removed his shirt, tossing it over the back of a chair and having to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling when he caught the way her eyes flicked to him for barely a second to take in his naked abs before diverting away again.
"It will be."
"I'll be sure to hold you to that," she teased. "By the way – I've been meaning to ask: how do you do it?"
"Do what?" he asked, sitting behind her, situating himself so his legs were on either side of her. She glanced back briefly at him.
"Find any sort of rest the evening before a battle?" she wondered aloud, even as he leaned toward her, taking the thick braid of her hair and moving it to one side so it draped over her shoulder.
"Who says I do?" he asked softly before pressing a light kiss to her nape, allowing his lips to linger on the V-shaped scar just lightly raised on her otherwise smooth and unblemished flesh. She shivered imperceptibly at the coolness of his touch, but he could almost taste her heightened sense of awareness, even as she continued to sharpen the blade in her hand.
"Your memories," she answered with an arched smile. "I'm still digesting them. I noticed – you have a tendency to sleep like a babe when the average person would be up at all hours at the mercy of anxiety... It's not fair. I'm always a bundle of nerves and angst... clearly, as you can no doubt see before you," and she motioned to the collection of cutlery in front of her.
When she continued to sharpen the blade in her hand, he reached around her and gently put a stop to her movement, silently urging her to relinquish the weapon. She surrendered it with a bit of a sigh, watching as he placed the razor sharp blade onto the rug next to its brethren – an assortment of knives and daggers of various shapes, sizes, and finishes – all of which would be strapped and fastened to her person before sunset in a few hours' time.
He pulled her into his arms, then – encouraging her to lean back against his naked chest, hands lightly fastened around her wrists as he rested them into her lap.
"Now that you have unreserved access to my memories, you'll also note that the majority of my life has been defined by war, shaped and molded by it," he said, voice low. She felt him press his cheek to hers, chin resting on her shoulder as they both stared absentmindedly into the flames that danced in the hearth. "And you'll soon learn for yourself, once all this is done, that I can become quite restless during times of peace. I've known so little of it... and I'm old enough to know better than to trust in its longevity."
She entwined her fingers with his, reclining more fully against him now.
"I suppose, then, we'll have to find something with which to occupy your time once this business with Augustine is over," she whispered, resting the back of her head against his shoulder. She closed her eyes when she felt his breath against the column of her throat, the barely-there caress of his mouth on her skin.
"I have a few suggestions of where we could start," he husked, the heat of his words sending a shiver through her as his free hand pressed down flat against her abdomen. She chuckled, knowing exactly what those suggestions entailed.
"You're going to get bored with me if you keep this up," she warned him humorously, whimpering a little when he kissed the place where her pulse point used to be, that bold hand starting to smooth downward.
"Impossible."
"Entirely probable, you mean."
His teeth nipped her earlobe and she hissed a little when the tip of his fang caught on the sensitive flesh.
"Unlikely," he conceded, soothing the sting of his nibble with the swipe of his tongue, reducing her to liquid with very little effort. "There's still so much we haven't done... so many positions we've yet to try... and a certain hole of yours that is in desperate need of a more thorough investigation."
Frankie laughed openly that time, the sound warming him from head to toe and with far more effectiveness than that blaze in the hearth.
"You're so utterly male," she accused, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Standing on the edge of war with the abyss staring back at you, and all you can think about is sex. We need to find you some other coping mechanism, my love."
He caught a patch of skin on the side of her neck between his teeth and wrapped his lips around it, sucking gently.
"No we don't," he refuted breathlessly. "I'm merely reminding myself of what I'll be fighting for tomorrow," and that hand cupped between her legs while his other pawed at a breast. "I'll be fighting for this – an eternity of this, free of threat or interruption or an impending doom." She undulated in his hold as he worked her body with a mastery that would never cease to amaze her, his tongue tracing her jugular, even as he bathed the skin with his breath. "I'll be fighting for you, dragă. For our future. We may be doomed to an infinity in the dark, but even fallen creatures deserve happiness. You are my happiness."
He twined her body and his so she was on the floor beneath him, their bodies flush, noses brushing. He kissed her then, slow and deep, all tongue and breath, and her arms coiled around his neck, pulling him down further until she was cradling his weight between her thighs.
When she felt his aching hardness press against her, she moaned needily, rolling her hips up against him.
"I'd like to sleep as well as you do," she murmured against his lips, bringing her knees up to his waist, hands charting the expanse of his back. "Help me? Help empty my head of all this worry for tomorrow."
"It would be my pleasure, iubito."
----
Lyra Kennedy groaned softly as wakefulness gently tugged her out of an otherwise restful slumber. It was only a short while after noon from what she could sense, the sun still at its zenith, which made her present state of consciousness so strange. She prepared to roll over so her back would be to the window – a blatant act of defiance against whatever had roused her – when she realized that she was not alone in this bed... and there was a weight on one thigh, and another on the opposite side draped over her middle.
She came to herself by degrees, blinking a few times in the artificial darkness of the bedchamber as the events of the early morning slowly returned to memory. Whatever, or whomever was in bed with her was as still as death, yet lukewarm against her flesh... and was that a wet spot she was sleeping on?
When it finally came rushing back, her eyes abruptly snapped open.
She was sandwiched between two persons – a pair of blondes to be precise – and her body still ached in all the right places; phantom tingles of memory, of pleasure.
Shit was the word of the hour as she pieced together how she had ended up here.
A moment of madness?
Or perhaps it was clarity with a nice healthy dose of fuck it that had landed her in bed with both Louise Poincaré and Jack Belinskaya.
With the pending war on the horizon and the knowledge that this day of rest could very well be her last, Lyra had confessed herself incapable of choosing between the two siblings, let alone denying her attraction to both of them.
After her sexually-frustrated tirade had concluded, Louise had proposed that maybe she didn't need to choose after all, which naturally left Lyra surprised, but also suddenly hesitant, asking if it would be weird considering that both Louise and Jack were pretty much brother and sister as far as Dracula was concerned. But to her eternal astonishment – and secret relief – both had been totally into the idea of sharing, and for the hour and a half that followed, Lyra Kennedy had lost herself to the complete and unrivaled pleasure of being the sole center of attention of two of the best lovers she had ever had in the whole of her existence.
Sorry, Raul, she thought to herself, offering up a prayer of apology to the long-since deceased werewolf – but, then again, she wasn't really sorry. Lyra had always suspected the pair would be good in bed... wouldn't they have to be in order to bear the name of Dracul? Wasn't that some kind of unwritten law? It was all a heated blur of tongues and hands, of coiled bodies, moans and gasps of ecstasy - Lyra like a doll shared between them, being pushed and pulled and contorted this way and that. Even the back of her scalp still tingled from when Jack had dug his fingers into her hair and pulled. She shivered at the memory.
Consequences be damned, Lyra silently conceded that she'd never regret the things they had done that morning. Never in a million years.
Shame had never been a word in her vocabulary anyway.
Her lips curved into a mischievous and satisfied smirk as she finally rolled over between the two slumbering vampires, Jack's heavy arm still draped over her middle while Louise's softness cuddled closer to her front, lush breasts pressing against her own.
Frankie would probably kill her when she found out – if she didn't know already – but Lyra couldn't bring herself to care. If this was to be her last day on earth, she'd spend it as she pleased... just as she had always been wont to do.
Satisfied and perfectly content, the redhead began to ease back into the lull of rest that awaited her, but to her chagrin, unconsciousness continued to evade her. Something was keeping her awake, a light tugging in her mind that grew sharp and insistent whenever she drew closer to that abyss of slumber and gray mist. When it happened for a fourth time, she almost growled her annoyance, squeezing her eyes shut, willing whatever it was to leave her the hell alone.
It aptly ignored her, and out of nowhere, Lyra felt something sharp prick the back of her skull like the tip of a needle. She jolted and sat upright in bed, eyes furiously scanning the room for whoever the perpetrator was.
She discovered nothing.
There was no one else in here with her except for the thoroughly knocked out Jack and Louise. They hadn't even stirred.
Lyra felt the temptation to lie back down skid across her brain, but before she could even consider listening to it, she felt that strange prick again and she swore under her breath, begrudgingly crawling out of the bed.
"Alright, alright..." she whispered impatiently. "I'm up."
She fished about in the dark for her clothes and when she was dressed, she became more cognizant of another presence in the room. There was no one physically there, of course – that she could see anyway – but the feeling of being watched was irrefutable.
Shit, is this place haunted? she wondered to herself, reaching out with her own powers to see if she could detect who it was that was trying to get her attention.
The feeling of something cold passing through her body dispelled whatever sleepiness lingered in her eyes and she shuddered from head to toe, the fine hairs on her nape now standing on end.
"What do you want?" she whispered to the darkness.
Though it remained unseen to the naked eye, she felt the unfamiliar presence move across the room towards the door. She couldn't quite explain why, but she felt the need to follow it.
Slipping out into the empty hallway, Lyra attuned her senses to this strange, unseen specter guiding her down the empty corridor. The entire house was asleep as far as she could tell and the tugging that persisted in her mind wasn't the sire-bond she shared with Frankie... so who could it be?
She followed the presence silently as it made its way down to the first level of the house, leading her toward the library. She had half-expected the room to be dark, the heavy drapes covering the windows to block out the rays of the sun, but a soft glow was coming from the chamber. Lyra entered to find the two candles that had been laid out in memory of both Antón and Mariella Bernardini lit and unsupervised.
Her brows furrowed suspiciously as she went to inspect the candlesticks.
"Hello?" she called out quietly to the surrounding darkness.
She received no answer.
Lyra waited, perfectly still as she watched the flames slowly devour the wicks, wax melting in dribbling rivulets along the sleek columns. But no one ever appeared. Assuming that maybe someone had just been messing with her, Lyra reached out to extinguish the flames with her fingers when she heard someone say from behind,
"We don't have much time."
Lyra nearly jumped out of her skin, whirling around to find herself face-to-face with a dark skinned woman that she had never seen before in the whole course of her life. In any other situation, she would have struck first, asked questions later, but her limbs were frozen. She couldn't seem to move – only able to stare into those ghostly emerald eyes looking back at her.
"Who are you?" she managed to ask.
The female specter smiled a little.
"You know who I am, girl," the ghost said, waving her hand in the direction of a few other candles that had been placed on the table where the journals of Bernardini's wife had been stacked, the action causing the wicks to ignite of their own volition.
That's when it hit her.
"You... you're..."
"Yes. I'm Mariella. You don't have to act so surprised."
"But you're dead. Like – dead-dead."
"Clearly," the witch replied with an ironic smirk.
"Why are you here? How are you here? Dead vampires don't have a history of becoming ghosts."
"I was a witch before I turned to vampirism – a handy little loophole. And as for my purpose in being here – we are nearing the end. I want to be certain that the two of you are fully prepared for what is to come, what you will need to do," Mariella explained, glancing in the direction of the darkened hallway.
Lyra followed her gaze and found Frankie peering back at her from the corridor. Evidently, she wasn't the only one who had been roused from their slumber.
"I take it the two of you haven't talked about it yet?" Mariella asked. "What is required? What the consequences will be?"
The redhead didn't require further explanation. She knew, and the thought sent her heart into her throat.
"No. We haven't," she admitted.
"And why not?"
Frankie entered the room with what could only be described as caution – her steps conscientious as she held her dear friend's gaze, a kind of sorrow in her expression. Lyra couldn't lie – not to her, and not at a moment as pivotal as this. With a beleaguered sigh, she then explained,
"Lilith revealed that Augustine's destruction has a far greater-reaching impact than we've been led to believe. If we go through with this, if we end things with Marcus tonight, she fears that it will put her at risk somehow... and she... she intends to thrust that risk upon me instead, as her proxy."
"And you were just going to let her do that?" Frankie asked. "After everything we've been through, everything we've endured together – you were just going to lie down and fall in her place?"
"I don't see any way around this Frank," Lyra pleaded. "Marcus needs to be destroyed. I figured, if that means I have to go with him, it's a small price to pay to make sure the prophecy is fulfilled – that he's out of your life for good."
"Oh, hang the prophecy! I won't let you sacrifice your life like that!"
"Why not? If the roles were reversed, we both know you'd do the same without even blinking!"
"If there were no alternatives, absolutely I would," Frankie agreed. "But we have options here, Lyra."
"What options? You know how powerful my mother is! And this prophecy – it's celestial law. It has to happen!"
"I can't accept this, Lyra. It's not fair!"
"Ladies! Please... we don't have time to debate," Mariella interjected with withering patience. When the two women had fallen silent, the witch sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her ghostly nose between her eyes as if to dispel some sort of ache in her head – as if spirits could even get tension headaches. "The pair of you are so self-sacrificing, I'd be moved if I hadn't already spent centuries dealing with god knows how many people with martyr complexes," she added after a moment, rolling her eyes a little. "Francesca – Lyra is right. The prophecy is celestial law and it must be fulfilled. There is no way around it."
Frankie opened her mouth to argue but the woman immediately hushed her.
"And Lyra, Francesca is also correct. You lying down and accepting what is intended to be the fate of your mother is out of the question. Marcus is a danger to everyone, but so is Lilith – more so now than ever before."
"But what can be done?" Lyra asked hopelessly. "I know very well that nothing can be done. With Marcus' destruction, I will fall in her place..."
"Not it we remove the source of her power first," Mariella replied with a newfound twinkle in her eye. That seemed to catch the other female's attention.
"What do you mean?"
"Have you ever wondered why Lucifer – an archangel of the highest order – was unable to maintain his physical form after his fall, but a low-tiered angel like Lilith was?" Neither Frankie nor Lyra had an answer to that. Mariella continued, circling the pair as she did so. "Have you also never wondered why when a nosferatu meets true death, their souls are unreachable? Any other preternatural creature that roams this earth can manage to pierce the veil beyond if the conditions are right, and yet the vampire, and even the strigoi – creations of Lilith and Lamia – they are incapable of doing so."
Mariella sent Frankie a meaningful look.
"Your parents, your aunt, even Vladislaus' children... but it's more than that. I know you've heard them, Francesca," and she stopped to stand in front of the woman, holding her gaze with an intensity Frankie didn't dare shrink from. "I know you've heard the call of the lamian strigoi – your ancestors, your kin – the cry for freedom."
A chill moved through Frankie's entire body, and as if the mere suggestion had been enough to conjure them, she could hear that still, small voice in her mind, the chanting of free us. Free us.
"When Lilith murdered Lamia, it wasn't just out of petty revenge. She needed her soul to sustain her – so she could keep her physical form, and – by extension – her power, those divine gifts of creation, as fragmented and mutated as they had become. An unforgivable transgression, to be sure, but it was nothing in comparison to what she did next. She used that gift to create an instrument of destruction that would help in her accumulation of more power."
Frankie's knees trembled and she reached for the arm of the chair beside her in an effort to steady herself.
"You mean... Marcus?"
Mariella nodded.
"And the accumulation of power?" Lyra asked, not exactly following.
"The lamian strigoi," Frankie explained, falling into the chair at her side with a look of horror on her face as Mariella Bernardini nodded in confirmation. "She had him slaughter the strigoi not just out of spite, but because she needed their souls... because souls are..."
"Pure power," Mariella finished. "Yes. And as they were completely cut off from final judgment as a consequence of her actions, that would explain why your brother-in-law, in spite of all his gifts in the arts of magic and necromancy, has been unable to raise your sister from the dead, let alone contact her beyond the veil."
"You mean Margot?" Lyra confirmed, looking to Frankie. "You mean to tell me Margot was lamian strigoi too?"
"She and my mother both, though that side of them was dormant," Frankie explained, realizing that she hadn't really had the chance in the last few days to divulge all she had learned and witnessed since her latest evolution. "But the gift – it still ran through their veins."
"But that doesn't explain why our kind – the vampires – are just as unreachable. Unless..."
"Unless Lilith found a way to keep their souls for herself this entire time," and Frankie looked to her friend, eyes widening as understanding suddenly flooded her. "Because one species wasn't enough... That means..." and she paused, voice trailing off as the wheels in her head began to turn. "The Fabulae Diablo. The Genesis of the Vampire." Frankie leapt up from her seat, rushing over to a stack of books on a nearby table. "The Fabulae Diablo explains that the nosferatu were originally created as a way for Lucifer to acquire more souls – hoping it would give him an edge in his war with heaven – but after Vladislaus was reborn as the first true vampire, neither heaven nor hell could get to the souls of those that met true death. Werewolves go through final judgment. And so do witches and humans... but not vampires."
She rapidly plucked a tome from the table and started to flip through the pages. When she found what she was looking for, she tapped the page and handed it to Lyra.
"Everyone assumed that it was just the universe's way of maintaining the balance, but it was Lilith, wasn't it? She found a way to capture the souls of the nosferatu after they met true death, a continuous, nourishing source to her power."
"So what does all this have to do with Marcus Augustine?" Lyra asked.
"Marcus was her first success," Mariella reminded her. "But, in an ironic twist of fate, in his creation, Lilith had unwittingly bound herself to him. In her quest to avoid a complete and everlasting fall from grace, she also managed to assure her own undoing. Because if Marcus fell..."
"Lilith would fall with him. And the bitch wants to throw that shit on me!" the redhead exclaimed, now fuming, swearing viciously under her breath. "So how do we keep that from happening? You said if we could find a way to remove the source of her power..."
"Yes, if we manage to do that at the critical moment, just before Augustine is destroyed, there's a very good chance we could render Lilith entirely powerless and spare you falling to perdition in her place," Mariella confirmed.
"Great! So how do we do that?"
"It's not going to be easy."
Frankie scoffed.
"When has any of this been easy?"
Mariella tilted her head a little in concession, but then her expression suddenly became rather grave.
"I should also warn you that even if you do everything I tell you to, to the letter, there's a very good chance things could go awry very quickly if we aren't careful."
"I'll tell you what I told Vladislaus," Francesca replied, staring directly into Mariella Bernardini's ghostly emerald green eyes. "I am done losing people I care about. I'm not losing anymore, and that includes Lyra. So you tell me exactly what we have to do to ensure her safety and I swear to you, it will be done."
The witch smiled.
"Good. Then let's get started."