† the warrior of the sky; she runs into battle shrieking, and returns victorious †
I watched through the slit between the door and the wall as Eric struck up conversation with the Varkolaks that emerged from the meeting. Isabella came out last. She stood, for a moment, listening to Eric's conversation, then nodded to something a young man had said and began walking away from the group.
I brushed out as Eric and the rest of the group turned a corner in the opposite direction. I wondered how he could've known that she would walk alone before following her down the hallway, walking as silently as I could. The bones of her shoulder-blades stood out from under her thin shirt and I thought I might be able to aim after them. But when I raised the gun, it bobbed up and down ever-so-slightly with each step I took. I couldn't aim while I was still walking.
So I stopped. She must've heard the shuffling of my feet, or she had known I was there all along, because she turned. It seemed slow. With my heart beating so rapidly, with the flood in my veins running so wildly, everything seemed slow.
Her mouth opened. "Mel..."
BANG!
I hadn't hit her heart, but she fell back a step. Her hand grasped her chest, almost as if to catch the blood that poured from her wound. Then she stepped forwards. I backed away, tears filling my eyes, knowing I was going to...
BANG!
This time, she fell to the floor. But I couldn't know if...
BANG!
The sound of the shot roared like thunder, mixing with the rush of blood. I kept backing away. Any minute now, she might rise— and I screamed.
My back had hit something hard and soft all at once. Now it was over. Someone had heard the shots, they must've, surely they must've, and now I'm done for...
"Good shot," Eric said.
I twisted around and my vision zoned in on him. I felt as though I had run that marathon. My breathing was irregular, shallow, too quick to be any good.
"The second one, I mean," he added with a smirk.
"We have to go," I whispered, and pulled him away. I wasn't even sure if we had to, but I needed to. I couldn't stay here another second.
He pulled back, into a smaller corridor. "Hide away your gun at least."
My head was pounding now. I felt as though gold rushed through my veins. I felt faint and weak, but at the same time stronger than ever. With shaking hands, I fastened the gun and zipped up my hoodie.
"Good," he said.
And I kissed him. I rose onto my toes on a tidal wave of adrenaline and grasped hold of him by his shoulders, pulling him close. My mouth was greedy; there was no romance, no desire, not for anything but the steadfastness of his body.
He kissed me back, too; less severely, more as if to dull me, and it brought me back.
"Now we do have to go," he told me, and his voice had not changed since before.
Neither had my mind, except for how much calmer it was. My vision, no longer tunneled onto one thing, was constantly looking out for threats. We took one of the smaller elevators to the first floor, then walked until my legs were burning and we found a staircase to the surface.
At the top of the stairs, I found myself in a storage department. When he opened the door, I was met by the cool, brisk night air of Berlin.
"Take the U-bahn to Alexanderplatz, then change to go to Mohrenstrasse."
He gave me instructions from there to a small bar. I shed my vest and gave it to him, but he let me keep the gun.
"You never know," he said darkly. "Don't take the first train that you can from Alexanderplatz; wait a bit, walk around in crowded places, then take it."
Then, to my surprise, he swept me into a hug. It was a quick, tight embrace, but it had been long enough to rest my cheek against his chest and feel the compassion of another being.
"Not just anyone could've survived this far," he told me, dipping his head closer to mine. "And I don't just mean when it comes to weapons and fighting. I mean the mind, too. You are incredibly strong, and don't ever forget it."
I smiled. "I wouldn't have been without you."
He returned my smile, almost timidly. "Go now, before you miss your train."
It scared me more than I dared admit, even to myself, to walk alone to the U-bahn station. It was only ten in the evening, but the sun had long since set and the German winter was brisk. By now, I should've realized that real monsters didn't need to hide in the dark, but that did not stop my archaic instincts. I walked with my hands buried deep in my pockets, my steps long and quick.
The worst was the waiting. When I arrived at the station, there was still five minutes until the next train arrived. I sat down on a bench, but kept jumping up every now and then, just to pace back and forth a couple of times and then sitting down again. My eyes were constantly flitting here and there, and there didn't go a minute where I did not glance over my shoulder.
Inside the train, with its lights and the two girls seated together at the opposite end, I felt a slight bit of relief. I allowed myself to relax back into my seat.
The door opened, and in came a man who looked like he might have a couple of newborns waiting at home — both judging from his seeming age, sensible clothing and haircut and the bags underneath his eyes. His presence would've made me feel safer, simply because more people meant more security according to said instincts, had his gaze not landed on me and lingered.
I had almost forgotten the sensation; a Varkolak hadn't tried to hide his identity for me in quite a while. It was unmistakeable, the feeling of looking into someone's eyes and having eternity staring back.
A chill ran down my back. I averted my gaze, watching the city lights pass me by. I had my bag on my thighs, and I could feel the weight of the gun through it. Careful to be unnoticeable, I opened the zip and reached in, taking hold of the handle. Just that was enough to make me feel safer.
He got off one station before Alexanderplatz, and I didn't meet any Varkolaks after that. Mohrenstrasse, while not a very big station, was in the center of the city. There were lights and there were people, and even though it wouldn't change anything if someone were following me, it still made a difference.
The venue I arrived at was not as small as expected, but empty. The bar was placed at the very back with plenty of space between it and the booths by the windows. A pretty, blond waitress stood wiping off the bar.
"English?" I requested, when she began saying something in German.
"Oh, sorry. Can I help you?"
I smiled politely. "No, I'm waiting for someone."
"Let me know."
I sat with my bag on the seat next to me, hand clutching it protectively. Still, it felt safe here. The music was well-known and the lighting was soft and warm. My eyelids were growing heavy when the door opened, the bell above it ringing me to attention. Excited to see who I was meeting, I straightened in my chair.
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered under my breath. I did not have the energy for this.
Riley was wearing a shirt and tie, as if he had just gotten off work at some office job. When he saw me, he smiled and sat down opposite from me.
"What are you doing here?" I hissed, watching him through narrowed eyes.
"Well, I'm your protector, and you are in need of protection, unless I'm mistaken." He leaned back in his seat and loosened his tie. "Now, be civil for the waitress."
Riley ordered for both of us in German.
"I didn't realize you spoke the language," I noted once she had gone.
He did acknowledge my words. "I got you an Espresso. I doubt we'll be here long."
"You shouldn't even be here." I folded my arms over my chest. "I don't want you as my protector anymore. I've decided I want to be transferred to Aquila."
Riley chuckled, as if I'd said something silly. "Aquila? Aquila isn't here, Melissa. I am."
"Well, I'd rather have a protector who is absent but trustworthy than one who is here, but who cannot be trusted."
He watched me with amusement. "You killed Isabella," he said, as if it was something I needed to be reminded of. "Not that it matters in the grand scheme of things, of course. But a lot of people loved Isabella, and these people are now your personal enemies. I can protect you from them."
The waitress returned with two small cups. Riley downed the shot of coffee in one sip. There was something changed about the way he moved, something careless and languid, like a lion resting, calm in the knowledge of his strength.
"What do you mean it won't matter?"
"Isabella only started the Lilithians, dearest. Why would that mean that she controls them?" He did not wait to give me a chance to answer. "It's all beyond you, I realize. But I'm here to give you a second chance. Although you don't hold the same fascination to me as you once did, I'm sure your mind will be useful." He leaned forwards, studying my eyes - not as one studied a person, but as a historic document or a book that might uncover secrets long buried. "Who knows what Serena has planted in that beautiful brain of yours?"
I looked away from him. Just with his gaze, I felt cracked open and naked, unprotected. Tears rose unbidden to my eyes and my throat grew rough with a scream of terror that I forced down. "Please leave."
"I've protected you before," he said. "I'm the reason you're alive. Had it not been for me, you would be dead in a ditch with your useless friends."
The anger rose, boiling from the depths of my stomach. I glared at him. "I'd rather be dead than ask for your help." It was no more than a whisper, tremulous with held-back rage.
There should have been reaction. Even if he felt nothing towards me anymore, he had once had feelings for me, and he should react somehow. But he did not. He merely shrugged and stood up. "It's your grave."
The doorbell rang brightly as he left and I felt realization dawn upon me. Why would that mean that she controls them?
He had picked me out for the express purpose of sending me into Serena's arms. He had known that Serena would trust me. Moreover, he had picked Crystal so that she could find me. All his flirtations and whispers of attraction had been lies designed to make me pity him, for how could you suspect that a pitiful creature would be able to destroy you? If he appeared to be nothing more than yet another man who, unbidden, tried to catch my attentions, I would never even come close to realizing that, in reality, he was the one I was supposed to fight all along.
I felt sick. My skin was crawling with the realization. Outside, he had vanished. The street glistened in the streetlights. From around a corner, four men appeared. I watched them dully, wondering what I was to do next — surely the meeting wasn't cancelled just because Riley had appeared — when one of them came close enough for me too see his face.
It was the man from the U-bahn.
There were four of them. Four. And they were all Varkolak. In a rush of adrenaline, I jumped to my feet. "Do you have a bathroom?" I asked the waitress, trying my best to seem normal.
She beamed. "Yes, right in there."
It was a small bathroom with only two booths. I picked the back one. My hands were shaking and even controlling them to the point of locking the door was a struggle. My eyes were burning, but no tears fell. Perhaps my eyes had finally dried out.
The bell rang loudly enough for me to hear it. They were inside. They were so close to me that I could feel them.
Gripped at the throat by panic, I started turning around. There was a window, high up, close to the ceiling. I stepped onto the toilet seat and stood on the tips of my toes. I could only reach with my fingers, and in any case the window was less than half a meter tall. There was no way I could get through.
But then I heard them talking to the waitress, felt their murderous thoughts probing at my mind.
With strength I did not know I possessed, I jumped off the seat and raised myself until my chin was just underneath the window and I could peer out. It was a small alley and it would be no use to call for help. My feet kicked against the wall as my arms began trembling with exhaustion. They were closing in on me. I was done for.
The walls are so thin, I realized — a strange realization, but true. My hands closed around the window easily. Could I...?
I had to try, because they were just outside the door. My hands were scratched and bleeding when I landed on the floor, and I cursed, as much from pain as from the knowledge that the Varkolaks had to be able to smell it.
There was a click from the door opening. I threw my shoulder at the wall. Nothing happened.
The door opened. I ran into the wall again, with a loud huff and a crack in my shoulder. Nothing.
"She's in there!"
I planted my foot onto the toilet and pushed myself forward. The wall moved, ever-so-slightly. With a scream of pain, I rammed myself into it again, and fell through just as they ripped off the booth door.
"She's escaping!"
I'm escaping.
My hands grasped for something to hold onto, wounds opening further against the asphalt. Half my body was still inside and my entire body flooded with the imagined sensation of them holding on, of them pulling me back, my hands and chin scraping against the ground as I screamed to no avail. Tears fell onto the dark pavement as a hand whooshed by my feet, just barely making contact.
I stumbled to my feet, just then realizing that my bag was still inside. Fuck that, I thought, and ran. I ran so fast and so far that it felt like my throat was being torn open same as my hands. I jumped between streets, never passing a corner without turning it, all the while reaching out for their minds, trying to keep track of where they were.
When I finally felt remotely safe, I stumbled into another bar. This one was full of people; it was closer to Potsdamer Platz. Some of them watched me as I entered, face red and swollen with tears and sweat, hair in a mess and my chest heaving, but most of them were too drunk to notice.
I must have stayed there for half an hour, at least, just sitting by the bar with watchful eyes. I ordered a Coke, mostly because I was thirsty and water felt too cheap.
Here, I came to the realization that I had to go back to the bar. I couldn't return to the HQ. I couldn't safely call anyone I trusted. Both Lucas and Philip were most likely under surveillance, not that any of them would want to help me, considering... And neither Ashley nor Amber could be of much help.
So I had to go back to the bar, no matter how frightening it might seem.
When I arrived, the bar was closed down. I could see the waitress pacing around in the yellow light inside, her hand clasping a phone to her ear. I wondered how she was talking to. Perhaps her manager, the proprietor, trying to explain the hole in the bathroom wall. I remembered my bag — had it been taken away, or was it still in there?
As if the universe wished to answer my question — and I was too far gone to reject the possibility of a conscious higher power — a man appeared beside me.
He wasn't Varkolak, that much was certain. He was aging and dying, about halfway to his final breath. His eyes were brown and his hair still was in patches. In his hand, he clutched my bag. It looked strange in his hands, as though he didn't know it was a bag, just that it was an item and he needed to hold on to it.
"You're very good at disappearing," he said in a monotonous voice, "for a human."
I narrowed my eyes at him. I wanted to point out that he was human, too. "Who are you?" I asked instead.
But I already knew. I felt it oozing off him. Not his name, or whether he was married or what his interests were. None of that mattered. All that mattered was the distinct print of Serena's mind on him, the mark of the Illuminatos now that visual marks were too dangerous.
He knew, too. "There's a plane ticket in the bag," he said, without looking at me. "It's for Koltsovo, with a stop in Prague. That way, if you an enemy traces you down, you won't be locked in with him for too long. In Koltsovo, you'll be picked up. I'm sure you know by now how to recognize us."
His speech was too flat, too constant, for me to interject. Once he had finished, I whispered, "I'm going to Russia?"
"Yes." He sounded as though he hadn't picked up on the obvious reluctance in my voice. Perhaps the lack of expressiveness in his voice made him incapable of reading other's.
"But it's..." I frowned. "Well, it's Russia."
"So?"
"I..." I couldn't help but glare at him. "Don't you watch the news?"
"I hope you do decide to go. If not, you can get a refund."
And he left.
Later, I realized I would've done the same. What was the danger of going to Russia, no matter who was their president or what laws they had, when you had Serena on your side? And what did the danger matter when you felt dead already, felt alive only when you were close to the deathless?
I also realized how much he scared me. There was something about his way of speaking, so stripped of emotion and humanity, that left nails running up and down my spine. There was something about how deeply Serena's mark went, as though it was written on a clean piece of paper.
The flight went easily. Almost too easily, I thought several times, and clenched my eyes shut, allowing my third one to open wider, searching for any trace of an enemy.
I made a point out of avoiding alcohol, and felt a bit too proud when I succeeded. Without any distractions, it was impossible not to drift off on the plane, but my mind was always aware, always on the look out. When I woke, it was sudden and complete, as though I had never been asleep, my heart beating quicker the instant my eyes opened and my legs ready to run.
When I arrived at Koltsovo Airport, I felt rested and aware. I sensed the car before I saw it. My body followed the feeling of Serena like someone starving followed the scent of food.
Or like someone dying from thirst, chasing a mirage of oasis in the desert, I thought when the car halted. There had been more of Serena in the empty seats than in the air outside. Wherever I was, she was not here.
We had driven for hours — how many, I wasn't entirely sure. More than six and less than eight. We were in a small town with colorful, small wooden houses. In the distance, mountains soared to the skies, and there were evergreen trees in the distance. That was a while away, though. Here, there were rocks and grey skies and freezing winds and no Serena.
"Where are we?" I asked the driver.
She squinted her eyes. "In a place where no one will notice us. This city wasn't standing a year ago. It was raised with a singular purpose: to hide away what shouldn't be found."
I pulled the arctic jacket she had given me closer and stepped out. My feet were covered in new shoes, as well.
I had expected her to step out with me, to give me directions or tell me more about this place. But the moment I had taken my bag from the back seat, she drove off. Baffled as I was, I forgot to shout for her to stop.
My heart began to race with panic. I was in Russia, in some city whose name I didn't know. I didn't even know where in Russia I was. What were those mountains names? I didn't know. I couldn't even give a valid guess. The last place I had known the name of was between six and eight hours away — even the time I had been in the car was unknown to me.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I muttered under my breath, kicking at the snow.
"Melissa!"
I almost cried with relief when I heard his voice. I turned around and could barely believe my eyes. There, with flecks of snow tangled in his long hair, stood Aquila. The bright sun reflected in his smile-wrinkled eyes.
"Aquila?" I picked up my bag and approached him.
He met me halfway and crushed my hand in a strong handshake. His free hand was warm as it patted my shoulder. "I'm so glad to see you made it."
"What is this place."
He frowned and looked around, as though he had not considered that question before now. "It's a place of war," he said. "It's not something anyone would like to remember, and nameless things are easier forgotten. How are you?" he asked, eager to change the subject.
I blinked, unsure how to answer that. Fine would be a lie, but I was not bad either. I shrugged. "Been worse."
"And Karen?" Incredible amounts of worry filled his eyes. "Did she tell you that...?"
"She's pregnant, yes. I saw her..." I thought about it; it seemed months ago. "A week ago, I think. She seemed good. She missed you, but she was very happy about the pregnancy."
He smiled, and suddenly I understood why you would want to settle down. There was kindness, there, in his eyes, and life and joy. I swore I heart his heart beat, could smell sun-kissed summer grass in the breeze that filtered through his hair.
"You must be hungry," he said.
I nodded. The driver had given me some energy bars and we'd stopped at a gas station, but I was starving.
We spoke of many things as we ate, from Karen's pregnancy to Isabella death to my breakup with Lucas. He drank up everything I said and I realized that as much as I thirsted for the presence of Varkolaks, he thirsted to be back in the presence of humans. How strange, I thought. It seemed to me that it did not depend on whether you were a Varkolak or a human which you were drawn to. It seemed that it was something within each individual that drew them either towards life or to death. Me and Serena were concerned with eternity, but Aquila seemed to want to return to life in all its brevity.
At some point during the dinner, I was able to enter the subject of Riley into the conversation. I told Aquila about how he had appeared at the bar, about what he had said.
"He implied that Isabella wasn't in control of the Lilithians?" Aquila asked, frowning.
"His exact words were something like, 'Just because she created the Lilithians, doesn't mean she controls them'."
Aquila nodded. "And you believe he was implying that he was in control?"
"It sounds silly when you say it aloud." Hell, it even sounded silly when you said it to yourself. "But it did sound like it, yes."
Aquila's eyes felt shut and he sighed as he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Melissa," he whispered. His voice was terribly exhausted all of a sudden.
"Why are you apologizing to me?"
"Because we made you kill her," he said. "And apparently to no avail."
"We don't know that," I said, maintaining a steady voice. I did not want myself to be right, because I did not want Riley to be powerful and because I did not want Aquila to have any reason to look like that, as though the weight of the world rested upon his shoulders.
He swallowed deeply. "We'll know soon enough." He cleared his throat and his eyes seemed to clear up, too. "You should get some rest."
I nodded and smiled, in an attempt to cheer him up. "Thank you for dinner."
As I lay in bed that night, in a room in what appeared to be Aquila's house, my mind turned to the man who had given me the plane ticket. It struck me, all of a sudden, that we weren't too different. After all, was I not an empty paper for Serena to draw upon? Was I not filled by her words and her lessons? Had I not flown several thousand kilometers in the hope of seeing her?
Is that my future? I wondered. Will I become a monotonous flow of words that Serena has written on the inside of my throat?
I fell asleep before I could consider it further. In my sleep, my hands found my stomach, and I dreamed of Karen, of the life blossoming within her. I dreamed of the feeling I had seen in Aquila's eyes, of the mystical forces of nature that had scared death out of him.