Constance was no more. She'd come un-spiraled until there was just anger; hungry and seething. Far away a vampire writhed in her cage and two women huddled together on the floor of a tower, but these things did not concern the flame of rage she had become.
Constance
Constance was so powerless and her choices were so few that she was not really a person at all. She could not even keep her own grandmother safe. The knowledge tore at her heart and seared her chest, so she let Constance go and became nothing but the anger inside.
She was a conduit now, as rage poured into her from the streets below. The supernaturals hurts came in to her heart and mixed with her own pain and then beamed back out into the city, an ever-growing cycle of calamity. There was no ebb to this rage. And why should there be? Why shouldn't they burn it all down?
Constance?
There wasn't room for Constance as all the injustice, all the unfairness, burned through her.
Constance?
Who was this Constance, this person?
Please.
Far away a voice she used to know. The smallest corner of her heart stirred.
Constance, please.
If she wasn't Constance, then why did her heart move to protect that voice?
Constance.
Constance, I need you. We need you to come back. Hugh can't come, but I came. Arms encircled her neck, the feel of them pulling her into her physical body. "Please come back."
She blinked her eyes, focusing slowly.
She stood alone. Baines and Edward were staring out over the streets, wholly absorbed. Emile's cage was swinging precariously, her eyes black, her fangs fully extended. Gran and Hannah huddled together on the floor, and Simon was hugging her.
"Come back," he was whispering over and over.
Her still shackled hands felt like they weighed a hundred pounds as she lifted them to stroke the top of his head.
"I'm here Simon." Her voice was raw.
He looked up at her seriously. "Can you stop them?"
She glanced at the chaos below; monsters and mayhem in a wash of scarlet. She was too tired to feel the terror that should have gripped her. Instead, she breathed and let go of the war drums pounding through her head. Allowed herself to feel something else and then opened her heart.
Peace, she thought wearily over and over.
"They're stopping," Edward said.
"What is going on?" Baines turned toward her.
Now that the chaos was beginning to ebb, they could hear bells sounding warnings through the air.
Peace. She forced herself to feel it. Peace. She was too tired to feel anything else. She let it pulse out of her with every beat of her heart.
Vaguely, she saw Baines reach into his jacket. Her brain was too slow to understand why.
There was a crack as he fired his pistol. Simon stumbled into her, Gran screamed, Hannah leapt up tossing the key she'd stolen toward Emile, before launching herself at Baines, knocking him to the ground, his gun clattering across the platform and off the ledge to the darkness below.
Simon pressed against her. "Constance—" his knees buckled.
"Simon?" Her brain was still trying to make sense of what was happening.
His face was pale and then she felt it, warm blood leaking over her hands from a wound on his back.
"No, Simon, no," she said, her mind refusing to believe it.
She was too tired to hold him upright. She fell to her knees, and he slumped down, his head on her lap, his eyes wide with fear.
"What have you done?" She asked, looking at Baines, who was smiling maniacally as he pushed Hannah off him.
"Whatever it takes," he said, shoving to his feet.
The cage door screamed open and there was a blur of movement as Emile shot through the air. She grabbed Baines by his hair as she landed, her eyes wild, sinking her fangs into him as he fell back. He bucked and thrashed, but Emile held him down, her knees in his chest, her teeth deep in his neck.
He gurgled, blood foaming around the vampire's perfect lips.
Constance watched in shock. Baines deserved to die. He'd done so many awful things, had used her to hurt so many people. He'd just shot a child, and yet—
"Constance?"
"Yes, Simon." She looked from the gruesome scene to her brother.
"I'm cold."
She grabbed his hand in hers. His wrists were so skinny, she didn't know why she noticed that now. "It's going to be alright," she said, tears choking her. "It has to be."
She looked back at the man who had become the villain in her life. Emile was still holding him down, blood a slow trickle around her mouth. Baines had left her to die bloody. She could leave him.
Do you want to be his judge and executioner? The voice sounded like her father, but she was so weary and scared. She didn't want to have to care about a man as depraved as Lord Baines. Besides, Emile had every right to end him. You'll always wonder if she was under your influence when she drained him dry. You can stop her, Constance, you can show him mercy.
She wanted to laugh. Mercy, something Baines did not know.
His twitching was growing slower. She squeezed Simon's hand and reached deep into her weary soul. Constance had to push hard. She had already used so much power there wasn't much left, but there was a kernel of grace buried deep, planted there by her grandmother and her father, nurtured by Hannah and the Banfield clan. She let it warm her heart, imagined it a lovely shade of pink radiating outward toward the vampire.
"What are you doing?" Emile hissed. Baines hung limp in her arms, but he was breathing.
"There's been enough destruction tonight." Was all she could think to say.
Baines was trying to struggle away from the vampire. She grabbed his hair and made him look at Constance and Simon. "Do you see her?" Her voice was deadly and Baine's swallowed hard, making the fang holes in his neck move strangely. "The woman you thought you could use, the woman you thought had only the power you allowed her. She is the only reason you are alive. I would be happy to drain you dry and leave your rotting corpse in that cage for the carrion birds. She is a million times more than you—you who are a pathetic man trying to prove something by hurting the people around you."
He opened his mouth like he might say something, but nothing came out.
A shallow breath rattled out of Simon, drawing Constance's attention away from the vampire, whose teeth were red with Baine's blood.
"Take care of my watch," Simon said with effort.
He was trembling as he tried to reach into his vest pocket. He was so small and so pale.
"No, no, no," Constance was drowning again. Gran lay a hand on her back.
"I told Papa I'd take care of him—I—" her chest felt like it was going to break open. She curled in on herself. There was too much pain. It was going to cut off her airway and kill her. It would be a relief to die. She dug her fingernails into her palms, cutting open her skin, then she grabbed fistfuls of her hair with her bound wrists and tore.
She may have screamed. She couldn't tell over the chaos inside her own heart.
"Constance?" It was Hugh, but it didn't matter that he was there or that he was alive. Nothing could matter.
"Constance, do you want me to turn him?" He asked gently.
"What?" she asked, struggling for breath.
"Werewolves heal fast and survive things an ordinary person wouldn't. We're not immortal, but we're harder to kill." He looked down at her brother. "It might save him, I don't know, it might be too late."
There was such pain and pity in his eyes it nearly shredded her heart again. "Please Hugh," she whispered.
He lifted her brother's small broken body, his head falling back, exposing his neck. And then he bit.