I sat on my heels at the edge of the large gaping hole in the front yard. My breath fogged the chilly air as I stretched my hands to the warmth the Gate offered. The heat was soothing to my damaged hand, making the pain almost imaginary. Closing my eyes, I tried to connect the dots, search for answers to calm the rising terror inside me.
Death. My mind warned. A cold, gnarled hand seemed to wring my heart. Death wanted me.
For what reason, I couldn't tell. It made me think of the centuries-old curse that ran in my family. I remembered Vincent bringing that up in his conversation with Vladimir. Myth or no myth, the curse was already broken. At least, that was what Mom believed. Death had taken so many unfulfilled lives. Taken mothers from innocent daughters. Laden fears through the generations. So what more could he want from a dead girl like me? It didn't make any sense.
"Not too excited, are we?" It was Amyr who sat on the porch's steps, apparently unwilling to get so close to the Gate. "It's a gathering. Not a trial," he chided with a wide grin, pausing only to feel the long scar on his face as though too much smiling would open up the wound.
I avoided his eyes, a pang of guilt rising in my chest at the thought that I couldn't even help them during the battle. I was useless, comfortably lying on the snow, watching them while they put their lives on the line. If only I was stronger...
"Not so used to being less pretty, huh?" I mumbled unintentionally, an edge in my voice as I opened and closed my injured hand.
"Honestly, no," he retorted. "Too bad scythe-inflicted injuries don't heal that easily. Once Rosario's back in shape, I'll make her do something about this."
I removed the bandages around my hand, surprised to see that it was already fully-healed when I recalled it bleeding just this morning. Thoughtfully, I stared at it, letting the strips of dressing flit into the hole. All that was left was a long straight scar—a reminder that I was different from them. That the Door didn't kill me. That I was defective. Alive, yes. But not the same. Nirvana, I thought, was a very complicated concept. Both alluring and terrifying. Comforting and destructive. Being aware of that, I went back to the porch and sat beside Amyr, savoring the silence for a while before nudging him on the side.
"As vain as ever..." I muttered, rolling my eyes.
He sneered, faking a wince as he raised both his arms up. "Hey, I'm just human. But you got to admit, you still love me though."
"Right..." I nodded, trying to keep a straight face. "That's some confidence you got there. Somehow, the attitude's going well with the scar."
Suddenly, he took my right hand and placed it on his lap. He silently traced the faint furrowed line across my palm with his finger. Quickly, I withdrew and hid it in my pocket. I didn't want him to see that. I wanted to be like them, one of them and part of them. Not some freak of nature. But when he looked up to me, all I saw was a warm big smile. I reminded myself that this was Amyr who couldn't care less about the world, laughed in the face of danger and found the good in everything. He would accept me no matter what.
"Know what?" Amyr started, narrowing his kind eyes. "I think I'll keep the scar. Gives me that ragged bad boy look, don't you think?"
Laughter filled the air and I realized that it was coming from me. I couldn't remember the last time I really laughed. It was amazing how he could easily make situations seem a little less heavy. He made everything easier.
When the talk veered to the stunt I pulled with the big legion of wraiths we encountered last night, he said, "So you've seen us doing surveillance before, huh?"
I met his eyes and nodded. "A few months ago. In front of the Thomases' house. Don't ask me how because I have no idea. At first, I thought you were cult people or something." I told him everything I saw that night. It seemed like a long, long time ago and I clutched on my knees, telling myself that there was no going back to that old life I used to have.
"The old man was near his expiration," he started after a minute of recall. "You know how it is. Wraiths getting attracted to the dying. But his case was different. An Elemental was leeching on him long before we'd discovered it. Elementals don't usually meddle with humans. So we went there and sort of exorcised the household. The man was old, but he still had a few days left in him."
I had heard of the Elementals in one of my sparring sessions with Rosario. When a Stray didn't crossover of a long period of time it will start to adapt, thus the change. The first possibility was for a soul to go bad and transform into a vicious wraith. Those who managed to partially retain their human form became Swarths while the other few who had remained pure and neutral lingered in the world of the living as part of nature—Elementals. They were usually the peaceful kind, blending in nature, taking on the form of trees, plants. Some into animals, like Byron Flynn and those fur balls Max took as familiars.
He let out a deep sigh, a distant look in his brown eyes. "Might've been fun too... growing old like that with someone you care about. Making you breakfast every morning. Watching TV with you every night. Having children and grandchildren," he said softly.
"Must be," I answered.
For a while, we sat there side by side, watching the snow flit slowly from the skies. How I wished it could last longer but I knew that was pushing what little luck I had left. So together, we went back into the mansion and dressed in our most decent clothing as if looking presentable in front of The Second could give me more life points.
While we were waiting, Amyr even joked that I should put some make-up on, look pretty and maybe do a lap dance for Irvine. Hopefully, he would be too stunned to kill us. He also suggested that we serve a banquet solely made by Mei. That way, there would be a big chance that Irvine would die of food poisoning. As usual, we just earned the biggest glaring ovation. People here were so tight they couldn't afford some sense of humor.
There was no use mulling it over. I was going to die and wanted to laugh my head off at the craziness of it all. And in that attempt, it seemed like Amyr was the only willing person to join me.
As we heard footsteps coming from the hallway, I knew I was done for. Irvine showed up just in time. In front of us, a boy about Vincent's age stood, flashing a bemused pair of pale metallic eyes which was a huge contrast to his closely cropped jet-black hair. As opposed to what I had expected, he was wearing a gray V-neck pullover, a pair of faded jeans and running shoes. No one told me it was casual Friday. The second he stepped into the drawing room, my heart seemed to stop as if I was having a heart attack. Laughing it off didn't sound so much fun anymore.
All the familiars—including me—stood up and bowed heads to show respect. I saw the rest of the guys step towards the back of Vladimir's chair and I copied them, standing beside where my master was seated. Without any attempt to exchange pleasantries, the brothers nodded at each other, unblinking for several moments.
"You know why I'm here," said Irvine in with a faint accent that I couldn't quite put my finger on. British but muddled. Russian or Mediterranean, perhaps. His blank expression was unchanging as with his smooth voice. He fished out a black envelope from his leather satchel and placed it on the new marble center table. "It's not my job to deliver messages but Father was worried Alexis might have too much on his workload. He's still... unstable."
"No thanks to your brother," Vincent muttered, not even bothering to hide his annoyance.
Irvine tilted his head to the side with an expression that was impossible to read. "I don't represent Cairo, nor his actions so I won't justify them. And it's not part of my work to answer to you."
Vincent clutched very tightly around the armrest of his chair, his jaws abruptly clenched as if he would very much like it to tackle his older brother to the floor. Struggling to keep my wits together, I placed a hand over his tense shoulder. He seemed to relax a little but it was hard to tell when he would go ballistic. Unlike Max, Irvine was an unwelcomed guest due to his affinity to Cairo.
Before things got out of hand, Vladimir interrupted, managing a neutral air as he offered the newcomer a seat. Irvine politely declined, of course, mentioning that he must be on his way soon after he delivered the message.
"Father specifically wants to give you this message," Irvine continued, his face perfect and emotionless like sculpture that almost never moved. "He would be delighted to have both of you, his beloved sons and the whole of your cabal to a grand celebration in his honor. He's especially thrilled to meet your new familiar, Vincent." The Second finally fixed his empty gaze at me. "And if possible, be informed of the circumstances involved in the completion of her Resurrection."
My insides revolted at his words. I held my breath in the fear that I might start sobbing or screaming in panic. I clutched on Vincent's shoulders too tight my nails almost dug into his flesh. I knew it. Max sold us out. And now that Death knew about my existence, he would destroy me. Or worse, Vincent too.
"As a gift," he went on as he carefully placed a small wooden box on the table. "Father would like to see your new familiar wearing this token of honor. Her presence is greatly desired. That is all."
As Irvine turned around and was about to leave, Vladimir called him back, urgency evident on the boy's youthful but weary face.
"We know it's him," Vladimir said in a quiet voice, almost sounding regretful that he had to speak out what he had in mind. "It's Cairo, isn't it? The one who's causing all these Gate disturbances."
The Second kept walking into the hallway as if he hadn't heard his brother. His silence unnerved me. Like he was sending us some secret message without actually saying a thing.
"Irvine! Answer me!" Vladimir got up from his seat, his voice raised. "You're well aware of your brother's wrong-doings, yet you choose to keep silent about it! How long could you pretend to not see the madness in all of this? You're not like him, Irvine. You're not his puppet. For once, start thinking for yourself!"
At last, Irvine halted his steps and faced his younger brother with a thin smile curving the tips of his lips. It was the first human expression I had seen from him. But his magnificent eyes, instead of coming to life, looked troubled, twitching in confusion as though he was having a spasm. Or perhaps an internal struggle that only he was aware of. He closed his eyes, breathing out deeply to regain his composure. And before I developed any empathy toward him, his façade turned vacant again.
"Not all of us are granted the comfort of freedom, brother," he answered briefly before broodingly taking his leave.
Holding my breath, I listened as Irvine's footfalls started to fade away and disappear deep into the hallways. For several minutes, no one spoke or moved from their spot. The message was clear and all clues pointed to me. I sagged on the armrest of Vincent's chair, reaching for the black envelope with a trembling hand. Vincent took it from me when he noticed how much I struggled trying to open it. When he finally read the invitation, he handed it to his brother and pinched the bridge of his nose, cursing under his breath.
"The celebration's on the night of the winter solstice," said Vladimir after putting it down. "Just as I had imagined. It has Cairo's name written all over it. I have to admit. It was wise of him to disguise this conspiracy as a party rather than a trial. To directly confront us would be a disadvantage to him. There are only three people who knew about Aramis' existence; Max, Alex and the intruder. And therefore, being the whistle-blower can only mean two things—that he got the information from Max or that he is the intruder. He's scared that all evidence might point to him. That's why he pulled off this party charade."
"To expose me," I whispered blankly.
"Max," Vincent muttered in contemplation. "I'm going to kill him."
It was scarier how he could announce such intent so calmly. He meant it. No doubt.
"Let's try to see things from a rational point, Vince." Vladimir's tone was firm and commanding. But even he couldn't curb Vincent's impulsiveness. "Max knew you were serious when you threatened him. He's not exactly the guy you put your money on but he'd never put Alex's life on the line if he could help it. It's not wise to create more enemies when we're supposed to be finding allies."
Again, the room was filled by a foreboding silence.
"Complete the Resurrection," I told Vincent with a tone that was almost imposing.
Without even pausing to think, he shook his head. "No," he said vacantly. "It's too late for that. Irvine saw you. He knows you're not fully immortal. Anyone in this room can sense that. If I were to protect you, I'd rather do it in shape."
"Then let me crossover." The words barely made their way out of my throat. "That way, they wouldn't have any evidence that I existed. That's right. Tell them it's all a lie," I added frantically.
It took several moments before any emotion registered on Vincent's face. Before I knew it, a vase was already hurtling to the wall, smashing into little bits of white porcelain.
"That's out of the question!" he roared, his sheer stature looming over me. "You know I can't let you. I won't."
One look at him and I knew it was no use to argue. His resolve was stronger than mine. I thought of a good argument that would convince him, or at least Vladimir. He had always been the sensible one. But it was Archie who spoke first, finally breaking his pensive silence.
"Permission to speak, Masters," he excused himself. "I may have something that can help."
"Go on," Vladimir said, waving a frail hand. His eyes lit up, with hope, I guessed.
"We still have five more days before the solstice," the familiar begun, mostly addressing his master. "And if Master Vladimir's deduction that The First is the intruder, then we certainly have something to work on to turn the situation around."
Intently listening, Vincent hoisted himself on his seat, nodding. "I've thought of that."
As bemused as ever, Archie disclosed his theory. "Let's say Master Cairo orchestrated the gathering to forcibly disclose Master Vincent's defiance of the immortal laws by using Aramis as the evidence in the hopes that Master Vincent will be punished ultimately, we can use immediate threat as our basis of defense."
"Yawn," Amyr grumbled, appearing as uninterested as ever. "Can we please talk in English here?"
Archie just waved off the comment and continued. "Immediate threat. Simple," he replied complacently. "We can just say that Master Vincent cannot complete Aramis' resurrection due to its weakening after effects. We could argue that with the rising number of Strays and wraiths in out jurisdiction, we need everyone in the cabal to control the infestation. Not to mention, the Gates being sabotaged. I have all the numbers and appearances recorded. Plus, we have the Swarth's head as another striking evidence."
Vladimir nodded thoughtfully, rubbing his chin once the Swarth was mentioned. "That's actually a good point. But to make things go in our favor, we must present a stronger evidence in front of Father to reveal the intruder's true identity. Whether the enemy is Cairo or not, he most likely knows by now that The Riddle of Chasms is already in our possession. This may be a plot to get the scroll back."
"Easy," Vincent said steadily. "I'll torture the info out of Max."
"Vincent!" Vladimir's voice reverberated against the stone walls. "Contain yourself! We're trying to not get you killed here!"
The boy's eyes were so intense, I felt like shrinking in the corner. Breathing angrily, Vincent silenced himself and looked away. I couldn't help but feel guilty for all the trouble I caused. It would be a lot easier if I could just disappear forever.
"The injuries," Archie pointed out. "Injuries inflicted by scythes and Cataclysts don't usually heal for at least a week."
"Brilliant! Archimedes, you are a genius! The ball!" Vladimir exclaimed, jumping from his seat and looking around as though we all should've figured the answer by now.
When no one seemed to have any clue, the dark-haired boy let out a deep breath and smiled with a strange glint in his eyes. That usually meant he was about to unravel an excellent possible solution. No one spoke. We just kept on the edge of our seats, waiting for the boy-genius' big reveal.
"The injuries Vince and Amyr managed to inflict on the intruder can be our most valuable evidence," he started, fixing his spectacles on the bridge of his nose. "If it's a celebration, there'd certainly be dancing. And lots of it. If I was the intruder, I'd certainly prefer to stay in my seat so people wouldn't notice that I had a limp and a heavily damaged arm. My dance partner would certainly know I was injured." His smile widened as he turned to me.
All of a sudden, Mei's eyes lit up, as though she could actually read what her master was thinking. She clasped her hands together and excitedly ran to my side to take my hand.
"Master, can I be in charge of her dress?" Mei trilled, circling me like a curious cat.
"Nobody else can do better in the department," the boy replied to his familiar, looking pleased as he fixed his gaze on me. "Father has shown interest in you, Aramis. The rest of my brothers must be very curious as to what makes you so special. We'll use that curiosity to find out who's defying us."
"What do you mean?" I asked, trying not to shake in my boots. Something told me that I wouldn't like his brilliant idea.
"We'll blow up the enemy's cover." Then he started humming a very familiar tune—a common waltz music used in cotillions. "I do hope you know how to dance, because that's exactly what you'll have to do."