Cassandra
There is no greater enemy than time.
Time cannot be defeated or slowed. It cannot be persuaded.
It passes without regard, mowing down the good and the evil, stealing our days like coins running through a slot machine. One after the other. Day. Night. Day.
There's no stopping it.
"Cassandra, are you listening?"
The imminent God of War speaks to me. Over the passing days, and then weeks, the tone of his voice when speaking to me has altered, softened considerably. We never spoke again of what he saw in that vision, if that is what he even experienced. Part of me doesn't want to know what terrified him so intensely. Since then, he hasn't left my side for a single second, so I'd presume whatever he saw happen doesn't bode well for me. Still, with a job to do, we spend our days huddled together, trying to do the impossible.
Outsmart the devil himself... but that's becoming hard to do.
Time has run out.
We've scoured the continent trying to break a code, and even now, a week until judgment day, there are some fragments I don't think we'll ever find. The symbols so far connect death to life, and for all I know, this path we're on could be leading us towards Elijah's reveal, instead of what we actually need. The bed is strewn with books, pages my tired eyes can barely decipher.
A hand presses on the papers, long pale fingers shielding them from my sight.
I look up.
Elijah is gazing at me expectantly. "Did you hear what I said?"
"No."
"Paris is returning today. He says they were unsuccessful with the man but he provided them another name."
"And where does this one live?"
"Milan. So, not too far."
"That's good."
He grabs my hand, lifting my fingers to his lips. "There is still time."
"You have to admit, it's getting pretty down to the wire." God, my chest is tight. "Neither of them has come to us."
Samael. Jehovah. Two gods who were at war with each other not even two months ago.
Where are they now? Have they reconciled? Planned behind our backs?
Are we doomed?
"That's probably best, Cassandra. Samael would only torment us, and Jehovah... it is unpredictable to imagine he'd openly guide us to victory."
I nod. He's right. Of course, he's right. My faith in this, in what I saw in that mountain, means I cannot abandon that hope now. Everything is riding on it. With a deep inhale, I give him a smile, hoping it looks reassuring. It seems like he's about to say something when a blood-curling scream echoes through the walls, startling us both, lingering on for a few seconds before disappearing completely.
Leaping up, Elijah instantly disappears to aid the call. When I reach the area, I immediately hear Erika, sounding frustrated. A crowd has formed around the door, blocking my way in. I see the side of Elijah who is surveying the length of the room, looking particularly uninvested, despite Erika's reproachful tone.
"What is going on?" I ask Adriana, who resides in the room across the hall, the daughter of a prominent vampire. She shrugs, as in the dark as me. The man in front of us, wearing only a robe, spins back to us.
"It's another donor, I think."
"Shit."
Adriana frowns. "This is really getting out of hand."
Once Erika's voice has lowered and she begins shooing everyone away, my sight into the room clears. As expected, a body lay strewn across the bed. A woman, dead, with a look of fright frozen on her feminine features, naked, vulnerable.
"Take him away," Erika growls, ordering the guards to direct the vampire Paulo to the cells for holding until they can decide on his punishment. As of late, as the tension in these halls have grown, a restlessness that Erika hasn't been able to quell, dead bodies of humans have been a daily occurrence.
"I didn't mean to go so far, Erika!" the vampire pleads, falling to his knees in front of her. He looks to Elijah, seeking his help, but Elijah's eyes remain on the wall.
"I said, take him," she reiterates frigidly as he begins to beg. It's futile. Within seconds, he's been dragged out by the use of silver and the room falls to forlorn silence.
"I don't know what's happening," Erika says.
"This is not usual," Elijah replies. Erika appears beside me, looking down on the blonde beauty.
"I don't know what I'm doing wrong."
"That's because it's probably not you."
We both turn back to him as he voices what none of us want to dare say.
With the deadline approaching, we know it's only a matter of time before Samael blindsides us. Perhaps this is his way of warning us of what's to come. I know neither of us are prepared for it.
"I think I should ban live donors for now. I should have listened to you, Elijah. Damn rookie mistake."
"I made plenty of those in my time," Elijah says, squeezing her shoulder on the way out of the room. "Banning it now will only cause an uproar..."
His instructions fade as they leave the murder scene with more important tasks at hand than cleaning up a massacred body. I regard the woman closely, remembering a time when I emboldened, slicing myself in front of a ravenous vampire. Elijah set on me like a stranger, and it was terrifying... the sheer strength of his species. This woman suffered the fate I would have, had Elijah not stopped himself.
Sent by Erika, the cleaning crew arrive after a few minutes to gather up the body, erase the crime from existence. This woman's murder will be forgotten in mere days. Vampires are not sentimental creatures... usually.
"Come for a walk with me."
I hadn't heard him return. Although I don't wear a watch, I hold up my wrist, smiling ruefully. "You were gone five minutes. Quite a record."
His eyes slant but he's clearly too mentally exhausted to banter along with me.
"Where are we going?" I ask, flinching as they roll the blonde's body off of the bed into a body bag. Her corpse makes a loud crunching sound in impact with the stony ground. The vampires carry on, clearing out before he has the chance to answer.
"Would it be strange if I said I wanted to watch you eat breakfast?"
I chuckle. "A little. Intrigued by my eating habits, are you?"
"No."
When it becomes apparent he doesn't want to clarify, I walk to him and take his hand, willing to do whatever he likes while we still have the chance.
***
"Happy now?"
I slip the piece of pear through my lips, smirking while I do it at the undead creature staring at me across the table. His remarkable mouth curves slightly on either end, a muted smile that holds the weight of the intense emotions I can feel are brewing within him.
The pear is juicy, doused in olive oil. Paired with the peppery arugula and a crisp white wine, I am enjoying this unusual lunch date. Elijah's hands are pressed underneath his chin, his knuckles softly rubbing the smooth skin there.
"Why are you acting so strange?"
"How am I acting?"
"You're watching me eat," I chuckle, covering my mouth, uncomfortably. "It shouldn't be this fascinating... Is this your way of telling me I'm an obnoxious eater?"
He rolls his eyes. "You eat like a rabbit. Hardly at all."
"Then what?"
"I just... I like the normalcy of it."
"Of watching me eat?"
He nods. "I take a lot of your quirks for granted, I think. You smile when you finish a meal. Every time you finish a meal, right when you put your utensils down."
"You're such a liar!"
He smiles. "Your eye twitches whenever you are offended."
I cover my face, shielding my eyes from him with a nervous chuckle. "You notice that?"
The human eye draws to our table instinctively, even more so when we raise our voices higher than a whisper. I glance to my side, lifting my brows unsubtly at an old woman, who quickly returns her focus to her veal.
"When you made the deal with Samael," he whispers, catching my attention, "I realized how important it is. To remember."
I don't like where this is headed. "That doesn't sound ominous at all."
"I know you know what I mean," he replies, in all seriousness. I set down my fork and knife, realizing we're about to really talk.
"Tell me what's going on."
"Samael. I fear he's making himself known. I... I had wanted to keep that from you, but I think you deserve to know. I didn't make that vow lightly."
I lean forward, lowering my voice suspiciously "What do you mean... known?"
His eyes move. I follow them. They land on shrubbery.
I hadn't noticed, too preoccupied in Elijah's own tumulus emotions to survey our surroundings. The black roses never caught my eye, although there they sit, blossomed under the sun, despite the chill of the day. An impossible beauty on earth, those roses were given to me moments before I was summoned by the Lord of Darkness years ago.
Here they are again. An ominous sign that he's been with us, watching all this time.
Months of silence.
I tear my eyes from the bushes, facing Elijah reluctantly. His features are carefully restrained, his gaze gentle, taking in my reaction. I lick my lips nervously, stopping myself from scanning the area around us in my fear, knowing Elijah's already been doing so.
"I found them in our bedroom three days ago," he admits, to my dismay. "I tore them to pieces, and got rid of them before you could notice. I hope I haven't done wrong."
Dazed, I shake my head. "We knew it was coming..."
"Are you afraid?" he asks softly.
"Only of being without you."
Reservedly, he smiles, nodding. "We share that fear. I have to remind myself that separation is not an option here. We weren't made for it."
"He's going to go after me," I state bluntly, watching it hit him visibly. He looks down at his lap, his jaw tightening. "I think you've already known that in some way. Maybe even seen it?"
"Cassandra..."
"You need to prepare yourself."
The bluntness in that statement stuns him. He shows that shock, unable to conceal it from the others around us. Unnerved by what I see behind his eyes, a fiery defiance, I cannot look away from him, as much as I want to.
"The gall of you... to think I could possibly prepare myself for that," he whispers, proving he's far more worried about this than I had initially let on. "Did you prepare yourself for mine?"
"You blindsided me. That's not a fair question." I look down. "I don't want to argue about this."
"Am I about to be blindsided?"
"No. You obviously know more than I do, Elijah. I'm making my judgments off of what I see in your eyes. And what I see tells me something bad is coming. Something really bad. Maybe even failure."
He digs a finger into the tablecloth. "My sole purpose in life is to protect you, Cassandra."
"No, it's not. Not anymore," I insist. "I wish it were that easy. That all we had to fight for was ourselves. But we're fighting a difficult battle now. I cannot be your first choice anymore."
"Keep talking this way and I will leave this table," he threatens, his voice barely restraining his despair. "Keep looking at me like you've already resigned yourself to him and..." His hand balls into a fist against the cloth. "You are my goddamn wife. You share my being. You are my choice. You will always be my choice. I don't care what god demands otherwise."
I stare at him bristling gloriously, angry at me, angry at Jehovah, Satan.
I love him for his devotion, although it may be the reason we lose. In this moment, I don't care.
I have someone who would choose me over the orders of gods.
Rising from my seat, in front of all of these people, I round the table, immediately taking his face in my hands. Bent over him, my lips sink deeply into his, gratitude pouring through me into him. His hand circles the back of my neck, holding me to him.
"We'll be okay," I breathe to him. He nods, pulling back, stroking my hair gently. We have the attention of the entire restaurant, both indoor and outdoor seating. I back up, returning to my seat, placing the napkin back on my thighs with a freeing sigh. Elijah, shaking off the difficult conversation, shifts in his seat, clearing his throat, nudging his chin towards my half-eaten meal.
"Now, eat your damn salad."
***
"I gotta tell you, sometimes I really miss Ireland."
Erika takes the blood I've poured for her with a grateful nod. The kitchen is deserted this late at night, with only a few random stragglers every couple of minutes. On rare occasion, Elijah is prepping Paris for the last journey to be made before our three months run down to the wire.
"Back then, I thought it was the end of the world." I chuckle, shaking my head. "Little did I know it could get much, much worse."
"That's life for you," she scoffs.
"You know, you were much more optimistic then."
"That was before my best friend was burned at the stake and we overthrew a thousand-year-old tribunal. Oh, and before you became a god." She watches my eyes roll with a secretive smirk. "What do you think our odds are on winning?"
I regard her with a pointed expression, reaching over the counter to grab her hand. I give it a hearty squeeze. "All I know is whatever happens from here on, we know we've done everything we could have."
"I should have been searching with you. I should have sent Camari to aid you."
"You have aided us by leading. If you weren't here, keeping order, there wouldn't be a world to save. Vampires would be terrorizing this very moment."
"It doesn't feel like I've done much."
"It may look like that... to you."
She rubs her face, looking worn-down. "What does it look like to you?"
"I think I owe you everything," I state bluntly. "I think I owe my life, my relationship, all of it to you, and Paris, and Damien. You have faced death for us, even when common sense probably told you to abandon this." I squeeze her fingers, becoming emotional. "I think you were born to lead. You are noble, and strong, and graceful... I hope this outcome will be worth the suffering we've caused you."
"I have always been honored to be by your side, Cassandra. And Elijah's. I have no regrets. Whatever happens in a few days, I will protect you and stand at your side." She presses a swift kiss to my knuckles. "You know I will."
***
"So, when do you leave?"
Paris looks up from his computer, his dark hair tied back neatly, grey dusted along the hairline. We've been sitting in the Great Hall, awaiting Damien and Elijah's return from the blood banks. "Dawn."
"Is this couple promising?"
"Well, they are proficient scholars. Their expertise is in dead language's. At this point, they are our last hope in being able to crack this code." He shakes his head, glancing to the clock. The inevitable evidence of time running out on us. "I fear what will happen now. Even if we manage to uncover it, there isn't enough time to dispose of this weapon. Mere days. That's all we have now."
"We'll handle all that when it comes. We always do."
"Elijah has been beside himself. I'm sure you've noticed his unease as of late."
"He worries too much," I chuckle, returning my eyes to the papers spread out in front of me, specifically our findings on the alchemical charts. "Jehovah assured me of our success. We have to win. We just have to."
Paris nods, looking not at all convinced. He closes his laptop with a sigh. "I haven't packed a thing. Will you fetch me when they arrive?"
"Of course. Get some rest."
He kisses my cheek gently, lingering there for a moment, turning before I can get a good look at his eyes. He doesn't want me to see the uncertainty in them. For a month now, their promises to me have lingered between us, a rare secret we've had to keep from Elijah.
Now, we're at the point of having to keep those promises. They aren't just words anymore.
I dive into the studies so that I don't think about the fact that I'm suddenly alone, a nearly unheard-of instance. I read until my eyes tire, until my mind cannot gather any more information. The pictures blur, becoming out of focus. Still, I continue, knowing sleep isn't an option.
Sleep is a waste of time. I will push myself as long as I can.
The burner phone rings beside me. Knowing there is only one other person with the number to it, I pick up, letting out a sigh of relief. "Elijah."
"Wanted to make sure you were okay."
"We're fine here. Paris is packing. I'm researching."
He makes a begrudging sound. "He was supposed to be watching over you."
"He's not a babysitter, Elijah."
"I don't like you being alone. I still have hours before I'm back."
"I'm fine. I have the citrine. I'm safe."
I hear him speak low to someone about where to board the boxes. Then he returns to our call. "I'm going to call again in an hour."
"I'll be here."
"Maybe thirty minutes."
I laugh, dropping my head into my hands. "Oh my god, go."
Hanging up, I stand to pour myself some water from the pitcher on the table. Returning to the work, rejuvenated by just the sound of his voice and the knowledge of his imminent return, I flip through the pages for a few minutes before a symbol I've stared at for weeks catches my eye.
It was one of our first findings.
A symbol of the moon.
Filled-in. Uncomplicated. Straight to the point.
What?
I lift the paper up to the light, diving for one of the other books, just out of curiosity. The Philosophers Stone is one of the newest novels we've managed to retrieve. I search through the pages for the page dedicated to the moon that I skimmed earlier. I stand slowly once I've reached the page, as the floor gives way under me. I grasp onto the table for support, gasping loudly.
"Oh god." I choke, observing both of the symbols, realizing the significance as the puzzle comes together in my mind. As I find the answer we've been searching so desperately for. "Oh, fuck."
Before me is the alchemical symbol for silver.
Not the moon. Silver.
My hands, shaking, pull out Elijah's original drawings of the symbols.
"Oh god, no," I breathe, wide-eyed, feeling sickness coming on fast. I slam the books closed, falling down to my knees. Within seconds, my eyes are burning with tears as I vomit on all-fours, heaving loudly. I haven't even finished before the phone on top of the table is blaring with urgency. When I don't pick up, it blares again, and again.
I heave myself up off of the ground, determined to control the oncoming panic. I even grab supplies to clean the mess I made, dropping down to scrub. I restrain the sobs that want to explode from me, weighing down my chest to the point of pain.
The phone rings again and I scramble up to get it before Elijah truly loses his mind.
"I'm okay," I croak immediately upon answering.
"Oh, god! What's happened? Why weren't you answering?"
"I just got sick. I'm... I'm okay." I stifle my cries. "Just... get back soon."
"I'm going to call Paris right now, have him come to you. I'm leaving, right now."
I nod, not wanting to tell him to take his time. I want him back. I need him back. "Okay."
"Hang in there, baby. I'm coming."
I hang up, sliding the phone over the papers. It's when I shift, grabbing the handle of a mop that I know I'm not alone anymore. I turn slowly, going rigid at the sight of Jehovah, just standing on the other side of the table, presenting himself to me for the first time in months.
We stare at each other, completely silent, for minutes.
I feel betrayal, horror, uncertainty, fear.
I don't see a God of Light.
I see the end of my husband. The end of his sons. Of Erika.
Of their species.
"Vampires," I spit out, trembling head-to-toe. "His weapon... is vampires."