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Where the Path of Cinders Leads

Summary:

Vampires and other un-human creatures keep turning up dead. Vampires and other un-human creatures team up to find the killer. Things get weird, and frightening, and... human?

Chapter 1: The Killings

Summary:

A string of horrifying murders brings a group of peculiar people together.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text


“I’m Lydia. This is Clara. She’s my sister.”

The three vampires nod. Clara waves, not wanting to shake their hands. Vampires are so cold, and she imagines their hands to be unpleasantly clammy, more so than ordinary men. Witches do not, as a rule, get involved with vampires. As a matter of fact, un-human creatures rarely interact.There have been occasional romps at The Unholy Masquerade; Lydia even eyes one of them, the one with many tattoos, almost suggestively. Almost.

Clara knows the urge to get one’s mind off a traumatic event with quick fucks in dark corners. Lydia might indulge; the vampire with all the tattoos also regards her with what under the circumstances would pass for playful interest. But it’s hard to be playful when you’re nearly consumed by grief.

She doesn’t know who they lost; she doesn’t know how much Lydia has disclosed about their own loss. But they all share the unmistakable scowl of deep sorrow. Even playful tatted vampire. They all stand outside the vampires’ lair, a big, grim-looking house.

“Please, come in.”

The one who extends the invitation has big, brown eyes and is dressed like an aristocrat. Clara and Lydia follow them inside, and Clara notices how clean it seems to be. Not to say vampires are all filthy swines, but they aren’t precisely known for their tidiness. They sit in what seems to be a parlor, and the brown-eyed fancy one speaks again.

“We have beer, if you’d like.”

Clara raises an eyebrow. Why the hell do vampires have beer? Do they get a lot of visitors?

“We are friends with a pack of werewolves, and they like beer.”

Ah. Her facial expressions are too transparent for her liking. “Yes, I’d like one. Please.” Lydia nods in agreement.

The aristocrat vanishes into the kitchen, and they look at the remaining vampires. Somebody has to start asking questions, and it seems the chatty one of the bunch is away, taking awfully long opening two fucking beers. Clara decides to plunge into the abyss.

“Who was killed? A roommate, I presume. A brother? A long-time friend?”

The long-haired vampire with the quizzical brow answers. “A friend. A dear friend. For nearly two hundred years.”

Clara takes a deep breath. She closes her eyes, exhales and eyes the tattooed vampire.

“I’ve only been a vampire for a couple of years. Petyr turned me. He also turned Deacon, our friend. The one who…”

That makes sense. His clothes are far too modern, and vampires tend to stick to what they know; his friends are proof of that. Speaking of, Mr. Fancy Pants finally arrives with those beers. He poured them into tall glasses, and Clara wants to smile, but she can’t. She physically can’t. She wonders if she’ll ever smile again.

The vampire sets the tray on the table and sits next to his long-haired friend. Perhaps a proper introduction is in order. “What are your names?”

The tatted vampire speaks. “I’m Nick. This is Vladislav, and that’s Viago.”

Viago is the fancy one. Vladislav is the quizzical one. Deacon’s the dead one.

“We lost—“ she stops herself. They didn’t lose her; she was ripped from them. “Our sister was killed. Stella. Stella was killed.”

Lydia breaks into tears. Clara feels them deep behind her eye sockets, threatening her with a deluge of despair. She turns them into rage, into bloodlust. She will mourn Stella after she has ripped the heart out of whatever creature murdered her. She takes Lydia’s hand in hers, twining their fingers. Lydia’s crying slowly subdues; she wipes her tears and her snot with her sleeve and takes a deep breath.

The vampires… they do not appear unfazed by Lydia’s sudden outburst; rather, they seem to struggle to distance themselves from it, lest it touches them and makes them break down as well. Vladislav’s brow becomes more severe, but his green eyes are empathetic. Viago looks tremendously desolate, as if he were alone in this parlor. Not alone: with a man-shaped blood pool on the floor, where his eyes are currently fixed. Nick’s head hangs low, so Clara can’t see his expression.

She speaks again. “As you know by now, there have been others. Deacon was the third vampire. Stella was the second witch. Two werewolves have been found with the same fatal injury. It’s a pattern, or it seems to be. We asked around, and zombies and demons haven’t been struck yet. But they might be next.” Clara ends her statement with a shrug. It’s ridiculous how little they know. No one has seen anything. They have all stumbled upon a bloodied body, an unrecognizable symbol, and nothing else.

Viago clears his throat. “Perhaps we could… team up. None of us is an investigator, as far as I know. But what else can we do? I see no other choice but to put whatever abilities we have into… an investigation. A search. A hunt. Whatever you want to call it. It’s a threat, and it must be neutralized. And the dead must be avenged.”

They all look at him, each with a varying degree of surprise. Clara would have never expected that kind of talk from a dandy vampire. But he’s right. That’s why she and Lydia are here.

“We could work in pairs. You said you are friends with a werewolf pack, would they be willing to help?” They nod. Vladislav speaks after what feels like ages.

“I could work with Stu and Anton; Nick could work with Lydia, and Viago with Clara. If we combine our skills, we might be more successful.” It’s reasonable.

“You mentioned another vampire. Peter? Would he join us?”

They all look down. Oh no.

“Petyr’s dead. It happened around the time Nick was turned, so it’s unrelated.”

“Why are you so sure?” Lydia asks. “Maybe this asshole was testing the waters. Folks like us aren’t killed every day.”

“Because the vampire hunter was also killed in the incident.”

Great, their very first dead-end. Clara gets the feeling they will encounter a lot of those. “Okay, I like that idea. Before we split up, we should tell each other everything we know. Then we could start retracing their steps. Everyone on board with that?”

The vampires nod for what feels like the nth time. It was going to be a long night.


They usually go out together, but not always. That night Deacon stayed behind with Stu, who was teaching him to download movies onto the modest laptop he had bought. Stu left some time after midnight to meet with a friend. When Viago and Vladislav returned, they found Deacon —what was left of him— on the kitchen floor. They knew it was Deacon because, among the blood and goo, they saw the sweater with the sunrise pattern.

“I hadn’t seen a staked vampire before. I knew what happened, but I… I had never seen it.”

Viago speaks softly, chin buried in his scarf. Clara knows it isn’t a scarf, but it’s not like she can ask what it’s called.

“I’ve seen several.” Vladislav’s accent is thicker than Viago’s. “I have even staked one or two vampires myself. But these vampires were enemies, or mere acquaintances. To see a friend like that…”

Clara allows the silence to grow longer. Lydia breaks it.

“Where were you?” She asks Nick.

“At a pub. Weekends are great for finding victims.”

Clara shudders. The thought of helpless women shivering under the cold weight of a blood-sucking creature makes her sick. But she knows she has a better chance of finding whoever killed Stella if she works with the vampires and the werewolves. At least the latter don’t eat people.

Her gaze meets Viago's, who eyes her with suspicion. He seems to be the intuitive one of the bunch; while awfully polite, he watches her with tremendous caution. Clara doesn’t exactly boast her contempt for vampires, but she doesn’t conceal it, either. Vladislav is too self-involved to notice; Nick is too naive.

But she cannot deny that their grief is just as real as her own, and Lydia’s. Recounting what they saw when they got home that night… Viago is also the most transparent with his emotions, and the pain of losing a friend in such a gruesome way is evident on his features. Is that what she looks like? Is her face ashen and wilting, too? She hasn’t looked in the mirror in days. She showers in the dark; she brushes her teeth with mechanical motions in front of the flat surface of her bedroom closet. Is this what being undead feels like?


They managed to establish a timeline of the killings.

The werewolves Viago had mentioned stopped by, so they were able to gather the approximate time of death of each individual. First it was Stella. Then, two newbie vampires who lived together. Deacon was next. Then, another witch. Then a young werewolf. And finally a middle-aged werewolf who lived alone.

“As far as we know, Stella only knew Kaia, the other witch. I assume the werewolves knew each other as well.”

Anton nods. “Yeah. Luke wasn’t part of my pack, but we knew him. There are fewer werewolves than vampires and witches in this city.”

They had yet to determine if Deacon knew the other vampires. Vladislav didn’t think so. “I cannot claim to know every acquaintance of my friends’, but I would say our circle is quite small. Nick is the newest addition. There is another vampire who is relatively close to us, but she left the city… a year ago, maybe?” His question is directed at Viago, who nods and says “Yah, yah.”

“Jackie was Deacon’s familiar for a while, but was turned by Nick. Her husband —ex-husband says she lives in Auckland, now.”

Ex-husband? Do vampires have family courts? Clara is fucking exhausted. She hasn’t slept in four days, and being in this big, creepy house makes her feel uneasy. She now wishes she hadn’t drunk that beer. What are the chances of these creatures having coffee? The notes on her phone are starting to blur together. It seems like her severe lack of sleep is starting to catch up with her.

“We’re gonna go home now.” She turns to her designated partner. “We could visit the young werewolf’s flat tomorrow night.”

Tasks had been assigned to each group. Vladislav, Stu and Anton will interview friends and families of the victims. Lydia and Nick will look into the “anti-supernatural” circles that are known to host vampire hunters and the like. Clara and Viago will check out the victim’s places.

She hasn’t stepped in Stella’s flat since her death. Fleur, her ex-girlfriend, had moved out shortly before Stella was killed. Fleur was a witch, too, and Clara believed their breakup would be temporary. Those two were madly in love. Now, Fleur is heart-broken and grief-stricken. Clara will need to check on her, but she fears she won’t be of any comfort. Lydia is her only priority now.

“Yes, that sounds good,” Viago murmurs.

Vladislav had said that their chances of success increased by teaming up. Clara agrees, in theory. But she also fears her misgivings about vampires might torpedo her efforts.

Viago seems nice enough, yes. Passive, even. Yet she notices the distinctive stiffness of trepidation in his stance. She must look exactly the same.

“Let me show you guys out.”

Lydia walks next to him. “I like your coat.”

“Thank you. It has to be around… ten times your age.”

“How old do you think I am?”

“Oh, early twenties, for sure.”

He’s right on the money. Clara still sees Lydia—and all of her ridiculous friends— as children. Barely out of their teens.

“How old are you?”

Viago squints as he opens the front door. “Almost four-hundred.”

“Whoa. You’re ancient.”

Clara sees Viago’s soft smile. Lydia has that effect on people. She’s bright and warm, like the early morning sun. She managed to make a tiny crack in Viago’s sullen face. If it weren’t for Lydia, she would have sunken into a never-ending void of hopelessness.

“Bye! Lydia says. “We’ll stay in touch.”

She does the Star Trek salute thingy. Viago’s look of utter confusion makes Lydia giggle. Clara holds onto that sound with all of her might. Lydia’s all she has left.

Lydia and the need to find Stella’s killer and let all of the hurt and fury she has inside finally come out.


Notes:

Comments are always welcome :)