In Darkness We Must Abide: The Complete Second Season: Episodes 6-10 (9 page)

“Rhonda, did he hurt you?” Vanora sat up with alarm.

“No, but he threatened to.” Rhonda lightly shrugged. “I was careful coming home. I took a roundabout way and the security guard escorted me to the car. It was just...Scary. And to make matters worse, inventory is scheduled to happen in two weeks’ time, so I really need to hire someone new right away. Plus, working every single day for twelve plus hours is going to kill me. I’m so taking a vacation when it’s over.”

“That really sucks,” Vanora said sympathetically.

“Yeah, but in the grand scheme of things, I guess that's just how life works, huh? Good stuff happens. Bad stuff happens. Just gotta roll with it.” Rhonda slid off the bed. “I just don't want you worrying about it. Though if you see anyone weird hanging around, call the police.”

“I will. I promise.” Guilt ate at her. Rhonda was considerate enough to warn her roommate about potential danger, yet Vanora couldn't tell Rhonda about the vampires. Again, she was made to face the fact that she was being immensely selfish staying with Rhonda even if she was taking every precaution she could think of to keep her friend safe. She'd even given Rhonda a small cross necklace as a gift.

Rhonda reclaimed the bat. “It'll all be okay. I just need to survive the next two weeks. I hate inventory. See ya in the morning.”

“Night,” Vanora called out as her bedroom door closed.

Sliding back under the covers, Vanora checked the time on her phone. A message from her sister had come in while she was asleep telling her that she loved her. Vanora typed back the same sentiment, then took a deep breath. She pulled up Roman's phone number that was disguised as Uncle Matthias.

I miss you and love you
, she typed out.

It wasn't even a minute later when a message dinged.

I miss you, Vanora. I love you. With all my heart.

She read the words in Roman’s voice in her mind and fresh tears flooded her eyes.

Laying the phone on the bed stand, Vanora turned off the light and snuggled into her pillows. Tears on her cheeks, but a smile on her lips, she finally fell asleep again.

The werewolf stank of fear, immediately putting Armando on edge. He hadn’t seen Hank in nearly a decade, but he looked virtually the same. A receding hairline of a nondescript color, big open face, a crooked smile that revealed far too many teeth, and a penchant for wearing clothes two decades out of fashion and two sizes too small. The werewolf paced in front of the bar at the indicated distance set by the smoking ban. He resembled a cartoon choo-choo train, puffs of white smoke drifting behind him as he stalked back and forth.

“
Hank,” Armando called out, approaching the werewolf cautiously. The guy was jittery by nature, but had sounded even more on edge than usual when he had called earlier asking to meet with the vampire.

“
Armando, thank God you’re here!” Hank surged toward him, smoke trailing from his lips. Waving his iPhone in one hand, Hank pointed to it with the other. “I was about to call you! I'm heading underground, but I wanted to give you heads up.”

“Underground?” Armando lifted both his eyebrows.

“Not literally. The pack lying low, hiding out. Going to our safe haven.”

“
What's happening?” Armando hoped this wasn’t some sort of false alarm. Hank tended toward paranoia and was a conspiracy junky when it came to both human and supernatural news. It was that paranoia that also made Hank a very good resource for the latest information, so Armando always listened to him.

“
Serious shit went down in Greece last night. Serious shit. The last of the Seven was killed by you-know-who. Did you know that?”

Armando shook his head, tugging the collar of his jacket up around his ears. It was a very damp, cold evening in Houston. “Are you certain?” Armando wanted to rip the cigarette out of Hank’s mouth. He hated how it wiggled all around while the man spoke.

“He didn’t tell you, huh? Well, I’m not surprised. It's all over the secret boards, man. Parthenia's dead, which means all hell is about to break lose.”

Wincing, Armando plunged his hands into his coat pockets. “Parthenia is dead and we're still here.”

“Guess you're not all connected to the Seven Sisters after all. I wonder if that means the werewolves will survive Leto dying?” Hank furrowed his brow, giving this thought serious consideration. “As if anyone is strong enough to kill her now since she made a pact with Aeron. He might have been able to, but now...”

“The She-Wolf has sided with Aeron?” Armando was unnerved by that fact. The two had been staunch enemies for centuries.

“Which is really, really bad.” Shaking his head, beads of sweat trailed down the sides of his face. “Leto is ancient magic, Armando. When she sided with Aeron that really sealed the deal on the Seven Sisters. Leto and Aeron are unbeatable.” Hank exhaled long and slow. “It's bad enough that Aeron is going to set this world on fire and it’s all going to start here.”

“Why do you think that?” The vampire disliked the idea of Aeron's plans being so well known.

“The only reason I know is because Althea put a hit out on some human girl that Aeron is after that’s from Houston. I guess the new flavor of the month bride, or something.”

“
Althea survived?” Armando was trying to wrap his mind about what he was hearing, but having some difficulty. Parthenia and Althea had been lovers for thousands of years. They were inseparable. He couldn’t imagine one dying without the other following immediately by self-sacrifice.

Hank wagged his head, his cigarette shedding ash all over the front of his blue button down shirt. “No, no. Althea put out the hit before they died. My connection thinks she did it just in case they did die. One last swipe at Aeron.”

“To kill a human girl. You’re certain?”

Hank nodded. “Oh, yeah. She’s albino just like Aeron. I don’t know how Althea found out about her, but she sent people to kill her. They’re probably on their way, or already here. I figure if this girl is something Aeron wants, he’s going to be coming here, too.”

Armando clenched his hands at his sides, trying to contain his anger and dread. “Why are you warning me?”

“
You’ve been hanging with Roman, dude. We both know Aeron is going to eliminate him and all the rest of those rogues. I don’t know why you’ve been slumming it, but I figured I could give you some warning so you can either suck up to your Master, or get the hell out of town.” Hank shrugged. “I wouldn’t really care except for the fact that you helped me back when that coyote pack was threatening my territory.”

Armando rubbed his brow, the tension already building behind his eyes. “When Aeron arrives, he’ll be bringing Leto and her pack along with his vampires.”

“I’m taking my pack and hiding out. I'm not taking chances.”

“
Aeron is going to purge the world. No one is safe anywhere, Hank.”

Hank shrugged. “He’ll concentrate on your kind first, then move on to us. I’m not bowing to that She-Wolf. My pack will die before allowing her to enslave us to Aeron.”

“You sound as if you believe no one can stop him.”

With a chuckle, Hank patted Armando’s shoulder. “Armando, no one can. You know that. He was born to rule this world. He’s the stuff of legends and myths. This is Ragnarok, Doomsday, the Second Coming, and Armageddon all wrapped up into one nice, psycho albino package.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” Armando raked his hands through his hair nervously. He had much to do in a short amount of time. He had to be in Austin by morning. Althea’s assassins would determine that Vanora was not in Houston and track her to Austin.

“
What will you do?”

Armando floundered for an answer. At last he said, “I’m not sure.”

“Good luck with whatever you do. When Aeron arrives, this city is going to burn.” Hank tossed the butt of his cigarette away. “A part of me wants to see it happen, another part wishes there was somewhere safe to run to. Oh, well. This always was a shitty town.”

Alisha hated it when she felt compelled to paint. It only meant that her brush would reveal bad news. Since Vanora had fled from the mansion, Alisha only entered her art studio when forced to by the power she had inherited from their ancestors. The compulsion, if ignored, was almost crippling in its intensity. All her senses dulled until all she could see and hear was the image pulsing in her mind.

As paint dripped from the brush clutched in her hand, Alisha stared at the white canvas with dread.

After Vanora had left, Alisha had given up on her mortal life, her ambitions, her art, and her belief in herself. Though she abstained from human blood, she was more vampire than mortal in the absence of her sister. So was Roman. When they had failed Vanora, they had failed themselves. Their new life was one of darkness, surrounded by vampires like them, and far removed from the one they had created around their younger sibling. But the one thing she couldn't leave behind were the premonitions that spoke through her talent.

The cacophony of sound and the blinding pressure behind her eyes caused her to whimper. Her hand began to fly across the canvas, swift strokes releasing the pent up vision trapped in her mind. As always, she wasn't even certain what image would be unleashed beneath the sweeps of her brush. It was as if an invisible hand gripped hers and guided it across the blank space, dabbing and brushing paint to form the final image. Time became meaningless and all that existed was the canvas on the easel as she swept the first bit of paint onto the surface before her.

Alisha was exhausted and famished by the time she completed the work. The buzzing in her head had finally ceased and she set her brush down with trembling fingers. Covering her face with her hands, she rubbed her eyelids then her temples. A bit dazed, she sat on a stool and felt the power of her gift drain out of her.

“I don't want to see it,” she whispered.

Dread filled her. All her recent paintings tormented her. Usually they were oracles that confounded her, their true meaning swathed in symbolism and vagueness, but lately the imagery repeated the exact same scenario that was difficult not to interpret in just one way.

Raising her eyes at last, Alisha stared at painting, the light reflecting off the still moist paint. A large empty throne dominated the painting. Lying before it, staked through the heart, was Roman.

“Fuck me,” she groaned.

Alisha was tired of painting the death of her brother. Roman had dismissed them as a manifestation of her fears and unresolved emotions over his mortal death. Even when she tried to show him other paintings she was convinced had already come true, he had been his usual pragmatic self.

“You're reading into them. I could decipher all these paintings completely differently and make it work,” he'd said.

It drove her crazy how he regarded her abilities as figments of her imagination. Staring at her creation, she knew it was a warning that her brother was in danger.

In the last few years, many more vampires had arrived in Houston to follow Roman's Laws religiously, making Roman their leader. Her brother easily fit into that role. Even Alisha had to admit that he was charismatic and imposing. Though she knew he was not as perfect as many of his vampire followers believed, she also felt the pull of his magnetism. Roman was a king. Even with his great fall that horrible Halloween night, the vampires still followed him. They wanted to believe in him.

Maybe the painting meant he was going to be dethroned somehow, but she doubted it. The painting was too literal in her eyes.

Roman was in danger.

Alisha chewed on her thumbnail, staring at the one part of the painting that disturbed her most. It was the depiction of her younger sister cradling Roman's dead body, screaming.

“She's going to come home,” Alisha muttered, feeling it as truth.

And when Vanora returned, Roman was going to die.

Armando was furious. Pacing back and forth in Roman’s study, his curls fell into his face as he whipped about impatiently. Roman was on his cellphone, speaking in hushed tones to Carlotta.

That made Armando even unhappier. He was here to warn Roman of the impending danger that was threatening all Roman held dear, and all Roman seemed interested in doing was fawning over his temperamental lover.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Armando swore in Spanish. He had to be in Austin soon and Roman was wasting precious time.

At last, Roman set the phone down, and sighed with a slight shrug. “She’s in a mood.”

Armando cast a disparaging look in his friend's direction. “She’s usually in a mood, Roman.”

Roman just smiled ruefully. “That's true.” He was so smitten with Carlotta, he was blinded to her flaws. “So what do you need to speak to me about?”

Armando whirled about and slapped his hands down on Roman’s desk. Leaning forward, his amber eyes glowed brilliantly. “It’s over, Roman! All of this is over!”

“What are you talking about?” Roman asked, puzzled.

Armando's Spanish temper was getting the best of him, but he couldn't help himself. Roman had to understand what he was about to say and take his words seriously. “Remember when I once told you that there are old vampires? You thought I was talking about vampires like Sheila, Alexander, and Angel, but I wasn’t. For years, I’ve been keeping a truth from you.”