Behind The Devil's Eye (Part Two)

Exhausted and drained, Aeon stumbled along as though in a daze, treading the familiar halls of her vampire coven. The gothic mansion with its finely crafted wrought iron fixtures and detailed stone architecture, rising like a beacon of poorly-concealed nobility and grandeur in the desolate waste of the Rotten Fifth.
  One of the most powerful vampire covens of them all, the immense building with its network of finely furnished corridors and rooms were fiercely guarded. It was as she blindly travelled along that she accidentally ran in to one of these guards.
  “I’m sorry,” she apologised quickly, keeping her eyes down, making a pathetic attempt to hide her battered face behind her hair and filthy clothes which were soaked in blood, most of which was not her own. Please just let me pass, she thought desperately.
  “Aeon, what happened to you?” a concerned voice said softly. A voice that was gentle and familiar and as Aeon heard it, relief flooded through her. Damon. She glanced upwards, tangled red curls falling back to reveal her pale skin torn where five red gashes sliced through her skin and a purple bruise blossomed over her eye; red tearstains bleeding from both eyes.
  She took in the expression on his face, brow creased with concern and dark eyes flooded with worry. She wondered how he would look when she told him that his best friend has just died by her hand and that the coven master had broken one of their sacred laws. A grim smile twitched the corners of her mouth. His angular jaw tensed when she didn’t reply and he reached out a hand, gently unclasping her torn and bloodied cloak, letting it fall to the ground and swiftly whipping off his own and fastening it around her.
  The cloak was warm where it had been wrapped around his strong body and she was instantly grateful. Aeon’s throat felt hoarse and dry as she opened her mouth and she had to swallow hard before she spoke. “We need to talk,” she said simply. Damon nodded immediately, dark curls shifting slightly and he immediately pulled a torch off the bracket and motioned for her to follow him. Aeon walked on in a daze, obediently following him, only dimly aware that he kept glancing at her, his concern clearly growing as their pace slowed and they reached her rooms.
  Damon held the door open for her and Aeon crossed the room, heading straight for a chair by the fire and she was dimly aware that Damon did not enter straight away but was gone for a few minutes before he returned and Celine appeared beside him in the doorway.
  The fire did little to warm her insides, the feeling of numbness still clinging desperately to her body. Celine quickly knelt down in front of her, her short black hair glinting in the firelight. “What on earth happened to you?” she asked, her voice filled with disbelief.
  Damon leaned rigidly against the fireplace, his eyes never leaving her face. Aeon looked up, steadily studying both of them, her two oldest and dearest friends. How could she tell them? Thoughts of Kain came flooding back in to her mind and she had to swallow back the sickness rising in her throat.
  “He’s dead. Kain’s dead,” she said suddenly, looking first at Celine and then at Damon. Celine’s brown eyes widened and her sharp eyebrows rose. Damon just lowered his head.
  “I knew it. Kain wouldn’t have left like that. I knew he couldn’t have just disappeared, I should’ve looked for him, should’ve…” Damon trailed off, his eyes burning with intensity and his broad shoulders tensed. A mirthless laugh escaped Aeon’s lips, “It wouldn’t have done any good...” she said shaking her head, “He…” And then taking a deep breath, she began the story.
  She had to pause a few times, to steady herself and stop herself crying, determined that she wouldn’t show any signs of weakness; each time Celine reached out one of her delicate hands, patting her knee reassuringly. Damon just remained where he was, eyes staring, lost in the flickering fire. A tensed jaw and small lines of worry around his eyes were the only sign that he was upset.
  The fire danced across his chiselled features, so that he looked like one of the fallen angels, depicted in the many paintings around the coven mansion, their flawless features twisted in an infinite sadness as they are consumed in the flames of the hell that is immortality.
  She told them how she had been tracking the Rogue, under the same orders that had meant many other vampires had been out hunting him that night. How she had been in the Northern point of the Rotten Fifth when she had first realised he she was not alone. She recounted the chase over the rooftops and the warehouse where she had been able to look at him properly for the first time and how deformed he had appeared. Truly the Undead. She told them of the fight and finally how she had killed him, realising in the same instant that it was her brother Kain who she had just sunk her blade in to. And then as he lay dying he was unable to speak so she had read his memories and the horror those memories had revealed to her had filled her with a deep sickness. How, filled with fear, she had travelled with the body along the Thames and stashed it in the concealed entrance to the sewers.
  Both vampires looked at her intently, shock etched so deeply in their faces, she was afraid that they did not believe her. Celine stood up and began pacing, slender body tense with worry beside Aeon who still sat in the chair. Damon shook his head sadly. “I wish you were lying,” he said softly, “But what you say, answers questions which have troubled me these past months. There have been whispers amongst the halls of the coven; rumours that the coven master was up to something. But I had no idea it could be this.”
  Celine looked up, her brown almond-shaped eyes suddenly bright with realisation. “Aeon, you and your brother are direct descendants of Elliot Brazin, are you not?” She didn’t pause for an answer, “The original vampire and first true immortal, he was the only survivor when his village was under attack from the plague. His blood had the incredible ability to warp the disease, changing its structure so that instead of killing him it made him stronger. Further down the bloodlines the blood was studied and they found that his DNA had this unique resilience to anything that may attack it. If you and Kain share his blood, then some of its properties may be alive in you now and by subjecting Kain to sunlight, Kriten may have hoped that his DNA would withstand the sunlight and change it so that he would not die but become a vampire able to dwell in sunlight as well as darkness. The ultimate immortal.” Celine’s eyes were alight with triumph as she stared intently at Aeon, waiting for her to confirm the theory.
  Aeon did look up, meeting her eyes, “But why?” she asked simply.
“Power,” replied Damon darkly, eyes reflecting the light of the fire so that they seemed to burn like red-hot coals in his head, reflecting his anger. “Because if Kriten could create a vampire that was immune to sunlight and replicate his DNA, he could give the coven the power of dominance over the others and have free reign to drink from the humans until the land runs dry.” Aeon swallowed and shook her head, not with disbelief but with disgust and as she sat in the high-backed chair with its red velvet, she felt anger flare up inside her.
  Then Damon carried on more gently, “I saw the scenes of some of the killings. As a guard it was my duty to locate as many bodies as possible and…clean up,” he added bitterly, his eyes clouding with a faraway look. “At each scene there was blood everywhere, so much that is seemed more had been spilled than drunk and in the pools were strange patterns. I thought no more of it than a sick joke from the Rogue but now I know what the shapes in the blood were. Next to each body was a phoenix drawn in blood. A message for you, he was trying to tell you something, even through his madness.”
  Damon looked steadily at Aeon and she lifted her eyes to his, meeting his steady gaze, her own eyes glittering with unshed tears beneath her heavily lashed eyelids. He moved towards her and knelt gracefully in front of her, reaching out and strongly clasping her hand in his, never breaking eye contact. She continued staring in to his eyes, the deep darkness of his gaze soothing and she was unable to stop the pain flashing in to her eyes.
  “I killed, my brother,” she choked.
“No,” Damon whispered gently, squeezing her hand, “You killed the Rogue. Kriten killed your brother. And I swear to you that I will not rest until we have brought him to justice and the coven knows what he has done. Together.”
“Can we go tonight?” Aeon asked suddenly, urgency written across her beautiful features. “We could retrieve Kain’s body and give it to the elders, so that they could death-read him and see the memories that I saw early this evening. We could…”
  “No,” Celine cut in sharply, having been unusually silent, “I mean, tomorrow when you have rested and are in better shape.” Her eyes glimmered with a strange light before it was quickly extinguished and she smiled slightly tensely down at Aeon. “Come on Damon,” she said tersely, “Aeon needs to rest.”
  Giving her one last look, Damon leaned forward, reached out one hand and brushed her cheek, his fingers like velvet tracing across the gashes in her cheek. Aeon felt the healing power ebbing in to her skin and it itched slightly as the broken skin knitted back together. “Thank you,” she added quickly. Damon just smiled faintly and turned swiftly to go, crossing to the door closely followed by Celine.
  “Tomorrow,” he called quietly behind him as he disappeared through the doorway and Aeon was suddenly alone in the room. She looked around the walls, the dark red paint blending into the plush maroon of the carpet and saw her coffin lying expectantly in the corner, the rich mahogany and soft silken inside, suddenly very appealing. Yes, she thought; Tomorrow.