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The Summons Chapter 2 It was that long ago, but it's all coming back. It's so hard to resist, and it's all coming back to me. I can barely recall, but it's all coming back to me now. Thought you were history with the slamming of the door, And I made myself so strong again somehow, And I never wasted any of my time on you since then. If you forgive me all this, if I forgive you all that, We forgive and forget, and it's all coming back to me, It's all coming back to me now. Filia bade Marissa good night, thanking her for the lift, and walked to the entrance of her apartment. "Back so soon, Miss Fiona?" the doorman asked, tipping his hat. "I was given the night off." "My word!" He looked at her disheveled state as she moved into the light. "Are you all right? What happened?" "I'm fine, just a bit of an accident." She hesitated, looking out to the street then to the doorman. "Has anyone been by?" "Like who?" Feeling suddenly quite foolish, Filia shrugged. "I don't know, just...it's been an odd night. Don't mind me." "No one's come around asking for you, if that's what you're wondering. What should I do if someone does?" "Just ring me as usual, don't worry about it," Filia told him. She stepped into the elevator and closed her eyes, leaning back against the wall. Was that you, Xellos? she thought, then berated herself. Of course it had to be him, who else could it -- would it have been? Filia tried to deny the measure of relief she felt at another sighting, however unconfirmed. It was the first in so long, too long. She shook her head as she heard the doors open, and pushed away from the wall. She'd think about it later. Halfway down the hall, Filia froze as she looked up toward her door. Grabbing her keys out of her purse, she hurried closer, looking at the vase. Nestled inside were twelve white roses, with a single purple iris in the center of the arrangement. The vase, painted in rich violets, blues, and golds in an oriental pattern, looked quite old, possibly an antique, and she picked it up, looking around the hall. It was empty, and there was no indication of anyone else even watching. Filia forced her hand to quit trembling long enough to undo the locks on her door, and hurried inside, kicking it shut behind her. There was a small card tucked in with the flowers, and she set the vase down on the table by the door, locking it with one hand while retrieving the envelope with the other. Inside was a single-folded small piece of rice paper, with a note that appeared to be written by a calligraphy brush with indigo ink. I do hope you haven't sustained any permanent injuries. That was it. She turned it over in her hands, examining it, and inspected the card and arrangement closely, but there was nothing more. Filia stared at the note and arrangement, trying to make sense of her emotions. She honestly didn't know how she felt now, with tangible evidence that he still remained. Was she relieved? Disappointed that she never seemed to be able to catch up with him to talk? Did she even want to talk to him? A shiver iced her spine, and Filia nervously double-checked the locks and made sure her drapes were closed securely. The silence felt particularly eerie, since she normally would have been able to hear the bustle of traffic outside. But it was a pitch out of her temporarily damaged range of hearing, and everything else had a muffled quality, like sound through a fog. Filia hugged herself tightly and hurried over to her stereo, turning it on and putting in some CDs. It still didn't quite feel like enough, so she turned on the television set, switching to a channel that broadcasted golden oldies, especially late at night. Lights came on as she moved deeper into the apartment, gathering up a change of clothes, and stayed on. Soon every room had at least one light active, and she shut the bathroom door, preparing to run a bath. She pinned up her shoulder-length blonde hair and started to undress, then paused nervously, casting a quick glance to the door. She checked and triple-checked that she had it locked, and dragged the clothes hamper in front of it. And really, really wished she had never let Val talk her into watching Psycho. But it was more than just a movie that set her nerves on full alert, she knew. It was the gang, the hint of Xellos resurfacing after all these years... ...and the very last time she spoke with him. Filia tried not to think about it, to remember that night, as she stepped into the tub, settling into the steaming hot water covered with a blanket of lush bubbles. In all likelihood, she knew it was probable that the case had been solved, that the killer's identity was Walter Sickert, but there was still that lingering doubt. She lay her head back against the inflatable bath pillow and draped a wet, warm washcloth over her eyes as she let the heat and aroma work at her tension and nerves. But her mind, left unoccupied, persisted in its travels. Maybe this wasn't the best of ideas, Filia thought tiredly as she realized sunrise wasn't far off, or what passed for sunrise on the foggy London mornings. In her mind, she could just hear what her son would say if he knew what she been doing for the last few days since the body of Mary Ann Nichols had been discovered, and investigators were making no real headway. There had been other murders prior to that, similar murders, and she had her suspicions. Fortunately, Val was off in India at the moment, and cheerfully oblivious to the fact his mother was clad in filthy, dowdy garments, and skulking about the shadows of Whitechapel, hoping to serve as bait to stop a butcher. Filia could not transform any more, but she did have a few spells, weakened by time and age, left at her disposal. If nothing else, then there was her strength, still superior to that of any human. She would be just fine. But five days straight of trampling around the dark roads and alleys of Whitechapel in the chill night air were beginning to remind her that she wasn't quite as young as she used to be, and even though it was still early September, she knew it would start to grow colder soon. Feeling tired and shivery, and more than a bit hungry, Filia hugged herself and leaned against a brick building. It didn't seem to be getting her anywhere, and after a few days, the idea felt a great deal more foolish than it had initially. When she heard a clock somewhere chiming five, Filia made up her mind to return home after a few moments of rest. She glanced down the street, trying to recall where she was at, and recognized a minor landmark to indicate she was on Hanbury. She still had a ways to go to get home, and bit back a yawn as she inspected the building which was providing her with some support, getting her bearings. Twenty-nine Hanbury. The yawn turned into a choked scream when a hand firmly grabbed her hair from behind, yanking her head back roughly, and something cold and thin was pressed to her jugular. "You always did serve up such a remarkably savory breakfast, Miss Filia," a voice purred in her ear. A familiar voice. "Xellos!" she hissed quietly, and was pushed away, spun around, against the brick of the building. He loomed over her, somehow seeming to remain shrouded in darkness. Long bangs still shadowed his eyes, but she could feel him looking at her. Something glinted dully in the dim light, and Filia's gaze was drawn to the single-edged blade of the knife in his hand. Her heart throbbed painfully against her sternum, as if trying to leap from her chest and escape. She pressed her hand to her chest, watching, worried, frightened. "Fancy meeting you here. What's a nice little Dragon like you doing so far from home, hmm?" he purred, raising the blade, holding it between his hands, appearing to study it as he toyed with it idly. "Leading a double life?" "No, I'm--" She cut herself off abruptly. "You're what?" His voice was still that same, soft, silky purr which chilled her to the bone. Filia swallowed hard, trying to force her heart out of her throat. "Are you him?" she whispered. "Him?" Xellos straightened and looked around, then back at her, only to gesture to himself. "Are you talking to me?" "Stop toying, Xellos. Are you the one who's committing the murders?" "Surely you don't think I lack that much class to commit these little petty acts of mayhem," he replied. "At any rate, these are wonderful feeding grounds, nothing more." It wasn't quite a straight answer, and not one that assured her. "Are you trolling for a bite, my dear?" he asked, slipping his knife back into a sheath hidden under his cloak. "Come." Filia didn't have a chance to protest before he gripped her arm firmly -- hard enough that it almost hurt, and pulled her away, walking down the street. "Where are we going?" she demanded. "Why, this way, of course," he replied, his voice taking on that annoyingly cheerful tone she knew all too well. She shivered, watching him, half in anger, half in fear. His longer legs covered ground more quickly, and she had to hurry to keep from getting dragged. All in all, it was very undignified. Finally, several blocks later, he allowed her to stop, although they were hidden from the view of a casual passerby in the shadows of the alley. "You really ought to be more careful, Miss Filia," he chided. "Or should I call you Miss Emma?" His tone made a mockery of her current pseudonym. "What's going on?" She watched him warily, wondering for a moment if she might not be able to risk making a run for it. Talk about the very height of folly. "I could ask the same of you, you silly Dragon." He sounded almost -- almost -- angry. "What in L-sama's name are you thinking?" Now the anger began to grow over the fear. How dare he scare her like that and haul her around as if she were nothing more than a sack of potatoes! "That's none of your business, Mazoku," she snapped, and immediately regretted it when his hand snaked around her throat, pinning her to the wall. "You have no idea how much of this is my business," he said, his tone deadly in its softness. "You are trying to draw out a killer, are you not? No, do not answer me, I know you well. One might say it is admirable, but there is nothing to admire in foolishness. You are out of your element tonight." "I can defend myself," she protested weakly, and hated the way her voice quaked. "Against humans." "I did nothing to you a moment ago that a human could not do," he reminded her. "Why, then, did you not attack? Defend yourself? I'll tell you why. You had not a single chance. Your throat would have been slit before you could blink." He released his grip, and trailed his fingertips down her throat, making her shiver. "Such a waste, Miss Filia." "Are you committing these crimes?" she whispered, trying to hear past the rush of blood pounding in her ears. Xellos smirked, and she caught a gleam of amethyst under his bangs in the muted light. "And if I were, what could you do about it?" he asked. "Your Dragon form is no longer an option, and your magic has grown weak." "That's not an answer." "Believe as you will, Miss Filia. Now go home, and put this idea from your head, never to return. This is not the place for you." "You can't order--" She was cut off as his lips covered hers, cold, harsh, demanding, smothering out her words. Although she pushed with all her strength, he was immobile... ...and then he was gone. Senses reeling and heart pounding, Filia covered her mouth with the back of her hand, leaning against the wall behind her for support. She tried to rub away the feel of his lips as she looked around wildly, attempting to calm down. Filia awoke with a start, adrenaline surging through her as she sat up in the bathtub. The water had long since cooled, and the froth of bubbles was reduced to a few random patches stirred up by her sudden motion. There was no indication of anything having been disturbed, save for her own emotions. She pulled the plug out with her toe, and stood, drying herself off before pulling her soft, terry-plush robe off the back of the bathroom door and snuggling into it. She tried not to think about what she could remember, what she had remembered. While she fixed up the boiling water and measured out her tea into the basket, Filia tried not to remember that a mere half hour or so later, in the exact spot where she had stood, had been the last place anyone saw Annie Chapman alive that very same night. Had he saved her? Or had he been the Ripper? Even if evidence pointed elsewhere, Filia knew only too well he could have easily manipulated events to his liking. He was Xellos. He was a Mazoku. He was a killer. She eyed the floral arrangement with mixed emotions as she passed it, carrying the tray to her sofa. She brought them over and sat down, carefully holding the vase and card in her fingers. Reluctantly, she admitted that if he had wanted to harm her, he would have and could have done so, long ago. Even if he had been the Ripper, he could have killed her. He never did, and as that night showed, he went out of his way to see to it that she was safe. "Damnit, Xellos," Filia muttered softly, studying the card. "I wish I knew what you were think--" The door chime pealed over the classical music on the stereo, startling her. Filia almost dropped the vase, then set it on the table, clutching the folded scrap of paper to her chest as she stared at the door. It rang again. With nerves jangling aggressively, Filia cautiously approached the door and looked out the peephole. "Xellos..." She couldn't get the locks to open quickly enough to suit her, and almost snapped one off in her hand. She yanked the door open, staring at him incredulously. He was dropping by her home? By all the gods, she couldn't recall how long it had been since he last did so. Six, seven hundred years? He smirked at her, and she could see his eyes through the dark-tinted lenses of the Lennons he wore. Funny that they were called that; that particular style was nearly as old as the both of them, and far older than the man who made them famous and stylish. His clothes were black, from his turtleneck top to his pants, and the trench coat he wore over them. The only speck of color was a deep red gleam from the jewel inlaid in a silver ring on his hand. "My, my, Miss Filia," he drawled in that overly cheerful tone, and she knew he had not changed a bit. The eons themselves could change, but he remained, as always, Xellos. "You look as though you've seen a ghost!" "Get in here," she all but snapped, yanking the door open wider. "How gracious. So nice to see you've picked up a few manners along the way over the years," he said as he stepped inside, looking around. Filia tightened her robe's sash, blushing furiously as she shut the door. "What are you doing here? You've been gone all these years and just now decide to drop in?" "I was in the neighborhood," he replied, and sat down on her sofa, propping his feet up on the coffee table as if he belonged there. "I see you received my present. Do you like it?" Filia was torn between thanking him for the gift, and berating him for making himself right at home. He looked at her, eyes open behind the glasses, and smirked in amusement. "It's lovely," she said, feeling uncomfortable as she moved to the sofa as well, sitting on the opposite end. "Only one teacup, Miss Filia?" She frowned. "I wasn't expecting company." "Even after all this?" "All what?" she snapped. "You stay out of sight so much for so long, you almost become myth, and I'm supposed to expect that tonight's the night you'd make your grand reappearance?" "It wasn't quite the appearance I'd hope it would be. See, I was counting on you passing out, so I could carry you off to your bed, and not do a single thing, mind," he said, lifting a finger as she opened her mouth to speak, scowling at him. "And when you came to, especially in that flimsy robe you're wearing, you would automatically assume I'd taken advantage of you. It would be just like the old days, with you trying to crush me with your mace and screaming 'baka hentai'." He looked far too amused. "Deficiente," she muttered under her breath as she stalked to the kitchen. "Oh, Italian!" he called after her. "Mio bambina drago's broadened her horizons. But still, it's hardly gracious of you to call the one who's saved you from a fate worse than death a half-wit." "I am not your Dragon, and I'm most certainly not a child!" Filia shouted as she stalked back into the living room, slamming a mug onto the coffee table. Xellos beamed cheerfully. "I see your Italian hasn't gone rusty with age, unlike some other things. How long--" "What do you mean, 'some other things'?" Filia snapped, looking at him suspiciously. He continued as if she hadn't spoke at all. "--has it been since you lived there? Long enough that you'd have had to keep abreast with your linguistic studies to compensate for the years. It was the later part of the 1500s now, wasn't it?" "So that was you that night," Filia hissed. He grinned. "But of course. Honestly, Miss Filia, did you really think it were anyone else? Could anyone else have tricked the villagers into thinking the Dragon they were so intent on finding was this way instead of that way?" Filia stared at him, then looked away, feeling uncomfortable. "Actually, I had quite a big brush-up on the Italian language recently," she said, changing the topic a bit as she poured them both some tea. "The war, remember?" Xellos grinned. "It was quite marvelous, wasn't it? You do realize that you, Val, and myself are probably the only ones around who can talk about World War Two as if it were yesterday." "It wasn't marvelous!" Filia gasped. "It was horrible, and destructive, and..." "And a fine banquet," he cut in, then raised an eyebrow when she stared at him. "What? I am still a Mazoku. I need these negative emotions to thrive, and such banquets are rare indeed." Filia sighed and shook her head. "All right." He sipped his tea. "You no longer make your own, do you?" "It's too hard to come by supplies. I order bulk teas from the next best source." "Not bad. I still miss your own blend, though." "I don't even remember what it tasted like, so it doesn't really matter to me now." "I suppose not. So, tell me, Miss Filia, how is Val these days?" he asked. "He's in Atlanta now, is he not." "Yes," she replied slowly, eyeing him suspiciously over the rim of her mug. "A rather interesting position. He works at the Center of Disease Control and Prevention, am I correct? Biohazard Four level?" "What are you getting at, Xellos?" Filia snapped. "What are you up to? What have you done with--" "Good grief!" He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "Miss Filia, if you would just be half as suspicious of the people around you as you are of me, tonight might not have even happened!" "But they're only humans, you're Mazoku!" "And humans are just as capable of engaging in acts of unspeakable evil," he reminded her. "We were speaking of World War Two just a moment ago, have you forgotten that already?" "No..." "Or the lynchings and race riots and the Crusades and--" "Enough!" she cut in. "I get your point." "So why, then, are you so suspicious of me?" he asked. "Have I ever done a thing to harm you in all these years, nay, centuries?" Feeling chastened, she looked down. "Humans are not some harmless little woodland creature who need protecting, except perhaps from one another," he said. "Tonight is hardly the first time I've saved you from a likely death at their hands." "I'm sorry," she muttered softly, not able to look at him now. "So. How is Val?" "He's... he's doing well," Filia replied. "Busy." "When is he next due to visit?" "I'm supposed to fly down over the holidays later in the year," Filia said. "It's a bit too busy for him to leave right now." "Is it now?" He tsked. "What a shame. Has anyone else noticed?" She looked at him warily. "Noticed what?" "You two appear the same age, hardly what one would expect of a mother and son." Filia blushed. "We... after a while, we started saying we were brother and sister. It was just easier." "Why brother and sister, and not mates?" The blush deepened. "Xellos! You pervert! I raised him! Our relationship isn't like that!" She sat back, crossing her arms, huffing in indignation. "So, why are you here?" Xellos gave her a bright grin, and Filia cringed, covering her face with her hand, knowing full well what was coming. "I wanted to see you again." Filia blinked, looked at him, confused. That had not been the answer she thought she would hear. "Huh?" "I wished to see you again. It's been far too long." "Er...yes, yes, it has..." "Might I have a refill, please?" |
to be continued...
Chapter Three