Satis House

[Vikteren]

+Rotting Lunacy+

"Don't worry, they're all very nice. The reason Nicholas began the circus, and why all of the others joined, is because they wanted to make some use of what they've become. Because they wanted something different than what Sleet or Persephone or any other coven masters like them could offer." She took a moment to look at herself in the mirror, smoothing down the coat, and then started down the hallway. "Klaus is the first one who joined when Nicholas began it. He performs on the trapeze, mostly. I think he used to be an actor too, actually, but he told me once that he didn't like it. He said it felt like hiding from something." Out through the kitchen and to her car, the grin stretching across her face when she slid into the driver's seat. "Are you going to ride again, or would you prefer to run there?" she asked mischievously, "Just to warn you, I'll be speeding more than usual. The first act starts in half an hour and it's on the other side of town."

He tucked his hands absently into his pockets and grinned in a way that was not at all friendly. "Ah, how could I resist, when you put it like that? Of course I'm coming with you." It wasn't entirely clear whether Vikteren had suddenly discovered sarcasm, or whether he was being perfectly sincere; but it was made so when he slid into the seat next to her and shut the door.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Antha merely smiled, though it wasn't friendly either, and cranked the car into life. She took a moment to shuffle through the CD's stashed in the glove box, sliding Chopin into the player, and then in nothing flat she was speeding down the road back to the city.
It took roughly twenty minutes to cross the city and weave through the woods to the circus grounds, distinguishable a few miles away by the waving lights and high tents. No one said a word when she drove through the back gates to the employee entrance, parking just barely off to the side of the slit in the black canvas.
Silently she cut the engine and stepped out of the car, smoothing the coat down, and slipped inside.
There were still performers running around backstage with all the speed and grace of vampires, a lush blur of extravagant costumes and dramatic make-up, some only half finished while they prepared to start the performance. It was the solitary still figure, glancing through the curtains to the crowd of people in the seats outside, that she directed her attention. When she went towards it, the scurrying mass of characters parted like the Red Sea for her, some stopping to make a respectful bow or give a friendly smile. It was only the sound of Aidan's soft voice, the Latin song that always meant the reenactment of Julius Caesar, that made them keep going.
"William," she said softly, laying a hand on the still man's shoulder to draw his attention, and the way she touched him, the soft glimmer in her eyes when she smiled at him, hinted at some true intimacy that Antha rarely developed with others.

 

[XCandy and LunacyX]

When she cut the engine, drawing the key from the ignition, and the distant sounds of the swamp closed around the car, she just sat back in her seat, blank eyes staring at the dashboard.
Several times she opened her mouth as if she would speak, but she would close it again a moment later. Finally she just looked at Vikteren, some spark of life filling her eyes again, though it was dim, and she lifted herself out of her seat, sliding to the other side of the car to press herself against Vikteren, her head resting against his shoulder. "Go hunt," she said softly, remembering somewhere in the back of her mind that he had yet to do so, "It's been a very...long night. You need it, I'm sure."
There had been something about being that close to him, of being in the cloud of his aura, that left her looking a little more lively. It was a shadow of her normal self, but it was better. If nothing else, it let her climb out of the car and make her way to the back door, which was never locked. None of her doors were; if someone wanted to break in, there were too many wide, broad windows to smash in for a door to matter.

 

[Vikteren]

+Rotting Lunacy+

When she cut the engine, drawing the key from the ignition, and the distant sounds of the swamp closed around the car, she just sat back in her seat, blank eyes staring at the dashboard.
Several times she opened her mouth as if she would speak, but she would close it again a moment later. Finally she just looked at Vikteren, some spark of life filling her eyes again, though it was dim, and she lifted herself out of her seat, sliding to the other side of the car to press herself against Vikteren, her head resting against his shoulder. "Go hunt," she said softly, remembering somewhere in the back of her mind that he had yet to do so, "It's been a very...long night. You need it, I'm sure."
There had been something about being that close to him, of being in the cloud of his aura, that left her looking a little more lively. It was a shadow of her normal self, but it was better. If nothing else, it let her climb out of the car and make her way to the back door, which was never locked. None of her doors were; if someone wanted to break in, there were too many wide, broad windows to smash in for a door to matter.

He watched her retreat into her fortress, the princess escaping into that old and lonely castle, and the vampire let out a sigh that he had not realized he'd been holding back, and climbed out of the technological monstrosity.
He hadn't decided yet whether it was a good monstrosity or a godforsaken one.

Vikteren closed the car door behind him, and set off through the woods. Perhaps to hunt; but that was unlikely. He had too much on his mind to focus on luring some pathetic teenager into a gift of their blood.
He rubbed his wrists absently, the bruises dark against his skin, although already they had begun to fade. The tell-tale fingermarkings were still clear enough, though.
What had that been?
An augury the likes of which he had not seen of in years?
The paranoia in him brought the thought to the fore of his brain; your sire. But that was ridiculous; he had not seen him in centuries.

 

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Antha was very quiet when she stood in the kitchen, the moonlight from the windows threading the darkness around her with silver. Amadeo was hopping down the stairs, his little legs running to meet her. She bothered to give him a kind, weary smile, bending over and lifting him, placing him on her shoulder. He had never actually grown out of kitten status, so he fit well, clinging loosely to her as she started to move.
He sat beside her on the counter top while she tried to force down cold cereal, rubbing his head against her side. Mostly she just drank her milk---half a carton by the time she washed the bowl out. She finished the rest on her way upstairs.
Amadeo batted at the dress dropped onto the floor while she scrubbed the blood and dirt off of her skin, brushed her hair, filed down her jagged nails, and pried the slivers of bark from beneath her skin. It really had been a long night.
Finally she just laid down on her bed, her coat laid across the back of the armchair in the corner, and let Amadeo trot around beside her, finding the place he'd be most comfortable. Meanwhile, her thoughts went out to Vikteren, seeking him unbidden. It made her nervous, being away from him. She was tense, jumpy. Every whistle of the wind through the old boards of the house and every scrape of skeletal tree branches against the windows made her eyes open, made her rise on her bed to look around and see if she was really alone. Of course she would sense someone approaching her, but still.
She just wanted Vikteren to return.

 

[XCandy and LunacyX]

It was the umbra who did not like Vikteren that came to her first. They were a small group---just a handful of spirits---but they came rushing at her so that for a split second she thought she was being attacked.
After they had shown her every second of his time away from her, all of their own free will, she just stood, stirring little Amadeo, and walked silently down the hall, the stairs, and entered the room of her house used the very least. The mirror room.
How many people knew about this room? She didn't know. How many knew that there was a door in the floor that led to the steep, narrow flight of stairs into the basement? Eight. Only who needed to know.
There were candelabras bolted to the walls, some with short stubs of black candles and some with red. It was the red ones that lit when she got too far down into the cold darkness, casting a faint, flickering illumination on the chains on the wall, the metal rods and scattered bottles of this and that in the corner, the bones arranged along the wall beside the stairs. It made the blood on the walls look black, and couldn't even make the pentagram on the floor distinguishable from the darkness underneath the thick layer of grime and dust.
Atticus had helped her design this room, as well as hide it. Zero had found it when he had first moved in. Courtland, Vittorio, Jack, and Nicolae had seen it when they had invoked the sister of their ancestor, Marguerite. Singe and Khayman had seen it the one time they had captured Sleet and they had kept him in chains. Most of them had been back.
"You are the one frightening the other spirits lately, aren't you Petyr?" she asked softly, kneeling down before the arrangement of bones on the wall, "Of course you are. You've been unhappy with me since I dug up your bones. Afraid of me. Tell me Petyr, were you so terrified of Deborah Mayfair?" The Talamasca's records were a marvelous thing---she had read the letters he had written about Deborah Mayfair to the motherhouse several times before.
The only reply he made was merely appearing in front of his own bones, leaning against them with his arms folded almost angrily over his chest, just staring down at Antha. He was old enough to make a very opaque image of himself, complete with his severely dated traditional Dutch clothing. It made Antha smile up at him, grimly, her eyes blank. "I have too much on my mind, Petyr---do not annoy me. I would hate to put you back into the flesh just to chain you to my wall."

 

[Vikteren]

The forest was a gentle balm from the disease of the city
While the cool night wind sighed in the boughs above, he sought the path to Satis House, following the scent of Antha's mind and skin.
The journey back felt easier, like falling into a groove worn smooth, than walking away had been. Almost disturbingly easy, to follow her home. As if it really was a home.
He'd been around when the saying was conceived: Home is where you hang your hat.
And it was completely inaccurate.
Home was wherever Antha was.
Perhaps a dozen or so steps from her door, his steps slowed, the fluid grace of his gait settling into a human's slower pacing. He let himself in through the door, silently, and went to the stairs, and to her room. Where he expected her to lie, sleeping.

Where nothing lay but rumpled covers.
Sharp panic rose in his throat, ghastly and bitter; instinctively, without finesse or any sort of subtlety, he threw a net out for her over the forest, raking the grounds around Satis House in a rapidly closing net.
It took only a few seconds, but in those few moments, he felt more fear than he had since--

Well.
Since he was turned.

 

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Antha didn't know why she hadn't felt Vikteren approach. Perhaps she had been too busy studying Petyr's face, the color of his eyes. They were such a perfect match to hers that it made her smile. Irregardless, she only knew when he was home by the shift of air upstairs that was the door opening and closing again.
With a gesture of her hand, she motioned Petyr away, turning and flitting back up the long, spiraling set of stairs. She didn't bother with him again when he followed her all the way back up to her room---it was more effective to ignore him. Besides, he was losing energy as he strayed away from the spell that kept him chained to his remains. He would be gone soon enough whether he liked it or not.
She stopped in the door, leaning against the frame with Petyr---just a wispy image of a man now---at her shoulder as if he would climb through her, into her. She could smell the girl on him, and Petyr wrinkled his nose at it. But she said nothing, and Petyr's voice could not reach him. Another condition of the spell, to keep her secrets safe.
It was Amadeo who scrambled to her feet, making little winding loops around her and meowing pitifully. He gave up quickly, stalking off towards the library.
"Welcome home," she said finally, her voice soft as if she hated to interrupt the silence of the house.

 

[Vikteren]

+Rotting Lunacy+

Antha didn't know why she hadn't felt Vikteren approach. Perhaps she had been too busy studying Petyr's face, the color of his eyes. They were such a perfect match to hers that it made her smile. Irregardless, she only knew when he was home by the shift of air upstairs that was the door opening and closing again.
With a gesture of her hand, she motioned Petyr away, turning and flitting back up the long, spiraling set of stairs. She didn't bother with him again when he followed her all the way back up to her room---it was more effective to ignore him. Besides, he was losing energy as he strayed away from the spell that kept him chained to his remains. He would be gone soon enough whether he liked it or not.
She stopped in the door, leaning against the frame with Petyr---just a wispy image of a man now---at her shoulder as if he would climb through her, into her. She could smell the girl on him, and Petyr wrinkled his nose at it. But she said nothing, and Petyr's voice could not reach him. Another condition of the spell, to keep her secrets safe.
It was Amadeo who scrambled to her feet, making little winding loops around her and meowing pitifully. He gave up quickly, stalking off towards the library.
"Welcome home," she said finally, her voice soft as if she hated to interrupt the silence of the house.

His shoulders relaxed--infinitesimally, a sign only someone who had known him for far too long would have noticed--when he heard her voice.
He turned, very slightly, and gave her a backwards glance.

The vampire almost went to her--not to kiss her, not even in greeting, not with the girl's perfume on his skin, like a stain.

No, not like that; but merely to reassure himself that she was whole and safe, not merely some wight-child come to visit his mind.

But at the last moment, he did not, because there was a face at her shoulder.
And this was not some fanciful trick of his mind, because it did not remove itself at an eyeblink, and he was not quite stupid enough to dismiss it as a product of his imagination.

So he said, quite without alarm, and almost entirely without curiousity--and the key word was almost--"Antha, would you be so kind as to introduce your companion to me?"

 

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Absently, Antha looked over her shoulder, her eyes distant as she stared at Petyr. She held out a hand as if to gesture to him, brushing her fingers up along his neck, his jaw. Perhaps it was her own small, personal manner of lashing out at him, or perhaps it was the pleasure of knowing that she had made Petyr almost solid enough to touch. Either way, there was something about that small movement, something unnatural.
"This is Petyr Van Abel," she said simply, softly, "Petyr was the pride of the Talamasca some several centuries ago. A Dutchman, sought out for his psychic skill. He was the father of Charlotte Mayfair, and of her children, Jeanne-Louise and Peter. His blood runs through me...through every living Mayfair save for seven."
Her gaze settled again on Vikteren, the green of her eyes startling as always, even in the dark. She did it to let him see how perfect a match they were to Petyr's, everything from the shape to the color and---almost---the size. And his hair had a tint of red too, like a thin veil of blood over the gold.

 

[Vikteren]

He drew a breath, let it out again. As if he needed to free something from within his chest. Only then did he turn, put his hands formally behind his back.

"Then he is long since dead." he commented, affirming what Antha had only implied at. He quirked an eyebrow, tilted his head in question. "Do you routinely summon your ancestors from their rest for your own amusement, or is there a reason that you have called him tonight?"

 

[XCandy and LunacyX]

"I did not call him at all," she replied sharply, giving Petyr a sidelong glance. "When Petyr's 'contribution' to the Mayfair family was complete, Charlotte Mayfair's spirits killed him. They tied him to his physical remains, which were never given a formal ceremony. His decaying bones happen to be in my basement."
With a little flicker of her wrist, like motioning Petyr away, her own umbra dragged him back down, into the basement, locking him back into the bones he had once inhabited until someone with enough power to raise him should enter again. "Petyr was aggravating the other spirits. I went to ask him why and he decided to follow me back."
For a moment afterwards, when complete silence had returned, Antha just stood leaning against the doorpost, staring at Vikteren, and there was something in her eyes, something like pain, desolation, anger. But she said nothing.

 

[Vikteren]

"And was there a reason, or does it merely imply that your knack for attracting unfortunate spirits of their own accord is hereditary?" he asked, lightly enough. He spoke as though it was errant wordplay, as they might have bandied arguments back and forth before, when they had only first met.
It seemed that things had been so much simpler.

He did not look directly at her, but stepped away; neither backwards or towards her, but to the window, where the light was soft and grey and spoke of approaching dawn. He did not know what the look on her face meant; whether she would withdraw into the part of the fragile, tattered girl who sighed like she was already a spirit herself, or transform into the wrathful phoenix of a witch, all incendiary, snarling accusations and anger.

 

[XCandy and LunacyX]

"He was a Talamascan," was her reply, as if it should explain everything, "He was prying where he shouldn't have, and for that the spirits that guard the Mayfair family rid themselves of him. It was what began the tradition of killing all men without the powers of a witch who marry Mayfair women."
When she spoke, it was hollow, quiet. It matched her movements when she went to her closet, returning the coat that Nicholas had given her to its depths. The frustration only showed in the way she moved the clothes within, jerking them aside and then pulling out her shirt---Nicolae's shirt---with a little more force than was called for.
She should have gone to change, or to call Malakai, or just out of the room in general. But instead she just dropped onto the end of her bed, the thin material of the shirt clutched tightly in her long, pale fingers, and stared at the floor as if it had done her some injustice. It meant nothing, right? she asked, and her mind was playing back their time in the forest outside of the circus, his fight with Nicholas, the brief moment in the car. It was a foolish idea, wasn't it? Thinking you would honestly care after your mood had passed. Her gaze settled on Vikteren, the vivid green dimmed strangely, and the look demanded a reply.