Preparing for Goodbye: April 25th, 2009

[Angelique]

Chapter 1: Precipitation

Journal Excerpt: Jaques has a cold... coughing, running a fever. I've made him comfortable, I want to make him well...

It settled on me heavily tonight that he is my last link to the old ways, to a lifestyle few remember and almost no one practices. Do I betray my youth in keeping ties to a way of life left behind by most everyone else...

Everything fades, in this immortal shell all I can do it seems is watch.

*ink marks left as if the quill were dropped and rolled off the page*

Angelique though unaware was intensely focused on Jaques breathing; though a floor away when he stopped, she was washed over with alarm, dashing from her office to his bedside. The young Giovanni had been concerned for weeks that the cold mountain climate was hard on Jaques, effecting his health. The coughing and respiratory difficulty that cropped up over the past few days brought her thoughts once again back to sharing her blood with him, freezing him in time to remain with her always. Jaques was the last person alive that lived the old ways, knew her from birth, shared the way of life she'd always known. Angelique turned Jaques onto his back tilting his head back trying to re-establish breathing; the movement made his body shudder and he drew in a breath before being wracked with another coughing fit. Before thinking she screamed into Perrin's mind as he lay in her bed upstairs that she needed water or wine, Jaques needed help; in silence they administered what they could to calm the coughing and make Jaques comfortable.

It was an hour before Jaques could sit up and speak, Angel at his side holding his hand nervously rubbing the back hoping it would impart some strength to her old uncle. “I am going to have to take you somewhere warmer, this climate is sapping your strength,” Angelique said softly as she looked to his hand in her lap. “Bella... no climate will make this old man strong again,” he answered. Principessa, Jaques Golden Labrador, whimpered from under the bed, the soft jingle of her bell heard as she laid it between her paws. “You have the most beautiful eyes Bella, yet you don't see with them clearly. Or do you choose not to?” Jaques took Angelique's hands into his own, as he'd always done when he had to talk to her about something she didn't want to hear. A kind of anchor to hold her in place; Jaques knew his Bella better than her own father, better than anyone except maybe Perrin; Angelique wouldn't hear a thing unless a level of comfort was maintained. Her high spirit and tenaciousness, combined with twenty-five years of doting from old men was a blueprint for a woman who felt she could alter anything to suit her whim. It broke Jaques heart to have to tell his Bella, his time was short, he knew she simply hadn't accepted the truth yet, it was time to remove the veil so they could seize the moments that remained.

“Jaques I see fine, I need to get you somewhere to get over this cold...” Angel offered weakly. “This cold isn't going away Bella, all the soup and wine in the realm can't cure what's ailing me,” Jaques replied before adding softly, “you've been trying I know, but I've used up almost every minute of life in this body, no regrets, they were used to their fullest, but not even you can buy them back Bella.” Angel look deeply into his eyes, her heart gripped with the cold sense of loss, a feeling she'd been fighting for months not letting herself believe the truth. Quietly after a long moment Angelique offered, “Jaques, I can buy one of them, I can suspend you in a single moment, keep you well for however long we need...” Jaques smiled to her very softly, his face reflecting the tender affection he had for her as he asked simply, “why?” A flood of emotions filled Angel, her love for Jaques, her sense of loss, abandonment, her need for someone, anyone to head her household. All the things that defined a world that had slipped into obscurity, that she felt by keeping one man alive she could prevent the changes from being completed, feebly she grasped and held onto a dying age.

Angel look to him unable to speak, Jaques lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them softly. “Magick is a powerful tool Bella, your magick may be able to keep me here, but at what cost? So I can repeat the same day over and over, wake each morning missing my wife, eat breakfast thinking that your nonno isn't going to be on his porch today, that all my friends have passed away already? Move slowly through each day hoping maybe your Nonna will kiss my cheek as she pours me a glass of wine at dinner? I've seen everything I care to see. I've done more in my lifetime than three strong men could contemplate. Bella, they don't make women like the ones I've loved and lost anymore, you are the last, a shining jewel that I don't think this world will ever see again. Save your magick for yourself, I am happy my time is at an end. It means I've lived the life I wanted on my terms with no regrets. I've had time to take care of all I need to, to take care of you.. my Bella.”

Jaques pulled Angel into his lap wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. “I remember holding you the day you were born, your little head resting on my forearm, your bottom in the palm of my hand, your tiny legs kicking as you balled up your fists and swung them at me. I taught you how to bloody Perrin's nose, and you've fought your way through every challenge thats ever come your way. Turing adversaries to your side or eliminating them, you always come out on top. You don't need me Bella, you carry the best of me I could give you already. You are all of our legacy, all of the old men that gathered on your nonno's porch, I am glad I got to see you take the best of all of us and put it to work for you.” Jaques kissed her forehead before saying tenderly, “it means I can go in peace.” Angel finally spoke saying softly, “I love you Jaques...” “Oh? I would never have known...” Jaques quipped with a smile, “I love you too Bella.”

Angel shivered in his arms, restraining herself from crying, she'd save her tears for when he finally passed. Selfishness had her wanting to keep him forever; love for him set her desire aside, keeping Jaques alive would be cruel. Angelique would be near him every minute till his time came, sharing every moment, making him comfortable as best she could. As she lay her head on Jaques shoulder her mind fell to her the family crypt in Moonglow and that it would have to be prepared for him... an itch in the back of her mind aggravated... Angel remembered the last visit of Lord Azrael and a quiet anger began to build... how long had the elder kindred known...

______________________

[Angelique]

Journal Excerpt: Jaques is dying, and there is nothing I can do to stop it that he would approve of. We talked at length about his life, and how much he has lost over time. He misses Anna and my Nonna, sitting on an old porch drinking wine and boasting as he put it. I've used stronger herbs to calm his cough and make him comfortable, he stays mostly to his bed and the kitchen near the oven to keep warm. He gave me a letter today said I wasn't to open it till after he passed.

I asked if there were any people he wanted to see, and he laughed and said he hoped they were waiting for him to arrive... For a brief moment I wanted to go with him...

I wasn't sure so asked if he wanted to see a priest and he made me laugh telling me any priest could kiss his wrinkled arse, he didn't need absolution from the likes of them... I was curious when he said he had all the absolution he would ever need, but a coughing fit prevented him from explaining.

End of semester, and taking care of Jaques has kept me too busy to visit the Seti, but I need to. This feeling I have inside, this anger that he already knows, and has known, that I should have been told so I could have found a cure in time... I hate feeling he didn't trust me, worse that I placed a false trust in him...

I live in a world of need to know, and there will always be secrets you have to earn the right to have them shared. I have the right to know about my family, about people I keep in my haven...

I need to see Lord Azrael and set all this straight, it serves no purpose to harbor these feelings...

Angelique Lizbet Diavolo
May 5th, 2009

[Angelique]

Chapter 2: Absolution

"When dying and no priest can be found, seek then the Devil, for he is the only other qualified to offer absolution"
- unknown



Jaques stood by the oven in the kitchen of the Chateau in Istas, warming his hands, even under his covers warmth never seemed to last these days. Jaques sighed softly thinking to himself of times past and faces left to memory.

Over the past months, his strength was steadily ebbing. He ate much less than he ever had in his long life, and found the warmth of brandy and wine to be the only small comforts for the coughing and pain. He was dying. No longer measuring his life in years or even months, but in days. Cold, pain-filled days.

Gripping the counter to steady himself, Jaques poured a glass of wine, and then moved to sit at the table... one more before retiring to his room here in the Chateau, till Angelique and Perrin returned from the class she was teaching that evening at the Lyceum.

For the briefest of moments he was certain the cold of the room intensified, and the small candle on the kitchen counter flickered lightly, turning an odd cobalt blue in hue. The shadows of the room deepened in the softer, colder light, dancing steadily in large swaths around the old man. The tall-backed chairs of the dining room table painted beams of shadows to the corners of the ceilings near the foyer entrance, drawing Jaques gaze across the room. The elderly man squinted slightly, and nearly missed the soft silver refractions of light somewhere in the depths of the shadows nearest the door. The twin orbs remained a soft blue from the odd, echo-stirred candlelight; both silhouetted by a man sized shadow that was deeper somehow than the shadows in which it stood.

Jaques squinted his eyes and tilted his head peering into the darkness, he'd felt this uneasiness before however this wasn't Angelique. His voice was quiet he spoke to the shadows, "Allo?"

Without having yet moved, the shadows peeled from the figure, though Jaques was certain that it must have been his eyes playing a trick of the light.

A familiar voice answered in a soft and prescise accent, that he had heard some months before, "Goodevening Mister Desjardin."

Looking closely Jaques responded to the greeting quietly with a slight rasp, “evenin' Lord Azrael.”

Angelique's old Uncle, moved his chair to stand and greet the governor of Istas; pausing and sitting back at the table relieved, when Lord Azrael graciously let him know there was no need. Lord Azrael moved to stand behind the empty chair across the dining table from Jaques. He was dressed in simple business attire, a high collar that buttoned at the top of his neck, with hints of Tokunese tailoring and design.

“May I join you a moment?” Azrael asked in the same soft accented tone. His pale features remained relatively expressionless, with only his eyebrow rising slightly to accentuate the question with an appropriate measure of curiosity.

"Please sir, can I offer you some wine?" Jaques asked his voice quiet.

Azrael sat quietly, nodding gently as he did so.
“Indeed, I would be honored to share a glass with you.” Azrael replied.

The eldest Desjardin took a glass from the tray and poured it half full before setting it before Lord Azrael. The pale elven man accepted the glass with a gracious nod, and studied the curve of it’s crystal, hued in the deep red of the wine for several moments in the absolute silence of the dining room. Then Azrael lifted the glass to his pale lips and pretended to sip of the wine. He still found it cumbersome at times to pretend his body would indeed accept the alcohol, or any substance but vitae. What Azrael was certain would have been a sweet and enjoyable vintage to the living tasted as all things but blood to the Elder as it brushed his tongue: ash and pitch, a substance so beyond what one would call rotten that indeed it had the flavors only a grave could contain. While there were kindred that could still enjoy some foods and drink, the Curse had never counted Azrael as one of them.

Azrael’s long elven ears perked slightly, and he refocused on Jaques as the elderly man began to speak softly looking to the bottle in his hands, “Bella... always liked it sweet, used to drink it like water.”

As Jaques spoke his mind filled with warm summer evenings, he could smell niccotina and jasmine from the garden as he rocked slowly on the porch in the soft haze of dusk. He reached for his wine and found the soft hair of his Bella, his name for Angelique when she was still a child that meant ‘beautiful’ in the old languages, who'd crawled behind his seat to sneak a sip of his wine.

Jaques recounted the memory as though he were existing in it once more and continued, “Eh... what’s this...” he exclaimed lifting her to his lap. “Four years old and already nipping the wine, what will your Nonna say if she finds you in my glass?” The soft giggles of the little girl that he had affectionately adopted as though she were his own grandchild, rang in his ears as he looked back to the table and set the bottle down.

Azrael listened, unnaturally still as the old man spoke, carefully shifting his vision to illuminate the very thin and frail band of pale glow that was Jaques aura of life. The Deathsight allowed the Elder to see the life of the man’s aura ebbing in gentle wisps of nothingness, growing more and more pale, like tiny candles being snuffed out around his form. Jaques had less than one cycle of the moon before the life would ebb entirely.

Azrael refocused once more to Jaques’ eyes after a long moment, as quietly Jaques asked, “is there anything I can do for you sir? Bella won't be home for an hour or more still.”

The vampire studied him thoughtfully for a moment before answering, “I am, here to see you.

Jaques nodded slowly looking over Azrael’s features. Mirrored eyes still reflecting the odd hue of the candle near the both of them in what would have been otherwise a very deep and cold darkness, framed in the pale marble expressionlessness of the elven man’s face.

Azrael’s pale lips parted as he continued, “Time is a fickle illusion Mister Desjardin.” Jaques nodded again covering his mouth with his sleeve as he coughed.

“Of that I have to agree,” Jaques offered once the cough quieted.

Azrael asked softly, “Have you enjoyed yours?”

The ailing man looked distant for a moment before nodding with a smile as he answered, “I have, every minute I can remember; times weren't always the best, there was hardship, but it was worth it... every moment,”

Azrael studied Jaques carefully as the old man answered, before quietly replying, “I believe you.”

Jaques continued, “Never looked for the end myself, figured it would come find me when it was ready”

Azrael replied in a distant tone, “Indeed, Death always does.”

“Bella... wants to cheat it,” said Jaques.

“She is young”, the Seti said gently.

Jaques nodded with a smile, his thoughts now on the man sitting before him. A boy in looks, perhaps no more than his early twenties, but whose voice was aged with maturity, and who spoke with the wisdom of several lifetimes.

“That she is,” Jaques offered after a moment; looking to his glass Jaques added, wanting to confirm his suspicion, “you've seen a few of my lifetimes pass...?”

Azrael arched a brow once more, but answered honestly, “I have indeed.”

“I can't imagine enduring the life span of an elf,” Jaques replied looking up to meet Azrael's luminescent gaze.

Azrael replied carefully, "nor can I"

With a soft rasp Jaques asked, “what did you come to see me about?”

"Your final nights," came the Elders reply.

After coughing, “what about them?” Jaques inquired.

Azrael began, "There is an old tradtion… You are the eldest left of what she considers family."

Jaques nodded slowly, "aye I am."

The Elder continued, “She will be mourning, Perrin will be seeing to her...both far to busy, for this discussion. Nor, should the three of you waste what time remains with it. What are your wishes, for your family, after your passing?”

“I've provided for her in every way I can, she doesn't know it but the wealth of several families has been consolidated together as our lines have faded away. Angelique is the last of five houses.” Jaques responded.

The Seti spoke gently, "I do not speak of gold in this case."

“I don't want her to want for anything ever, I want her to be free to pursue her secrets...” Jaques clarified.

As he did so his mind wandered again filling with nights spent talking to Angel while tucking her in to bed, “you fibbed to your father at dinner Bella.” Jaques said pulling the covers up to her chest. “No one else thinks so,” Angelique retorted, “Father puffed up with pride and everyone smiled,” she finished. Jaques asked softly, “what do you want to do Bella?” Angelique's eyes shimmered bright aqua as she spoke in hushed tones, “I want to know why, I want to know how... Anyone can learn to cast a spell, I want to know why they do what they do, who learned that they work...”

A soft smile played at Jaques mouth as he looked again to the infinitely patient Lord Azrael, and spoke softly, “She always knew what people wanted to hear, openly she would be the best mage to come out of the Lyceum, but in private... in private her heart has always been filled with secrets. I want her to pursue what makes her happiest; she is most content when solving a riddle, or searching for an answer.

"And you Mister Desjarden? What answers do you still seek?” Azrael asked.

“To be honest, I've just enjoyed being near her these past months,” Jaques said in earnest.

Azrael thought about the night he advised Angelique to bring Jaques to Istas, after having met the man for the first time, and viewing the death growing in the old man’s aura. Azrael spoke gently, “I am glad she heeded my suggestion.”

Jaques replied, “as am I. She keeps her Nonna's house, and there is much comfort in being here for the end.”

“Many have come to the ice and cold of Istas for peace,” the Seti answered.

Softly with a distant look in his eyes Jaques continued, “Peace is what I've found. I made the morning coffee the day her Nonno passed away, and was there to sit over dinner the day her Nonna passed on.

“She speaks highly of you both, ” Azrael added after a moments pause.

Looking to Lord Azrael, Jaques continued, “he and I both claimed her for our own, there was a time I might have been her grandfather...”

Jaques finished his thought, “I close my eyes and am back in that kitchen and know Perrin will make the coffee, and sit over dinner the day I go.” Jaques took a deep breath after finishing.

Azrael spoke gently once more, “ Eternity is a measurable pattern of cycles,” and the vampire finished the thought with a slight nod of agreeance.

Jaques set his wine down his hand shaking slightly and looked to Azrael speaking quietly, “you will watch over her?”

The Seti answered, “eternally.”

Jaques’ face hardened a moment before he spoke again, the rasp of his lungs edging his voice, “I don't know where her father is, but she trusts you...”

Azrael spoke with honesty, “her father is where he belongs...for now.”

The ailing man nodded slowly, his face showing signs of concern, his mind forming questions about what had happened to his Bella and her Father. His life was fading but his mind wasn't, he'd seen too many changes in the child he raised to be able to push aside notions that she'd just grown up.

Jaques asked quietly, “if I touched your hand, would it be as cold as her's?”

The Seti answered simply, “colder.”

Jaques glanced over his shoulder to the candle at the sink, its blue flame flickering gently, then asked, “candles will do that for her eventually?”

“Her vitality remains too near the surface for that to happen in the forseeable future,’ said Azrael.

Jaques spoke carefully once more, “Bella was always hot blooded, her hands warm to the touch, they are cold as ice now until she's been near the oven a while. When she enters a room the hair on my neck and arms stands up. Since we first met, you have the feel of a man who's seen far more than your face would have anyone believe...”

Azrael’s mirrored eyes glinted in the candlelight as he spoke once more, “I have seen much in my years. Much more than, life…” The vampire nodded gently.

Jaques followed with, “I remember thinking the brandy I served was not the oldest thing at the table, the night Bella brought you to my home.”

For the first in the evening Azrael smiled slightly, recalling his first meeting with Jaques. Azrael answered softly as he nodded a bit, “it was not.”

“I won't pretend to understand... Is she in trouble?” Jaques answered his eyes betraying his deep conern.

Azrael studied the old man thoughtfully for a quiet moment before speaking, “she could have been, until finding me. Though, it was not a trouble of her own design.”

Jaques voice cracked as he asked, "the magic she offered me... its harmed her? She offered to keep me alive."

The Seti nodded slightly as he answered, “I was certain she would despite my explanation for your subsequent and foreseeable refusal.”

The elder Desjardin looked to his hands speaking quietly, “I had to keep her still so she would listen.”

Azrael nodded slightly and repeated softly, “she is young.”

Softly Jaques inquired, “will she grow old?”

Azrael studied Jaques’ eyes for a long moment before answering honestly, “her mind will.”

Jaques asked further, “this magick... its been used on her?

The Seti continued to hold the old man’s gaze as he answered, “Of sorts, yes.”

Jaques paused a long moment in thought, visions of Angelique running home from school to meet him on her Nonno's porch, all the hours they spent together while she grew up, his voice a whisper he asked, “you... can guide her?

Azrael spoke with certainty, “ I can” he nodded slightly, “and do.”

Jaques clenched his hands into fists a moment, angry with himself for not being in a position to protect Angel from what had taken place.

Azrael arched a brow slightly, sensing the anger welling in the man and its internal projections. The vampire spoke gently, but precisely, “even if you had all the years left in the world, this is not a path down which you could have offered her guidance. It is a very singular state of being and expertise.”

In the same low tone Jaques asked Lord Azrael, “I... could have prevented this?”

Azrael said with honesty, “no, not even I could have prevented it. The weight of that responsibility rests squarely on the shoulders of another.

Azrael paused, thinking of Angelique’s father who had foolishly tried to embrace his entire family, Angelique included, shortly after his own embrace. She had been the only of them to survive her father’s decision. The Seti studied Jaques thoughtfully a moment longer but did not elaborate to the dying man. Azrael would address the ill-conceived notion with her father personally, when the man chose to awaken from his torpor.

“The first time she came to me... touched my cheek with those cold hands, I knew she'd changed. Christian was no where to be found... Bella pretended nothing was different.” Jaques explained. “I watch her, she doesn't drink the wine... she moves food around her plate and then Perrin finishes her dinner...” Jaques continued with some a sense of urgency, his voice quiet but broken.

The Seti looked to his own still full glass thoughtfully, continuing to listen.

Taking a deep breath Jaques went on, “If she wasn't my Bella, I may not have noticed.”

Azrael looked to Jaques once more as he said, “you are too intelligent a man, to have not noticed. Your silence in the matter to this night is, appreciated.”

Jaques noted, “you can't force Bella to talk before she's ready; I have been waiting for her to tell me what's happened. Then I started feeling the effects of my age...”

The vampire spoke gently, “Just as she has been waiting for you tell her...”

Jaques shoulder's slumped a little, softly he explained, “I know her... the hardest thing I've ever had to tell her was the truth. I always seem to be the one to give her bad news.

Azrael spoke with certainty, “she will be angry, but much of it will be directed at me, as planned.”

Jaques looked to Azrael's eyes and spoke very softly, “hold her hands together, stops the flight, helps her listen.”

Lord Azrael nodded thoughtfully and said simply, “noted.”

Jaques described his past conversations with Angelique, “I am usually the one being yelled at till she breaks down. I've always held her hands together after the fury fades.”

“I am, not unaccustomed to anger directed my way. The role tends to fall to the eldest,” Azrael added.

Jaques nodded slowly, “it is tradition.”

Lord Azrael nodded in agreeance, “as it should be.”

Jaques spoke softly, “she's going to be alright here?”

Azrael answered with a slight nod, “all of them shall be, yes.”

Exhaling slowly Jaques said with a calm voice, “I've done all I can for her.”

Azrael nodded gently as he added, “…and more.”

Looking to Lord Azrael, Jaques said with a smile, “she's my legacy, the best of me, I couldn't be more proud of her if she truly was my own blood.”

Azrael smiled slightly, studying Jaques for a moment before speaking, “that is a concept with which I am well acquainted every time I look out over this cold city...and those who dwell in it's silence.

Jaques nodded understanding and said honestly, “when a man has his dreams fulfilled there are no bonds holding him back. Bella… she was my dream.”

“Our young remain the future of our kind,” the Seti nodded gently before continuing, “…the only future worth having.”

Jaques nodded to Lord Azrael with a smile then added quietly, “thank you.”

Azrael spoke gently as he rested his hand, palm down, between the both of them on the table, “You do mister Desjardin.”

Jaques nodded finishing his wine, then looked to his hands before putting his glass down.

Lord Azrael looked to Jaques as he continued, “The old tales say, that all of a mans wealth...is measured in one coin to the Ferryman, and the coin to Death itself.” The Elder vampire lifted his hand , and rested both hands in front of him once more. Two silver Vesperan coins remained stacked on the table where his hand had once been.

Jaques looked to his hand, then to Lord Azrael, his eyes shimmered slightly with gathering moisture. The ancient coins set before him were beautiful, a vintage several lifetimes past. In the back of Jaques mind softly an image of Angelique appeared, a spring day, she was dressed in pale blues with ribbons in her hair. Angel ran up the steps and stuck her hands in his pockets, “tuppence for a sweet bun Jaques, the cart will be by soon...” Angelique’s soft voice trailed off in his memory as he looked to the coins once more.

“I've placed the coins for too many loved ones.” Jaques whispered.

Azrael spoke softly in the dimness of the room, “I am honored to provide yours.”

“Those are beautiful,” Jaques said softly looking to Azrael's eyes, “I sir, am very grateful.”

The Seti was already standing, and nodded his head gently to Jaques as he said, “as am I, for your time.”

Jaques smiles up to him and nodded thankfully.

“I will see you once more, …before your departure from this city,” The Seti said as he turned slowly towards the door adding, “Carpe Noctem Mister Desjarden,” and then drifted into the cold shadows he had first emerged from near the archway of the foyer.

“Safe journey sir...” was all Jaques could manage.

The candle’s flame near Jaques flickered and returned to its warmer golden hues, as the room brightened once more.

[Angelique]

Chapter 3: Confrontation

After knocking lightly on the front door to Nocturne, Angelique waited quietly for a response. In the sheltered alcove of the door an odd darkness permeated the air, it seemed foreboding and unwelcome. After a while the front door opened and a woman dressed in little more than a slip, with long red hair and deep blue eyes stood silently looking at Angel expectantly. Timidly Angel asked if Lord Azrael was available to speak to as she watch the woman's flesh colored tail move languidly behind her. The woman sighed and looked to the ceiling angrily, what took place was a conversation in silence, that anyone unfamiliar with the citizenship of Istas would take for a conversation with herself. Angelique followed the woman's gaze upward waiting patiently for an answer. After a moment she shrugged and looked back to Angelique, motioning the young woman into the mansion. The woman moved to the kitchen then through a door at the back, leading up to the next story. Angel followed her minding the woman's tail as it flicked as she walked. They ended in a small foyer warmly lit, the walls crowded with portraits of people unknown to Angel. After directing Angelique to the heavy iron doors, the woman turned dismissively, walking through a set of doors they'd passed on the way up. Angel turned after a moment and found a staircase leading to the roof beyond the heavy iron doors.

Lord Azrael stood almost motionless with his hands folded behind his back, a light collection of fallen snow on his shoulders with his back to her facing the center of the rooftop. The roof was bathed in the deep crimson glow from braziers, the low light outlining his darker than normal frame.

Without turning the Elder Kindred spoke softly, “Sataa, Lady Diavolo.”

Angelique responded, “Sataa, Lord Azrael.”

Lord Azrael turned after a moment the dusting of snow falling from his shoulders, his eyes reflecting a bright silvery crimson from the many braziers. The Seti's hands came to rest at his sides as the cold wind drifted across the roof.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Angelique offered.

Lord Azrael nodded gently and asked, “how are you this evening?”

Angel closed her eyes a moment, feelings of concern, uncertainty and underlying anger washing through her. As she opened her eyes she answered him, “same as always, yourself?”

“I am patient,” Lord Azrael answered.

Angel nodded a bit and continued cutting the Seti short, “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Would you like something to dri...” was what he started to say, as he moved closer.

Wringing her fingers Angelique watched as shadows drifted about the Elder like smoke around a room, she glanced to them and back to his face as she got up the courage to speak. Softly she said, “Jaques is ailing...”

Softly without surprise Azrael responded, “indeed?”

As Angel lifted her chin to hold his gaze she, answered sharply, “yes!”
Azrael's eyes remained silver pools of pupilless reflective crimson glow as she continued, “how long have you known?”

Azrael answered almost causally, “Since the night you introduced he and I.”

“It didn't occur to you to tell me?” She asked raising her voice.

Lord Azrael's voice remained calm, his honesty annoying her as he answered, “Not in the least, as it was not my place.”

Angelique replied rather stunned, “not your place?” To which the Elder only nodded not elaborating.

The wind in the mountain raised a pitch with a strong gust through the peaks, as Angel stated angrily, “I don't understand how you could leave me ignorant of the demise of someone I care about."

Angel instinctively pulled her cloak tighter around her. Lord Azrael spoke softly as the gust lifted his hair off his shoulders as it passed over the roof, “I could discern that you did not know, which meant the person, 'you care about', had not told you.”

“Jaques has been a member of my household...” Angel paused refocusing her thoughts, “ no he didn't tell me, not till the other night; and you felt it was ok to know and not share the information, keep it secret too.” Angel snapped.

Lord Azrael arched his brow listening, then said softly, “feeling had little to do with it, but indeed, that was the decision I chose to make; yes,” he finished with a nod.

“Not until he stopped breathing did anyone feel it was time for me to know. Why?” Angelique asked desperately, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I can not speak for Mr. Desjarden... I am uncertain of his motives in having done so.” Azrael spoke slowly his tone remaining soft, logical, almost flat.

Angelique countered, “you chose too..”

“Indeed for me it was a choice,” Lord Azrael answered.

“A man is dying in your city and you choose to let him die, not a word to anyone?

Lord Azrael studied her thoughtfully for a moment before responding, “this man, yes.” and nodded once.

“Why?!” Angelique asked sharply.

“Because he is ready to do so. Not allowing him to do so would only make his continued existence more problematic,” the Seti answered.

Angelique responded, “it would be better I came home and found him dead?”

With patience the Elder answered, “if he chose not to tell you beforehand, that choice would indeed, be respected.”

Angelique continued her query, “propriety first, regardless of anyone's feelings?”

Lord Azrael studied her eyes as he said pointedly, “yes.”

Angelique blinked and said with disgust, “that is heartless.”

Lord Azrael said slowly, “that is order,” then nodded.

Angel disturbed by the turn in their discussion asked, “you place order above people?”

Lord Azrael responded clearly, “I am Seti.”

Angel trembled slightly, confused and having feelings of self doubt, she pursued her questions, “because you are Seti, the feelings of other have no value?"

The Elder answered patiently, “The feelings of others do not take priority over the order maintained. Nor do they take precedence over the logic used in that maintenance."

Angelique asked, her voice lowered, “how is order maintained by not telling me?”

“He is dying Angelique...” the Seti responded.

“And I could have known... Should have known months ago,” Angel cut him off.

“Removing from him his ability to decide who knows and when they know, when he has so little left, would equate with something far worse than heartless: it would be spiteful.” Lord Azrael responded. “Another emotion, indeed, that I hold little value for,” he finished.

Angelique offered softly, “I could have at least spent more time with him.”

“To what end?” Lord Azrael asked softly.

“To be with him, do you need a purpose to just sit with someone you love?” Angel asked.

Lord Azrael asked in response, “do you require a reason such as inevitable death, to do the same?”

“I could have arranged my time differently,” Angel answered.

“I believe that is the point of his decision, the time shared, would not be shared with a dying man, but simply with the man. I saw value in that outcome. Hence my suggestion that you bring him here to stay for a time,” the Elder explained.

Angelique's eyes misted crimson as she whispered, “he's all that is left...”

“Eternity is not always a glass of wine and wonderment. Eternity is the space between those moments as well,” Lord Azrael stated.

“I never expected it to be, until I met you there was no wonderment, only loss. I am well aware of what existence can be, its the same for the living just of shorter duration. I found a great deal of hope in meeting you, hope that I now believe was misplaced.” Angel countered.

“The difference between life and death is that life can be lived, wasted, built or destroyed. Death has fewer options. Death must be endured. For a Kindred, a creature that exists in a realm we should no longer exist in... Endurance is required. Your hope, was indeed misplaced. Hope must be found inside yourself, because the despair that can build, will surely begin there as well. Emotions are treacherous things, and despite them, I still exist.” the Elder stated, nodding gently as he studied her eyes.

“Monsters we are childe...” Lord Azrael offered softly... “lest monsters we become,” he finished.

Angel's eyes filled with crimson tears, “there is nothing left,” she said looking to the ground.

Lord Azrael spoke softly still motionless in the cold wind, “while life remains a 'gods given right', death is only what you make of it.

Softly Angel replied, “I am wondering why bother? Why make anything you will only end up loosing?”

“Eventually loss becomes, relative, as one more completely surrounds oneself with death,” Azrael said softly.

“I've been dead two years, and its the one thing I know the least about,” Angel spoke still in defeated tones.

The Elder offered, “it is in these moments you will choose to either learn, or suffer from. The former can be built upon, and the latter will destroy you.”

“What is there to learn here?” Angel asked.

Arching a brow slightly, Azrael proceeded to explain, “that you will never be alive again, and the trappings of your old life will die, as life is one to do.

Angel looked up to him and said quietly, “what is left?”

Studying her with infinite patience, the Elder answered, “tomorrow night, and then the next, then the next... Eternity is still measured one night at a time, one hour at at time, and if need be, one moment at a time.”

“I still feel like I am drowning most the time,” Angelique explained, still on the verge of tears.

“In what?” Lord Azrael asked.

“Brief glimpses of what could be, far overshadowed by things falling away.” Angel said softly, “I don't know where to begin,” she finished.

As he studied her thoughtfully, the Elder said, “I would imagine that Mr. Desjarden will need your attentions until his passing. Until then there is little else worth focusing on, then you will bury him”

Nodding slowly Angel stated, “I will need the crypt opened up...”

“Arrangements have been made and a crew waits until they are given word.” the Seti explained.

Softly Angelique thanked him, however her gratefulness was short lived. Lord Azrael responded to her thanks with, “it is not for you in this case that I have made the arrangements.”

Slowly Angelique lifted her head to meet his gaze, a new burst of anger swelling in her as she heard again how she was being eliminated from what was happening around her, how her place in taking care of Jaques was being replaced by decisions made by other men, who chose not to even consider her as they made decisions around her. Uncertain why her significance wasn't worth consideration, she replied to Lord Azrael when he asked why she felt uncertain, “Choices are being made for me.”

“In that you are wrong,” Lord Azrael responded.

“How so?” Angel asked.

“The truth of the matter is, that you simply aren't being given the opportunity to have made his choices for him.” the Elder stated.

“You both have arranged it without me,” Angel responded.

Softly, his voice unnaturally calm, Lord Azrael followed, “you only perceive it in that fashion because it futher supports your feeling of distraught, aloneness. It will pass.”

“Jaques chose to keep his secret, you chose to support him, you have a crew ready but not because I asked, my father decides he's had enough and I find him one night unable to be woken. How many more of you will take the choices away from me? ,” Angel outlined, her voice tight as she still held back her tears.

“I have a crew ready because the probability of you choosing to put the man who has been family, in your family crypt, was very high,” the Elder explained arching a brow.

Angelique, countered, “you said just now you didn't do it for me.”

Azrael, answered, “indeed, I did not, I did so with him at the forefront of the decision. Not you. As he is the one who will die soon; not you.”

“You don't see how that eliminates me from taking care of him. You might as well erase my variable off the page,” Angel responded.

“You remain the one doing the placing. Therefor, no, I do not see how my making sure the door is, unlocked, has any relevance to completely removing your ability to take care of him. Again, my suggestion is that you make his passing less about you. If you love him as you say you do, it has nothing to do with you. He is the only variable of importance in this equation. As, he will be doing the dying after all.” Lord Azrael explained patiently.

Angelique nodded curtly having lost the battle and her tears streaming down her cheeks. “You seem to know whats best for him, I will leave you both to enjoy his death together. I am sorry I troubled you. Angelique said pointedly. “Good evening Lord Azrael, “ she finished turning for the stairwell.

“Angelique, my point in all this...” Azrael responded.

”Is that I am not needed...” Angel countered.

The Elder studied the stone for a long moment and exhaled slowly before continuing, “my point in all this is, that I would rather you did not spend eternity regretting the time you have left with him, being spent in any way other than on him. Grieve for him when he is gone.” nodding gently still studying the stone he addressed her again, “Grieve for yourself when he is buried, for your loss; but do not grieve before he is gone, because his time is measured now in days...”

As Azrael looked to her, she started to speak but cut herself short, claiming it didn't matter. In her mind she felt a coldness, that all that remained of anything she loved would end up like the paintings lining the Seti's foyer. Moments frozen in time with little ability to comfort.

When questioned about her thoughts she said coldly, “it doesn't matter, just another picture for the wall...”

The Seti narrowed his eyes and spoke with extreme calm, “another... picture for the wall?”

Angel answered, “any wall.”

“In what way?” Lord Azrael asked.

Angelique looked up to him, and said with disdain, “when do you learn to stop caring, about your own role in what happens around you?”

Lord Azrael answered, “I feel very little, and yet, I still actively participate in my roll in the equation.”

Angelique spoke softly, “and you don't see why taking my role away is a problem?”

The Elder asked patiently, “In what way has your role been removed?”

Angelique answered, “you anticipated me but don't let me have my part.”

“Are you blind childe? Your part is helping him die. You cannot prevent it, you cannot change it, but you have the ability to make it something more than fear and loneliness,” Lord Azrael countered.

“I've been doing that unknowingly for months,” Angel responded.

Lord Azrael explained, “and in so doing, spent time with the man, instead of the dying. Knowing, does change everything.”

Angelique said softly, “knowing may change everything, but I would have had the choice.”

Softly the elder continued, “again you err in believing that the relevance was your choice...instead of his choice to share time with you as something other than a dying man."

Angelique snapped, “right now all I see is eternity where other men make the choices for me.”

The Seti spoke patiently again, “then your choice of eternities, is selfish, and shortsighted. Clouded I would imagine because of emotion; and having no bearing on truth.”

Angelique responded to the Elder Kindred coldly, her cheeks stained with crimson tears, dried by the cold wind across the roof, “perhaps it will also be of short duration, excuse me.”

Turning on her heel Angelique couldn't stand the sight of the man she once thought of as a savior in her time of need, whom she had hoped to spend part of her unlife learning from. Overwhelmed with the bone chilling thought that she had no place even in her own unlife to him or anyone else, she sought escape. Her misery shadowing all else in her mind. Once locked safely in her library, she let go of her restraint and wept fiercely until the suns approach had her fall asleep on the floor at her desk.

[Angelique]

Chapter 4: Separation


Angelique lay in her bed, heartwood green silk bed clothes pulled up to her chin, the sound of soft breathing from Perrin beside her, the deeper beating of his heart in his chest and the soft sound of sleet on the roof all she was aware of at first. The room had no windows, there was no light, the only sense active in waking was Angel's hearing. Angelique laid quietly in the solitude of these few moments after the sun set taking an inventory of her existence, some may consider it counting her blessings... but lately blessings seemed few. As Angel lay thinking she heard a chair pulled across the floor down in the kitchen, she smiled thinking Thyme must be in the house, cleaning up for the evening. After a short while however the smell of sausage made its way into the room... not just any sausage, but a recipe Angel grew up with, the sweet hickory and spices of her Nonno's personal and very private recipe.

Angelique stirred from the bed careful not to disturb Perrin and pulled on her robe, slipping into her sitting room the aroma of fresh coffee and yeast rolls mingled with the sausage as she closed the door and pulled the curtain on her bed chamber. Making her way to the teleporter to the lower floors Angel was halted in her tracks by a sound that caused her eyes to mist crimson. Jaques was singing...

C'è la luna a mezzu 'u mare
Papà mio m’hai maritare.
Figghia mia chi u da dare
Papà mio, pensaci tu.

Se ti do nu pisciaiolo
iddu va, iddu vene
sempre u pisce in mano tene.
Se ci pija la fantasia
a pescialia a figghia mia.

Oh papà, me vogghiu marità
Oh papà, me vogghiu marità
Oh papà, pesce fritto e baccalà

C'è la luna a menzu 'u mare
Papà mio m’ai marità.
Figghia mia chi u da dare
Papà mio pensaci tu.

Se ti do nu spazzino
Iddu va, iddu viene
sempre a scupa in mano tiene.
Se ci pija la fantasia
A scopia la figghia mia.

Oh papà, mi vogghiu marità
Oh papà, mi vogghiu marità
Oh papà, pesce fritto e baccalà

C'è la luna a menzu 'u mare
mamma mia m’hai marità.
Figghia mia chi u da dare
Mamma mia pensaci tu.

Se ti do nu barbiere
iddu va, iddu vene
lu razoio in mano tene.
Se gli capa la fantasia
te razolia figghiuzza mia.

Oh mammà, mi vogghiu marità
Oh mammà, mi vogghiu marità
Oh mammà, pesce fritto e baccalà

C'è la luna a menzu 'u mare
mamma mia m'hai maritare.
Figghia mia chi u da dare
Mamma mia pensaci tu.

Se ti do nu muratore
iddu va, iddu vene
la cazzula in mano tene
Se gli capa la fantasia
te cazzolia figghiuzza mia.

Oh mammà, mi vogghiu marità
Oh mammà, mi vogghiu marità
Oh mammà, pesce fritto e baccalà

Frozen in place Angel fought to regain her composure as she listen to the him sing an old folk song she grew up with. Jaques used to sing as he cooked... it was Jaques in the kitchen not Thyme...

Angelique was mistaken, Jaques and Thyme both were in the kitchen, the young elven caretaker sitting at the table with a glass of wine, as Jaques stood over the oven taking fresh yeast rolls out carefully. Angel locked eyes with Thyme and the later simply shook her head with a small shrug and looked back to Jaques. Angelique finally spoke unsure how Jaques was even out of bed.

“Jaques... what are you doing?” Angel spoke softly after he put the pan of rolls on the counter.

“I, my Bella, am teaching this unfortunate soul how to make a real country breakfast, the ragazza povera has never had a good homemade country sausage,” Jaques answered without turning.

“Where did you get Nonno's sausage?” she asked raising her voice a little.

“My dearest Bella, I could sweet talk anything out of your Nonna but her hand in marriage. The recipe is poor compensation but I've had to live with it!” Jaques exclaimed as he buttered the tops of the rolls.

Angel watched him carefully, he stood upright, he was breathing softly but without the rasp or coughing he'd suffered of late; his clothes were loose from loss of weight but still fit though cinched at the waist with his belt. Astonished Angel watched on as her old uncle was flirting with Thyme, singing and cooking her breakfast.

Thyme laughed and responded, “If I am going to be caretaker here I have to learn it seems how to make a country breakfast,” the young woman's eyes shined as she spoke.

Angel was relieved that Thyme had a sense of humor about Jaques prejudices, she know well what Jaques thought of Elven cooking, “it will feed you but its not food!” was his usual response.

Angel sat down next to Thyme at the table and the three of them chatted like it was any average morning in the Diavolo household. Laughing and sharing their favorite foods with each other till breakfast was ready and Jaques brought his trays filled with sausage, rolls, boiled oats and coffee to the table. It was only then Angel saw Jaques' eyes, though he was full of vigor, like the man he was fifteen years ago, his eyes betrayed his condition... Jaques eyes were dull and lifeless; Angel bit hard into her tongue to keep from bursting into tears.

Angel feigned off eating, preferring to pretend to sip at a cup of coffee, holding the mug close to warm her hands. Perrin joined them after a while the smells from the kitchen drawing him out of bed. Thyme and Perrin didn't seem to notice Jaques eyes, they talked him up and returned his teasing without skipping a beat; sitting back and watching Angel burned the memory into her mind, she knew it would be the last meal they shared with Jaques. After eating and helping tidy up, Thyme kissed Jaques softly on the cheek and thanked him, she told him she would keep his recipe for sausage safe and secret before excusing herself to return to her Freehold for the night. As Thyme passed by she gently squeezed Angelique's shoulder, sharing a bit of comfort for her friend.

“She's a good girl, Bella, Thyme will be an asset to this house, Anna would have liked her very much,” Jaques said after Thyme had left.

“I am very grateful to have found her, you spoiled me too much, I don't know the first thing about keeping a house, other than to feed those who live inside.” Angelique answered. Softly Angel continued, “I've been fortunate this past year to be where I am now. I hope I can hold it together...”

“Hey now Bella, I know you better than that. You solve problems, better than most young folk nowadays. When all we had was potatoes we still ate... we ate potatoes! Too look at you, your dress and demeanor, most would assume you've never had to work hard, or suffer without. I've seen you go hungry in the lean years, but you just like the rest of us made due. Don't underestimate yourself, and stop looking for your failings...” Jaques winked at her then smiled, “focus on what you do well, the rest will fall into place.” Jaques finished softly.

Jaques tossed a last scrap of sausage to Principessa at his feet, the Golden Lab snatched it up before it hit the floor a soft tinkling of the bell on her collar breaking the silence that had fallen. Jaques stood up and reached for Angelique's hand, a soft smile on his face.

“I have something I want to do while I can still do it Bella, come with me.” he asked gently.

Angel stood taking his hand and followed him. Jaques stopped first in his room and collected a narrow box then led his young ward up to her sitting room. He moved the small table aside and sat a stool before the hearth, taking Angel's hand he arranged her on the stool facing the window. From the box Jaques pulled out an open backed easel and set a paper screen into it; Angelique's silhouette filled the screen as Jaques adjusted his distance from her.

“Among my things there are silhouettes of every woman in your family I've known but you. I drew them all over the years, but could never get you to sit still long enough. Bella you will sit for me now, I can't have the collection go incomplete.” Jaques spoke with the authority he used to get his point across when Angel was young.

Angelique sat still, only her lips moving as the two talked about old memories of the women in her family. Jaques loved women, when he met one, he took the time to find what made her special, then made sure she knew what it was. Her old uncle gained the trust and affection of many women in the years Angel knew him, but it was her house, and the Diavolo women Jaques worshiped. None more than Anna his wife but every one of them received special care and attention from him. His Bella, was the last in a long line of Diavolo Women Jaques took care of. As they spoke Jaques slowly drew Angelique's silhouette; towards completion however his hand began to shake.

Angelique stood behind him her arms hugging his shoulders as he signed and dated the finished picture. She noticed he'd grown cold though the room was warmed by the hearth, after kissing his cheek softly, she left him to gather an old bottle of brandy and the stuffed down quilt from her bed. Sensing a surge of sadness in her, Perrin inquired via their mental bond if there was something he could do; however Angelique simply asked that they be left alone, the two shared the love they had for one another then broke the connection as Angel returned to the sitting room and Jaques.

They sat together near the hearth bundled in the quilt and sharing how the could the brandy she'd brought. Hours seemed to pass as they shared memories from the past. Angelique laid her head in Jaques lap and he gently stroked her hair, asking softly as he did, “what do you dream of Bella?” They both laughed as she first said she dreamed of Perrin but after a moment she continued.

“I dream of secrets I've yet to discover, and mastering what it is I've become,” she spoke as he stroked her hair. “I dream of sharing what the Diavolo once were with people who can appreciate the old ways, and who want to preserve them,” she continued.

As she spoke Jaques touch grew lighter, his movement slower, his breath shallow; listening carefully Angel sensed the beating of Jaques heart grew weaker. Tears welled in her eyes but she continued speaking to him. “Sometimes I dream of when I was little, and you would buy me blue dresses and blue ribbons. I could never keep them clean.” she told him. “I dream of stealing your wine, or sneaking a puff of your pipe, all the mischief you let me get into,” Angel's voice fell to a whisper as Jaques hand stopped over her ear, and his arm fell limp. She shuddered as tears streamed from her eyes leaving crimson trails down her cheeks, she could no longer sense his heart beating and knew his time was gone. Angelique lay with him her heart aching in her chest her mind filled with all the loving moments they'd shared. Unable to block her feelings she could sense Perrin's anguish also as he understood from her Jaques was gone. Angelique knew there were things to be done, but they could wait, she would remain in Jaques arms as long as she could, she was never good at preparing for goodbye.

[Angelique]

Chapter 5: Quantification
Written by Azrael - Originally posted here: solantavo.crimson.net/forums/viewtopic.php?f=3&t=1570



Darkness filled Jaques vision as he gently stroked the hair of his adopted niece, her head still in his lap where he was sitting in the upstairs foyer of the Chateau. The fires of the hearth seemed to grow further and further away down a tunnel of relentless darkness. His fingertips scarcely registering the silken texture of her hair, and her voice grew quieter by the moment as she spoke.

“I dream of sharing what the Diavolo once were with people who can appreciate the old ways, and who want to preserve them…,” Angelique was saying gently.

Images of memories crept into the perception of Jaques mind’s eye, drowning Angelique’s words entirely. He could hear a little girl laughing, and saw that same child sneaking nips of his wine while he pretended not to notice on the evening-tide porch of their old home. She had blue ribbons in her hair; she had always worn the color with grace.

“It has been a good life,” he thought to himself as the visions played before him, “a long life.”

A pang of sadness welled in his consciousness as images of those who had passed intermingled with the memories. Foremost among them a memory of his wife, elegant and filled with love, at their kitchen table in the deepening evening as he entered the room. She was humming as she always did, and filling two crystal glasses with wine that they would share together before bed.

She was long passed, just as all of his friends and family save Angelique. He missed them dearly. For an old man, eventually, life becomes a burden of endurance.

A measure of peace, ineffable rest, filled Mister Desjarden then as the memories concluded. He would see them again soon, finally, it was time to go, and he had been waiting his whole life it seemed for this moment.

A peaceful darkness surrounded his consciousness, warm, like the waters of a bath after a hard day of work and labor. Somewhere outside the languid shadows, he could sense Angel was there, holding him now. He could see her from above, as one might watch an actor on a stage from the theater balcony.




* * *



Angelique lifted her head and wiped the welling blood tears from her eyes, the crimson smearing across her light-olive hued cheeks. She laid the body of her adopted Uncle down before the hearth, as closely as the fear of fire’s biting flames would allow her to do so. She had an overwhelming sense that the body was empty, a shell no longer filled with essence or spirit. She took an instinctive and deep breath, lifting his hands to lay them on his stomach. Time cascaded through her mind in languid swaths of unnaturally slow marching, as though it was pausing a moment to regard the scene in it’s passing.

As she lifted his hand, she found the fingers curled and clutching something tightly within a their death-laden grasp. She gently uncurled the fingers, feeling the tendons and muscles of his forearm relaxing.

Two thin silver coins rested in his palm. Carefully lifting one, she studied the image of its worn surface. The coin glistened in the firelight as she turned it slowly over. It was a Vesparan silver, the many nicks and shallow scratches adding to the antiqued beauty of the image of a noblewoman centuries passed. Slowly she lifted its twin from Jaques hand, holding both coins as fresh crimson tears filled her eyes.

Very softly she whispered, “All of a man’s wealth…”

An image unexpectedly flashed in her mind as the requisite blood drained from her system, calling on the power of The Spirit’s Touch, of it’s own accord. She was sitting in the dim light of the foyer, looking at a figure, the Seti, sitting across from her. The memory…Jaques memory, imprinted on the coins began playing out in front of her from his perspective.

Two coins rested on the table where Azrael had lifted his hand. Silver like his eyes as he finished the thought gently, “…are measured in one coin to the Ferryman, and one coin to Death itself."
The coins were lifted by Jaques weathered hand and blurriness filled the image of the memory, as though tears welled in his eyes, in so doing.

Angelique could hear Jaques thoughts in the moment, “older even than me…”

The vision departed as quickly as it had come, once more she was knelt over Jaques’ body, clutching the coins as fresh blood-tears welled and slid down her cheeks. She leaned over his lifeless body and kissed his eyelids gently as she spoke, “richest among men Jaques, but I am more the richer for having been loved by you.”

With care, Angelique placed the coins over his eyes.

In the surreal haze of the pervading loss she could sense two strong arms, very much alive, wrapping around her from behind, and felt the love of her retained mate wash over her. Grief and loss, tempered with love for one another filled the blood bond they shared between them. Perrin rocked gently with her in his arms as Angelique clung to him.



* * *



Jaques watched the scene unfold before him, his consciousness only barely registering that he was no longer within the body he had occupied for so long. He watched Angelique lift the coins, watched her pause, and watched blood gently roll from the corners of her eyes before Perrin entered. She placed the coins…it was done…

But something remained; a nagging feeling that there was something left still to do. The confusion of the spirit of Jaques Desjardin gave way to disorientation, and he could hear his name being called from far away it seemed. The memory of Angelique as a little girl looking up at him filled his perception.

“Tuppence,” her little girl voice echoed.

“Tuppence…for a…,” her voice trailed off into the darkness surrounding him.

Again Jaques spirit heard his name being called from somewhere beyond the pervading darkness, followed immediately by a distinct metaphysical tug. He found himself departing the scene, moving away from Angelique and Perrin into the void, guided by the voice that he vaguely recognized as it called his name in a precise accent and low tone once more. The image of ‘two pence’, two silver coins shining in firelight, gave way to a pair of silver eyes burning fiercely in the darkness.

But there was a haziness weaving through Jaques’ perception, as though he were gazing through a silken shroud straining to see the image beyond the blur it caused. He sensed a hand reach down, its fingers curling into the ethereal fabric of the shroud, and pulling back with a swift tugging motion. The strange shroud came free in one fluid tug and was discarded to the side where it seemed to disintegrate entirely.

The world unfurled from the gloom surrounding the image of the mirrored eyes. A pale elven man framed them; dressed in his usual, unassuming, black attire. He stood on a cliffside, laden with snow.

Jaques found himself standing now, and facing the man who he had come to know as Lord Azrael, who studied him patiently. Both were surrounded by the vague impression of a circle etched into the snow’s surface and decorated meticulously with symbols that Mister Desjardin did not recognize, but that conveyed a commanding power that his newly corporeal mind could feel. A faint crimson was spread tenuously on several of the symbols and on the boundary of the impression of the circle itself.

Alarmingly, in this new state Jaques could perceive a horrible aura surrounding Azrael. It writhed, and burned, like vast black gashes across pale flames that wavered in watery heated patterns from the vampire lord’s shoulders and around his small frame. Images of torment and promise of suffering filled Mister Desjardin’s mind in waves roiling out from aura. Panic filled the elderly man’s spirit as he looked up to see tumultuous clouds moving faster across the sky than any storm he had known in the living world. A constant, bitter howl snaked through the peaks of the mountainside around them. Jaques looked out from the cliffside to the ruins of a city below. It was Istas, but not as Jaques remembered it. The gothic spires of the stone and marble had long ago crumbled. Buildings were left in ruin and decay, echoes of their former selves. The whole of the world in which Jaques now stood seemed blasted and broken, pieces that had fallen together of a living world shattered entirely by forces incomprehensible. A vast and twisted memory of something called ‘life’.

With great effort Jaques turned to Lord Azrael, who continued to stand patiently near him in the circle, and asked tentatively, “W-what, is this?”

A glyph within the circle illuminated very slightly and the sound of the wailing din of the roiling storm above seemed to be muffled suddenly by the circle boundary in which they stood. Azrael looked out over the valley below, and spoke gently, “this is the end of all things Mister Desjardin.”

“This isn’t real, is it?” Jaques asked, while turning to look to the ruin of what he remembered to be the Chateau below. Fleeting shadows, vaguely humanoid, drifted through some of the ruins of the city as he looked on.

Lord Azrael spoke gently, following Jaques’ gaze, “Like time, reality is relative to the observer. There are many levels of what one would call reality, in layers, existing simultaneously.”

Jaques looked to Azrael once more, as the vampire stood beside him with his hands folded behind his back, looking out over the valley below. A quavering edge crept into his tone as he asked, “Where am I?”

Mister Desjardin still felt an unyielding desire to flee from Azrael. It remained an instinctive, confusing impulse, deep within his corpus. He understood nothing of what a ‘Giovanni’ vampire espoused to his new state of being, or the malevolent ways in which a Giovanni interacted with wraith. Nor did he comprehend the black-veined aura that marked Giovanni kindred to all wraiths who ventured closely enough to what had become a supernatural enemy over the ages.

Azrael began, “You are…” then paused thoughtfully before continuing, “...existing in the midst of a agreement made, when last we spoke.”

Jaques tilted his head, looking to the ruins of the Chateau once more, trying to recall the memories that seemed so very far from his consciousness in that moment. Though when he focused, the memories hazily resurfaced. As though recalling a dream. Jaques’ disembodied corpus nodded slowly as he spoke softly, “you said you would see me again... before I left the city.”

Lord Azrael nodded gently in response, as both wraith and kindred studied the remains of what might have been the Chateau centuries ago in the valley below. Azrael spoke gently, and with focus as though peering into another time, “She has placed your coins, and Perrin is with her.”

“She will need to learn to rely on him now,” said Jaques.

Jaques continued to study the ruins of the Chateau thoughtfully and whispered distantly, “my time…”

Azrael turned his mirrored eyes to Jaques, and the elderly wraith could feel the foreboding weight of the gaze. It was as though something terrible could happen at any moment, and Azrael, alone, was deciding that it did not.

Lord Azrael asked gently, as ivory fang tips glinted between his parting pale lips, “have you enjoyed it?”

Jaques Desjarden met the heartless gaze of mirrored eyes answering, “my time was well spent.” He nodded gently as he finished the thought softly, “every minute of it.”

Azrael nodded slightly, his inquisitive gaze falling over the valley below once more.

“Why is it of interest to you?” Jaques queried, and continued, “You have asked me that before.”

The Seti continued to gaze on the chateau in thoughtful silence for a time, before answering finally, “It is the irony of undeath: a vampire relies more completely on life than they ever did, when alive themselves. Beasts we are, monsters…devils; lest something far worse we become.”

Jaques frowned slowly, hearing the confirmation of vampirism for the first time aloud, in regard to Angelique, and to the man next to which he now stood. Then spoke in a near whisper, “You have a choice... she... she doesn't have to become...,” the thought trailed off in sadness.

Azrael answered with precision, “As eldest left in this world, that is my sentiment exactly, Mister Desjarden. Eternity is far better spent than in becoming slaves to the demons within, or demons without.”

Jaques said distantly, “ I can’t protect her anymore.”

The Elder Vampire said gently, “Indeed, you cannot.”

Jaques nodded once more, glancing to the edges of the circle, and then to the shadows beyond. For the first time Jaques could discern shadowy shapes near them, radiating pain and loss. Some wishing to inflict their angst on the two within the circle, and others hopelessly resigned to their fate. It became clearer to Jaques that the circle in which he had been summoned, and now stood, was not to contain him, but rather to protect him from those entities. Despite the foreboding that the Giovanni near him still radiated, Jaques was able to relax in that revelation to a degree.

Jaques asked softly, “What happens now?”

Azrael spoke carefully, with a distant tone, “the answer to that question is…complicated. There are no suitable words in any of the languages I possess to convey the gravity of what should be happening soon.”

Jaques looked to Azrael with immediate, and renewed concern.

The Seti continued, “you asked why I have questioned you on more than one occasion, regarding your enjoyment of the life and time you were given.”

Jaques nodded and as he softly replied, “yes.”

Azrael was still studying the valley, standing unnaturally still, with his hands folded behind his back. He spoke once more, “Few realize the importance of the question, until they are no longer alive. For in it, lies a secret...as simple but powerful truth.”

Hesitantly Jaques asked, “What is that?”

“There is no god or devil more capable of judging a man, than his own mind. From the most virtuous of men, to the most treacherous...each man is his own darkest dungeon, and more importantly, it’s Keeper,” said Azrael.

In a hushed but certain tone, Jaques replied, “I wouldn’t trade any part of my life…”

The Seti arched a brow, “The true question remains: in the end…and this is the end Mister Desarden…would your life,” Azrael slowly turned his mirrored, emotionless gaze to Jaques once more and finished, “…trade any part of –you-?”

The question echoed through Jaques Desjardin’s consciousness deeply, pressing at a glimpse of something much bigger than himself, or Azrael, or this world. Something that threatened to swallow all that was or would be with its enormity.

Hundreds and thousands of memories began to flood into Jaques’ mind’s eye as he spoke, “I made the choices that formed my life.” Proud moments and shameful moments played out before Jaques while he nodded in accepting them, as he continued speaking, “ I lived every one of those moments.” Images of moments that moved Jaques Desjardin to tears, and moments in which he caused them splayed before him like a tapestry woven for him alone.

“Without me there wouldn’t have been a life…” he said softly as the flood of images and emotions began to subside into something far more calm than he had words to express. His consciousness was able to refocus on Azrael’s silver eyes, watching him with infinite patience. Two silver eyes that studied him carefully.

Azrael nodded very slightly, and spoke with soft certainty as though finally having seen whatever it was he had been looking for in Jaques, “This realm…is not where you belong.”

“Where do I belong?” Jaques asked in a whisper as his vision began to fill with a hazy light. Light that permeated his sight, but also his being.

The image of Azrael began to drift away from him, the definition of the Seti’s features, of the circle in which they stood, and the world they gazed upon became more obscure and ethereal to Jaques.

Azrael answered gently and expressionlessly, “in a place reserved for those who did not refuse to live...”

“What is happening?” Jaques asked to the image of Azrael that drifted further and further from him. The light continued to grow, filling the width and breadth of his perception.

Azrael’s voice echoed gently as though from a distance through Jaques corpus, “Transcendence, Mister Desjardin.”

The Seti's voice echoed once more with an added finality, “we will not meet again.”

“Watch over my Bella,” Jaques said to the nearly imperceptible image of the Seti. Only two silver eyes remained in the growing haze of lightness and calm.

“I am always watching…” came the reply from the twin mirrors of Azrael’s eyes as they too faded into the brilliant nothingness.

Jaques Desjarden turned then, away from the world he knew, away from the man who stood beside him in the hell that came after, into radiance as bright as the abyss is dark.


* * *


From somewhere in the direction that all which remains of the mortal known as Jaques Desarjen was moving…

There is a kitchen, and there is a table who’s chairs are not empty.

There is a bottle of wine, and there is a glass.

There is a woman,…

…and she is humming softly.